Chiaroscuro

My eyes swept the page as I took in the words printed on the newspaper.

As usual death, crime, and more bad news encapsulated most of the articles on each page; even the comics seem to follow the flow of the drama. I looked up from the monochromatic pages and saw the same colour in the scenery before me.

I closed the paper and tossed it to the couch in across from me. Unfortunately, it didn’t hit its target and instead it knocked against the stack of papers I had right beside the couch causing the whole thing to fall over in a hellish mess. I swore underneath my breath, the sound of old papers hitting the ground echoed throughout my deserted house. I exhaled an aggravated huff of breath, stood up from my seat and walked over to my kitchen to get myself something to eat.

When is that woman supposed to arrive?! I thought, hearing the frustration I had in my head. I opened the refrigerator and peeping inside I noticed that it barely had anything for me to eat; it contained a bunch of bottles of ketchup, water, and half empty sodas.

The fridge had other things that surely would not satisfy my growing hunger. I slammed the door shut with an angry growl. Walking back to the living room, I passed by several photo frames on the floor with broken glass surrounding it; a mess I’ve made and left unfixed for more than a few weeks. I recognized some of those pictures; in most of them I was standing beside people I used to know. As I looked at these remnants of my distant past, seeing the photos in black and white---like everything else for that matter-- I wondered if the photo is old enough to be taken in such colour but perhaps it was just my blasted colour-blindness.

The thought only made me even more annoyed. Instead of sitting back to where I recently was I strode over to the door and opened it. Fresh breeze and sunlight greeted me but not the woman I was waiting for. I slammed the door harder than I did with the refrigerator door. I began walking back to the living room but the moment I set foot in the said room, there came a rhythmic knock on the door. I heaved another sigh of annoyance as I walked back to the door and opened it, and there, standing in front of me, was a young woman with a large grin plastered on her face.

“Hello po Apung Dodong!” she greets with a pitch that’s higher than a skyscraper. It was a shrill sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “What took you so long?!” I bellowed, scowling deeply at her. This behaviour of mine didn’t seem to bother her, as a matter of fact it only amused her as she replied with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry apo, I had to run to the market before I came here so that I could cook us something to eat!” she explained. As she said this, she slightly lifted the eco bag she was bringing and I noticed parts of vegetables that peeked out from it.

I looked at her again and she returned my look with an infuriatingly wide smile, “very well,” I said gruffly, “come on in.” I held the door for her as she went inside. As she entered my old house, she took in the appearance of her surroundings possibly observing the amount of work she’s about to indulge into.

“I have stacks of papers that need throwing, and pieces of furniture that need dusting. There are broken picture frames on the floor that need sweeping, dishes that need washing---“

“Have you eaten already, apo?” she asked, her cheerful grin still coated on her youthful face. I stared at her and blinked.

“No I haven’t. In fact I am starving.” I told her, putting all emphasis on the word ‘starving’. “Well then let me begin my work in the kitchen. Meanwhile, apo you can relax in the living room while I set up our lunch.” She informed me while walking past me. “I’ve been “relaxing” for several hours waiting for you to arrive.” I grumbled. She replied with another chuckle, “don’t worry apo, it won’t take very long.”

She walked around passing by some of the rooms of my home; she obviously didn’t know where she was going. “It’s at the end of the hall, the room to your left.” I directed her. “Thank you apo!” she gleefully thanked me.

Rolling my eyes, I just slumped against one of the couches in the living room and waited while my new caretaker made herself busy in the kitchen. In the meantime, I decided to turn to the television and watch something to keep me entertained. I slipped my hand inside the couch and my palm closed around the remote hidden under the seat of the couch. Turning the TV on, the first thing that popped on the screen was cartoons. It was of that sponge with the gigantic eyes and horridly large teeth. I switched to a different channel which led me to an American film that was dubbed in Filipino. I hate these things, I find them horrific and extra cornified. I turned to another channel and a commercial about a TV series with a lot of gore greeted me. The scene of a man being stabbed startled me and I immediately turned to the next channel. Ah, this one I thought with finality.

