Love in Three Acts

Chapter 1: A Flower's beginning

I whispered the words 'I got in' in the stillness of my room. As I stared at the computer screen, disbelief washed over me. 'I got in,' I repeated, refreshing the page and scanning for my name. There it was, 'Luna Rose Martinez - Passed.' It wasn't a hallucination. I screamed, 'I PASSED!' The realization hit me like a tidal wave-I am going to be a top fashion designer.

With a grin plastered on my face, I dashed downstairs, eager to share my news. 'I'll be a top fashion designer!' I declared, the words hanging in the air.

My parents, sipping tea in the quiet afternoon, glanced at me, bewildered. Placing their cups on the table, I knelt before them, excitement bubbling within. 'Mom, Dad,' I began slowly, 'I got into Benilde! I'm going to Manila! My dream is becoming a reality!'

Mom's eyes lit up with joy, and she enveloped me in a hug. 'I'm so proud of you, dear! Your hard work has paid off.' Dad, on the other hand, looked stern and worried.

"How about you, Dad?" I asked, a hopeful smile playing on my lips.

Mom nudged Dad, who seemed to be grappling with an internal struggle, his face betraying a mix of emotions. He coughed, crossed his arms, and, with a firm voice, inquired, "Are you sure about this?" His gaze remained fixed downward, eyes tightly closed. Suppressing a chuckle, I reached out and embraced my dad, familiar with his stern façade.

"Dad, you know I love you and Mom," I began, my voice carrying a blend of assurance and warmth. "I understand that letting me go is tough, especially being the youngest. But as my parents, you have to teach me how to stand on my own. I won't be alone - Ate Nico and Ate Jade will be there. They'll guide me and look out for me. And, of course, I'll stay in touch so you won't have to worry too much."

Glancing at Mom, I enveloped them both in a tender hug. Dad's stoic composure began to crack, tears welling up in his eyes. Mom, too, attempted to console him, and soon, we were all swept up in a tide of emotions, laughter and tears blending into a poignant moment of understanding and acceptance.

After spending a considerable amount of time consoling my emotional parents, I returned to my room, a surge of ecstasy and boundless energy coursing through me.

The room was a kaleidoscope of fabrics, with an unfinished dress resting on my sewing table like a work in progress. Grinning, I retrieved a hidden box from under my bed. Seated on my bed, I gently opened the box, revealing a photograph from the very first runway show I attended with my mom and sisters.

In those days, my mom worked as a makeup artist, jetting off to different cities and countries for her assignments. I was a wide-eyed four-year-old when I first glimpsed the magic of the runway, escorted by my mom to a bustling fashion show. The memory was vivid-the expansive runway stage, the dazzling lights, the backstage hustle.

Mom, preoccupied with a model's makeup emergency, instructed us to stay put near the entrance. The room plunged into darkness, the music slowly swelled, and a spotlight illuminated the model, gracefully turning to face the audience. It was enchanting; I felt transported to a realm of wonder. The model's pink dress, adorned with layers of fabric and ruffles, and the elegant shawl draped around her arms mesmerized me. Her fierce gaze and graceful aura brought the dress to life as she strutted down the runway. I was captivated, unable to tear my eyes away from the unfolding spectacle.

The entire room shared in our collective awe as one model after another showcased spectacular creations. As a child, the experience was particularly intense, a magical revelation that sparked the beginning of my dream-to craft beautiful designs and witness models breathe life into my creations through their unique interpretations.

Returning the photograph to its place, I glanced around my room. 'My own small studio,' I mused with a giggle. 'I'm going to miss you,' I whispered to the room, rising to my feet. Gathering the various fabrics scattered on the floor and bed, I contemplated the bittersweet farewell to my creative sanctuary."

Later, my mom entered, unfazed by the mess. Sitting on the bed, she shared memories. 'It'll be quiet here without you,' she said, voicing the bittersweet reality.

'We don't want to hold you back,' she continued. 'Pursue your dreams, anak. We're excited for you.' Her words filled me with a mix of anticipation and sadness.

In two weeks, Manila awaited. See you, Benilde!