He parted himself and said, "The kalachuchi still smells nice and pure no matter how circumstances made it unpleasant to the eyes. Maybe it's just how it's like with people. No matter how others paint one's dignity ugly, the innate goodness with still show. It is even more similar to the things that we go through, no matter how difficult the experience is, the rainbow behind the hardships will reveal itself one way of another."
Although I am a rested rock to his eyes, my heart is a volcano erupting, wreaking havoc inside. I can never pen into words the exact sensation that is settling into my soul at present and how much more the struggle is to narrate my feelings as he continued, "The book called the kalachuchi as Plumeria. It does sound strange, doesn't it but the peculiarity doesn't only end that way. Will you believe me if I told you that there's a kalachuchi that's almost red in color? I love the color of these flowers just the way it is I mean, why won't I love it when Inang visited this tree almost everyday when she conceived me."
He chuckled, "My skin was the result of her pagpanamkon. Still, red is my favorite color and I might fall in love with the flower if I actually see one." Manolo scratched the back of his neck, flustered when he noticed my lack of response and then said, "You are like the Kalachuchi, your shy self will never hide the fragrance of beauty that enticed my whole being. As strange as it seems to hear the existence of a red-colored Kalachuchi but one day, I will offer you red plumerias and when that day comes, will you allow me to be your nanay and tatay's umagad?"
YOU ARE READING
Manolo Burgos Sanio #wattys2018
Short StoryIn which keeping his promise would've saved him from his demise. A tiny plumeria's tell-tale.
