The Girl Who Once Lived

Chapter 4

His PoV

    The sky was devoid of stars, the night was black, and even the moon appeared to be pouting, refusing to give everything under him more life. I was left alone in the silent alley, feeling the chill breeze against my skin, reminding me of the loneliness that was beginning to seep throughout my entire being. The area wasn't at all dark, even though the moon was nowhere to be seen. Almost every home in the province had a multicolored light hanging from it as if to follow me around.

    That's when you realize that Christmastime in the Philippines is almost here. After nearly a year of residency, I couldn't help but observe the characteristics of their Christmas. Certain elements are essential, or otherwise, it wouldn't be called "Pasko" at all: the crisp air, the sparkling Christmas lights strung across the balcony, and the little children who come knocking at your door at night singing cheesy tunes like Joy to the World and Jingle Bells. Most of the time, they were just clapping their hands and wouldn't even accept your "Patawad po." Occasionally, they were holding pans and casseroles.

    By the way, "Patawad po" signifies that you will not be handing them cash following their little show. And Jose Marie Chan is adored by Filipinos. They make the greatest memes about him, even though I think they're all fucking odd doing that.

    "Isagani, you're still unaware of the rationale behind my throwing you there?" I blew the smoke of the cigarette out of my fucking lips, holding the phone up to my ears in frustration. I put my hand in my pocket and was kicking some stones out of the road.

    "When am I going back?"

    Over the phone, I could hear him breathing. There was a little silence before he continued. "It's better if you at least bid her farewell." Screw that. "After all, she's still your mother." This is precisely the reason why the majority of the males had to start smoking at a very young age.

    "I need a specific answer, Martini."

    "Isagani..."

    "WHEN. AM. I. GOING. BACK?"

    "You should let her know the truth..."

    "She left us." Hatred overtook my entire being as the day she left home rushed over me. The young boy pleaded with his mother not to leave. The quiet wails. The broken hearts. The emptiness. Fuck her. "Papa, she..." I gripped my phone more tightly as soon as I felt a terrible lump in my throat. "There's no point in telling her that."

    "Hindi lahat ng nang-iiwan ay hindi nasasaktan. Your mother had reasons. You gotta ask her the side of her story."

    "Regardless of the situation, there was never a good enough reason to leave someone you claimed to love. You had your reasons to leave, but you chose not to. There was a huge difference between a mother and a birth giver. A mother knows how to take care of her child, but a birth giver doesn't. A mother, sometimes... is a father, too..."

    He sniffed and let out a tiny chortle of longing. "My boy, you've endured enough pain. I hope you have enough space in your heart for forgiveness, Isagani. Life is too short to allow resentment to consume your spirit."

    I ended the call.

    I threw my phone away as I laughed at my misery. What a pussy.

    Then, why did she do it? I was prepared to hear her defenses. I was prepared to hear her side of the tale in some way. That old man is correct. But what I saw at the dinner table made my heart skip a beat.