Updates, updates, updates!

I apologize for the lack of update, guys! Times are hard and hectic. Although I’m not pushing my one hundred percent for Law School (like some of my friends are thinking), I still do attend classes after work, leaving me exhausted and dying for an adequate rest for the next grueling work day. And I’m not mentioning how far our home is from the city proper. Basically, I get home past eleven in the evening (because my mom has to ride with me and I have to wait for her) and sleep two hours after because I still have to clean up the mess I’ve made in the morning (and feed the pets, too).

This set-up is the reason why I’m not posting as often as I did before. My head can’t even focus on a single topic without shifting to another one! Probably the fatigue. Or PMS. I’m not sure. Nevertheless, the excuses aren’t heavy enough, I know. I’ll try to keep up. In fact, I’ve been working on this experimental short story for a while now. I just can’t seem to move forward with a muddled head, constantly floating with pressure. I’ve been telling myself to work faster so I could publish it here, but the more excited I get, the slower my thoughts run. Frustrating, is it not?

I’ll try to finish my piece soon so I could share it with you. Speaking of sharing, there are still a lot going on that I have yet to share with you. Like things that are going to happen when the year ends. Things that are going to happen when the school year ends. Things that I desire to happen. Or things that have already happened. I’ll save these for future posts. I still can’t get myself to spill them all on a single, random, fill-up post. It’s just too much, don’t you think?

If you’re reading this, thank you so much! You are so cute for staying with me.

Loving you with the love of the Lord,

Aine

P.S. Would you look at that. This post is more blog-gy.

Feeling Earth

I found myself going through the Humans of New York page this morning, reading several Syrian refugee stories, reminding myself that I ought to avoid the usual posts on the city fiesta and the popular love team hundreds of thousands (if not millions) have gotten crazy over. Eventually, I started to break into tears when I realized how many the refugees were and how far I am from actually seeing them in person. There they are, thousands of miles away from me, each with a distinct and complicated story about their loss and journey, and here I am, snuggled in bed with my pillows and blankets in double portions, reading it over social media with the immediate choice whether or not to click on the like button to virtually send my sympathy. I felt terrible. It has been 12 hours since the time I read their experiences but I am still haunted by the sheer agony seeping in from their stories of grief. I picked up my Bible and thumbed through the pages and went to Luke 21 – when Jesus explained to his disciples the signs of the end of times.

I wasn’t exactly surprised by what has been happening all over the world. Typhoons, earthquakes, economic crises, and wars. They weren’t foreign to me at all, having lived in the ring of fire for the whole of my life. Although I had anticipated them, I also wasn’t exactly prepared for them. For such ugliness. For such grief. And instead of people calling out to God, more and more of them are blaspheming Him, blaming Him, or chucking out the entire idea of Him, even though some of them are being very polite about it. It was actually worse than what I have pictured.

When I was a lot younger, I never really expected having to run through certain arguments over the Bible I haven’t thought of before. Or if there were thoughts I have thought about, I have never really bothered to actually acknowledge them as worthy to be stressed over. But, I soon started to realize, in comparison to our assumptions, people actually have much deeper issues about God, which roots down from their individual experiences on spirituality, traditions, and religion. Some accept the gospel like a sponge, but some just aren’t like that. That’s reality. But why are we going to stop witnessing to these people just because they demand more reason?

One night, I found myself talking with a friend about the Bible and the gospel. It turns out smart people have a way of running an argument. We weren’t exactly arguing, but he did have questions about the Bible and its validity, which although I had anticipated, I wasn’t exactly perfectly in knowledge of. I mean, I’m not the smartest Christian out there (not that it’s a shock to any of you) and I do not understand every interpretation of the Scripture (surprise, surprise), nor do I know all the facts about the discovery of the manuscripts of the gospels and epistles, so I could not flaunt the vast knowledge of the logic behind the Bible that I do not really have. But, I did remember the Lord sending Moses and Jeremiah who were slow in speech and of filthy lips, and they didn’t have to do anything but to be of good faith and go.

