the letter

When the next semester came, to my disappointment, Benjamin did not register. The stress of school and work had gotten to him. But he came to see me sometimes in school, and sometimes at home.

One day, he forgot to hand me back my notebook when I got on the jeepney to go home. He picked me up the next day, we had a snack of pizza at the nearby market/mall and returned my notebook. When we got to the college, he said he wrote a letter in my notebook. He said that I should read it. He said he will be away for a few days, that I won't be able to speak to him, to see him. But he wanted me to read his letter.

The letter fit in one whole page. In his neat handwriting, tiny letters with loopy capitals, he wrote how much he loved me and that he was sure I was the one. The "however" part came in the middle of the page. He belonged to another religion, which he and his family practiced devoutly. He was the first to have been borne to this religion, after his family converted from Catholicism. He understood that my parents, especially my mother, was a devout Roman Catholic. He wanted to marry me, but he said we might have a problem because his religion forbade anyone to marry outside of that religion. Doing so meant excommunication, for life. He would not risk that.

For days, I walked around light headed and unable to sleep and eat. At some point, my stomach felt so bad I threw up until nothing came out. So this was how it was to be in love. And die at the same time. Everytime I read his letter, I had expected the contents to change; that I read it wrong the first hundred times. My young mind made a resolve, religion would not be a problem. I actually made up my mind we would marry civilly, and then I could adopt his religion, whatever it was. I assured myself my mother would understand.

I remembered the few times Benjamin and I talked about having a family. For God's sakes, we actually had names for our children: Pag-ibig (Love), Pag-asa (Hope), Ligaya (Happiness) for girls, and Benjamin Vincent if we had a boy. That was the one and only time I let myself be guided by my emotions and actually think I would marry and have children. Love has a way of changing one's perspectives. The only part of our dream that I had reservations was the fact that if we marry, I would have to stay home. But I thought, he would understand when the time came, my need for independence. But I would not let the dream be waken by my caprice and my ambitions.

He showed up in school after a week. The gang was ecstatic, but I had started the process of staying away from the group. He found me sitting alone in an empty classroom, doing my accounting homework. I didn't know how to react. First of all, I didn't know whether he was breaking up with me in the letter or simply telling me facts. He noticed that I lost some weight. For the first time, I cried in front of him. When he put his arms around me, the whole world changed.

When you are young, you are guided by your dreams and wishes and your ideals. At 18, I was full of ideals. But actual events could make you want those dreams direly or abandon the ideals entirely.

For the next several weeks, we went about as normal as we could. When I learned which religion he belonged to, I knew we were not meant to be together. But we were in love. I didn't want to give up just yet. The catalyst was when he told my mother his religion and the prospect of us getting married. My mother said in no uncertain terms, she would want us to marry Catholic. After that, I can join his religion if I wanted to. In one of our conversations, I asked him, "Can't we marry before a judge?" He said no, the church elders did not allow that. "And what if we elope?" No can do, he would be excommunicated. This religion only allowed marriage within that religion.

My first heartbreak was just around the corner. I channeled my broken emotions into writing poems and I doubled my reading time. I remember as a child, we had two books at home about stories from different places. I used to "travel" through those books to forget the abject poverty we were in. This time, I turned to reading again to forget and heal my broken heart.

After a few months, on my nineteenth birthday, I came home and my mother handed me a package. Benjamin came by in the middle of the day and brought me a present. It was a green and pink knitted dress. He left a small note, he wanted me to have that beautiful dress to remember him by. He had told his family of our predicament and they adamantly opposed our relationship. The only way to change their mind was for me to convert to their religion, now. He wrote that he had found a job in a far flung place. But he said we weren't breaking up. He loved me too much to let go. But a separation was in order for us to think about our circumstance. In my heart I knew we had reached the end.