World Oceans
I've heard people tell me that once you lose something, it's not going to come back. I've been teased for holding on to the hope that you’d come back, that you’d keep to your promise of returning to me. They say it’s pointless to believe in such, but I know better than to listen to mere small-minded talk. I’ve believed in bigger things than this, and I know better than they do. I just know you’d come back.
I sit by the edge of the harbor where we’ve last said our goodbyes to each other, remembering the day you’ve gone to report for the war. Unlike today’s gray skies, the heavens above us then has been streaked with wispy cirrus clouds that has then scattered the bright morning sun all around us. The harbor has then looked so vivid with various banners and posters of support for our troops where you’ve since enlisted as has been mandatory for young men like you. All around us have been parents saying their farewells and well-wishes to their sons, sisters to their brothers, women to their lovers. We’ve been lovers for so long but still so young at heart. We’ve believed that this war would be over soon and that farewells aren’t necessary since you’re good at fighting your enemies. We would then promise each other that you’d come back in one piece and that we’d be together again very soon.
Today’s much drearier than that day three years ago. The harbor’s much quieter too compared to then. The only other people who come around this time of the day are elderly couples taking long afternoon walks along the seashore and children collecting seashells. With these sights around me, it’s hard to believe that there’s even a war going on.
“Oh, have you heard the radio today? They say the Japanese have surrendered.”
I catch a trio of elderly men walking by and decide to catch some more of their conversation, intrigued at the notion of this hell of a war coming to an end.
“They have? Well it’s about time. If only those American reinforcements came in sooner, they’d have surrendered much sooner.”
“Let’s just be glad it’s finally over. I just can’t wait to see my son again.”
“Same here. All I ever know of my son comes from the letters he writes me. I hope he comes back in one piece.”
“In this war? You’d be lucky to have him back alive at all.”
I fall onto my knees as the men walk further on, astounded. I haven’t got any word from him, and now I find out the war is over. I don’t even understand why he’s stopped writing to me. I’ve used to receive his letters dated daily every week, but since I’ve started to frequent the harbor nearly every day awaiting his return, the letters have also stopped coming. I too would write to him every day, but since his letters have stopped coming, so have I stopped writing. I may have simply feared for the worst.
In spite of our communication coming to a halt, I’d still come wait for the ship that would carry him back home. Even though it seems hopeless in the relentlessness of war, I still believe he’ll come back one way or another. Even if he comes back with an amputated limb, I know he’ll make it back here alive.
There where the horizon meets the sea, a black shape comes into view. I figure it to be a large ship sailing to this harbor. Knowing that the war’s finally over, this could contain the shipment of soldiers who’ve survived the war and are now coming back home. I only hope that he too is on that boat with them.
For a ship of her size, she seems to be moving really fast since she docks here in so little time. With the boat anchored down, the ramps come rolling down for the passengers to alight. Like I’ve guessed, survivors of the war walk down the ramp like it’s their first time in a new land. Most of them have been wounded in more ways than one, but they look so happy to be back home safe and sound. Some of them have even teared up the moment they step foot onto the land out of relief. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight, for this right here shows that they’ve fought for the nation and lived to tell the tales of their heroic acts. No matter how glad I seem to be for them, I could only receive the rest of my happiness for the sight of him walking with them down that ramp.
Then I finally see him walking with his comrades, his face more relieved than ever to be back home. He looks up at the sky as though this sky’s different from that of the war-torn towns he’s had to defend. Amazingly he’s returned in one whole piece. The war though has worm him out wearily, aging his face a whole decade older in those three years. Even though he looks older, I recognize him by that swagger that controls his walk, that infectious smile, those smoldering brown eyes. I know that he’s the man I’ve come to love, the one who’d take me out on weekend picnics by the seashore, the soldier who’s promised to come back and reunite us once more.
I run towards him out of excitement, brushing my way past wounded soldiers. With arms wide open and a big goofy smile on my face, I attack him with a big old hug only to go right through him. Figuring that I’ve merely missed my mark, I go for a hug from behind only to find my arms going right through him. He continues to walk on as I fall to my knees utterly confused.
