1

2
 3

Acknowledgements

Writing a book has always been a dream. I

have written and trashed a number of drafts as the
ideas and right words doesn’t come. Thankfully, I am
surrounded by people who believes in me and they
have been a source of encouragement as I pressed on
with this story. I’d like to them for their solid
support.
First of all, I’d like to thank God for the gift
of writing and for the grace and favor that came
along with. I’m also grateful to my family, whose love
had always been the sunlight helping me grow, and
whose support has always pushed me beyond my
limits. To my boyfriend, for his constant support in
whatever I wanted to do and whatever I wanted to
be.
There are also friends whose belief in my
capabilities have always been stronger than mine.
You were the people who encouraged me as I wrote
this book. Thank you Jeiel, Ann, Nicca, Angel,
Tamiya, Karleen, Myryll, Shem, Dorothy, Teacher
Dinah, Teacher Ghie, Sian, Ate Xara, Daryl,
Bernadette, Marry and Chris.
 4

This book is lovingly dedicated to

God, my Maker
My Mom, Precy and siblings, Emie, Elmer and Elma,
To my one and only soulmate, Daniel
And to my father, Elmer
 5

Home
Chapter 1 The House Without a Ceiling
Chapter 2 Eufresina
Chapter 3 Restrooms
Chapter 4 Elmer
Chapter 5 Seats
Chapter 6 Loise
Chapter 7 House Without Walls
Chapter 8 The Door (Part 1)
Chapter 9 The Door (Part 2)
Chapter 10 Home. Finally
Chapter 11
 6

“The House Without a Ceiling”

Chapter 1

Shame.
All these invisible scars, yet while people take
pride of the seasoned cuts and wounds they had
earned in the journey of life, mine were just constant
reminders of my irreversible acts. I guess, I’ll spend
forever wondering if I had done well or if my
endeavors had any worth at all.
It’s two quarters past noon of my usual
Wednesdays. It was towards the end of January and
the weather is just starting to warm a little. Even
today, the sky was a lot brighter than the past days
but it wasn’t enough to draw shadows through the
 7

window curtains. I sat in silence on the swivel chair

in front of my bedroom desk. In the background, I
can hear the chirping of the robins hanging out on
the few trees outside my window and the sound of
the distant vehicles passing on the highway in front
of my apartment. Back in my hometown, I lived in a
very remote area in a province but somehow, I
adapted well in having to hear all these noises
coming from the restless vehicles on the busy road.
I looked around my bedroom and tried to
think of something to do, though to be honest, I
could use some cleaning but it’s just not what I want
to do today. I had spent the past few nights sleeping
beside the washed clothes that I keep strewn on my
bed. I don’t know. I’m just totally fine with that. And
it reminds me of how my sister and I would take out
all our clothes from our dresser and dump them all
on our bed in an attempt to rearrange and fold them.
We usually don’t finish in a day and would end up
sleeping on a narrow side of the bed because of the
unfinished business.
I picked up my phone on the desk to check
the time again, but my eyes were focused on the dry,
 8

wrinkled hands that flashed on the screen. I put it

back down. then I shifted myself on the swivel chair
and rested my head on the backrest, staring at the
ceiling. It wasn’t really a comfortable angle but I
closed my eyes. After some time, liquid started to roll
down the side of my face though my expressions
didn’t change. It felt warm and familiar. As the tears
kept on coming, I crossed my arms together on the
table and buried my face in my hands. Except for the
trembling of my shoulders, nothing in my bedroom
moved or even made a sound-everything stared in
silence at the usual scene of my solitude. Nobody
asked, questioned, nor offered comfort-only silence-
and that has always been enough.
In the midst of the silent but painful remorse
was a loud and deafening cry of irreversible regret of
how that day, I shouldn’t have smiled and waved
goodbye, stepped out that door and spend the rest of
my life slowly dying and wondering where, in all of
my intentions to give love, my choices have gone
wrong.
 9

It has been two years since I’ve moved for

work in Vietnam and those two years didn’t go fast
for me. The memory of each day when I struggled,
prayed and fought for my dreams and searched for a
purpose were inked hard on my knees as I begged
God and wrestled for answers. Time doesn’t fly fast
for those who have a lot to endure. They were the
days when I would trade my sleep for crying.
Thankfully, I didn’t really have to go through all
those alone, God was always there. Yet, the deeper
the wounds, the longer the agony and the more you’d
search for its worth. One couldn’t have gone through
something so arduous just to feel that none of it
really mattered.
What for really? Whose approval are we
trying so hard to earn? How do we know that we
made it? How do we know when to stop?
As for me, there were times when I feel like
I’m doing too much and sometimes it feels like I’m
not doing enough. I’ve had few people tell me about
how successful I have become and how I was in a
better condition now. Surely, my job demands less
effort and time than my previous jobs and
 10

compensates a lot higher, but I still go to bed at night

feeling the embrace of loneliness as I drown in my
sea of regrets.
I hope there’s a gain so great that it can cover
up the losses so I won’t have to feel the emptiness
every night. There are just things which no
achievement nor any accomplishment can equal to,
let alone replace.
Never mind. It’s all gone now. I’ll just have to
endure tonight, and the night tomorrow and the
many more nights that will follow.
I guess that’s how dreams work. Believe me
if I tell you that nothing is impossible with God. You
can dream and not shy away from having visions. All
these can happen with God’s permission. But you
would have to pay the price. Dreams charge us with
hard work and most importantly, time. That is the
part where things get messed up because we cannot
earn back the time we invested. That’s where you
begin to wonder if you invested on the right things.
If you didn’t, I hope you find a way and still have a
chance to redeem what you’ve lost. As for me, it was
taken from me forever-at least in this lifetime.
 11

Sometimes, just to comfort one another,

people would usually say that things happen because
it is part of God’s plan. That is true, but the more I
think of it that way, the more it tears me apart and
the more I want to question to God.
Isn’t there a better plan?
Nevertheless, it has been a long way to where
I am now and if not for God’s grace, I couldn’t have
possibly gone anywhere except for wilderness.
My first job when I was still in the
Philippines was more of what we call a ministry. The
compensation isn’t that high but I was sincerely
grateful for that experience. I remember how the
opportunity came to me as an answer to a child’s
prayer that I have long forgotten. It probably sounds
silly but when I was young, I admired the characters
in the books that I used to read. That led me to
dreaming of what I remember to be three specific
things.
The first one was to be able to live
independently by the age of twenty. I fantasized over
 12

a life where I am in control-living in a different house

alone and just pridefully managing everything in my
life. That time, I didn’t know that it would also mean
having meals on a table that has seats that are always
empty, not having anyone waiting for you at home,
looking after yourself when you’re sick and being
flexible enough to reach to your back to apply
yourself some ointment to relieve your cough. All I
knew was I was choosing a life of courage and didn’t
know that I’ve chosen a life of seclusion instead.
The second one was being able to work in a
Christian workplace. I grew up in church and
witnessed how people usually get busy when they
become adults and had to do their jobs. I guess I was
just scared of ending up like that. I was scared of
forgetting how life was simple and God was enough.
The third was a follow-up to the second one.
I hoped to meet my partner in that same Christian
workplace though I didn’t really take this so
seriously. Remember that I was still very young
those times. Maybe about thirteen or fourteen which
means I still have a lot of new people to meet.
 13

Anyway, as I have mentioned, I have

forgotten all about these things already as I was
growing up. I ended up going to college and expected
to work in some secular school after. But it’s true,
God remembers our prayers even when we ourselves
have pushed them farther away from our memories.
I remember it was a warm day that summer
of April. The rays of the sun bled through the
draperies on our bedroom window and to my skin as
I lie on my bed. To me, it always felt nice to feel the
hard plastic woven mat on our wooden bed. We have
a very nice custom bedframe made from our own
mahogany trees which my father planted and grown
around our house. I love the bed even though we
haven’t got any mattresses because we couldn’t
afford to buy one. We never complained how hard
the mats were for sleeping because that has been the
feel our backs have gotten familiar with since we
were kids. There are just more important things to
spend money on.
We are a family of six-my Mom, father, and
the four of us siblings. When my eldest sister, Emy,
and older brother, Elmar, graduated high school,
 14

they set on to find a living as we couldn’t afford to

send them to college. Meanwhile, I as the middle
child and then my little sister, Jane who also is the
youngest among us, spent many days together
continuing to attend secondary school.
We’ve always lived a simple life and we never
felt that we were deprived of many things even
though we didn’t have a single mattress, a ceiling,
nor a fridge. Our house is a simple bungalow in the
middle of a woods with a river nearby. We used to
have neighbors but eventually, they moved out. We
were left to enjoy the sounds of the birds and the feel
of a hundred trees all to ourselves. As a kid, I
remember freely running and rolling over those
endless blankets of fresh green grass in between
citrus and rambutan trees. There was also an
abundance of bananas, guava, and coconut trees
though they kept on getting destroyed after every
storm and eventually dies leaving only fewer trees
each year. That place has been my paradise and
playground even though we didn’t really own that
big piece of land. Our grandparents use to be tenants
of that land and up to now, we still live there. I mean,
 15

my Mom and Jane still, do. Emy and Elmar have

long moved out since they started their own families.
Nevertheless, they were one of the best and most
beautiful days of my growing up years. Gone were
those days when I’ve never been freer.
Looking inside our house, it has three rooms,
a humble kitchen and a living room. The concrete
walls, despite having a good finish except for the
walls in our parents’ room, were blank and bare as
paint was never on top of our list. When you walk in
through the door in the living room, probably, the
first thing you’ll notice is the very big wooden frame
casing a number of medals mounted on the divider
facing the door. They were the awards which my
little sister and I had received since our primary
school years. My mom has put her whole heart in
crafting the wooden frame and patiently placing
each rusty medal in it. That is how I knew, somehow,
there was a certain time when I made my mom
proud.
I stayed still for a moment, still lying on the
bed, staring at the ceiling. It has been three days
since my Mom and I had attended my college
 16

graduation ceremony. We didn’t have a grand

celebration. My Mom and I just had a simple lunch
at a fast-food restaurant then we went home and I
never needed more. I was just very happy that God
sustained us through all those years and finally, I
have graduated. I am also forever grateful to my
older sister and brother for supporting me even
when they themselves didn’t have the opportunity to
go to college. There was never a time in my life when
I felt that I was unloved by them.
I was thinking, by that time, my classmates
would have been somewhere passing their resumes
or attending some job interviews. There I was, lying
on my bed, without any draft nor any sign of a
resume. Talk about plans.
After a while, my phone rang.
I was in deep thought about where my life is
going and didn’t look away from the ceiling so I
fumbled on the bed looking for the phone.
It was Aiko, a friend from college. I was
surprised to see her name on my phone because I
haven’t really heard from her for a long time. She
 17

was a year ahead of me so I’d lost track of her

whereabouts.
I picked up the call and greeted.
“Hello sis,” I said.
“Hello Eloi,” she answered. “How are you?”
“I’m…good. Yeah.”
She congratulated me for finishing college
and that made me happier than I was minutes ago.
It wasn’t long before she talked about her intentions
for calling.
“So, you’re not yet working now, right? I
called to ask if you’re interested to work at PMI.
Have you heard of it?” she asked.
Sounds familiar but “No, I haven’t. Why?”
“We need an English teacher.”
Remember my three specific prayers that I
haven’t thought of for years already? The second
prayer I had was working in a Christian workplace.
Yup. You got it. Can I hear an Amen?
PMI or Philippine Missionary Institute is
college institution in Cavite for those who wants to
pursue Theology-related studies. I don’t know how
else to call it in my own words. Not only that, it has
 18

primary and secondary education department where

I would soon end up working.
I remember how my heart leaped in
excitement for an opportunity to work in my dream
workplace. I guess even though we have forgotten
some of our prayers already, the longing was never
fully lost. That day, one summer day of April, has
become one of my most unforgettable days. It
rekindled the anticipation and joy of fulfilling a
prayer, a dream, a desire. That day was the
beginning of the many days that I would be away
from home.

