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A heart can be quite a storm, isn't it? Mine had been like this for some time now. I dared not imagine
the past when I felt alive—the fruit I wished I never tasted. Should ever this turmoil resume its persistence, I
might as well stop thinking altogether and close my eyes for a lifetime. The heart was both a wonder and a
mystery. A mystery that always seemed to have no concrete answer. It was a bother for me, as it was for all of
us. Will there be a remedy to comfort this painful storm back to still waters? How dearly I wish to rewind the
past ticks of the clock and return to the moment when I never experienced what some viewed as the greatest
happiness when for me it was nothing short of heartbreak.

It was six-thirty, and the sun was peeking through my half-closed window. Its bold shine promised a
pleasant day to come. My mother, in a commanding yet soft voice, called out to me for breakfast. The rest of
the family was already at the dining table, chattering about uneventful days, with a sprinkle of spice in their
stories. When they saw me, they greeted me with a “Good morning, Lizzie.” in an empathetic tone. I greeted
my parents with a mano before sitting down. I was not hungry at the time, so I told them that they could have
my share, but I still sat with them.

Today was his birthday.

Our eldest sister Felicia, who was a year older than me, shared some gossip about her friend crushing
on someone, but his anxiety got the better of him that he scared the girl away, leaving him all alone and sobbing.
The youngest sister, Matea, cried in laughter over how pathetic the boy was. Felicia was about to scold Matea
when the focus shifted to our brother Timothy’s request to our father for some spending money, which in turn,
made the siblings forget the previous topic as they occupied themselves in asking father for their share as well.
He got angry, but they did not care one bit. They knew their father liked being depended upon, despite his face
saying otherwise. Mother reprimanded their behavior as unbecoming and rude. Then our youngest laughed so
much that she dropped and broke a plate full of food. The loud clang alerted our family dog to come and eat
the spoiled food, which set our mother into a blind rage.

There was noise, there were disturbances, and there were frowns just as much as there were smiles. It
was our little way of a quiet life because sometimes we found silence distracting and loud. Life in our words
was, so to speak, a veil to hide the worry for a while. We knew when tears needed to be concealed behind casual
conversation, or when a laugh had to be toned down for matters of sadness. The hidden understanding was
our haven should we require either a quiet company or a distracting crowd. And today, they knew what face
they had to make in front of me. They need not a word from me to know my mood, which was convenient for
me.

I glanced at the vase of spider lilies by the window. “Are they ready, father?” I said.

The words cut through the conversation. My siblings looked down and were afraid to utter a noise, as
they feared something would break, something far more precious than the broken plate. They need to relax. I
was just asking.

“Oh…yes. They are by the window sill, you took great care of them so I was afraid that I might ruin
such work when I plucked them.” Father commended. “When will you go out? Do you need a ride?”

“No, father. I feel like walking today.” My voice was distant.

“Well, alright then.” Father decided not to press further.

 “Also, I’ve heard a new bakery has just opened last week. Might grab a few, Bonnie said that their
crinkles are just to die for.”

“Victor loves crinkles!” The youngest interrupted. The other two siblings flinched and subtly scowled
at her short outburst.

“Of course he does.” I smiled and puffed my chest a bit in pride. “I’ll buy you some, Matea. You like
those as well. How about you, Felicia? Timothy?”

“Banana cake.” Both of them said in unison, still cautious in their words, but still wanted desserts. I
considered it very endearing for siblings older than me.

“Got it. I’ll head back to my room and get ready.” I left the dining room and let them resume their
conversation. I felt guilty for disturbing their morning gossip. Even if I was no longer in the room with them,
they never continued their talk and brought their plates and utensils right away over to my mother, who was at
the kitchen sink washing the saucepan and rice pot.

After meticulously selecting my attire for some time, I arranged it on the bed, only to be interrupted
by the growling of my stomach. "Of course, hunger strikes now," I mused, resigned to the timing. Just then, a
gentle knock echoed through the door, announcing my father's arrival, bearing a steaming plate of chicken
curry and rice. His impeccable sense of timing never ceased to amaze me. Placing the plate on my desk, he
enveloped me in a warm embrace.