Why couldn’t I hold him?
I follow him walking along the seashore right to the spot where I’ve been waiting for him all these days, where we’ve so long ago said our pre-war promises, where we’ve last held each other. Suddenly his face falters, his eyes welling up with tears. From his pocket he produces a worn-out letter most likely folded away right after his first reading of it. I care not to read its contents, intent on his intentions.
“My love, I’ve come back in one piece just like I promised.”
Why’s he talking like I’m not here? I’m just right here beside him. Can’t he even see me?
“I hope you’re doing well wherever you are. Gosh, war is hell. I wouldn’t want to do that again even if it meant saving the nation. It’s just all too much for me in so little time.
“The one thing that got me through the war though were your letters. Reading about your daily life brought my spirits up, no matter how mundane your days seemed to be. I’d write you back too as lovers would, but eventually I stopped when I found out about you.
“Your brother wrote to me that you’d suffered immensely during my absence, losing your appetite for much else. You grew delirious and depressed until you kept to this spot at the harbor, waiting until you died of starvation.
“You slowly killed yourself over me, you know."
I watch him cry as he looks at the crumpled letter in his hand with tears up in his eyes. I cry as I struggle to touch him to no avail. I could only sit back and cry.
“When I got this letter, it destroyed me. I didn’t feel like continuing on. I wanted the war to kill me, but I realized that I still had my family counting on me since I’m the only son. Eventually I changed my reason to keep fighting—from fighting for you to fighting for my family. I honestly didn’t think I’d survive, but here I am now in one piece. I guess I got my luck to thank for that.
“Now that I’m here at this spot once more, I’m reminded of you again and of how much I miss you. I miss your laugh, your smile, the dimples in your cheeks when you smile, that twinkle in your eyes every time I was with you. I miss our weekend picnics here, our tandem bicycle rides around town, our weekly halo-halo ritual there at Manang’s ice cream parlor down the street. I miss you being here with me.
“It’s too late for me now to make it all up to you after everything I’ve gone through. I’ll just go now and pay my respects to your grave. Even thinking it feels uncomfortable, but it’s all I can do now."
I try to hold him once more as he turns to walk back home, his intent hesitant and regretful. I manage to solidly touch him, but he doesn't react. I could merely hold him without him feeling it at all.
“I miss you. I love you. Until we meet again, take care.”
Water a Flower
I’ve grown up with flowers. I don’t remember the very first time I held one, but I bet my little hands would’ve uncontrollably crushed it. I do recall holding one when I was little, but that was all thanks to pictures of three-year-old me as a flower girl at a wedding. Perhaps then, it has not been an actual flower I held but rather an assortment of red and white rose petals that I was tasked to sprinkle all over the aisle as the rest of the entourage walked on. I had no idea whose wedding that was, but then I’d realized how delicate the petals alone were and so cherished such daintiness.
“Look, Mother. I got you something.”
It does not take me long to notice that there are fake flowers alongside the real ones. I’ve always thought up to then that all flowers are the same, that nothing can replicate their beauteous and fragile nature. At an age though when one begins to understand the world a whole lot more and to differentiate by adjectives and observations, my realizations have saddened me. There can be nothing so truly unique anymore; all you need to do is copy one.
“Come my son, what is it?”
As my little boy moves my knitting needles and yarn aside to sit on my lap, he brings out a flower so white it couldn’t have been marred by anything. Its trumpet-like bloom is surprisingly unbent; I couldn’t think his clumsy hands would’ve cleverly hidden this beauty away. I look at my son, his eyes agleam with pride. I could only look on with horror.
“Love, what is this?”
“It’s a lily. I plucked it from your flower garden outside just for you.”
“You’re not supposed to pick from that part of the garden. You know fully well.”
“I know, but this one’s just so pretty I wanted you to see it.”
“You could’ve just called me to it. Well it doesn’t matter now. Just throw it away.”
