dear habilin ,
i feel . . . walang kwenta , you could say . i want to do good , for once , but the good chance i get , i screw it up . i want to patch things up with miss arlovskaya , but come on , with me , it would take three million years just to make up with someone .
why did The Almighty place this upon me ? to be an island with only a few limits to life ?
i feel like a screw up . when do i never , anyway ? i wonder if i was made simply for destruction . after all , i am the one with the most battles fought in the three of me and . . . them .
how i miss our little chats . they moved away to their respective islands , and so did my siblings . i live alone in a two storey home with too many rooms .
just james and i again , eh ? allistor has to stay in his own universe , apparently , and i respect that .
i just miss our little hangouts at the milk tea shop or maybe at the monuments .
it ' s tiring to keep a mask on at all times .
should i take it off at least once ?
whatever . . . not that anyone cares .
minamahal mo ,
alejandra
tears stain the snow white pages and a little drawing was on the side .
a picture drawn from memory .
the boy she met , on july 4 , 1946 , in front of the philippine and american flag .
a boy who ' s descendant she took care of .
