how it should be

You're standing on the other side of the street, smoking your nth cigarette. You look up at the balcony of the big white house when you sense the french doors open. Someone walks out and the clothes lines criss-crossing the balcony move. You see a pair of hands picking out the clothespins and you hear the sound they make as they hit what you suspect is a plastic pail, little thuds. A clothes pin is gathered then thrown on the pail. You see one hand now, holding a rag and running it through the length of the clotheslines, one at a time. Your heart flutters as you see the top of the person's head, black hair clipped into a tiny pony tail. You only see the back of the head, the clip is black, plastic. You hear a voice, you relax, it's not HER.

The gate below opens and you hear chatter of female voices. Your heart flutters some more, you inhale the last of the cigarette stick you hold in your hand. You adjust your wrap-around sunglasses and pretend you're not looking, that you're looking to your left, at the oncoming traffic, but your eyes are actually looking at the gate.

Then you see HER. Deep red blouse, loose enough that it sways in the gentle morning breeze. Long skinny black skirt. Bare white legs. Silver coloured flat shoes. She comes out of the gate, one hand clutching her shoulder purse, the other holding a large bag with a famous logo. Large sunglasses that reflects everything around her. You cannot see her eyes. For a while you thought she was looking or staring at you. She stops right outside. You see her lips stretch into a shy smile.

You pretend to look away and ask yourself, can she see me? Is she smiling at me? Then you look again. She is still standing there, on the other side of the street, just outside the property's gate. Your heart flutters once again. You know she's looking at you.

She crosses the street, towards you. A taxi passes by, then another. She stops in the middle of the road when she thinks a vehicle is not about to let her through. She finishes crossing the street and walks towards you. You slowly put your hand inside your jacket, pull your gun and before she could say a word, you pull the trigger. Shoot her. Right through the heart. You see her slowly fall, down on her knees, hand clutching her chest, the purse still on her shoulder, the large bag on the pavement.

You walk away, dial a number on your cellphone. You hear it ringing. A voice answers. "She's out of the way." Then you hit the off button. A passing bus slows down and you get in. You relax.

facing my demons - 8

We all have demons that at some point in our lives we must face.

"There's no couch!" I say, jokingly, to Dr. Allery, a rotund woman in her late fifties.

"No. No couch," she smiles. "I don't want my patients falling asleep on me."

She motions me to a leather swivel chair. It feels soft and smells new and I see the reason for the absence of a couch. The cold air and the comfortable chair make me want to fall asleep.

She pulls a thin dossier from her side drawer and opens it. She adjusts her reading glasses so that they sit atop her nose. "Hmmm." She smiles. "This is very interesting," she says as she taps her well-manicured fingernail on the paper in front of her. I had sent her a long e-mail, three pages of single spaced text with small font, explaining the circumstances around which I would like to see her for a consultation.

"Tell me about your father," she says after a while, taking off her glasses and putting them on top of the dossier and leaned back on her high-backed leather chair.

I squint my eyes, not understanding why she would want to know about my father when I needed to understand why I had buried Richard's memories and get upset over them after thirty-some years.

"I don't have a problem with my father." I am telling her the truth in the context of my present problem.

Dr. Allery nods and smiles, but says, "What was he like and what was your relationship with him like?"

facing my demons - 7

We all have demons that at some point in our lives we must face.

I had a recurring dream since I was seven.

In the dream, I am swimming in a large swimming pool with very blue and clear water. Once in a while I would stop and I could see, beyond the trees lush with green leaves and their fruits, the blue waters of Laguna de Bay. The pool slopes down the hill and I wonder how the pool water does not flow out at this sharp slope. Someone jumps on the pool and I am in the middle of an endless sea. There is no land in sight and despite the calming blueness of the water I panic. I try to swim until I get tired but I do not give up. The sky changes from blue to gray as dark clouds gather and a fierce wind blows. I panic some more. Sometimes I feel a force pulling me under but I fight it because I know I must keep my head above water. The force gets stronger. I see Richard swimming calmly a few feet away. I try to call him but no sound comes out of my mouth. When finally he looks at me, his eyes look angry and he swims away. I swim, too, frantically now, but towards the opposite direction. Now I could see the outline of mountains and trees. And an island. I swim towards it but no matter how hard I swim the island just seems to move away. Suddenly, I hear a voice.

"Here," and I see a large white hand.

Just as I am about to grab it, I see Richard, now on a small boat but he is not looking at me.

The force underneath me swirls and I feel myself sinking. I call Richard's name but he turns his head away. I desperately grab at nothingness and the water starts to pull me down.

"Take my hand," I hear the voice again. The voice belongs to an old man with fair skin and a beautiful, engaging smile.

"I can't," I say, but I grabbed his hand anyway.


I forgot about that dream until one day when Richard and I had just finished making love and I remembered it. Richard did not appear in the dream until we started dating. In my culture, we had the belief that dreams were the harbinger of the opposite things to come. He told me he did not believe in dreams and he attributed it to my strained relationship with my father. The conversation was forgotten promptly. It would be months before I would have met Dave and the dream would come back two more times.

facing my demons - 5

We all have demons that at some point in our lives we must face.

Richard had called earlier during the day wanting to meet that night. Dave was out of the country on a business trip. Richard sounded reasonable and reconciliatory over the phone. I already knew from one of his friends that he was leaving for the States in a few months. I agreed to meet him after my Law class and he came to pick me up at the university. He drove a white Volkswagen Beetle, his brother's, he said. Was I hungry, he had asked. Let's go somewhere special, he said, not waiting for my reply. We drove in silence, the radio blared some dancey tune. I felt tired, working full time and studying with a full load in law. I looked out the car window seeing the city in a different view from the low passenger seat of the Beetle.

I was not expecting it but at the same time I was not surprised when Richard drove the car through the open gates of one of the middle class motels that we used to frequent. The food there was good and the rooms were immaculately clean, and each suite had its own carport. Up to that point, I still had a soft spot in my heart for Richard. And the guilt I felt for being unfaithful to him was very strong. I had been blaming myself for everything. I thought that was how things should be.

"Why do we have to come here?" I asked, not moving from my seat.

"Because you like the food here, remember?" he said, and there was a tinge of tenderness in his usually impatient voice. I thought it strange. He got out of the car and said, "Come on."

I stayed put, trying to think. I had cheated on him with Dave, if something happened to us that night, would I be cheating on Dave? I did not hear the passenger door open, all I felt was the abrupt pulling of my arm.

His face was grave, he wasn't smiling. "Come on! Let's go inside!"

Although hesitant, I got out of the car. He was holding my right upper arm rather tightly and I asked him to let go. He started to kiss my neck, his one arm around my waist. "I love you," he said. "I love you. Don't you love me anymore?" I started to cry, from the guilt. From confusion. From fear.

I went with him inside the motel suite. I sat on a chair by the formica topped dining table in the ante room of the suite. The air conditioning cold and darkness of the room seemed ominous. My fears were alleviated, temporarily, when he sat down beside me, put his arm around my shoulders and rubbed my arm comfortingly while he browsed the menu card and gave the waiter our order.

While we waited for the food to arrive, he made a small talk about the people at the office, what they've been up to, some sending me their regards, etc. The food arrived after fifteen minutes. He told the room boy he would take care of things. The room boy left and Richard was quick to lock the door. I picked on my food while he talked in between bites. I waited until there was a lull in the conversation.

"Sonia told me you're leaving for the States. How come you never told me anything about this?"

"I have mentioned that to you quite a few times," he said, his eyes on the food.

"No, you never have. If Sonia didn't slip about it, I wouldn't have known." I stabbed a piece of the meat I had cut and examined it. "All these times, you never had any intention of..." I let my sentence trail.

"I didn't want you to stick it out with me just for that," he said, in what I thought was a most casual way. I felt my ears and my face redden.

"Just for what? The chance to live in the States?" His head jerked when I raised my voice. "How many times did we talk about that topic? I meant it when I said I never want to go to the States. How dare you think that I am just hanging around just so I could have that opportunity."

"I plan on coming back for you."

"I have means of going to the States, but I refuse to use those means, because I don't want to use those means. I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO THE STATES! Why can you not believe that?"