Jesus Christ has reminded us in Luke 21 that these things are a part of the signs of the end of times. We could be brought to kings or governors (or, perhaps the smartest/most influential people we will ever meet in our life), and they will question our belief. Criticize it. Ridicule it. Discredit it. That will happen, if it hasn’t, yet. They will give us a rundown of all the logical reasons why we should abandon our belief, but Jesus Christ reminded us to be firm, saying, “…make up your mind not to worry beforehand how you will defend yourselves. For I will give you words and wisdom that none of your adversaries will be able to resist or contradict.” (Luke 21:14-15, NIV) Now, I could not really picture how amazing that sounds like, but if He talks about wisdom that not even the person against it could contradict or resist, that is one promise I’d gladly cling on to. That is perfect wisdom.

It’s so wonderful how God could use His power on regular people like us to proclaim His good news to the world, or how He could crush every seemingly perfect human logic by His wisdom. I wrote a separate post about it here a few years back.

“By standing firm you will gain life.”

Luke 21:19, NIV

Above all else, he only needs us to be still.

Too often we see people negating God and His kingdom in skepticism because of what is happening to the world. Too often we hear the same questions, “Why does a loving God allow this to happen?” “Is there redemption for us at all?” “Why care about what’s after death when we only have one life to live? YOLO, right?” Is this not the time to step up and be bold for the Lord that we serve? Is this not the time to boast about God’s love instead of tucking it in our prayer closet? Is this not the time to stop being kept to ourselves in church meeting the same set of faces every Sunday? Do we not realize that the more we keep ourselves all comfortable in our barracks with a war outside, the more people would see in us, only streaks of hypocrisy?

The world is weeping for Someone they do not know. The world is grasping for something they have not yet felt. The world is seeing its own destruction and is not sure why. Is it not too selfish to hog the joy that they do not have yet? Is it not too hypocritical to keep the love we said was eternal and free? Do we even feel the earth at all?

Learning Teaching: Kiddie Wisdom

I know I would not remain with this privilege forever, that is why I decided to, along with my Law School Reflections series, write a separate series I decided to plainly call “Learning Teaching” – a term I have often used in our undergraduate studies. Unlike my Law School Reflections series, this most definitely wouldn’t last around five years. This is why I am making it a point to congest everything in a single post, and I hope you wouldn’t mind. I suppose there is just so much to take in when you are within and taken in a child’s world; in fact, I am starting to think I am learning far more from the kids than they are, from me. I want to share these joys with you.

Yesterday, as I was dismissing the class with a prayer, I noticed how Zaza and Jaden insisted on kneeling with their heads bowed down. I paused momentarily before having a short flashback of events. During the first month of supervising the kids, I have noticed how, during flag ceremony prayers, Jaden always squats down and I, stepping in and believing his actions are purely out of naughtiness, consistently tap his elbow with a whisper, “No, Jaden. You stand up.”

I was brought back to the present time with a tug from both kids. “See, teacher? Zaza and I bowed down to pray.” I smiled, suddenly feeling ashamed of my ignorance. Was it because I was too accustomed to the ways of now – no longer realizing the expression of reverence even just by bending my knees in public? I cringe, remembering how similar my judgment and actions were with the disciples’ when they had tried to keep the children from getting near Christ.

“Jaden, why are you always smiling?” I asked, suddenly in the mood to start a random chat after a few seconds of staring at his grinning face. I have always found him adorable and I couldn’t help not enjoying his cuteness once in a while.

He lifted his head and waved his twistable crayons in front of his face and said, “Because I’m happy. Because God loves me.”

I was taken aback by his response as if I didn’t know how much the Lord’s love can do to a person. I shouldn’t be surprised, having been a Christian for quite a while now, but I was actually humbled by how a five-year-old could remind me of such a striking truth that we, adults and young adults, have so-often forgotten. Was the simple understanding of God’s love for us enough to paste a smile on our face for a day? I suppose all we have to do to confirm it, is to ask a child. I shook my head in disbelief at my own callousness.

There is so much I have realized, working around children for a few months, and they have always brought me back to diminishing the complexity in life. Life is beautiful, and they have allowed me to allow the beauty to show itself even in the simplest manner – like a stroke in the hair, a kiss on the cheek, a little “I love you, Teacher Aine,” or a bear hug. Beautiful. Pure. And I would never wonder why Jesus Christ preferred faith and praises like theirs. It took me a privilege of serving them to understand.

