The sun was setting and streaks of copper orange and golden gray underlined across the sea. Two high school sweethearts were wrapped in each other’s arms under the unfolding twilight. The waves below ruffled against the cliff in approval.Every afternoon they watched the same grandeur at that place. It was a rendezvous of kisses, dreams, hopes and endless promises of everlasting love.Many days passed.

Months turned into years and years into ages. Still, the sun was setting and streaks of copper orange and golden gray stretched across the horizon. The waves below were wrestling against the cliff as a man and a woman sat beside each other on a slab by the edge of a small docking area of a yacht. This time, there was a considerable distance in between them. They didn’t say much to each other, except for the usual hi-hello-how-are-you-not-much-how-about-you kind of thing. But in their eyes, there was just too much to say.

The sea breeze was abundant and her hair was flying halfway back on her ears. A little later, somebody called from behind. “Papa, papa”. The man looked at the woman and smiled sheepishly. He reached up his hand to touch her face, but found himself shoving back a strand behind her ear. The little girl took the man’s arm. She rose to her feet and heaved a sigh through her smile. A tear trickled down her cheek as she watched them walk away.

Every time the man gets to be in town, they meet up on the same place and talk for hours on end until streaks of orange and golden gray show up in the sky. I can see the joy and pain in their eyes when they look at each other and when it is time to go home. It’s like a borrowed time for them. The saddest thing is, it is always going to be that way forever. I always thought that love was strong, but there is nothing it can do to change the present. I don’t know who gave up who first and why. The thing is, they can’t and will never be together again. Why is that? How crazy is that? They had promised to build their homestead upon this very cliff. She stood by her promise to him. He was the one who had a change of heart.

Maybe, they have regrets. Then, maybe not. I don’t know. Maybe, they both have regrets in varying degrees. When does a symbol of love cease to symbolize it? When is it rendered useless? What good is a promise if you can’t fulfill it? When does a promise become a lie?

It was a lie when he said he would never leave her, but he said he meant it when he said it. It was a lie when he asked her to marry him, but he said he meant it when he asked her. It was a lie when he asked her to spend uncertainty with him, but he said he meant it when he invited her. It was a lie when he said he would love and take her until the day they were reborn, but he said he meant it when he said it. It was a lie when he said he loved her, but he said he meant it when he said it to her.

When she asked him about it, he said they were no longer applicable in the present. She fell silent and swallowed back her tears so that he wouldn’t see them.

I felt floating through the vast emptiness of this mansion. A humongous symbol of such a great love. Looking down at them from where I stood by the balcony, they looked surreal like a painting- damn beautiful but painful.

Streaks of orange were showing up. I sighed. It was time to take papa home.

1. Orange Hope

When I told you I wanted to go faraway, you agreed with such surprising ease. It almost felt like you had been waiting for the moment. I expected objection, questions, defiance, violent reactions and whatnot. I would have wanted you to ask me to stay. And I would have changed my mind. But no. You would not get in the way of professional bliss. In fact, you were your most understanding, considerate, thoughtful and sensitive biological makeup that you are known for. I should be thankful.

My folks and I stood at the edge of the docking area a few inches away from my vessel. They were also waiting for you. We were waiting for you. I remember we started standing there at 1pm. At first, they asked me casually if you were coming, and I said yes and faked a smile. By 3pm, they asked me again if you were really coming or not. I told them you were. So, I waited and waited. They waited and waited. We waited and waited.
By the time, the mariners made the last call for passengers to get boarded, my folks got the point. I guess, you were not coming. I told them that and I was flushed with embarrassment.
They went ahead.

My hope of seeing you at that time was gradually beating down on me as I saw the clouds in whisk of yellow, copper and orange. Even the sun had finally given up on me, and I held myself no longer. My heart sank.

I picked up my luggage and climbed up the plank. I can’t remember too clearly. We must have a fight or something, but you knew I was leaving that day. I was hoping we would spend time together that day. Or I was hoping to spend my last day in town with you before I started the first of my 913 days without you. I went berserk looking all over for you. I called everyone of your whereabouts, and my ship was leaving in minutes.

I heard the propellers starting. I searched for your face among the crowd in vain as I felt myself moving away and further away from that edge where I had been standing. Everything went blur. Everything around me was black-pitch black dotted only with what I supposed lights coming from buildings, factories and lighthouse. I tried keeping the size of the pier as it was, but I froze in horror as I watched the pier disappear before my eyes. I tried keeping the voices surrounding the pier in my head, but all I could hear was the clashing of angry waves against the metal. I thought, were they upset of you too?