“IT’S SHOWTIME!” the hosts of the show welcomed its viewers and the camera switched from the hosts to its audiences. Once the audience finished applauding, the camera focused on one of the hosts—the gay one, Vice Ganda, is it? She read from the teleprompter giving the audience a formal welcome before adding her own joking annotations to which the other hosts joined in. Meanwhile, the young man standing beside her continued to read the teleprompter “At mamaya masisiyalan natin ang mga kakaiba at magagandang hand-made parol na gawa ng iba’t ibang studyante na nangaling sa mga iba’t ibang prubinsya!” at the mention of the word parol, I felt my hand hardened into a fist. I grabbed the remote and switched the TV off. The black screen mirrored my darkened expression.

In my head I’ve already screamed twenty swears in different languages; along with that came fragments of memories that never stopped haunting me. My thoughts were interrupted by a high pitched cry, “Apo! Let’s eat!” she called in a sing-song voice.

I stood and went to the dining area where she was already laying out plates, glasses, and forks and spoons on the round wooden table for our meal. “Have a seat, apo! I’ll just bring in our food.” She politely said as she rushed in and out from the kitchen.

I took a seat on one of my chairs, as I did she came from behind me and laid a bowl in front of me. Our meal had pork, beef and some vegetables around it; despite my inability to identify the colour I knew right away it was Kare-Kare.

A service spoon sat beside the bowl and I took it, ready to dip the mouth into the scrumptious food when a hand slapped mine. I nearly dropped the spoon; luckily I had a firm grip on it. I glowered at my caretaker who was carrying a plate of rice as she stood over me. “Apo, we pray before we eat” she instructed. I rolled my eyes and returned the spoon back from where I took it. She placed the rice right beside the bowl of Kare-Kare and positioned herself on the seat beside me. Upon sitting down she did the sign of the cross and took my hand, I looked as her incredulously which she didn’t notice since her eyes were closed. “Bless us O Lord and these thy gifts which we are about to receive, from thy bounty through Christ our Lord, amen” she recited in a low voice.

She redid the sign of the cross and took the plate of rice. I was almost about to protest when I realized she was pouring some on my plate, I held back my retort and allowed her to give me my share of the meal. When I told her to stop, she obediently took the plate away and poured the remains on her own. I grabbed the service spoon immediately before she could stop me again and dipped it into the bowl. I took my share of the pork and vegetables smothered in the thick soup and poured it on top of my rice.

To my great surprise, the food tasted excellently; you barely even need the bagoong to make it even tastier. But, I wouldn’t let her know that, I tried my best to eat my meal with an annoyed scowl on my face but it was almost too impossible because it tasted perfection. “You should start cleaning when we finish eating” I commanded her as to not show my satisfaction. “Right away apo!” she replied with enthusiasm.

“Oh apo,” she continued, “If I’m done by 7:00 perhaps we could pass by Dolores or Intersection?”

“Why?”

“I just want to pass by the parol stands!”

I nearly choked on my food. The young woman hastily handed me a glass of water which I took and swallowed half its contents. “You’re going to kill me!” I exclaimed once I was able to breathe again. “I—I’m sorry apo, did I say anything wrong?” she gasped, for once a worried look flashed from her face. “YES! Why in the hell would you want to see the parols?” My sudden reaction confused her, “I just want to see the parols, apo! I hear they glitter beautifully at nig---“

“Well I am not interested in going because I want to stay at home! If you wish to do so, go by yourself!” I barked at her. “Oh but I don’t know the way ap—“

“Then don’t go! Stay here!”

I took the last bite from my plate and stood up from the table, leaving her alone to clean it all up. I didn’t look back but I heard a chair scratch the wooden floor, indicating that she has gone to do her job. Meanwhile I marched up the stairs and walked into my room. My room was, you could say, large quite enough to fit fifteen people inside. Unfortunately I didn’t have anyone but my caretaker to take inside my room; to me it was just another reminder that I live a lonesome life. Up on the wall I had pictures of my ex-wife, Vega. We were annulled after seventeen years of marriage; even she couldn’t handle me. We never had children; I was too busy then achieving my goals to take care of a child, much more create one with her. I never heard from her since we had our annulment and I could only imagine that she was living a perfectly happier life--- without me. It was the life that she deserved anyway.

