“Not really. We need to find out what it is first.” Pepper tilts her head. “Knowing your sister, we’ll have more luck cracking open a diamond with a toothpick than prying that detail out of her.”
My face falls. “You’re right.”
“Hey.” Pepper grins. “Don’t give up so easily.”
“But you said—”
“I only said it’s hard, not impossible. But first thing’s first.” My friend slams her fist on the clay, flattening it on the table. “I want you to promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“You will stop worrying about this ridiculous Butterfly.”
Maybe it’s because she grew up in the United States, but Pepper would never understand why superstitions aren’t just superstitions. When your dad believes in it, and his own mom believes in it—it’s probably true.
Unfortunately, there’s no time to convince Pepper. And I desperately need her help. “I can’t guarantee I won’t think about it at all,” I say, carefully choosing my words. I may not agree with her, but Pepper is my best friend. I can’t bring myself to lie to her. “But I’m going to try.”
Pepper clasps her hands together. “That’s good enough for me.”
The Black Swallowtail
(Papilio polyxenes)
The black swallowtail, also called the American swallowtail or parsnip swallowtail, is a butterfly commonly found in Oklahoma and New Jersey. Its caterpillar is called “the parsley worm” because it likes to eat parsley. The species is named after the youngest daughter of King Priam of Troy in Greek mythology, Polyxena—
* Close tab *
Are black butterflies spirits of the dead?
Question posted on 15 March 2017 at 11:46 a.m.
My brother says black butterflies are ghosts masquerading as omens. Is that true? He says I should sign my car to him just in case I die tomorrow.
* Show answer *
Are black butterflies spirits of the dead?
Answer posted on 15 March 2017 at 1:20 p.m.
Don’t be ridiculous. Your brother is a selfish CENSORED who wants to take your car and leave you in the dust. You should disown him, or better yet, throw him off the nearest—
* Close tab *
The Myth of the Butterfly
by Manila Daily Journal
Today’s column is a guest post from spiritist Jorge Mystiqua. Jorge is a respected member of the Spiritist League of the Philippines, and we are happy to have him here.
[Black butterfly animation: 80% loaded]
The black butterfly has always been shrouded with mystery. It’s not a common color, and its presence is often associated with death. But one thing that isn’t known is that it’s also a symbol of rebirth … a symbol of hope.
And rightfully so.
In my many journeys all over the Philippines, I have encountered stories of black butterfly sightings. Most would see the Butterfly, and days later, find themselves mourning a loved one. It’s not often I hear rebirth stories, and yet, I was fortunate to stumble upon one in the small town of Gapan, Nueva Ecija.
Perla (not her real name) told me that she lost her father to cancer the previous year. Her father (let us call him Juan), though kind and caring to Perla and her siblings, took his wife, Gina (also not her real name), for granted. They separated long before Juan found out he had stage 4 cancer.
Now, like any man near Death’s door, Juan sought Gina’s forgiveness. She gave it to him but kept her distance. Perla said her mother still loved Juan, but the wounds simply ran too deep.
On the night Juan passed away, Perla recalled her father murmuring about a certain ring. “Yung singsing. Ibigay mo kay Gina.” He kept repeating “The ring. Give it to Gina” over and over again.
Since Perla didn’t know what ring she was looking for, she simply gave her mother all her father’s rings. But none of them meant anything to Gina.
On the first anniversary of Juan’s death, Perla and her family celebrated Juan’s babang-luksa. (For our international readers, babang-luksa is literally translated as “descent from mourning.” It is believed that this is when the soul of the departed finally leaves earth, transitioning to that plane where spirits roam.) Perla was sitting on her late father’s office desk when she saw the ominous black butterfly land on a plastic ring from a soda bottle. It stayed there for a few seconds, before flying away and out the open window.
Perla asked her mother if the plastic ring was of any importance to her father. To her surprise, Gina began to cry. Through her tears she explained the plastic ring was the one Juan presented to her when he first proposed. He was too poor to buy her a ring but swore to get her a new one. He eventually did. All along Gina thought Juan threw the plastic ring away. But he kept it, and in his last breath, wanted her to have it.
