RASTRORIES

Lavender I

It was New Year's Eve. I was watching the finest fireworks the world has to offer. From a single light, it went up the sky and burst into a hundred, if not, a thousand pieces of light that forms a circular pattern that brought the woahs and the aaahs from the people around time square. It was like looking into a kaleidoscope. Different shapes and colors decorating the sky all at the same time; dancing into the rhythm. I had to blink twice to make sure that it was real. The music was exciting. The scene was festive. Over all, it was magical. The ball drops and about a hundred couples reaches out and kisses each other. It was beautiful.

I breathed in and instantly tried to smell the familiar scent of Jade. It wasn't the soap, really. It was her hair. The scent of lavender. Natural. You know how it's like when you know when someone is near without really seeing it? Subconsciously, I have trained my senses to seek for her. Through the years, I have sought the smell and the feel of Jade. Try as I might, I get nothing.

How long, I often asked myself. How long do I have to endure the pain of not having her? For years, I waited and waited. For nothing. She was gone long ago. They say that grief has five stages and denial is the first step. This could be the longest denial of all time. I never believed, for one second, that I was meant to reach the second step. Not in 60 years.

There was not a chance. It was simply not possible. We did not stand a chance. It is now 2020. At the corner of my eyes, I saw a beautiful girl bent and kissed the lady beside her. Her eyes filled with love and compassion. They were in their early 30s, I think or it could be 20s. I can't be certain.

The girl on my left is Karen. She is 87. With Alzheimer's, she has totally forgotten about her husband Luke. She is in love with Michael. A guy whom she met at the same care home where we live. Their children have not come to visit for a year but their bills are paid on time, which is important. Instantly, the lines on her face went deeper at the sight of those women. Apparently, hate and judgement are not something you learn to forget along with all your memories. "Disgusting...", she mumbled. I did not want to say a word so I bit my tongue looked on the opposite side. It was useless, anyway. This is the first year that the residents of the Home were permitted to be on a trip to time square at new year's eve and watch the countdown. I am not about to spoil for this for everyone.

From one second to the next, she is back in my thoughts. Oh, Jade. If only we were born at a different time. If only our circumstances were not as bad. If only I could stand up and shout how much you meant to me without being lynched by judging eyes. I would have done it. I would have held you in my arms without a thought of the world around us. If only.

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The year was 1957. Homosexuality can get you a few years in prison if you're lucky. If not, you get stoned to death. Worse, it can get you raped. Orchestrated by the very own family, a lesbian can be raped and abuse with the hope that sex with a man can "help" someone realize her womanhood.

I lived in the province of Pangasinan. It was a few hours north of Manila which is the capital of the Philippines. Not too long ago, the Americans have given our country our liberty. But there are still bases in our country where GIs are stationed. It didn't really bother our small community and I was brought up to believe that the Americans were our friend. As a young Filipina, I was taught to be polite and respectful of our visitors. Besides, they didn't really bother us at all. In fact, I didn't come across an American until the summer of 1957.

Before that, I was living a simple life. My father, was then the Cabeza del Barrio or the captain of our small community. I was born in an upper middle-class family. We had servants and acres of land in our possession. At that time, possession of lands is equivalent to being able to afford land titles.

To my father's disappointment, I was an only child. They tried so hard to have another child, a son, but my mother could not boar another one. It was essential, at that time, for landowners to have a son. Someone who would own the properties after the parental. Someone who would inherit the ownership of the land. In the 1950s, a man who could not have a son as a successor, is not a man who people can look up to. It was a sign of weakness. Inadequacy. People will see you as someone feeble. Daughters are being given away in marriage and it is expected that the husband's family will take care of the daughter. Once the daughter's hand is given away in marriage, she is no longer a part of the family. She is now a possession of her husband.

This has caused great struggle to my parents' marriage. I remember my father coming home drunk and would shout insults to my mother who would then try to conceal the menace of the situation. I would run to the basement, where our servants sleep. To block out the noise, I would run to Clara. She was our cook. Her mother cooks for my grandmother and her grandmother cooks for my great grandmother. There were some stories that her mother was not given a salary by my grandmother. Clara and her husband on the other hand, was given a few pesos by my father to help them get through every day. This is aside from the food that my father provides them for free. Later in life, I had the awful realization that they were our slaves.

Without my father's knowledge, I will stay in the basement with Clara's family until the crack of dawn. She has two daughters, Willa and Jade. We would take turns in combing each other's hair. I grew up playing, eating, and doing all sorts of things with them. When I'm there at the basement, I was not the Captain's and the Madam's daughter. I was simply me, Althea, their friend. More like a sister. They were my family more than my own.

After my private session with a tutor who taught me to write and read among other things, Willa, Jade and I will be playing in the fields. It is my favorite time of the day. I learned to read the time because I was excited to count them down before I can be with them again. Willa would always ask me how it went with my Tutor. She would always want me to repeat what I have learned that day to her. It became a part of the schedule. Before I can play with them, I would have to teach Willa everything that I learned from my tutor. Jade, on the other hand, would simply watch me teach her older sister. She would rest her chin at the branch of a tree and stare at me. Waiting for me and her sister to finish our very own session. Smiling, smirking actually, with deep hazel brown eyes. Those eyes. It's like when you look at them, you can see your very own soul. Those eyes that tell you a million things without actually speaking. I know it will never happen. Not a chance in the world. But It was those pair of eyes; I have been looking for until now, 60 years after.

A/N:

Yo. what's good, guys? I was inspired by the movie, "A Secret Love" sa Netflix. You gotta watch it. Ganda sya. I hope you are all doing great this quarantine. We will get through this. Keep safe, everyone.