The Seasonal Suddens
Written by Es Inocencio
______.
There is an absence – the same old nagging sense of bareness that lingers in her mind on a typical Monday morning.
The feeling of emptiness sways her hand away from her cup as she attempts to pour in her freshly brewed coffee. Scalding liquid settles onto her skin, and she flinches a bit, only a bit.
This is not necessarily a morning going haywire.
This is normal.
Small traces of her past mornings have always left marks on her skin. They serve as mementos of her futile attempts to fill in the blanks in her head.
Nothing is unusual.
This is okay.
Actually, everything goes as usual these past few months – maybe a little too usual for her taste.
She thought that the days have aged as awfully as she did.
_____.
Again.
She felt the blanks creeping up on her.
There is something missing. Something must be missing.
She takes a sip of her coffee.
And then another.
After indulging in the richness of her drink, she fumbles on her phone as any native of this age would do on a mundane morning.
Scrolling endlessly.
Carelessly.
Like.
Heart.
On her second like, the wind sneaks through the cracks of the jalousie.
On her third heart, it finally brushes against her skin.
She flinches.
Suddenly, the breeze took over her spine.
Then it whispered a tune.
___Sa maybahay ang aming bati…
The blanks filled up.
It was a tune she had heard kids sing one or two keys off on the nights that prefaced Christmas too early.
…Merry Christmas na maluwalhati…
Suddenly, there stood a figure – a frail-looking soul wearing a crooked smile.
That crooked smile…
It was hers.
It was hers when her ninang slipped an angpao in her hand.
Wow, 100 pesos!
It was hers when she enjoyed the rare chilly breeze of December in the big cathedral where they attended Misa De Gallo.
Even though she only had her eyes set on her sakristan crush.
The frail soul blushed.
She giggled.
Then, she sees the frail soul frown.
How childish.
She chuckled as she thought that the frown was something that belonged to her a while back.
It was hers when her Mama would keep her from wearing her newly bought clothes.
Sa Pasko pa yan, anak.
It was hers when she threw tantrums for a hot cup of Milo with marshmallows.
She bursted out laughing.
The frail soul laughed with her.
They laughed the same.
It is hers.
At least for a moment.
Ang pag ibig ‘pag syang naghari araw-araw ay________
_______.
She begs for it to stay.
For a moment.
For a while.
Maybe for a second?
Then it grew fainter.
It dimmed.
Then it faded.
Suddenly.
_________.
It was just another trace of the morning – a memento of her futile attempt to fill in the blanks in her head.
Nothing is unusual.
This is okay.
