Chapter Eight

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I told my parents about it. I confronted them, with all my left courage and strength, to say that no, I don't want to be a doctor – I'm sorry for not achieving the dream you want me to achieve. Dad shook his head, as Mom looked at me, her mouth hung open. She couldn't believe me. She said I might be just going through a hard time and I'll change my mind soon, but no, I wouldn't. And I didn't.

I said I really don't want to.

Mom left me on the dinner table after she slammed her palms on it, obviously disappointed. Tears rimmed my eyes as Dad approached me and asked if I was really sure.

I nodded.

I didn't hear from Sean for two weeks, which actually quite helped me to clear my mind out. Mom ignored me for those weeks, never talked to me, never gave me money, and she doesn't even leave dinner for me to eat. Dad secretly gives me dinner through my slightly opened door. He'd always assured me that Mom would get to her senses soon, and back then, I highly doubted it.

I couldn't focus on my studies because of what I've been going through. I didn't like the fact that Mom hated me. I had no friends to talk to, too.

I know I didn't want to be a doctor, but I didn't know what I want to be either. Perhaps my most simple dream back then was one: be happy.

It's something I have been lacking.

One deep night, as I was just about to sleep, my phone rang. That was odd, because I had no one in my phone contacts except my parents, Pizza delivery, and my teachers. When I checked it, the one calling is an unknown number.

I remember being scared from head to the point of my toes, because I didn't give anyone numbers (no one asks for anyway) so who the hell could that be?

I cleared my throat, and answered the call.

I didn't know if I was supposed to sigh in relief or scream when I heard a familiar voice.

"Hey, nerd."

My hands trembled. His voice echoed around my ears for a few seconds, shock swallowing my nerves, which made me drop my phone on my bed so I hastily picked it up.

"H-Hey, I'm sorry –" I cleared my throat. "What the hell, Sean? How the heck did you get my number?"

"Nagmumura ka pala?"

"I-It wasn't a cuss," I replied. "How did you get my number? Why did you call me at this ungodly hour?"

"I only answer one question at a time," he said, obviously enjoying disturbing me.

"Where did you get my number?"

"Connections."

"Connections?" I said, thought for a while, then remembered my phone number at the school's office. "From school?"

"You're quite sharp," he commented. "Yes. I sneaked in."

Wow, I thought again, for the nth time. He does things I wouldn't dare do. He had this courage to do outrageous things, not caring if it will get him into trouble or not. I hoped I was as brave as him.

"Bakit ka tumawag?" I asked.

"I finished the song."

I wondered first what was he talking about, then I remembered.

All I could muster to say was, "oh."

"Wanna hear it?"

I blinked twice, then sat in my bed in a better way. I cleared my throat. "Sure," I said.

"Okay," he answers over the line. "I'll put the phone down." I heard some shuffles, some tapping and undefined sounds, and then a strum of his electric guitar.

I hurriedly took my earphones and used it, to hear his song better. I remember wishing to see him sing in front of me, rather than over the phone, but that was better than not. My heart pounds fast, readying itself for another voice and a song to hear. It wasn't just a simple song – the song he'd sung is the song we wrote together, and that's what made the song beautiful.

I also poured my heart into it.

When he started to sing the first verse, I closed my eyes. I noticed that he changed some words, and the pacing, but everything is just as beautiful as I knew it would be. His voice was husky. His voice was as deep as that beautiful night. The melody was soft, and then hard, and then soft again. He sang every words I've written with so much passion and emotions, and I knew it – he really did give life to the words I wrote in that single piece of paper.

When he finished, I had to open my eyes and come back to the reality – exiting the world of music he created which I entered when he sang.

"How is it?"

I wondered how it was. It made my heart thump. It made me hum the song as he was singing. It made me close my eyes and feel his voice.

How was it?

"I-It's beautiful," I said honestly, clearly speechless. "Um... good job, I guess."

"Really?" he said with astonishment in his voice. He laughed. "Your lyrics suck, though."

I laughed. A low, sleepy laugh. "Shut up."

"Well... thank you, though."

I smiled. I want to say 'dearest welcome', but he might laugh.

I looked at the window at the side of my bed and looked at the stars. The last time we were together, the night I've been with him, there were no stars to be seen in the sky. It was filled with immense, gray clouds, a sign that it had been raining. Back then, looking at the stars, I wondered if he was looking at it, too.

"Hey."