This was the only room that I kept clean, this and the bathroom; the rest just became my trash can or my storage room. I took in the appearance of my large and empty room.

Black and white.

I remember when Vega and I used to paint this room; it was such a distant memory that I’ve already forgotten what the walls truly look like. I heard the sounds of water running and plates clanging from downstairs. She’s probably already washing the dishes I thought. I lied down on my bed and looked up at the ceiling. Simply white. What was it again before? Yellow? Light blue?

As I stared at the ceiling, thinking of all its possible colours like counting sheep, I found myself blinking until I fell asleep.

Night was already beginning to arrive when I opened my eyes, awoken by the sound of a vacuum. I turned my head and saw my caretaker busily sweeping the floor of my room with the noisy thing. “Can’t you see I’m sleeping?” I grumbled, however she didn’t seem to hear my remark. “OI!” I roared, and the young woman finally turned the vacuum off and turned to me with a surprised look on her face. “Oh, you’re awake Apo!” she grinned, “thanks to you.” I groused sarcastically, “you’re welcome!”

I studied her carefully, realizing I still don’t know her name. “What is your name?” I inquired. “Oh, Raya, apo. Raya Mallari.”

“And you are how old?”

“26, apo.”

Huh, she’s still quite young. “And why did you choose to work a maid?” I asked. “Well, the previous job I had was a head accountant in one of the supermarkets in Angeles.” She began, “however they closed down and the manager decided to move to a different area. It’s too far from where I live and I couldn’t possibly follow them. When I saw your request for a maid in the newspaper, I thought of taking the job since I needed to help my family with the expenses at home.” “And you don’t see this as a degradation in your life?”

“Of course not, apo!” she chided, “I am helping my family by working more so I am also able to help you in any way possible. How could that possibly be degradation?” I remained silent as her reply processed through my brain. “Are you done with all your work?” I finally said, “yes apo!” she answered delightfully, “The dishes are washed, the rooms are swept, the stacks of old papers are thrown away, the laundry is done---“

“and dinner?” I added. “Dinner is served.” She grinned widely.

We had our meal in silence and she didn’t dare mention visiting the parol shops again. Thank god. After eating I left the dining area and strolled to the living room to watch the news, while she began washing the dishes. From the headlines, more devastating news was reported. My quiet comprehension of the daily newscast was interrupted, however, by a loud laugh coming from the kitchen followed by more loud comments from my caretaker.

“Quiet down in there!” I yelled, but instead of halting, her loud voice continued to echo through the hall. I quickly stood up and strode over to the kitchen where I saw Raya laughing into her cellphone. “I SAID KEEP IT DOWN!” I growled. She looked at me, surprised by my sudden appearance, “sorry apo!” she apologized however amusement still not fading from her face. I stomped away from the kitchen and heard her talk into the phone, her voice a little lower this time. “Oh no, I haven’t seen them yet Mama. I don’t think apung Dodong is in the mood to see them tonight. Perhaps tomorrow we’ll take a visit!” I knew she was talking about the parols and the frown I had grew much larger. I’m not going anywhere and she is not making me!

The next few days had been quite similar to Raya’s first day of work. She prepares my meals while I entertain myself by watching television. She brings me my newspapers every morning along with a cup of coffee and as I read, she swept the floor and cleaned every corner of the house. She’s already been here several weeks since her first day and would usually go to her home every Sunday. My caretaker does this dull routine every single day and still that annoyingly optimistic attitude of hers never failed her. Once as I passed by her to use the bathroom I heard her merrily humming the unmistakable tune of Kumukutikutitap which unnerved me so much I slammed the door loudly once I got into the bathroom. In my great frustration, I accidentally slipped and landed painfully on my behind. I howled in pain and when I left the room I saw her looking at me with a face that’s amused, confused, and worried all at the same time. I chose to ignore this and walked past her.

During dinnertimes Raya would sometimes attempt to bring up the topic of the parol shops which I would still angrily refuse. There are the usual times when I would shout at her out of the surge of my emotions, but I would just shut down my rage when I see her unfazed by my outburst.

