Whispers of the Dying Sun: Raven's Journey

I am Raven

I rose with the sun today, the air still heavy with dew and silence. I had to walk to the rice fields, where the water spinach grows wild and free. I planned to sell some—earn a little, survive a little.

As I stepped out of our house, my eyes caught my mother’s figure—busy, moving, talking to my siblings like she always does. Then I heard her say, “It’s Ate Grace’s 18th birthday today, and I can’t even be with her on her special day.”

And just like that, I froze.

Yesterday was my birthday.

But she didn’t say a word.

My chest tightened. A sting I knew all too well resurfaced in my heart.

Our birthdays are just a day apart. And yet again, mine was the one forgotten.

I walked away, trying to hold back the tears that began to gather in my eyes.

“At least Ate Grace is always remembered,” I whispered under my breath, swallowing the pain that refused to leave.

I couldn’t help but feel the ache of being overlooked.

Why was it always me?

What am I to this family?

I asked myself the same question I’ve asked for years—quietly, painfully. It felt like I was just... there. Existing in the background. Unseen. Unfelt.

“It’s okay, self,” I murmured, trying to offer my own comfort. “At least they stayed. At least they didn’t abandon you like others have.”

But the truth is, even when people stay, they can make you feel like you don’t belong.

And that truth still hurt.

Ever since I was little, this emptiness followed me like a shadow. I’ve tried to get used to it. But a part of me—stubborn and soft—still hopes for something more. For warmth. For affection. For someone to look at me and see me.

Before I realised it, I was already at the rice fields. I stared at the sack in my hand, the one I’d use to collect kangkong. I needed enough to buy materials for a school project.

There were two kinds to gather today—one for pigs, one for people. Four sacks for my loyal buyers with piglets to feed and fifty bunches for the market crowd.

This is how I survive. This is how I get through school.

I don’t want to burden my parents. My siblings need them more.

So I sell—vegetables, fruits, broomsticks, seashells—whatever I can. I carry it all on my back and sometimes in my heart.

Mama owns most of the goods. I buy from her and sell them with a small markup. A broomstick costs me twenty pesos; I sell it for twenty-five. It’s not much, but it gets me through the day.

My aunt gives me fruits too. I do the same—buy, sell, repeat. It’s not a lot, but it’s honest. It’s mine.

As I walked through the fields, sacks in hand, I felt a sudden itch on my leg.

“Must be a leech again,” I muttered.

Sure enough—two fat ones, already full of my blood.

“You think you scare me? ” I said to them, peeling them off.

They don’t. Not anymore. I’ve faced worse than leeches.

When I finished gathering, I arranged everything carefully. The sacks for the pigs were ready for delivery. The kangkong for people would take more time—I’d have to sell it little by little.

“Perfect. I got a good haul today. I’ll earn a decent amount,” I said to myself, smiling softly at the four sacks.

“I’m tired. I’ll rest a while. It’s still early anyway,” I whispered as I sat beneath a big tree, its shade embracing me.

The wind was cool against my skin.

So peaceful, I could fall asleep right here.

Birds flew overhead, and on my left, horses grazed lazily in the grass.

“There are so many birds today,” I thought, watching them rise into the sky. “They look so free.”

Then—ouch. Ants.

“They bite hard! ” I exclaimed, brushing them off.

I looked up at the mango tree beside me.

“Hehe… I’ll climb up. It’s better up there, cooler too,” I said with a grin.

I climbed and sat on a thick branch, leaning on another.

“This spot is perfect,” I sighed, closing my eyes to the gentle wind.

I didn’t realise I had fallen asleep.

I woke to loud neighing—the horses. They were fighting. One of them had gotten loose. I quickly climbed down and rushed over.

“Hey! ” I shouted. “What’s with you two? Fighting again? ”

They actually stopped.

“You”, I pointed at the troublemaker, “you’re always picking on your brother.” I pulled him away, shaking my head.

“My cousin really needs to learn how to tie them properly,” I muttered.

The horses belong to him. There are ten of them in total, and they know me well. I’m always with them here in the fields.

“No wonder this one got free. He pulled out the grass it was tied to,” I said, frowning. “What does my cousin think this is? A baby horse? ”

I tied the rope tightly to a tree.

“There. Stay there. You woke me from my nap,” I scolded, walking away.

As I walked back toward where I left my things, I glanced at the sacks of kangkong and let out a breath. The sun was a little higher now, and the warmth had begun to settle on my skin.

I stretched my arms and whispered, “Time to get back to work.”

I loaded the sacks meant for the pig owners first. They were regulars—kind, loyal, and always thankful. I carried them one by one to the nearby houses, receiving a few smiles and coins in return.

