Finding Paris

Eet

As the chorus ended, it felt as if there was a spotlight on us gradually spreading its light until I could see everyone again, until we were both a part of that world again.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” I said with a smile I cannot hide.

“No, I couldn’t. I guess I am what you call a natural. Pretty good, eh,” he said swallowing a spoon of Hiyayakko.

“Mmm-hmm,” I mumbled as I was in the middle of eating my ramen. I was busy looking at the Hiyayakko which seemed to really entice me with its white and silky tofu.

He probably noticed how much I stared at the Hiyayakko while he was busy talking about his singing prowess. He placed one cube of tofu on my plate and drizzled it with soy sauce. He pretty much gave all the toppings to me as his plate was left with a single undressed one swimming in sauce.

“Thank you! But you gave all the toppings to me. That makes the tofu taste better, you know,” I said quietly jumping up for joy in my mind with the sight of Hiyayakko in my plate.

“Yeah, I know. But you see, I don’t like the toppings so I’m giving them all to you.”

“Right, you don’t like them,” I said smirking at him.

“Yes, I don’t. If I do, I wouldn’t have given it to you,” he said laughing.

We finished eating and went out to walk to my house, though I told him I could go alone and he should too as we were both tired and needed to get some rest. My back hurt from picking all the strawberries.

“So, tell me about you,” he said as we went past the old library.

“What do you want to know?”

“Your life, your dreams, your family, anything. Whatever it is you want to share.”

“Well, as you know, I live by myself.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Didn’t you notice?”

“Oh, where’s your family?”

“Somewhere far away. I have to move out. My father died a long time ago and I just need to breathe fresh air.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm.”

“Your mother?”

“She’s where that far away is. I visit her every weekends, paint to her. She looks for him and cries. I must be a bad child to not stay with her at the time of mourning but it’s been a very long time. I stayed with her all those times and it didn’t get better. She got worse and worse probably wanting to follow my father. But I can’t let her do that. He wouldn’t want that. He would want for us to live a full life, a life full of meaning and color.”

“Why did you move out?”

I thought to myself. I have asked myself that a lot of times before, thinking that it might not be best to move out, that it was a selfish decision. However, the pain just did not move away from us. It multiplied and swallowed us. It forbade us light and joy. I was not able to take it. So one day, I packed my bags and moved out, with my mother’s knowledge of course. The first night away from home, I could not sleep. I worried about my mother a lot, how she’s holding up.

But, gradually I realized the sadness I was feeling was not because of his death but of both their deaths. My mother was physically there, but her soul was with him. So my decision to move out was justified. She still looks and longs for him but it wasn’t worse than before. They say time heals all wounds. I don’t know how long it would heal hers but it is beginning to get better.

Maybe she was rebuilding herself, picking up the pieces that were spread all over the floor, completing the puzzle that is her. Maybe, it really was a good decision to move out so she would not be reminded of him because of me. They say I look a lot like my father. I am his female counterpart. Maybe, when I moved out and she looked at the mirror, what she saw was not father’s grave but herself decaying. Maybe, when she looked at the mirror, she remembered how father always told us to paint our lives with more color, to paint our lives not just within the canvas but outside of it.

It took me a long time to answer him but I did the best way I could.

“It’s for the better. I had to move out so she could save herself from decaying. I cannot make her see that, she has to see that herself and acknowledge it so she could save herself. I could only do so much as to make her look at the mirror, point to her the parts that were decaying, point to her heart. It was only her that could convince herself to see and accept that.”

It was his turn to be silent.

“She’s getting better. I can feel it,” I said as the air kissed my cheeks as if in understanding.

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally said.

“Why did you move out,” I now ask him.

“I just want to see the world, to live a full life,” he said simply as he looked ahead of us.

We were both silent as we passed the village and the park until we finally arrived at my house.

“This is my stop. Thanks for walking with me,” I told him. I turned my back to open the gate but he reached for my hand and hugged me.

“As cliché as it might sound, it will all be alright,” he said as he hugged me tighter. “Can I come visit her too, when you do? I’d sing to her. You know how good I am.”

I smiled at that last remark to make things lighter and remembered what my father used to say. He told us that the best was yet to come.

“Okay,” I told him.

“Okay,” he said and let go as I entered the house and waved him goodbye.

It was like Mr. Green’s Hazel Grace and Augustus.