These days, when I couldn’t sleep at night,

I wonder if my life would be better had I skipped that
day. I wonder if I could have saved a lot of tears had
I never taken that phone call.
But I guess, it is part of God’s plan.
 19

“Eufresina”
Chapter 2

“You decide…”
These words which my Mom would usually
reply to me when I would ask for her permission
were probably the reason why I grew up to be so
adventurous and unfettered-in a good way, as what
I used to believe.
“If you want to, and if you think you can do
it, go,” she added.
It was one of our typical after noon in our
abode. My Mom, Jane and I sat around our kitchen
table having coffee and some bread. I was
accustomed to taking a nap in the afternoon and
 20

having something to eat or drink after waking up

because that’s how it was in our house. Mom would
somehow manage to bring something to our table or
to our kitchen shelves so we can have something to
munch in the afternoon. It could be anything from
sweet banana, hot cakes, biscuits to those tasty kid’s
snacks that you can buy for one peso each. During
the days when we were really low and there aren’t
many fruits available, coffee never fails to suffice.
I didn’t expect her to support right away.
PMI is situated in Cavite, about a hundred and
seventy-eight kilometers away from our province
and it’s on the mainland so I would have to travel by
ferry as well.
It’s a long way from home.
I knew in my heart that a parent wouldn’t
want to be separated from their children as much as
possible. But that’s just how my Mom supports me.
That’s just how much she’s willing to sacrifice.
Back in those days, my longing for a family’s
presence was overshadowed by the need to work and
provide, start a career, explore and just simply be an
adult.
 21

As I watched and listened to my Mom across

the table telling me how the salary should be enough
if I spend it right, I wonder why and how she’s never
brought up not being able to see each other
regularly. Maybe, she doesn’t want to restrain me
with her feelings.
But she did ask me, “Can you take care of
yourself? What about your dysmenorrhea?”
I occasionally have very painful period that
leaves me fainting, vomiting, and bedridden
sometimes.
“I should be able to handle it. I’ll be fine,” I
replied with a smile.
Freedom.
The greatest display of love my Mom has
given me has always been freedom. Freedom to be,
to go, to explore, to learn and make mistakes. Along
with that freedom are the open arms that welcome
me back whenever I would mess up.
My oldest memory of Mom letting me decide
was when I was in fourth grade.
She works by doing the laundry of a family
whose house was just across the school. Every
 22

lunchtime, I would come see her to have lunch, and

sometimes help her.
One day, I got interested in joining the
school’s activity in celebration of the town’s
founding anniversary. The activity was a street
dance where participants would wear fancy
costumes. Unfortunately, the fee for the costumes
must be shouldered by the participants.
I knew just how much my Mom makes in
doing the laundry and the fee was double that
amount. I remember watching her as she rinsed
those heavy jeans in the big plastic basin. I hesitated
telling her my intentions because I knew that’s just
beyond our means and I do not want to burden her
or make her feel that she couldn’t provide enough as
a parent. In the end, I risked asking her but I already
composed myself that she would likely say no and
that’s totally fine with me.
I took a deep breath and spoke.
“Mom, can I join the street dance?” I told her
the details as to what it was for and how much the
fee is.
 23

She didn’t even think of it for a moment nor

tried to convince me to change my mind.
She looked with a reassuring smile and
simply said, “If you really want to, you decide,” and
I knew she meant yes.
I felt her support in every step of the way. She
was there when I wanted to join an orchestra, when
I joined every single competition until secondary
school, when I said I needed to go somewhere, when
I wanted to do something-anything. Almost
anything.
However, my Mom, Eufresina, has had her
limitations, too.
I remember how she started saying no to me
when I get to college. Like when I was one of the
chosen delegates to represent the school in a
national competition. I remember, I was the only girl
in my team. I remember how I was very excited to
tell her about it but the words she said weren’t the
words I expected to hear.
“Why did they choose you? Isn’t there
anyone else instead?”
 24

Mom, I was chosen. Out of all the other

students, it was me. Her words didn’t sound proud
at all.
Yet, deep inside my heart, I knew, she’s just
being human. My parents raised me in a way that
made sure I know I was loved and that there’s
nothing in this world that they wouldn’t give only if
they can.
That time, my mom’s concern was the fee.
We didn’t have enough money to cover the expenses
and even if we did have money, some competition
whatsoever wasn’t a priority.
But I couldn’t just let the opportunity pass so
I pursued and told myself that I’d find a way. I just
couldn’t give it up. If I didn’t go, I might never get
another time. I badly wanted to go and it hurts to
think that my mom couldn’t support me in the things
I enjoyed doing. The things I call my achievements
have become a nuisance to her. I guess, that’s the
saddest part of all.
Nevertheless, the fee problem was resolved
by the school, thanks to God. But Mom didn’t talk to
me about it anymore, even though I kept on
 25

updating her about how I needed a coat and a nice

shirt, or that my shoes needed some shining. Sadly,
there was not much response from her so I had to
figure things out on my own. That was never easy.
Come the day when we needed to travel to
the big city by ferry to attend the competition.
I remember sitting by the side of my small
bed in my college dormitory. I was folding clothes
and sorting my things into a worn-out luggage while
trying to hold back the tears in my eyes. Mom hasn’t
sent me a single message that day even though I told
her that I’ll be leaving before the evening.
I’ve never felt so alone in my whole life. There
I was, about to set out in a big adventure in a big city
for the first time, but there was no one to cheer me
up. There was no one to support me- not even my
Mom. Who do you share your achievements with
when nobody takes interest in your simple
experiences you call victories?
As I sat there mustering every courage and
consoling myself that it’s going to be fine, I heard a
knock on the door. I walked up to it and expected my
roommate who has gone out to buy something.
 26

When I turned the knob and pushed the door

open, the tears that I’ve been trying to hold finally
escaped from my eyes.
There, outside the door, in her usual shabby,
worn-out clothes and disheveled hair, was my Mom.
“What are you doing now?” she gently asked
as she stepped in and walked to my bed.
Even with the tears in my eyes that blurred
my vision, I can see enough just how much love was
in her eyes, too. That moment was one of the most
beautiful in my life.
“Have you found something to wear?” she
continued, as she blinked back her own tears and put
on a straight face. “Here, I bought you a shirt.” Then
she opened the plastic she was holding and showed
me a purple shirt that she just bought from the
market. From the way it looked, I can tell just how
much it cost-maybe under a hundred.
I never liked purple and the design was just
not my style, but it was one of the most beautiful
shirts I ever had.
As I filled my luggage, my eyes couldn’t get
empty of tears. I couldn’t ask for more. Everything I
 27

needed was right there with me-a purple shirt and

my mom across the bed.

Maybe it’s just me and my stubbornness.

When I think about those times when I
couldn’t get the support I needed, I would always try
to figure things out on my own. My mom would
always say that whenever I think of something that
I’d say I’d do, that’s it and that I just don’t know how
to stop nor reconsider my choices. And there were
times when I really feel sorry about it, too.
I won’t forget those times when I would
watch Mom as she lay down on our bamboo sofa in
our living room. They were times when we haven’t
got any money but I had to go back to the dormitory
the next morning. She just lay there motionless with
her eyes closed, one of her hand over her forehead.
In her face, her worries and stress and anxiety were
evident. When I see her like that, I often wonder
what goes in her mind.
 28

I myself didn’t know the answers. Where will

she get money? Whom will she borrow money from
this time?
But I saw her rose up from that bamboo sofa,
too. Wash her face, put on better clothes, brush her
hair and paint a smile on her face. After that, she’ll
set out somewhere and never failed to come back
with the money that she’ll give me so I’ll have some
allowance for the week. How she managed to put on
a smile even if sometimes, she’s grown embarrassed
in borrowing money is amazing but it broke my heart
more than it amazed me. Those days felt so long and
agonizing. I often wonder when will I ever finish
college and get to work so she’ll never have to walk a
few kilometers and force a smile again just to borrow
some money.
These where the thoughts that probably
hardened my heart on the port as I was leaving for
work for the first in my life.
It was finally second week of May, the same
summer when I got the call from Aiko. Thanks to
God, I was hired.
 29

With all my heavy luggage and my life on my

shoulders, I stood in queue at the port to buy a ticket
for the ferry. I glanced over my shoulders to see my
Mom sitting on a bench at the waiting area. She was
fumbling on her phone.
That day, my Mom would see me off. That
day, she would have to send me away and she would
have to go home alone even if we left our house
together.
I looked at her face and once again, I knew, I
was breaking a parent’s heart. Once again, I was the
reason for the apparent sadness and worry written
all over her face. I wanted to take it away. I wish I
could tell her that I’ve changed my mind, that I’m
staying, that she didn’t have to send me off, but I
couldn’t. I needed the job. I wanted to build my
dreams, give her and father a better life and just give
back to them for all their sacrifices for us.
After waiting a little while on the bench, it
was finally time for me to enter the main port where
she can’t go with me anymore.
 30

We both stood up and she helped me with the

bags on my shoulders. I glanced at her and saw that
she was trying to hold back her tears, too.
“Take care of yourself there,” she said with a
trembling voice.
I tried to keep my voice straight as I
answered. “Yes, I will. Be safe on the way home.”
We hugged each other last time and said I
love you before I finally walked away and into the
entrance of the building. I walked a little farther
away then I glanced at her as she walked towards the
main exit of the port.
I couldn’t forget how, even with her back
turned back, I saw her wipe her tears in her eyes. My
poor Mom. I knew that she’d be crying on the way
home. I wanted to run back and comfort her but I
looked away before my feet could betray me. As
much as I wanted to see her more for as long as I can,
I didn’t.
Don’t look back.
I walked away looking straight towards the
hallway and the path that I chose to walk on that day,
 31

just merely holding on the thought that someday,

somehow, it will all be worth it.
 32

“Restrooms”
Chapter 3

The sun was already bright and warm on

my large windows when I woke up this morning.
When I checked the time on my phone beside me on
the bed, it was already a quarter past eleven. I
shielded my eyes with my hands from the blinding
light and decided to sit on the bed with my back
resting against the headboard.
What day is it today? I keep on losing track
of time these past few weeks. It took me a while to
realize that it’s Wednesday. I like Wednesday
because I get to meet the classes that I enjoy teaching
 33

the most. Or maybe I’m just desperately looking for

something to look forward to.
My nature of work here in Vietnam gives me
a lot of spare time during the day on weekdays when
my work starts at five twenty-five in the afternoon.
On the weekends, I have classes in the morning, too.
I pulled my knees closer to my chest and gave
myself a hug. It was so still and quiet, but not
peaceful.
I somehow miss how my Mom would open
the windows in our bedroom back home just to
forcefully wake us up. If that doesn’t work, she
comes back and pulls the mosquito net down so it
would fall on our faces.
Now, I can sleep for as long as I want.
Nobody would wake me up. I used to think that it
was a good thing but it seems like freedom turns to
loneliness in the long run.
I stayed in that position for a few more
minutes before I decided to move out from the bed
and do my morning rituals.
 34

While I was washing my face, I thought

maybe I’d fancy a drink in some café so I get dressed
and headed outside.
The weather is a bit hot today so I chose to
wear my black jogging pants and an oversized black
shirt plus a black jacket. The look was completed by
black socks. If I were in the Philippines, I would
probably wear something looser and fresher but it
doesn’t work like that here. Vietnamese people
would cover as much skin as they can whenever the
sun is out no matter how hot it feels. I have somehow
adapted the practice and it works really well in
shielding your skin from the sun.
I didn’t have travel far to find a café. Vietnam
happened to be the second largest exporter of coffee
around the world and if you’re a coffee lover, you
might want to spend a trip in the country. There are
coffee shops or even Bubble Tea shops in every
corner. There was even a coffee shop right outside
my apartment.
But I ended up having a cup of coffee in the
café along the riverside. In the area where I live,
there is a big river cutting through the road where a
 35

magnificent bridge is built across. It looks so nice

especially at night when the lights on the bridge and
lights from the establishments lined along the river
reflect on the water of the river below.
Establishments like cafés, restaurants, karaoke bars,
dress shops and spas give life to the riverside at
night.
There were a few older people at the café
today and it offered me just the right silence I
needed. Maybe I didn’t really need coffee. Maybe I
just wanted to run away for a while from my
bedroom who sees the things I endure daily and
knows my deepest secrets.
Maybe I just want to feel for a moment that
I’m just like everyone-free, happy, and just living the
life.