It wasn’t just the money that made me feel good—it was the feeling that, even in the smallest ways, I was useful. That I mattered somewhere.

After delivering the water spi for the pigs, I returned for the fifty bunches meant for selling to people. I tied them neatly with thin ropes made from dried banana leaves, just like Mama taught me.

Each bundle was fresh and crisp. I made sure of it.

After all, if I wanted people to buy from me again, I had to earn their trust.

I placed the bunches carefully into my basket and slung it over my arm. “Let’s do this,” I whispered to myself as I headed toward the nearby community market.

The road was dusty and uneven, but I walked it like I always did—with my head high and my heart steady, even if it was heavy.

When I reached the market, I found my usual spot near the old sari-sari store. The store owner, Aling Rosa, gave me a small nod.

“You’re early today,” she said.

I smiled faintly. “Had to be. Got a lot to sell.”

One by one, I called out to passersby, offering them the kangkong in my hand.

“Fresh kangkong! Just harvested this morning! ”

Some stopped. Some didn’t. Some bought. Some just glanced and walked on. But I didn’t mind. This was how it always was.

Hours passed. My basket slowly emptied, and so did the ache in my chest—replaced by the quiet pride of knowing I’d earned every peso in my pocket.

Not from asking.

Not from waiting.

But from working.

By the time the sun began to dip low, painting the sky with streaks of orange and gold, I had only a few bunches left. I decided to save them for dinner—Mama could cook sinigang, and maybe, just maybe, it would bring a little warmth to our table tonight.

I started my walk back home, the coins in my pouch jingling softly. I should’ve felt content. I had earned enough to buy my school project materials and even some snacks for my siblings. But the weight in my chest hadn’t disappeared completely.

When I reached our home, Mama was outside again, sweeping the yard. She looked up and nodded at me.

“Did you earn something? ” she asked.

I nodded. “Yes, Ma.”

She didn’t say anything else. Just went back to sweeping.

I stood there for a moment longer, hoping she would say more. A “thank you”, maybe. Or even just a smile.

But none came.

I sighed and went inside, placing my things near the corner. My siblings were laughing together, playing a game on the floor. I watched them quietly, a small smile tugging at the edge of my lips. At least they were happy.

Later that night, I handed Mama some of the money I earned.

“For the house,” I said simply.

She looked surprised for a second, then nodded.

“You keep some for school, okay? ”

I nodded too, then turned away.

It wasn’t much.

It never felt like enough.

But it was something.

As I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I let out a long, quiet sigh.

Tomorrow will be another long day.

But I would still get up. I would still walk to the fields.

And I would still try.

Because even if no one noticed…

I was trying.

And maybe someday, that would be enough.

The next morning, I woke up before the sun could even rise. The air was cold, and the sky still wore its dark blue coat, scattered with fading stars. I quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to wake my siblings. I could hear their soft breathing—peaceful, undisturbed.

I moved through the house silently, grabbing the old shirt I always wore to the fields and tying my hair back. My hands moved on instinct; I’d done this routine countless times. But today, I felt something different. Not heavy, not light—just… hollow.

As I stepped outside, I saw Mama again, this time boiling water over the fire. She glanced at me briefly but said nothing. I offered her a faint smile, but she didn’t notice.

I turned and began walking toward the rice fields once again. My feet knew every stone, every bump in the road. The fields welcomed me with morning dew and the soft rustling of leaves. It was quiet—just the way I liked it.

The moment I reached the edge of the field, I paused. I looked out at the expanse of green, at the mist rolling low over the water, and for a second, I let myself breathe. Deeply. Slowly.

"I’m still here," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Even when the pain clings to me, like a shadow that won’t leave.

Even when the world around me moves on, and I feel invisible in the crowd.

Even when my heart aches for the things it’s never been given, for the love and warmth I’ve always craved but never found.

Even when everything inside me says to give up and walk away, I remain.

Because in the end, the only thing that matters is that I’m still here. Still breathing. Still fighting.

I walked deeper into the field and began my work. The water spinach glistened with dew, and my hands moved quickly, gently pulling each stalk, gathering it carefully. With each bunch I collected, I felt like I was stitching together my strength. Piece by piece. Bundle by bundle.

A bird flew close by, chirping happily as it passed. I smiled. It was little things like that—small signs from nature—that reminded me life was still beautiful in its own way.

By mid-morning, I had gathered the day’s batch—two sacks for pig feed and fifty fresh bundles for the market again. My muscles ached, but I didn’t stop. I had goals. I had responsibilities. I had dreams—even if I rarely spoke of them out loud.