I held on to the railing and saw the foamy white waters of my sail before me. My face felt damp. Damn stupid waves. I stood by the boat deck in tears.

March 21,2008
Started:8pm-End:9:50pm
at my bunk down yonder
(This is what happens when you read The Catcher In The Rye by J.D. Salinger in one sitting three hours before lunch at McDonalds on Holy Thursday. It was not so much of a sacrifice to defer ordering chicken fillet in three hours because it was written in breeze. I was down to my last page without anticipation. If I didn’t see anything coming at all, it must be darn good. No. Brilliant,like that thing someone did I didn’t see coming, but that is another story.)

I was reading Womenagerie by Jessica Zafra(JZ)when I heard a dainty thud just overhead where I was lyind down. I tried to ignore it twice, but it was incessant. Thump, thump, thump. Blagh! I knew I had to get up and find out who had the gall to interrupt me at the highlight of JZ’s punchline. Sure enough, I have read the book, for what, like four times and I still find myself engrossed with it everytime. With a good read like that in your hand, it sure was a pain in the gut to get up.
So, I peeled myself off heavily from my bunk and from my towering position, it wasn’t difficult to see who the intruder was. A tiny little mouse was trapped inside my pail. How cute. JZ had an airplane stopped at six months. A prudish teething vermin had me put down her book.

For a split second, I was baffling whether to dispose it for good, or let it loose. I can’t remember distinctly why I was so stalled at that moment. I am pretty sure it wasn’t because I pitied the poor thing. I just wanted to do things a little differently at that time, I guess. If it was another time, I would have killed it right on with anything on my hand. I am not your average crying baby damsel in distress. My toughness and capacity to fight head on are directly proportional to distress. I do my crying in private. I have always learned to fend for myself ever since I could remember. Maybe, because I am the eldest among the brood of four. I learned to look after my younger siblings practically right after I made that first small-step-of-a-baby-one-big-leap-for-younger-siblings kind of thing. I was born to a bourgeoise life. A bourgeoise life I have led since then. I don’t get easily intimidated by roaches, lizards and other household insects; much more a tiny, helpless vermin.

I was thinking what good would it do if I helped it out from its prison and let it run a ratty life. I thought it would only scrounge up garbage piles all over the place and sneak up on our food. Sometimes, rats can get pretty nasty and vengeful. They eat up your clothes.

I looked at it again, and I swear it looked back at me. It felt like eternity, and I just knew we had said about so much to each other. I can’t forget those two tiny marble-clear eyes. They spoke to me. It was like that phony mercenary hit-cat Puss In Boots that had asthma in Shrek2, with all two front paws clasped together begging desperately for mercy. I felt like God.

Except for occasional mishievous tip-toeing when the coast was clear and running like that of an escaping thief in the night, its existence didn’t hurt me much at all. It only managed to munch up on my Skyflakes and Chippy on two occasions. Other than that, it had been a fairly considerate roommae not to mess up with my stuff, especially my clothes. We were both being territorial and prudent to not encroach each other’s space. His was a crude hole a few centimeters away from my bunk. We were not friends, but I don’t think we were enemies, either. It had probably seen go about my life. It had probably snuck up its stinking nose on me during my private moments. It probably saw me cry, sleep, smile, read, write, curse and cry. It saw more of myself than anyone else did in the world.

I didn’t have much of a choice then, if you ask me. Or maybe, they were not just the alternatives I would have wanted to choose from. I didn’t see it fit to live, but I didn’t want to be the one to end its life. I tell you, I wish I had not been the one to see it trapped in my pail. I wish it had been somebody else’s pail in another room that it would not have had to be me. I pitied it later, but it was not the reason why I didn’t want to smack up its head in the first place. I just wanted to react to an all-familiar stimulus in a different manner.

They were all at the right time and place, the mouse, the red pail, the room and the book. I was the only one who was not. I think for two nights, it stayed there lonley, desperate and tired sticking its lungs out for the world to see. But the world is deaf, especially to some insignificant rat. Nobody needs a rat, so I lay my stinking guts out for two nights for every thud it made as it jumped up and down in frustration trying to get the hell out of the pail. I think it knew better than I did that it was doomed to perdition.

It died on the third day. I turned the pail over and its carcass fell right into the yellow sack where the caretaker places the garbage. Schindler saved thousands of Jews without meaning to and was commended for it. I let a rodent die without meaning to and was reproached.