hanahaki
“Yo. How have you been? Has your condition improved?”
It was just a normal day for me. I try to give a bounce to my every step, listening to my favorite pick-me-up song, when just like that, you barged into my world with all your fanfare and colors, breaking through every wall I put up high like they were not there in the first place.
Like what you have always done since the start.
Time stood still, and almost every sound — even the sound of my heartbeat and Taylor Swift’s evermore — faded into white noise as everything that my ear could hear was your voice.
“H-hey,” I tried to say without stammering as I stuffed my earphones into my pocket, a faint wheeze mixing into the voice. “I have been okay since — ugh — forever. Don’t worry about me.”
He just gave me a look, his eyes (goddamit, those eyes) averted towards the side.
I sighed, coughing a bit from the action. “You have a lot on your plate already — ack — but you always worry about — koff — everyone else. I can handle this.”
“But you tend to do everything by yourself,” he said, and something tingling (please not now — ) like the light touches of gentle fingers ran down my throat, and I had to suppress all my willpower to cough it out, “that’s why I’m really worried for you.”
Not being able to hold it any longer, I coughed so hard I felt like I will puke out my intestines. He was suddenly behind me, rubbing his warm hands against my back.
“What’s so bad in leaning onto others?” he said and I had to cover my mouth as a particularly heavy cough shook my body.
It’s because it’s you — that’s why I can’t tell you.
I have always known this — the name of this emotion strangling my heart. Its roots so deeply embedded into the depths of my heart, I can feel it in every breath I take; every step I walk.
Ironic. Beautiful was not something I would use to describe this emotion. Unlike the common consensus, it was not something that reminds me of the stars in the Summer sky or the joys of dancing to the tune of the Spring wind — the rebirth of the world.
It was more like an impending doom, the beginnings of fall — the change of greens to oranges, fading into nothingness. It was more like despair, the freezing winds of Winter — the death of the world under a blanket of monotony.
Painful. Like an everlasting cough, they’re stuck, somewhere within its cages, circling, constricting, crawling as its thorns tickled my fragile soul.
Stupid.
It was because of those damn eyes—red and pure, reminding me of a home that I never once had. The way those eyes light up remind me of the first light of the sun as it greets me in the morning, full of life and hope. Every time I gaze into those eyes, I gain a shard of hope for a future that I have given up on for so long.
It was because of that voice. That voice — like the gentle rings of a chimney as it danced to the breeze — gave me something to look forward to, with the sweet words and promises it uttered. It’s so scary how every time I need something uplifting, it’s your voice that I hear, whispering lullabies and sweet nothings until all my doubts are vanquished.
It was because of your existence. Yes, I blame your existence for everything. Because if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t —
Standing up, I wiped my mouth with my other hand.
“I already said it before, but worry about yourself first,” I said, a perfectly practiced smile on my lips. “I have pulled through before. I will pull through this time too. Besides…you’re with me. That’s enough.”
He looked down, as if none of my words dispelled his concern (and something within me somehow wished selfishly for those feelings to also mean something else — )
“Just…please go to a doctor as soon as possible, okay?”
Please… just stop.
“Yeah,” I said with a smile, trying to wave off his concerns. “I will, mom.”
“Well, let’s just go. We will be late for school at this rate,” he pouted, walking ahead.
I would have laughed if not for the wheezes that suddenly came out of my mouth, covering it again with my hand as I felt something just come out from within the deepest part of my body.
I opened my fist and three petals of red carnations stained with blood greeted me.
Ah, so ironic.
I never expected flowers would be associated with pain and death.
Alex Ram is a second year college student of AB Psychology in Philippine Christian University. He had an experience in journalism back in senior high school wherein he served as a literary staff writer and eventually, as the editor-in-chief. Currently, he spends his time reading manga and watching anime, usually consuming stories of the Shonen demographic. For comments and suggestions: marc@voxpopuliph.com.