“How are you today?”

The usual question received a usual answer.
“I’m fine, thank you! And you?” the class
responded to me in chorus.
 36

“I’m…fine! Thank you,” I answered with a

smile.
But no, I’m everything but fine. If not for
God’s grace and love keeping me together, I won’t
last another day. I think we all won’t. We’re all
broken inside, lost somewhere in the middle of our
journeys where the only way left for us is to just keep
on going no matter how lost the road feels.
Today at work, I wore my usual white shirt
and skirt which would soon end up either getting
inked or dusty. What I’m most grateful about in my
job is the life I feel around my students. They all just
love to dally about and have fun bringing out the kid
in you, too. At times, the language barrier bars not
the exchange of fun and excitement especially on
games. On other classes, though, where I teach teens
who are quite more versed in English, we can talk
about a wider range of topics.
It really is such a nice job with a good pay.
The only thing I can’t be happy about is being away
from my family and not being there on special
occasions like birthdays and Christmas. It’s not like
it’s something new to me. Somehow, I’ve gotten used
 37

to it, too, but that doesn’t mean that the hurt and
longing doesn’t count anymore.
As I entered the classroom for my second
class today, I was greeted by large flashing smiles
from the kids. Just the mere sight of it warms the
heart. Most of them get back to their seats while two
are still rolling about on the floor. I gave them a little
bit more time to finish as I, too, was setting up my
laptop on my table.
I glanced on my phone to check how much
time I still have left before the class officially starts.
Suddenly, a message popped up on the screen.
It took me two seconds to process the
meaning of the message sent by my sister back home
from the Philippines. Then suddenly, everything
around me turned silent. I looked at the kids
laughing and running across the room but the vision
slowly drifted away from me and the sounds became
a faint, echoing murmur until everything turned into
a blur.
“Grandpa’s gone,” the message said.
With my blurring vision, tears rolled down
my welling eyes as I run for the door and outside the
 38

room. I don’t want the students to see me crying. I

don’t want to be seen in this confused and vulnerable
state.
I found myself in the restroom and there I
cried barely trying not to make a sound.
My Grandpa’s gone. It’s comforting to think
that after having fought a good battle, he’s now
joining with God in heaven, but it’s crushing my
heart to think that I didn’t get to say goodbye nor saw
him for the last time. Coming home won’t be the
same again.
I know this feeling very well. This is the cup
I’ve been drinking from in the past months and
years.
I sobbed hard leaning against the walls on
the restroom. There’s just nothing to do. I’ve never
seen home for two years and I can’t come home now
to see him. The covid pandemic isn’t over yet and is
still taking away as much goodbyes as possible.
People are still dying and their loved ones just can’t
be there on the last minutes and seconds of their
lives. I couldn’t remember the latest time I’ve seen
him and I won’t ever be able to again in this life. I
 39

couldn’t even remember if I had said goodbye before

my flight to Vietnam.
Even as I cried, I felt the need to hurry up
because the kids are waiting for me in the classroom.
How many times have we broken our hearts but we
weren’t allowed to grieve and feel it? Just how many
tears have we forced to dry behind the locked doors
of a restroom?
This isn’t the first time for me, but that’s just
how life goes. Life is full of battles and heartaches
and sometimes you would have to fight those battles
out in front of everyone while sometimes, too, you
would have to cry them out inside the restroom
where no one can see you.
My Vietnamese co-teacher and close friend
came, gave me a hug and offered to take over my
class for a while. I spent a few more minutes and
after a phone call full of tears to my Mom, I wiped
my tears away, wore some face powder and lipstick,
put on my eyeglasses and forced a smile.
After that, I stepped in the classroom with a
large flashing smile on my face and inside me, a
broken heart.
 40

I believe that so many people have been

made braver behind locked doors. It’s a place where
a lot of people break down and become vulnerable.
Sometimes, I wonder just how many people I meet
in a day have cried themselves in secret, too before
pulling their selves together to face the day.
These are the moments in life when one
learns to be strong-when you learn to suppress your
tears so they don’t show in a world where crying is a
shame and a sign of weakness and defeat. I hate to
say this but that’s just how life goes.
If you are still young, I hope you cry your
heart out for as long as you wish and as loud as you
want. When you get older, you’ll be required to hurt
less and to feel less. You’ll have to function and be
capable of doing tasks each day regardless of you
slowly dying inside. This world just doesn’t have
time for the drama because there are things to be
done and deadlines to beat. Your grief can wait, so
go the restroom, cry for a moment, then wipe your
tears and step out as if nothing happened.
 41

“Elmer”
Chapter 4

That day at the seaport still lingers in me.

Moving out and living far away from my family for
my first job was a challenge. I miss my family a lot.
Thankfully, that first job was a blessing, too. My co-
teachers were really nice and the principal was
amazingly warm and friendly.
Many months dragged on until I’ve gotten
used to not having to see my family regularly but
what a joy it always was coming home in every
chance that I get no matter how rare. With the time
and budget that I had, I could see them in the end of
 42

Octobers during semestral breaks and on Christmas.

The next chance will have to wait till summer.
But sad to say, of course, not everything
could wait.
One fine February evening just a month away
before summer, my mom called. I got all excited and
giddy because we don’t always give each other phone
calls so every call meant something.
The voice that welcomed me was low and
feeble.
“Loi…” my mom uttered in an obviously
shaky voice. It’s easy to say that she had been crying.
“Yes Mom?” I answered, feeling nervous and
worried.
“Petey’s gone...”
I could tell how she tried to sound reassuring
but she couldn’t hide how dejected she felt, too.
Petey is my dog, a beautiful and reliable
white Aspin that I had taken cared of since he was a
baby. He was the first dog I have given a name and
called my own.
My tears fell in an instant and felt my heart
crushed inside.
 43

“When?” I asked Mom not trying to suppress

my tears.
“Last night,” she said then sobbed. “We
hadn’t seen him for three days and he’s not coming
home,” she stopped then sobbed again. “Then we
smelled something stinky nearby so we looked
around and,” she paused, “we found his decaying
body under the banana trees beside the house.”
I burst out in tears as my Mom continued to
say something.
“He’s probably eaten something poisoned in
the rice field next to the…”
I couldn’t make out what else Mom has said.
I pulled the phone away from my ears and just cried.
My poor Petey. I wouldn’t see him anymore even if I
go home that very moment. He still tried to come
home and hid under the banana trees. Maybe he
didn’t want to be seen suffering because he didn’t
want them to worry and feel sad, too.
I put my phone back to my ears when I heard
my Mom saying something.
“We buried him in the backyard. Stop crying,
okay?” she said, but that made me cry even more.
 44

“Here, talk to your father,” she said then I

heard her pass the phone to my father.
“Father?” I uttered then continued sobbing.
He held in his tears a little then said, “There’s
nothing we can do.” Like my Mom, he tried to sound
comforting even in his own sorrow. “That’s just how
it goes.” His voice was shaky and I knew that he had
been crying, too.
That was the first time I was slapped by the
truth that not everything could wait for me.
Whenever I’d feel the longing to be home and be with
my family, I’d tell myself that this sacrifice is
necessary, that someday, it will be worth it. I was
holding on to the fact that if I turn a blind eye to this
longing and harden my heart a little more, one day,
I’ll see the fruits of my sacrifices-that one day, I’ll
make my dreams come true and be successful
enough that I won’t have to be endure being away
from them just to earn money and provide.
I admire those people who were willing to
give up the privilege of being with their families just
to be able to provide. I now understood how much
they had to give up. I myself had to accept that there
 45

will be birthdays I would have to miss and that I have

to forgive myself if I can’t be there on challenging
days-just like that night, when I talked to my father
on the phone.
Somehow, it had been enough for me that
time. It was the first time I heard my father’s voice
on the phone and honestly, the last, too.
He’s just not that kind of person who would
be interested in a phone. He didn’t have one because
he didn’t feel the need to.
He’s the simplest person I know.
He wears those same ragged and faded
cotton t-shirts at home even after a fresh bath. On
days when Mom wasn’t home, before he takes a bath,
he would ask us to take out his clothes from their
dresser and you would have to know which one he’d
approve to wear. He had these really nice and new
shirts and shorts, too but the reason they were new
was because they were barely used.
No only his clothes were special, he was
known in our place too for not wanting to wear
slippers or anything on his feet. You see, my father
was a farmer and that’s how he’d always been. He
 46

walks around the neighborhood in his bare feet and

everybody knows about that.
While everyone fancies to go out and visit the
city, take some good pictures, wear something fancy,
my father would take a nap under the star apple or
mango trees at home.
In the morning, he’d watch his favorite
cartoons while giving his own commentaries on how
silly the characters had been acting about. Since he
never wore a watch, he’d ask us what time is it and
would tell us to turn on the television. What a good
laugh we’ll have as he sat on the floor by the door,
watching those silly cartoons and morning television
programs he loved to watch.
And he’s crazy about plants. He grew a lot of
trees and vegetables around the house. He’s got a
green thumb like every member of our family except
me. In some afternoons, my younger sister and I
would join him in pulling out weeds from one of the
vegetable gardens around the house. It’s funny how
he’d shake and scratch his head seeing how I was just
playing with soil while my sister and he were busy
pulling out weeds and cultivating the plants. I think
 47

those are one of the moments when he’d wonder if I

was really one of his children. I don’t know, I’m just
so bad at it, but I loved being there with them, just
spending time.

