Silence fell.
Aling Marites’ eyes widened. The tambays stopped strumming their guitars. Even the barking dog went quiet.
Vangie lay sprawled on the ground, clutching her swollen foot. Her English accent vanished instantly.
“Wait a minute,” one tambay said.
“That was Tagalog.”
Marites walked over with a grin.
“Ms. Vanessa? Are you okay? Or should I ask—does it hurt, Mare?”
Vangie’s face turned red with embarrassment. The pain from her sprained ankle was too much to maintain the act.
“M-Marites…” she said tearfully, her normal voice fully back.
“Please help me! It really hurts! I think my bone might be broken!”
The whole barangay burst into laughter.
“There it is! Her tongue came back!” the neighbors teased.
“We thought all you knew was ‘Oh my gosh,’ turns out you also know ‘Ina ko!’”
Vangie had no choice but to accept help. The very tambays she had shooed away earlier carried her into the house.
As a traditional masseuse worked on her foot (on credit, since she had no small change yet), Vangie didn’t speak English anymore.
“Aray! Gently, please, Manang!” she cried.
“Oh,” the masseuse replied,
“Take it easy? Or dahan-dahan? Choose your language, Ma’am.”
Everyone laughed again.
From that day on, Vangie stopped pretending. She realized that no matter how fluent your English is to avoid people borrowing money…
When you get hurt, the truth always comes out—
that you’re a Filipino who instinctively shouts “Aray!” when you trip over the potholes of life.