I noticed I've been silent for a short time. I cleared my throat. When I laughed at his remark, I realized I haven't been doing that for two weeks. Well, I must have did, but perhaps that's just a gush of air out my nose. A subtle laugh.

"Y-Yeah?"

"What's your favorite song?"

I blinked twice. I tried to search for songs in my head, and then smiled.

"It's more like music," I said honestly. "I like Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata."

"Beethu – what?"

I laughed for real. I cupped my mouth with my free hand and tried to low down my voice.

"Gee," I said and shook my head. "Never mind. I think I like Ed Sheeran's songs."

"Oh," I heard him reply. "Who's that?"

My eyes widened in surprise. "Hindi mo siya kilala?" I asked. "Well – he's the red haired acoustic singer."

"I don't know him," he said. "Wait. Search ko lang."

I heard again some shuffles and undefined sounds, while I sat in my bed, wondering, kilometers away, if he also sits on his bed, or perhaps on his windowsill, or at their front porch, holding a phone on his hand and a guitar.

To talk to me.

I smiled at the thought.

A couple of minutes later, I heard again some undefined sounds and then his voice.

"Listen," he said.

A few seconds after, I heard a familiar strum of guitar. And just after a second, I know he's playing the chords of How Would You Feel.

"Sorry," I heard him say after a few seconds. "Don't know its chords. I just searched it up."

Was he kidding? He strummed the first few notes perfectly and then he thinks he doesn't know the chords?

"Jerk," I said. "Bakit mo ba ipe-play?"

"Mind your own business," he replied. I realized he says that whenever he's left nothing to say.

I heard some shuffles again, then he strummed the guitar softly. I felt like it was Ed playing.

I laid down my bed and rested my head against my soft pillow. He was just strumming, playing my favorite song, as I close my eyes and feel those music invading my mind.

"Did your mood lift up a little?"

I opened my eyes, frowned and said, "what?"

"You're sad, aren't you?"

My head went blank for a moment, surprised that he noticed. "N-No."

He laughed. I can imagine him, moonlight flashing on his face, grinning and shaking his head. "You can't fool me, nerd."

"Stop calling me nerd."

"You are," he said. "Who is that girl always reading her book alone in a cafeteria, at the farthest table, every lunch break?"

"W-What the he—" I gulped. "Pa'no mo nalaman?"

"I was observing you."

"A stalker!" I accused him.

"Not as low as that," he said. "I realized you were... a bit down. I didn't approach you since I want to finish the song first before I talk to you."

I didn't know what to say. I am not sure if I was happy or giddy at the fact that he'd been observing me, as I was just simply reading a normal book. I didn't know my sadness had been peeking through.

I didn't know he cared.

"Care to share?"

Through my tightening chest and the lump on my throat, I tried to tell him what happened.

I told him that my Mom clearly disagreed at my dislike of being a doctor. I know I quite understand Mom because it's been a dream of hers that was never attained, but her unachieved dream shouldn't be passed over a child. Just like what Sean said, children aren't like dolls without dreams of their own. That's the thought I've been holding on to while I face my Mom's stern, cold face.

I told him what Mom had been doing to me, about how much she'd been upset.

"What do you want to do, then?" he asked.

Honestly, I didn't know, too. I was thinking I was just a sixteen year old girl and I'm just about to discover myself. I haven't been thinking of my dreams and desires because like what I said before, my parents created a clear path ahead of me; a path without turns – but a straight path without obstacles to go through. There were no leisure times, there were no times to even ask myself what I want to do. It's like I've been a programmed robot – someone set up my life without even asking me if that's the life I want to live. But what else can I do? They were my guide. My puppeteer. My masters.

Without them, I'll be lost.

"I don't know myself," I answered honestly. "I had no time to know me."

There was a moment of silence before I hear him speak again.

"I'll help you."

I was unsure if I heard him right. "What?"

"I'll help you know you," he said and hung up the phone.

Looking back, I was so, so, afraid about how my life will turn out since I've turned my back on Mom. I felt like all the paths they have created for me had vanished, and there was nothing but a dark alley ahead of me. Uncertain and lost.

But I guess, to live is to get lost. Living a straight path is boring. Breathing the same old air is boring. You have to get out of your box and experience life that's been just given for you once, and you get to live once. Never focus on something that doesn't make you happy because life doesn't work that way.

I have come to realize that life's purpose is to experience, and to live happily.

These are the things Sean taught me, and up to now, I'm still living on his words.

♥