I'm deeply ensconced in my office chair with my feet spread-eagled under the mahogany table. I feel sleepy---no, stressed out---at the moment. I slightly drum my fingers on the computer keyboard as I gently swivel my chair. I try to close my eyes, suddenly wishing that I am not in this place. That I am with somebody; somebody I love the most---I am with Chi.
Shit! The realization hits me with a bang. I miss Chi. God, how I miss that woman! I flip my wrist to check my watch. January 21. Exactly 46 days since I last saw her face and held them with my hands. Suddenly, I'm awake. I edge my seat forward and try to reach the mouse with my right hand. I fondle it for awhile as I scan the desktop icons on the monitor. With a soft click, the Mozilla browser opens.
The words seem to dance on the address bar as I type www. friendster.com on the keyboard.
Connecting…
Transferring data from www. friendster.com...
I tap the mouse playfully and begin to whistle a few bars of ‘I'm Yours’. Chi likes this song, I suddenly remember. I almost laugh aloud as I recall the times she would request---I mean, order---me to sing the song for her, knowing fully well how my singing resembles a frog's croaking.
A few more clicks and I'm in. It's been awhile since I visited her profile. I drag the mouse-wheel down as I give a cursory glance on the whole webpage. No changes. Except the name. It's now in Korean script. Does it read Chi? I begin to wonder. Wait. There's a new album too. My hands are trembling now. A sudden feeling of dreadfulness envelops my whole being as I hesitantly open the album.
****
EVERYTHING BECOMES black.
Who am I? Where am I? Why is it dark? Am I dead? Is this hell? A barrage of questions crosses my mind. Then I realize my eyes are just tightly closed. Slowly and fearfully, I force them open. Physical awareness comes back to me full force. I am in my office, I am not dead, (at least, not yet) and certainly I'm not in hell. But to my languishing mind, the reality facing me on the monitor is far more dreadful than the deepest pit of hell itself.
My eyes are glued to the monitor now. No title description on the picture. The word above it simply says, DSC10056.jpg. So she's still using the Sony Cybershot camera I gave her last year. Sweet.
The image is a close-up view of fine beach sand. A pair of petite footprints---Chi's footprints?---on the bottom left of the picture is still distinguishable. Clumps of dead seaweeds are sparsely scattered on the topmost part while two vertical shadows in parallel positions loom above them. They must be arms; quite slender. Just like Chi’s.
Beautiful. Everything is beautiful in the photograph except from the fact that we’ve never been to a beach together. That, and the Korean script written on the sand.
****
MY EYES are hurting now. I must have been staring at the picture for a half hour or so. I forcefully pull my gaze away from the monitor, feeling the cold bitter tears starting to well around my eye’s rims. I slowly lean backward, letting the soft leathery blackness of the executive chair engulf my lean body. As I close my eyes for the second time, two fat drops of clear liquid begin their descent. They travel slowly along my cheeks, dangle on my chin for a second or two, then softly---and ever so gently---fall on my lap.
God! Why do I think like this? I shouted in my mind. I trust Chi and I know that she wouldn’t betray that trust because she loves me! Then my mind begins to wander. I am sitting in a dark movie house, watching myself and Chi in the big screen. A familiar scene is being played:
- It’s a humid afternoon in Baguio and I'm visiting Chi for a few days. I can see myself sitting on a wooden stool. Using my lap as a table, I am busy scribbling something on a sheet of paper torn from a notebook. As I write, I hear soft footfalls drawing near, bringing with it the enticing aroma of cappuccino coffee. The tinkling sound of a cup and saucer being laid down on the side table follows.
“Magkape ho muna kayo, Señor,” a sweet voice says, followed by a giggle. (Have a cup of coffee, sir)
I wince. Señor. Don. That’s her way of teasing me. I look up, feeling slightly irritated. But gazing at the smiling figure in front of me instantly melts my irritation to oblivion. The sight of the stubborn but clearly feminine chin, the white pearly teeth set on thin red lips, the high thin nose, the innocent but playful eyes with its naturally curling eyelashes and the ebony hair reaching her navel is enough to make me forget all my worries, fears and frustrations. Even enough to make me forget everything.