I stood up and grabbed my bags. In an instant he was on his feet, tightly gripping my arms. I was too hurt, inside and outside, to resist.

"You insulted me by thinking I am here just so you can take me to the States. Hah! Take somebody else, take Sonia maybe. Something's happening between the two of you, I know."
I felt a slap in my face. I broke down trying to brave the pain. I tried to pull my arm away from his grip. He put his arms around me and tried to kiss me, at the same time half-dragging me to the bedroom. From the strain of work, school, home and relationship problems, I passed out. When I came to, I was naked, Richard was putting on his pants and then threw my clothes at me. I felt exhausted and my whole body hurt. I felt sticky in my groin and throbbed inside. When I realized what happened, I sat up on the bed.

"You didn't use a condom?"

"Do you let Dave use a condom?"

I stormed out of the bedroom into the bathroom, and washed myself until my skin hurt and the little soap bar broke into pieces. He came in and pulled me up from the tub, gently this time and wrapped me with the thick motel towel. I didn't say anything. I wasn't thinking of anything. All I wanted was to put my clothes back on and leave. He even helped me put on my clothes, but made a remark: "You're no longer as tight as you used to be, you know." I ignored him. He slipped his hand underneath my skirt but I pushed him away.

I asked him to have someone call for a taxi for me. He needn't bring me home. He called the operator and asked for a taxi.

The next day, he called me at the office when I was about to leave for school. He asked how I was feeling. I said I was fine.


In Criminal Law that night, the class deliberated on the topic of "Rape, What Constitutes Rape and What is Statutory Rape." The irony was that I got top marks in the discussion period.

facing my demons - 4

We all have demons that at some point in our lives we must face.

“Will you please stop crying?” he said after a few minutes. “He might think I'm doing something bad to you.”

He jerked his head in the direction of the waiter who peeked at us from his POS machine. I also noticed that a man wearing a necktie, sort of an office manager type person, came around and had a hushed conversation with the waiter.

Still sobbing, but calmer, I gave a small laugh. “I know,” I said, “if something happens to me later on, they’ll be giving your description to the cops. That's how it is around here.”

We sat at the table silently for a long time, I tried to stop my sobbing and Richard kept staring at me.

“Did you ever get married?” he asked after a while. “Sam said he couldn’t figure out whether you are or not. Sutherland wasn’t Dave’s name, if I remember it right.”

“I never believed in marriage. I only allowed myself to believe in it when we were dating. Before we started dating, I had two minds about marriage. Seen too many bad ones. And with Dave, I figured it’s much easier to leave when there are no ties or binds. So I can go when I want to go.” I put emphasis on the ‘when I’ by articulating it a tad louder.

“May I ask you something?” he said quietly.

I looked at him, trying to guess what he might want to ask me.

“Are you hungry?” he asked and smiled. I chuckled.

I thought about it for a long while before I gave him a shrug of my shoulders. He looked around.

“But maybe we should just stay here, there’s not a lot of people. It’s more quiet.”

Another shrug.

He called the waiter and told him we were going to order. We decided on a vegetarian pizza. All the while, Richard stared at me. I knew he was searching for something in the way he stared. Whenever I met his gaze, I would only smile.

Then when we were almost finished eating, he cleared his throat and asked, “Did you have any children?”

It was not an unusual question for people to ask after not seeing one another for thirty years. But the question felt loaded. Somehow I knew there was more to it than what I was hearing - something I could not quite put my finger on.

I drew a deep sigh, looked at him then looked around. He was waiting for an answer.

I sipped my iced tea. The answer wasn't a hard one, but there was something in the back of my mind that was screaming at me and I couldn't understand why.

"Why do you ask?" I finally asked back. "Why do you want to know?"

He started to say something, I could hear him clearly, but I couldn't understand. Something in my mind exploded. What came out of my mouth sounded too strange for me.

"You son of a bitch," I said. "You fucking raped me!"

Richard sat frozen, his jaws rigid and his eyes went dark.

facing my demons - 3

We all have demons that at some point in our lives we must face.

I recognized Richard right away. His hairline receded a bit and he gained weight on his waistline. He still wore glasses.

I pretended to be busy working on my laptop on a table at the farthest end of the restaurant. I wore my Jackie Onassis sunglasses and I had my hair up. I had my hair curled so the stray strands not caught by the large clip fell on my face. The sun shone brightly and sunlight flooded the restaurant. Richard looked in my direction, hesitated before settling on the table at the opposite end of the room. I doubt he could see my eyes looking at him as my head was slightly bowed looking at my laptop.

I had my cellphone on vibrate so that when it rang, the water in my drinking glass stirred. I picked it up as I looked outside. It was Richard.

“Is that you?” he asked not waiting for me to say hello.

“It depends,” I said. “Is that you?” then I smiled and lifted my head so that my face was facing towards him. “Are you here? I’m at the very end of the restaurant, on the corner. Right outside me is a fountain.”

He hang up without saying anything. Then he stood up and walked towards me. He wasn’t smiling. I was.

“Hi,” I tried to put some cheer in my voice, although I almost swallowed my tongue from nervousness.

“How are you?” he asked in Tagalog when he was almost near my table.

I stood up and held out my hand to shake his. I was determined for a tight grip but his was tighter and I said “Ouch!” as I pressed my hand onto my left hand. “Aw!”

“I was fine before you crushed my finger bones,” I said smiling and wincing at the same time. “How are you?” I said as we sat down.

“You still look the same, although you’ve gained just a little bit of weight. You haven’t aged much.”

“Thank you,” I said, sing-songing the ‘you’.

The waiter showed up and I asked him what he would like to drink. He replied still in Tagalog, “a little bit later on”. He was looking at me intently, at my eyes through my dark glasses. “Can you take off your sunglasses?”

“It’s too bright in here. And I'm prone to migraine...” I said as I slid my sunglasses up my hair. I felt naked as he stared at my face. When he didn’t say anything, I said, “Please don’t look at me like I am the ugliest person on earth.” I heard my voice crack just a little bit. I swallowed.

“You’re still pretty,” he said. He pushed himself on the backrest of the chair, his eyes never leaving my face.

I stretched my lips and raised my eyebrows in a playful manner before I thanked him for the compliment. I closed my laptop and put it in my briefcase.

“So why did you want to see me?” he asked.

“I want to mend fences with you, Richard.” I took my glass of iced tea and sipped at it. “I may not have long to live and I don’t want to die knowing someone is angry with me.”

“Why, are you sick or something? Sam said you were okay.”

“Of course I’m okay. And I’m not sick. I’m just thinking, I am old and I can’t wage any more wars with anyone. So I want to call a truce with you.”

“I came back for you. I was looking for you.” His voice was grave.

I stretched my mouth again and drew a deep sigh.

“I lived in the same place all my life before I left for Canada. When I moved, my brother and my father were left there. If you had gone to Malibay, you would have known where I was.” I shook my head a little bit. “Maybe you didn’t look hard enough.”

His face became dark, his eyes burning. “I did, I went back to the office twice and no one could tell me where you were. Maybe you told them not to tell your whereabouts.”

“I never asked anyone to do that.” My voice was now flat and quiet.

It was a relief when the waiter came and asked if we are ready to order. I smiled at Richard and asked him, “Are we going to have dinner or do we want just drinks?”

He hesitated. “I’m okay,” he said to the waiter.

“Beer?” I asked him. “Do you not drink beer anymore?”

“No.”

“Give me another glass of iced tea, please.” The waiter nodded and went off.

“Sam told me you’re now happily married with two daughters. I’m so glad for you…”

“Are you?” he cut me off. “Are you really glad for me?”

I met his gaze and I leaned slightly across the table and told him, “Yes, I am. And I expected you to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you. To find the woman who would make you a happy man. Why is that so hard for you to believe? Do you really think that I am so evil that I can’t wish that for you?”

He pushed himself back, maybe surprised at my display of aggressiveness. When we were young, I would never have dreamed of doing such a thing. I was subservient to all his wishes. But we were no longer young now, and I obviously had grown out of the subservient shell.

“Well, do you?” I said as I slowly leaned back on my own chair.

