Have you ever wondered if the world we live in is truly ours alone?

I've heard countless eerie tales from the people in my province. These chilling stories often involve strange and supernatural occurrences. Recently, I reconnected with my sister, Len-Len, who disappeared from our family when she was just two years old. Our mother fell into a coma due to a severe blockage in her brain, necessitating surgery. At that time, it was just me, my sister Len-Len, and our parents, Ising and Belen. My nickname is Tom.

I was three years old, and Len was two when our parents entrusted me to my grandmother in a remote village at the foot of a mountain in Batangas. My grandmother was eighty-nine years old at the time.

When I turned six, my grandmother began telling me stories. She often mentioned how I used to disappear when I was three years old. They would find me lying face down on the largest roots of various trees like chico, guava, or siniguelas. They once thought I had a mental condition because I would suddenly act out, especially under the intense heat of the sun. Concerned, my uncles, with my father's blessing, decided to take me to a doctor in Candelaria.

I didn't know Len-Len back then. All these memories resurfaced when my mother was in a coma. I was in Batangas, and Len-Len was in Pangasinan.

The doctor found nothing wrong with me. So, that very day, they decided to take me home. On our way back, we stopped at a village to visit my Kakang Igto for lunch. During the trip to the hospital, I had a vision that only I could see—my mother sitting at the far end of the jeep we rented from Mang Ambo. There were only a few of us in the jeep, and I can't remember everyone's names, but I was sure it wasn't full. I lay on the left seat, facing the entrance of the jeep, and I saw my mother at the back. I was certain, but I couldn't speak.

I remained in a daze when we arrived at Kakang Igto's house. While they were setting up lunch, they left me alone in a room, not realizing I would get up. I heard someone bathing in the backyard and instinctively thought it was my mother.

I disappeared again. I woke up a week later in the same village, having been unconscious the entire time.

In my mind, I remember dreaming of a bright door. My mother stood in front of it, her back to me, facing the light. It was the same scene over and over again, accompanied by the smell of incense, the scent of orchids, and the stench of decaying flesh.

During that week, my father found out what was happening to me. So, when I woke up, there he was. That very day, they started asking me questions. They asked, "What's going on with you? Why do you disappear often and where do you go?" They were shocked by my answer and fell silent until I finished my story.

I began telling them:

"I follow Mama... I bathe in the river with the colorful stones... Different colors. I saw Mama in the Jeep... Mama is bathing there."

These were my fragmented and stuttering statements based on my understanding of what was happening. But if you ask me now, I want to add my experiences during those times I went missing and wandered.

From what I remember, there was a mine on one side of the hill that I frequented. And my grandmother's house, made entirely of wood and woven bamboo, was facing away from that hill. Of course, as a child, I needed to play. I started picking up red stones, and sometimes I discovered that there were gold and silver inside these stones when I broke them with larger rocks. Unbeknownst to me, they were gold. I was just fascinated by their sparkle and shine.

I always played with three children who were my age. They taught me a game; we would collect the whitest stones. We would gather all the white stones we found along our way. Then, we would go to a large black rock, as wide as a wall. We would throw the white stones at the large black rock, and they would sparkle upon impact! That was it! Then my playmates would disappear, leaving me crying until I fell asleep.

After I finished telling my story, I heard the words of my father, my aunts, and my older brothers.

"Does Dunggo not know what's happening to his mother? Maybe it's better if you tell your child, Iseng," said Kakang Igto, who was older than my father.

I noticed that my father just kept stroking my hair while his eyes were swollen and teary. The news reached the elders in that village. That's why help started pouring into Kakang Igto's house. Elderly women and men, and I felt scared of them. The elders said, "We should have your child checked by a healer, Iseng. He might be being played with by spirits and supernatural beings!"

Upon hearing the elder's words, everyone started to prepare. They dressed me in a sweater with a rosary hanging inside. I vividly remember how they treated me; I'm telling you, this really happened and it was terrifying.

The elder who first suggested I be treated said, "Everything I say and want, and every path I point to, you will not refuse." He asked me, "Boy, where are you going? Where is your mother?" Suddenly, I pointed in a direction, and we started our journey.

At first, I rode a sled pulled by a carabao with the old woman. All around me were men carrying torches and lamps. The first place we passed was a field not yet planted with rice. Here, I spoke again. I said, "There are many frogs jumping! I'm scared!" So, one of my older brothers carried me on his shoulders.

As we continued walking, I tightly gripped my brother's hair. The elder said, "Let the child be, or something might happen. We will follow his desires."