She pushes my hands away, letting them drop to my side. She then sits on my lap, encircles her arms around my neck and rests her head on my shoulder.
“Palagi ka na lang nagsusulat,” she accuses, while playfully twisting my hair on her fingers. (You're always writing.)
I give out a grunt. “Hobby ko lang naman yan.” (It's just a hobby.)
“Alam ko.” (I know.) She smiles, then pinches my left ear. “Naglalambing lang po ako, Señor.” (I was just being sweet, Señor---a loose translation)
Silence.
“Jid?”
“Hmm?”
“Nasulat mo na siguro ‘tong sasabihin ko.” (You may have already written what I'm about to say.) She starts to nuzzle my neck now.
I smile.
“Pero sasabihin ko pa rin kasi makulit ako.” (But I'll still say it because I'm persistent.---a loose translation)
I chuckle aloud.
Silence again.
“I love you so much, Jid. No matter what happens, hindi magbabago yan. Ikaw lang nagmamay-ari sa ‘kin.” (. . . it will not change. I am yours alone.)
I am touched, deeply touched. “Parang nasulat ko na nga.” (Yeah, I think I may I have written it already.) I smile weakly, trying to hide the exploding happiness deep inside me.
“Sira!” She says, laughing. (Oh, you!---a loose translation) She stops nuzzling my neck then looks me directly in the eye. “Totoo ‘yon, Jid.” (It's the truth, Jid) A pair of twinkling innocent eyes gazes back at me.
“Alam ko, Chi.” (I know, Chi.) I encircle her waist with my arm and draw her body nearer for a tight embrace. "Alam ko.” (I know.)
Then the scene slowly fades out. The room vanishes first, leaving behind a silhouette of the two figures on the chair. A few moments more and the figures disappear, seemingly swallowed by a gaping void of blackness.
I suddenly feel a deep sense of relief. Chi loves me very much; she will never betray my trust. All I need to do is trust her, I begin to reason out. I only feel like this because I am lonely and I miss her so much.
The gentle knocking on my office door forces me back to reality. And the first image that meets my eye is the picture on the monitor. Reminding me... Taunting me... The heavy feeling in my heart comes back and loneliness and desperation enclose my whole being again.
The figure at the door clears his throat. I recognize the voice. Lee Sang Hyup. Korean. English name: Max. Seventeen years old. Athletic. Tall. Muscular. A beginner student of English in the language school where I work. He has been coming to my office for the past few hours, begging me to replace his teacher with another.
I utter a sigh. “Come in, Max!”
He closes the door gently. He looks bewildered and ashamed. Noticing his hesitation, I motion him to a chair.
“Cha-change... teacher... Now?” he says, in his halting English.
“Unfortunately, you still can’t. We don’t have vacant teachers for today, Max.” I say, shaking my head.
“O-ok.” he says, disappointment showing on his face. “Tha-thank you, sir.” He stands up, gives me the oriental bow and walks to the door dejectedly.
Suddenly I remember.
“Max.”
He’s about to turn the door knob open but suddenly stops when he hears me calling him.
“Ye-yes?”
“Uhm... How do you read this?” I say, pointing a pen at the monitor.
He strides hurriedly towards my table. I rotate the monitor to my right a little so he can see the picture clearly. He squints a few times before focusing his tiny eyes on the monitor.
“Na-nari...Heart...Ye-yeon Sook...” Then he smiles. “Nari loves Yeon Seok!” he declares, now grinning proudly.
“Are you sure?” My heart starts to beat fast, like a piston wheel churning faster.
“Yes!” Max is positively gleaming. “Nari… Girl name… Heart picture is love… Yeon Sook… Sometimes girl… Sometimes boy name...”
“Nari loves Yeon Sook...” I weakly say.
“Nari loves Yeon Sook,” Max happily repeats.
~tobecontinued
