AB OVO
I am here, in this place where, as everybody says, God resides. I saw her exchanging vows eloquently with the man that made her tummy bulge. I’m not much into dresses, but I must admit that I do appreciate her in that elegant long white gown. She is much more beautiful now, considering her bloated belly. I’m not invited by anyone from either party but I prefer not to miss this occasion (how masochistic of me) in fulfillment of a promise I made.
LIBERI FATALI
So I settled myself behind, above on the balcony where once I played guitar and sang praises with the choir. I was contended having to watch the rather unpleasant scenario for me with Mang Roland, the church organist, from afar while sitting in this century old wooden bench just behind the metal railing. All other three wooden benches which we once used to occupy during Saturday choir practices are now empty and silently gathering dust. I have my own seat that time as well as Mang Roland. I can remember them clearly, the group and the heavenly melody that dominated the entire church.
But now, the choir was gone, only three of us were left here. Mang Roland (I don’t know his real name; I used to call him that way because it is the name of the model of his organ) who is still the organist of this church, the only survivor. She, in that altar, and me, here far behind.
Way back then, we were a fourteen-man choir; she, being one of the sopranos, was the only reason why I joined the group; a reason unknown to everybody. I am not that religious to sing praises, in fact, the concept of God always bothers me. But I believe in Jesus Christ, like the way I believe in David Blaine. Blasphemy? Well, maybe, but I believe that all great truths begin as blasphemies.
That time, Mang Roland convinced me to play the organ. He said that I will replace him someday when he died. I replied with the same joke that I will go ahead of him; my way of saying that I really can’t play organ. The guitar is my forte, ironic isn’t? Maybe I just appreciated the advantages of guitar, I can play it anywhere even in the remotest places where electricity doesn’t exist. Mang Roland said that I should play harmonica instead, then everybody laughed.
UTSUKUSHII TENSHI
One time, I was making my way down from the bell tower after ringing the twelve o’clock afternoon call, I saw her sitting on this chair where I am now. She was alone and early, considering that our practice is 1:00pm. I stopped midway the stairs and sat at the step watching her. She had her earphone stuck, humming some (at first) indecipherable tune and trying desperately to match her hum with my guitar which I left there a while ago.
I just watched her while her eyes were closed. The afternoon sun rays which passed through the stained glass window somehow generated a very magnificent effect on her. Like an angel sent from heaven through a divine portal. How I wish I had a camera that time so that I could catch an enigmatic portrait of her.
When she opened her eyes and saw me, she quickly laid my guitar where it was before and pretended (though obviously shown) that she wasn’t doing anything. I just smiled and stepped down and took my position, still no word from both of us. She is staring at the huge crucifix at the altar but I know she is waiting for my verdict from the corner of her eyes.
HITOKIRI BATTOUSAI
I slowly picked my guitar then played the notes of her humming almost perfectly, that’s my only talent I guess. She looked at me and smiled then said sorry, she realized that I was watching her for so long that I could memorize everything.
“The only possibility of forgiving you is giving me the title of this piece”, said I
She quickly replied “Days to Remember”
I just nodded while plucking the piece.
“It’s one of the soundtracks of Rurouni Kenshin, commonly known as Samurai X, are you familiar with that animé”? she asked excitedly. She suddenly became talkative, giving me a hint that she’s an animaniac.
“Yeah, I know that, but I’m unable to watch all the episodes”, I lied just to give her a positive reply.
“Really! That’s much better, at least I discovered that I’m not alone”, she said with the sigh of relief, “Would you like to hear the original version of that instrumental piece?” She continued offering her player’s earphone, explaining that the original piece is composed of several accompaniments.
“I loved to but I prefer not to.” I replied cautiously, I don’t want to upset her.
“Why?”
“It is your hum that I want to recall every time I am playing this piece.” I replied without a single glimpse.
The silence breaks after a minute or two.
“Uhmm, why don’t you try it on piano,” she said nodding at the organ Mang Roland set up an hour ago.
I could have said that my forte is guitar, but it is she, not Mang Roland is telling me to try organ.
“Some other time I will, I promise, the time that you hear this piece on organ here at this church, it is me”, I said accepting her request.
She just smiled, agreeing. She knew that Mang Roland had no single idea about Samurai X’s theme, so it is me and only me who could play the tune. I handed her a piece of paper with an enhanced tablature of Days to Remember that I jotted down from the very start of our conversation.
“Just follow it, I’m sure you can play the piece,” I guaranteed her. I know that she can easily understand guitar tab. I just instructed her on what to do at the complicated part of the chorus.
Other choir member, as well as Mang Roland, arrived one by one before she could extend her thanks. Our conversation ended at the beginning of the practice.
MARIA
“Why should I?”
“Why should you not?” she blurted out, referring to our long time discussion about religion.
“Because I have reasons not to and can’t find reasons to.” I snapped back. Yes, we’re in argument, but we never quarreled.