It was through the black butterfly that Juan was able to send his message across.
Are some black butterflies messengers from the dead? Could be. But I am more inclined to believe that they are the dead themselves—restless souls with unfinished business, tied to this world in the form of a black butterfly.
What then, is this black butterfly? Is it a warning, or is it a message? Is it the soul of our departed loved one, visiting us from the other side?
I cannot tell you for certain, as I have to traverse the spirit world myself to confirm.
* Print *
TUESDAY
I PROMISED PEPPER I’M GOING to try not to worry about the Butterfly. But it doesn’t mean I should go on with my life believing I didn’t see it. Because I did. I know I did.
Besides, my research helped lessen my worries. It’s possible I might not die, that maybe Dad changed his Butterfly stories a bit to make them more interesting. The last article did say the Butterfly could be a loved one’s spirit or a harmless messenger from the dead.
Still, I want to make sure I get to do a few things I’ve always wanted to try in case I do die. Like, for example, getting my hair dyed blue.
Honestly, I’m surprised Ate Nadine agreed to take me to the salon. It’s not far from where we live, and it’s right across from her college, but it’s still a fifteen-minute drive away from home. Fifteen minutes without traffic, that is.
I’m leaning back comfortably on the styling chair when Pepper drops the bomb.
“Sab says she’s going to die.”
I gasp. “Pepper!”
“What? Ate Nadine needs to know.” My friend looks at me with innocent eyes. I glare at her. We both know that’s not why she wanted to tell Ate Nadine. Pepper swipes at her phone screen, and the wobbly robot walks to the edge of a grassy cliff. It survives the fall to the water, but it’s now walking back and forth aimlessly, unable to climb back up the puzzle tower. There’s a squeaking sound as Pepper slams her hand on the armrest of her styling chair. “Ugh! I’ve been stuck on this level for two days.”
We had been peacefully waiting for the salon staff to attend to us. That is, until Pepper decided to ruin the moment.
“Is that so?” Ate Nadine asks from my right, where she’s lounging on a styling chair with a magazine.
“Maybe Ate Nadine can do something about it.” Sighing, Pepper saves her game and slips the phone into her shorts pocket. “Or maybe talk some sense into you.”
“I saw the Butterfly, Ate,” I explain, pausing to rub my nostrils. The strong scents of nail polish and hair spray are giving me a headache. “The one Dad—”
“I remember Dad’s butterfly stories,” Nadine says. “But Dad has said a lot of things, and not all of them are true. In fact, it’s thanks to his lies that I’m going to be a journalist.”
I don’t believe her. Dad didn’t lie to us. He couldn’t have lied to her so badly that it merited a yearlong cold shoulder and her choice to pick a degree specializing in searching for truths. Anyway, Ate Nadine has always wanted to be a writer since forever.
Ate Nadine puts down her magazine and studies me. “Does getting this new hairdo have anything to do with that butterfly
?”
She never misses anything. No wonder a top newspaper wanted Ate Nadine as an intern.
“Yes. Definitely,” Pepper chirps. She leans back on the styling chair and closes her eyes. “If Sab’s going to die like the Butterfly predicted, she might as well have a little fun with her hair.”
“You’re lucky I have something I need to do in this neighborhood later. Or I wouldn’t have bothered with this nonsense.” My sister turns her attention to the television screen hanging from the corner of the ceiling. “Now be quiet and leave me in peace.”
My face falls. I was hoping my sister would tell me something. Tito Ed’s explanation was cryptic and uncertain. The most I got from my internet search was an editorial from the newspaper Ate Nadine is interning for. I was hoping my sister could tell me what she knows of the Butterfly. And yet, she’s acting like it’s not real—just because it was Dad who told her about it.
But then again, if Ate Nadine says the Butterfly’s not real, she’s probably right. I’m just worrying myself over nothing.
The stylist rolls a cart full of dyeing solutions between Ate Nadine and me. I totally forget about the Butterfly.
