BOAT NAILS AND STRINGS

My name is Mely.

- By Zaida Marie A. Tambis

I live in a house full of cotton strings of all colors. We have red like santan flowers, blue like the sea, yellow like the sun at noon. Mama uses them for macramé and knitting, and she keeps them neatly rolled in baskets. She says every string has a purpose, and none should be wasted.Papa smells like salt and wood. He is a marine carpenter, and sometimes, when he comes home tired, little boat nails fall from his pockets and scatter on the floor. Mama scolds him gently. Papa laughs and says, “They’re stubborn. They follow me home.”

I liked to draw even before I knew how to spell my name. When I was very small, I used charcoal from our traditional stove, pencils, even broken crayons. One day, I drew overlapping circles on Papa’s old wooden chair. I liked how the lines crossed and met, like secrets whispering to each other.