Habitually, I just allow my performances of banging the door furiously to speak for me. I would lock myself in my room and just wait for her to call me if she needs anything or has something to ask. I offered Raya the guest room for her to sleep in but often times I find her sleeping on the couch with her phone beside her; possibly falling asleep after a long chatter with her family. Almost every night she speaks to that family of hers; I would often hear her lurid laughter from inside my room while I read the novels I keep in there and when I’ve gotten impatient with her aggravating happiness I would open the door, scream and bang it closed.

One afternoon Raya asked me if she could leave to buy something, assuming she was going to the market to restock the vegetables and other groceries we were lacking, I permitted her request. I became alarmed when it was already half past 6:00 and she still hasn’t returned from her conquest. I paced impatiently all around the living room waiting for her to come back; not because I’ve grown fond of her company— a possibility that will take a very long time to happen—but because she hasn’t even prepared for our dinner yet. I swear this woman could just murder me. She didn’t even bother bringing her cellphone with her so there’s no possible way for me to reach her. I swore under my breath for the tenth time, what is taking her so long?! After several more strides around my living room there finally came a knock at my door. I strode over to it and opened it wide a scowl ready to greet her. When I opened the door, her smile immediately met my frown. There was something different. Her smile meets her eyes, it’s wider than usual, more annoying than usual.

“Where have you been?!”

“Oh apo, I’m so happy!” We spoke at the same time, in opposite emotions. I opened my mouth to make another retort but she was quicker to speak. She hopped inside my house; in her hand she was carrying a large plastic bag. “After waiting so long, apo, I finally found them! The nice lady at the kanto gave me instructions on what jeep to take and where to go. Oh apo they were beautiful! Absolutely, incredibly, undeniably, amazingly, beautiful!” she squealed, talking quickly like a very excited child. The excitement in her voice raised her pitch several octaves high, sending infinite chills down my spine. “What are you—“

“And look apo! I bought one for your home!” she continues and lifted the object inside the plastic bag she was holding and revealed---oh dear god NO.

“I noticed there are barely any decorations around and it’s already December 20 we should sta---!”

“HAVEN’T I MADE IT SPECIFICALLY CLEAR I THAT I DO NOT WANT TO SEE A LANTERN, RAYA?!” I screamed at her. She blinked at me, bemused “but—but---Apo I didn’t think you didn’t wan—“

“DO YOU EVER THINK YOU STUPID GIRL?!”

“I---I just thought---“

“WHAT?”

“I—I thought you just didn’t want to go to the parol shops, apo because you’d rather stay in your room. So I thought of buying one for us. I thought you’d like it if you saw how beautifu—“

“WASN’T MY PROFILE CLEAR TO YOU, DUNDERHEADED GIRL? I AM COLOR BLIND. I HAVE A COLOR VISION DEFICIENCY. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT MEANS?! EVERY DAMN THING I SEE IS IN BLACK AND WHITE. HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO--AS YOU SAY---LIKE THE PAROL?!”

“You don’t have to see the colours to find it beautiful, apo.” Raya countered, apparently having a new-found strength, though I could tell it’s faltering.

“BULLSHIT!” I bawled hitting the lantern away from her grip. Before she could take it I stomped on the lantern, the bulbs breaking into pieces beneath the sole of my shoe. As I did this I didn’t hear any protests from Raya. When I was sure that the lantern wouldn’t function anymore I stopped and look at my caretaker, whose eyes were casted on the lantern at my feet. “Do this again and you will have to look for another job! NOW CLEAN THIS UP!” I ordered and walked away heading to where I would retreat. I banged the door behind me and screamed exasperatedly. In my anger I chose to break my rules and thrashed around my room, hitting everything I could reach and hurling them across the room; vases, photo frames, and anything fragile met the opposite wall and collapsed on the floor in a hundred parts of itself. I felt my knees go weak with each time I break a piece of furniture until I just fell on the floor cradling myself and cried like a little stubborn child.