I suddenly felt very emotional and almost on the verge of crying. My face felt flushed. I drew another deep sigh and took another sip of the iced tea. My hands shook, as evidenced by the tiny clinking of the ice cubes in my glass.

“I know I did something very wrong and I’m ready to ask for forgiveness. But you must be big enough to admit that all of that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t set out to be unfaithful to you, but have you ever asked yourself that maybe you did something that made me act that way? I say I am not perfect, I wasn’t perfect. But did we do enough to correct whatever was wrong with that relationship?”

He didn’t say anything. He sat there, staring at me and like the old times, I could not tell nor read what was in his mind. Maybe that was what was wrong with us then.

“In any case,” I said now with a much calmer voice, “all I want is to be friends with you. You can tell me now, how horrible a person I was. But when you go back home, I want you to think how you can forgive me for whatever sin I had committed, and I would do the same, because, Richard, you did some horrible things to me, too. You probably don’t remember, but you did.”

“Like what?” he said quietly.

“I won’t enumerate them now, because I tried and succeeded in forgetting them. All I want is for you to say, you’re okay, and you can forgive me for whatever it was I had done, and we can be friends again. We don’t have to be chummy-chummy friends, but friends nonetheless.”

“I loved you. I loved you with all my heart.”

I thought he said “loved”. After all it was in the past.

“I loved you then, too, with all my heart. I gave myself to you unconditionally. For God’s sakes, I almost gave up my life for you.”

He looked at me, his eyes inquiring. I held up my left hand and pointed at my wrist. I jabbed my wrist twice. “I didn’t want to live anymore if you didn’t want me anymore. Do you remember that?” His hands moved to grab my hand which I withdrew and placed on my lap, rubbing my wrist.

I looked away. “You know, I had buried that episode so deep in my mind that I never recalled it until after I talked to Sam. I have never told anyone about it. Maybe that was why I never came back to the office. Maybe if I went back there, I would remember what I did that time. It was a horrible thing to do – trying to take my life for a man. A person should never have to do that. I know when I die, that would be the number one thing on St. Peter’s list of my lifetime offences. If there’s a hell, I’m pretty sure that that is where I'm headed because of that.”

It was too late for me to realize my tears were falling down my cheeks.

“I proved myself to you so many times. I gave myself to you. I always believed then that the man I gave myself to was the man I would marry. But I saw no sign of that from you. I felt cheap, used and abused. And yet you thought that I would only hang on to you for the chance of going to the States. You never had the nerve to tell me you were going to leave me. You never paid me the attention you gave your friends. You never gave me the importance I deserved. You said you loved me, but aside from getting me to bed, you didn’t really show it. If I had strayed, did you think I did it on my own? Did you think I planned it?”

Our waiter came. Seeing my face, he tried to sound cheerful. “Folks, anymore drinks? You guys ready to order?”

Richard asked for a beer, any kind he said. The waiter hastily left.

He stared at me for a long time without saying anything while I tried to stop from crying and fixed my face with the linen napkin. But the tears just kept flowing. Tears that have been kept back from thirty years ago. I did not expect it. I honestly thought I would just ask for forgiveness, be told we can be friends, have a decent meal and then part ways. I wasn’t even expecting for him to pay for the meal. I would not even expect him to call me back to ratify us being friends again. All I wanted was to make peace. For my own peace of mind, and probably his.

facing my demons - 2

We all have demons that at some point in our lives we must face.

I have forgotten this part of my life. I am shocked having just remembered this incident and I could not even recall what year it happened. But I know it happened. I remember having examined my wrist once and wondered if the scars would disappear. Most of them are gone. I look at my wrist now and see that there is one remaining - one very thin line of scar blending in with the lines of my skin, that was the first cut I made. I shudder.

I am a suck at physical pain. I can't even deal with a paper cut without a lot of drama, and Band-aid! But my agony at the time was so overwhelming and I do not have any explanation why I did what I did. All I know is this is how it feels when your heart gets broken. It is true: you suddenly lose your desire to live.

But after that incident, I have learned to keep my heartaches and any emotional suffering inside. I have built this wall that no one can penetrate, not even me. And I have kept this incident at the very back of my mind, I surprised myself even now that I remember.

I have forgotten that there was a point in my life when I actually held the belief that having sex with the man you are in love with had to be given with a lot of thought and consideration. I believed then that when you do give yourself to that man, it was because you know it's forever. And that's how it was when I gave myself to Richard. I had thought then that he was "the one". But when he said we were over and that he didn't want me anymore in his life, only because of one very trivial thing, my young mind could not accept it. And so I thought my life was over.

facing my demons - 1

We all have demons that at some point in our lives we must face.

Blood oozes out as the little shaving blade slides across my wrist. My head reels and everything else seems to blur and move away from me. I make a second cut, but the blade is too dull to go any deeper. So I cut my wrist a third time. And again. And again. Each cut feels more painful than the last. I don't want to live anymore, what is the point! This is the thought that runs through my mind but even that thought becomes blurry as the pain manifests itself more.

Something seemed to spark somewhere and I was afraid to look. I imagine this Almighty God that I worship looming over me, His hands crossed against his chest, His eyes seemingly angry. The look in His face seems to say "What are you doing?". And I know I don't want to look at Him. I feel so ashamed for what I have done and for what I am doing right now.

Finally the tears come, maybe from the pain, maybe from the guilt, maybe from the fear of this imagined image of God. But as I make one final cut, the pain becomes so unbearable, it makes me shriek. At the same time, Edna enters the washroom and hears me. Earlier, I have asked to borrow her blade, the one we use to sharpen our eyebrow pencils and eyeliners. As she looked at my puffy eyes, she has asked if I was okay and has been hesitant to give me the blade, but she did anyway.

"What are you doing?" I hear her say. I sob uncontrollably. I hear the dragging of a chair. Standing on the chair, Edna's face shows up at the top of the door of the stall I am in, her face in horror as she sees the blood in my hands and arm. "Oh, my God!" she yells and bends down to open the latch, kicks the chair aside and grabs the blade from my hand. I am too tired to resist. She hastily wipes the blade on her skirt and carefully places it in her pocket. She takes her handkerchief and uses it to wrap my wrist. She pulls me towards the door, opens it, and pokes her head out making sure no one was around in the hallway to see us. We walk the few yards to our office and once inside, she ushers me towards her boss' private office.

Mr. T stands up looking confused. Edna pushes me, gently, to sit on one of the chairs. She grabs Mr. T's handkerchief to augment the wrapping of my wrist.

"Richard?" Mr. T asks. Edna nods, her eyes and nose red as she tries to control her tears.

Mr. T picks up the telephone and dials a number. "You come up here; bring your first aid kit...no, don't send her. I want YOU to come up...there's an accident, there's blood and I want YOU to take care of it...okay." He puts the phone back to its cradle and watches as Edna wipes my face with Kleenex. "Doctora is on her way." After a while, he walks towards the door. "I'm going to talk to him." I start to get up to protest but Edna holds me down.

As Mr. T opens the door, the company doctor, an elderly lady we call Doctora, enters. My boss, Althea, a large, tall woman slips inside with Doctora. She looks at me, her eyebrows furrowed, mouth open.

"What...?" Althea starts to say then stops and slumps herself on Mr. T's office chair. She sits there staring at me, her face ashen. She fishes out a cigarette from the pack that Mr. T has left on his desk and lights it, not taking her eyes off me. I couldn't look at anyone's eyes.

Edna quietly leaves the room still crying.

Doctora examines my wrist, shaking her head as she does. She brushes my wrist with iodine and I cringe from the stinging pain. With alcohol soaked cotton, she cleans my arm. She takes a small syringe, squirts the liquid through the needle and stabs my arm with it.

"That's to make you relax." She places a bandage around my wrist and hand. "I am not going to ask you why you did this," she says, her voice low but firm and deliberate, "but I want you to think hard about this and explain this to yourself." Her voice cracks.

Althea, silently sitting in front of me, sniffs then blows her nose on a piece of Kleenex.

"Here," Doctora says to her as she gives Althea a tiny yellow pill: Valium. "I figured you might need this."