“Why don’t you JUST believe in Him just like others? She said emphasizing the “just”.
“If I’m going to consider your ‘just’ proposal, then I must still believe that this world is flat and everything in outer space revolves around us.” I replied as carefully as I can. I can’t afford hurting her. How I wish she got my point so as to end that kind of subject.
“What is He to you?” She started again.
“Please forgive my answer, but as opposed to my long time belief that wheel is the greatest invention of man, I think He really is the ultimate creation of mankind, that’s all. I just…”
“What if you’re wrong?” she cut me short.
“So?” I replied rashly.
“So?!” she finally ignited, I imagined her in exaggeration, those visible forehead vein that are about to explode, those oversized head and teeth indicating rage and frustration and those very huge single drop of sweat like in the animé stories that she love to tell me. She is expecting much further and deeper explanation, and I gave it to her.
“I mean, so what if I’m wrong. If there’s really some Divine Entity up there watching us anytime, anywhere, if really God does exists, that’s fine with me. I’m wrong then, I can live with that…”
“So, you are holding your grip on the wrong belief”, she asked rather hypothetically, ceasing my explanations’ momentum.
“In this planet, the fraction of my kind is very negligible as compared to those who believe in Him”, I continued ignoring her hypothesis, “so if I’m wrong, it doesn’t make any sense, it doesn’t make any hard impact on mankind’s belief. Agree?”
She just nodded in forced agreement.
“You know, you shouldn’t bother by my being wrong in this issue. The question IS what if I’m right. That large fraction of people in this sphere must receive your hypothesis on wrong belief.”
She suddenly turned silent, staring at that huge crucifix for a long time, I guess I gained some points that time. Me, on the other hand, got my guitar and adjust the machinehead to get the right drop of the tune, while snatching a glimpse of her. The enigma, the stained glass and that gentle breeze that caresses her hair. I remember that hair, that’s the first and last time I saw them untied.
“Then why are you here?” she asked slowly after a long pause without looking. She just executed the Hiten Mitsuruyi Ryu discreetly. Along the course of our conversation, it never crossed to my mind the possibility of that question. I know what she means. The question punched that I snapped Maria’s thinnest string. It whipped my right arm and caused it to bleed though not so profusely. That’s the very first time I snapped a string in history.
I recall everything about her, the answer for her question, my only reason for being here. I wanted to tell her that that time. But then again, ironically the choir members came and ended our unusual conversation. I didn’t practice that time, I reasoned that I have to buy strings for Maria, that’s my guitars’ name.
SHE
She has the simplest name yet often misspelled. I feel strange just saying her name. Some angle of her face reminds me of Jeon Ji-Hyun. She is just a typical senior lass but more masculine in gesture than me, but no question about her gender, in fact those who question will unwittingly lead themselves into an argument. How I hate arguments especially when she’s on the other side. She reasoned that she just wanted to defy the norms of being a girl. About three-fourths of the words in our conversation is coming from me but she always got the highest point. She got senses, great ideas and opinions.
She’s the most silent in the choir, the only time that she releases a voice is of course when she sings praises and when the topic in the conversation is that Japanese cartoons. In terms of animé, she’s an authority and I have to deal with it. One time I went to Lucena just to buy the complete episodes of Samurai X. I watched it for two days (less than 100 episodes, average of 25 minutes each!) but intentionally skipped the last four episodes. Reason: to have something to ask her that surely will ignite a great conversation. How pathetic of me.
Usually, after the three hour practice, she is contended sitting on the concrete circular bench in front of the church, doing nothing, maybe calculating the vertical velocity of the sun until it is completely engulfed by the inevitable power of darkness. She seems fascinated with darkness and likes being alone. It seems nobody can breach her domain. Being called autistic is a compliment for her (and for me). In comparison with her weekly routine, I am contended watching her from the bell tower with Maria. How ironic it is that I always see her but we actually live in different worlds.
She never talked about her family, the only thing I found out is that she’s a sole child and living with her foster mother. Her father’s whereabouts: unknown.
ONE THIRD NO JUNJOU NA KANJOU
My reminiscing was suddenly interrupted by the heavy footstep of two sacristans climbing hurriedly into the bell tower to ring the announcement of the couple who are about to leave the altar. That’s when I realized that the ceremony is almost over.
I moved and settled myself in Mang Roland’s place who just left to congratulate the newlywed, especially she who once became his choirmate. Me, on the other hand didn’t bother, no matter how masochistic I am.
I just stared at the black and white architecture of the keyboard. From my throne, I could barely see her in spite of the crowd around her extending their congratulations. She’s very happy, I can assume that.
I tipped my finger on the keyboard to produce the first note, then the second and so on. I completed the first verse in an instant. She is now motionless down there, ignoring the crowd, looking at my direction with amazement without seeing me. Then her teardrops fell, knowing that I’m the one who’s playing. Mang Roland on the other hand was puzzled.
