THE MOUNTAIN CALLS (Chapter 1)

The warm sea breeze brushed Rosi’s skin as she sat on a weathered trunk along the shore. Her hands sifted through the fine, powder-like sand while her feet burrowed into its heat. In front of her, the sunlight danced over the glimmering surface of the water. It was the middle of July—a time when the Philippines should have been under the spell of the southwest monsoon, the “habagat,” with its fierce waves and cloudy skies. Yet, on this day, the weather was surprisingly calm and inviting. 

 The whole family had come to celebrate the birthday of Uncle Romi, her mother’s younger brother. Such gatherings were rare, happening only on birthdays or Christmas—sometimes at home, other times by the sea like today. Protected by a generous layer of sunblock, Rosi stayed uncovered beneath the blazing sun, her gaze fixed somewhere far away, her mind drifting even farther. Her mother called her name several times, but the calls seemed to sink into the waves. 

 From the kitchen, Mrs. Wein watched her daughter. Curious, she filled two glasses with water, slipped on her favorite pink Hawaiian slippers, and made her way to Rosi. Sitting beside her, she handed her the glass. 

 “You’re not getting a stiff neck, are you?” she asked calmly, though she had been agitated by Rosi’s silence earlier. 

“I was thinking about something, Mom,” Rosi murmured. 

“And what’s going on in that little mind of yours, huh?” her mother teased. 

“Little mind? Really? You know, there’s a study that says kids’ brains mostly come from their mothers. So, if mine is tiny, yours must be too!” Rosi grinned, trying to break the seriousness. 

 Mrs. Wein laughed, but deep down she sensed her daughter was hiding something. She prayed that whatever it was would be about something joyful—a relationship, perhaps, or even a wedding. 

 “Lunch is ready! Come on, everyone!” Rosi’s sister, Rodaina, called from the beachside table she had decorated herself. Creative and meticulous, she had planned every detail: a simple lunch by the shore, dinner by a bonfire, tents pitched under the moonlit sky. The smell of roasted lechon filled the air, making the small family of fifteen giggle with anticipation. 

 But as they gathered to pray, Rodaina noticed someone missing. 

“Where’s Rosi?” she asked. The family began to search, voices calling her name as though she were lost. 

 Then, from the kitchen, cousin Dani shouted, “She’s in the bathroom!” “You can start eating, or wait for me for years!” came Rosi’s voice, sharp and impatient. 

 Inside, she was perched on the toilet, scrolling through Instagram as she often did—losing track of time. A mountain climber from Cebu had caught her attention with his breathtaking, well-crafted posts, and she was lost in his world when a sudden loud knock startled her. Her phone slipped from her hands and plunged into a pail of water. 

 “No! No! No! Noooo!” she cried, her frustration echoing in the small space. Storming out moments later, she slammed her bedroom door and locked it. 

 Her family exchanged puzzled looks. Nine-year-old Rima, the one who had knocked on the door with her sandal, now stood in the kitchen crying, guilt washing over her. Rodaina went to check on Rosi, hearing things clatter to the floor inside the room, followed by the sound of her crying like a child. 

 “Close your window, or we’ll think we have another roasted pig for dinner!” Rodaina called playfully through the door. Silence. Then another burst of sobs. She gave up, returned to the celebration, and turned the music louder. 

 “She okay?” Mrs. Wein asked. 

“She just needs a moment,” Rodaina replied. 

 By four in the afternoon, Rosi emerged. Her five-year-old phone was dead, the SIM card removed. Hunger gnawed at her after skipping lunch, so she took a plate of food from the table and sat alone, her back to her family. They lounged by the shore, swam, or chatted, but she ate quietly, chewing through the weight of the day. 

 Her mind replayed the morning—how everything had tumbled like dominos after one message from a fake account: a photo of her boyfriend kissing an officemate, drunk in a club. She had been excited for this vacation, but the joy had slipped away without warning. 

 She remembered something her favorite TEDx speaker once said: “Since you cannot turn back what’s done, think of the things that can still be managed.” The words echoed in her mind, but her heart felt heavy. Without realizing it, she pressed the knife into the fruit on her plate, cracking it clean in two.