The Last Stroke

Someday, Maybe

someday, maybe I reference: Noli Me Tangere by Jose Rizal

the start

Yesterday, I met a man.

I was sitting at the Lagoon, taking pictures of the sunset and the famous naked sculpture. It was pretty, I must say, and it reminded me of the day that changed me. My mind wandered to the person who changed me for good. Elias.

Going back to the man I met. He doesn't look extraordinary. In fact, his hair was the typical jet-black hue and his eyes were the usual chocolate brown orbs that Asians have. I would have ignored him when he approached me and sat beside me on the grass. But he extended his hand towards me, a piece of paper tucked between his thumb and index finger. It was worn out, the edges already started to crumble. It did not even have its original color. It was already brown. I raised my head to meet his gaze, confusion painted on my face. He did not seem to mind, though.

The way he looked at me was unsettling. He was too close, too intimate and I was about to ask him what was wrong when he spoke, "My grandad's friend requested him to find this girl." For a moment I stared at his hand, "Take it." He said.

And I did. I turned the photo and what I saw made me gasp. It was me.

I thought I was over it. I thought the pain would have already eased after a year of waiting for nothing. I thought I have convinced myself that nothing was real. I thought I've accepted that none of it really happened.

'How?', was the question that left my mouth before my mind went back to when it all started.

It was exactly a year ago.

I was the girl who loved wearing tank tops and short shorts. I was the girl who resorted to smoking sticks of cigarettes every time my parents fought or my college life was too fucked up for me to handle. I was the girl who did not have anything to hold onto. I was the girl who wanted to escape the shit I call life.

Everything went upside-down when I met a dripping wet man, gasping for air who appeared out nowhere at the Lagoon. I could still remember how I almost laughed when he looked so panic-stricken when he saw what I was wearing. It still makes me smile whenever I remember how he obligingly asked for my hand in marriage, saying that the he had compromised me.

I had slapped his back repeatedly as I burst out laughing, "What? No way! But that's a nice pick-up line. I'll give that to you. What's your name?" I told him.

"Elias," he answered as he looked suspiciously at me. "Miss, why are you not wearing the proper clothes at this time of the day?"

I snorted, "Sir, what's 'proper' is nothing but a social construct."

The man was a breath of fresh air. He did not seem to mind sounding so stupid when almost everyone was so smart. He was not perfect looking. In fact, he had a fading scar cross sectioning the tip of his left eyebrow, but I noticed his slightly up-turned nose. His hair was long, and his tanned body was covered with crude clothing. Honestly, he looked like he needed a bath, but that did not faze me.

Elias. I never thought that he would be so important to me.

For weeks, I let him stay at my condominium unit that I rented to get away from my parents. Every weekend, I would sneak inside our house to snatch some pieces of male clothing from my brother's closet for him. Elias did not complain, but I noticed how uncomfortable he was. And being the gentleman that he was he did not harass me and he kept his distance from me. He casted his eyes down every time I was near him and was wearing what he described as "inappropriate".