The Idea Of Us (English Version)

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17th of September, 2017

Life is unpredictable.

Death always remains a mystery, shrouded in the enigma of the future. It's as though our very essence hangs in the balance, contingent upon the meticulous care we afford ourselves. Each passing day unfolds like a riddle, casting shadows of uncertainty upon our path. We grapple with the boundless depths of our journey, uncertain of its duration or the moment when the ceaseless motion of the world surrounding us will come to rest

Do you think people will still remember the remnants of our memories with them from the days when we were still alive?

Life is like a candle, we never know when the flame of life, which gives us strength to fight what needs to be fought, defend what needs to be defended, and avoid what needs to be avoided in a world full of criticism, will go out.

—

Sometimes, I catch myself wondering about the future. What will I be like in ten years? What will life look like? Will the Philippines still be the same? Will anything truly change?

"Lights on!"

The sound of my youngest sibling, Naya's voice, pulled me out of my thoughts. It had been hours since the entire subdivision went dark, and the sudden flash of light felt almost surreal, like a scene in a movie.

"The lights are back on. Where's Mom?"

"She borrowed money from Aling Nena!" Naya said, her voice tinged with a sadness that weighed heavily in the air.

"Again?" My voice was sharp with disbelief. "How many times have I told Mom not to borrow from that woman? Does she really not get what kind of person Aling Nena is?" I sighed deeply, the flame of a single candle flickering on a small stool beside me.

"She said she's out of money..." Naya trailed off, her voice barely a whisper. I could feel her sorrow without even looking at her.

I didn't respond, not because I didn't care, but because I couldn't bear to look at her. She was used to a life of comfort, a life where things were taken care of. I knew she was beginning to face the truth, that the life we once had might never return.

Upstairs, I entered my room, where the scene of my vanity mirror greeted me—a chaotic mess of eyeshadow, eyeliner, blush, lip tint, mascara, foundation, and brow pencils. I applied everything, not because I cared for it, but because it was the only thing that helped numb the gnawing emptiness inside. Maybe makeup was my only coping mechanism when the weight of sadness was too much to carry.

It's true what they say: you can cover your face with makeup, but the sadness in your eyes betrays you.

Unlike Naya, who was slowly learning to accept this new life of ours, I wasn't there yet. I wasn't ready to let go of what we once had.

When Dad died in that car crash, it felt like the whole world collapsed with him. We were buried in debt, and Mom was forced to pawn off our house. She couldn't get it back, and eventually, it was taken by the lender.

Everyone outside thought we were fine—thought that we were still the same family with the same business and lifestyle. They didn't know how we had fallen so far.

—

"We're leaving? Why, Mom?"

It was an early morning, and I'd barely processed what I was hearing as I came downstairs. Naya sat next to Mom, her expression confused and sad.