I have always been told that this job is an opportunity to minister to the children. It’s funny how most of the time, I felt like it was the other way around.

Law School Reflections: The Beginning

Very too often we find ourselves caught up with unnecessary complications, standing between cross roads, wondering why we were even there. What exactly is the point of this all, we ask in between work, before getting that same silence hanging on the air as if we didn’t ask loud enough. And then we go back to our rushed lives, doing this, or doing that, almost finally accepting this is everything there will ever be in our static life.

This series of posts I am planning on starting (Law School Reflections) is actually something I am doing on impulse. Last night, as I was doing advanced reading, I came across the Roman Law section and Gaius, a Roman jurist who asserted how important it was to associate the political history of a people with its laws, and said, “I perceive a thing is complete only when all parts are assembled, and surely the most important part of a thing is its beginning.” I stopped and thought about it for a while before allowing a smile to spread across my face, remembering how, just last Saturday during the Law School Testimonial Dinner and Acquaintance Party, I realized how close to life law really is, after all. I picked up my marker and wrote what he said on the white board on my bedroom wall.

Gaius was right. How do we even see our lives in a complete picture without even going back to the beginning? Or, how do we pick up all the pieces without starting somewhere?

John 1:1-5 speaks of Jesus Christ as the beginning. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made. In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it. (NKJV)”

How are we to deny the essence of our existence if we fail to establish within ourselves, our beginning? And how do we know where we ought to go without knowing (or remembering, for those who already knew) where everything, including us, began?

This post is not where I am to prove the validity of God’s Word or if Christ really is the Messiah. I am writing this under the assumption that you are reading this because you are a professing Christian, set to follow Jesus Christ with your whole heart. Now, where is our beginning, and how does it tell us where we ought to go?

When we realize and remember that Jesus Christ is our beginning, all our actions would point back to it, just like how an effect points back to its cause. When we get lost in the tangle of life’s threads, – work, studies, and ministry – always remember that our own string starts somewhere and that is with Jesus. Know that our life should be anchored to our Lord and we ought to go back daily, tugging on the line to make sure we’re still in place, and remember that the source of all these is He who has pursued us first. And unless we do that, and unless we rid of all the noise just to get back to the starting point, our lives would be as pointless as a tree without its root.

When Gaius said that the most important in assembling the parts to make us complete is the beginning, I agree with him. And that Beginning is urging us, amidst toiling and busy schedules, to go back and see that there is more to Him than just being the starting point of everything. Are we not set to strip off life's complications and see ourselves assembling to completion by fixing our eyes on the Beginning, who also happens to be the End?

“My beloved spoke and said to me: ‘Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.”

Song of Solomon 2:10

"'I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End,' says the Lord, "who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty.'"

Revelation 1:8

Life. Death. The In-Betweens.

I let my thoughts take a sharp turn as I stare at the picture of this dead man I barely knew, while his wife, still alive, retells how things had gone last Sunday night – the night her husband left her.

It has been common knowledge that this old woman had been my grandmother’s close friend, but I had no idea that all these years that I knew her, she had a bedridden husband. Not until tonight. I stare at his blow-up photo a little bit longer and I wonder how he must’ve looked like, alive. Or how he must’ve been as a husband, sans his last few years of paralysis. Or how they spent their time together as young lovers.

I couldn’t think straight and singularly, as with a normal thinker could – one thought at a time. It was always several self-conversations at the same time.

Maybe it is because the second cup of coffee I just had an hour ago is starting to charge me up with more caffeine than I usually need. Or maybe, I am just too distracted by the grammatically incorrect message on the ribbon strapped around the flowers. Either way, I shouldn’t care which is true. Neither would change my attitude towards that moment. Besides, I feel a headache coming. Somebody makes a round to offer a bowl of greaseless peanuts. I hesitate, but dig my fingers into it to scoop a handful.

My eyes eventually resort to wandering all over the tiny room, darting from one sad bulb of flower to the next, as Pastor Nemuel’s exhortation on True Rest drones into my ear. The tiny holes on the metal seats in front of me are making me dizzy, I blink a few more times to rid of the headache building up, and I start to delve into obscure universal truths about life. Death. Some more life.

