Tie A Yellow Ribbon 'Round The Old Oak Tree

Two Blocks

I remember it clearly as if it was yesterday, love.

The first time ever I saw your face.

I remember that day; that cold afternoon when the autumn leaves flew, brought by the wind in Fredericksburg; a little town my dad and I just moved to for not over three days by that time when I came home to a quite comical scene of my dad making dumplings, which he inherited from my Korean grandmother—so he claimed; telling me he wanted to put his cooking skill on display. The so-called cooking skill that was so awkward we both knew he was just doing it as an excuse to keep himself busy so he could run away from his own dragging train of thoughts.

The unbearable train of thoughts his mind created after the loss of his wife—my mom—who died from cancer almost a year prior.

Things had never been the same ever since her smile left our family picture. Everything seemed to be rendering too fast while our world seemed to have stopped somewhere in late 1988. My old man had been trying too hard; too hard to stay afloat, too hard to smile, too hard to stay alive, too hard to be happy, too hard to be okay, while I was simply too tired to even try anymore.

I remember that Tuesday, he told me to take his dumplings to your house; two blocks away from ours. Although I would rather tuck myself in my warm bed, hiding under the duvet to cast the chilly air away from my skin, I took my jacket anyway and started walking to the house of this stranger to me.

Two blocks away.

I invited myself to your porch, passing that massive oak tree I was sure—even by then—was way older than both of our ages combined. I was standing at your doorstep, about to knock on your door when I stopped midways because you already opened the door abruptly, towering me who froze and gawked in surprise.

The first surprise was from the sudden bursting door that almost threw my nose away and the second one was simply a state I found myself at after registering your presence and your features in my brain.

You, with your stunning features screaming under the dimmed light of the little lamp attached to the wall about just an inch away from your door.

You, a stranger whose caramel lenses invited me as if you had been searching for something you did not even know you were searching for until you opened the damn door.

You, who possessed two beautiful eyes, shaped similarly to those of a doe's; calm, composed, yet curious.

You, in your oversized olive hoodie with a pair of same tone colored sweatpants.

You, who suddenly smiled, radiating warmth contrasting the coldness freezing the skin under my jacket.

You. Lalisa Manoban.

I remember how for a split second I forgot why I was even there in the first place, even with the probably already half cold dumplings in my hand. My mind seemed to refuse to tell me why I was there staring at you like the idiot I was. I remember how your face went from being taken aback to being lightened up quickly as if a drop of enlightenment finally found its way into the ocean of discovery.

"Pa, Uncle Joe's kid's here!"

I remember how you refer to me as 'Uncle Joe's kid' like my dad was that uncle you spend all your Sundays with grilling up the BBQ and emptying your father's cold beers stock in the fridge. I completely forgot to think how you could pull that conclusion out of thin air, but I still remember that toothy smile you shot out with your plump lips; the smile that you put on sincerely with your whole being.

I was just a new kid who just moved all the way from Blue Ridge; some stranger to your memory standing awkwardly in front of your doorstep in that silent cold evening, wearing a yellow sweater underneath my dark beige jacket; contrasting the constant gloom plastered on my face. I remember all the tiny details of the first day we met, yet the only real thing that left the deepest impression on me about you that night was I knew I would hate you.

I had never understood people like you; the ones who were always all smile, all bright, as if it was your duty to be the light in people's life. You shot this sunflower smile plastered on your bright face like your feet were planted on the earth and you streamed all the best things from nature and life to those around you. I had never understood people like you; I hated you, I envied you.

Until I realized, I was actually scared of you.

That one open-book.

No layers were covering you. Hell, you did not even come with a cover. You were wild, you were free, you were the best kind of people there was and you were the scariest to exist. People could not get close to you unless you let them, yet everybody would undoubtedly claim you as their best friend. But what scared me was not the existence of those circling you, enjoying every bit of your warmth.

No.

I was scared of how deep I was willing to fall into you once you let me deeper into your endless depth simply because you were an open book. There was no secret. There was nothing but the truth. And there was no end to the possibilities of you.

Yet I did not want to admit that fear, at least not that night. Because I had plenty of fears ready in store for you on that first night alone.

Do you know how the color saturation of your house flicked a little switch in my heart that night?

Something I had long forgotten. Something I know I was lack of and one I could never ask from my own dad.

Warmth.

My dad was a kind man; the kindest and the purest soul you could ever encounter in this cruel world. His mistake was that he loved too much—too much that he let his world revolve around my mom; the center of all the collision of his world. But then again, a part of him had died, so nobody could really blame him.

Nobody could blame him for his sorrow.

Nobody could blame him for his agony.

Nobody could ever tell him to pick up his pieces or those countless tears he lost count to his sleep.

Because everybody knew it shattered to extinction at the last breath my mom breathed.

And I had never wanted that kind of love.

The kind that made you breathe but could never set you free.

And I had no plan on changing my mind, regarding the love that I wanted and it was not like you came to change my mind either—regarding love, that was. Not quite.

Because there was love.

Then there was you.

I remember it clearly as if it was yesterday, love.

The first time ever I met you.

I remember that day; that cold afternoon where the fall leaves flew, brought by the wind in Fredericksburg; right in front of your gate—two blocks away from my place—before you bid me goodbye after inviting me into the opened world nobody else could ever offer me. I remember that day; of how the cold breeze created that calming rustling voice sung by every last bit of the oak leaves that stayed through that early autumn, the first time we met in 1989.