These are just some of the things I had to

give up since the day I decided to move out of the
house for a job, for a dream. These are the things I
crave for on my saddest days living alone. It’s alright.
Just a little bit more time, a little bit more sacrifice
and everything will pay off, hopefully.
I’ll just have to keep on saying temporary
goodbyes until such time when I don’t have to leave
anymore.
Saying goodbye to my father was less
memorable than saying goodbye to my Mom. He
didn’t go with us to the seaport and stayed in the
house instead. A part of me believes that it’s better
that way. I don’t want to make leaving the house
such a big deal as if I’m never coming back. But, it’s
true, just because you refuse to recognize that the
pain is there doesn’t mean it is nonexistent. Denying
 48

it doesn’t make it less painful, nor does it make it

easier to bear.
I remember how I put on my bag and
prepared to leave the house. My mom then asked
me, “Have you said goodbye to your father?”
I don’t know but it just sounded so sad to me.
I hope we can all just act and pretend that I’ll just be
off for some days and that I’m almost still around
except a little bit farther than usual.
I realized that he wasn’t anywhere inside the
house so I went out to look at the spot where he
usually spends his time. I found him exactly where I
thought he would be- sitting under the mango tree
next to our house. I probably saw that he looked sad
but I’d rather not confirm it. If I dwell on that feeling,
I would never be able to leave.
My breathing was heavy as I walked to him
not because of the enormous, heavy backpack on my
shoulders but because of the suppressed emotions
inside me.
“Father, I’m leaving,” I said.
He gazed at me with those sad and deep-set
eyes. That was probably the first time I held my tears
 49

in front of my father. That was the first time I refused

to show how deep my affection was and how much
love was causing me to break inside.
“Take care of yourself and be safe,” he said in
his loving voice.
I wanted to hug him. I wanted to tell him that
if I had a choice, I wouldn’t leave. How badly I
wished to assure him that I would come home every
now and then to see him. I wanted him to know that
this is painful for me, too and that I will miss him. I
wish he knew that the best place for me will always
be right next to him and mom. I wanted to do all
these, but I didn’t. I simply nodded my head, smiled,
and walked away while feeling a part of me just died.
I had been afraid of showing my true
emotions because I didn’t want them to worry. In
return, I was deprived of the chance to express love
even in farewells.

When I think about those days, I wonder if

I had been wrong. I wonder if it would have made a
difference if I had hugged him that day and had
cried. Would I be happier with the assurance that my
 50

father knew how much I loved him? Or would I still

be this miserable because I have openly broken his
heart for way too many times?
How do you choose between what is loving
and what is brave? What if love requires
vulnerability while bravery requires indifference?
If I had cried and hugged him, he would be
sad, too and he might worry about me. If I didn’t, I
had missed the chance to show him how much love I
have for him and how much I’d miss him.
In the end, we do what we believed is right
and necessary at the moment. If you’d ask me now,
many years later that day, I regret that I held my
tears and kept my arms from hugging him.
If I ever get another chance, I’d choose love.
I’ll keep on choosing love until the time ran out.
 51

“Seats”
CHAPTER 5

I checked the time on my phone as I sat on

a bench of the waiting area inside the Tan Son Nhat
Airport. I still have twenty-minutes before I could
check-in for my flight at ten this evening.
I glanced at my plane ticket stuck in between
the pages of my passport. I have to do this. This is
my only chance of redemption.
This same night, I sat on the side of my bed
for a good three hours. My suitcase lay open on the
floor and my drawers are pulled out. I should be
taking out the clothes that I needed but I couldn’t
find the strength to. On my hand was my phone
 52

where my e-mail for my boss have just been sent. I

sent a notice of leave of absence for a month even
with the knowledge that it won’t be approved. I could
lose my job.
I’ve been here before-choosing between my
job and my home, but I’ve also been in a position
where I watched helplessly as the most important
thing in my life was being taken away from me.
When you have lost the thing that you deem most
precious to you, losing the things that matter less
doesn’t hurt as much anymore.
Nevertheless, I went to the airport.
I looked around and watch those few people
sitting a meter apart on the other benches across the
hall. Most of them are Vietnamese since the borders
haven’t fully opened yet to foreign tourists because
of the ongoing pandemic. I have a decent feeling that
things will get a little difficult for me by the time I
reach Ninoy Aquino International Airport in Manila.
The pandemic situation back home in my country
hasn’t gotten better. We could only be thankful that
somehow, people have slowly adapted to the
demands of the new normal life there. A lot of
 53

quarantine procedures and not only strict, but

expensive health protocols surely await me.
No matter what, I’m going home to see my
mom and visit father. It’s been two years since the
last time I was home and it took me two long years
before mustering the courage to deal with the things
that kept me awake at night.
I heard the check-in announcement for my
flight so I stood up. I grabbed my hand-carried black
luggage and sling my camera bag on my right
shoulder. Keeping my distance from the other
passengers, I stood on queue and just followed the
flow of the people minding their own business. I
waited for another thirty minutes before finally
boarding the plane.
Fortunately, I got a seat next to the window.
It didn’t take long to see the lights in Manila to show.
Seeing those city lights get bigger, I felt my heart
raced against its own beat and I feel at home already.
Yet, I wonder how much everything has changed
since I left because something always changes
whenever I come home. Sometimes something that
wasn’t there before appears and sometimes, too,
 54

something that used to be there is no more. The

latter was heart-breaking all the time.
That’s just life. Like what my father has said,
that’s just how it goes. Nothing stays the same
forever and I think that’s a good thing in a way.
People sometimes just tend to focus on what’s taken
from them rather than on what’s given. I mean,
while good things cannot stay the same eternally, the
same goes for the unpleasant things. Weeping may
endure for a night but joy comes in the morning.
I have been waiting for the morning to come.
It’s been night time in my grave desolations since
that day. Morning is taking too long.
The landing announcement has been made
and we all prepared to land. From there, a series of
tiring procedures followed. I know I would have to
spend a few days in quarantine before I can finally
travel home. This is one of the most miserable things
that frustrates me. Back in Vietnam, I’d always
imagined my family and loved ones waiting for me
at the arrival gate of the airport. The feeling of seeing
them again for the very first time in two years and
hugging each other just like in the movies. Maybe I
 55

could make a dramatic arrival like wearing a

costume or a mask. Yet the only mask I get to wear
is this face shield and face mask and the only people
waiting for us at the arrival gate were the health and
security personnel. After acquiring some documents
and accomplishing a swab test, we moved to our
hotels where I spent another nine days in isolation.
In those nine days, the courage I mustered
for two years slowly crawled back in the shadows
again. There were moments when I think I shouldn’t
go see him. Maybe, a simple message or a phone call
would be enough. I’ve composed, rephrased a couple
of messages on my note app on the phone but I keep
on deleting them every time. The right words just
won’t come. As I did these things, I’ve come to accept
the fact that I am utterly afraid.
It has two been years and suddenly I would
come appear asking and seeking for answers to
questions that nobody knew I have been asking. I am
afraid that my guilt and unrest would be exposed. All
these times, my life wasn’t as happy and as fulfilling
as it appears. My façade will end. What a pity.
 56

Moreover, the fact that my questions have

more than one possible answer scares me the most.
I wonder if I wanted answers because I didn’t know
them or if I just wanted confirmation, an assertion
to my only source of consolation. If the answer didn’t
come as a confirmation, I wonder how I would be
able to live my life again.

The sun was bright in the clear blue skies

when I checked-out of the hotel today. Thankfully,
all my test results came out negative and I am free to
go home. I secured all the necessary travel permits
and headed to the bus station.
I dragged my small luggage as I walked on
the pavements. Hearing the sound of its wheels
rolling against the hot surface of the pavements
brought me satisfaction. I feel home even if I’m still
half a day and a sea away from my province.
Normally, it would take only about five or six hours
from the capital city to the door of my house but due
to the strict travel restrictions and laborious
procedures, it would have to take longer.
 57

Nevertheless, I’m walking along the streets of my

own land and this is what I longed for when I was
walking on the streets of Vietnam.
It didn’t take long before I reach the station.
I secured my seat on the bus after presenting my
travel permits and lab results which cost me a
considerable amount of money. What a pain for
everyone who tries to be home. There were five more
people inside the bus. These days, you won’t find an
overloaded bus and you won’t have to worry about
not finding a seat and standing while on the trip.
I kept my luggage under the seat and placed
my camera bag on my lap. The bus will be leaving in
thirty minutes then it would take about two hours to
Batangas port. From there, I will have to board on
the ferry which will take me to Calapan port in about
one and a half hour. After that, Jane would pick me
up in her motorbike and would finally be home in
another forty-five minutes.
Two more people hopped in and then we
started rolling. While on the bus, I tried to take a nap
but I kept on getting the urge to open my eyes to get
a glimpse of the outside. It looked too different than
 58

before. The roads and streets of Manila were rarely

ever free of vehicles but today, I could count on my
fingers just how many buses and cars were on the
same road. The capital blanketed itself in a disguised
silence presenting itself as peace and calm when in
reality everything is in chaos. I guess, just like
people. The travel was safe and somewhat less
stress-free even though we passed a couple of
checkpoints on the road manned by gunned soldiers
in uniform. I’ve only seen them on the news when I
was in Vietnam but seeing them now in person felt
surreal. I know that some people would be scared to
see them but they give me a sense of security no
matter how disappointing they had been presented
on the recent years. I know a lot of them have made
a lot of hideous acts but I still believe that there are
still good soldiers left.
It’s already forty-five minutes past one in the
afternoon when we reached the port. Again, we had
to go through a series of unending processes before
we were able to secure our seats in a ferry. The
earliest trip available would be at three so I looked
 59

for a comfortable seat inside the waiting area after

acquiring my tickets.
I have had too many experiences here back
when I was working in a Christian school in Cavite.
When the pandemic hasn’t started yet and
everything was as normal as it can be, the port will
be filled with people trying to leave the mainland
Luzon especially on Christmas holidays when people
come home to see their families, including me.
Unfortunately, a lot of storms usually come in
December leaving passengers stranded on the port.
There was a couple of time when I got
stranded, too. It was 24th of December, a storm was
raging on a nearby island causing wave surges on the
waters between Batangas and Calapan. I needed to
be home and there is no way I’m not trying to be. I
carried my big travelling bag filled with gifts and
some groceries for Noche Buena. They were so
heavy. On top of it all, I have a fever. When I reached
the port at ten in the evening, I saw countless
commuters standing on queues in front of ticketing
booths that are closed down because they stopped
issuing tickets for that night and the following day.
 60

The trips for that night have been cancelled due to

the big waves caused by the storm. Nevertheless,
people stood on queues that bended here and went
zigzag there to form a line that never ends. Everyone
has been stuck but hopefully waiting for the
cancellation to be taken down and for the ticketing
booths to issue tickets.
I stood at the end of a line hoping to be one
to get tickets the moment the booths open again.
That line continued to stretched to forever while
people kept on coming and adding up to the pile of
stranded passengers. I sat on the dirty paved ground
of the port resting my arms on the big bag that had
already gotten muddy too. I’ve never felt so tired in
my life but I couldn’t give up on seeing my family and
being home for Christmas. I’d swim the sea if only I
could. Hours slowly dragged on and my fever wasn’t
going away. I stayed in that position lit dimly by the
lights in the makeshift tent over my head until four
in the morning. That was the first time I’ve ever felt
so exhausted and alone in a place full of people. I was
sleepy, tired and dizzy but I couldn’t sleep and risk
losing my bag. When I’d be hungry, I’d open one of
 61

the gifts I had in my bag and munch on some

chocolates. They were all I have. I couldn’t leave my
spot to buy some food because someone else might
fill in. I know people can be desperate and selfish in
times like this.
The night felt unending as if morning will
never come. Thankfully, the restriction was taken
down and the booths opened at six in the morning.
Just in time before I lose grip on everything. Waiting
on that queue patiently was one of the most
rewarding things I have ever done in my life. I was
indeed one of the first people to get the ticket for the
earliest trip that morning. I’m so glad I waited.
The second time almost ended up like that,
except that time, I was more prepared. It was
Christmas time again and the storm was a bit
stronger and closer to the seas of Batangas. Still, I
waited, but realizing that the storm wasn’t calming
down anytime soon, I decided to head back to Cavite
and waited for the trips to be back to normal.
 62