Doing as he’s told, his face reflects dejection and rejection. As much as I sympathize with him, I’ve already warned him not to pick such flowers from my garden. They hold a particular significance, and he should’ve understood now by this time. I return to my knitting, only to stop at the sound of his footsteps approaching me.
“You don’t have to keep planting more lilies, you know. It’s not like you’re using them to replace the ones in his vase.”
“I’ve told you not to mention that.”
“But they’re no good just growing outside. Your over-planting has made them slowly take over your garden.”
“They grow as I please. They’re beautiful that way.”
“They’re not going to replace Father that way.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He ran out on us, didn’t he?”
I stop and stare out the window, stunned that he’d known. I’ve never completely told him the reason behind the lilies. I’ve always made up some whole other story for the white flowers, but I’ve never once hinted at the truth. I’ve told stories of how he’s working away or busy with some family matters, but I’ve never clued my child in on what’s real.
“Mother, you have no ring on. I never found any hint of a ring either. I figured you and Father had me by accident, but then he left when he found out.”
I couldn’t say more. I let the tears streaming down my cheeks express what I feel as a reel of bad memories start to play in my mind, each one a painful reminder of a love once dreamed of but now lost, of an affair quite foolish but still too good to be true, of a commitment once unbreakable but now irreparable. I’d pushed all these to the back of my mind for they’ve been a dark chapter in my life, but now they’ve come back out under the limelight, reminding me once more of mistakes made that can be no more fixed.
He goes back to the trash can and retrieves the lily I’ve just asked him to throw away, analyzing it carefully. “The lily was his favorite flower, wasn’t it?”
I nod in silence, still a shaken and teary-eyed mess as I stand and move towards the window overlooking my flower garden. “He’s not really into flowers, but he has a thing for lilies.”
“Was he beautiful?”
I smile amidst tears. “Even more so than that beautiful lily in your hands. The ones in the vase over there were from him, the last time he ever came here.”
“Those ones are fake though, not like the real ones growing outside.”
“They’re fake because he believed our love would last forever like them.”
“Why plant some more outside then?”
“I happen to love lilies too.”
“Don’t you want to forget about him? I mean he didn’t want to be my father, so he definitely didn’t want to be your husband.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple, son. Besides, he is a parent now, so I bet he’ll come back. He’s got responsibilities.”
I watch my son shake his head angrily, crumpling the lily before throwing it away once more. “Why hold on forever to something so fake? You’re not going to feel better with all those lilies outside reminding you even more of him. He’s not coming back, Mother.”
Taking the vase of lilies with him, my distraught son runs up the stairs and throws the lilies out the staircase window. He’s never looked so relieved this whole day. “He’s not worth it, Mother. I think you should do the same too.”
Hearing Awareness
I love my lola’s love for music. I remember coming to her house and hearing her old record player fill the place with music. Oh, how the notes would dance around in invisible patterns. Even though the player itself looks pretty obsolete, its rusty echoes have always played the most beautiful songs. On rare occasions, she’d try to play her music instead through the home theater her estranged son has given her before, but nothing compares to the sound of her music through that old player.
Every time I come over, I’d guess who’s singing or playing on the records she’d play aloud. It’s become a game between me and her, and she’d reward me with halo-halo or mais con hielo or fruit salad, anything as long as it’d cool me down from the rather unforgiving tropical heat. It does not take me long to eventually take up the art of playing an instrument so as to follow along my grandmother’s love for the art. I’ve soon gotten good at the guitar and would often bring my own to my lola’s house, serenading her in the times she’d let her record player rest. I love her world of music, and I couldn’t just let go of it.
“Hi lola, I’m here. I got some pretty good news.”
I run up to my lola standing by the door, her arms outstretched and prepared for my embrace. After a big old hug, I take her hand and raise its back to my forehead as she leads me into the living room where her music plays. This time she’s using the home theater. Maybe I don’t remember well, but her music sounds louder now than the last time I’ve been here. It must be my ears just playing with me.
“It’s good to see you again after so long, hijo. Before you go spouting off about your good news, do you remember our little game?”
I laugh at the thought. “It’s Pavarotti singing ‘La Donna e Mobile’ from Verdi’s Rigoletto.”