My thoughts get put on hold for a moment by the mere mention of more deaths. My mom and my boss initiate the small talk on today’s breaking news, according to social media – children poisoned after the nation-wide deworming. The funny feeling in my stomach begins crawling upward again. To my chest. To my throat, gagging me. If they truly have died, I think about how the children are not aware of the commotion they are causing back here in the land of the living. Images of limp, lifeless little bodies flash in my mind and I think about the end times, and this, probably being a part of the signs.

I am showing signs of mentally freaking out myself, but today I make sure to confirm with official news from official journalists, lest I fall into the gullible citizen category again. Three hundred children all over Western to Northern Mindanao are directly affected, as rumored, but nobody died after all, and it was, according to the Department of Health, only a side effect of taking the deworming pills when having worms more than an average child’s. My mother and I breathe a mental sigh of relief, and, mentally, knocking ourselves in the head for being paranoid for a moment. But in-between seconds, I still wonder how much of the truth they are covering up this time, and if this kind of truth could raise the dead, if there were any.

I go back to my thoughts; my eyes return to the picture of the grinning, toothless old man, against an edited sky background, as if assuring us, “I’m alright now. I’m resting.” I wonder if I’d look the same on a picture frame like that, when I’d have my turn.

It’s funny how living on earth is more of a pain than what comes after death in Christ. I think about the living mourning for their dead. Perhaps death* is more of life than life itself after all. I shake my head, smile, and look around, taking note of the faces. Perhaps it truly is.

*the kind of death one reaches while in Christ.

Absence

So it’s been nearly two months since the last update, and I am not entirely sure how to stuff a month’s worth of postings in a single entry.

It was a whirlwind of emotions this past month, and I have, to be honest, been quite loose with my prayer life and I blame that for the instability and lack of productivity of all my choices. It was not easy, having to juggle the start of a new job and the admissions for Law School. Yes, you heard that right. I am going to Law School now. At least not until August. I remember sharing in my previous post that I was going to be a preschool teacher by June. Turns out, in my current life, there’s no such thing as a “definite” career path, reminding me that when you’re in your early 20s, you’re most likely going to end up in a jungle of roads – and you get to start walking on your toes, trying to find the right spot to hop on. So yes, Law School it is (although I’m still currently teaching).

As I write, I hear my own heart trying to slower down its pace. It’s only 8PM but I feel terribly exhausted. This has been a regular feeling ever since I’ve started teaching. Frustration builds up and at times I wonder if there is, in any way, improvement among my students. There would always be moments when I find myself waking up in the middle of the night to just remember the pressure before I break down. Peace, I’ve noticed was out of reach, and I had consistently wondered, “Is there any hope for relief?”

God’s answer came quickly, and apparently, has been keeping this boat sailing on despite the storm. My peace and my joy are building up to restoration as He has promised.

“Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you, will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” Philippians 1:6

I had always wondered, for the past few weeks, if I truly was following God’s will, opposing the idea of Law School. In my heart, I thought that legal studies was both tedious and godless, so I wrestled with the idea and insisted on what I thought was right – staying away from it. In the end, however, I resorted to going with the flow, constantly telling the Lord that this time, I shall leave it up to Him. After all, as long as I did my part, God will open the doors at the right time. And that, He did. After crying before the second phase of admissions: the interview (I was still convinced I did not love Law), I went. There, things started changing. The results were worth great rejoicing, and strangers (now mere acquaintances) begin sending Law School materials in PDF form without notice. I thought, maybe I should give this a try and continue praying about it. Enrollment is days away, and classes, only two weeks, I could barely contain myself. I am both feeling antsy and excited over the idea of schooling with highlighted and marked books on a schoolgirl desk. I thought, I wouldn’t feel terrible with this fate, after all.

So much more is happening alongside the career and academic buzz, explaining the disorganized blog entry; I wish I could write everything down. I would if I could. Instead, I would just continue this post by thanking the readers faithfully visiting this blog. (It really, really means a lot to me.) I know how often I say I would try to write regularly, but I will still make the same promise today. Sure, my schedule would be a lot tighter than usual (with work, Law School, and me and my film crew working on new shorts), but I know you know how this has already been a part of me since forever. I will still write to you. More regularly now, that is!

