I WAS walking along Guava Street that day, with my mother's order of salt and red eggs for the breakfast meal.

Everything seemed to be perfectly fine. 

Old Mr. Corpus was hobbling down the road with the neighborhood's favorite pet, Max the dog. Little Ana was rushing out of her house, sandwich in one hand and shoe in other, chasing after the rickety school bus. Aling Toyang was heading home from the market with her baskets of fresh fish, bright red tomatoes, and lush green veggies. I was walking, walking along, left-step, right-step, when I turned on Mango Drive.

Lo and behold! My house with its freshly painted walls and its bright green shingles was gone! There stood in its place, towering high above the neighbor's houses, a great mountain of spaghetti! I stopped short, stunned with the sight. The noodles were thicker and wider than the trunks of the mango trees around me. 

The deep red sauce was sliding down the noodles, like hot lava from a volcano. And to crown this great mount was a single, colossal meatball, as large as boulders on a mountainside. As the noodles steamed from underneath the heavy sauce, I could smell the sweet mixture of whole tomatoes, fragrant herbs, and scrumptious cheese. The single, great meatball was calling out to me. The white Parmesan cheese that dusted the meatball was all the more tempting.

I hungrily stepped forward to climb the mountain. But as I flung my arms around one spaghetti noodle, I slid right back down to the ground. So I decided to walk around Mount Spaghetti to find a spaghetti noodle that was better cooked. 

As soon as I found one, I climbed toward the center of the mountain of spaghetti. Climbing it was harder than climbing an ordinary tree because the noodles were ever so thick and some were slippery. Others were so soft that they turned too mush as soon as I climbed them. As I neared the center, I realized that the sauce at the top was still steaming, and so I decided to wait until it had cooled down. I gazed at the vast horizon before me. 

I could see my entire neighborhood! The people looked like little ants marching back and forth. The jeepneys and tricycles looked like lazy beetle bugs, passing each other by. I could see my school at a distance, with children running about like frenzied mites on the ground.

Then suddenly, I felt the great mountain shake and rumble. As I turned around to look, deep red tomato sauce rushed down the noodles like a flood. The magnificent meatball trembled in its place. Diving through the jumble to avoid the steaming sauce, I slid, tossed, tripped, and tumbled through the mass of noodles while the burning sauce chased me far, far down the mountain. Finally, as I neared the ground, I took a great leap toward the sidewalk. I lay on my belly for awhile, exhausted by the chase.

"Paolo!!!" 

It was my mother's voice! But where was she? I had to get her out of the steaming sauce's way! I looked up, and there she was, hovering above me. 

"C'mon Paolo, time for your breakfast. I can't wait for you forever, you know," she said. 

I peeped behind my mother, and there was my home, with its freshly painted walls and its bright green shingles. I looked all around me, but everything was just the same as it used to be. So I followed my mother back inside the house.

"Can we have spaghetti for lunch, Mom?"

Elisa, 21, graduated from the Ateneo de Manila University.
Lyra is the creator of "The Adventures of Atomo and Weboy, the Buddha Bear. She is a member of Ang Ilustrador ng Kabataan.

An Acrostic for
Grandma and Grandpa
By Ana S. Abundo
Illustration by Paolo Lim

G reat
R adiant
A na loves her
N ice
D og lover
M aster
A ctive

G rand
R esting
A ffluent
N o hair
D ancing grandpa
P artly Chinese
A na loves him too.