The Mangkukulam’s Mirror--- Tagalog and English Story

 

Ang Salamin ng Mangkukulam

Sa isang lumang bahay sa gilid ng bundok, may isang salamin na hindi dapat tingnan.
Hindi ito ordinaryong salamin—ito’y gawa ng mangkukulam, hinipan ng dasal, at bininyagan ng luha.

Sabi ng matatanda, kapag tumingin ka rito sa hatinggabi, hindi ang mukha mo ang babalik.
Ang babalik ay ang kasalanan mo.
Ang salitang hindi mo nasabi.
Ang taong iniwan mo.
Ang alaala na pilit mong nililibing.

Isang gabi, bumisita si Lira sa bahay ng kanyang lola. Sa ilalim ng alikabok, nakita niya ang salamin.
Tumitig siya.
At sa salamin, nakita niya ang sarili niyang umiiyak—hindi ngayon, kundi noon.
Ang batang siya, hawak ang liham na hindi niya kailanman ipinadala.

Tumakbo siya palabas. Pero ang salamin ay nanatili.
Tahimik.
Naghihintay.

“Hindi ang mukha ang bumabalik—kundi ang kasalanan.”


The Mangkukulam’s Mirror

In an old house by the mountain’s edge, there is a mirror you should never gaze into.
It is no ordinary mirror—it was crafted by a mangkukulam, breathed upon with prayer, and baptized in tears.

The elders say that if you look into it at midnight, your face will not return.
What returns is your regret.
The word you never said.
The person you left behind.
The memory you keep trying to bury.

One night, Lira visited her grandmother’s house. Beneath the dust, she found the mirror.
She stared.
And in the glass, she saw herself crying—not now, but then.
The child she once was, holding a letter she never sent.

She ran. But the mirror remained.
Silent.
Waiting.

“It’s not your face that returns—but your sin.”


© 2025 Amee  Tala at Dilim Writes

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