The Last Morning

 I never knew what loneliness means, I never fathomed what pain really is, until he went away and crumbled my heart into a million shreds. Your first heartbreak, as they say, is the deepest of all pain — the longest gash, a proof that things are no longer the same. Until now, I cry for him. Until now, I long for his arms.

Albay is the most wonderful place for me. It fits the description of paradise. This is where the fireflies scintillate at night. This is where the rivers flow without bearing pieces of trash. This is where the rocks are bigger than the people. This is where you can place with chickens, ducks, carabaos and cows. This is where the trees and the breeze dances in the night like Cinderella and her prince. This is where the sun rays glitter in every place during the month of April — the place where the rain falls gently in the month of May.

My family always spends Christmas in this province, where my father was raised. But, we do not go there for a summer vacation — and I do not know the reason why.

But, this summer is different. My parents took us here while believing that, at the age of thirteen, I can manage to take care of myself and my younger brother.

Perhaps, this summer was perfect. I made new friends and learned a lot of things about the people living there. I also meet someone who became very special to me — someone who made me realize that the city is too far from heavenly life. I know, when I travel back to Marikina, I will really shed more than a tear.

My brother, who is too shy to socialize with others, is often left at my grandparents’ house. Most of the times, my grandfather does not allow me to go to far places but I do not obey him. I believe that I already know what I am doing for I am no longer a child and that the main purpose of my vacation is to relish my father’s hometown.

Days passes, my parents come here for fiesta and tells us that we shall go with them. On bended knees, I beg for another week to stay there. Luckily, they agree.

Life is too serene in this place. I cherish every bit of it, including the ones I met. Somehow, I keep thinking how to say to my parents that I think it is better in we move here.

Time flies. Today is my last day here. I am a little bit lonely and bothered. I really do not want to go.

Looking at my grandfather as he lays sleeping under the shades of several trees, I realize how old he is and so as my grandmother who has been sick for days. Perhaps, he needs a rest for he is too caring to sleep while his beloved spouse is in a terrible condition.

The rain pours, disregarding the burning sun. He wakes up and goes home.

“Your father is coming today,” he says with his eyes glittering in bliss. I always know that my father is the closest to his heart among his four children. He always welcome us with a loving embrace and, each time we are about to go home, people see him inside his room with his eyes imbued with tears.

I suddenly feel a bit of weirdness. Why is he in mirth? I am going back to Marikina tomorrow with father. Maybe, he truly misses his son.

Focusing my sight at my grandfather’s face, aflame with profound excitement of seeing his child again, I realize the reason why he always want me to stay at home — he perceives the image of my father with us. I become guilty of thinking that he does not want me to enjoy my vacation.

I make a promise to myself that, when I return to this province, I will do everything I can to let them feel my love. I vow that, one day, I will be mature enough to take care of them.

The morning greets me while I am sleeping in bed. I hurriedly go out of the room to eat breakfast so that I can say goodbye to all the ones who made my vacation a worth-enshrining sojourn.

My grandfather, filled with zeal, prepares a breakfast for me. It is my favorite rice cake, though I do not know its name. We chat about so many things before I finish my breakfast and go out of the house.

Few hours later, I return to my grandparents’ house. My grandmother embraces me so tight that I can not breathe. She is crying. I cry too.

Albay is the most wonderful place for me. It fits the description of paradise. This is where the fireflies scintillate at night. This is where the rivers flow without bearing pieces of trash. This is where the rocks are bigger than the people. This is where you can place with chickens, ducks, carabaos and cows. This is where the trees and the breeze dances in the night like Cinderella and her prince. This is where the sun rays glitter in every place during the month of April — the place where the rain falls gently in the month of May. And, most of all, this is where I first saw him — this is where we built hundreds of memories, me and my grandfather — this is where I first saw him, when I was a young girl.

I rupture in tears. The Mayon Volcano seems so quiet today but another volcano is erupting inside of me. My soul wants to fly back in time when I vide my grandfather inside the coffin. Heart attack is so drastic to be able to kill him.

I recall the moments when I am still a child, the times when I relish my vacation with no one but him. I envy my brother who had a lot of time with him this summer. I envy my father who carries him in his arms and had the chance to tell him how important he is for him. I resent myself for being a fool — for failing to understand that we came here to be with my grandparents who truly miss us.

“No!” I scream. “He is not my grandpa! He is not dead! I am going home to Marikina and return here m when I already know how to take care of them. I still have a lot of recipes to learn. I still have to know how to cook rice. I want to go home now.” I keep talking to myself as I run away.

What about our dreams when I am still a child? How will he read the things that I will write in the future?

“Grandpa! Please prepare my breakfast again!”

The day of his funeral is a tragedy to me. Everyone cries. My grandmother whines while believing that she is the one who must be inside the box that carries my grandfather because she is the one who is sick. My cousins do not want to talk, even my brother. And, for the first time, I saw my father cry while screaming that he loves him so much. I am also drowning in tears.

“Grandpa,” I tell him before they close his coffin, “someday, I’ll write about you.”

Until now, I cry for him. Until now, I long for him. The pain was so long ago but it lives in me as if it belongs in the present. I have written several stories about my grandfather but it do not change the fact that I failed to say I love him for the last time. Yes, I can move from anything, from anyone, but I could never let go of this sadness. My first heartbreak has a way of finding me through those sweet memories of yesterday.

[2013]