Tasting Goodness

I am the most terrible in keeping up with blog posts, I know. I have been wrestling with the Lord for quite a while, being unable to reconcile with myself – battling between career and life choices. Of course it would seem hypocritical of me to write devotional posts on this blog when I am struggling myself. I only thought I needed the time to seek God and heal. For the time I had been away, I apologize. But this time, I come with great news. I hope it would make up for the hiatus.

Restoration has always been God’s expertise. After weeks of testing and struggle-praying, I could say the Lord is in the process of renewing me again – desires, priorities, and compassion have apparently been updated – and once more, the Lord has entrusted such a big task to me in such a time as this; I still could not believe the privilege. I could not.

Last month was Vacation Bible School, a yearly summer activity at church for the children. I remember the last time I volunteered as a teacher, I was only fifteen and I had no idea what I was doing, being a teacher to kids around my age (I was assigned to the young teens age group), but this year (being 20), I was given another chance to serve the Lord through ministering to the children.

Ptr. RJ on sharing the gospel.

The kids (ages 7-9) drawing the last time they trusted God.

The kids I have had the privilege to teach were a lot more different from each other than I have expected. Marie, for example, coming from a well-off family, had the opportunity to attend school with all her needs and wants provided. She is church-grown with godly parents and siblings and she had every opportunity to be taught about Jesus. It was a pleasant experience to teach and watch her learn, actually, and I never had a problem with discipline. Jandelle, on the other hand, was the type of kid who has a different mind of his own. In many instances, he’d slip from the group and either go out to play on his own or tail behind me, asking for lollipops or a chance to play with the church’s drum set. During VBS week, I noticed he was wearing the same shirt every day. It was a school uniform undershirt, so initially I thought he just has several of those kinds of shirts. During the third day, however, I realized he did not smell as good as he did on the first day. The day after that, he smelled worse. That was that. I realized he didn’t change shirts, much less showered, and I felt a jerk in my chest, a sorry feeling that his parents were not taking care of him the way the other kids’ parents were. On graduation day (obviously, he still had the same shirt on) Pastor RJ told me he just learned from Jandelle himself that he lost both his parents and some of his siblings to the super-typhoon Sendong (internationally known as Washi) that hit the region on December 2011; the boy was crying when he retold the story. I felt bad for not setting aside time to understand him and only brushed him off as a kid who had attention issues.

Jandelle and Marie

The more silent children started talking, too. It was at this time that I learned that every child needs special attention. So I started calling the silent kids at the back and insisted on having them sitting next to me. The look of uncertainty and relief pass through their eyes that I could only thank the Lord for urging me to walk the extra mile for them.

VBS 2015 Graduation Day

The Lord has taught me so much in such a short time, and He has rewarded me with so much more. Of course a huge part of our time was spent talking to the children against quarrelling (at random times at least one would start crying and complaining that somebody hit them), but at the end, when you could see them all as friends, celebrating Jesus as their Lord and Savior, I could not even begin to explain how exceedingly wonderful and satisfying it was to watch.

After classes, random kids would just start flocking around, hugging, and thanking me for being their teacher (adding requests for me to play with them, of course). At first it caught me off guard because I knew I was never good with children, but then I realized that as I saw the Lord changing the children into God-fearing children, He was also transforming my heart into a heart of compassion for the children.

In continuation to God’s Grace, I also finally got accepted by our church-school (Timothy Christian Academy) as a preschool supervisor. As I am writing this, I am inside the preschool classroom I am still trying to prepare for the June classes. Rewinding to several years back, I would not have imagined myself being a full-time minister to children. Thinking about how the Lord has chosen me for this simply takes my breath away; I have never been this excited for something, and having gone the training for the curriculum only fueled my excitement – finally being able to minister to the kids through letters, numbers, and stories of the Bible. This, I realized, is something big.

I still have a few more weeks for breathing although I knew I have a lifetime to learn. From today ‘till beyond, I will praise the Lord for the goodness I have tasted.

