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My dad says that he has a curse. The curse is that people won't listen to what he has to say. This is one of the stories that he told me about his childhood that no one believed.

My father grew up in the Philippines in a poor family. He lived with his parents and 9 brothers and sisters. Of the nine of them, he was born as the 5th child, the middle of the family.

His family was so poor that they didn't even own a house. Instead, they lived in a shack next to a river that had 2 rooms and a kitchen. The toilet was outside, like a porta-potty, and they took baths in the river.

My father had to sleep in a mat between 4 of his brothers and sisters. Now, there's a Filipino superstition about the child that sleeps in the middle, but he didn't know about it at that time. (It's a different story anyways.)

One night, he suddenly woke up. The lights from the streets would flood into the room through the window, but there was something odd about that night. He looked at the window and was terrified by what he saw...

...There were two disembodied hands with the palms pressed against the glass.

He was so scared that he couldn't even scream. All he could do was close his eyes tightly and pray.

The next morning, when he told his family about what he saw, they dismissed it and made fun of him. No one believed him.

He knows that it was true because that wasn't the only night he saw the hands! Every now and then, he would see the hands pressed against the glass in the middle of the night.

The old shack that his family lived in was torn down later by the government when he was a young adult, and no one has seen the hands since then. I believe my dad's stories though, because I know he's different, and sometimes I think I inherited his curse. I think that his sixth sense is stronger than others', and I can only hope (or fear) that I inherited that too!

yeah... just a tad... *looks out the window*