When one of my batchmates called and urged me to join our reunion, I didn’t hesitate—I traveled immediately. The alumni had long been notified about the gathering, but for some reason, I hadn’t felt excited. I was only compelled to attend after reading something on Facebook about a terrible incident involving one of our classmates. We were shocked to hear that what happened to her wasn’t due to an ordinary illness.

The program was lively and well-prepared by the hosting batch. However, my classmates and I couldn’t fully enjoy it because Spicy wasn’t there. She was our class president, highly active in all school activities, and had almost all admirable qualities. Many were envious of her because she was the complete “beauty-and-brains” package and had plenty of admirers. A lot of us expected her to be the valedictorian, but we were surprised when Ana, the quiet one, got it. There were rumors at school that Ana was favored because she was kind and obedient—unlike Spicy, who was too idealistic. She clashed with teachers and students alike. Even in high school, she was already outspoken about rights and truth. But despite her attitude, we—her close friends—always supported her. Maybe that’s what deep friendship is: tolerating each other’s flaws.

Those of us closest to Spicy didn’t stay long at the venue. We decided to visit her at home. Honestly, it had been five years since I last saw her in person. We were shocked to learn that she pursued a teaching career—we thought for sure she’d be a lawyer because of her strong activist vibe. There were even gossips that she had been recruited by rebels. Some believed it, especially after rumors spread that she had run away from home. People speculated she eloped with her boyfriend. Even though we were close in high school, we rarely saw each other after graduation because her parents sent her to school in Luzon. She had a Facebook account but rarely posted pictures—most of her posts were criticisms of the education system and of her allegedly “unprofessional” co-teachers. According to gossip, she had many enemies at the school she was assigned to. Even students didn’t like her idealism. She was strict, unbending, and many parents went to the office to complain about her.

We felt deep pity for Spicy when our classmate told us that she was diagnosed with uterine cancer. Her stomach had swollen—at first, she and her husband thought she was pregnant. But an ultrasound revealed it wasn’t a baby, but cancerous growths. Many who disliked her said she was cursed because of her bad attitude. What sent chills down our spine was the rumor that Spicy had been hexed.

According to the gossips, there was a Grade 7 student whom Spicy had failed to promote to Grade 8. The parents were furious because their child was not passed due to being troublesome. The parents even approached the principal, asking Spicy to reconsider, but she stood by her decision. When she fell ill, many suspected she had been cursed. The student’s parents were blamed, though they strongly denied it.

When we arrived at Spicy’s place, we couldn’t believe what we saw. She was renting a house that was barely better than a shack. She had sold her belongings and was drowning in debt. She had spent so much on hospitalization and medicines—and on top of it all, her husband had left her.

When we asked politely for her, no one answered immediately. Eventually, an old woman approached us and introduced herself as Spicy’s neighbor. “She’s inside… just lying down all the time. Some relatives visit but rarely. She used to be so strong-willed… and now, her illness made it worse. She doesn’t want people to pity her.” When the woman opened the door, a foul smell greeted us, and we almost gagged. The house was tiny, just one small room, no bedroom. In one corner was a bed where she lay. We weren’t sure if she heard us enter, as she was facing the wall.

“Ma’am, your high school classmates are here to visit you,” the old woman said. Spicy moved and tried to face us but struggled, so we helped her. “I don’t think I have much time left,” she said in a very weak voice. She looked at each of us, and her face lit up with a faint smile, but it quickly twisted in pain again.

Back in high school, Spicy once said she didn’t believe in superstitions. Her parents were secretly atheists. She didn’t even attend mass at school. She laughed at the rumors that she was cursed. She was the only science teacher who didn’t believe in witchcraft. But as we stared at her condition, we couldn’t help but believe she had been hexed. Her stomach looked as big as a woman nine months pregnant.

“This must be karma… I was a real pain back then. Forgive me for meeting you all in this state. How the mighty has fallen!” she laughed bitterly, then sighed deeply. When it grew quiet, she asked about our lives. We each shared updates, eventually reminiscing about our high school days. There were laughs, and for a moment, forgotten memories returned. But suddenly, she screamed, “The pain! I can’t take it anymore! Lord, please don’t let me suffer like this!” Some of us couldn’t bear to see her and turned away, crying. I immediately called for rescue, and in a few minutes, they arrived. We rushed her to the hospital. Each of us contributed some money. But it was too late—by nightfall, she had passed away.

Written by Jeffry Tim Tinga