I caught myself smiling as I recollected

these experiences of mine at this port. Seeing the

empty benches and empty food stalls inside the
check-in area of the port, I somehow miss those days
no matter how stressful they were. Back in the day, I
hate how everyone kept on cutting lines or just
carelessly squeezing in through the crowd with their
bags harshly brushing against another’s arms and
body, but now nobody dare gets close to anyone.
Changes can be so harsh sometimes.
I soon boarded the ferry and we sailed over
the calm waves of the sea taking me closer to my
hometown.
The sea was inviting and I kind of miss the
view so I decided to take a walk towards the open
deck. The air smelled fresher than before probably
because of less human activities everywhere. After a
while, the sun started to burn on my skin so I
decided to walk towards the shaded hallway on the
side that leads to the rear of the ferry. There were
benches against the wall which faces to the open sea.
I sat down.
 63

In an instant, memories came flashing in my

vision. When I looked up, the bright blue sky that
stretched over the horizon suddenly turned black as
the night and the sun was replaced by some stars. I
saw myself sitting on the same bench, but night
replaced the day. The warm air became cold that
seeped through my black jacket and high socks. My
disheveled black hair brushes against my anxious
face.
I stood up. Reality stepped in again.
Was it the same ferry? My tears gushed out
without warning. I walked closer to the hot iron
railings and held tight to keep myself from
collapsing on the floor. I gazed down and the waves
stared back at me with its loud crashing sound
inviting me to drown my memories.
Everything in me is in chaos. My nightmares
visit me even when I’m awake.
I felt a hand grabbed my arms and when I
looked up, I saw a man wearing a ferryman’s
uniform.
“Ma’am are you okay?” he asked.
 64

I nodded my head and gently pulled my arm

back.
“Yes. Thank you so much.” I said before
slowly walking towards the restroom where I dried
my tears and composed myself again. I spent the rest
of the trip sitting on my seat in silence.
After a while, the docking announcement
was made. We have reached the port of Calapan. I
looked through the window and saw the small
houses and building in a distance.
It didn’t take long before we were able to get
off the ferry. I noticed how my heart skipped a beat
the moment I stepped my foot on the island. I am
definitely home.
With my luggage and camera bag, I made my
way through the gate and hallways leading to the
parking space of the port where public and private
transports wait for the coming passengers. Well, at
least that was what I expected to see. I have forgotten
for a moment that there was a pandemic. There were
no buses nor cars where they used to be. I was
hoping to see my sister there, too, but the space was
empty.
 65

I decided to continue walking until I reached

the main exit gate of the port. I didn’t see the old food
and souvenir stalls that used to line up along
sidewalks of the road leading to the port, but I did
see my sister fumbling on her phone as she leaned
on her parked motorbike.
She looked a bit different but probably still
clueless about the whereabouts on the streets. I
smiled but didn’t call her. Instead, I walked towards
her but before I could reach her, she looked up to see
me.
The smile I saw was genuine and I knew she
has never changed.
 66

“Loise”
Chapter 6

“ Hey!” she started. “Hello! I didn’t see

you!”, she burst out chuckling while sliding her
phone into the side pockets of her denim jacket.
I gave her a sarcastic smile and I’m-so-done
look on my face.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she chuckled then she
stood up to give me a hug.
“How long have you been waiting?” I asked.
I know that was a wrong question. It triggers
the actress in my sister and I could only expect an
answer I needn’t hear.
 67

She suddenly stopped shifting her motorbike

and slowly looked at me with those forced dreamy
eyes. We’re suddenly in a highly emotional drama
scene in a movie. “How long, you asked?” She looked
down on the ground as if recollecting something
from her memories, then she put on a sad smile.
“Well, it’s been a while,” she added before
pretending to wipe the tears in her eyes that were
never there.
I crossed my eyebrows to emphasize my
disgust. “Can we go now? It’s burning here,” I said,
bringing her back to reality.
She immediately rode her motorbike and
fumbled on her keys while saying “Oh sorry, sorry,
sorry…” through her sly smile.
I smiled to myself thinking how we have
always been like this. Everyone with siblings could
possibly relate. Annoying each other is very
necessary and mandatory or else life will get boring.
I remember when we were kids, when our
grandparents still live in their old house next to ours
in the middle of the woods, they would always ask
our parents if we had any visitors. The reason is
 68

because they kept on hearing loud and different

voices with endless laughter coming from our house.
They can only shake their heads upon being told that
there were only I and my sister in the house that day.
They were amused at the amount of noise and
commotion that my sister and I can create.
These days, when we do that, we get scolded
a lot by Mom telling us to grow up. That only adds
up to the laughter seeing the disgusted and very
pissed look on our Mom’s face. Sometimes I wonder
why she does that when she can just throw us her
slippers or deny us a meal. I miss annoying my Mom,
too.
On the way home, my sister and I just talked
about how my travel went and her progress in
driving. It got cooler as we near our place because
the trees grew thicker and thicker. In about forty-five
minutes, I’m already standing in front of our house.
“Hello, everyone!” I exclaimed announcing
my arrival. I knew that only Mom would be home
because my Emy and Elmar already have their own
families which settles seven towns away. It’s about a
two or three -hour drive away.
 69

To my surprise, my three-year old niece

came out the door followed by Emy. Then there was
my Elmar too, and Mom along with my brother and
sister-in-law. They didn’t tell me that everyone was
there.
“Welcome home!” everybody greeted in a
cheery voice.
In an instant, my heart was full-something I
hadn’t felt in the past years of not seeing them.
My tears came rolling down my cheeks as I
walked to hug and kiss my Mom.
“I miss you Mom!” I spoke.
She hugged me back and gently pat my back.
Nothing feels at home than in your own mother’s
arms. Here is where I belong. This is the best place
on earth.
I exchanged hugs with the rest of the family
and we spent the rest of the night in endless stories
and laughter. I would not be exaggerating if I say
that there was never a second that I was never happy.
Tonight, I felt the pieces of me slowly coming
back together. I know that this is just the beginning,
 70

but before I went to bed, I prayed and thanked God

with all my heart.
I know that it’s going to be alright.

The next morning, I thought that I would

be waking up late due to the fatigue and adjustment
to the environment but the way home relieves every
anxiety and the way it puts everything in me at rest
is amazing. When I opened my eyes, I saw the
familiar bare jalousie windows. This is the same
window of my sleepless nights when I was younger.
I remember staying up late especially on rainy
seasons when I would lay awake waiting for the rain.
I loved everything that showed through that window.
There were nights when there was only darkness,
sometimes there would be stars, and some nights,
there’ll be the moon. They were all beautiful to me
but my favorite will always be the sound of the falling
rain on our roof as we never had a ceiling. I’ll never
forget the shivers I feel down my spine as I clearly
hear every drop of rain especially on summer when
the rain comes quietly and very gently. While the
 71

strong windy rains on wet seasons gave me the thrills

and chills, the gentle tap of rain on midsummer
brought me peace and calm. I wish I can keep on
waking up to this same view every morning, but that
would be too much to ask.
I got up and walked out the room. As
expected, everyone is already up even though it’s
only six in the morning. The mattress where my
brother’s family used to sleep on is still there with
my nieces rolling here and about playing with the
pillows. I smiled. We even have two mattresses now.
I joined them and asked for a morning kiss I
and thankfully got two. After huddling with them for
a couple of minutes, I walked to the kitchen where
the dining table is also there. I expected to see a cup
of somebody’s coffee but there was nothing on the
table. I walked out of the house eyeing every corner
for a cup of coffee left by somebody. I know that they
were outside in my Mom’s garden because I heard
them talking when I was still on the bed.
I was right. Mom is sitting on a stool while
my siblings gather around. I think Mom just finished
tending her plants in that area and everyone ended
 72

up being there to watch and have a chitchat.

Everyone looked at me and my heart just couldn’t get
used to seeing them this close again. This real. In
flesh. My heart leaped for joy and I already know
that it’s going to be an exhilarating day.
My mom immediately knew what I was up to.
No, actually, everyone knew.
“What? You’re looking for this?” she said,
holding her cup of coffee.
I chuckled shyly and walked to her then
gently grabbed my Mom’s cup.
To my disappointment, it’s already been
emptied.
“Ha-ha,” my mom said teasingly. “You still
haven’t got yourself used to making yourself coffee,”
she said shaking her head in disapproval.
If she only knew, I make myself coffee when
I stay in a different place. I enjoy it, too sometimes.
It’s just that, I have gotten used to drinking
somebody else’s coffee when I’m in the house. My
favorite was Mom’s, though I usually just take
whatever is on the table. I have a feeling that I don’t
want to let go of this practice. It gives me the feeling
 73

that I’m still a kid, a child, a person in need of

another family member and that in this simple thing,
I don’t have to be independent for a moment. Maybe
you’re thinking that it’s too much for a cup of coffee,
but for someone who have lived her life away from
her family and was forced everyday not to depend
too much on people, it matters a lot.
“Just make your coffee yourself,” Emy
muttered. “and make me one, too.”
“Okay, okay,” I replied lazily.
I marched back inside the house and checked
the jars on the dining table. In our home, coffee is
essential, next to salt and rice. Mom always sees to it
that there’s always some coffee and creamer and
sometimes milk inside the jars.
I never memorized the measurements but
most of the time, my coffee ends up being too sweet.
As I finally filled the two cups with hot water, I
glanced at the jar of powdered milk. I felt something
in me break a little.
There is one cup of coffee I haven’t seen and
tasted for a long time. Sometimes it would be milk,
and the owner of cup of milk could always tell who
 74

drank it all off. Anyway, I’m going to visit him soon.

Maybe, by that time, I have been healed.
I walked back to my family outside the house
trying to revive the joy in my eyes.

The days that followed were bright and full of

colors. On Monday, my brother cooked some
seafood for me because he promised me that he
would make me one when I come home.
At first, he refused and kept on saying that it
was hard to buy seafood nearby and it’s too laborious
to buy at the city because of travel restrictions. But if
I knew in my heart that something is feasible, then it
has to happen, so I nagged him tirelessly until he had
enough of me.
Ah, these family members of mine just never
learn. They should really consider thinking twice
before promising me anything.
At daytime, we would play with my niece,
then watch TV programs or movies. At about three
or four in the afternoon, we would share some
snacks Mom has prepared. At night after dinner, we
would mostly catch up with each other’s lives. My
 75

sister and brother-in-law have been working on their

new house lately and would be moving in anytime
soon. My brother doesn’t usually say much but he
gives his fair share of comments every now and then.
My little sister still has two more semesters left in
her graduate studies. She said she might not be
moving to a new workplace anytime soon because
she loves where she works now.
As for Mom, she always cheeringly talks
about the plants she’s been growing. I don’t
remember much of the names she mentioned but I
know that she has always been a plant-lover ever
since. It’s just that she had to stop prioritizing plants
when all of us are still studying. She didn’t have the
time anymore and on top of that, if there were any
money in the house, it goes to our food of course.
Plants were not on top of the list. When my little
sister finally finished college and started working,
we were finally relieved from much expenses. These
days, she can spend as much as she wants on plants
and she also now have lots of time for herself.
But sometimes, I wonder if she’s really
happy. Or if she really is, how deep does that
 76

happiness go? I hope that this fancy collection of

plants wasn’t just a diversion from something she
could never ever have again, no matter how much
she tried. I pray that her loud and cheerful laughter
that echoes all day doesn’t turn to silent cries at
night.
I hope that we’re not the same.
 77

“The House Without Walls”

