Sunday is Not Coming

v. Not Everything is Real

V. Not Everything is Real.
Isaiah.

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Where Is Sunday?

It was a rude awakening when I finally acknowledged my irreconcilable hatred for Sunday. Needless to say, it was my fault.

My love for Sunday was once pure but devolved into a symbol of cowardice and complacency. Years of dedication I am willing to sacrifice to escape the suffocating feeling Sunday had on me.

Good riddance to all those who liked Sunday. Rage and hatred were the only emotions I could feel for Sunday. As much as I try to escape their influence, Sunday infiltrates every corner of my world: the more I try to distance myself, the more they entwine themselves in my life, a constant reminder of everything I despise.

Vulnerable minds and hearts suffer. Eventually succumbing to worldly sins—regret—lifetime regret.

Sunday, with their saccharine smiles and seemingly innocent demeanor, has fallen. How could such a beloved day--person have fallen from grace? Even I wanted to know—no—I know the answer.

Who cares about the dead? And so things ended that way. In Thy name, I confessed—I am not clean anymore. Leave.

Sunday is not coming.

Isaac.

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Isaac and Sunday's relationship was like a tangled yarn, with threads of love and hate twisted together in an inextricable mess.

I always believed that love was the strongest emotion—I was wrong. Hate was the most powerful emotion. It won.

If hatred was not the strongest emotion, how could Isaac be reduced to a state where the only thing left to ease the unwanted feeling was to kill?

But come to think of it, why would Isaac cut all routes for himself by taking his own life? Was it guilt, regret, or guilt and regret? Would Isaac feel guilt and regret for what he did if hatred truly fueled the act?

I grimaced at those thoughts.

Emotions were complex but humans dared to understand it. Pero ako, hindi ko pa rin maintindihan kung anong kasalanan ng bata at bakit siya nadamay?

Isaac's letter spoke of Sunday, but never mentioned the kid. And although he indirectly confessed in his letter, it still wasn't enough to incriminate him. The investigation continues.

So, I pulled Koen with me to Timothy's wake for free coffee—and crowd-sourcing. Both of us have already talked about what happened earlier at the orphanage. He apologized. I did too. And we were best friends again.

Kung nag-sorry lang din si Isaac noon, sana magkaayos kaming dalawa ngayon. But the damage had been done already. I better focus my energy and attention on solving Sunday's missing case—which had a high probability of becoming a murder case.

For the rest of the night, Koen and I have two agendas.

Nope. We weren't digging graves or throwing corpses. We were trying to win back Koen's money, which I lost in gambling, and to gather information about Timothy in his wake.

To mingle with people in a wake, I borrowed money from Koen to use in gambling.

Inuna ko roon sa may Tong Its ngunit bukod sa nakatalo ako ng 700 pesos, wala pa akong nakuhang impormasyon sa mga naging kalaro ko. Lumipat ako sa may naglalaro ng dice at natalo ng 280 pesos. Dahil nakokonsensya na ako sa pagwawaldas ng pera ni Koen, ibinalik ko ang bente pesos niya.