Letters

It was around 2 in the morning and I was sitting on my bed, unable to sleep. My lamp was on and it illuminated this box under my study table. My mother hasn't unpacked all of my things yet since I moved back to their house. I wondered if she thought I'll be moving out again any time soon.

I pulled this paper bag from the box and found in it all the sentimental stuff I've gathered over the years. There were tickets from the events I've attended (a couple from my own semender parties). There were all sorts of receipts and motel discount cards (hahaha). Bits of ribbon and an occasional oddity. And of course there were letters from my past students. And from my ex-flames.

To my surprise, I discovered that among the jumble of letters, there was one still left unopened. I carefully inspected the envelope, unbelieving,  but it really bore no trace of being opened before. I felt a surge of shame. I had a mental image of the sender, spitting fire and elbows on hips, with me wringing my hands trying to explain away why the letter was unread. How can I have ignored this letter?

So I went on with tearing the envelope carefully since it looked rather old. It was a card. A Christmas card. And it was from her.

It has been so long ago and I have almost forgotten how intense everything was at the time. Reading her letter brought me back to those times when each day felt like it could have been videotaped and aired on television. A daily dose of sweetness and drama, sprinkled with a spicy serving of recklessness but with a touch of bitterness underneath it all. I think the show would have had good ratings. If MTRCB allowed it to be aired in the first place.

Reading her letter, I can almost picture her bed beside the window providing a not-so-elegant view of KNL. That time when I was just lying on my bed, amusing myself with my "countdown", and she sits, ever so gingerly beside me. I can almost feel that unbearable tension... Of restraining myself not to... Not to... Aww never mind.

The other letters, those not in envelopes and written in random pieces of paper were from my first boyfriend. His writing was rather small and I had difficulty reading some of the words. He calls me "B". One addressed me as "B-Boi". Oh, I have almost forgotten those days. How... How it all felt...

This one, written on red paper, was from the time we got back together. "Today is Day 2" it said. "Although I really do not want to count the days anymore..."

And there was this other letter, written three days before my birthday. He was saying how sorry he was that he had no money and he couldn't treat me to dinner in a decent place. He was saying how proud he was of me, going through all the hardships which were on my shoulders at the time. He was saying how I did not need to do everything on my own. That I shouldn't forget that I have him. "I'll hold your hand when it rains," it said. "I love you," it said.

I placed the letters back where I found them and I sat on my bed for a while, just feeling the emptiness of my bed beside me. I can hear the ticking of my small alarm clock on my table. I can hear the clucking sound of a lizard on the ceiling. But my phone was uncharacteristically silent. It has been that way for weeks now.

I lay down on my bed and realized that, with the way things are in my love life right now, I wouldn't have remembered how colorful it all used to be if those letters were not addressed to me. That that guy they were talking to... That used to be me.

Strange, I thought. And shrugged the notion off my mind by immersing myself in a book.

The sun was well up before sleep finally deigned to end my painless misery.