The missing aratiles tree

Whenever I wake up late, I have made a habit of walking to the entrance of our subdivision. The walk lasts for 15 minutes in a straight uphill road with views of greenery at the side.

From our house, I just turn left and follow the straight road, passing by three streets to the left. By the time I reach the last street, the road would start to curve upward and I would be forced to slow down. Houses line the left and slopping hills on the right. Down the hill are plains, gravel roads, banana and mango trees, a few houses. Sometimes, fog would cover the land below. Most of time, it is as green as I always see it the morning.

My road (you'll find out why) does not have the ideal curve for vehicles. As a matter of fact, vehicles seldom traverse this street because it is too steep.

When we first lived in this side of Fairview in 1993, my brother and I would pull our bicycles to the top and slide down. Of course, the glide doesn't always end up perfectly. Sometimes there are sudden vehicles that would show up and we have to either crash or swerve. Sometimes we run into them but most of the time we veer to the left.

There are two roads that I can tread in the morning. The other requires me to turn left on the second street and then right when I reach the church. This street is the main road in the subdivision. It is not as steep as the other one and vehicles pass by most of time. Here, I can always hail a tricycle and have my travel time cut in half.

But there is not much to see in that road. And its always noisy and filled with people.

I always prefer the straight unused way. It allows me to breathe and walk at my own pace. I don't have to worry about people seeing me and me seeing them. I am alone, with myself. I have always loved that -- walking alone.

Halfway through the climb is a lonesome aratiles tree. During the summers, it would fruit in tiny bursts of red and light brown. When it does, the sweet aroma would fill the air and I would look up to see small full fruits clinging in its thin branches. Tempted, I would look around and sometimes stop under its shade. As much as I want to get one small fruit, I would reconsider, and go on my way.

It went on like that for years -- I would always stop, willing to give in, but at the last minute, decide against it.

It had always been an easy choice. There are no constant pulls and push involved. It seems, I always have the reason to not take one fruit: someone might be looking in the windows, I can't reach for it, the dogs might bark when I reach for one, the branches might snap, the owner of the tree might see me from somewhere.

But regardless of the reason, I do tell myself I would get one the following morning or the next time I pass by the tree. It became a secret aim, an unknown goal, a reason to pass through that street morning after morning.

This day, however, was different. On my way up, a tricycle was awkwardly parked at the middle of the slope, selling vegetables. A few homeowners are gossiping and buying and walking. A little girl looked at me when I passed by. She was holding a 500 pesos bill, Ninoy peeks on the surface.

When I passed by the group, I remembered the tree -- my aratiles tree -- and realized it was not where it used to stand. It was gone, vanished. I looked again, down then up. Thrice I did it, but it was still not there.

I have not walked this path for two weeks. And in that little time, my artiles tree has disappeared. And I somehow miss it.

I imagine what would have happened if I had picked one fruit. Just one before it waned. I wondered then, I'm still wondering now.