I’ve always wanted mermaid hair. To curl my limp hair and dye its locks with varying shades of turquoise, purple, and aqua blue. But I knew Mom would forbid it, just as she did with Ate Nadine.
Dad told me Ate wanted to have unicorn-pink hair when she was twelve. Mom was totally against it. Since she’s as stubborn as my sister, Dad couldn’t change her mind. So, he bought Ate Nadine this expensive set of pink hair chalk. It allowed my sister to get pink hair whenever she wanted and rinse it off before Mom could see.
I didn’t think Ate Nadine would agree so easily to me getting my hair dyed. But I guess she did remember what it felt like to want something and be forbidden to get it. Or maybe—just maybe—she remembered what Dad did for her.
I’m hoping it’s the latter.
“Can you turn the volume up, please?” my sister asks the lady doing her manicure. “I didn’t get to watch the news last night.”
Of course Ate Nadine didn’t have time to watch the news. She barricaded herself in her room, working on that assignment of hers. Tito Ed had to knock on her door himself to get Ate Nadine to eat dinner.
I’m seriously starting to hate that assignment. It’s taking way too much of my sister’s time. I could die right here at the salon and she’d probably still be worrying about it instead of me.
The newly elected president of the Philippines appears on TV. The reporter says he’s at a conference giving a speech. I’d love to tell you more about what he’s saying, but I can’t. Loud bleeps censor almost every word he utters.
“I love that man.” The stylist chuckles as he helps me put on a hairdressing cape. The smooth fabric cascades from my shoulders all the way to the floor.
I raise my eyebrows. “He says a lot of bad words.”
“Yeah.” From the mirror, I see Pepper nod in agreement. “Papa curses a lot too, but the president is, like, twenty times worse.”
“It’s just the way he is.” The stylist laughs again. He tucks his bright green hair behind his ears, then works the lever that shifts my chair into reclining position. He doesn’t stop until I’m almost lying down. “He’s a good president, and he’ll deliver his campaign promise—‘Change is coming.’ He’ll save the Philippines with what he’s doing.”
The manicurist lowers the volume as commercials replace the news feature. Ate Nadine thanks the woman and twists around in her chair to meet my stylist’s gaze. “People are dying because of him.”
“If you’re not doing or selling drugs, there’s nothing for you to be afraid of,” the stylist says. I can’t see what he’s doing, but I hear him roll another cart behind me. “The war on drugs isn’t just about the police operations, darling. My brother-in-law is a drug addict, but he’s trying to do better with help from his local government. Their rehab program is part of the war on drugs campaign.”
“That’s true,” Ate Nadine admits. “But you heard him. The president’s threatened to kill all those involved in the drug trade. That includes your own brother-in-law.”
“I don’t think he means that. The president knows what he’s doing.” The stylist puts a rolled towel under my neck, then gathers my hair. I almost jump when he sprays my head with cold water. “Sorry, darling, but I need to wash your hair.”
“He should condemn the killings, not encourage them,” Ate Nadine says as the stylist lathers shampoo on me. The fragrance overpowers the icky smell of nail polish with ylang-ylang blossoms and grapefruit. “There are people who will take everything he says literally. Words have power, you know.”
Pepper lets out a loud yawn beside me, and I can’t help but imitate her. The shampoo has a relaxing effect. I shift to a more comfortable position on the recliner, tuning out Ate Nadine’s boring political commentary.
I love the smell of ylang-ylang. It reminds me of Lola Cordia’s perfume and her resort in Pililla. We used to go there regularly when she was still alive. We often caught the ylang-ylang trees surrounding the butterfly garden in full bloom, usually in the summer. Now would be the perfect time to go there, if only my sister wanted to.
“Ate Nadine is a journalist,” I say with pride. Writing keeps her away from me most times, but not many college freshmen can say they’re working for a national paper. “She’s an intern for the Manila Daily Journal.”
The stylist gently turns my head back to its original position and begins washing the suds off my locks. From the mirror I see him meet my sister’s gaze. “Don’t waste your talent on that paper, darling. They’re fake news who like to sensationalize events to make the president look bad.”
