Hiraya
My shoulders drooped. “I can’t breathe. I’m burned out.”
“Burn out?” both my parents asked and looked at each other. They have no idea what it is.
They looked at Tandang Elyong for help. The only man only shrugged. “I’m not familiar with the term either.”
“When you are tired of doing the same things over and over again, you get tired and your brain won’t cooperate,” I explained casually.
“Dayang, where did she learn such a term?” my father asked my mother. Burn out was unheard of in our tribe. After all, most of the people there seemed satisfied with their simple lives in Sinag. Too satisfied that they were not interested to leave or get tired of the same routine.
“Maybe she learned it from Bughaw,” my mother replied suspiciously.
I didn’t hear it from Bughaw but from Calixto