Chapter 7

“ So, how have you been?” the aging man

sitting across the terrace asked.
It was a cloudy Saturday of that same week.
The sun didn’t greet me when I woke up this
morning. I stayed in bed for half an hour before
getting ready for the day. I almost didn’t want to go,
but this is exactly the reason why I went home. I have
to see him. I have to talk to him. I have only one
question and it is my last chance of redemption.
I wore my old white shirt that I found inside
the drawers in my room and a pair of faded blue
 78

jeans. I didn’t bother to put on shoes because I had a

feeling that it’s going to rain.
When I told Mom that I’ll be seeing him
today, she thought I’d only be visiting to greet and
give some present. But I have other things in mind.
I used Jane’s motorbike to drive off for ten
minutes to where I am now. It’s an old family house
where I used to spend the Sundays of my childhood.
The house, despite being old, is still in good
condition. It’s a simple bungalow with a terrace a
living room, a kitchen and three rooms.
I smiled before I replied. “I have been well.
What about you, pastor?”
The man smiled back as he puts down his cup
of coffee on the table. We are on the terrace where
there is a long wooden bench and a chair. At the
center, a mini table. The air smelled fresh despite the
gloomy weather and the coffee is just perfect.
“Well,” he started, “I guess I’ve gotten older,”
he said then chuckled. “You looked healthier now,
and oh, thanks for the presents. I can’t wait to try
this coffee. I heard Vietnam has a great coffee
culture.”
 79

As I watched him talked, I couldn’t help but

think about another man’s face. I wish I had the
privilege to look at his aging face just like how I’m
looking at my pastor’s face right now.
Pastor Rudy. He has always been like a
second father to me. He’s the first pastor I have
known and have grown up with. When I was a kid,
his children had been my childhood playmates
especially on Sundays at the church. Sometimes on
Saturdays, other teens would gather and meet at his
house to prepare some food and just have a good
time. His house has always been welcoming to
visitors and strangers alike and the food on the table
is always for every hungry stomach. Their whole
household is one of the warmest places I have been.
At times when my little sister and I couldn’t make it
home early as we were working on something at the
church, he would drive us home. That is how my
parents find peace that we’ll be safe on the way
home. When I graduated from high school and was
trying to find ways to go to college, he was there, too,
looking for every available scholarship offers that he
can find. He indeed found me one on my first year in
 80

college. He’s just always there when he can. He’s like

that to everyone.
Always. He was there.
“I heard that you arrived last week, is that
right?” he asked after a while.
“About a week ago. Jane picked me up at the
port.” I answered.
“How’s your Mom? Did your Emy and Elmar
come home?”
“They did, but I didn’t know that they’d be
home.” I said then I smiled. “I think they wanted to
surprise me. And Mom’s doing great. She’s grown a
lot of plants. I guess it’s good for her,” I paused. “She
won’t get bored.”
Pastor Rudy sipped at his coffee before
speaking again.
“What about your father? Have you visited
him?” he asked.
I avoided looking at him and turned my gaze
down at my cup of coffee which I noticed is still
almost full. “No, I haven’t.”
“You should. I can take you there,” the man
offered with a suddenly sprightly mood. “I know you
 81

miss him a lot.” He mentioned with a gentle tap on

my shoulder.
I chucked at his gesture. I think he’s trying to
lift up the serious air, but I have been thinking of
how to put my question into words.
The gloomy weather has become even darker
and the air started to feel chilly. I couldn’t tell if it
was the cold air making me tremble or if it was just
me.
A motorcycle passed by breaking the silence
that has slowly becoming heavier to bear. I crossed
my arms and shifted my weight on the chair,
mustering some courage. As the sound of the
motorcycle slowly faded away, a heavy feeling
started to clump my chest and I can feel my heart in
my throat.
I draw a few deep breaths trying to fight
against my hesitation. After a couple minutes of
silence with just the sound of his sip of coffee, I
finally decided to speak.
“You visited him at the hospital, didn’t you?”
 82

The man glanced at me as he puts down his

coffee. “Yes, I did,” he muttered. “You weren’t there
that day.”
My heart ached a little upon hearing the
words even though, I know he didn’t mean anything
by that.
“I mean, “he continued, “you weren’t there
yet.” Maybe he knew what I was thinking.
He smiled as he leaned back against his chair
with his hands gently tapping on the armrest.
“I went there with your Aunt Shem. She
brought some fruits for him and we prayed for him,
too.”
By the way he talked, I could say that he
didn’t want to sound as if he’s recalling a sad
moment. He has a smile on his lips as he muttered
the words, even though he didn’t look at me.
I know this is the perfect time to ask this
question. I have prepared myself for this for a long
time and yet, nothing in me was ready.
What if it just gets worse from here?
“Thank you, pastor,” I said.
“Life is short indeed,” he remarked.
 83

On my lap, I pressed my thumbnail hard

against my pinky finger to release some pressure
that keeps on growing by the minute.
“Your father was a good man,” he added,
looking far away.
With these words, the tears I wasn’t
expecting suddenly gushed out from my eyes. I
covered my eyes with my hands to hide. I was so
engrossed into thinking of the right words to say that
I didn’t even realize I am this close to crying.
The man extended his arms and gently
tapped on my shoulders.
“Look at you. You poor thing,” he muttered
chuckling while shaking his head.
I wiped my tears away and forced a smile.
“I’m sorry, pastor,” I said.
But it was just the right release I needed.
With the gush of tears, all my guards fell down.
I composed myself a little and looked straight
to Pastor Rudy’s face.
“Pastor,” I started, “do you think he’s saved?”
 84

The dark, heavy clouds finally turned to

rain. Pastor Rudy insisted on coming with me after
the talk and coffee but with his age, I was worried
that he’d catch a cold in this weather. Now is not the
best time to catch a cold and cough or else you’ll end
up in an isolation facility. He lent me a raincoat
which belonged to Eric, one of his children and a
childhood friend of mine.
My heart was beating fast as I slowly drove
through the pouring rain. I tried to keep my focus
even though my thoughts are wandering far-off,
unconscious of the cold tap of the water against the
plastic coat. The road wasn’t cemented so I had to
keep at a slow pace since the place I was heading to
isn’t very far.
After a few turns, I got there in about five
minutes.
Nothing much has changed but since it isn’t
the month of November, grass and weeds covered
much of the place. I got down the motorcycle and
stood at the gate. This is where we built him a house.
 85

This is not my first time coming here but I

still couldn’t get used to how I hated this place.
The rain continued to tap on my raincoat as
I stood there motionless gazing at the overgrown
trees and shrubs competing against the weeds and
grass. Then, I stared at the arch on the gate. Even
with the faded white paint, I could still clearly read
the letters.

“Brgy. San Rafael Cemetery”

In an instant, tears flowed out my eyes once

again and my knees felt weak. I feel like collapsing
on the ground.
Why am I here? Why did it have to be here?
With my trembling knees, I took a small step
closer to the gate and finally inside. Then another
small step, another, and then another until I reached
a small diversion leading to his house.
I know where I’m headed. I know exactly
where I buried a part of me forever.
The rough blades of grass sprouting between
each tall rectangular grave brush against my feet and
 86

lower part of my legs. I wanted to just climb up each

grave and just jump from one grave to another to
avoid the grass but I didn’t want to disrespect
whoever lie in them.
As I passed each tombstone, I wonder if
anyone had visited them lately, too.
Finally, there among the paved rectangular
graves, was what looked like an unfinished shanty.
There were four poles erected from the
ground where cement has been poured in, serving as
foundation to a single roof, a galvanized iron sheet.
Finally, I have built him a house-a house
where we cannot be together.
It looked like a small dwelling, but without
walls-nothing to protect you from the cold blow of
air at night. But whoever lies under its roof needs no
protection from the cold. It itself has become cold as
the night.
I slowly walked closer. Under the roof, is a
paved grave painted with white which has turned to
gray due to dust and harsh weather changes. Wild
green vines crept along and over the grave. I walked
to the other end to where the tombstone is. A few
 87

candles still stood and the glass where flowers had

been soaked is still there, filled with muddy water.
The rain has washed away the dust on the
tombstone. I held out my hand and pushed away a
few vines trying to cover the name on it. In gold-
inked letters engraved against the gray marble
reads:
Rest in Peace
Elmer B. Mitante
Born: January 25, 1971
Died: June 9, 2017
You’ll be in our hearts forever

“Father…” I muttered.
After all those years of sacrificing and
enduring being far away, I have finally built him a
house-and this is the only house I was ever able to
give him.
As my tears rolled their way down my cheeks,
the rain poured harder and a cold air blew away the
few strands of hair on my face. I bent my knees down
with my arms still reaching out to the tombstone.
 88

“I miss you…!” I cried out sobbing. My

shoulders shake as my deepest pain revealed itself
without reservations. Even with the hood of my
raincoat falling back down, I sat there in front of my
dear father’s grave unmindful, crying. It has been
two years and no, it doesn’t begin to feel less painful.
Father, I still remember that rainy afternoon
when we left you here forever. I remember how my
Mom cried out for the last time as she desperately
clung onto the last seconds of seeing you, being with
you. I remember her calling out your name, calling
out to you hoping you would hear. She shouted your
name hoping you would stay. If only you could stay
just a little bit longer. I remember how she held
tightly and gripped on your casket while everyone
pulled her away pityingly. She wanted you to stay,
too. We all did. We all do. I still do. And I remember
how we watched you hide yourself from us and how
you forced us to let you go. And I remember how I
couldn’t let go.
Father, I remember everything.
I couldn’t forget.
Did you have to go?
 89

“The Door”
Part 1
Chapter 8

There wasn’t a part or a moment that I

couldn’t remember nor find hard to recall.
It has been two years and those memories
still haunt me even when I’m awake. They roam and
follow me wherever I go like my own shadow except,
shadows disappear in the dark.
It was late summer. It was my second year of
working at the missionary school in Cavite.
Honestly, the compensation was barely enough to
cover my needs but I chose to stay because I still felt
needed. I think that’s a rewarding feeling.
 90

Nowadays, high salary no longer makes an employee

stay, but a good working environment and the
feeling of being valued.
The school year usually starts at the second
half of May. That was the time when we do the
repainting and decorating of the school, including
our own homerooms.
I find those days pretty enjoyable. I get
excited at the thought that I’d be able to make my
classroom look whatever I like it to. I guess, it is
human nature to love being in control.
It was Sunday, 26th of May when Mom first
sent me a message that they rushed Father to the
hospital. Father had been hospitalized a year ago due
to his creatinine levels and had been taking a
number of maintenance pills ever since. I wanted to
be there badly, but I needed to be at work, too.
Anyhow, Mom assured me that they can handle it. I
went to work the next day and continued repainting
and printing materials for my homeroom. Every now
and then, Mom would update me about how Father
was doing. He needed blood transfusion, so we had
 91

to look for blood donors. Thankfully, we found blood

donors among our relatives.
Deep inside my heart, I know God will never
fail us. He has never done that. I know God has great
plans for my life and that includes having my family
around when that day comes. I just know.
On Thursday that same week, Mom asked if
I can come home to see my father, which I gladly
wanted to. The following day, I packed my things
back home to see father. That also meant I had to be
absent for a few unpaid days.
When I reached the port of Calapan, there
was no need to drop by the house because everyone
is at the hospital, so I rode a tricycle which took me
there.
When I reached the hospital, the first person
I saw was my Aunt Gemma, mom’s sister. She led me
to the ward where my father’s bed was.
As soon as I entered the door, I saw Mom’s
back facing the bed near the window. It was his bed.
There were four more beds in that ward but his had
more people surrounding it. That’s when I realized
that it’s still visiting hours that time.
 92

He was lying on the bed, but awake. I wish I

didn’t have to watch him in that miserable condition
but I could see that he had lost much weight. His
eyes looked bigger because of his sagging under eyes.
His cheeks looked bony, too. Aside from the
dextrose, I also noticed that he was using a catheter,
which as I looked closer, seemed to be flowing with
blood, too.
My tears would flow any moment but I was
told before going inside the ward, that I shouldn’t cry
in front of him, so despite the sadness of seeing him
like that, I greeted with a smile.
“Hello, father,” I said and gave him a kiss.
I gave Mom a hug, too. “How was your trip?”
she asked.
“It was fine. There weren’t any passengers
today.”
She stood up and helped me with my big,
heavy bag then asked again. “What did the principal
say?” She’s talking about me being absent in such a
busy time of the opening of the school year.
“He said that it’s okay.” I answered shortly
then I asked, “How’s father?”
 93

Mom sat down again and brushed father’s

hair with her fingers. Her hair was disheveled and I
could tell that she hadn’t been sleeping well for many
nights. But I know it’s more than just sleepless
nights, I saw her tiredness, her worries, her fears,
and anxiety.
“They just transferred another bag of blood
to him this morning,” she said glancing at the bag
hanging on the hook beside my father’s bed. “They
are still monitoring him but he’s been better now
compared to the past days.”
Her voice was dry and shaky. The more I
looked at her, the more my heart breaks. I wished
they didn’t have to undergo such situation.
My other siblings have gone out of the room
so it won’t be too crowded inside. I sat on the side of
the bed and held his arms.
“He’s using a catheter,” I mentioned.
“Ah yes, it’s hard for him to move around and
pee.”
“But why is it red?” I asked.
She looked at the catheter. “There was blood
in it too.”
 94

“Why?” I pressed on.