Veronica's story: Jealous

Exam week, especially on its last day, was one of the best days in high school. Some students had hurriedly finished their exams because they planned to go to the park with their friends, or see a movie, or just stay out of school grounds with their friends.

Veronica mostly stayed around the school after helping out her teachers mark the other classes' papers. She had seen Jason earlier practicing with his team mates. She had watched him from the library window and hoped he didn't see her. She felt regret that nothing has come out of his invitation to see his game. He was painfully shy and she was awkward at taking the first step.

This afternoon, Veronica was in front of the canteen, in her school uniform, together with her friend Cynthia, the one who always spoke to Jason, the one who would talk to him like they knew each other forever. Veronica would just stay a few feet back, and even when he spoke to her, she would smile and Cynthia would reply. Today, the two girls were talking to a young boy, a well-dressed mestizo whose body language made it known that he was interested in Veronica. Veronica looked around as she spoke to him, and from the corner of her eyes, saw Jason looking down at them from the third floor hallway. She turned away so that all he could see of her was her back.

He watched them talking animatedly, sometimes bursting out laughing. It was obvious the boy adored Veronica. And Veronica seemed to enjoy the attention. He wondered who this boy was; he wanted to know. Cynthia's gaze found Jason and waved at him, which made the boy look up, too, and for a long while he thought they were looking at each other’s eyes. The boy seemed to tell him: I'm talking to her, you're not. Jason didn't like that smug smile on his face. Veronica turned her head halfway but immediately turned her head back.

“Veronica!” someone called from the end of the second floor hallway. Veronica looked up and waved, briefly looking at the caller. Then she made a move that made Jason angry inside and he didn’t know why. Veronica cocked her head nearer the boy’s face, nodded her head softly then laughed out loud, throwing her head back, her long pony tail swaying as she laughed. The boy laughed, too, and they both turned around to look up at him and they continued laughing.

“Veronica!” Jason suddenly yelled, his voice echoing as he did so. “Veronica!” he yelled again when she didn’t look right away. He turned on his feet and ran down the stairs as fast as he could. He didn’t see that she had turned around to look up at him, her eyes searching for him as she heard his voice calling her name, but he had disappeared.

She looked surprised when she found Jason standing right next to her.

“Hi, Jason,” she said smiling, a happy smile he had not seen before. “This is Jesse Jurado..." she paused, unable to control her laughter. "It’s so funny,” she laughed again, one hand cupping her mouth, her eyes disappearing as she did. “He wants to play basketball, too, like you.”

She tapped Jesse’s shoulders and Jason must've felt a tinge of envy for he had a serious look in his face.

“I told him he can be a guard!” and Veronica burst out laughing louder, stomping her feet on the ground, clutching her stomach.

Jesse Jurado, although obviously embarrassed, joined in her laughter and Jason understood what she tried to say and what they were laughing about. The boy Jesse was only a few inches taller than Veronica and would not have even qualified to join the school's basketball team.

A teacher called Veronica and asked her to go see her at the faculty room. Jesse walked with Veronica and Jason and Cynthia were left talking in front of the canteen. His eyes followed them as they walked towards the faculty, their shoulders almost touching. He saw Jesse touch Veronica's elbow as he let her go inside the faculty door first. Veronica looked back at Jason and Cynthia before she entered the door.

The next day, Veronica was watching the goings-on in the quadrangle from the second-floor hallway. Jason pretended he was passing by. Veronica pretended she didn't see him right away even though she was very much aware of his presence. Jason stopped and leaned on the ledge about three feet away from her where she could no longer pretend and ignore him. She turned her head and shyly said "Hi".

"Where's your friend?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

"Cynthia? She's gone home," she replied.

"No, your boyfriend from yesterday."

"Oh, Jesse? I don't know." Then she turned her head to look at him, "he's not my boyfriend. I have no boyfriend." Looking at Jason's face, her voice quivered and she felt her face flushing so she quickly returned her gaze at the quadrangle below. She didn't want him to know how she felt for him. "I have no time for boyfriends."

Jason stood near her while Veronica's heart fluttered. She wished she had something to say to him so that he would talk and he would stay longer. Jason didn't know what to say either.

The painful awkwardness and shyness that both were trying to endure ended when a friend of Jason's appeared from nowhere. Jason followed the friend without saying anything more to Veronica.

That night, Veronica found herself writing his name on her notebook. Jason Alexander. Jason Alexander.

Veronica: A Date with a Star

Richard looked at her, surprised she was so tiny, next to his tall frame.

She tried to stand tall, despite being only five feet. Stomach in, chest out, back straight, shoulders a little back, chin up, and smile. That was what the personality coach always told her to do.

Even when they sat next to each other she still had to look up at him. She was initially thrilled at the thought of having a date with him, a basketball star. Someone whom people get to see on TV. After all, he's handsome, he's popular, and rich. Not that it mattered. All she wanted was a picture with him that she can show off to her friends at the office.

They talked about many things: current events (good thing she liked to read the newspapers), music (Killing me Softly by Roberta Flack was the hit of the day, and they both liked classical music), movies, ambitions, school.

"So, who's your favourite basketball player?" he asked her as the waitress set their dessert plates.

"I don't know," she said shrugging her shoulders.

"Girls are agog over Francis or Atoy or Bobby."

"Nah, not me."

Then he asked her, "Tell me, do you like me enough to want me to be your boyfriend?"

The cheesecake was halfway to her mouth and she had to put her fork down.

"Are we being frank here?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, and she saw that his eyes were full of honesty.

She smiled, no longer shy, and dabbed her lips with the linen napkin from her lap.

"You're nice and everything..." she started to say.

"You've never been out of the country," he cut in, the deep set eyes glinting in the candle light, "and yet where did you say you learned to speak English this good? I swear you grew up either in the States or in Britain."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "In high school," she said, rather hesitatingly. "I was the oratorical champion. We had a subject called 'Speech 1' and my teacher taught us how to pronounce properly. We used the IPA, that's the International Phoenetic Alphabet."

"Is that in a lab with all those gadgets, headphones, what-have-you?" He looked at her through the rim of his wine glass.

She shook her head. "Just in the class, my teacher would just produce the sound herself. She was very good. We studied the symbols."

He nodded as he placed his glass down.

"So you were saying I am nice and everything. Sorry to have interrupted, I just had to ask."

"You're nice and everything, but you're not my type." She sheepishly covered her mouth with the napkin. "Sorry."

"Why am I not your type? You don't like basketball players?" He feigned hurt, putting his hand over his chest, but he was smiling.

"It's not that you're a basketball player. It is that you have so much..." she hesitated.

"What?" She got him curious.

"I don't like men with too much hair!" She brought her shoulders an inch up not knowing how else to react after her statement.

He bursted out laughing. "You mean I'm getting rejected for my body hair?"

"Nobody's getting rejected here," she said, "but..."

He reached out and placed his one long hairy arm around her shoulders, pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. He let his face linger for a brief while as he took on the scent of her long black hair and kissed her again.

"Thank you for being honest, V," he said as he let go of her, but his arm stayed on her shoulders a while longer. "I like you, I like your honesty. I think we can be friends."

She nodded. The cheesecake was good though, so she picked up her fork again and finished it.

"There was a boy in high school who was the basketball star of the varsity. I heard he's gone professional." She told Richard over coffee.

"He was your boyfriend?" he asked, his eyes teasing her.

"Almost, but not quite."

"Why almost? What's his name?"

"Jason. Apart from him asking me to watch him play, nothing ever came out of it. I wasn't really the most attractive girl in high school."

"High school is always different. But, believe me, you are a very attractive girl."

"But I'm not your type either, huh?" she said, her face blushing.

"Well, I haven't gone out with anyone as short as you. But I like you very much. I'd like to go on another date, if you would agree."

She gave him a look of shock. "You mean this is a date?!"

They both laughed and gave each other a high five.


A week later, a large bouquet of beautiful red and white roses arrived at her desk. She dialed Richard's number and told him she's allergic to flowers, did he mind if she gave it to the girls in the office? The next day, he sent her a big box of imported chocolates. She never dated Richard again nor seen him again in person, but every Christmas time, for the next seven years, he would send her gift baskets. There was always the same message: "To the unforgettable girl with the most beautifully scented hair. Love, Richard, your hairy admirer".

