Tatlong taon na pero hindi pa rin ako marunong mag-alaga ng mga halaman.
Anim na taon na si Rooboi ngayon. Kakatapos niya lang sa Kinder at ang mga susunod na linggo ay gugugulin naman namin para maghanda sa kung saan na naman siya mapapadpad para sa elementarya. Kabado ako, oo. Puro kami babaeng magkakapatid, kaya nitong anim na taon hindi ko pa rin magamay kung paano magpalaki ng lalaki. Ayoko siyang matakot sa mga emosyon niya, pero madalas, dahil hindi pa niya kayang intindihin ang mga nararamdaman niya ay lumalabas lahat ito ng pasabog. Parati ay nagiging bata siya: magulo, panay talon, panay tanong ng bakit, panay demand ng bakit hindi pwede. Madalas, kahit anong sikap ko, nauubos ang pasensya, nauubos ang enerhiya. Minsan napapataas na ang boses, pero hangga't kaya ay pinipilit na hindi umabot sa ganoon.
Anim na taon na pero hindi pa rin ako marunong maging magulang.
Dala na rin siguro ng pandemya, na noong pagka-ahon ay naging oras naman para asikasuhin ang pag-aaral ng bata, kaya ang madalas na museo na napupuntahan ko ay ang Vargas. Nagawi sa National Museum of Natural History ng isang beses na kinagiliw naman ng kasama ko. Nakakalula para sa kanya ang naka-display na replika ng malaking panga ng pating at ni Lolong. Ikinatuwa niya ang dami ng klase ng alimango na nakita, na lahat para sa kanya ay masarap kung iluluto.
2019 pa ang huli kong punta ng gig. Tinatamaan ang kalamnan ko ng paghigpit tuwing Martes ng gabi dahil alam ng sistema ko na ang mga gig kung saan madadapa ka sa bandang potensyal na pakikinggan mo sa loob ng susunod na apat na araw ay tumutugtog sa Mow's tuwing Martes. Nararamdaman din ng aking mga talampakan kapag tumutugtog ang Muni-Muni sa Jess & Pat's, o ng aking mga daliri kung nakasalang si Gary Granada sa 70's Bistro. Tuwing linggo ng umaga nagpe-play ako ng mga bidyo sa Youtube ng mga gig, nagkakape sa saliw ng boses ng mga taong nakikikanta sa Parokya ni Edgar.
2026 na - hindi ko pa rin alam kung paanong hindi malunod sa dagundong ng drums na pumipitik pa rin sa aking tainga kahit nakaupo lang ako at naga-almusal sa mesa.
Kaya sa mga gabing hinahatak ako ng panglaw para sa aking kinagisnang mga gawin noon, umuupo ako sa patio, pa-sikretong nagsisindi ng yosi at tumitingin sa mga bituin. Malaking bagay yung may patio kami na pwede kong tambayan at nagpapaalala sa akin na hindi naman lumilipas ang ikaw na nasa nakaraan - na madalas nadadagdagan lamang ng mga bagong tao, bagong mundo; na minsan nakakalakhan mo lang ang ilang bagay pero maaari mong bisitahin upang ipaalala sa sarili mo na nandito ka pa rin, hindi ka nawala.
Hindi ka kailanman mawawala.
Nandyan kang parang buwan na aasahan na darating kapag gabi. Mamatay man ang mga halaman, lumaki man ang anak mo, magbago man ang paraan mo ng pakikinig ng musika, o kahit hindi ka na makaupo sa harap ng isang painting ng kalahating oras dahil may bata kang kailangang sunduin sa eskwelahan.
Nandyan ka pa rin.
Sa maliliit na pagkakataon.
Tulad ngayon, walang tsinelas sa maabong patio, may katabing beer at patagong humihithit ng yosi.
Kamusta sa bagong ikaw, kalakip ang dating ikaw.
TumugonBurahinnakakapagod, puede naman mag pahinga, wag lang sumuko. minsan talaga nakaka tuksong maging makasarili, kaso di talga kaya ng puso kong mang iwan. ano ang lasa ng kape mo ngayon?
TumugonBurahinTHE CRAYON BOX (A Story of True Love and Letting Go)
TumugonBurahin“True love does not always mean holding on. Sometimes, it is the quiet courage of letting go, so that the person you love can finally learn how to stand.”
The Shared Desk
In 1993, Zakarias and Ina sat at a shared wooden desk in Grade One. Zakarias was the boy who always lost his pencil sharpener, and Ina was the brilliant girl who willingly shared her 24-pack of crayons. Specifically, the "Cerulean Blue"—Zakarias’s favorite color.
"Don't lose it," six-year-old Ina had whispered, handing it over.
"I won't," Zakarias had promised.
Then, the currents of life pulled them apart. Families moved, schools changed, and decades rolled by like heavy fog.
The Cafe Dialogue
Thirty-four years later, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, Ina sat in a quiet cafe. She was thirty-nine, turning forty in a week, and completely trapped in a gray, monotonous cycle. Her life made no sense anymore. She felt like a machine, ticking away the hours.