“Ever since you were a little girl, you often hide what you really feel so adeptly that your mother and I
often felt like we were solving a crossword puzzle that lacked clues." He chuckled, and let go of his embrace,
his arms still on my shoulders and eyes enveloped with love.

“You are going to be fine, Liz. Raise those corners, dear. I am sure he will appreciate a smiling wife.”
Father then went out of my room and closed the door, his footsteps all too familiar and still as gentle as ever.

I took my time eating the curry. It was delicious and fulfilling. I could feel my irritation fading away.
Dad chose well in cooking my favorite. After putting on my outfit, a purple blouse and an off-white beach hat,
I went downstairs to collect what was on the window sill. It was a bunch of fresh red spider lilies. I tore a page
of kraft paper and put a few lilies to make a bouquet when I exited the house. I did not see any of my family, I
recalled they had an appointment with the mayor.

The winds of April rode the pastures and brushed the leaves of an ancient Balete tree that was just by
the side of our narrow gravel road. As each small gust bounced off of the branches and sifted through the old
creature, the uncertain patterns of the wild element became refined and with purpose, producing a tune that
could thaw stone, as well as my worries of being alone. Upon every step, upon every turn, upon every stone
lodged beside every fern, I continued my pace, relaxed and poised, a handbag on my right, and the bouquet
on the other. The increasing heat made sweating even more of an uncomfortable experience.

A bit of ground was covered in my walk that a humble white house could be seen a hundred meters
beyond where I stood. In the case of a hot spring day, the house was a hazy mirage. The hat helped lessen the
effects of the sun, especially with the absence of a cool breeze. One could see a faint smoke from its chimney
and smell the fragrance of sweet yeast. “This was the bakery Bonnie told me about,” I muttered. “And judging
by the smell, the baker knows their stuff. I have high expectations.” I readjusted my handbag and made sure
the ends of my blouse was spotless. Walking for that amount of distance convinced some annoying weeds to
attach to my clothes. I examined and confirmed that some weed balls were indeed stuck aggressively to my
dress.
 When I appeared in front of the store, I saw a small pot with water inside. After a bit of deliberation,
I unwrapped the bouquet and placed the flowers in the pot, with the kraft paper folded and placed nearby with
a rock on top of it. The door rang when I opened it. The jingle raised the head of who appeared to be the
owner. He was a mountain, yet his face was similar to that of a harmless koala; His stature was so massive that
Matea would run in fright from the sight of the man. But as soon as he uttered a single word, all preconceptions
I had of him were corrected accordingly. In his voice was the composed demeanor of a gentleman, quite
befitting of someone who looked above forty years old.

“Welcome, miss. I just whipped out a batch of hot banana cakes, care to try one? Proud of these little
ones, y’know? But it's just as alright for you to make a stop here and rest for a bit. A fine swan like you would
not fare well in the weather right now. The store is air-conditioned, as you can see.” The baker said and turned
his back to ready a soft chair for me. “Here, sit. My name is Cole, but you can call me ‘Koala’ because of my
face resembling one.” Mr. Cole guffawed and I let out a half smile.

“Will there be anything else other than banana cakes?” I inquired. Glancing on the counter, only one
fresh tray was on display. I supposed his shop only opened late in the day, I thought.

“Of course there will be. As much as I love banana cakes, I could not stomach more than three, and I
am massive, haha! The next batch of pastries will be fondue, then tiramisu, and then crinkles. That is all for
today, and tomorrow will be a different set of sweets. More focus and less variety for one day is the key to a
great taste, especially for one man like me doing all the work here.”

“So, it's just you?” I said, not implying an employee. I sat down on the seat he offered.

“Oh, I have a wife and two angels. I will join them later today. I have to set up their bedrooms, which
my contractor should arrive anytime soon to help me. I missed her. We talked on the phone or in video, but
you know… it’s not the same.” He said with slight numbness, accompanied with a woeful tone.

“Hope I didn’t intrude by asking.”

“You did not, miss…?”

“Liz, Mr. Koala.”

“Suits the young muse you are.”

“Same with your nickname.”

“You may be one of few words, but you got sass, hah!” Another thunderous cackle from the koala
man.