Basic Problems in Writing

I know you’re a little lost. “It Must’ve Been Love” is blaring through your dad’s speakers and you could barely write something worth a read. You rest your chin on your right knee, hoping your fingers would type something nice without you having to think for them. Your head starts to throb. You hate the music, but you hate the idea of leaving an air conditioned room even more.

You detect the secretary’s strong perfume from the other room. It’s that bad, and it irritates your nose. You wait for a sneeze. It does not come, but a headache does. You realize you just had lunch but you’re hungry again. You suddenly want chips and chicken siopao. It’s only 1:12 in the afternoon. You wonder what you’re doing, writing this, but you eventually just convince yourself that this is free-writing. A practice. An exercise. You smile. In your head, of course, because it’s too tiring to actually use your smile muscles. You roll your eyes a little, but smile in your head. It’s basically the same thing, you think.

You can’t stand the perfume so you go out to check on the secretary. Maybe so you could tell her to not spray too much on her. There is nobody outside, nor is there anybody in the other room. It puzzles you. It scares you a little, so you ask your dad. He does not answer you, so you lie down on the bench opposite his table to demonstrate your annoyance. You squirm like a fish out of water and cover your whole face, complaining that the perfume is giving you a headache. You fake crying. Your dad does not mind you, so you go back to your table hoping to write something better or to go deaf for a while. You could not and do not, and now you’re not entirely sure if it is the music or the perfume that is driving you crazy. You scrunch your nose for the fifth time.

You finally rest your face on your palms and decide to give up. You haven’t written anything. You sigh, feeling sorry for yourself, because you should write. You should have written something from your 15-minute experience, but you haven’t. So you give up, and decide to post this to make the realization and frustration public.

Harana

This was a short story I wrote back when I was fifteen. Actually, I already revised most of it because I thought my writing then was horrible and I didn't want to waste a beautiful story. Here it is. For your amusement.

January 7, 1906

“Nadia,” Ate Imelda, my older sister, called from the terrace, her hand beckoning me to go over. Her eyes were playful tonight, as if she knew a secret I didn’t. The same look she had when she told us she was finally pregnant. She scooped her belly with her left hand as she peeked through our nipa window. I wonder if Kuya Kanor gave her anything new today. A new hair clip, perhaps. I heard the Indian merchants are back in town for the week. The harvest is good this year, they say, and ever since Kuya Kanor knew they were expecting a baby, he has been pampering her even more. He must’ve gotten my sister something.

A sigh escaped my lips. Sometimes I wonder how I’d look like pregnant, or holding somebody else’s hand. I smiled, realizing how my mind was going these days. I was only eighteen. Nanay said she was only sixteen when Tatay asked for her hand in marriage, but I didn’t feel any older. Perhaps just a little more ambitious.

“It’s Baldo,” Ate Imelda whispered, “He’s come to serenade you.” She was grinning from ear to ear, apparently pleased.

I drew back. “Who? Baldo?”

Baldo has always been visiting every summer, helping Tatay build our pig pens and our chicken coop. But, I’ve heard, he’d gone to Manila for college. That was all I knew. I didn’t know he had liked me.

Ate Imelda lifted the nipa window for me to see for myself. That was when I saw, along with a few other men from the neighborhood, Baldo, smiling and holding a bundle of red roses, his face illuminated by the only lamp post on the street. I smiled back, holding back a cringe, wishing they’d disappear and I could get back to my room.

He was saying something. Then he grinned before tapping the guitar player’s shoulder. The singing began, to which I tried to suppress my giggles – not because I liked him, but because he was out of tune and I didn’t want to tell my sister. I looked behind my shoulder and noticed Nanay glaring at me. She was still thinking Baldo’s serenade was romantic and I should be grateful. I wasn’t. Instead, I panned my eyes to the left to inspect the people Baldo has cleverly managed to drag along with him. I recognized them as the boys who Baldo used to play in the river with. Some, my friends. A few, my cousins.

And that was the moment I saw Anton, playing the guitar strapped around his torso. He was one of Baldo’s friends, now a fisherman at Sapang Dalaga, the barrio next to ours. I still remember him as the boy who used to drag me to the star apple tree so he could climb up and have me catch the fruits he’d sell in the market. In the end, he’d let me have half the fruits and say I deserved it anyway. Then he’d walk away, but not before he winks at me, to which I’d turn beet red.

