The Fabric of Us

A wave of sadness washed over me once again upon realizing that we now had a new place to call home. We just travelled down the road and just found ourselves on a narrow, overgrown road. Towering trees loomed all around. We turned onto a small path and eventually came to a stop.

When we stopped, I helped unload our belongings. At first, I barely paid attention to the house, but when I finally take a good look, I was filled with awe.

The house stood tall, with sturdy stone and brick pillars and foundations that spoke of its resilience against storms and time. The upper walls and windows were crafted from nara or molave wood, smooth with a natural sheen that brought warmth and life to every corner.

The windows were fitted with capiz shells, delicately woven to act as translucent panes; sunlight filtered through them, and soft breezes drifted in. Surrounding the house was a long balcony. The roof was high and gable-shaped, made of clay tiles.

From the outside, the house bore the marks of age. Yet, its beauty and strength were undeniable. I glanced at my father, whose face reflected amazement. Surely, anyone who will see it would feel the same.

"It's been a long time since anyone lived here. Most of the family lives far away, and some already have their own homes," Uncle Manuel explained, carrying some of our things.

"Some are afraid to stay here, but we didn't forget to visit and clean the inside from time to time, so there won't be much to clean," he added as he led us inside.

The house was surrounded by trees, providing a cool freshness. Yet it was undeniably eerie, standing alone in what felt like the heart of the forest. Some plants were growing, but none thrived—proof that no one had lived here for a long time.

Stepping inside, my sense of wonder just grew bigger. I roamed my eyes aroud the house.

Inside was a spacious place with wooden floors and antique furniture; intricately carved chairs, and finely made tables that surely held stories from many years past. I may not see everything from where I am standing, I just know that there are more to these masterpieces of the past.

At the center of the house was a large foyer where family members probably gathered for special occasions. The walls seemed to hold shadowy secrets of the past, adorned with ancestral portraits and decorations bridging the old and the present.

We settled our things and sat in the living room to rest for a while.

This house was more than just a foundation for living—it was a living memory of generations, I thought to myself.

"Nora, pick any room you want. Each one's already got everything you need, so just pick whichever you'll like," uncle said to me amid their conversation with my dad.

"Okay, Uncle. I'll check them out later," I answered. They went back to their conversation.

I leaned my head against the sofa and closed my eyes for a bit.

"Leonora... Nora," I heard a soft whisper.

I opened my eyes, planning to ask my dad what it was about, but I saw they were still talking seriously. So, I just ignored it.

Instead, I stood up from where I was sitting. I wanted to look around the house and pick a room to stay in.

I told my uncle I was going to look around, then started wandering through the house. At first, it seemed small, but it actually had a lot of rooms. From the middle of the house, I headed toward the entrance. The design and vibe of the house really impressed me, so I wanted to check out the place carefully.

I started roaming around and as I walked through the dimly lit hallways, my footsteps echoed softly against the wooden floors. The air was thick with a mix of dust and the faint scent of old wood, but it somehow felt comforting, like the house was welcoming me quietly.

I passed by several rooms, each telling its own story. Some had faded wallpaper peeling at the edges. A slight chill ran down my spine, but curiosity pushed me forward. Well, it's old so what am I expecting, I thought to myself.

At one point, I found a small study near the back—situated on the corner making it the last room of the corridor. The shelves were filled with leather-bound books, their spines worn but I can see they are cared for. A sturdy desk is beneath a window, scattered with old letters and yellowed papers. I ran my fingers over the surface, imagining the lives that had unfolded here.

Out of nowhere, the whisper came again, softer this time.

"Leonora…"

I froze, heart pounding. Turning around, the room remained empty, but the feeling of being watched lingered. Shaking it off, I told myself it was just my imagination.

I continued my exploration until I came upon a door that was slightly open. Pushing it to open fully, I stepped into what must have been a bedroom. Sunlight filtered in through the capiz windows, casting dancing patterns on the walls. The bed was neatly made. A small wooden chest sat at the foot of the bed, tempting me to open it.

Reaching out, my fingers brushed the lid, and something inside clicked. I hesitated but curiousity got the better of me, so I slowly lifted the chest's cover.

Inside were old photographs, some black and white, others faded. Family portraits, children playing, celebrations long past. I felt a sudden connection to those faces—strangers, yet my own flesh and blood.

Just then, the soft murmur came again, clearer now.

"Nora…"

I whispered back, "I'm here."

A peaceful silence followed, as if the house itself was welcoming me home.

Downstairs, I heard the faint sounds of my father and uncle talking, their voices blending with the gentle rustling of leaves outside.

I knew then that this house, with all its history and memories, was going to be our refuge—a place where new stories would be woven into the fabric of the past.

With a renewed sense of hope, I closed the chest, took one last look around the room, and made my way back to the living area.

"Uncle," I said softly, "I think I've found the room I want."

He smiled warmly, nodding.

"Good choice, Nora. Welcome home."