Mr. Koala brewed me and himself a cup of coffee, its sweet lavender aroma inviting and sharp with
flavor, he did not skimp any effort nor ingredients in the brew. Tasting it, along with the scent and atmosphere
of the bakery, was divine. His coffee was quite sweet to sip, slightly bitter to swallow, and yet floral in its after
taste. The lavender contributed to the magnificence of the coffee, no doubt. But, why lavender? I asked him,
and he said it fits the occasion; his Thai friend recommended lavender to him and it became his recent favorite,
which I am inclined to believe. The coffee had a hint of melancholy. Mr. Koala examined the ring on my left
hand whilst sipping on his purple mug.

“How long have you been married?” He asked softly.

“Recently. Five months ago.” I said in a monotonous tone.

 “Oho. Lucky lad he is to catch you, missy.” He said, decidedly ignoring my tone, which I appreciate.
“I suppose he is quite a treasure himself?”

“He was very lucky, and he was simply ordinary. But he is worth ten El Dorados to me, as well as the
gift he gave me.” I said looking down, my face containing a proud grin.

“Oho! Well congratulations! This calls for a box of tiramisu.” Mr. Cole offered. I tried to refuse, but
his insistence stopped me. “Please accept it, the baby needs to get used to the taste of sweets, haha.” I requested
him to deliver it to my house, as I have somewhere I need to be. He gladly accepted, saying he would deliver it
himself.

All his batches of sweets had been baked and placed in line with each other in a display rack beneath
the counter. Their quality based on appearance was apparent that they had been made with love and expertise.
Clearly, the Koala was a master at his craft.

“Here you go, a dozen and a half of crinkles, and six banana cake bars.” He packed them in a small red
and purple box. Mr. Cole followed me outside and prepared his bicycle for his delivery of my tiramisu. I told
him that my family should be home at this hour to assure him that someone will enjoy the dessert while it was
hot. He was all smiles when he heard this. He was riding his bicycle when I realized I needed to ask him for
something.

“Can I have your cell no. Mr. Cole? Just in the off chance that my family is not around, you can contact
me in case.” I shouted so that he could hear me. He stopped and said in a similar volume:

I never owned a phone.

Afterwards, he continued cycling. I remained observant until he disappeared from view, even when I
strained my eyes. My bundle of red spider lilies retained their vibrant scarlet hue. What struck me as odd was
the presence of three lavender blooms amidst the lilies in the pot.

He lied. He is going through the same thing as I am.

I reused the kraft paper and gathered the flowers together again into a bouquet, along with the three
new ones. The new flowers were just as healthy as my lilies. I need not worry about them wilting quickly, I
concluded. My destination was not far from here. I cradled the bouquet with my left arm and strolled in leisure.
I readied myself for the moment, for our reunion.

A spring’s afternoon was mundane and uninspiring for the common areas of residence. The season
favored and enriched places that lacked any human meddling. Where he and I met was one such place. It was
near the top of a mountain; a cliff where you could see the blindingly white sand of a nearby beach located just
at the foot of the mountain. I noticed the sky turning gold as the sun began to set. The climb was steep, no
question, and as I got closer to the cliff, my heart beated ever so quicker.

Flora thrived on the cliff. A younger Balete tree was encircled by a sea of white daisies. The daisies were
so beautiful that I always felt bad every time I walked around the bluff for the fear that I might ruin them. I
used the cover of the crinkle box and placed the three lavenders on it, then left them beside the balete.

“May you three guide the man to his peace. Koala misses his pregnant wife. You twins would have
been children to the sweetest baker in the world.” I said in a whisper, closing my eyes in solemnity. I put three
crinkles near the lavenders.
 The tree was not the only one surrounded by flowers. An impressionable stone was beside the tree. I
sat down, in front of the stone and placed the crinkle and banana cake boxes. The stone was made of white
marble, its existence reminded me of the instance when I was truly and innocently happy. The stone stood as
a possibility, the reality, and a painful memory.

“Hello, my love.” I said, half-expecting a reply. I realized that even if the truth was right there, I still
would find a hole to hide in and repel any voice that dared to bring discomfort.

“I am sorry I could not have visited you sooner.” I placed all my spider lilies near the stone. “It was
hard mustering up the courage to be here, but you and I know that I have to see you.”

“Especially because today is your birthday and the day we first met.”