As I sat to rest under the same mango tree, I pulled out a small notebook from my bag. It was old and worn, but the pages were filled with my handwriting—plans, doodles, quotes I liked, and even a few short poems. On the back page, I had written something weeks ago:

> "One day, I’ll reach my goal. Not out of spite or to prove others wrong, but because I owe it to the girl who kept going— even when no one believed in her."

I stared at those words for a moment. Then, I closed the notebook, held it close to my chest, and whispered, “You’ll be okay.”

Because maybe no one else would say it to me…

But I could say it to myself.

And for now, that was enough.

As I sat under the mango tree, I suddenly thought about getting a young coconut. I was feeling thirsty, and since our house was a bit far from where I was resting, I figured fresh coconut water would do just fine—and the flesh inside would be a nice snack too.

“Mmm… this coconut is so good,” I murmured to myself while enjoying both the juice and the soft meat. I smiled, letting the refreshing taste calm my body.

While I was enjoying my little moment, I saw my female cousin passing by with her group of friends. She was the youngest daughter of my uncle.

“Hey! Raven, so this is where you are? ” she called out.

“Yeah, I’m here. Just gathering some water spinach to sell later this afternoon after school,” I replied casually.

“Oh? Aren’t you going to be late for school? What time is it now? It’s already 6:00 a.m. And you’re still here? ” she asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“It’s fine. My class doesn’t start until 7:30 a.m. Anyway,” I replied calmly.

She suddenly burst into laughter. “Haha! You know what, Raven? You really are the queen of water spinach! ” she said, laughing louder with her friends joining in.

I smiled slightly but replied firmly, “That’s okay. At least I’m not like others who just rely on whatever their parents give them.”

Her smile quickly disappeared, her expression shifting as she realised what I meant. She looked annoyed, and her friends went quiet.

I wasn’t trying to be rude—but it was the truth. I’ve been working hard for myself. I may not wear expensive clothes or have the latest gadgets, but every single thing I owned, I earned it. I didn't need to be ashamed of that. If anything, I was proud.

I stood up, wiped my hands, and started to gather my things again.

"Anyway, I still have work to do," I told them, walking past her and her friends without waiting for a response.

There’s nothing wrong with being called “the Queen of Water Spinach”. If they only knew what it took to earn that title, maybe they’d think twice before laughing.

"Hey! Raven!" she called after me, but I didn’t bother to respond.

"Wait!" she said again, quickly blocking my path.

“What do you want, Mia? ” I asked calmly, trying to keep my cool.

“Nothing really,” she replied. “I just want you to explain what you meant earlier.”

“Oh? You didn’t understand? ” I raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m not your teacher to explain everything to you. And besides, who are you to block the path of a queen? ” I said sarcastically.

“Y-You? What queen? ” she said with a mocking laugh. “Have you gone crazy? ”

“Oh, I’m not crazy,” I said with a cold smile. “I just repeated exactly what you said earlier—didn’t you call me the Queen of Water Spinach? So that means that’s how you see me. A queen. Someone who deserves respect and maybe even a little worship… especially from people like you.” I added, giving her a slight push that nearly made her fall into the canal.

“Hey! What are you even talking about? What’s there to be proud of in being called the Queen of Water Spinach? ” she snapped, clearly angry now.

“Well, let me tell you the one thing I am proud of,” I said, stepping forward. “It’s the fact that I can be a queen of anything—even water spinach—and still earn my own money, still survive on my own. Unlike you, who depends entirely on your parents! ”

“At least this ‘Queen of Water Spinach’ can stand on her own two feet, make money, and keep going without needing anyone’s help! Meanwhile, you talk like you're better than everyone just because you were born lucky. But if both of us lost our parents today, nothing would change for me. I’d still stand tall in my own place, ruling my own little kingdom, as you said.”

“And you? ” I paused and looked her straight in the eyes. “What could you do without your parents? What do you have to be proud of? What can you even accomplish by yourself, huh? Do you really think there’s pride in being dependent? ”

Mia stood there, stunned and speechless. Her mouth opened as if she wanted to fire back, but no words came out. Her friends, who had been laughing earlier, were now silent—some of them even looked impressed, or maybe just awkward.

“You’re quiet now? ” I said, tilting my head. “You were so loud a while ago.”

She looked away, cheeks burning. I could tell she wasn’t used to getting put in her place—especially not by someone like me.

“Anyway”, I added, brushing past her, “I have better things to do than stand here explaining my worth to someone who probably couldn’t survive a day in my shoes.”

And with that, I walked away, my head high, the sack of water spinach still slung over my shoulder like a crown. The morning sun had fully risen now, casting light over the fields as if even the world knew I deserved to shine.