My lola chuckles as she passes me a coco jam sandwich to snack on. “Oh, you’re right again. What’s this good news then you’re talking about?”
“You know how I’ve been part of my friend’s band ever since I picked up the guitar? Well my friend showed a clip of our rehearsal to this talent scout, and now he wants us to play at this inter-school battle-of-the-bands thing.”
“That’s great news, apo. When will it be?”
“It’ll be this weekend. I was hoping you could come see our set, cheer us on and all. It’ll mean a lot since it’s our first official show, even if it’s for a contest.”
“Won’t your parents be there?”
“No, they’re on a business trip.”
“Well, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
We embrace once more, but this hug feels different. We’ve hugged each other so many times in the past it’s almost routine, but this one carries with it a tinge of sadness. I’m probably just picking up on things that aren’t actually here. I must be imagining.
I head on outside ahead of my lola following me. “Well I better get going. Sorry I coudn’t stay long, but I still got to practice for the big night. I’ll see you then, lola?”
“I’ll be there.”
Her smile seems warm with a hint of grief, but I couldn’t place it anywhere amidst her excitement. She looks excited enough as I run to my friend’s studio already late but nervous for the big show. I have to make this good, all for her and for her music.
At last the night of the show’s arrived, and I couldn’t be any more nervous. I look outside from behind the curtain and instantly find my lola seated right by the stage, right where my amp’s hooked up. Ignorant of everyone else around her, she looks pretty excited. I hide away the moment she finds me peeking.
“Whoa man, you’re pretty nervous. That’s not just today; you’ve been nervous this whole week.”
“Sorry guys, I just really want to put on a good show for my lola. She’s sitting there at the front.”
“Shouldn’t you be more worried about the scout? If he likes what he sees, he could get us a recording deal.”
“Yeah I know about that, but my lola’s got some refined taste in music. I just hope our music won’t upset her.”
“She’ll definitely appreciate you for showing off your skills. You picked up the guitar because of her, didn’t you?”
I smile amidst the nerves wracking all over. Worrying about the talent scout’s one thing, but disappointing my lola’s a whole other story. I just couldn’t let that happen. I have to play good.
Being saved ‘the best for last’, our set finally comes on. The moment I step onto that stage, all prior fears leave my system rendering me more confident than ever. As soon as I hook my guitar up to the amp, I feel like I’ve been doing this my whole life, like I’ve been born a rockstar. With my fingers sliding down frets and curved into chords, I could feel my hands almost melting away and being one with the guitar. I’ve never felt more awesome in my life.
I sneak a glimpse of my lola inched ever closer to the stage, her smile so much bigger than ever. I’ve never seen her more excited for my music until now. She’s getting really into it.
“Hey man, I think your lola digs our music.”
I could only laugh back at our drummer. “Yeah, I didn’t think she’d have a thing for rock music.”
The rest of our set goes by flawlessly. No missed notes, no funny beats–not a thing’s out of place. The audience seems to really love our set. Even the scout who found us would sneakily bang his head every now and then. My lola seems to be going along with the audience, banging her head with her hands up. This is definitely the coolest I’ve ever seen her. I don’t think I can ever forget this sight of her.
Just as quickly as it’s started, our set’s over. We head on backstage congratulating everyone for a job well done when our scout makes his backstage and finds us. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him, and already his big smile tells us all what we want to hear.
“Great job, you guys. You did me proud.” He hands us his card with a quick flick of his wrist. “How about that recording deal? Say we meet up on Wednesday after school at the office?”
He leaves us aghast as he makes his way out backstage. We wait for the door to fully close before we exclaim our excitement over this amazing sequence of events. We go for a long group hug complete with tears of joy and words of gratitude for everything that’s happened. The stage management crew could not look away from the hysteria of our band, but we can hardly contain ourselves. We’ve never thought we’d get this far in such a short period of time. It’ all just overwhelming.
I look outside to find my lola gone from her seat. I look at my watch on time and find that it’s past eleven at night. She must’ve gone home for her bedtime already, but I don’t understand why she’d want to go without a goodbye. I suppose I’ll just come over tomorrow to tell her this awesome news.