“I wished you were still here, Victor. Your absence was enough for me to wish to die. Please speak to
me, Victor. The silence is messing with me, destroying me.”

Not a sound. How could he talk? His body was not even buried here. Even if he was, the dead cannot
heal my bleeding chest. Even though my eyes were open, all I saw were the tears building up since the day my
love had died. I whimpered and the tears won’t stop. I both could not and did not wish to breathe, and held
firm to the hope that death would claim me, just as it claimed him.

Your death ruined me. Broke and tore my soul apart, to the point of each piece lacking distinctness.
Your family mourned for the death of their son, my family mourned for my lack of a partner and a father to
our child. My first morning, noon, and night without you lacked color, smell, and taste. I could not even
remember anything of that day, it was all a blank. The road of life was already dim, but without your hand to
hold on to, and your voice to assure me that everything will be alright—that whenever mistakes were
committed, whatever crushing burden we individually carry, we would prop up the other to stand again— but
I saw only darkness in your absence, my field of vision to the path ahead of me shrinked tenfold. Your light
gave me thoughts that I could take on anything this unfair world throws at me. You were my lantern, but death
snuffed your flame, leaving me lost, alone, and weeping, yearning for the warmth of your touch.

“I hated you. I hated you because you left me, knowing how deep of a river my love was for you. It
was not your fault I know, and I am definitely being irrational and unfair but, I missed you so much!”

I cried, and cried until I could feel my throat betraying my control and clogged up my breathing
sporadically. The hand of despair tightened its grip on my will to live, urging me to let go and stop fighting, as
if it was a given that I should give myself to the sadness and quit altogether.

And why shouldn’t I quit? I lost him, someone who I swore an oath to be with for a lifetime. Him
passing voided the promise. It should be fine right, I thought. But then, hand suddenly went for my stomach
at the instance of a suicide thought.

I held my stomach, a sensation I never experienced before. A sense of pride? The drive to protect? It
was a wonder, but I did not hate it, merely just unaccustomed to the emotional weight of what Victor gave me.
As if he was telling me to look forward to tomorrow, that even if he was not around, there will always be a part
of him in another life, our baby’s life. My body was not my own anymore and I will try to keep up with the
compromises, Love, I thought.

“I am eating healthy, Victor, just so you know. You always scolded me whenever I didn’t touch a plate.
With the baby, I now have to eat vegetables, clean meat, and fruits to ensure a bubbly child. What a
commitment, your gift is! Now I am responsible for two people now, myself and Joey. Yes, I used the name
you wanted the least for our baby because it's the nickname you got growing up. Your mother said you jumped
like a kangaroo. Jumping Joey, what a cute name you got. I’m using it, and you can’t do anything about it.
Haha.”

I wondered how at his feet, at his grave, I came to terms with the notion of carrying the responsibility
throughout possibly for twenty years without him. But I found myself capable. I had my family to help me give
the child the love and care they deserve, I thought.

Seeing the sun halfway down and the sky dimmed, I stood up and texted father to pick me up, to which
he replied instantly with an “ok.” Turned out he was waiting for me to contact him. I turned to look at the
stone once more, my soul, body and mind bearing new purpose and resolve. I smiled and my eyes made two
large tears that would be my last pair shed for my husband.

“I will be busy, Victor. When Joey arrives and is capable of traveling, I’ll bring him here to let you see
what a healthy boy or girl they are and will be for the rest of their lives. And after that, it will be my final visit
here. As I said, I will be busy. Mom said I will dread the lack of sleep that comes with being a mother. Shivers.”

“Just know that I will never forget you, my love. The short time we had together was unforgettable.
Well then, goodbye. Father must have already arrived. Oh I’ll leave you three crinkles if you want it.” I said to
the marble stone.

A strong gust of wind blew the lavenders and spider lilies towards the dying sun. The wind kept the
flowers floating longer than it should have. I kept my head up, staring at them until they descended down the
mountain. When I looked down at the stone, a crinkle cookie was gone. Surprised, I turned to look at the
cookies for the koala’s wife and kids and saw a bite mark on each cookie, one bite being larger than the other.
I let out a loud shriek in delight. My grin was wide and childlike.

“Did you like the cookies?” I asked the people.

“Farewell, my Victor.”