Seeing an old typewriter reminds me of my teenage days at school.

I remember the Library Building which housed the Library at the northwing, the Computer Lab at the middle, and the Mathematics rooms at the southwing.

Its architectural design was called Gabaldon Building, elevated a few feet above ground with a staircase at the front; it was inspired to a Nipa hut and bahay-na-bato design.

Rumors said that it was used as a hospital during the second World War and the amphitheater beside it was a mass grave for dead soldiers.

Our Geometry class was at the Library Building, in a poorly-lit room with a wooden floor and a high ceiling, the door would always be closed as soon the lecture began.

Huge jalousie windows ligned the left wall of the room, but the towering Mango tree didn’t allow the daylight to flood inside.

Even with the flourescent lights, it was still a bit dark inside—emitting an aura of a subtle authoritarian rule.

There was a dusty typewriter kept as a memorabilia near the window pane, probably left unused after the new computers filled in the Computer Lab and the school offices.

No one realy cares about it, but occasionally it received random taps on its old keys while the metallic entrails locked as it simultaneously hit together.

The old ceiling fans continued to rotate for hours, but can’t barely cool off the warm room.

Plastic arm-chairs were aligned in five by eight rows and colums, but at varying distance, seemingly

I was seated somewhere at the left side of the room near the cabinets by the large jalousie windows.

Math isn’t my forte and even if I liked it a bit, it never liked me back.

So when the lecture deepened, the voice of my Math teacher would slowly fade as my mind began to wander outside those jalousie windows.

The sky peeked at the canopy of the Mango tree, while its leaves waved by the breeze.

I would imagine walking at the narrow path beside the building, just outside the room, jumping over the muddy patches, but fearing what lies the empty space between the high floor and the ground.

What was hiding behind the shadows below the building?

Its secrets could reveal about the untold history of the school.

It took me four years, but the secrets still lurked behind the broken wooden armchairs that barricaded the dark depths—waiting to be discovered.

Miniature Retro Typewriter
Overhead/Front Angle
Governor’s Land GW4682 NO 3
Popsicle Craft with Flat Lacquer
Handpainted (Watercolor)

Miniature Retro Typewriter
Left side/Front Angle
Governor’s Land GW4682 NO 3
Popsicle Craft
Handpainted (Watercolor)

Update: Hate that block editor, really. I still prefer writing in the classic editor, where pressing ENTER key would add a new line instead of a block. This was the cause why some paragraphs got deleted when it transitioned between the two editors. Thankful for the version control of the blog posts, I managed to recover the deleted lines.

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