Veronica's point of view

I saw Jason at the school today, but he didn't see me.

I'm in college now, and he's in his last year in high school. He belongs there. He probably has forgotten about me by now. Boys move on quite easily. They forget easily. I am thankful for the memories I have of him, no matter how brief, no matter how flitting. I can't dwell on what was not there for too long, although I wish I had been bolder, that there have been more to remember.

Secretarial school is such a bore. Why can't these people learn how to type fast? But I'm thinking, if the school hires me right now, then I'd get to see Jason everyday. I can watch him play, and maybe we can re-start where we left off. But maybe it's not such a good idea to have a boyfriend who is in high school. I'd look like a cradle snatcher, although he's only a year younger than me, and that's not really a big gap.

I think the right thing to do is forget about him.

PROMPT: stranded in 1,000 words

I have been sitting here at the airport in Dubai for more than six hours and there is still no announcement as to when my Cathay Pacific flight to Hong Kong will leave. I, along with the several hundred passengers, were told that they are trying to fix the plane’s engine just to make sure there will be no problems when we fly. Great!

I go around the Duty Free Shops and buy an expensive Seiko watch, one with a thin rectangular face in gold casing and leather band. The face is black and blank apart from the gold hands and a small dot of gold for “12” and the Seiko logo on it. Three hundred American dollars, it cost me. I am looking at a Gucci wallet when I hear the announcement about my flight. I promptly give the wallet back to the Filipina saleslady and hurry to the Cathay Pacific counter to listen to the replay of the announcement. The end of the announcement says we will board in two hours.

I go to the washroom and freshen up, my toes barking from being squished inside my high heeled shoes since early this morning. When I go out the bathroom, I decide to take my shoes off and walk and wait around barefoot. I try to ignore the stares from the men by reading the newspapers and magazines I have gathered from my flight from Muscat to Dubai. A man comes up to me and asks if I am waiting for the same flight he is. He shows me his ticket and I tell him we are indeed on the same flight. He thanks me and I go back to the New Yorker magazine I am reading. He sits beside me, and I smell a wisp of aftershave, not at all offensive. When I close the magazine and about to shove it inside my carry-on, he speaks.

“Excuse me, I didn’t mean to be rude, but my name is Zachary Blakes.” He extends his hand at me and I shake his hand. He speaks good English but I note the slight accent that I could not yet figure out.

“Cynthia,” I say purposely not offering my last name.

"Are you going to Hong Kong, too, Cynthia?"

"Yes, but only to change plane. I am going to Manila."

"Ah, Manila!" he says with a big smile and nods his head. "I have Filipinos in my team. In fact they're over there, they're on the same flight. Nice men."

So since we are conversing, I ask: "What do you do around here?"

He's a mechanical engineer at Dubai's National Refinery. He is going to Hong Kong to do some shopping.

"But can I invite you to have some coffee with me while we talk?"

We go to one of the coffee shops, minding the announcements being broadcast. We talk for a good three hours, and by the time we finally hear the call for us to board our plane, one would think that Zach and I have known each other for a long time. He now hauls my carry-on luggage and I carry his jacket for him. We check our seats and find out he sits two rows in front of me and that the person sitting beside me is one of his "people" at the Refinery who is just glad to exchange seats with him so that we could sit together during the flight.


The flight is full and we are told we will be stopping in Bombay, as during the flight, one of the plane’s two engines goes dead. Zach and I are holding hands, his arms around me, and he whispers that should anything go wrong with the plane, we shall be together and that he will protect me whatever happens. Like if the plane just crashes anywhere in the mountains or in the Indian Ocean or wherever it is we are right now.

The plane makes it to Bombay safely and we are hauled to hotel shuttle buses for our overnight accommodation. The airline staff requests that while we can opt for a single room, can we please if at all possible find someone to partner with? A Filipina approaches me at the bus and tells me she does not know anybody in the flight and is afraid to stay alone in a hotel room, would I be so kind as to let her stay with me? I look at Zach, I see him about to shake his head to signal me to say no to the Filipina, but just as I am about to say no, a flight attendant approaches him, verified that he is indeed Zachary Blakes and tells him that the Refinery has made a special accommodation for him and he needs to check in at a special desk once we reach the hotel. I tell the Filipina she can stay with me.

The drive to the hotel is tedious. Our bus is not air conditioned and the heat, even though it is already after sunset, made us all feel clammy and sticky. Children on the side of the road run after buses asking the passengers for money. There is a certain smell of filth in the air from animal excrements all over the road. Reaching the hotel where there is a slight feel of air conditioning became quite a relief.

I lose Zach once we reach the hotel. Registration for the rooms became chaotic when more buses full of passengers from another flight arrive. Leonora, the Filipina, follows me around and insists on talking to me in the dialect even though I continue to speak in English.

In the room, there is only one bed and a pull out sofa. I ask Leonora where she wants to sleep. She says it is up to me. I let her have the bed. The phone rings and I answer it. It is Zach. He would like us to go down and have our dinner. I tell him I will wash up first. I tell Leonora I will be having dinner downstairs and she should go, too. She wants to come with me. I give her the other key to the room. I tell her I have to dine with a friend.
Zach knocks just as I am about to leave. He is holding a bottle of Port, wanting us to have an aperitif. I told him port is an after-dinner drink. Instead, he grabs and kisses me, his hand all over my back and buttocks. Leonora stands by the window watching us. I break away from Zach and it is then he notices Leonora, apologizes and looks at me inquiringly.

“Let’s go have dinner, then we discuss the port afterwards.” I grab his arm and we get out of the hotel room.

Do I believe in fate? Do I believe in karma? Zachary Blakes is not my type of man, he does not possess the sophistication that have been the characteristics of the men I have so far dated. He comes across as someone from the other side of the tracks but came into big money so he was able to switch sides. My mother once told me that class is not dependent on money or status in society. Zach has that non-elegance about him. But no matter he is good looking and I tell myself that if I will have a one-night stand with him, which at this time I am about ready to do, and I get pregnant, I probably would not regret it.

"My suite is large," he says over dinner. He looks at Leonora opposite us on the table. "Leonora can stay in your room and should be able to rest without interruption. So why don't you stay with me in my suite."

I am about to say "Yes," when Leonora interjects. "But I am afraid to stay alone in the room. I would like to stay with Ma'am Cynthia."

There goes my one-night stand.

Benjamin series: mid-term exams

Benjamin and I sat facing each other, studying for our mid-term exams due in an hour, his in Taxation, mine in Spanish. The way he shifted so often in his seat, I knew he could not concentrate on his studies. I couldn't, too, but I pretended otherwise. Sometimes, I'd glance at him and I'd catch him stealing a glance at me.

"That's enough bullshit," he said after a while.

"Huh?"

"We both know we can't concentrate. I just want to look at you. That's all I want to do." He laughed, his eyes glistened as he did. He winked at me and I giggled.

"Please," I said. "I need to perfect this exam. I had one mistake during the first term exams. I've got to perfect this test!" I distorted my face and regretted it immediately. How could I show an ugly face to my new boyfriend who thought I was the prettiest girl in the world?

"You're okay," Benjamin said. He stood up from his chair, slapped his study notes on one hand and stood beside me, stroking my long hair. "You'll ace the test."

I closed my eyes and recited in my mind the conjugation of the verb "tenir". I felt his warm breath in my ears as he whispered "I love you, Cyn."

There went "tenir" up in air.


At eight thirty, Benjamin found me sitting on a concrete bench in the volleyball court. I had finished my exams in less than thirty minutes, about an hour ago. I hung around waiting for him.

"Hey," he said even though he was about ten metres away from me. "I just saw Professor Garcia." Two male students passed by him and they exchanged pleasantries even as he walked towards me. "You did it!"

"I did what?" I asked.

"He saw me coming out of my Tax class and he said he'd checked your exam and you were perfecto!"

"I don't believe you," I said. "He couldn't have checked my paper right away."

"I saw you when you left your room. You were there for less than thirty minutes." He was saying this rather cooly. He sat beside me on the bench. "I think I might have failed my exam, because all I wanted was to finish it to catch up with you." He stroked my back. "I didn't want your admirers talking to you lest they steal you from me."

