“Bat kasi sumuksok ka diyan?!” Tito Ramil shouted, half in panic, half in disbelief.
Inside the old washing machine drum, which had been thrown behind the house, a pair of big brown eyes stared back at him. Miko, all of 8 years old and covered in dirt and grease, blinked slowly. His knees were tucked to his chest. He couldn’t move.
“I just wanted to see kung kasya ako…” he said in a sheepish voice, almost whispering.
“E kasya nga, kaso ngayon di ka na makalabas!” Tito Ramil exclaimed, running a hand through his messy hair. He was trying to keep calm. He had been fixing the fence out back when he heard a faint banging noise. Thinking it was just a cat, he ignored it — until the banging turned into yelling.
Now here he was, kneeling beside the rusty appliance that someone was supposed to take to the junkshop two weeks ago, and trying to figure out how to extract his nephew from a space clearly not meant for humans.
It had started out as a boring Sunday. Miko was stuck at his grandparents’ house in the province. His cousins weren’t visiting that weekend, and he had already played with the chickens, the dog, and even tried fishing in the canal (which ended in frustration and wet shoes).
As he wandered around, his curious eyes caught something strange near the back of the house—an old, cylindrical drum-like object that looked like it had once spun clothes squeaky-clean. Now, it was covered in rust, cobwebs, and surrounded by weeds. Naturally, to a curious boy with nothing better to do, it was an invitation.
He poked it. He kicked it. It didn’t move.
He looked around to see if anyone was watching. Then he stuck his head in. The inside smelled like metal and rain. Spinning around and crawling inside it feet-first, Miko was pleased to discover that he fit—barely. It was like a little rocket ship, or a spaceship, or a superhero’s time capsule.
Then he tried to get out.
That’s when the real fun began.
His hips got stuck first. Then his shoulders. And every time he tried to push out, the drum tilted, threatening to tip over. He yelled. He wiggled. Nothing worked.
Back to the present.
“Teka lang, teka lang…” Tito Ramil muttered, tapping his forehead. “Di tayo puwedeng gumamit ng martilyo… baka tamaan ka. Pwede siguro ang mantika?”
“Mantika?!” Miko cried. “Ayoko po maging lumpia!”
“Joke lang,” Tito Ramil said, chuckling despite himself.
After a few minutes of thinking, Tito Ramil called inside the house. “Ma! Si Miko sumiksik sa loob ng washing machine drum! Di ko maalis!”
Lola Remy waddled outside, towel still on her shoulder, and stopped dead when she saw Miko’s legs sticking out of the drum like some kind of oversized baby being born again.
“Ay susmaryosep! Anak ng tinapa! Bat ka kasi sumuksok diyan, iho?!”
“I was bored po…”
“Bored daw!” Lola waved a hand in the air as if casting away evil spirits. “Anak ka ng artista sa ‘Home Along Da Riles,’ puro kalokohan!”
She leaned closer. “Okay ka lang ba d’yan, anak? Hindi ka naiihi?”
“Hindi po…”
“Eh baka matagal ka d’yan, maiihi ka rin! Teka—Ramil, kunin mo ‘yung coconut oil ko. ‘Yung pang-masahe!”
Moments later, Tito Ramil returned with a bottle of coconut oil and, with careful hands, started smearing it around the edge of the drum and on Miko’s shoulders and hips.
“Para kang litson na iniikot, ‘nephew,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Eventually, after much pushing, pulling, twisting, and a little bit of prayer, Miko popped out of the drum with a loud thud, landing on the grass with a dazed expression.
“Ooof…”
“Hay salamat,” Lola said, pressing a hand to her chest. “Akala ko hihiwain pa namin ‘yang drum para lang mailigtas ka!”
Miko sat up, wiping coconut oil from his face. “Sorry po…”
Tito Ramil ruffled his hair. “Next time, i-assess mo muna kung ‘yung sinusuksukan mo eh may exit plan.”
“I thought I could fit both in and out.”
“You fit in. That doesn’t mean you can fit out, genius,” Tito said with a smirk. “Iba ‘yon.”
Word quickly spread.
By merienda time, the whole barangay seemed to know about “Miko the Drum Explorer.” The neighbors kept dropping by and teasing him.
“Uy, astronaut! Anong feeling ng maging washing machine hero?”
“Miko, magpa-picture naman kami sa next adventure mo ha—baka sa septic tank ka naman susunod!”
Even Lolo Bert, who rarely spoke, chuckled and said, “At least hindi balon, ‘no?”
Miko just smiled sheepishly, holding his plate of banana cue. He was embarrassed, yes, but also kind of proud. At least something interesting had happened.
That night, as he lay in bed, freshly bathed and finally clean of rust and oil, he stared at the ceiling and chuckled to himself.
What a day.
He heard his mom’s voice from the other room talking on the phone.
“Alam mo ba? Anak ko, nasuksok sa lumang washing machine drum. Oo, akalain mo ‘yon. Sabi ko nga, ‘Bat kasi sumuksok ka diyan?!’”
Miko covered his face with a pillow and groaned.
Moral of the Story?
Curiosity is good. Imagination is great. But before you squeeze yourself into something weird, always, always make sure you can get back out.
Because otherwise, you’ll spend the rest of your life explaining how and why you got stuck in a washing machine—and hearing people laugh every single time.
And let’s be real—bat kasi sumuksok ka diyan?
