the fixer.

the night was odd. no owls and crickets fiddling in the nearby grass tunnel. weird, my broken tube pen cap was gone. it served me well as lucky charm for months now. as i was halfway out the village gate, i realized i was wearing the wrong slippers. i hesitated to go back since i was too far along. so i stood there thinking how on earth did i muster enough courage to go out leaving the house door unlocked and my gut throbbing from pain. my sling bag snapped leaving me with Mefenamic scattered across the highway as i gallantly knotted by bag back together.

i wanted this. to feel pain. to not be numb.

i left none unanswered. he cant decide whether to be Catholic or Agnostic so he blanked them out. He's no genius. Neither am i. I go to rallies and educational discussions and he's on constant basketball practice and referee volleyball games.

He's no handy man. Cant repair pipes or unclog bathroom sinks. Wore tattered PNP shirts and loose briefs. He doesn't have an inkling how to fold his shirts. And the sight of crinkle meant laundry; at the very least he valiantly evens out the creases of his uniform.

He's not even close to being perfect. Our hands do not fit and his shoe's thrice bigger than mine. I look puny standing next to him.

But he's my fixer. He makes sure i always have a water or two every meal and randomly wakes me up for chocolates and C2. Mandates the need for proper education despite me wanting to work because of disbelief in the educational system. Sits beside me as i smoke cigars with a Beret on my head, trying to speak French. Or the perfectness of a faulty love affair because my head on his lap is like a surreal dream. Driving for hours looking for the perfect blue sky and watching it all rained down through a tinted glass but the feeling of him close makes it all worth wasting my time away. And nights under the full moon; hungry but happy.

i vaguely remember the last time i saw him. if he hailed me a taxi or i left with annoyance and bag on my shoulder. or if his hair was coagulate enough to outstand my distaste now that there was no tingkoy hanging from the back of it. i forgot how he looked at me. if his eyes were droopier as i remembered them or if there was animosity to it. but i am reminded of him standing outside Eco Edge in his blue superman and jersey shorts.

i remembered because when i looked back, he was already gone.

i don't miss it, i just want to remember everything. The taste of his livid lips, his apathetic eyes and the perfectly conned nose.

the night was odd. there were no pink sunsets, only half covered moon and strong breeze. i stood there still, waiting for an empty green tricycle. contemplating if i'll ever take the risk of being squeeze between two overweight men who smelled cigarettes and gluttony plastered on their faces. or if im better off alone with a tricycle driver whom looked like he never bathe for days.

The night was odd. The fierceness of the darkness and the brisk bite of cold on my cheek. I could feel the grief in it. My heart was loud as my breathe was quiet. All this vividness i could only read as melancholy. Not exhilaration.

My fixer was gone and none to hold my hand. The night was odd yet infinitely beautiful. Leaves confettied over the sidewalk and fences of hanging pitch purple aubergine. It was beautiful. I wanted to breathe everything. Eat it, take it inside me, make it part of me. I wanted not to forget them. Holding on to it for there might come a time when i would need their solace.

I know that there are many things i should have said, should have done. I just never took the time. But you were always in my mind. Always. This is me telling you everything. This is me apologizing. Because i know how not knowing hurts.

I buried my hands in the pockets of my coat. I know that this lift of fallen glory will someday bring me happiness.

what you feel only matters to you, its what you do to the people you say you love that matters.