“The nurses said it’s because of his kidney.
They haven’t been functioning well. They are greatly
damaged already,” she replied.
I was sad but not surprised to hear that since
father has never stopped drinking at night since his
younger years. He just couldn’t bear to go to bed
without having a few shots of alcohol. Thankfully,
he gave up smoking about two years ago.
I could sense how painful it was for Mom to
have to hear her own words, too, so I decided to stop
talking about such things.
“Have you eaten?” I asked instead to change
the mood. I guess, sometimes, when there’s nothing
you can do to change something, you just have to
pretend that it isn’t there.
“I have. There’s still food in the plastic food
boxes on the table behind you. Your Aunt Gemma
brought them today. Eat them if you’re hungry.”
“Yeah, maybe later.”
Father kept silent all through out. Mom said
it’s hard for him to open his mouth too because his
throat hurt.
 95

After a while, I had dinner beside father’s bed

before the visiting hours ended at seven in the
evening. After that, only two people will be allowed
to stay inside the ward until eight in the morning.

The next day, mom and all of my siblings

gathered around his bed to help him in his breakfast
and to help him take his pills. I held the dextrose, my
brother supports his back as he sat on the side of his
bed, mom holds the pills while my two other sisters
stood nearby to hold the water and to offer anything
needed.
Ah. How we love our father. He is the only
man I know who never took any interest in wealth
and extravagance, yet he always seemed happy and
peaceful in life.
Father hated having to take the pills. He
would shake his head after each one of them and say,
“Stop, stop. I want no more of it,” with his disgusted
look on his face.
 96

Mom would then gently tell him that he

needed to. “C’mon you can do it. It’s the last one.
Here, c’mon.”
We needed to keep our voices low because we
didn’t want to disturb the other patients lying on the
other beds. On the bed next to my father’s was an
adult man with his legs wrapped in cement. Mom
would soon remark that she hadn’t seen anyone visit
that man since they moved in that ward.
On the other side of the room were three
more beds. The one near the window has a pregnant
young woman and maybe her husband who both
appears to be much younger than I. The other bed
has a pale lady and one near the door has another
young man. I could say that among the patients,
father has the most visitors around.
I stayed at the hospital together with my
siblings and the occasional visit from our uncles and
aunts and some friends. At night, when we couldn’t
stay inside the ward, we would try to kill time just
roaming around the hospital or busy ourselves with
our mobile phones. At about three in the morning,
when we could no longer fight the sleepiness, we
 97

would find an empty bench or any free space and just

to lie down to sleep. Those nights seemed unending
and they were always very cold.
Back in Cavite, classes will officially start on
the coming week, on Monday. That added to the
things I worry about. I haven’t finished decorating
my classroom. I haven’t prepared my books and
lessons yet. I am far from being ready.
Thankfully, on the following days, father
started getting better. We can now laugh a little bit
around him, tease him.
Mom would then tell him to get well because
the crops he planted at home needs his tending. She
said that the beans have sprouted and that the
squash are in bloom. Also, my eldest sister’s wedding
was also set the following month so he needed to get
better soon. At times, I would squeeze myself in his
bed and lie down beside him.

“ Mom, I need to get back to work,” I told

Mom on Thursday evening.
 98

“Classes will start on Monday and I still

haven’t prepared anything yet,” I added.
Mom and I sat beside father’s bed. She
glanced at him. “Yes, I think you can go back now.
Anyway, your father is already getting better. We’ll
be coming home anytime soon,” she replied.
I wish I didn’t have to go. I wanted to be
there, too when father finally comes home, but I
guess, that is another thing I need to give up for now.
I need to get back to work. We need money to pay for
the hospital bills.
Mom helped me to pack my things again and
I spent the night beside father’s bed.
The next morning, I had shower in the
restroom inside their ward. I never felt so refreshed
in the past days and nights. I put on my black ripped
jeans and a white shirt. After that, Mom offered me
a breakfast of rice and some soup which my one of
my Aunt has brought early in the morning.
I sat on the side of my father’s bed while I put
on my boots. He’s already awake, sitting on the side
of his bed and watching me.
 99

Mom then told him in a very gentle voice,

“Loi is travelling back to Cavite.” She paused for a
while and continued, “she needs to be back because
their classes will start on Monday.” She uttered the
words so gentle and soft as if she’s trying to make
father understand.
Father didn’t say a word, he just sat there
looking at me with his deep, big and reddish eyes.
After a while, I put on my heavy travelling
backpack. As soon I stopped moving and just looked
straight to my father to say something, my heart
sank. I felt a weight heavier than the bag on my
shoulders. I could feel my eyes starting to get hot but
I tried to hold it in just like how I tried to keep the
pieces of me from falling away.
I looked in his eyes and saw his sadness. I
looked and saw the deepening wrinkles on the
corners of his eyes, his long eyelashes, the sagging
lines on his forehead and under eyes, the reddish
bridge of his nose and the wounds on his nostrils
because of the tubes that were inserted there, his
disheveled and overgrown hair, the cuts on dry lips,
 100

the spots on his cheeks-I looked at him and saw that

maybe I should be there. Maybe I shouldn’t leave.
I blinked back the tears forming in my eyes.
If anything, I didn’t want him to see that I was sad
about leaving. Just like always, I didn’t want this
moment to be a sad one. I didn’t want anyone to feel
that this is a goodbye, because this isn’t.
We’ll still see each other anyway, so nobody
should be sad. After some months, I’ll be home
again, just like always.
I held his arm and gave him a hug.
“Get well soon, father, okay?” I said, with my
voice cracking. “I just need to leave for now,” I added
with a smile.
Father didn’t say a word. I slowly pulled away
and shifted the weight of my bag.
“Be safe on the way,” Mom said. I gave her a
hug too and then I turned towards the door. I slowly
walked hesitating if I was making the right decision
or if I really had to bear this burden.
I stopped outside the door of the ward and
looked back to where my father was.
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He still sat on his bed, looking at me with

those deep, sad eyes. Mom said something to him
then she pointed at me. I waved at them and smiled.
“Goodbye!” I said, but father didn’t move nor
said anything. He just watched me took another step
and then another and another until I’m out of his
sight.
As soon I looked away from him, my tears
overflowed and I had to walk faster to hide away my
sorrow.
 102

“The Door”
Part 2
Chapter 9

I got back in Cavite late in the afternoon. I

had a short nap and then I went to school to pick up
where I left off when I went back home. I felt tired
and sleepy but I didn’t have any time to spare. I did
some repainting and printed some materials I
needed. At night, I didn’t receive any update from
Mom.
The next day, Saturday, I worked all day at
school. I painted here, washed there, printed here,
decorated there. I have a lot of catching up to do. I
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had no choice but to simplify everything so I can still

finish in time.
Late in the afternoon, the staff went to the
mall to buy some uniform. Because most of the
teachers are women, we were taking a long time
looking for the right outfit as usual.
It was about seven in the evening. We’ve
been walking for a while and so my feet were worn
out and my legs hurt already.
I heard my phone’s ringtone so I look to
check who was calling. I don’t usually receive calls.
One whole week without a call is pretty normal for
me.
I was surprised to see that it was Mom. I was
thinking maybe they just got home so I eagerly
picked it up.
The exchange of opinions between teachers
regarding the fabric, price, color, and style of
uniform created noise so I stepped a little far away
to talked to Mom.
“Hello, Mom?” I greeted.
“Loi…” she started. At the tone of her voice,
fear crept through my body in an instant. Her voice
 104

was low, shaky and cracking and it sounded like she

had just cried. “You need to come home
immediately.”
I felt a warm liquid linger at the corners of
my eyes and my heat beat faster.
“W-why? What happened?” I asked.
I heard Mom holding her tears over the
phone. “Your father...,” she said then paused. “He
just suddenly grew weak again…” With this, she
sobbed hard and I remember the time when they
called me one summer to tell me that Petey, my dog,
has died.
“Please, come home,” she said in between
tears.
I let my own tears escape from my eyes.
“Okay, I’ll be there tonight,” I uttered, barely trying
to keep my voice clear.
“Okay. Take care and be safe.” I let her end
the call and just after she did, one of my co-teachers
approached me and ask what’s wrong.
In between sobs, I told them what happened.
They understood and I almost didn’t want to hear it
when they said that I really should go home and that
 105

I needed to be strong. I guess, even that time, I

wanted to believe that everything is going to be
alright.
They offered me some money because they
knew I was running low on finances that time. We
hugged, prayed, then I rode back to the house and
finally travelled back home to my province.
I reached the Batangas seaport at about
thirty minutes past ten in the evening. The only
vessel on schedule leaves at eleven, so I bought a
ticket.
At sea, I sat on the bench on the side deck of
the vessel where I sat facing the open sea. The cold
air seeped through my black jacket.
I have forgotten all about my worn-out feet
and legs. I didn’t feel any weariness at all. I looked
up. There were some stars that night. I’ve always
boarded a ferry when leaving and coming home.
They all felt the same, like an adventure, except
tonight.
God please…
I’ve never felt so scared in my whole life. I
was scared not because of the angry and restless
 106

waves below, nor because of the darkness that

stretched hiding the horizon.
What’s going to happen, God?
I didn’t sleep that night. I just sat there and
prayed and begged that my fears wouldn’t happen.
That night didn’t seem to end, I kept on
closing and opening my eyes hoping to see the lights
at the port of Calapan but time dragged on and there
were still no light in sight.
Thankfully, after four long hours, the
docking announcement could be heard. After a
while, I stood up and stepped down the vessel along
with the other weary souls aboard.

It was twenty-six minutes past four in the

morning when I got to the hospital. It was still dark,
but a number of hospital staff are already moving
around to do some cleaning. I found my Uncle Ed
waiting for me at the main entrance of the building.
“Over here,” he motioned when he saw me.
A cold air blew on my nape sending shivers
down my spine.
 107

I followed my uncle and realized that we

passed the ward where my father used to be. I
peeped through the slightly open door of the room
and saw a different man lying on the bed near the
window. We passed through a couple more rooms
until my uncle stopped. He peeped through the door
of the hospital room and then slowly opened it
wider. I looked up to see the sign at the door.
Intensive Care Unit
I let out a deep breath before going through
the door and inside the room while fixing my eyes on
the floor.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

The moment I looked up to see my father, I
felt the world crashed over my head.
Don’t cry.
He has tubes in his nostrils and an oxygen
mask in his mouth.
I took one step closer.
Don’t cry.
His eyes were dry and his gaze was fixed to
the ceiling. He cannot move his eyes.
 108

I took another step.

