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MANILA WASN'TUSUALLY cold but today was an exception. Prickly, dry and sharp, it's causes goosebumps to form all over her arms. The amber leaves fell from the trees, crunching beneath Jamie's shoes. The walk home to school is the same. The only thing she can hear is her boots swishing against the dead leaves and the distant buzz of cars. People rushing home to their families. A chilly breeze pulls right by her and a shiver runs down her spine. The girl shuffles deeper into her scarf. As the minutes past, the sun's rays are blocked by tall buildings.
She had always thought of home as feelings of warmth. But entering her own, she felt cold.
The apartment is empty. Expensive paintings coat the walls and extravagant furniture line the floors. But there is no feeling. No matter how many decorations were bought, it would never erase the emptiness in her home. It was too broken.
The view above the working class of Manila should excite her. She could just taste the spices. But it's too far to reach. Somewhere inside, she still longed to live, but now she's accepted it is a mere dream much like everything else in her life.
Jamie had a guilty habit of people-watching. When all you had was time, you developed the worst things. She would watch the cars race down the street and see executives with large suits come home from their long day to relax and spend time with their families. One particular family, the apartment in front of hers, always caught her interest.
Every single day, a little girl would stare outside the window, looking down at the cars. Her eyes would light up when she saw the right one. And when the doors to her home would open, she would go running into the man's arms with the happiest smile on her little face. He would look exhausted, yes, but that didn't matter when he finally got to see her. No matter his tiredness, he would hold her until there no more hugs left to be given and kiss her cheeks until she was complaining.
And all the same, minutes after, her own door would tear open. Her father would enter with various of his business partners. He doesn't hug her, or greet her, or kiss her. No, he just stares at her with disappointment as she trips over her own feet. She would hear him apologizing for her clumsiness. Though she's behind steep walls, she can feel their judging eyes on her — eating her alive.
A woman is to be submissive. A woman is to keep her head down. That's what her father always said. It made sense when you looked at the wife he had chosen.
Subservient, quiet, kind.
It baffles her how her mother just sits and takes the abuse, none-the-less allows her daughter to face the same fate, but she doesn't blame her. Though deep down, no matter how much her mind wants to convince itself that she's just scared — Jamie wants to scream sometimes. She's scared. She's so fucking scared in this house of lies. She could've sworn she was suppose to be the child, but she's been forced to grow up too early.
Her father - an old man with wrinkles, tons of stress lines and hair made of salt, is cursing out one of his familiar sounding workers. Mr. Hahn? A worker from Vietnam. She remembers him having dinner with their family, fake-smiling all the way through. Her father's face is stoic, full of nothing but anger. The worker scrambles to explain that it was only an accident. He begs to keep his position. He has a family to provide for, a child to take care of her. Mr. Hahn begs him to understand that.
Oh and he does. Her father understands perfectly well. He gets it. And he laughs. He laughs so hard that tears prim at his corners. The laugh runs so deep in his throat and in his stomach. Her father's laugh is the last thing Mr. Hahn hears before the call ends.
"Gemma."
His voice catches her by surprise. He knew the whole time, she's dead. She's dead. She's dead. Calm down, it'll be okay. You're not your mother, he knows better than to put his hands on you. He would never hurt someone who shared his own image. Slowly, she turned to meet him and his cold eyes.
"Yes."
He lifts off his seat. Her blood runs cold and her shoulders shake. He doesn't care. She wonders, what's he going to say? What is he going to do? The screams of her mother, her useless pleads bleed through Jamie's mind. Now, that's the only thing she sees when she looks at him.
"Do not do that ever again."
His cold hand latches onto her and forces her to stop shaking. She grimaces at his tight grip as she's led out of the office and back into the quiet hallways. His door slams. She's alone, again. His company, no matter how sour and cold, was better than none at all.
Sometimes, Jamie found comfort in being alone; really she had no choice. Being trapped in her own mind became a daily part of her life. In her own mind, she could do whatever she wanted. See whoever she wanted. Jamie didn't have to pretend. She didn't have to fear.
Hours pass and her thoughts run wild. The only thing she can think about is dancing. Her fingers ache and the sheets of paper in front of her are filled to the brink with notes. In her mind, she leaps across the sheets of paper.
She dances underneath the moonlight with someone mysterious. What's his name? She didn't care enough to ask. All she knows is that his eyes are full of asteroids and blizzards and his mask hides the storm. He runs away from her, and she thinks that she can catch him, when really, she doesn't realize she's too far behind him. Every moment and every second, she tries to grasp onto him and hold him, but he always gets away.
The story runs through in her mind, playing out like a story book and before she knows her feet are moving along too. The music in her ears blasted loudly. The bright city lights shine across her room. It was nothing short of electrifying as she danced alone in her room, with no one to see her, no one to judge her.
