writing

When I was six, boys my age liked playing with toy guns, soldiers, and cars. I preferred playing with Barbie dolls. Of course, I couldn't tell my parents to buy one for me; instead, I played with cut-out paper dolls I borrowed from one of my girl cousins. In those quiet and secret moments inside the poorly lit bedroom shared with my younger brother, I acted like a fashion guru, choosing which outfits looked beautiful for my paper dolls. The folds of those colorful paper dresses, the arch of those tiny colored heels, and the tilt of those stylish hats excited me more than what other kids in the neighborhood enjoyed playing.

Most siblings often fight over new toys, but this wasn't the case for me and my brother. I showed no interest in his toys. I can still vividly recall a memory of Christmas during my childhood, he received a pinaskuhan from his ninang. It was a shiny, maroon, battery-operated Volkswagen Beetle toy car, and he wasted no time racing its friction motor wheels across our newly waxed wooden floors. If my godparents gave me a similar gift, I would willingly give it to him. He could have it easily, as long as he never touched my paper dolls.

*

We used to reside in the vibrant and friendly neighborhood called Camp Cogon, with duplex apartments rent-free to residents. Thanks to the wealthy and generous family who owned the hectares of land where generations of locals lived, including my parents and grandparents. There was a strong camaraderie among the settlers, enjoying the entertainment of amateur singing contests, liga or basketball games on makeshift courts, or bingo games. Today, the grunting sounds of monkeys and wild boars roaming around the place dominate the area. Camp Cogon is now part of a popular site within Hijo Resorts Davao, owned by the Tuasons of Davao del Norte.

Living adjacent to us, there was a family of five who were our kind neighbors in the close-knit community of Purok 6. The couple had three children: Neil and Bryan, who, at eight and nine years old respectively, seemed like mirror images of each other, and Sheila, their 11-year-old sister, who had a collection of lovely manikas. These were Filipino Barbie dolls made from vinyl material with shiny, synthetic blonde hair and turquoise eyes. I called her Ate (pronounced /ah-te/) to address her respectfully as someone older than me. In the Philippines, we address older female siblings, relatives, or friends with "Ate" (or "Kuya" for the male counterparts). Today, we also use them to address strangers older than us. But Ate Shiela was no stranger to me. They lived next door, and I always envied each time I saw her comb her dolls' hair or clothe them with colorful dresses. I especially liked the doll that resembled Cinderella, my favorite Disney princess.

I longed to have dolls of my own to play. One day during an afternoon siesta—a short nap taken a few hours after lunch—I couldn't stop thinking about the impossibility. My seventh birthday was coming soon, and a Barbie doll was on my wishlist. But I couldn't ask my parents to buy me one. The last time they caught me playing with my paper dolls, they preached that those toys were for girls, not for boys. I heard the back door slammed. My mother probably left to buy something at the grocery store for our dinner. Usually, she would come back after an hour. 

I tiptoed on my way out, wore my white dove slippers, and quietly paced the wooden hallway to the house next door. I peeked through our neighbor's window, hoping I could play with Ate Sheila and her dolls. Nobody was there, but I felt the floor shaking. Suddenly, Neil and Bryan emerged from the kitchen, chasing each other, sweating, and panting loudly as if they had been running around all afternoon. They stopped when they spotted me standing at the net-filtered front door.

"Hey, Barbie boy. What brought you here?" asked Bryan.

"Is Ate Sheila here?" I replied, with anticipation in my voice.

Neil responded that Ate Sheila had gone to the grocery store with their parents. Sensing my disappointment, Bryan couldn't help but tease me again.

"You want to play with her dolls, right?"

"Whatever."

To lighten the mood, Neil proposed playing hide and seek. I could sense his sincerity, which made him more likable than Bryan. 

"Sure! That sounds fun," I replied.

I didn't intend to spend time with the boys. But the thought of playing in their room was an opportunity to play with Ate Sheila's Barbie dolls. This tempted me irresistibly. I looked at the clock on the wall, and I only had less than an hour to play before my mother would be back. 

"Come," said Neil.

I quickly grabbed my slippers as I entered the house and hid them under the Narra chair near the front door.

Bryan was the first "seeker." As he started counting from one to 10, Neil and I went to their bedroom upstairs, quietly closing the door behind us to ensure Bryan wouldn't see us. My eyes wandered around the room and inspected where Ate Sheila probably kept all her Barbie dolls.

Neil opened the cabinet where they stored their clothes. 

"Here," he said.

At first, I thought he'd show me where dolls were. It turned out that he only suggested we hide there instead.

We went inside the closet. It was dark and narrow, and my face was nestled amidst the hanging clothes. I could smell the lavender scent of the newly washed clothes. It was the same scent as the liquid softener my mother used.

While waiting for Bryan to catch us, my tongue itched to ask Neil this question I had saved for a conversation without Bryan's annoying presence.

"Where did Ate Sheila keep her Barbies?" I whispered.

He shushed me and covered my mouth with one of his hands. Suddenly, we heard the bedroom door open. Bryan was already in the bedroom looking for us.

Neil leaned forward. He was a few centimeters taller, so his chest pressed against my head, and I could hear his heartbeat pounding fast. He uncovered my mouth and planted a soft kiss.

This stirred confusion within my young, impressionable mind. His innocent peck left me with mixed emotions of curiosity and a growing understanding of my identity. I leaned back and wiped my mouth. If Bryan saw it, he would certainly make fun of me again.

The cabinet opened.

"There you are!" blurted Bryan. 

He looked and sounded so excited that he found us. 

"Barbie boy, you're dead!"

Hearing those two words made me angry. I thought, "When will this boy stop calling me that? I am not a Barbie boy. I only want to play with Barbie dolls."

I took my chance to avenge myself and pushed him to the floor. Neil and I quickly made our way downstairs. 

Their parents had just returned from grocery shopping. Excitement coursed through my veins, and I asked Ate Sheila's permission to play with her dolls. However, my excitement turned to anxiety when I saw my worried mother standing at the door, her gaze searching for me. The tension of the summer air gripped me as I awaited my mother's reaction to finding me inside our neighbor's house during siesta.

"Run. Forget the dolls," I told myself. I hastily ran toward the door and sprinted back to our house before my mother could catch me.

"Bye-bye, Barbie boy," cried Bryan.

My mother must have heard it, too.

Before we reached home, someone grabbed my hand and passed me something.

"Pau, your slippers!"

*