Hiraya (HEST #1)

Kabanata 13

Kabanata XIII: Sacrifice

Do you ever wonder why paintings always capture certain things during their middle?

Like a painting of a sunset or rising of the sun. A portrait of a crying child or a woman caught in the middle of laughter. Palaging ganoon. Palaging nasa kalagitnaan at hindi kailanman ang simula o wakas.

What happens after the sun rose? Do children go out the street and play under it? Or will the dark clouds eventually defy it and reign over the sky castle?

What happens after the child's cries? Will his friends comfort him and soothe away his woes? Or will he remain alone, crying until there's no more tears to shed but blood?

The paintings never told us the answers.

Dahil parating nasa kalagitnaan lamang ng isang pangyayari ang ipinapakita nito sa kaniyang kulay. We will never know what happens next, we can only guess the outcome for ourselves. Life is the same way. We experienced the past, we live in the present, and the future is an unknown abyss.

And like the paintings, no one could ever give us the answers. We can only guess and wish that the future would paint the same way that we're wishing in our minds.

Pagkatapos kong makita ang aking ina kasama ang tauhan namin na si Kuya Jommel, nagsimulang manlabo ang aking prayoridad. Nanginig ang aking mga pananaw at hindi makayanan ng aking isip na iproseso ang ibang bagay bukod sa aking nadiskubre.

The next day, my mother packed her things and left us.

"Miss Hira," nagmamakaawa na tawag ni Ate Linda, "kumain na po kayo. Hindi pa rin po ba kayo papasok ngayon?"

Ang kaniyang boses ay tila hangin, naririnig ngunit hindi nagrerehistro sa akin. Isang linggo na akong nasa kuwarto lamang. I'm in this shut down equilibrium where a lot of things didn't matter anymore. Where things are making any quilt of sense.

I'm in a dreamlike state. Except this one isn't a nightmare, it's just reality.

"Leave me, Ate Linda," walang gana kong tugon habang nakaupo sa kama, ang mga mata ay nakaharap sa veranda.

"Pero miss-"

"Leave," muli kong utos. Ang aking mga daliri ay dahan-dahang humihigpit sa kutson. "Please. . ."

Ilang segundo ang lumipas nang walang dinadaloy na tunog ang hangin bago malungkot na buntong hininga ang ikinuwit ni Ate Linda. "Masusunod po."

Isang yuko ang kaniyang ginawa at naglakad paatras ng aking silid kasama ang iba pang mga kasambahay. Dahan-dahan nilang sinarado ang pintuan at iniwan ako nang mag-isa.

Muli kong sinilayan ang veranda, ang mga mata ay tinutok roon kahit na ang isip ay naglalakbay muli sa memorya ng gabi sa Palacio de Amnon.

Like a pirated tape, that scene filled my mind repeatedly. Paulit-ulit na naglalaro ang memorya sa aking mata. Kung natapos ay uulit muli sa umpisa na tila ba sa pag-ulit nito ay may magbabago sa daloy ng pangyayari.

It's funny how humans always clutch their claws around things that hurt them the most.

Why do we do that, I wonder? Para saan? For the pain that it brings us? For justice? For aspirations of revenge?

No.

Of course not.

In the end, it's because of hope. For the wishful thinking that things might change and will fall into place eventually. For the hope that the circumstance would untangle and things would change for the better. Ang dahilan kung bakit paulit-ulit na hinahawakan ng mga tao ang mga bagay na hindi makakabuti sa kanila ay dahil sa paniniwala na magbabago rin ito kinalaunan.