Before Descended Afternoons

10

Will I be pitiful if I admit that understatements have become a part of my vocabulary? I've been through every channel of hell, and nothing seems to compare to what I suffered on my route there. Because physically hurting myself does not hurt as much as the excruciating pain that slowly eats away at me from within. I could feel it biting me endlessly and consuming me piece by piece at the same time. Until there's nothing left in me.

That's why what occurred that evening in that silo—the atrocities of the night, holding my breath as I forced myself to run further, the wind touching my wet cheeks—all of it, and what it caused me, was almost an understatement.

I've been through worse, but I didn't expect the anguish and havoc it would cause me to feel quite the same. I assumed I'd be okay. I was saved. That man wasn't able to do his deed on me, so I should be fine. Okay na dapat ako. Hindi naman natuloy. Bakit parang ang hirap pa rin na kalimutan?

I've been through worse. I've been through the worst. I've been through worse. I've been through the worst. I've been through worse. I've been through the worst. I've been through worse. I've been through the worst. I've been through worse. I've been through the worst. I've been through worse. I've been through the worst. 

I continued to recite it inside my thoughts, chanting it, drowning out the familiar voices that had been there for a long time. I kept telling myself that I should be alright because I had been through much worse, and yet I was still alive and breathing. I should be happy. I should be fine. I should be grateful, as Gi told me. I kept reminding myself that as long as I move my feet, nothing will stop me from appearing fine. I kept telling myself that I shouldn't think about what took place that evening in the silo since I'd gone through worse and worst.

But what difference does it make between the worse and the worst? The amount of pain and trauma? The bruises or fright? Can that be measured? In what aspects? Can it be cured?

May pag-asa pa ba ako?

"Aino... Ilang araw ka nang hindi lumalabas. Ayos ka lang ba d'yan? Nag-aalala na ang mama mo."

I glanced at the closed door when a knock followed the voice. It was auntie. Earlier, it was uncle. I'm sure it would be manang who'll knock next.

I buried my face in the pillows and closed my eyes. Huminga ako nang malalim. Nag-bilang ng ilang segundo.

"May problema ba, hijo? Pwede mo kaming kausapin. Pupunta na kami sa work ng uncle mo. Kumain ka na, may luto si manang."

I did not hear anything after that. She must've left already.

I pulled down the covers and looked at the clock. It was nine in the morning. Katulad n'ung mga nakaraang araw, mas pinili kong manatili sa higaan hanggang alas-nwebe. Ganitong oras kasi umaalis sina auntie. Ayoko lang na maabutan nila na ganito ang itsura ko.

I sat on the bed. My gaze flew on the marks that could be seen on my wrists. My thumb grazed upon those, drawing a line as if it would make the cuts disappear magically.

It still hurt. I'm still hurt. I could still feel the sting.

I feel like I am back to zero. It was like a leaf flown by the harsh wind from a branch, taking me to a body of water where I sank, making me drown and run out of breath. And I couldn't do anything as I slowly sank to the bottom. Hindi ako makaahon. Hirap na hirap akong makaahon. 

I was pushed and knocked down with so much force that I couldn't get up from the same ground where I'd been before. On the same ground I tried so hard to abandon. Hindi ko na alam. Magulo ang utak ko. Kahit anong gawin ko, patuloy na umiingay ang mga boses sa isip ko at nabibingi na ako. Malapit na.