Stupid girl, stupid Raya, stupid parols I chanted in my head. Along with this came the memories, the reminders, and the flashbacks that haunted me and broke me every day for the past thirty five years of my worthless life. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

I didn’t realize I fell asleep on the floor, in my fetus position. When I woke up, the first thing I saw was the moon casting a bright glow through my windows. I looked around me and noticed my room was clean from the clatter I made. I gently sat up from my position, ache stabbing every side of my body as I did so. When I got up and left my room, I saw Raya standing over my collection of photos in the living room. “You didn’t even bother waking me up?” I snide as I descended the stairs. “Apo, how did you know Fernando Canlas?” she turned to me, her eyes big with excitement as if I hadn’t screamed at her from the top of my lungs this evening. She tried to tone down her voice, but her interest betrayed her. “Fernando Canlas?” I repeated.

“Yes apo, he’s here in your pictures! He’s here in most of your pictures in fact.” She observed. I reached the bottom of the stairs and joined her in the living room. “How do you know about Fernando Canlas?” I wondered.

“Oh apo, if you must know I idolize him very much,” she explained dreamily. “You do?”

“Of course! My parents told me all about him!” she announced, “I’ve known of him and his talent ever since I first saw a parol. They told me that Fernando Canlas was simply the best and the greatest lantern maker in the whole Philippines. Some of his works were even featured in international news and reached America! He’s amazing and I saw some of his works on TV, they’re simply beautiful! They say that most lantern makers keep imitating his style but no one could beat the originality of Fernando Canlas!” she said all this with enthusiasm and admiration in her voice and all I could do was just gape as she narrated Fernando’s story.

My story.

“What happened to Fernando?” I asked her, and then I saw her smile drop to a frown, “my parents don’t know what happened to him, apo. All they told me is that he just…disappeared. Out of the public and the media’s eyes. No one knows what happened to him; they just said the last they saw of Fernando was during…a…a…” she struggled, remembering that horrid day of my life, “what was it again…?”

“A contest. A nationwide parol making contest, sponsored by the church.” I finished bitterly. “YES! That one,” she grins, “but… how did you know that, apo?”

I looked at her in the eye for a long time before sighing, “have you been to the attic?” I just said. My question confused her, “Not yet, apo. I didn’t know you had an attic…” she answered raising her eyebrows.

“Come with me.”

I turned around and led the way to the said room. The attic was at the far end of the hall of the second storey of my house, past my bedroom. I haven’t been there in a long while since taking a trip to the attic always gave me agonizing flashbacks. When we reached the hall’s end and I clicked on a switch that was hidden behind a large vase. As I did this, a box-shaped platform from the ceiling above us opened and a tiny wooden ladder descended leading to the attic. I heard Raya have an intake of breath behind me and I climbed up the steps of the ladder. As I entered the attic I stepped aside so I could give way to my caretaker, once she was up beside me and looked around and the face of astonishment was vivid in her face. All around the attic, I had all the parols that I have made: the best, the firsts, the most popular, and even the award-winning ones. Hung up on the walls were sketches of my ideas on frames and right beside of them were the actuality of those sketches. The attic was full of my creations; all dusty and dirty, but still functional. Raya walked around and observed all of my parols and I just watched her from the entrance.

“You’re Fernando Canlas?” she finally said and I nodded, “yes.” “But how---why---where did you get Dodong?!” I looked at her incredulously, “a million possible questions and that’s the first you ask?” I wondered and my caretaker shrugged. I sighed, “well if you must know my wife Veda, calls me Dodong. It’s her nickname for me. It came from the last two letters of Fernando. Veda loved making weird nicknames.”

Raya nodded and remained silent for a while and looked back at the lanterns, taking in the designs I once have imagined. “Apung Dodong— ah, Sir Fernando, what happened?” she said her enthusiastic voice from a while ago disappearing, replaced by a tone of melancholy.

I joined her and looked at all the lanterns and my sketches around us, not giving her a sideways glance I exhaled mournfully as I recalled all the bitter haunting memories I have.

