Expiring In Three Months

Secret Love Song

March / One Year Before

His fingers' grip on the silver fork tightened upon hearing the ever familiar question. Where's your girlfriend? Although he did manage to give a tight smile after Aunt Melanie's red lipstick stained his cheek. "Oops!", she swiftly grabbed the tissue paper beside Michael's plate and cleaned off the smudged scarlet on his face. "But no worries. It's organic.", she crumpled the paper and dropped it on the floor where it bounced a few times just under her five-inch stilettoes—an expensive signature look every family event, but a fair compensation to her five-feet-and-two-inch stature. She gazed down at Michael's face, seeming to be inspecting his tight smile. The poor boy couldn't manage to move or blink while on his seat.

"Mom's been waiting for you since--", she cut off Michael's attempt to swerve the conversation elsewhere.

"So where's your girlfriend?", her round eyes looking straight through his soul. Michael always thought hers are bigger than the national average, although there's no way for him to support this claim. He never measured her Aunt's eyeballs, let alone conducted a national survey about eye sizes. Michael does feel uneasy having eye-to-eye contact with anyone, especially with Aunt Melanie.

Her left eye brow quickly curved up, higher than the other, and one eye squinted. Michael felt like she was counting in her head, waiting for his response. He cleared his throat and cut his eye contact with his interrogatee. For a second he looked elsewhere, his eyes catching scenes from the living room. He saw two of his cousins seated on the carpet in opposite sides separated by their coffee table. He wasn't sure what they were doing but they were surrounded by most of the people who were in their house since 4 PM. He returned to her after realizing it was chess.

"I don't have a girlfriend.", his plain answer to his nosy Aunt. The dining table was long, almost three meters. Seats are already empty, except his and one at the far corner. He caught Javi's eyes, but the boy immediately focused on his phone.

Aunt Melanie nodded and surrendered to Michael's blank expression. She can tell he's feeling uneasy. Actually, she knows how she makes him uncomfortable. "Oh dear, I've been away for too long.", she crinkled her nose and shook her head gently. "Anyway, where's your mother?", Aunt Melanie politely asked, gummy smile, newly dyed blonde hair.

"She's in the Kitchen."

"Alright", Michael's forehead creased after Aunt Melanie fluffed his hair. "Happy Birthday", she inserted small red envelope in his chest pocket then left. Michael's eyes followed her until she disappeared through the kitchen door. A loud conversation exploded from there and he concluded that the nosy blonde woman was finally with his Mother.

He's thinking to ditch his half-eaten chocolate cake and join the rest of his cousins, uncles and aunts in a heated game in the living room. He did ditch his plate, but he opted to lay on his bed upstairs. The muffled noise coming from the ground floor seemed more and more inaudible through his earphones. Directing his eyes to the ceiling, he sang along with the words of Silent Sanctuary. His right hand is on his chest, while the other is being pillowed by his head.

Di ko maintindihan ang nilalaman ng puso...

Tuwing magkahawak ang ating kamay...

Closing his eyes was a good idea. Everything was dark, just a weak tint of yellow light through his eyelid was all he could see. Abstract. All he could do now is picture scenes in his heads corresponding to the music in his ears. It's his favorite band. Despite being the shy kid in the family who has never brought a girl—possibly never will, who never engages in conversations about feelings and romance, who always dodges his nosy relatives, Michael still adores the love songs in his playlist. There's some kind of energy it injects into his bloodstream that charges all the nerves in his body. His veins, he can feel them chill. The hair in his nape, his arms, his legs. They all feel it. It seems like love songs to him are a means to get by, to cope up with his own scarcity of confidence to freely let people feel his sweet bones. Michael is secretly a romantic, in his secret corner.

He recalled moments in his head. There he was in the hallway, just a few feet away from the boy coming his way. The tan skin, care-free smile and piercing gaze were a warm composition of unidentified sensation that repeatedly kissed his skin. He could feel the rush of blood inside him, his heart beat double pacing. Both of them exchanged short glances before their paths crossed. The boy seemed nonchalant, not paying attention at him. Michael couldn't read the words mouthed by his lips while he was talking to his friends. Michael would always feel internal panic in his presence, but he perfectly conceals it by joining in with his group's inside jokes. But his eyes would always take a secret second look at him. All the time.

Sa lahat ng aking ginagawa.

Ikaw lamang ang nasa isip ko sinta.

Another scene flashed. He found himself standing at the center of the Engineering Building's parking lot with a camera in his hand. The sling was soaked with the sweat coming from his neck. He positioned the viewfinder just as close as it can get to his eyes and rotated the lens. The only thing he was seeing was that boy's laughing face, stained by a few blotches of colors. His white loose shirt was even more colorful by the countless smudges of acrylic paint. Again, he couldn't read the words coming from his mouth. The wall was too far from Michael, and the echoing noise was painful. But then the boy has been swinging the paintbrush on the wall and leaving colorful lines and patterns. It was as if his body was dancing along with the colors, a ritual. There must be a spiritual music in his head. The mural competition will never be the same again in Michael's eyes.

Ikaw lamang ang aking minamahal.

Ikaw lamang ang aking dinarasal.

Makapiling ka habambuhay.

Motivated by the melody in his ears, he jumped off his bed and sat on the wicker chair by the window. His fingers fumbled with the pens and pencils in the bamboo case. He got the black 0.5 mm. A blank yellow pad was on his desk. He never noticed it since this morning, but it seems like that the paper's position, the warm light casted through his window from the lampposts outside, the eerie yet satisfying tickle in his guts: this moment is bound to happen. In his head, words travel through the cells of his body and ultimately culminated on the pen his fingers held.

They say it's better to have regrets, than to die wondering. So I want you to know that...

At the height of Michael's romanticism, he ignored the suggestions of his own brain that this was a bad idea. What happens next? Does he even know Michael's name? Perhaps he was gaining a little momentum remembering he was in the student council last year. Maybe he knows him? It's probably safe to think that his little celebrity status can ring bells. Maybe. But the bigger question is if he's ready for the consequences once he ultimately decides to unknot everything. He's not even sure if he's willing to suffer, or if he can actually learn dodging other people's opinion about him and his choices. Perhaps the moment is just too mystical, and to turn a deaf ear to his own hesitations is the only way for his secret world to stay just for a while.