The following day, I head to my lola’s house. To my surprise, it’s quiet, too quiet. I’ve never been to this house when there’s no music playing. I’ve always heard music playing aloud at this house, but this time’s different. Without her music playing, this place feels sad and lonely. It bewilders me, but I head inside anyway like it’s no big deal.
I immediately find her quietly knitting a pair of earmuffs in the living room, the ones she’d promised she’d make me for my next Christmas trip to Japan. I greet her as usual, but she doesn’t budge. I continue to call her but receive no reply. I turn to face her, crouching down by her side as I take her hand and raise its back to my forehead. She turns to face me with a smile awash in tears. I couldn’t understand why until she hands me a letter once folded up in her hand and beckons I read it.
“My dearest apo, I loved your show last night. You were amazing. I honestly didn’t think I’d bear with rock music since you know my tastes in music, but yours is nothing like the noise other old people like me would complain about. You charmed the audience, and you charmed me. I’m happy you invited me to come see your show. Like I said, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Forgive me for leaving too soon, but the energy of it all just got to me. I hope you understand, especially since I’m not as young and eager as you.
“Hijo, I’ve kept something secret for a while now.. I didn’t want to tell you for it would only break your heart and crush your dreams of a career in music, but now that it’s happened, I don’t think I can hide this anymore.
“I’ve been losing my hearing bit by bit over the years. Last week at my last checkup, my doctor warned me that I’d completely lose my hearing any day soon. I took the news with a heavy heart and wasn’t sure how to tell you since you were getting so good with the guitar, so I kept quiet about it. When you told me about your show, I prayed that your show would be the last piece of music that my ailing ears would hear. God granted me that wish, and I enjoyed what I heard. I thank you for blessing my dying sense of hearing with your music.
“This morning was the first time I’ve woken up without the songs of the birds chirping outside my window, without the the crow of a rooster, without the roar of my neighbor’s lawn mower trimming the grass on his front yard. I’ve never had a quieter morning than today, and I cried because I couldn’t hear anymore. I can’t ever hear your sound again. I can’t hear my sound again. I can’t hear anyone’s sound again.
“I’m deaf now. That’s my secret.
“I’m so sorry, anak.
“Thank you for that last gift of music. You were wonderful.”
Hot Air Balloon
I hate heights. I have an insane fear of them since I've been a little boy. I don't personally remember why, though my mother claims it's because my father would toss me too high up into the air. I don't blame her; I've seen pictures and believe her even if I don't believe that's the whole truth. Regardless, the thought of looking over a particularly high place frightens me to the core.
Over the years, my strengthening faith in the Lord Jesus Christ has slowly turned my acrophobia around. The older I've gotten, the more my fears have slowly diminished. I've learned that we don't have to be afraid because Jesus has sent us each a guardian angel to watch over us and keep us from harm's way. I've believed in it so much that I doubt I'm ever alone anymore. I don't personally mind the feeling since it comforts me in the worst of times. I like knowing that I have someone always watching over me and making sure I'm alright.
"Hey baby, thanks for taking me out today. I've never been in a hot air balloon before."
Since conquering my fear of heights, I've since taken up the hobby of flying hot air balloons. I enjoy its slow pace and the panorama of sights that bless my gaze every time I'm up there. For someone as devoutly religious as me, this hobby's the closest that's ever brought me to God Almighty up above. I like being near enough and knowing He's watching over me up close.
Today hardly compares to all other days I've gone flying up in a balloon. Most days I look for clear skies perfect for flying, but this day is the best one yet. High over the horizon, the afternoon sun glows a warm orange hue through skies streaked with strokes of purple. Birds fly overhead and around the basket, almost within arm's length. Besides the scenery about us, there is nothing more perfect than her in front of me.
"No problem, baby. I'm happy you're cool with this."
"Are you kidding? Going on a hot air balloon date is the coolest date idea ever. No guy's ever asked me out like this."
"Well, I believe every girl deserves the best."