Please, don’t cry.
The big needle on his arm was bleeding.
Just few more steps.
Hold it in.
He has lost much weight. His veins show
through his skin and his bony body through his shirt.
I took one last step till I reached the side of
his bed.
Just don’t cry in front of him.
His eyes were open, but he didn’t turn to look
at me.
I stood there frozen in confusion and
disbelief with my lips pressed hard together to keep
my tears from showing, but there was no use. They
freely rolled down my horrified eyes.
“Loi…” my Mom said, who I barely noticed
sitting beside the bed. “Look at your father…” she
said with silent tears in her eyes.
I tried to open my mouth but no words came
out.
 109

“Yesterday,” mom continued even when she

could barely speak, “he suddenly couldn’t breathe so
they transferred him here.”
My Mom looked worse than the last time,
too. Her hair, her eyes, her face, her clothes and even
trembling fingers-everything screams indefinable
brokenness she had been enduring the whole time.
She pulled the towel on her shoulder and
wiped her own tears.
I took a deep breathe and tried to speak.
“But,” I replied, “I thought he’s getting better…”
tears continued to flow from my eyes. Even after
crying so hard for the past days, they never seem to
run out.
Mom looked at father with her swollen,
longing eyes. “That’s what we thought, too…”
With that, she turned her back from father
and buried her face in her hands as she mourned and
cried. Uncle Ed had escaped of the room sobbing,
too.
I looked at my father’s poor condition. I
touched his forehead and gently stroked his hair.
 110

“Father…” I whispered, “I’m here…” Tears

gushed out again. “Look at me. Look, I’m here.” I
wanted to beg. I wanted to shake his shoulders so he
would notice that I was there. I wanted him to look
at me again like the last time he looked at me when I
stood outside the door of his ward, waving goodbye.
I wanted him to just look, see me there, beside him.
But his dry eyes didn’t move nor blink.
God, this is not the end.
I didn’t even realize that I still had my bag on
my shoulders. Nothing else made any sense
anymore. I couldn’t bear to see him in that condition
but I also didn’t want to lose sight of him. I was
utterly scared.
When I composed myself a little, I asked
everyone to gather around so we can pray for him. I
led the prayer and filled my heart with so much hope
from God. He had never failed me. He never will. He
is our Great Healer, our Great Doctor. Nothing is
impossible with God.
I never left his side since that morning. I sat
on a chair next to his bed and just held his hand.
Maybe, it was my way of letting him know that I was
 111

not leaving his side again. Maybe, I wanted to him to

hold on the way I was holding on to him, too. Maybe
I wanted him to know that we were there for him-
that he was not alone. Or maybe, I just wanted to
make up for all the times that I wasn’t there.
Deep inside, I was utterly scared. I took a
photo of our hands held together-my young, strong
hands against his dry, wrinkled hands. I’d like to
remember that moment.
I kept on talking to him even though he
didn’t respond. I showed him pictures on my phone
even though he didn’t look. I told him stories even
though I wasn’t sure if he could hear me.
His body felt so hot so we had to put a cold
towel on his forehead. To be honest, it wasn’t helping
that much but something must be done.
Hours dragged on. My siblings would come
every now and then to check on him, but I decided to
stay inside since I’ve always been so far away. I also
thought maybe, they couldn’t bear to watch him in
that state. My little sister, though, was there too,
with our Mom.
 112

Later that day in the afternoon, his fever shot

high. I checked the wet towel on his forehead and
noticed that it had gone dry.
I asked Jane to go buy a new one from the
makeshift stores lined up along the hallway on the
other side of the building. I handed her some money
then she walked out of the room.
I don’t know how long she had been out when
Mom suddenly cried out my father’s name in panic
and distress.
“Elmer...?” she exclaimed. Father’s chest was
moving heavily up and down as if in heavy breathing.
“Go call the nurses, quick!” she screamed in
tears.
 113

“Home. Finally.”
Chapter 10

Father, I remember everything.

There was not a second that was blurry in my
memory.
I remember how I ran through the door
screaming, calling out the nurses. I remember
running along the hallways and corridors of the
hospital crying out to our relatives in tears. I
remember the confused looked in Jane’s face when I
ran into her as she held the wet towel she bought and
she was singing a song, skipping her way back to the
room.
 114

I can still feel the cold air and the rumbling

sound of the rain as it poured down that afternoon. I
remember how we gathered around your bed, crying
our hearts out and praying as the nurses pumped
your chest and charged shocks to your body. I
remember the beeping sound the heart rate monitor
which every sound brings hope hoping there’d be
another beep. I remember how Mom collapsed to
herself at a corner, weeping as she couldn’t bear to
watch you slowly let go. I remember standing close
to your bed, trying to hold on to you for as long as I
could. I remember how the beeping sound grew
fewer and fewer.
I can still hear my brother, Elmer, as he
whispered in your ears how much we love you and
asked you why did you have to go so soon. I was
asking the same question. I still do.
I can still feel the touch of your rough palm
against mine as I held your hand as if I could stop
you from leaving. I remember how I cried out to your
ears how thankful I was that you had raised us well
as I raced against time and your fading hearing.
I remember asking you to pray with me.
 115

I remember asking you to admit your sins.

I remember asking you to accept Jesus as
your Lord and Savior. I remember my hopeless
desperation. I remember how I held on to the hope
that you were listening, that you were praying with
me in your head.
I remember saying I let you go.
I could still hear the last beep of your heart
beat. I could still see the tears in your eyes as you left
but couldn’t say goodbye.
I remember kneeling beside your bed as we
helplessly watched you being taken away from us
forever.
That night, we drove you home, finally.

We spent the next days trying to accept

that you were gone forever but I couldn’t move
around the house and think about how you were
supposed to be sitting in that corner, standing by
that door, or walking under those trees.
 116

The lights lighting up your wake gave me

nothing but disgust. I hated them being there in the
living room where we used to watch the morning
cartoons in the morning.
It would be sister’s wedding the following
month when you were supposed to wear a white
barong suit but the only barong suit you ever got to
wear was the one you wore inside your white and
yellow casket.
People come and go every night. Your
brothers from far away came to see you. My
classmates in college were there, too.
I never looked at your face through the glass
in your white casket lined with yellow details. I
guess, I just didn’t want to have a memory of how
lifeless you looked there, how dead, how pale. Late
at night when most of the people have gone home
and I couldn’t win against sleepiness and weariness,
I would lay awake in bed in one of our rooms, silently
feeling my tears rolling down the side of my face.
I still don’t understand why it had to be you.
Why did it have to be this soon? Why us? We never
hurt anyone. We’ re poor. We didn’t have any wealth
 117

nor any precious material things to boast about. We

have only have each other and that has always been
enough, yet, you had to be taken away as if we have
much to lose in life.
Did I really have to undergo all those
sacrifices just to lose the one to whom I wanted to
offer them to?
I thought about all the times I ever said
goodbye to you. I thought about every hug and every
word I chose not to give and say just because I
wanted to harden my heart and be stern enough to
endure being far away. I thought about all the times
I wasn’t home. I thought about how you probably
wanted me home and how I turned a blind eye to that
because I wanted to work for us and gave you a better
life.
Now, that’s all is said and done, is it worth it
all?
 118

I will always love you, Father

Chapter 11

“ Pastor,” I started, “do you think he’s

saved?”

The rain finally gave up and stopped. The

faded jeans and white shirt that I was wearing was
soaking wet and my hair is dripping, too. The air
stood still and the cemetery returned to peace and
quiet. I wonder if he liked this kind of air or if he
misses the loud annoying noises we create in the
house.
After a while, I stood up. The raindrops that
accumulated on the raincoat on the belly part when
 119

I sat on the ground run down and I felt a shiver once

again.

Pastor Rudy stared at me with a confused

look in his eyes then he smiled.
“Is that what you wanted to know?” he
asked.
I nodded.
The man shifted his weight and put his
hands together while placing his elbows against the
arm rest of the chair. “Well, only God can assure
salvation,” he started. “but, you know, he did accept
Jesus on the day we visited him at the hospital.”

When I looked up to the skies, it looked a lot

brighter and I could no longer see the dark, heavy
clouds that was there that morning.
I turned around and faced my father’s grave.

The tears that I had just dried welled up my

eyes again as I stared frozen at the Pastor Rudy.
 120

With every word he spoke, I could feel each weight

slowly being taken from my shoulders.
“We prayed together,” he mumbled then
smiled. “It’s amazing how he was still able to be
saved on the last days of his life. I know you and
your sister always prayed and dreamt of going to
the church with your whole family. Well, he might
not be able to fulfill that dream, but he did get to
meet Jesus. I think that’s more than enough.”
The man paused for a moment and we could
only hear my sobs in between the whispers of the
air that’s getting colder by the minute.
“I don’t know what thoughts run in your
head right now,” as he said these words, his voice
sounded softer like how he used to talk to us when
we were young teens, in need of constant
reminders, “but I want you to hold on to that hope
that God is true to his promises; and that whatever
God allowed to happen, happened for the best.”

I smiled looking at the gray marble where his

name was inked in gold.
 121

“Father,” I uttered, “thank you for

everything.”
I wiped the droplet of rain dripping from my
wet hair rolling down the side of my face.
“And I’m sorry…I’m sorry for all the times
that I had to leave and be gone. To be honest,” I
paused, “I thought you’d always be home waiting.”
“The day I stood at the door of your ward in
the hospital as I waved goodbye while looking at
your longing eyes still haunt me every night.”
“I wished I hadn’t left. That day, when you
looked at me leaving, was the last time you ever
looked at me.”
My knees felt weak so I had to hold on one of
the poles for support.
“If only I could go back in time and change it,
I would stay, father. I would stay. I’m sorry. I’m
really sorry… That time, I thought I just had to
sacrifice a little bit more for you, for us, for our
family. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
I blinked back the liquid trying to escape
from my eyes. “Look at me now,” I said stretching
out my arms. “I made it. I think I somehow made it.
 122

Now, we have more food on the table. It’s just that,

now, there is one more plate missing and one more
empty seat at the dining table.” I pulled down the
hood of my raincoat. “I miss drinking from your cup
of coffee. I miss seeing you around the house and
hearing your laughter.” I paused again. “We even
bought mattresses,” I chuckled.
“Father…” I uttered as my voice grew weaker.
“You are in a better place now, even better than what
I could ever give you. I think, that’s enough reason
for me to fully let go.”
“You know,” I mumbled in a low voice,
almost a whisper, “that I have always loved you,
didn’t you?”
I allowed myself to weep in silence for a
couple more minutes then, I uttered a short prayer
one last time then I slowly marched back out the
cemetery where I left the motorcycle.

I think that’s it. This is not where my healing

ends but where it begins. Now, I can finally start
forgiving myself until I’m free.
 123

I know there will still be nights when I’d cry

myself to sleep. I know I’d still think about what
could have been and what ifs, but this time, I have
more direction. This time, I’m no longer just running
away from my sea of regrets but running towards the
shore of hope and healing.
Indeed, feelings of regrets are powerful. They
can either make you worse or better but you need to
understand that the past is over. No matter how
sorry you feel or no matter how much guilt you carry,
there’s nothing you can do to change what’s done.
But while the past is beyond your control, the
present isn’t. You still have a chance. What will you
do with that chance? Would it be another regret?
I hopped on the motorcycle that’s been
dripping with water, too. My wet clothes felt heavier
and cold, but inside, it felt lighter and warm. I took
one last look at the cemetery before finally driving
off.
It’s still a long way home, but I’ll get there
with God.

-The End-