"Really, you didn't do well?" I said as I put on a dismayed look on my face.

Professor Garcia passed by and saw us.

"Did you tell her?" he motioned to Benjamin.

"Yes, and she wouldn't believe it!"

"Well," Professor Garcia said turning to me, "You aced your exam. Very well done." He tapped my shoulder, then let his hand linger.

"Sir! Sir," Benjamin said, playfully, "That's my girl's shoulder you're holding."

They both laughed. Professor Garcia said his goodbye after congratulating me one last time.

"Te amo," Benjamin whispered. I smiled and looked at him and he winked at me.

"Your Spanish isn't so bad either," I said.

PROMPT - comatose

You wake up not feeling anything. You see the sun shining through the window blinds. You hear the sounds of cars outside, the footsteps of the people in the apartment above, the creaking of the floors, and water from the taps running from somewhere in the building. You try to move but your body feels heavy, like a building rests on top of you and prevents you from moving. You open your mouth and say something, but no sound comes out. You try to clear your throat but you only felt the pain, constricting the muscles inside your mouth, your throat, your chest. You wonder, “What’s going on?” You try to raise your arm to look at your hands, but it feels like you are pinned down. Then it seems a heavy cloud is blanketing the sky and the sunshine fades, the vertical shadows of the blinds on the walls vanishes. In fact the walls seem to fade themselves, moving away from you, from your body.

A dark shadow, the shape of a man, enters the room. It’s Andrew and you open your mouth and call his name. He looks worried as he talks on the cordless phone. You can’t understand what he is saying. Once again, you call him but he ignores you, even as he sits next to you on the bed, holds your hand and caresses your fingers. Everything is moving away, fading. You start to scream and only then do you notice that you can’t hear yourself. No sound emanates from you. And everything is fading away. Fast.


Once again you wake up. It's a cold snowy day. The ice that has formed around the glass windows indicates it's cold outside. You see snow flakes falling. At first you don’t know where you are but you are pretty sure this is not your bedroom, you are not lying on your bed. The air is filled with sterile smell, like alcohol or some cleaning stuff. You cannot smell it, but you know. You just know. There are flowers, most of them wilted in vases that you are pretty sure are not yours either. You are confused and start to get up, but you find you cannot move. You hear sounds, beeping, hissing, ticking and then see tubes and wires. You ask yourself are those connected to my body or is my body connected to them? And then you realize you are in a hospital room.

You hear footsteps, like the sound your rubber shoes used to make on cement floors, with an annoying squeal. A young woman appears. She holds a clipboard and a stethoscope dangles from her neck. She hums a melody you’ve never heard before, but pleasant to the ear. You smile but she does not acknowledge it. Instead she grabs your wrist and takes your pulse. She listens for a few seconds then jots something down on her clipboard. She looks at your face, then shakes her head.

Another woman, much older, arrives.

"This is the new patient?" she asks the younger woman who answers Yes.

"Goodness, how old is she?"

"Forty-one."

"Do you think she will recover?"

The young woman shrugs her shoulders. "Who knows? What are you doing here?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to see this new patient. I want to pray for her. I want to thank God that at least it's not me."

They both stand there on either side of you.

"Do you think she can hear or understand what's going on?" the older woman asks.

The younger woman shakes her head, "I don't think so. She's in a total coma."

i always run away

I went to Europe that summer. No matter that I only had a visitor's visa, I worked at odd jobs, things I wasn't trained for or experienced in. In Luxembourg, I waitressed at a restaurant and attracted the American tourists who were glad to see someone who spoke their English. In Bruxelles, I typed manuscripts for a writer-translator. In Paris, I did retail work at a lace shoppe and tutored a couple of kids to speak English.

Benjamin got a job in Saudi Arabia. He had asked his sister to send me his address. I wrote him a rather casual letter, but he never replied. A year later, while in Bournemouth, England, I learned he had gone back home and did not renew his contract.

When my visa for Canada came, I wrote to him one more time but my letter came back. I've established my life in Toronto, got into a relationship, took another diploma course to add to my ever expanding resume and immersed myself in work, generally. Once in a while, I had thought of Benjamin, wondered how he had made out after coming back from Saudi Arabia. After ten years, I decided to write to him. It was his youngest sister who wrote to me a few months after I had sent my letter. Benjamin and his family were fine. With the money he earned in Saudi Arabia, he bought a property and built a house for his mother and his family. However, his mother had died, as well as an older sister.

A few weeks after I received his sister's letter, I also received a letter from Benjamin. He thanked me for my birthday greetings and sent his greetings, too, although he admitted that with the many years that had passed, he had actually forgotten my exact birthday. Knowing he is fine, I kept his letter but did not reply. I kept in touch with his sister, though.


In the winter of 1999, after fifteen years, I decided it's time to pay the old country a visit. His sister met me at the airport. I tried so hard to not mention anything about Benjamin even though deep inside I wanted to. From what his sister told me, Diana, after all these years, was still jealous of me, and that Benjamin, in deference to her, had kept all the letters secret.

It was a surprise when one evening, Benjamin came over to our old family house where I had been interviewing my father for a story. He had not changed, except for a few lines under the eyes, a few white hairs on his temple, he still looked almost the same as when we last met more than 20 years before. The sparkle in his eyes, the mischievous smile, the same lithe body, and he could still make my heart beat in a funny way.

My cousin Regine was also visiting. We were sitting around the dining table and Benjamin and I couldn't help but stare at each other. Regine was saying something. I could hear her, but couldn't understand what she was saying. Suddenly, she stood up.

"Hey, guys, you better talk this out. You still have unresolved issues." That was the last thing she said before she left the dining room and went to the kitchen.

When we were alone, I asked Benjamin, "What are our unresolved issues?"

We both laughed. Giggled was more like it. My sister, Charlotte, came in. "You two are acting like you were twenty-five years ago." She was quite amused by the way she grinned. "Exactly the same way. Ah, true love."

"Will you stop it?" I said, but I was still laughing.

After two hours, Benjamin signified his intention to leave. I walked him down to the compound's gate. It was when I noticed that we were holding hands. That night, the air was still and humid and there was no moon, but his eyes still sparkled from the faint light coming from the neighbor's windows. As he rubbed the small of my back, I cupped his face in my hands and gave him a peck on his lips.

"Oh, my God, Cynthia," and I felt his grip on my shoulders. He bent down so that our foreheads touched for a long while. I felt the warmth of his breath. I thought I heard his heart beat. Or maybe it was my own.

"I love you, Cyn," he whispered. "I have not stopped loving you."

"Please don't stop loving me," I said. I patted his cheek lightly and freed myself from our embrace. I unlatched and opened the heavy metal gate. He went out and all I can remember is the sad smile on his face and the happy sparkle in his eyes.

fate, fickle-minded fate

It had been two years and Lee still had not divorced Rosaire but we continued to live together. My affair with Benjamin fizzled on its own, mostly because I had gone back to school to study law. My quest for more education made him so insecure, and school work left me with no time for anything else. Somewhere I read that "absence makes the heart grow fonder". But with the length of time that we haven't seen each other, things switched to "out of sight, out of mind".

And Lee, he immersed himself in work and travelled more frequently. The demands of school gradually made it impossible for me to accompany him on his travels. In my articling year, we found it easier to live apart and slowly we saw less and less of each other. Eventually, our affair tapered off, too.

But fate wasn't finished yet with Benjamin and me. A chance meeting was all it took and the ebbing embers suddenly got re-ignited.


Odette and I had spent more than three hours at Rustan's native crafts department to find a gift for one of our departing expatriates. Something distinctively Filipino. At the same time elegant enough to fit in a European home. I had been avoiding coming to this store, but Odette insisted on buying "just the best". The item we chose was a set of wooden bowls. The saleslady suggested we might want to have them engraved and proceeded to call the person in charge of engraving.

"Is that Ben Suarez?" I asked.

"Why, yes, ma'am," she replied. "Do you know him?"

"He's a friend."

"Well," Odette said, "does that mean we might get a big discount?"

And there he was, looking dapper, as always. Smiling like he was the happiest person on earth with that special sparkle in his eyes. The eyes that widened when he recognized me.