He was a lot taller now, and more handsome than I remembered, with his milk chocolate skin turning a little golden under the moonlight. The song was over, and he looked up from his guitar and our eyes met. He grinned crazily like he was excited to see me. Like it was he who was serenading me, not Baldo. I retreated back to the house, but not before I saw him wink.

“Come inside, Baldo,” I heard my mother call from the other window.

“Nay,” I started to complain in a low voice, “I don’t want you to invite him in.”

“Nonesense, child,” she said sweetly before she went to the door to escort Baldo inside.

He was already sitting on our bamboo bench when I got to the living room, his shiny black shoes digging between the crack on our wooden floor, and his cheeks flushing as he handed me the roses. He said I looked beautiful as usual. For somebody who used to throw rocks at me as a child, he has become pretty civil now.

The night ended quickly, after I told them I had a headache. Nanay and Tatay wanted Baldo to stay, but Baldo said that my health was more important. And then, he left.

I hauled two basins of laundry to the river to start my chores a lot earlier for the day. I was alone this time, I realized, and the river was much more peaceful than usual. No children diving from the cliff across the bank, and no women gossiping over their own washing. I had the river to myself today, at least, and nobody to pester me with Baldo-related questions. Sometimes people get too nosy for your own comfort.

I wasn’t even finished washing the first batch of clothes when I heard someone play the guitar behind me.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said.

It was Anton.

My heart stopped for a while, I forgot it was ill-mannered to stare with your mouth open.

“I was supposed to serenade you last night,” Anton started, giving his guitar a faint tap, “but Baldo beat me to it.”

He was smiling again, as if it was perfectly ordinary to go down the river and talk to a lady washing clothes alone. I bowed my head and continued scrubbing the clothes, fully aware of the pattern of my breathing.

“Do you mind if I serenade you in broad daylight with no companions to sing along with?” he continued, offering me a wild flower of some sort. Purple, with hints of pink and blue on the petal’s rim. I took it before slowly nodding my head, having nothing else to say.

He started singing – softly at first. I thought I was going to sleep but he was only inches away from me and my chest was drumming wildly. It sounds like a lullaby I could never fall asleep to. Not as long as he was near me.

He strummed his guitar one last time, then stopped.

“Mahal kita, Nadia,” he whispered. “I love you. Always had, actually.”

I let him stroke my hair. That was the most I could offer him. It seemed like I was in a trance I was struggling to get out of. I stood up, hoisted the basins of washed clothes on my hips, and told him that I had to go.

“Nadia,” I heard Nanay exclaim from the kitchen, “What took you so long? It’s almost noon.”

“I – uh – the soap. It fell in the water,” I Iied, “and I had to wade in the water to find it.”

I was bad at lying but I was hoping she wouldn’t notice. She paused, looked at me, and continued packing Tatay’s lunch of rice, dried fish and tomato, with a banana leaf. She handed it to me. “Here,” she said. “Take this to your father. He must be hungry.”

Days passed and Baldo’s visits became as frequent as my secret meetings with Anton. These were the meetings that I looked forward to everyday. I got up extra early for laundry, making sure I was at the far side of the river. At times, I washed the clean clothes all over again so I had a reason to stay longer. No one suspected. And we went on like this for a while. He always brought something with him with each meeting. Wild flowers, coconut meat, or oyster shells he’d find on his net, and we’d lie on the grass, pretending we were Americans ourselves, exploring the countryside. Those were the things I’d lived for – my secret meetings with Anton.

But, perhaps it was better if he didn’t sing, or if I should have not gone early for laundry that day. I went home one afternoon, wondering if I had been wrong all along.

“Nadia, come,” Tatay said, his voice with a tinge of pride, “Baldo has come for his pamanhikan.”

My hand immediately sprung to my mouth in disbelief. “Marriage proposal? Why, we aren’t even lovers yet!”

Quickly, Nanay pulled me from the crowd and scowled at me, her lips muttering something about me being ungrateful. Her eyes fluttered from me, then to Baldo and his parents, before shifting to an overjoyed expression. “Excuse my daughter,” she said, pretending to put an arm around me and tried to mask the embarrassment, “but do go on. She just couldn’t hide her extreme happiness.”

