The Seat We Sit On (HFS #1)

seat #40

I had spent my highschool years doodling and scribbling on my seat to ease boredom, and I cannot believe that I am doing the same now in my crafty table, writing on it . . . doodling against it, while my mind keeps on replaying what happened earlier in the flower shop.

Then, I remember the last words he said before I left him sitting alone on a dead tree lying in a horizontal manner on the ground. Sabi niya, babalik siya . . . kahit ayaw ko. Sabi niya, pakakasalan niya ako . . . kapag handa na ako. Sabi niya, mahal niya ako.

Pagak akong natawa. How old were we back then? Seventeen? Eighteen? Fully blown teenagers, barely an adult. Who knows if our words had really much bearing? There is a grit of pain in my chest. It is wrenching, crumpling, and aching. I can barely breath.

Alam ko namang siya lang ang nagsambit niyon. Ni hindi ko naman sinang-ayunan. Had I assured him back then that I would be waiting for him to come back, would I also be in the place of the angelic woman beside him in the shop earlier? Hahayaan niya rin ba akong pumili ng bulaklak na i-de-decorate? Ng gown? O ng guests na a-attend sa kasal?

Binatukan ko ang sarili ko. Matagal Kong itinanim sa isipan na hindi ko siya nami-miss. Hindi ko siya naaalala. At kung dumating man ang araw na bumalik siya, e 'di dumating lang siya. I have been suppressing myself to think about him, but then, in some spurs of moment, I catch myself with my heart and mind as my companions, talking about him, wondering.

My eyes cast back on my table. The first doodles are loops of circles. Ngayon, puro mga linyang hindi pantay-pantay. It is messy. It is sharp. It is something I do not even want to understand because the more the night becomes silent, the more my heart weeps louder. The more I force myself to sleep, the more my mind becomes awake. The more I tell myself that I am fine, the more I feel that I am not.

Suddenly, I hear a knock on my door. It creaks open. "Tsaa?" tanong ni Mama. "Parang ang lalim ng iniisip mo riyan."

I force a smile. Naningkit ang mga mata niya. "Your choco drink, then?"

I nod. "Please."

"Alright."

Ilang sandali pa, sinamahan na niya ako sa table. We are now having a tea drinking session, only that I am not drinking tea. Her curious gaze is scrutinizing my skin while she sips on her cup in a timid manner. I blink three times before I glance back at her. Pinagmasdan ko ang kabuuang hitsura niya, malayo sa kung ano siya kanina sa yoga session niya.

"Ma, after all these years, some things just don't change, 'no?"

She sips on her tea. "Hmm?"

"Ikaw . . . 'Yong big ribbons, gamit mo pa ring panali sa buhok. You still wear your vintage dresses. Gusto mo na sa tsaa, ayaw ko na sa kape, pero naaalala mong gusto ko naman ng tsokolate. Nagko-crochet ka pa rin."

Inilapag niya ang tasa. Taimtim niya akong tinitigan. Light is illuminating on her cheeks, casting shadows on the side of her face. It feels warm, at the same time, mysterious. "'Nak, not everything changes. Not everyone change. Siguro, sa pagdaan ng panahon, may bagong natututunan, bagong nakikilala, bagong nagugustuhan. Pero minsan, hindi naman talaga nagbabago, nadaragdagan lang."

"What if gusto mo nang kalimutan, at nagawa mo nga, nagbago ka na ba no'n?"

She chuckles. "Hindi ako naniniwalang tuluyan mong makakalimutan ang gusto mong kalimutan."

"Why? E, it's gonna be your choice if ever?"

Nangunot ang noo ko. Itinuro niya ang kaniyang dibdib. "'Nak, 'yong sakit, 'yong trauma, 'yong mga masasamang alaala, nandito pa rin . . . lumipas man ang nagdaang taon."