Affiliate Marketing Secrets

I’m writing about a London girl moving to the Philippines, trying to solve the mysteries of her family’s past in the country. I’m an amateur Filipino writer, and I stayed in England for quite some time, so you can trust me on this one! I just need opinions, perhaps constructive criticism, but not mean remarks. If you didn’t like it, just say it simply. Don’t add harsh words. Some Tagalog words are translated in the story as well, so no worries! As for the title, I don’t have something in mind yet 🙂
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Chapter One: Kaylan
She didn’t know how long she had been sleeping, but when she opened her eyes, everything was clear. A brilliant shade of blue patched with fluffy white clouds in the sky and a line of emerald green trees met her eyes, as the warm summer sun kissed her skin through the untainted car window.
She glanced at her watch, and it said 8:42 – probably 12 midnight or so back home. No, wait. This place with this fine sky, endless row of tranquil trees, and hot weather is also her home. It just makes sense, because her father was born in this country, and it was also here where he grew up and found the love of his life, her mother, whom he barely talks about after the tragic accident that befell their family when she was just a baby.
There was very little she knew about her mother. It was not her favourite colour, or her favourite book. It was not even how she looked. She never saw a single picture of her. It was her handwriting.
Before she left, she stumbled upon a mildew-spotted parcel in the basement. She had never seen it before, and out of curiosity, she undid the dusty ribbon that fastened it, and lifted its lid. Inside were a few letters, old and crisp, carefully folded, and another one inside was a necklace with a framed preserved white aster for a pendant.
She didn’t show her find to anybody. She didn’t want anybody to know that a piece of her life has come into light. Nobody spoke of her mum, or at least, not around her. It was like a long-buried secret, who her mother was. Her name was never uttered. Pictures were never shown. She didn’t even know if her mother was still alive. All she had were a few letters and a necklace. Are they even enough to get to know her? She felt like a lost child once again, constantly longing for her mum.
The taxi turned to a sharp curve, and little by little, the line of trees was gone as houses and local businesses came into view. They stop for a while to pay the toll fee, and accelerated again, though more slowly this time, getting caught in a Saturday morning traffic jam.
Her heart leapt when a woman in rags with a half-clothed baby sleeping in a blanket slung on her shoulder tapped on her window, asking for some change. Her hand motioned to her pockets to fish a few coins, but before she was able to reach out to the beggars, the driver shooed them away. She felt sorry for them. Then, just in time, the red light turned green, and with a left turn, they escaped the congested national road.
They drove past a market, rice fields, and a public school; empty and lonely due to the much-awaited summer break. Children living in tin houses by the road ran carefree, worn out slippers slightly protecting their tiny feet from the hot rocky ground. Mothers were nearby, tending to their daughters’ hair. She suddenly felt jealous of them, and started to wonder what it felt like to have her hair brushed by her own mum.
Shaking the thoughts out of her head, the driver makes a turn once more, entering a subdivision. The houses around were far different from the place she grew up in, they were rather small and pretty tight, but they all looked home-y, compared to her house which seemed more like a whole town itself than a home.
The taxi came to a stop before a bungalow with well-tended flower beds; a flush of periwinkle, grew by the steps that led to the gate, orange cosmos ringed the blue mailbox, and a bush of tiny red flowers lined with the fence.
‘We’re here, ma’am.’ the taxi driver declared.
‘You sure?’
‘Yes, ma’am, 7 Sampaguita street.’
‘OK,’
The driver stepped out of the car, and unloaded her luggage from the trunk. She stepped out as well, and paid the driver, adding a few quid for the tip.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Thank you too, ma’am,’ he tipped his cap, got back into the car, and left.
She took the steps to the gate, and with a deep breath, she gave the tiny bell a ring and waited.
‘Sandali lang!’ Just a moment, a familiar voice from inside said.
Before long she heard the shuffling of slippers, and the front door opening.