Extreme happiness? My stomach lurched when I saw Baldo coming forward to kneel in front of me.

“N-Nadia,” he said in a shaky voice, “will you m-marry me?”

My mouth, dried and hesitating, started to open. I looked around for a glass of water only to find everybody – my parents, Ate Imelda and Kuya Kanor, Baldo’s parents and our cousins – looking at me, expecting my answer. My gaze fell on Baldo again and realized he was dabbing on the sweat starting to roll down his temples. I managed to squeak out a faint yes before retreating to the corner of the room.

Everybody seemed to be in high spirits that night, passing over the table, the lechon and the platters of pansit and rice cakes Baldo’s family had prepared for the visit. It was unnecessary, but they could afford the celebration. Sometimes I wondered if that was the reason why my parents were so happy with Baldo. I told them I was sick and that I just wanted to rest. Baldo started to say something but I turned my back and proceeded to my room.

It was too much. All I wanted was to be happy, like Ate Imelda. I pretended to sleep with my back against the door, my pillow getting soaked with my tears. Even my sobs were starting to suffocate me.

I woke up to the sound of pebbles hitting my nipa window.

“Anton?” I called out, opening my window. I saw a silhouette of a man below my window. “Is that you?”

“I heard you accepted his proposal,” Anton whispered as soon as he got in my room through the window. His voice was unsure, as if a part of him wished he had misheard. “Juan told me.”

“I’m sorry, Anton. I – I just didn’t know what to do.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“You know I couldn’t say that.”

He nodded. He knew. He knew that I couldn’t say no to my parents. To my family.

“Let’s run away – together,” he said with a glint of hope in his gorgeous brown eyes.

I want to. I want to go with you. Wherever. I… Even my thoughts faltered.

“Anton, I – “

“Don’t worry,” he went on, trying not to notice the doubt in my voice. “I’ll pamper you. We’ll get rich. I’ll work hard for you. Let’s raise a dozen children if you want to.”

I didn’t answer. I felt my own tears prick my eyes as his did. I only gave him a faint smile, as if he were a silly child. He knew. He knew all along and he allowed his tears to roll down his cheeks. My hands trembled but I tried to lift them to cup his face. “I am so sorry.”     

He kissed me, gently. It was our first, and probably our last.

The next morning was just as busy, with people from the neighborhood coming over to congratulate me on my engagement. I plastered on a smile until everybody left.

“Nay,” I said when I finally had the chance to be alone with her, “ why Baldo?”

She stopped chopping the carrots and gave me an incredulous look. “What are you asking that for? Baldo is decent. Educated. The Suezas have rice farms enough to raise ten families. And, they have a good relationship with the Americans. He is a sweet man, and he will cherish you.”

I started to say something but Nanay already rushed to the front door to greet a few more visitors for the day. I knew I could never ask her that question again.

Every day, I went to the river in hopes of finding Anton, sitting on a boulder, waiting for me to run away with him. I would, if he asked me again. But he never did. And I never found him by the river. My days wasted away while I sat by the river waiting for him. He never came.

I heard the bells chime again when we made our last stop at the far end of the table. Baldo and I were finally wedded, my eyes a little bloodshot from crying. His hand, rested on my waist, stayed there for the rest of the afternoon. Baldo was never that bad. He still looked at me with his boyish grin, showing a gap between his two front teeth. He asked if I was okay. I said I think I need a little walk around our house before we left for Manila. A look of concern passed through his face, but he nodded anyway, after pressing my hand against his for a moment. I started to walk at the back of the house, feeling my tears about to give in.

“Anton!” I exclaimed in an excited whisper, after seeing the nearby mansanitas tree rustle.

Anton smiled, waved, and turned away.

Maybe it was an illusion, but I was almost sure it was him. I only allowed my tears to roll down my cheeks, drowning me, until I no longer saw his back.

Anton. Wait…

It was only a few minutes before I went back to the celebration, finding Baldo waving his hand from the table where I left him, asking me to come over. I gave a pained smile – not for Baldo, but for Anton. For me.

For what could have been, I reminded myself. Hesitantly, I raised my white dress a little higher and went back to Baldo, a hollow feeling building up in my chest.