Story: What Goes Up.. Must Come Down

I would like to appologize to this blog's readers for the recent lack of updates. There are a few stories currently in the works that I hope to publish here in the near future. Meanwhile, here is an old favorite of mine.

I first read Joe Doe's sequel to Denise's original on C.Lakewood's site a while ago and I've been fascinated by the "mistaken octoroon" genre ever since. There are very few stories touching on the topic I've located online over the years and this is probably still one of the best.

What Goes Up...

By Denise

Susana Dupree lived a life of luxury and privilege...and she was  bored. She had always belonged to the Jamaican planter class,  and now, in 1730, her life was settled into such a deep groove  that she often thought she was inextricably trapped.

In the early days, she had been occasionally diverted by  interesting news from Europe -- but the War of the Spanish  Succession had ended half her lifetime ago, and there hadn't  been anything of similar importance since. Local pirate raids  and outbreaks of pestilence had their moments, but there had been none near enough or remarkable enough for a long time. In her early teens, she had been intrigued, briefly, when she'd come across her grandmother's journal and its allusions to some  mysterious "Family Secret," which apparently involved Susana's French great grandmother. But Susana's mother denied knowing anything about it, and, shortly thereafter, the journal vanished. 

(The family motto was not "Out of sight, out of mind," but it might as well have been.)

When she was 16, she had married Jack Dupree over the objections of her parents. He was less wealthy than her family, but was such a devilishly attractive rakehell, and his very character defects  made him particularly exciting.

But it was not long before the boredom returned. Jack was always gone some place or another. She was lonely. There were a few opportunities to socialize, but she was always alone. After all,  a married man could have any number of affairs and still remain a  "gentleman," but a lady was not so free. The wild abandonment of her early relationship with Jack was soon enough replaced by his  indifference. She longed in vain for their lost passion. No matter what she did to rekindle his interest failed miserably.

Story: Departing from Manila

By Monica Graz

PART 1

I heard with trepidation the supervising officer’s sharp voice, “Mollie Apuya, in my office this instant.”

I hastily wiped my hands in my large white working apron as I abandoned my hand washing sink and rushed to the other side of the large ‘classroom’ where the office of Miss Renata Vigo, my immediate supervising officer, was behind a glass panel.

I slightly curtseyed in front of her saying in my trained voice, “Yes Ma’am, you asked for me, Ma’am!”

“Yes, Mollie, I asked for you because I have news,” she looked at me as my legs started trembling, what news I started wondering. At this stage in my life any kind of news was scary for me. What next I wondered?

“There is a job offer for you from Singapore!’ She said that phrase looking at me expectantly. It was well known to all students at Manila’s state-run Housemaids Academy that to get a job in Singapore was quite prestigious for a maid. Much better than those harsh Middle Eastern Muslim countries.

Story: Arriving in Manila. Part 3.

by Monica Graz

“Pumasok mutsatsa!” I heard Juanita’s voice inviting me in as I arrived in front of the kitchen door which was facing the garden. Later I found out that mutsatsa meant something like ‘girl-maid’ from the Spanish word ‘muchacha’ - a girl. 

Juanita and two young boys were already sitting around a large kitchen table as a young man in a ponytail wearing a pretty feminine bib apron was doing the serving bringing the food to the table. Juanita pointed to a chair and I sat down as she made the introductions.

“Those are my two young boys Mollie, Alphonso who is twelve years old and Ruperto the younger who is 10. Benito with the pretty apron on is my eldest son and my joy and pride at the same time; he is just nineteen and my best assistant both in the house and in the hairdressing salon. Without him I wouldn’t be able to cope.”

I said hello politely but the two young boys simply ignored me, either because they were too hungry or because they were too shy. Benito on the other hand gave me a big smile and said in English with the characteristic Filipino accent, “Hi Mollie, glad to meet you, my mother was eagerly waiting for your arrival. Now I’ll be able to work full time at the beauty salon, the house is yours to run.” He finished his sentence with an effeminate laugh.

Story: Losing Valentina

by Idea Factory

My name is Valentina, well... my name was Valentina.

My story of how I lost my name and my identity begins back when I was 25. At the time I was fresh out of business school, and I was determined to make it in my career. Several headhunters offered me jobs, I decided to go with a growing firm out of Chicago. I was working on a high floor in a building located in the heart of downtown, my window had a great view of Lake Michigan. But my gaze wasn't set on the water, it was on the corner office that I wanted to be in by the time I was 30.

I was a fourth-generation Latina, my great grandparents came over to the United States during WWII when there was a labor shortage. My parents had both have advanced degrees and they put a lot of work into making sure I would be a success. My father, a bit of a bleeding heart, is a doctor and I think he was a bit disappointed that I chose finance over medicine.

I kept myself in good shape, image is important in the professional world plus I loved the way I looked in jeans.

Story: Arriving in Manila. Part 2.

by Monica Graz

I looked at my room once more as I changed to fresh clothes after a much needed wash. It was practically a shed at one corner of the garden quite a distance from the main house. Juanita said simply that there was not enough space for me inside the house. There was a smaller shed attached to the larger one used as a very primitive toilet facility, just a toilet bowl and a metal sink with a cold water tap.

When I asked about a possibility of hot water Juanita laughed and said, “Don’t be absurd Molly, you don’t need hot water in Philippines, we are a hot country. In the rare occasions you need it you have to heat it yourself in the kitchen stove.”

I looked once more at my new room; there was a high window with a broken glass and iron bars outside and a single metal door without a proper key and lock. It could be secured with a bolt from inside and a padlock from outside. Looking around I realized that it was nothing more than an old store room turned hastily to sleeping quarters for my arrival. It really had the feeling of an old fashioned prison cell!

Story: Arriving in Manila. Part 1.

by Monica Graz

When I stepped out of the plane I was taken aback by the humid heat and a strong, nearly intoxicating smell, a mixture of tropical flowers and kerosene fuel. For a moment I thought I was back in my Julia days, remembering my visit to Central America a couple of years ago when I was researching for my PhD on the slave trade at that part of the world in  the 18^th and 19^th centuries. It was the same feeling of heat, humidity and smells as it was then.

But I was brought back to reality when I heard the person next to me addressing me in Tagalog and asking me to start descending the ladder. I instantly was back to my Mollie Apuya role.

The fear and uncertainty of the unknown came back to me and I felt a cold shiver in my spine even in that hot weather.

Story: Departing from Milan. Part 6.

by Monica Graz

This time I was not pushing a cleaning cart at the airport, this time I was about to travel and I was simply pulling a rather gigantic and cheap suitcase towards the check-in point. This time I was really and truly departing from Milan and my destination was Manila, Philippines!

Of course I was scared to death. I was carrying a false Filipino passport, pretending to be someone else. Conchita came with me trying to make me feel better, talking to me all the time in Tagalog trying to build up my confidence.

The check-in was easier than I thought. They simply asked for my passport which had an entry visa stamp less than three months ago so for the authorities I was a legitimate tourist and not an illegal immigrant. That was another one of Signora’s accomplishment. Not only did I obtain a passport, but I had all the necessary stamps in it.