“They are not.”
Uh-oh. I smell trouble.
“Oh? Then why is that paper insisting the fire at the mall is a terrorist attack?” The stylist brings my chair back to the sitting position and proceeds to dry my hair. “The police were able to prove an angry employee started it.”
Ate Nadine scowls. I can almost see the counterarguments she’s thinking, popping over her head like thought bubbles in a comic book. It makes me worried for my hair.
“Okay,” Pepper chimes in from beside me. She squeezes her head. “I think we’re done with all the boring stuff. My brain is exploding.”
“Mine too.” I imitate her, then take a lock of my blow-dried hair. “If I also add some pink, will it be too much?”
Ate Nadine rolls her eyes. Through the mirror, I can see her expression soften. “You two are hopeless.”
The stylist chuckles and proceeds to open a bottle of solution. “We’ll see. But first we need to bleach your hair. The colors won’t be visible if it’s all black like that.”
It’s amazing how Pepper manages to diffuse a situation. One day, I’ve got to learn to do just that. Pepper won’t always be around to save me from getting a bad haircut.
“Wait.” Ate Nadine stops the stylist. “Sab’s never had her hair treated. She could be allergic.”
The stylist obliges and applies a drop of solution on my wrist. It doesn’t take a minute for my skin to turn red. He does the same for the hair dye, and the reaction is the same: I’m allergic.
“I’m sorry,” says the stylist, his eyes full of pity. He pats his short green locks. “How about a new hairstyle? Having pretty hair isn’t just about color.”
I turn to my left, where the attendant is done with Ate Nadine’s fingernails and is now readying her for a pedicure.
My sister dips her feet in solution. “If you really want something different, you can let him cut your hair.”
“A trim?”
Ate Nadine shakes her head, smiling. “No. Whatever you want.”
“Oh!” Pepper grabs the hairstyle catalog from the table in front of her. “I’ll help you pick one.”
“What about Mom?” I glance at the styles Pepper is considering. “She’ll be furious.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Ate Na
dine says with a wink. “Well?”
I see everyone staring at me, eagerly awaiting my decision.
I’ve always kept my hair long. Mom said I should wait until I actually have boobs so no one mistakes me for a boy if I cut it short.
But Mom’s not here. I can do what I want. If I’m still alive by the time she gets back, she’ll definitely get mad at me. But if I’m dead like the Butterfly foretold … well, I might as well leave this world in style.
Like the president said, “Change is coming.” I take a deep breath and exhale aloud. “Let’s do it.”
IT’S ONLY HALF PAST THREE when Pepper and I step out of the salon and onto the strip mall lanai. The sun’s still up, but its heat isn’t as searing as it was at lunchtime.
I touch my hair. The stylist shaved the area right above my nape. Whenever I run my hand over it, I feel like I’m stroking a short-haired cat. It feels so weird.
During the school year, Mom and Tito Ed drove me by this strip mall every day on my way to school. I’d stick my face to the glass, wishing to stroll down its walkways, which are lined with palm trees and blue flower bushes. Or maybe roam the open-sided gallery on its second floor. Ate Nadine always talked about hanging out with her friends there. But it’s always crowded, and finding a parking space is next to impossible, so we opt for the bigger malls along Marcos Highway instead.
Ate Nadine, on the other hand, knows where to leave the car even when the strip mall’s parking is full. Her school, San Jose Pignatelli College, is right across the street. Today there are still a lot of people, but less than usual, since it’s summer.
“You shouldn’t have told Ate Nadine.” I’m not mad at Pepper, but I’m not letting her off the hook that easily. “It could have gone down very badly, you know.”
“It didn’t, and now we can at least say we tried. Back to the original plan then. Figure out what happened to your papa and sister, fix it, and we can all go to the resort together.” Pepper leans over the balustrade. “Besides, you promised not to worry about the Butterfly thing, then I saw that article on your desk. I knew you couldn’t resist it. You broke your promise, so it’s only fair that I can break mine.”
My Fate According to the Butterfly Page 3