A few tables away, Zakarias stared blankly into a cup of black coffee. He was in a far darker place, battling a severe wave of depression and a relapse into substance abuse. Just the night before, he had stared at a bottle of pills, wondering if he should just end the pain.
Ina looked up. Zakarias turned his head.
The lines on their faces were new, but the eyes were identical. Thirty-four years evaporated in a single heartbeat.
"Zakarias?" Ina breathed, her voice breaking the cafe's quiet hum.
He blinked, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Ina? The girl with the Cerulean Blue? — Ina, our first honor!!!"
Ina let out a startled, wet laugh, the sudden burst of childhood pride piercing through the heavy gray fog of her adult life. They ended up talking for five hours. The conversation quickly shed any polite small talk, diving straight into the raw truth of their lives.
"I feel like I'm just watching my life happen from a distance," Ina confessed, her eyes glossy. "Like nothing has flavor anymore."
Zakarias looked down at his trembling hands. "I know that feeling. Except for me, the world is too loud, too dark. I’ve been trying to numb it, Ina. I’ve been drowning."
In that moment of absolute vulnerability, something clicked. They just knew. They were the missing pieces of each other's fractured lives. Zakarias found a reason to breathe, and Ina finally found color in her gray world again.
TumugonBurahinTHE CRAYON BOX (A Story of True Love and Letting Go)
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The Sinking Anchor
For the first few years, their relationship was a beautiful sanctuary. They laughed like children again. They built a home, shared keys, and stitched their lives together.
Whenever the grayness threatened to creep back into Ina's mind, or when she doubted herself after a hard day, Zakarias would gently squeeze her hand and whisper, "Hey. You're Ina, our first honor. You can handle anything." It was his way of reminding her of the brilliant girl she had always been. It gave her the strength to face anything.
But love, no matter how vast, cannot instantly cure the disease of addiction.
As the years rolled on, the timeline became punctuated by Zakarias’s moments of weakness. There would be two years of beautiful sobriety, followed by a sudden, shattering relapse. Then a year of recovery, followed by another late-night disappearance, dilated pupils, and slurred words of defense.
Eleven years passed this way. A more-than-a-decade-long cycle of hope and heartbreak.
Ina tried to be his anchor, but you cannot hold a sinking ship for eleven years without being dragged completely underwater. Slowly, imperceptibly, the dynamics shifted. Ina was no longer his partner; she had spent a decade acting as a terrified lifeguard, constantly checking his pulse while he slept, hiding car keys, and cleaning up the wreckage of his relapses.
By the eleventh year, the anxiety wasn't just a feeling—it was a physical ache that had rewired her brain. She looked in the mirror and realized she was drowning. The relationship was sinking her, eroding her own fragile sanity until she felt more hollow than she had at thirty-nine.
One evening, after finding a hidden stash in the bathroom—realizing the cycle was starting all over again—Ina sat on the living room floor, completely defeated.
"I can't do this anymore, Zak," she whispered, her voice a fragile, exhausted thread.
Zakarias dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face, holding onto her jacket. "Please, Ina. It’s been eleven years. We’ve fought through everything. You're the only good thing left in my life. You're my reason to stay clean."
Ina’s heart broke into a million pieces. "That's the problem, Zakarias. After eleven years, I still can't be your reason. You have to want to live for you. I love you enough to want you alive. But if I stay for year twelve, I will drown with you, and then neither of us will make it to the shore."
She ended it. She packed her things and walked out of the apartment they had shared for over a decade.
The night she left was agonizingly quiet. Sitting in her new, empty room, the silence was deafening. Every instinct screamed at her to go back, to check on him, to make sure he was still breathing. Her hands shook with the terrifying realization that she had just removed his safety net. But through the tears, she knew that this deep, hollow pain was the price of saving her own sanity. She could only pray that the silence would force him to finally listen to his own heart.
Epilogue
Five years passed. Ina was now fifty-six. She had done the hard work of healing, finding a quiet, stable peace in her life. She still thought of Zakarias every single day, always wondering if her departure had worked, or if walking away after eleven years had broken him completely.
On a crisp autumn afternoon, Ina received a small package in the mail. There was no return address, just a familiar handwriting.
Inside the box was a single, brand-new crayon: Cerulean Blue.
Wrapped around it was a small piece of paper. It read:
"Five years sober today. I finally learned how to swim. Thank you for letting me go so I could learn how to save myself. — Zakarias"
Ina held the crayon tightly against her chest, a warm tear slipping down her cheek. They were not together, and maybe the eleven years they gave each other was all the time they were meant to have—but he was alive. And that was the truest form of love she had ever known.
(IpiSodes-ffm)
Habang patuloy na imiikot ang mundong hindi patas, mapanghusga at mapanakit. Ang choice lang na meron tayo ay ang magsurvive at magpatuloy. At sa bawat araw ng laban natin na napapatapos, manalo matalo mas matututo tayong maging matibay at matatag base sa mga naging kamalian at karanasan. Sabihin mo lang kung ano yung halaman mo, baka may ma-i-ambag ako sa pagpapalago nito. Masayang araw!
TumugonBurahin