"C!" he exclaimed, ignoring the saleslady as she explained what we wanted to have done with the wooden bowls. "Two years! What happened to you?"

"Has it been two years?" I asked. "Time flies, doesn't it?"

"Aherm!" Odette said. "I hate to break some news to you two, but there are other people around you."

"Ben, this is Odette, my friend and co-worker. Odette, this is Ben." They shook hands and Odette picked up from where the saleslady stopped with her explanation about the wooden bowls. But Benjamin wasn't listening.

"Why did you stop calling me? Every time I called your office, your secretary always told me you weren't in, so I gave up."

"There you go," I said, "you gave up."

He winked at me.

"How's Lee?" he asked as he picked up one of the bowls in the set and examined it.

"He's fine."

"Who's Lee?" Odette interjected. I glanced at her. I had never told Odette about Lee except that I had previously lived in with an American boyfriend.

"The American," I said. "Ben, how much would it cost us to engrave two-letter initials on these bowls?" I had to take the initiative to get the conversation to the matter at hand.

Benjamin looked at the price tag on the box, tapped the bowls, all five pieces of them, and without hesitation, replied, "It's free."

Odette gasped. In delight.

"There's a catch, 'though," he said laughing.

Odette laughed, too. "Whatever, we take the catch, or shall I say, Cynne takes the catch." She poked my back, discreetly.


The catch was we will take Benjamin to dinner. At the last minute, Odette bailed out.

"Plus," she said, "All he really wants to be with is you."


Sakura, the Japanese restaurant where we ended up going that night, boasted having the best tempura meal in the city. Lots of people, mostly expatriates and American tourists. For twenty pesos that Benjamin slipped into the waiter's shirt pocket, we ended up sitting at a quiet corner table.

"You were hiding from me," he started as soon as the waiter had left after taking our orders. "You avoided me."

"I didn't hide from you nor did I avoid you. I got busy."

"For two years?"

"Let's face it, Ben. You weren't exactly a free man, and I had a commitment with Lee."

"You could at least have said goodbye."

"Goodbye is so final. I didn't want any goodbye's. Besides, I felt guilty. I don't want to be a home wrecker."

an affair within an affair

At some point we all wake up from a dream, whether it's good or bad. Guilt has a way of doing that to you. It eats you up, consumes you. When there is still some senses left in you, you give in to that guilt and try to correct the wrong you know you are doing.

One morning I woke up to the fact that no matter how much in love Benjamin and I were, he was still married and had a family and they were his priority. He went back home everyday no matter what it was we did. That was where he belonged. I hated thinking that I was just a "side trip" but the truth boiled down to that fact. I could have him, easily - take him away from Diana and their children. But would I want to be the one to have to wreck little Daniela's heart? I didn't really care about Diana; technically she "stole" Benjamin from me. But my conscience told me Daniela and her two little brothers would bear the hurt if I were to assert myself. No, I told myself I couldn't do that.

How could I move forward if I was still living in the past? It took me long and hard to realize that I belonged to Benjamin's past and he belonged in mine.


Lee had reserved a table at the Palace dining room of the Shang-ri La Hotel in Singapore. We had flown earlier in the morning and he had asked me to find a suitable dress for dinner. I chose a knee-length sheath red haltered dress and accessorized it with a Jackie Kennedy pearl necklace and tiny pearl stud earrings, bare arms and white high heels. As the maitre'd ushered me to our table where Lee sat waiting, two gentleman, sitting in separate tables, stood up and vowed as I passed. Another one sitting at the bar doffed his hat.

"I saw that," Lee whispered with an amused grin as the maitre'd held the chair for me.

"And I saw YOU!" I teased him. "You were like a peacock strutting your stuff."

"I had to make a claim right away!" he laughed. "You are lovely by the way. That's probably why the jerks there couldn't help but admire you."

"I thought we had company, clients perhaps?" I said when we were alone.

"Just us," he said quietly.

Something was up, I sensed it. Expensive trip, expensive hotel, expensive dinner. He's dumping me, I thought. That's when I realized I had been playing fire for too long, that I was actually having two affairs at the same time, with two wonderful men. Was it really possible that one could be in love with two people at the same time? How would I feel about Benjamin if Lee and I were through? Or vice versa?

We ordered our favourite wine, and our appetizer. When he lifted his wine glass, I lifted mine and clinked his glass.

"Spill it, babe," I said with a wry smile. I was pretty sure he was dumping me.

I was wrong. And I was shocked.

"Let's get married," he said and it felt like a bomb.

We would go to the States and he would file a divorce against his wife. Then we would marry. He wanted to make an honest woman out of me. He wanted us to have a life. He wanted to have me exclusively.

"What do you mean exclusively?" I said, pretending I was hurt and insulted.

"I mean just 'us'. You and me." No more Rosaire or the thought of her standing between us. I would bear his name. And his child. If I wanted to have his child.

Only then did I notice the little black velvet box on top of my plate setting. Inside, there was a solitaire ring, a white gold band with very fine feligree etchings and a solitary diamond. He took the ring from the box, took my hand and slipped the ring in my finger.

"Marry me, Cynthia," he said softly.

I stared at the ring in my finger. It was the simplest piece of jewelry that Lee had ever given me in our five years of living together. It was also the most beautiful.

"Why must we fix something that is not broken? Haven't I proved myself to you in all these five years?" I asked. He tightened his grip on my hands. "Why don't we do this step by step, the first of which is for you to divorce Rosaire first, then let's take it from there."

"Was that a 'no'?" I saw the disappointment in his eyes.

"It's not a 'no'. But I will say 'yes' when you are already free to take my yes."

"the love you give and the love you make"

Benjamin's mother sat on a chair in the living room. I walked over to her and kissed her hand. She smiled and asked me to sit down.

"Thank you for helping Ben and his family." Her smile was sincere, her eyes had the same twinkle in Benjamin's, only hers betray the years of hardship of bringing together a family of seven children all by herself. Her husband died when Benjamin was a young boy.

Little Daniela had just come back from playing and when she saw me, she rushed to say "Hi".

"How are you?" I said as I patted the top of her head.

"I'm good. I"m so glad you came back." She looked at her mother who quietly poured Coke on a glass with small cubes of ice. Diana ignored her.

I held out a small tin of shortbread cookies to Daniela who eyed the shiny tin happily as she let out a short gasp.

"Share with your brothers, okay?"

The two Mrs. Suarez sat on separate chairs opposite each other, the older making small talk, mostly thanking me for my help and briefly chastising the younger one for not showing more appreciation. I was about to say something when Benjamin emerged from the bedroom. He hobbled towards an unoccupied chair but Diana stood up for him to take her chair.

From the looks in her eyes, one could see that Mrs. Suarez's favorite child is Benjamin. I understood that she gave birth to Benjamin after her family converted to their present religion. They were not rich but they were comfortable and I understood from their stories that the elders at their church had helped them a lot. This was why it was important that Benjamin married someone within the faith. Diana was the clear choice when she promptly converted to their faith. Not the obscure girl from a Catholic family.

A few weeks had passed before I saw Benjamin again. I had deliberately avoided visiting him as I felt uncomfortable with Diana's cold reaction to me and confused albeit understanding of Benjamin's family's wonderful treatment. I sincerely did not want Diana to feel like I was intruding, although I enjoyed the friendly reception of his mother and sisters.


Benjamin had no sign of his injuries and the lip stitches didn't seem to have left any mark at all. He had wanted to take me to dinner to thank me. I chose to go to a restaurant which I knew Lee would never go to.

The trouble with Benjamin and me was that whenever we saw each other, we acted like there's no one else in the world but us. Friends would see us together and greet us and we would barely acknowledge them, and it wasn't like we were hiding from anyone. We could talk about anything, big and small, important and trivial, with the same intensity and interest. Sometimes I felt inadequate for someone with a college degree and there were a lot of things that I didn't know about that Benjamin knew. He was up to speed on current events and could express either a biased or a non-biased opinion. And I was (and still am) a sucker for being pampered. I liked it that he held the door for me every time, holding my elbow as we walked through, being ahead of me when going down the stairs and behind me when going up; he shielded me from the rain and from the sun. He and Lee were a lot like each other.

