Dust and Tear ducts
Monday's glimmer flashed before my eyes. And before I could tell the world how exhilarating the day I had spent with Dos was, the birds quickly chirped endlessly. There was silence, and then there were sounds. Perhaps it was the hurtle of the wind, or perhaps it was the chortle of my heart.
Marahan akong bumangon mula sa aking kama. Taimtim kong pinagmasdan ang bintana. Pasukan na naman. Dahan-dahan akong napangiti nang muling sumagi sa aking isipan ang nangyari noong Sabado. Malinaw pa ang lahat ng pangyayari sa aking isipan. Pumunta kami ni Dos sa paaralan ko nang ako'y nasa elementarya pa lamang. Bumalik kami Don Mariano Marcos Memorial School, na nasa ikalawang barangay lamang ng Pinili. Malaki ang sumugat na ngisi sa aking labi.
Tumayo na ako at tahimik na nagtungo sa sala. Napakurap-kurap ako nang may makitang isang napakalumang liham na nakalapag sa mesa. Agad ko itong kinuha at binuklat. Nanlaki ang mata nang mabasa ang nakasulat.
Tila ba nanghina ang aking mga tuhod. Napaupo ako sa silya.
Why do I weep?
I was always, always, the other woman. And like how Narcissus died in vain, looking at his reflection in the lake, I died a thousand times, wondering if I was beautiful enough to persuade such a wondrous person. And I wept and wept as the years went by. I was the other woman. Or perhaps, I was not even his choice. I regret laying my eyes on him. And I regret each day that passed by, as I was not his lover. I did almost everything I could do.
Almost as it was, almost as people could tell, it was neither love nor care. It was obsession and greed. And I was eaten by my devious affinity. It is such a shame that I had a child. I couldn't even offer an ounce of warmth because I bore an innocent soul here on earth when I couldn't love myself. And of the hundred roses I had given to him, he never, not even once, displayed a single petal of those in his room. I ached a thousand times. And because I was the other woman, I begged nothing but a million little illicit meetings. I desired even a clandestine caress against his skin. And I opened my heart to him, gave my skin like it was his, offered my love despite knowing the nothingness of his eyes towards me. And when I said to him, It is fine to love you like this, it meant, Why could you not love me?
Why do I bleed?
I was not loved. I envied the love of his life, even if we were married. I felt like a whore, selling my skin for his lips. And because I loved him, I endured it. He did not hurt me, he did not punch me, he did not violate me, but it felt as though I was abused. Or so I thought. I am ashamed. I regret abusing his kindness. And I regret luring our child to the likes of me.
To be honest, I can't bring myself to love my child because her eyes were so bright. I envied those eyes. Those eyes. But I did not loathe her. I could not love her at all. And so, with guilty pleasures and insanity, I felt like I was dying day by day. With all those regrets and sham love, I was cursed.
I slept with a ghost. That is what I felt. It was a battle of dust and tear ducts. And then, I started questioning if I really did love him, or was he only ideal enough for me to dream greedily?
I have no face to show at all. And once I have the courage to give him what he wants long before our skin pierces each other, I will face him with a smile. I will bless him with a divorce. I became a widow after our marriage because he did not love me at all.
And I can not love my child alone. Hindi ko na kayang magmahal pa.
-Larah
BINABASA MO ANG
Just a Pain Reliever (Pinili Series #1)
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