Chapter Seven

| Song |

♥

I looked at our old pictures again earlier this morning. I woke up, feeling my back aches – a sign of aging, and I nearly cried in pain. I wish I have someone to take care of me, but my children don't live with me anymore. They have their own lives and I can't just slip in. Well, I do have our maid, but having your children to live and take care of you makes an absolute difference. My husband died years ago, so I'm now left alone in this lonely house near the shore.

One thing that kept me going is the thought of him.

The first thing I do when I wake up is prepare my food. Then after I eat my breakfast, I take a bath, and walk aside the shore – appreciate the ocean's music. Sometimes I chat with other people that comes in the beach to swim, or to fish.

When I come home, I write this, relive the memories I had with him.

The only man I loved so much.

That day, we went and he ushered the way. I remember that the weather that time is good. When I say good, it means it's raining, the clouds are heavy and dark, and the road is filled with small puddles of rain. It was cold and my right arm is rain-wetted. Through the way, I only looked at my feet, and his long back.

He didn't talk. I didn't, too. I didn't want to talk with him anyway. I think, his mere gazes are enough to melt me down.

We went to a warm, comfy coffee shop. He headed to the farthest corner of the room, and we both sat there.

Feeling uneasy, I looked at the glass window beside me. I felt his stare on my face. Then he glided both his hands across the table, his palms resting against it.

"Shall we start?"

I frowned. "Without coffees?" That seemed odd, because we were in a coffee shop. It doesn't look nice if we just sit there, use a table without even ordering.

He raised a brow. "So?"

Wow, I remember thinking. "Sean, we are using a table," I said. "Might as well pay and order."

He laughed. "I like the fact you said we," he said and winked.

I gasped. Was that –? It took me a few seconds to just gather the action he'd just done. I resisted the urge to shake my head. Where was the boy whom I loved singing on stage? Where was his dangerous gazes, his hot aura – why were those replaced by this antic boy?

A fake!

"Whatever," I said, rolled my eyes, and stood up from the table. I was about to order for the both of us.

"Geez," he said and laughed. His hand reached out for mine, and I almost jumped away. "I was just kidding. Upo ka na nga." He stood up, but went back seconds later to ask, "What do you want to have?"

I laughed after. When he sat in front of me bringing a tray of coffees and two plates of cakes, he smiled.

"Let's start."

I remember insisting to pay for my food, but he said it was his to pay, so I didn't push it through. I took out my pen and paper and scribbled, Sean's Song.

--

Right now, I smiled.

I just returned to my seat. I'm now holding that paper we wrote on, and inevitably, my eyes watered. The paper had so much memories. The stain of cake icing was still there. The oil. The erasures of my words to write a new, better one. I stared at it reliving those memories I can never have back.

The song we wrote is about his life. I knew it back then – I realized it. My hands trembled around my pen writing words about him. The highlights were the words: life, dark, hope, song, light, and music.

I laughed when I saw some drawn characters on the side of the paper, and a note: t.y. He was thanking me, not through his own lips, for helping me write his song.

The song talked about how music is his savior from the darkness of his life. About how he kept on going, singing, creating melodies, because that's the fire he used to see in the blackness.

In the end, we entitled his song, Music Saved Me.

It went through a lot of trashy titles, creating chaos and dirt in the paper due to so much erasures, but the one with all capital letters with a faint, yellow marker is the final title the both of us agreed on.

When the song was finished, the sun is already down.

--

"Saan ka nakatira?" he asked. We walked under the dim streetlights, our paces slow and calm, the smell of earth wafting around us. The road was empty. We were the only souls that walked there that time, and somehow, it was comforting. Our presences were felt easily.

"A jeep away," I replied.

I looked up to see the starless, cloudy sky, and suddenly felt cozy all over. I inhaled petrichor and exhaled.

"Petrichor," I heard him say. I looked at him. "The smell of earth after the rain."

I smiled. "Aren't you a bookworm?"

He looked at me and replied a smile. "I'm not. Mind your own business."

I laughed.

Creating a song for him was... something. He gave me feelings, I turned it to words. Those words would have its own melodies, rhythms, and sounds, and he'll share it through his voice. Because of that, I think I developed quite a connection between us. Although he was annoying and confusing through the process, at least I think everything turned out good in the end.

"May mga kaibigan ka ba?" he asked me.

I was honest. "Wala."

"Then you're always free?"

"No."

He tapped his finger on his guitar. "Bakit?"

"I study," I replied. "My Mom has so much expectations on me. She wants me to be a person my older brother isn't." Remembering it makes me feel bad for myself back then.

"My brother is a book writer, far from a doctor Mom and Dad wants him to be," I continued, and then took a deep sigh. "I should take my studies seriously so I'll have a high-rated university to study at after –"

"Boring."

I blinked twice, surprised. "Excuse me – what?"

"I said, boring," he said, emphasizing the word. He looked at me with frowning eyes. "Do you enjoy that kind of life?"

My cheeks heated when he said that.

I couldn't rebel against my parents. They were my masters, and I'm supposed to obey what they want me to obey. When he asked that, I realized I haven't been thinking of my own sake. I have been thinking of theirs. I haven't been caring about happiness I would've had without educational books, mathematical equations or historical dates.

I sighed and stopped myself from crying.

"I-It's for my future," I said, the sole reason I told him.

"The hell with future?" he said, scowling. "Were you born to disregard the fun of present to worry about the future? Doing that is just unfair. Ano ba'ng mayro'n sa mga magulang mo? When parents create a child, they shouldn't treat them like a doll that doesn't have a mind and heart of its own – as if it doesn't have the will to love something and to do something."

He stopped walking and stood in front of me. His eyes lowered at mine, expressing enthusiasm and strength combined. "You are a human. You love what you love and you have the right to want anything. They're your parents that gave life to you, not a puppeteer to order your actions, but to be someone they can guide and mold. Naiintindihan mo?"

Before I knew it, tears started to water in my eyes, being stricken by his honest words. I've always believed that I was my parents' puppets. That I must always follow them because they're my parents and I knew that they know best. That my future depends on them. Guide. Mold. They didn't, ever since, do that to me. What they molded was my future – not me. Not their child.

Ever since I was a little, I didn't even learn to dream. I don't dream. I was told that I'm supposed to be a doctor, and that's the track I followed, not caring if it's something I love or not. I didn't care. My parents kept on telling me that everything they do is for my future.

But then Sean came to open my eyes.

I couldn't stop my tears. I never knew I've been that sad until Sean said so accurate things that made those emotions wrung out of me.

He was right.

I didn't feel Sean move, so I kept crying in my palms. I didn't hear him say anything.

But when I opened my eyes, he was still standing in front of me, his eyes saying nothing.

He offered his handkerchief, and then he placed his palm on top of my head.

"Confront them," he said fully. "Don't do something against your will."

I nodded, my eyes connected with him.

Sean was right. They may be my parents but they're not supposed to be my puppeteer. They're supposed to love and support me for things I want to do.

"T-Thank you," I muttered.

His palm went down to my hair and cheek, his thumb rubbing the skin below my left eye. He smiled.

"My dearest welcome."

♥