Nevergirl’s

I ate the sunshine. I ate it. I wanted its light to flow up to my throat and burst out of my mouth, and so I ate it. I wanted its lightness; I wanted its grace. I wanted to fly through windows as it did, bursting freely among the clouds, flitting past treetops and rooftops, and so I ate it. I speared it, caught it, stepped on it, broke it. I flung it over one shoulder and dragged it home, throwing it onto hot coals, and roasting it—roasting it until I could eat it without my mouth burning, my eyes tearing, or my heart breaking.

Yes, I ate the sunshine, and now I’m neck-deep in light all because I ate the sunshine. I ate it a long time ago when I couldn’t say no, because I couldn’t say no but dearest, please do not read this and think this is about you.

This is not about you (though well, you might think it is because you’ve always called me Sunshine). This is not about you. This is not about you. This is about the sunshine, how I ate it, how I loved it, and how oh how I stuffed it into my mouth, with the desperation of the long-starved, but it was no use, no use. There is no lightness here, no grace; there is only knowledge (and maybe sometimes guilt too) that I ate the sunshine, ate all of it, and left none for you.

I am very sorry.

What should I tell you? What is worth telling? Can I tell a story about forgetting?

I have always meant to write about you. Always. But you are difficult to write about. I remember too little; and on some days, I remember too much. A paragraph, a line from a poem, a sentence that is missing a punctuation — these are all I have of you. I think you’re a story not meant to be told. Or maybe, you are a story unformed. Or maybe, you are not a story yet. Maybe you never will be.

I thought about you today. There is space in my heart that is solely for the pain of no longer sharing stories, laughter, islands, and water bottles with you. This pain is duller now, and that is as it should be. There will be other stories–ones that do not hurt to tell–and if the subject of you ever comes up, I know the best I could come up with would be that you never happened; that I made you up.

Because you see, I am here.

You are not.

Photo Credit: Aileen Siroy, the Lightchaser (Also, Cupcake Fiend hahaha!)

He has Alzheimer’s, my lolo. He no longer knows people by name. He smiles at everyone with the guileless innocence of a child. But everyone assumes he would remember who I am and what I mean to him.

He did, that day I visited. His yaya was feeding him but he stood up when I entered. “Do you know her?” My lola asked, sure that he doesn’t. His eyes lit up. “Ming,” he said, calling me by the pet name he gave me when I stood no higher than his knee. That was all the invitation my heart needed to break.

Two minutes. That’s how long I managed to stay in his room before bolting out and crying.

(more…)

When you spend almost five years of your life with people you don’t know but have had to weather the worst possible storms with, you cannot share cubicle, elbow room, heartaches, and breathing space with them and NOT think of them as family – you just don’t. You hurt when they hurt; you worry when one of their loved ones die; you fear the worst when they blog about choosing to cope rather than whine about something they have no control over; you jump in glee when they say goodbye to a bad relationship and say hello to the possibility of a better one; you get excited about their marriage or impending parenthood; and above all, you make their happiness your own the moment they realize a dream. Short-term or long-term, who’s counting? The point is, their sorrows and happiness become yours and at some point in time, you stop thinking of them as friends and start thinking of them as kin.

I will write about this only once because it’s too hurtful to dredge up and rehash ever again. When you promise the people you care about you won’t ever leave them but eventually end up doing so, you go away hoping they know – even without your spelling it out to them – that the only reason you broke that promise is so they need not feel torn and stricken over things they couldn’t possibly do anything about. After all, it’s not every day you’re made to choose between what’s left of your principles and idealism and the people you care for – and the only way you won’t have to make that choice at all is by going away.

So to you, and you, and you:
You will never know how much it cost me to smile and act flippant that afternoon I came to say goodbye. You will never know how dangerously close I came to crumbling and tearing up the moment I realized what terrible knowledge you’ve had to live with for some time. But you see, I smiled and laughed and pooh-poohed your concerns away because it was the last gift I could give you. I do not want you to choose between him and me – it was never meant to be that way; it shouldn’t ever have to be. But just so you know, if I ever have to make the same choice again or go through that afternoon one more time, I wouldn’t do anything differently. I would still have sniggered at your crestfallen faces, hooted at your soul-searching, laughed at your apprehensions, ribbed you about your two-timing would-have-been girlfriend, insisted that we go boozing real soon or you’d be too sober to function, poked you back so you’ll know I’ll miss that weird habit of yours because I know that my laughter – no matter how hollow – will give you peace of mind.

For you, a thousand times over.