Angela is a vision to behold. With the wind blowing in her direction and her face concealed by wisps of dark hair blown about, she looks both playful and beautiful. Any glimpse I'd catch of her almond eyes reflects that mischievous glint of playfulness that I've grown to love over the past few weeks. I love the way her upper lip curls out, almost a tempting sight. Her fair and flawless skin shows well in her pretty denim sundress. She has once been my dream, but she is now within my grasp in this reality. Even I could hardly believe her reciprocating my feelings, but I'm just so happy she has then until now. It's a great feeling, and she is all the more.
"How long have you learned to fly this thing?"
"It's been about two years or so. I still want to learn how to fly other things, but I'm still slowly conquering my fear of heights. I learned to fly this one because it's a slow but fun way of getting over my acrophobia. Besides, don't you like the slow pace and all?"
"I love it. I'd never have thought you're even afraid of heights."
"I'm still getting over it."
I move to Angela's side and wrap my arms around her slim frame, leaning over the edge of the basket as we watch a flock of migratory birds fly past us. I feel her calm breathing right on my chest as she makes herself comfortable in my embrace, nudging her head in right under my chin and on my chest. I've never felt calmer.
"You know, you're a pretty great guy. I wish I'd known you sooner. Then I wouldn't have to deal with any of the jerks I've dated in the past."
"I wish so too, but God wouldn't have wanted it that way. He has plans for all of us, and us on this date right now is just one of them."
"Are you saying we're destined or something?"
"You could say that."
Angela laughs as she turns to face me, her eyes twinkling with childish puppy love and wonder. She looks so beautiful. I sheepishly smile back, but I'm afraid she'd leave me. I guess it's written all over my face at this point.
"Hey what's wrong?"
"I just don't want this to end. I wouldn't want you to leave me in the end."
"Don't think that way. I'm not going to leave you."
Angela cups my face with her hands as though she wants me to see only her. Her face goes serious, but her eyes still retain that lovestruck sparkle. My heart can only beat faster.
"You'll be by my side all the time?"
"Yes, if that's what you want. Think of me as your guardian angel, so that then you won't always be alone."
"You're my guardian angel?"
"Yes, I'm your angel."
I smile at the thought. She's always known the right thing to say whatever the situation. Whenever I'm down in the dumps, the comfort she offers never fails to bring me up. Despite the solace her sweet caress provides, I believe she's only at a lost cause. Even the brightest rays of sunshine can't reach the bottom of the dark ocean floor.
"Thank you. You know just what to say."
"That's because I'll always be here for you."
Oh, how I love her. It's just too bad I'm going to miss her.
I take out a pocket knife once hidden in the sleeve of my jacket and press its cold and unforgiving blade against Angela's porcelain skin, shocking her enough to let go of me. I catch her eyes now glinting with fear and uncertainty as she slowly inches away from the edge and into the middle of the basket. Most other dates I've taken up here would shake uncontrollably, but she seems stunned. I've never seen a sight so wonderful.
"Baby, why do you have a knife out?"
"Why, you're my angel now. I have to kill you."
Angela's eyes begin to water out of fright. Her knees give way under her faltering weight, making her stumble back into the basket. She inches her way away from me as I slowly approach her. She's just so attractive.
"Why do you have to kill me?"
"Mother once told me that I have a guardian angel but that she's trapped in a human body. To free her and to have her continue watching over me, I have to kill her."
Angela starts to cry incessantly. She looks around for some form of escape but immediately finds herself trapped in the basket. Up here in this balloon, there's nowhere for her to run, nowhere for her to hide. I've never felt more attracted to her up to this point.
"Wherever you look, you'll see there's no escape. We're thousands of feet in the air, so there's no one here to save you."
A flock of birds rapidly fly past us in a bizarre frenzy. One of them, definitely a clumsy one, flies straight into the balloon beak-first, popping a huge hole in its side. I laugh while her face registers confusion.
"Another hole in the balloon. I guess I'll have to kill you quick."
"What does that hole in the balloon have to do with killing me?"
"What else do you think the balloon's made of?"