For some reason, mixed emotions and random thoughts rushed through my mind as I saw a familiar pouch of cloth outside my doorstep last night. I wasn’t really sure how I was to react, but the first thing that came into my mind was to look for the person who left the brown Starbucks Planner pouch in front of our screen gate. An urgency came to my senses, and a pounding heartbeat made me go back to the jeepney stop, hoping that I might still see a glimpse of him there. Dear reader, do not misunderstand – this was not because of longing, nor was it because I waited for him to come. Maybe right now, I may not be able to find the particular words for it, but rest assured, no stirred up emotions would ever come back.
I reached the jeepney stop, but failed to see the guy who left the small sack of cloth. I assumed that he left in a rush, and went back to my house and picked up the pouch. (I actually bothered looking for him first before picking up the Starbucks Pouch. How silly of me. Hahaha.) I went inside and dropped the stuff that I bought at the convenience store, and stared at the notebook which I gave to him ten months ago – pages filled with sweet nothings and messages in blue ink, memories kept and written from the very first day I got it, up to his eighteenth birthday last March. I once wondered if he ever wrote on the notebook as I asked him to, back then. So when I skimmed through the pages, the back portion of the notebook did surprise me, as a letter, in his fading blue ink pen filled the last portions of the notebook.
(to be continued)