escapril 2020

escape 02.

"flowers for me, flowers for you. saan galing? sementeryo."

(translation: "flowers for you, flowers for me. where did it come from? cemetery.")

I watched and listened as kids chant those words like a song and giggled as though the scenery is something to laugh at.

but it wasn't.

"Here, Joe. Flower for the deceased," a croaky voice disturbed my two little ears as cold and sweaty hands tapped around my right shoulder. I looked at the flower held by the man who's wearing all black. He's my father.

"F-flower, papa?" I stuttered, for I was just a seven-year old kid attending this family gathering where all were required to wear black.

"Yes, darling. Go up front and give her this flower for me, will you?" Papa insisted and nod at me to come forwards where other mourning elders scooch over beside someone's house, I guess?

I don't know.

Papa only said that the white casket I see is the bed of the deceased where they sleep for a very long time and never wake up.

My black dress swung softly with the rage of the wind as I was busy holding tightly to my one and only flower slipping at my hand. I walked forwards and was already in front of the deceased's bed. Seconds later, many kids, same age as mine, gathered around the white casket as if it's our first time to see one. They were also holding flowers like mine.

"Karen Joyce Burris," I read the name on her bed. Same name goes with my mother.

"Huh, what a coincidence," I reckoned.

One of the elders who was grieving beside the casket before came over me and hugged me tightly. He was called 'Old Bloke Larry'.

"It's a-alright, Joe. Everything will be f-fine," his breath bugged my ears. It was cold. Though the sun was still up in the sky, the day was cold.

I ignored his existence and threw away the flower to the deceased as other kids started throwing theirs too. The casket slowly goes down and down over the hole on the ground I'm standing. Everyone was weeping and wailing and I don't want to disturb the holy family gathering so I remained silent. Papa came behind my back and tapped my head. He wasn't saying anything though. I wasn't too. But in that moment, both of us knew that we felt nothing but empty.

"Till we meet again, my love," was all I heard Papa say.

Three years later, I was ten. I gained height much as I garnered weight. My hair grew long and my hands were not those of the babies anymore. I became more of like a teenager, but my mind still remain in chaos.

I attended this family gathering again and wore a simple black dress. I don't know. But this is the only gathering where all the family members and relatives are always present.

We were standing, gathered around the white casket. I have learned that this family gathering is called a funeral. Everyone was holding umbrellas and each other's hands but I was busy holding onto my only flower. Other kids like me were also holding their flowers too. It was like a tradition, where adults cry while the kids bring flowers to the deceased. I remained unaware of all the agonies and sorrows everyone felt that day. I walked to the front and felt my heart skipped a beat.

"Timothy Burris," one kid spoke up and yes, it was my father who died. No elders came over to me this time nor were mourning at the bedside of the deceased. Everyone was behind my back.

When they started to lower the body, I knew I had to bid my goodbyes and so I did.

I threw away my flower and perfectly shot it at the hole as other kids were doing it also. No papa approached my back and no papa tapped my head.

I tried to plaster a smile and just nodded at his body while saying, "Till we meet again, Pops."

Seven years later, I was seventeen. Before I had my 18th birthday, I was already living my life in hell, filling my head with all the troubles and my heart was tormented with chaos. I became miserable. I cannot cope up directly with life and so I wake up one morning, seeing nothing other than this terrible darkness. I was blinded with problems and emotion. Guilt, anger, and isolation engulfed my whole being. My parents are gone, my life's a mess and I was doing no good. I grew up and accidentally fucked up with life.

It was too hard for me. I hated the world that night. And I was about to commit suicide.

When suddenly, then suddenly, I heard people talking behind my back. They were talking about me.

"She's a bright kid full of big dreams."
"Everyone loved her."
"She must've been a very strong kid. I salute."

Does what she say real? Am I a bright kid? Do they really love me? OMG, heavens. She salutes me!

I saw Old Bloke Larry that day. He grew more beard and wrinkles on his face than that on his body but overall, he was still the same old man I knew when I was seven, grieving at my mother's funeral. I don't think he still remembers me though. I mean, I've grown enough, being the miserable and punk li'l kid everyone hated her very existence all around town. But today must have been a really lucky day. The world may have turned upside-down. Everyone was appreciating my very own existence.

We were at the middle of eulogy. I remained silence to respect the family. The rain poured so heavy and I don't see who's crying and who's missing who. I was just there, standing with them. I don't recall the same faces I saw just as the last two funerals, but I understand how my relatives grew more relatives inside the span of 7 years. Some died and some must replaced those who have died.

'But how funny it is to see people giving you recognition on the day you're nowhere. How ironic people can be to appreciate someone's existence when they are already gone.'

I knew I was already too late when at that day, kids started to threw petal of little flowers at me.

"flowers for you, flowers for me. where did it come from? cemetery."

I heard the kids chanting those words again. They were saying it as if it was a song. Confirmed at the thought, I laid my back and took a deep rest. And at that same day, I knew I attended my own funeral.

grow, decay