Random Leaf #1891 precisely cut

Perhaps the reason

I was the one least affected

was because I was hoping.

I admit to being less of faith

when it comes to religion—

but I couldn’t deny being hopeful.

They were all accepting your looming fate—

your face behind a glass cover,

you inside some box.

But I was not thinking of that.

At the very least, my thoughts were guilty—

filled with distractions, with other banalities.

But those things are trivial

compared to the one that stayed:

the hope that, after everything,

I’d once again see you smiling,

full of energy—

the usual you—

the first to greet my return.

While I was thinking of rest,

and maybe of what to do next in the afternoon,

while also thinking of what I left behind,

you were thinking of what to cook next for me,

of a passing Sunday morning,

of you being in one place

while I sat near you.

Do you remember when I first toppled

and uprooted a tree while playing?

You got mad at me

for wrecking your clothesline

and the freshly washed clothes.

Oh, what an earful I got after that noontime play.

I don’t remember getting hurt,

but I do remember being underneath the tree

when I brought it down.

I never really thought about how well you did the laundry

I’d just ruined.

Then a few years later,

after I finally got myself a vacation,

I still managed to worry you.

I really am a mischievous child.

Whether time passes greatly or little,

somehow I always succeeded

in making you worried.

I’m really sorry, Nanay.

Whenever I’m with you,

I just can’t help it.

Must I remind you

of the things we did

that gave you more reason to worry?

To start with—my socializing skills,

very weak to alcohol. I know.

Then the many treks we did—

the ones only you could describe as “nagaddayo.”

From strange waterfalls filled with fairies,

that we had to climb

too many mountains to find,

to my solo adventure to a border town

(possessed by whatever spirit

was haunting my childish playfulness).

Don’t forget the many pasalubongs

I brought back to you.

I failed to move mountains—

but at least,

I got you a few rocks

to mark where I had been.

Maybe one of them held a diamond,

left undiscovered,

presented as a simple stone

instead of a precious gem.

Whatever adventure I’d be doing,

whatever came next—

at the end of the day,

me seeing you smile when I returned home

was the prize worth every hardship.

Even the world,

in all its weight,

is just a fraction of that value.

This is the sole reason I was never worried—

because I knew it was you who would be.

And your face—beaming with radiance and anger—

was always something I found beautiful.

Others might have been afraid.

But I couldn’t be.

And now,

that you’ve turned ancient—

your smile no longer present,

and you behind a glass cover—

I will still find you beautiful.

But I’m afraid

I can no longer see you clearly.

My eyes will be filled

with shattered glass of their own.

Now that you’re gone,

I will cry.

I will cry.