I'm Living Today

1

Will I last another day? I said looking at the sky. It's so pretty, I wish to be as pretty as the moon and stars.

"Cielo!" I heard my dad calling my name.

As I went back to our house—I couldn't call it a home. It's too suffocating to be a home, it's like a cage. The walls seem to close in on me, heavy with memories and unspoken words. I pushed open the door and walked inside, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

"Labas ka nang labas, Isa pang labas mo sasaraduhan na kita ng pinto!" He said looking directly at my eyes. "Kakain na tayo, mag asikaso na ng lamesa." He continued.

"Clara, Leo, Jeremiah, kakain na," calling my siblings.

As I trudged to the dining area, my dad's voice echoed through the house, a harsh reminder of the routines that bind us. The table was set with the usual fare—simple, unremarkable. My siblings, Clara, Leo, and Jeremiah, my mom, joined us at the table, their faces as resigned as mine.

“Cielo, wash your hands,” he called again, this time more insistently.

I turned to the sink, running cold water over my hands, the chill a brief distraction from the heaviness of the evening. As I dried them on a ragged dish towel, I glanced back at my family gathered around the table. They were all busy with their own thoughts, their voices a murmur of daily chatter that never seemed to reach me.

I took my seat, my mind wandering back to the night sky. It felt so distant from this place, a reminder of dreams that felt more and more unreachable with each passing day. As I stared down at the food in front of me, I couldn’t help but wish for something more, something beyond the confines of this cage masquerading as a home.

After eating, I cleared the table, scraping leftover food into the trash and stacking the dishes. The rhythmic clinking of plates was oddly soothing, a small comfort in the otherwise monotonous routine. Once I finished washing the dishes, I moved on to cleaning the kitchen, wiping down surfaces and putting everything back in its place.

The house seemed to sigh in relief with each swipe of the rag. I tidied up the living room next, straightening cushions and picking up stray items. It felt like a futile effort at times, as if the mess and chaos were a reflection of something deeper and more persistent.

By the time I finished, the house was in its usual state of order, but the emptiness remained. I looked around at the neat, orderly space, but it did little to ease the suffocating feeling that hung in the air. With a final glance at the clock, I retreated to my room, seeking solace in the silence and the promise of the stars outside, hoping for a better tomorrow.

Will I be here tomorrow?

I wrote letters for my friends, at least I said goodbye they won't be haunted if they were observant enough to know that I'm struggling. I don't want them to feel that, I want them to remember all the good things happened to us.

Times that I'm living.

I have six friends—two boys and four girls. They were my confidants, the ones who knew me better than anyone else. Each letter was a testament to the times we shared, a farewell meant to shield them from the guilt of not noticing my struggles. I wanted them to remember our laughter and the joy we had, not the shadow I felt enveloping me now.

As I reached under my bed for the blade, a wave of resignation washed over me. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the sharp sting. The cold metal against my skin was a stark contrast to the warmth of the tears that began to fall. I felt a strange sense of relief mixed with sadness. This was my final act of control, a way to leave behind the suffocating life that had become my cage.

But as the darkness began to close in,

I'll surely miss them for sure,

At least,

I tried living for too long.