So I was thinking about that when we were walking back towards the boat. And then I thought, maybe, I'd change my mind this once and keep something to preserve this day. Not that I doubt that I will forget it, the way this weekend getaway had been going. I just wanted something more tangible. Something to remind me of this day without me having to bring it up in my head in the first place. So as we were walking, the waves lapping at our feet, I bent my head low and looked for stones along the pinkish shore.
I knew you were walking behind me. I had always been aware where you are with respect to me. And for a moment, while I was searching the sand, I hoped you'd notice what I was doing. Because I wasn't really looking for something for me, but for you to keep. For you to remember that there was this one day when I was with you. A day when I was a bigger part of your life than I usually was.
I picked up three stones before I reached the boat. And I lined them up beside me once I've reached my seat. I looked at them and I thought that they looked nice but I wasn't satisfied. They weren't special enough. Anyone could go back to these same islands and get these same pebbles. So when we reached the dock, I left them behind in the boat, still lined up beside my seat.
An hour later, we were poring through the souvenir shops and I continued my search there. I didn't want anything which can be used, like shirts or keychains. I wanted something which will have no other purpose other than for you to remember this day. But I couldn't find anything suitable. Visually, most were attractive, but none held enough meaning. I was about to give up and we were on our way out of the area when I saw this stack of small shells on a table. They were mostly ignored because they couldn't quite compare with the other, gaudier trinkets on sale. And I saw this one pretty shell which looked unique from the others and I knew that that was the one. I checked the pile just to be sure there were no other like it there and there was none. The woman who sold it to me also confirmed to me that there was no other like it in her collection. It was obvious that she was puzzled at my choice of souvenirs - the stack did lie there, half-forgotten and a bit dusty. She seemed pleased though, and she gave me an extra shell for good measure.
I kept it on my palm on our trike ride back to the town. I held it even if I was riding behind the driver, and it might have been dangerous for my safety with only one of my hands free to hold myself steady, but I was trying to infuse it as much as possible with my own warmth before I give it to you. I was trying to make my mark on it.
Even when we were having dinner, I kept fingering it in my pocket. I was thinking of how to give it to you. I did not run out of creative ideas - how to not make it awkward, how to not make it seem a big deal - but I lacked the courage. And we finished dinner with me still fingering it in my pocket.
You lagged behind while we were walking to the bus terminal, and I thought then that that was the perfect time since I was also, incidentally, lagging behind. And I kept waiting for you to walk beside me (I even slowed my pace) but you still kept holding back a bit . And then too soon, we reached the terminal, and then finally you talked to me while the rest of our friends were busy at the ticket booth and it was such a grand time for me, really, since we seldom had moments to ourselves like that, and I put my hand in my pocket again and I thought that this was the time but then the rest of our friends went traipsing back to us one by one and I knew I missed it again.
And then we were sitting on the benches for the one-hour wait for the bus and I made it a point to place my bag beside you because I was thinking of giving it to you while you were bored with waiting. But then I had to smoke first because I was nervous and I kept stealing glances at you and I hope you did not notice. And when my stick ran out, and I finally sat beside you I chickened out again and I postponed it again until later when we were on the bus, hopefully, still sitting beside you so I wouldn't have to make a commotion, walking along the aisle in the bus to hand it to you.
But there were a lot of people already on the bus when it arrived so we had no seating choices at all and we were all separated and although you were only a few seats away but for me, it seemed like miles. And then I thought that my last chance to give the shell would be when you pass me by when you're getting off the bus since you'll be getting off earlier than me. And I kept fingering it in my pocket until I fell asleep, making sure to wake up before you do get off so I wouldn't miss my last chance.
And then your stop came, and you stood with the rest of our friends as you prepared your things and I watched you pass me by but you didn't even glance my way. And I was left there on my seat, still clutching the shell. The shell which meant so much to me. The shell which was meant for you. And I looked at you while you were all standing on the waiting shed and I'm not sure you even noticed me wave goodbye.
And I have no right to be angry, much less to feel hurt because I can't expect anything. Not even your acknowledgement that here I am, with my head filled with thoughts of you and there you are, looking at me occasionally but even in the rare times that you do, I get the feeling that you look through me and I couldn't complain.
And I berate myself because I'm much too careful about you. That I'm too torpe and too indirect and I kept letting moments pass me by. But then, as I've said years ago, this is probably the best that I can do - to do practically nothing because we both know that you deserve someone better than me. And that me staying away is my way of saying that I care about you too much I do not want you to be bothered by someone like me.
And I'm grabbing at this because, you know, I just want to feel again. I just want to feel what I used to feel when I was still whole and undamaged. It is true that my mind had never been as full as this before, but my heart had never been this hollow as well. Like a shell.
And as the bus zoomed along the night-lit EDSA, I put my hands on my pocket to finger the shell I should've given you - this special shell I infused with my warmth, this pretty shell I didn't expect to find at the last moment, this shell which was supposed to remind you of me - and I realized that it was I who needed it more than you do.
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