I didn’t break any promise to her. That when she got married, I’m there, only that, I’m no groom.
AU REVOIR
Eight years ago she went to Illinois with her father to reside there. Her father, a Filipino-American, fetched her a year after her adoptive mother died. That’s the first time she met her father. I don’t know how they found out each other.
She didn’t leave any contact info. She didn’t even bid goodbye. Before she left, she returned Maria to me, she borrowed it to fulfill her frustration, to play Days to Remember. And she did it well. She even played it before me, and I can’t believe that she executed each note better than me.
Her departure was the saddest point of my life that I quit choir. Like a domino effect, one left the choir after another until only the organist was left. The choir was gone, but I see Mang Roland everyday and sometimes we play together during mass, but most of my time I spent at bell tower with Maria and that memorable theme, I did it almost everyday for one and a half years.
Until that day. The day that she became the girl from yesterday. The end of everything. October 8, 2004, 12:06 pm. After playing the piece, I step out of the bell tower with Maria.
Eyes closed. No turning back. Turning back is not an option. My head is filled with her memory and her melody is so in my heart, even after touch down.
SEMPER FIDELIS
When I opened my eyes, I saw my horrible physique, my corpse in blood. Along with my beloved Maria, which is now nothing but a crumpled piece of wood and strings. I moved over Maria and squatted beside it when I noticed something inside its broken body. A piece of paper, the one with tablature I wrote for her before. Then a mild wind caused it to flip. On the other side, there’s a note in her own handwriting. Some of it read:
“Pls. be at my wedding someday, I want you to be my groom… Pls. wait for me.” Then those three cliché words before her sign.
The note also states her address and phone number in West.
Just a while ago, I am living in the thought that dreaming the impossible is more painful, in fact the most painful form of suicide. But then, I realized that there’s a superlative form of that. Closing the door and locking it permanently with my booth hands without seeing someone is out there waiting, or if ever that I saw her, didn’t even dare to ask some stupid questions like: if she wants to go inside or she wants me to accompany her outside.
How cruel it is to live in drama and die in a comedy.
I left the place regretting just before the crowd feasting my body got thick.
EPILOGUE
After hearing the first five notes, I was convinced that he’s there. I almost didn’t pay attention to Mang Roland, our former choirs’ organist, who are holding my hand and expressing his congratulations.
I looked up to the balcony where we once spend hours of sharing ideas, of telling animé stories, but although I know that I will never see him I feel very frustrated. I became motionless, not a word but with a smile, tears came out unknowingly as the instrumental goes. I’m happy, I know that, not only because it’s my wedding day, but because he’s there performing his promise. Every person around me is puzzled, especially Mang Roland and my groom.
We went out the church along with the announcement from the bell tower. I stopped at the very front of the church where the path of his memory ended. Or should I say he ended for the reason that I don’t know. I scanned the environment, noticed that few changes taken place. My favorite spot is still there, where I spent most of the time watching the infinite horizon and waiting for him to come down from the bell tower rather than watching me. But as always, my desideratum fades along with the vanishing sun. How ironic it is that I always see him but we actually live in different worlds.
I don’t know if he proved his theory about love before he died, that if God is directly proportional to love, then love indeed is just a manipulation of human mind through pure chemical reaction due to evolution. The way he explained it reminds me of those head cracking algebraic equations with lots of abc’s and xyz’s enclosed in a parenthesis. It’s just a composition of mathematics, Discovery Channel and logic, he added.
But he doesn’t completely disbelieve the existence of love, he just defended that it fades and expires no matter what because it is being ‘developed’. Like universe, no matter how huge and vast it is, time will come that it will all collapse into a negligible size.
“How dare you to compare love with that infinite universe?!” I remember exactly how I exclaimed that time.
“Okay then, explain what that damn thing is.” He replied softly referring love as that ‘damn thing’.
“Well, you know it is something that really can’t be explained or rather I say I can’t explain.” I said hardly reaping some better thoughts.
“Then, you answered your query. So I am with the explanation of the universe’s origin or whatever in it. All I have is nothing but theory” he said. I don’t know if he really mean it or he just want to pacify my painful collection of the pieces of my shattered pride. He always got me with those weird but great ideas.
Few months from now, I’m going to give birth to a child which I decided to name after him regardless of gender. I just smiled when I remember how he annoyed by his own name for its being unisex.
I looked up the tower, hoping to see the machinehead of his guitar to no avail. Then I finally said, “Ciao”.
AD INFINITUM
*whole-heartedly dedicated to the loving memory of Maria (December 6, 1982 - October 8, 2004), in pace requiescat.
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published in Andamyo vol.6 & Maroon and White 2006 (MSEUF Yearbook 2006).
Download Andamyo 6 PDF HERE (2.85 MB)
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