“Ever since I was a child I loved seeing parols during Christmas; I would even cry when my parents wouldn’t bring home a new parol when Christmas is coming.” I began

“I told myself one day I’m going to design my own parol and everyone in the world will have them in their houses. I did everything to make that happen. I graduated college, became an engineer and all but still my heart was set out to create the best lantern this country has seen. My uncle was a lantern-maker, I would often visit his shop, there I would sketch my ideas and show it to him; he was very fond of my ideas but he told me they were too hard to make. When he died he gave me the shop and I gave up my life as an engineer and began crafting my art.

My uncle was right, my ideas were hard to make with all the limited materials, but I improvised. I didn’t want to give up easily until I succeeded making my first ten sketches come to reality.

They sold around San Fernando first, until it began spreading like wildfire and people were already asking for my works to be sold in other places. With the money I earned I was able to purchase all the materials I needed, not only that but people were actually asking to work for me, because of this I had to make a bigger shop, a more professional one.

My success was becoming bigger, my reach became wider, my name was all over the country, my crafts enveloped the country in a colourful kaleidoscopic happiness. My team and I joined contests, nationwide and international and won almost all of them,” I pointed to some of my award-winning lanterns, the certificates of recognition hung beside them.

“But of course the inevitable came and happened---all that success went into my head. I knew I was good, I recognized my own talent and creativity. I was sure I was the greatest. I became obnoxious, selfish---I treated everyone else as if they were inferior over me.

My team despised me but I didn’t care, I set out to be the greatest to end all the greatest. I was the Grinch of Christmas during my time. I made people happy with my creations but I made sure I was happier with the amount of money in my hands. My team told me to donate half of our earnings to charities and the poor and I laughed at their faces. I told them, ‘this money is the product of my hard work, my intelligence, and resourcefulness. I’m not letting peasants steal the fruit of my labour!’ I didn’t even give my team Christmas bonuses despite forcing them to work for me during Christmas day itself.

Until one day the church sponsored a nationwide parol-making contest, it invited all the best parol-makers in the country. The judges were foreigners; they said the winning design will be made and sold all around the world. It was my exact dream, this was the moment I’ve been hoping and dreaming for. The sponsors invited me to join and I couldn’t refuse. Because of the promise of winning, I became a million times worse to my people. I forced them to work every day of the week, even during Sundays. I wouldn’t let them go home to their families until our design was done. I almost wouldn’t let them sleep. I hit them, threw water on them, I screamed at them, I was merciless. All that occupied my head was winning.

The contest took place right in front of the church, the judges were already there and lanterns filled the area. It was a beautiful sight Raya, the road was filled with glittering colours and happy faces but none of those were more beautiful than our own creation. It was majestic, the most unique out of all of them. All the colours you can find on the colour wheel were present in my design. It was almost like seeing into the Milky Way; it was that glorious. People were surrounding it and oohing and ahhing in wonder. I was gazing up at it with so much pride until I noticed one bulb wasn’t flickering properly. It was horrible, it ruined the sequence. I was so mad I immediately ran to the back of the lantern to fix it.

When I looked on to it, it was overheated; it felt like fire in my touch. As I began to turn the bulb to fix it, the bulb sparked and it exploded hitting my eyes.” My voice broke.

“All the chemical it had inside, the dirt, even shards of glass hit me. I dropped the bulb and screamed on the top of my lungs; they took me to the hospital as quickly as they can. Doctors had to undergo tremendous operations on my eyes to remove all the pieces of glass and to clean them from the chemicals. It was the most painful experience I’ve ever had, worse than anything. My stay in the hospital took several days; they kept my eyes closed to heal after the surgery. I thought I was going to be blinded by this incident.

On the day that they had to check my vision, I opened my eyes and I saw everything in black and white. People’s faces eyes, the walls, the television---everything in the room was black and white. I wasn’t blinded but I lost my sight of colour. I cried so hard that day. I felt like God has punished me. The doctor told me I almost became blind but my sight was strong enough to survive. He said I was lucky I didn’t completely lose my sight.