The intimate part became inevitable, and it came with no warning, but with no surprise either. It just happened one night when Lee was away on business. We did not discuss it at all. When it happened we just let the circumstance lead us and we followed its flow. The one thing I learned from it was that the act of making love was so different and more fulfilling, emotionally and physically, when you are both so much in love with one another.

Not that I didn't love Lee. I'd give the world to him if that would make him happy. But I'd go to the end of the world for Benjamin. I would die for Benjamin. And I lived for Benjamin.

we can't be friends...

As soon as Lee and I arrived back in town, I called St. Mary's Hospital to find out if Benjamin had been discharged as scheduled. The operator confirmed so. There was a hurt look in Lee's eyes as I pushed my bags in a corner of the living room and rushed out.

"Lee, honey," I said. "Benjamin's an old friend. Please don't be jealous."

Lee nodded and smiled, but I could see the hurt in his eyes. It had been a pleasant week at the beaches up north in Ilocos. I had never seen him so relaxed. I had to take him away from work and from his family so he could unwind. His wife had been creating so many problems for him and the children were not cooperating either. Lee had a tendency to drink excessively. The doctor had warned him about his already fragile liver. So I took him away for a week so he could relax. Of course, I had to ask the hotel for the use of the telex machine so he could still communicate with the office.

But now, we were back. To the city. To his business. To reality.

"If I divorce Rosaire, and we get married, would that be enough to keep you in the relationship?" he quietly asked, his face turned to the window, overlooking the financial district's skyline.

"That's not a fair question, Lee," I replied. "Am I out of the relationship? What are you talking about?"

"This Benjamin, he seems so important to you."

"He was in an accident. I promised to see him when I came back. He is a very good friend. I would like to know how he's doing."

"Were you thinking of him while we were away?"

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. "Lee, I have no time for this, please. And no, I wasn't. Thinking of him while we were away." I headed for the door. "And just so you know, I am still in the relationship right now, and when I come back. If you want me to." I opened door, stepped out and closed it behind me.


I didn't have a hard time finding Benjamin's house. He and his family lived in a big house where the other occupants were his unmarried sisters and brother and their mother. Benjamin's was a one-bedroom affair on the second floor. He was sitting on a chair when I arrived. Diana let me in, without as much as a single word. But at least she smiled at me.

"Who are you?" a little girl, their four-year-old daughter asked me, beaming a smile. One of her front teeth was missing.

"I'm Cynthia," I said. "What's your name?"

"Daniella," she replied. "I like you."

"I like you, too, Daniella. But what happened to your tooth?"

The girl laughed rather shyly and went to bury her face in her father's arms.

I spied Diana heading out the door.

"Are you leaving?" I asked.

"Yes, I have to go to the pharmacy," she replied, "to get his medicine." She waved her hand in Benjamin's direction. Then she was gone.

"Ben, is she really upset? Because if she is, I will leave right now. I don't want to cause you any trouble."

"She's jealous," he said. "I suppose it's a natural reaction."

Daniella sat on my lap.

"My mommy is jealous of you. I know why."

"Why?" I asked and Benjamin winked at me.

"Because you're pretty. She said you love my daddy."

"Oh, your mommy is very pretty, too, don't you think?"

"Yes," she said as her little hand caressed the curls of my hair. "You smell nice."

"C," Benjamin started to say. "Thank you for your help. I didn't ask to call you so you could help me, I want you to know that."

"It's okay, Ben. Everything comes down to us being friends. And if I can help, why not?"

"I didn't want to die without seeing you." He leaned against the window sill as he spoke. "Strangely enough, with each blow, with each punch, all I could think of was you." He slowly shook his head, eyes almost welling in tears. "I couldn't explain that. Not to Diana. Not even to myself."

"You told Diana?" I was aghast as he slowly nodded his head.

The brief moment of silence that existed between us seemed to take hours. I didn't know what to say, but I knew what to do: I wanted to embrace him and kiss him. I wanted to have Benjamin.

He broke the silence, and I was thankful for it.

"I won't be able to pay you right away. I mean, I can pay you little by little as soon as I get back to work."

I smiled at "little by little".

"I'm not asking you to pay me back. I'm not expecting anything back. I just wanted to help out, that's all."

"But that's a big amount of money."

I shrugged my shoulders and Daniella mimicked me.

"My mommy said she doesn't like you." Daniella said this with a smile. Benjamin's eyes bulged in surprise. "She said you and her cannot be friends."

"Why?" I asked in a playful tone.

Benjamin tried to stop Daniella, but the words already spewed out of the young girl's mouth.

"Because she said my daddy loves you more."

and so...

"Who was the handsome young man with you at lunch today?" Lee asked as he bent down to kiss me on the forehead.

We were at the L'Orange for dinner with one of his important clients, Mr. Pratt, the owner of the largest poultry farm in the country. Lee's company supplied and maintained the machineries and equipment for this client. Mr. Pratt wanted to sign the contract for a second batch of equipment for his company's expansion plans over at dinner.

In the dim lighting of the restaurant, as Lee sat on the other side of the table, I saw the glint of jealousy in his eyes. Lee had always been the insecure one in the relationship, even though he's the one who was married, even though he's the one who flirts with women most of the time, even though he's the wealthy one and can afford any other women. The twenty-two years between us was like a nasty ghost that seemed to haunt him and no matter what I say to reassure him that I loved him, the insecurity still reared its ugly head.

"So you were at Sakura this afternoon! I wish I saw you. You should've said hello and I could've introduced you to Benjamin." I spread the large white damask table napkin over my lap. The waiter came with Lee's favourite wine which I had ordered as soon as I had arrived.

"Who is Benjamin?" Lee asked.

"Ex-boyfriend," I said, "from college."

I took a sip of the wine and looked at Lee squarely in the eyes above the rim of my glass. He winced. "No need to be jealous, darling. He's happily married and has three young children."

I pulled out a manila envelope from my brief case and took out copies of the company's bid for Mr. Pratt. It was also my way of changing the subject. Presently, Mr. Pratt arrived with a young woman clinging to his arm - a pretty young thing whose face was thick with make-up. Although such thickness still didn't hide the fact the pretty young thing is a convent girl, one who comes from a well-off family and studying or studied in an all-girls exclusive school which was run by nuns. I suspected, as Lee had earlier confirmed, that Mr. Pratt wanted me to be friends with his little girlfriend.

After the obligatory introduction, we sat down and ordered dinner. Mr. Pratt and Lee talked business while his young companion tried to engage me in conversation about hair, clothes and make-up. Of course, she was disappointed that I did not go to any particularly famous hairdresser, nor did I have my own "coutourier" and that my clothes were bought off-the-rack at a middle class department store. Horrors! Lee had in the beginning of our relationship tried to convince me to go to a named designer but when I finally got convinced, I chose a young aspiring designer to sew my dress for a wedding I had to attend. That was it! The only concession we agreed on was my expensive, high end make up. I did patronize YSL and Chanel but only to some extent. I believed then, as I do now, that it's how one carries the dress, and the makeup. As for the hair, I hate anyone fiddling with my hair, except to trim it once in a while.

When we drove home, Lee made several attempts at gushing about how pretty Mr. Pratt's young companion was. I knew it was all a farce.

"Lee," I said, "Benjamin means nothing; he's all in the past. You don't have to pretend to be attracted to whatever-her-name is to make me jealous, because I can't get jealous. Not with the little tarte," I said. We drove the rest of the way home in silence.

That night, Lee and I made love, but for the first time, I felt guilty because all throughout the act, I had been thinking of Benjamin.

What would it be like to hold Benjamin, or to be held by him. In college, when we dated, we went as far as kissing and petting. Benjamin was an excellent kisser and his hands were light, his touch felt like a feather floating in the air. And he was sweet, in words and in action. From that night on, I had always wondered how it would be like to be loved by Benjamin. Because of this, I chose to limit seeing him. I was afraid that I might fall in love all over again if I saw him often. Benjamin seemed happy with his family and I was committed to Lee at the time. I told myself that re-living the past would not bring any good to anyone.

But the thought persisted. And so this time, it was I who chose to stay away.