Milieu Euphony (In Act Series #2)

Phase 24

PHASE TWENTY-FOUR

FOR ENTRY; FOR NAUGHT

I do not like where this accompaniment was going because this was straying farther from that.

"Hindi mo 'ko kilala," was the first thing I said when Michelangelo gave me an unstamped letter.

It was a folded crème-colored vintage paper and had no stamp or any signs that it was sealed, untampered, and secured. It laid crisply between his fingers, unbreathing, but also had a life of itself—one that had a journey to tell.

I'd be lying if I said that I was uninterested in the map, but it was one of the misdirections, so, no.

Because I knew what he meant when he gave me this letter—the instructor made clear of it during class. Or maybe, I was the one who was overthinking this and interpreted it on my own when the truth was, it should be harmless.

Even though you had already slid a letter in his studio, Lael?

"Hindi sa 'kin naka-address 'yan," giit ko, ang tingin ay mula sa nakatuping papel papunta sa kan'ya.

Michelangelo had a small smirk on his face, his hands unmoving. "May nakalagay na 'Lael'."

He stood, relaxed in front of me—his right arm bent which hand was stretched to give me the letter, his left hand tucked in his pockets with the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and his feet close together.

I sighed. "Anong laman n'yan?"

"Malalaman mo kapag binuksan mo."

"It's not sealed. Baka may nakabasa na n'yan," depensa ko.

"It's sincere," giit niya, ang mata ay nagmamakaawa.

Why was he pleading? Was my hunch right?

No, it can't be.

Pinaningkitan ko siya ng mata. "How could that be sincere? There's no seal or anything."

He groaned as I stood still, unfazed by his nagging.

Nagpatuloy ako sa paglalakad—na siyang napigilan ng pagharang niya sa 'kin kanina—ngunit napigilan muli nang hawakan niya ang pulsuhan ko.

"Do you not know the 'without wax' concept that sculptors had?"

Itinagilid ko ang ulo. "I just got into sculpture that's why I won't know things about that. At sa pagkatatanda ko, wala pang naituturong gan'yan."

He sighed, frustrated because of my defiance.

But what I said was the truth—I had no idea about the 'without wax' concept that he was saying.

He looked at me, determined. "When stone sculptors make mistake with their works, they'd cover it by filling it with wax. But a true statue was said to be without wax."

I tipped my head. "And?"

Nanunuyo niya akong tiningnan. "The Latin for 'without' was sine, and cera for 'wax'. The phrase 'without wax' means 'no mistake'. If you put it together, it means sinecera, or sincerely—which is true."

What was he talking about?

I stared at the bronze sculpture that was turning into a sculptor, eventually, a person that breathed—finally, himself.

The emotions in his eyes marked by sincerity without hostility, eagerness without rudeness, and affection to give me direction were out of bounds. Because what he had shown me cemented the idea that he had his emotions to himself—one that he could wield whenever he pleased, one that he could fake whenever it was needed, and one that could be intensified whenever he was defied.