But you couldn’t just say that to a lantern-maker, Raya. I lived my life in colour and dreamt in colour. I sewed colours together to make something even more beautiful than a rainbow. I brought rainbows down to earth, down to human hands. They were the most beautiful part of my mind and my life and it’s been taken away from me…

“After the incident I heard that my lantern won the contest and my team received the cash prize---as well as the credit. They donated the money they’ve won and named the design after theirs, they excluded my name. When I demanded why they said it’s because they worked on the design whereas all I did was just pressure them. According to them, they deserved the credit of it all, not me. Could you possibly imagine, Raya, your biggest dream fulfilled in the names of others? I felt cheated on; I wished I just died or I just became completely blind just so I wouldn’t have to live in this pain.

After that, I made sure no one knows what happened to me. I hid away from everyone. I was so ashamed. I locked myself in my house; I didn’t dare show my face in public. Veda did everything she could to take care of me and tolerate me. But since the incident I was filled with hatred and anger, worse than before. Veda left me. I was all alone in such a cruel universe…” I wiped away my tears with my back of my hand like a little kid.

“Everyday, Raya, I look at the sunset and see it in black and white. I wake up to the sunrise and see it in black and white. I look up at the evening sky and never knew how the moon looks like when it glows in yellow. I walk down the street and I am enveloped in darkness. It’s worse during Christmas, when I see a lantern and I couldn’t see its colour, it sparks so brightly but I couldn’t appreciate its beauty because all I see from it is just black and white… I don’t deserve your admiration Raya and you deserve a better idol. I’m sorry because the Fernando Canlas you knew was a selfish man and now you tolerate the remnants of his greed and left to care for a powerless man.”

Raya was silent but I could hear her sniffing, no doubt also crying. “Apo,” she cried, “Forgive me, but from your story I can tell that you have long been blind even before the incident.” She spoke as if choosing her words carefully, but I can tell she has a lot of things to tell me.

“You overlooked what makes colours truly beautiful and meaningful. The happiness people feel when they see your works, the admiration, the joy---it was all swept away because you only saw what mattered more to you, yourself. Apo, you may have lived with the colours of lanterns, but you never truly come to love them. You’ve been looking at the world in black and white even before that bulb exploded and now that life has taken away the beauty of sight, only then did you realize its true worth.” I opened my mouth to speak but then I realized she was right; I closed mouth shut and stayed quiet.

“Colours are more than what you see on the colour wheel or on a lantern, apo, so much more than that. Colours are dull without a life to dedicate to them. A child looking up in wonder at something is a burst of bright like yellow, people choosing to love than to hate is a spread of the warmth of scarlet, hands that hold the crippled palms of those in great need is a grip the peace of emerald, tears that flow from eyes whether from sadness, anger, or pure joy is a sensation of blue-ish freedom. Apo, colours aren’t just seen they are felt, heard, tasted, smelled, and lived. And you shouldn’t have to stop living because you could not see them.”

++++

It’s Christmas Day.

And I’m still alone in the house. Raya has asked my permission to spend the day with her family and I gave her my consent. She has been asking me to come with her since her family always throws a huge feast in their small home during Christmas and I politely refused the offer. I’ve always celebrated Christmas, alone I told her, I’ll be fine as always, don’t worry.

Nothing much has changed ever since our little conversation in the attic. I still shout at her for annoying me most of the time and I still get hot-tempered when she keeps making me decorate the house. I’m still not very fond of my ever-enthusiastic caretaker but I can live with this. Nevertheless a little difference wouldn’t hurt I thought as I stared at my now empty attic.

I’ve decided my works deserve a better place than to continue rusting and locked up in my attic. The delivery man just left with all of my lanterns and I asked him to take them all to Raya. My house may not have any decorations for today but I want hers to be full of them.

She doesn’t know about this decision of mine, I just thought of this now. I made sure all the lanterns were safe to use and were still functional. I wrote a very short letter to go along with all of the lanterns and signed it with my real name. I asked her not to tell anyone, not even her family, about what we had discussed in the attic that night and she agreed to my request. However I think the girl deserves proper recognition from the idol she admired.

As I descended from the ladder and down to the living room, a spark of luminous warmth filled my heart and lightness tugged at my lips. A feeling I’ve lost for so long, finally comes back to me.