With droplets of salt trailing down my forehead, the sweltering heat of Manila summers flushing my cheeks, I pulled out my favorite handkerchief to wipe the residue. The overbearing humidity was not enough to dampen my excitement. I gazed towards the skyline, trying to pinpoint her silver dungeon she called an office, knowing that every Friday, after school, I wouldn’t have to take the jeepney home, as she’d leave that building early, making use of her scarce hours to be with me. My eyes glistened daily as fellow classmates leapt into the arms of their mothers and fathers, but at last, I could finally be like them, even if for only once a week.
Earlier that morning was the monthly show and tell event in which a selected student was offered the opportunity to showcase their parents’ lifestyle and career. That day involved a Chinese man in a three piece suit. A prideful father who, just like the rest of them, boasted a hefty list of their assets and accomplishments. Every month, I watched these men come and go our classroom, searching for something tangible that I never had. None of them would ever do.
All I could do was continue my drawings to fill my boredom and ignore the man’s diatribe on the economy, the government, and my country. I often drew portraits of the three of us, with my mother and he sharing identical rings as our linear arms were joined under the streaks of a happy sun. I asked her if he could present for my class one day, and she replied with only fits of anger then tears. At nights I snuck into her closet, searching for pictures of him. Most were gone, while the ones that remained were saturated in holes and burns, which is why I could only scribble a generic smile for his face. After her first outburst, I kept these drawings to myself, they became the only memories I could hold onto.
Earlier that morning was the monthly show and tell event in which a selected student was offered the opportunity to showcase their parents’ lifestyle and career. That day involved a Chinese man in a three piece suit. A prideful father who, just like the rest of them, boasted a hefty list of their assets and accomplishments. Every month, I watched these men come and go our classroom, searching for something tangible that I never had. None of them would ever do.
All I could do was continue my drawings to fill my boredom and ignore the man’s diatribe on the economy, the government, and my country. I often drew portraits of the three of us, with my mother and he sharing identical rings as our linear arms were joined under the streaks of a happy sun. I asked her if he could present for my class one day, and she replied with only fits of anger then tears. At nights I snuck into her closet, searching for pictures of him. Most were gone, while the ones that remained were saturated in holes and burns, which is why I could only scribble a generic smile for his face. After her first outburst, I kept these drawings to myself, they became the only memories I could hold onto.
All the children and their parents had left by then, as the sidewalk seemed much emptier than usual, yet the roads remained cluttered and dense, with its inhabitants wandering between every jeepney and taxi, swimming through endless skyscrapers without a sense of purpose. From my shortened perspective against the sprawling city, all I could see were spectrums of tiny atoms, bouncing wildly off one another in search of meaning. I wondered if he could be one of those lost souls, hoping that one day, he would bounce back and return to me.
The streetlights flickered open as hues of blues hovered over the horizon, with clouds carrying tears until no longer could it bear in its magnitude, cleansing my face, drenching my clothes. I could only imagine the weight of its loneliness. With feet planted, my resilience strengthened against the heavy downpour. My posture remained firm and poised. I wanted both of them to see the obedient son they had raised, if either one would come for me.
Squatting on pavement, feeling the swamped muck from beneath as streams of headlights passed, my hopes soon waned.
Thinking the showers seemed to have stopped, I noticed an umbrella overhead, held by a man in uniform, sat beside me, offering to seek shelter. However genuine his offer was, I refused with frustration, still stubborn and patient for their arrival. Yet his compassion was unwavering as he remained beside me, with an umbrella that sheltered us from the rest of the world.
While the rain eased, so did my anxieties, allowing the flow of the atmosphere and his presence to soothe my anger. He was well built and seemed capable, just like how I imagined him to be, yet to me, he meant much more. We sat there in silence, letting the world around us collide within its cramped walls, the waters glazing pavements as strangers and their destinies slipped and crashed into one another’s lives, then separated once more. I wished the rain would never end.
Beneath the haze I recognized her silhouette, whisking me into her arms as I looked back, taking in my final memories of him. The sun never came back like I hoped, and neither did he, but I could still feel the warmth of its rays, returning her embrace with greater intensity.
My mother and I continued our journey towards the dusts and smog of our reality. With the world in constant motion, I don’t feel so lonely anymore, as with each friction of contact ignites a spark of hope and meaning before we’re repelled into boundless directions and opportunities, filling a void that he never could.
Before we crossed the intersection, I took advantage of the heightened perspective from my mother’s arms. The crackles of engines and rain pounding against metal muffled into the distance, as I took one last glance towards the skyline. My eyes glistened once more - all I could see were lights.
The streetlights flickered open as hues of blues hovered over the horizon, with clouds carrying tears until no longer could it bear in its magnitude, cleansing my face, drenching my clothes. I could only imagine the weight of its loneliness. With feet planted, my resilience strengthened against the heavy downpour. My posture remained firm and poised. I wanted both of them to see the obedient son they had raised, if either one would come for me.
Squatting on pavement, feeling the swamped muck from beneath as streams of headlights passed, my hopes soon waned.
Thinking the showers seemed to have stopped, I noticed an umbrella overhead, held by a man in uniform, sat beside me, offering to seek shelter. However genuine his offer was, I refused with frustration, still stubborn and patient for their arrival. Yet his compassion was unwavering as he remained beside me, with an umbrella that sheltered us from the rest of the world.
While the rain eased, so did my anxieties, allowing the flow of the atmosphere and his presence to soothe my anger. He was well built and seemed capable, just like how I imagined him to be, yet to me, he meant much more. We sat there in silence, letting the world around us collide within its cramped walls, the waters glazing pavements as strangers and their destinies slipped and crashed into one another’s lives, then separated once more. I wished the rain would never end.
Beneath the haze I recognized her silhouette, whisking me into her arms as I looked back, taking in my final memories of him. The sun never came back like I hoped, and neither did he, but I could still feel the warmth of its rays, returning her embrace with greater intensity.
My mother and I continued our journey towards the dusts and smog of our reality. With the world in constant motion, I don’t feel so lonely anymore, as with each friction of contact ignites a spark of hope and meaning before we’re repelled into boundless directions and opportunities, filling a void that he never could.
Before we crossed the intersection, I took advantage of the heightened perspective from my mother’s arms. The crackles of engines and rain pounding against metal muffled into the distance, as I took one last glance towards the skyline. My eyes glistened once more - all I could see were lights.
