The smell is unmistakable, and yet I must be mistaken. Here in the Philippines, drug use is a serious offense, and punishments are severe. Until recently, carrying a sizable quantity of the green stuff guaranteed the death penalty.

I stand in the upstairs living room, look into the vacant lot next door, and watch as plumes of smoke carry the familiar smell of marijuana over the neighborhood. The smell drifts high and sinks low, contaminating everything it touches with the heady aroma I am so familiar with. 

I ask my brother what it is they're burning, and he laughs. "They tell me they're just burning leaves, shrubs, whatever is growing in the empty lot, but I don't buy it."

"Late at night, I see neighbors sneaking in and carrying something away."

 I wonder what will happen when someone finally buys the lot next door.

Maria Elizabeth Rubio