Chapter 1
Stories prevailed the majority of our afternoon sessions. We exchanged tales - mine from school, hers a different world.
I knew I bore her. I could only rant about the endless school load and the injustice of not being a teacher's bet. Yet she listened. She had a far more complicated life but I could feel she empathized with me - as if she went through the exact same thing.
“Your vigor reminded me of my happy days," she said when I asked her if she ever got tired of my whinings.
At times, she would tell me tales of her endeavors - from juggling her bank job and writing passion, to her wondrous travel to the different parts of the Philippines.
“I want to be like you,” I blurted out one day.
“You will. Someday."
She was a mystery and she never failed to surprise me with the cloudiness of her words. Yet, I hold on to her statement that the day would come that I would achieve such formidable feats.
I wanted to immortalize the moment we shared. I wanted them to last forever but I knew that wouldn't happen.
One day, I sneaked in the black Kodak film camera from home with the hopes of having her photo taken, and developed at Topico. I asked her if I could take a picture as a souvenir.
But she refused. Her tone rose a little and a brewing storm formed in her eyes, the first time I saw it on her. I stopped insisting.
“Apologies. You shouldn’t do that anyway. I am not supposed to be here with you,” she said to me.
That is why I never attempted again. If I do, she might be angry and not come back. But my effort is fruitless. She never came back after the summer.
Without a word, without a warning. Just like that, she was gone.
Years passed and my memory may have fooled me. But her stories materialize right before my eyes. I feel like I am beginning to be like her. Her looks, her ideas and even the way she rubs her temple with her index finger as she contemplates on something.
I took up a business program in college and worked in a bank after graduation. At the same time, I am a contributor in a broadsheet newspaper, publishing my article on my Sunday article. I travel the Philippines - witnessing the pristine white sand of Boracay and the intricate architecture of the Spanish houses in Vigan.
Just like those tales she vividly shared with me before. I hope she is here now. I hope I could tell her.
But she is gone and I become her.
