Famous Last Words...

…I’m not ready yet? Nope. I’m not trying to write another entry with passages of a song, I’ll just be using Jars of Clay’s song title to describe the words “thought so” because indeed, those were the famous last words of, uhmm, wait, I know the person I’m talking about here is not really into reading blogs, but people who knew us both might take a peek so I might as well give that person a codename. Let’s try Kermit. Hahaha! (Hmm.. bakit kaya?! Hehe!) Ayun, si Kermit nga. Those were Kermit’s famous last words. Y’know what, Kermit? You should’ve just told me all the upsetting, unspoken words in your mind because, after all, I knew they were disappointing anyway. What’s the use of keeping it all inside when I already read it in your eyes the last time we spent time together? Too bad, I won’t have the chance to thank you personally for all the changes you brought into my life. You were the sweetest person who walked into my life… yep, past tense. I always thought you were the best that I even thought of welcoming you again if ever you decide to come back. But I guess our friendship never really mattered to you because you left just like that. I understand you, we only met last June and our friendship wasn’t fully developed. 6 months may not be enough for you to consider exchanging of formal, heartfelt goodbyes if ever you needed a moment of solitude; to organize your life on your own or without me in it. It never really occurred to me that it was just 6 months that we’ve known each other because it felt as if we’ve known each other for years! Ok, my fault. A wonderful thought like that, even how wonderful it is, is a step outside the boundaries of reality. Truth is, it was just 6 months for you, already 6 months for me.

I’m not waiting for you anymore. Waiting is a form a suicide, if I may quote a line from ate vanna’s poem. When you left, I thought my world has ended. But I realized that only in the dictionary that the words end and beginning are antonyms, because if we are to use them in life situations, they can be synonymous terms. When you ended something between us, something actually began. You departure was an indispensable element to the start of that something. I just hope that something good already began in your life.

One Last Wonderful Day

Friday night, I was at the LRT Recto station waiting for the next train to Santolan when I saw a woman carrying a child on her arms. She was talking with the security guards and though I’m not really interested in what they were talking about, I had an earshot of their conversation because I’m only a few steps away from them. The lady with the child said: “Sabi kasi nila patay na, e nasa palengke pa ako nun kaya nagmadali na lang ako umuwi, tapos nung dumating ako dumilat pa sya, kaya heto dinala ko agad.” I was intrigued so I looked again at the child who I barely noticed when I arrived there. I was taken aback by the sight of the little girl on the woman’s arms. The child is really, and I mean really, thin. How thin? Put your two fingers together and you’re already having a glimpse of her arm. I’m not being pessimistic here when I say that that child would only have but a few months to live with the kind of body she has. I turned my eyes away from the unbearable display of life’s reality and preoccupied my mind with other thoughts. I don’t want to stare a long time like what other people did. By staring at the mother and child, they thought they could show that they care, but I think watching people in such pitiful condition only shows the incapability of most of us to offer a help that is really needed because we conceive sympathy as a valuable aid when in fact it is not. I always refuse to sympathize, believing that I’m only allowing one to go for a dip in a drowning pool of self-pity when I try to commiserate. Anyway, thank God it’s already the last station and I managed not to look at the subject of murmurs and stares in the train. I decided to let the others go first to avoid having the glimpse of that little girl, but when I was about to go down the stairs, I saw the little girl. She saw me too. Our eyes met. I turned my back because my eyes welled with tears. I couldn’t control the crying. I cried not because I pitied her frail body or because of the idea that one mother will lose a child anytime soon. I cried because I didn’t see any sign of unhappiness or pain in the child’s eyes. I’m not saying that she was otherwise, but I think what I saw was acceptance of fate, that she is ready to let go.

I entitled this “One Last Wonderful Day” because that’s what I prayed to God for them. I asked Him to give the child one last wonderful day here on earth before He decides to carry the child on his loving arms up in heaven.