Dear Mamang

It's been almost a year and I'm still living like a ghost ensconced with the shadows of our past.  I'm going on with the flow of everyday life like nothing devastating had happened. I've been trying to act as stoic as I can be whenever someone asks "Are you alright?".  I'm living a phlegmatic life and it only now  sinks in my narrow mind that you're gone and you're never going to come back.

August 22, 2016. 10:56 PM

As I was getting ready to sleep after a long conversation with God, papa called. What he said trampled my world down. He told me the most scourging news.

  Mamang you're dead.

 It's ironic how much I prayed to God that night that I even offered him a deal. I even promised him that I'll be the best version of a daughter to you as long as He snatch you away from danger. 

As soon as I finished begging, the news of your death reached me.

You knew that I wasn't really vocal to anyone when it comes to my emotions. I wasn't the type of daughter who showered you lots of kisses and hugs. I never said I love you to anyone. I never said I love you to you when you're still extant because I was too ashamed. That is just one of my greatest regrets. I have anticipated before that hugging your parents would be heartwarming. 

But when I did, it's the complete opposite.

 Locked up in my papa's arms while we were both weeping over your death is the most heartbreaking moment of my life. Hugging your cold body for the last time doesn't feel home. 

That night, in that hospital, I've marked it as the most dreadful day of my life.

After your burial. Everything has changed. My papa wasn't my papa anymore. My brother wasn't my brother anymore. I wasn't  me anymore. I've been too sulk up in depression that I decided to stay with my grandparents for a year. I was too selfish at that time that I've only thought of my own pain. 

I don't want to stay in a house haunted by your memories.

I don't want reality to hit my head. I'm too caught up with the idea that it was just a nightmare and when I'll wake up you'll be on my side or maybe I was just on a vacation and when I get home, you'll be welcoming me warmly with that high pitched voice of yours.    

Composing myself to harmony wasn't an easy journey .

Trying to act alright was my forte. 

Placating a smile in facade of my longing has been my everyday chore.  

And whenever someone says that I look a lot like you, the pain just got more desolating. My visage resembled yours.

 And it just rubbed more salt to the wound. 

At every event that I've been, there will always be that one person who keeps saying that I was like you in physical terms. Because when it comes to our personality, we have nothing in common. You have a bubbly attitude and you love socializing. You always dragged and  pushed me to join the crowd although you were very aware that I am a sullen and anti-social teen. In all the events that we've been together, you  wouldn't miss chit chatting with people. Of course, you wouldn't forget telling people about my silly adventures. You always talk about how smart I am and how indolent I am at the same time. You loved words and blurting them out. 

I, too, love words, but prefer to just ink them on pages. 

Honestly, I'm missing you mang. Thinking about the future without you is too lugubrious because I know you wouldn't want to miss any moment in my life. My teachers once said that they are looking up to you when it comes to parenting. In every school event, you were always there to support me. You were always so proud of me and my achievements. But when you started pushing daisies from your graveyard, the perfect attendance was thrown in the trash. In all the events, I was all alone. Preparing for my first promenade wasn't exciting at all. Marching up the stage in our recognition day was full of grey. Celebrating my birthday was nothing special. They were all worthless because you weren't there. Because a day without you is full of self destruction.

Days, weeks, and moths have passed by and I thought I'm okay. The frequency of sleepless nights I've spent desperately calling out for you had lessened. I thought I have already moved on.  But going home to a house that doesn't feel like home is another struggle of moving on. And I've went back to the start of mending my broken self after your quietus. Every corner, every part, and everything in this house just reminds me of you. Kaleidoscopes of memories of you, me and our family frolicking at night kept flooding my mind. It puts daggers in my heart knowing that they're not going to happen again. The truth that our singing and cooking lessons are now just pure memories is prickling me to the bones. The fact that you can't be with us anymore is killing me. Living in this house, haunted by myriad memories of you is a bittersweet story. Apparitions of your laughter filling the whole house, your smile lighting up the ambiance, your high-pitched voice echoing through each foundation of our house, your eyes sparkling through all our souls, and your mere presence that served as an inspiration to keep going are all but bittersweet memories. It's good to think that you left me with momentous memories, but ravaging to know that they are now just mere memories kept in a special place inside my heart.

 It's been almost a year and yet I'm still your child. I'm still the same old dependent daughter of yours. I may have never said it to you when you're still alive, but I'm sure you've felt it. And if I would be given a chance to have a second with you, I won't be ashamed to tell you that I love you. 

Because I do. 

I love you mamang.