Just So You Know

Thoughtless words 
..... can open old wounds. 
............ or leave lifetime scars. 

I Promise You This

Would you stay with me for a while? Can I convince you this time to trust me?

I want to know you. I want to know every piece that completes your puzzle. Your misplaced childhood, your hopes and dreams, the music at the back of your mind, the scars you've hidden the deepest, the reason you cry everytime it rains.

No, I won't press paper into your pain.

I understand it's hard for you to tell the stories you'd rather forget. And I know it seems cruel of me to ask about your missteps, failures and letdowns.

I know you are broken. But if you would allow me, i promise you this: Once I'm done putting it on paper, once I've completed your puzzle, you'll see how beautiful your scattered shards are. And how every single piece of it has worth.

My Bed Doesn't Have Thorns in it

You… you don’t get to laugh at my exposed soul… you have no right unless you have tasted the same salt that had been on my lips for six long years…

Had you walked using my feet and were able to do things differently, you could have gained my respect… Yes, had it been like that, I would have accepted every hurtful word you spew at me with my head bowed down…

If you think me weak for writing these words, that’s fine. Because there’s something I know that makes it all worthwhile:

I haven’t harmed anyone. That makes me better than you are. Thinking of this fact makes me sleep more soundly because my bed, unlike yours, doesn't have thorns in it at night.

The Cat That No Longer Hiss or Meow

A cat. That’s what my friends have always likened me into. Frail and meek, wild and proud, both phrases true depending upon the situation… I love being cat-like with its adventurous disposition…

But you never liked cats… at least not in the way you love dogs… Unlike cats that often stray from the borders, you loved dogs for their sweet and dependable nature…

And I love you… and the way you loved trained dogs…

So mustering courage, I joined the dogs even with my tiny cat feet… All traces of cat pride, gone… Listening to your orders as if they were prayers… “Sit,” “Roll over,” “Fetch.”

Flawlessly imitating each dog’s execution… Ridiculously wagging my tail… Waiting… for you to notice… for you to hug me like one of them… for the tiniest bit of appreciation that never came…

But I love you… so I drew closer and asked if there’s anything I can do to make you happy… You looked at me for the first time and smiled… and for a moment, it was bliss… until you spoke this line that shattered my dreams:

“Just play dead… forever.”

Charred Cake

Unlike most girls, I lack sweetness. Or that’s what was said of me.

To prove otherwise, I hurriedly went to the grocery store, bought all the ingredients that I need in baking his favorite mocha cake.

It’s his birthday, so the cake has to be perfect. It has to be smooth and sweet, just the way he likes it.

I must admit, though I love to cook, the oven and I are not exactly good friends. So to make sure the cake would be edible, I had to look at the recipe time and time again. To my delight, the aroma was so delicious.

While the cake was still in the oven, I started mixing the frosting. In my mind, I’m already planning the whole look of it, how much icing I shall put, what colors would look good on it… etc… I can just imagine his reaction when I finally give him this perfectly sweet cake. It would certainly surprise him. I smiled at the thought.

“Ay! Sunog na yata, anak!” My mom’s voice interrupted my daydreaming.

I quickly ran to the kitchen and took the cake out. But mom was right, it was already charred. With my heart sinking, I tried to think of remedies and came up with a quick fix. I smoothed everything over by liberally putting the icing on the charred cake.

“Maybe the frosting’s sweetness would cover up the bitterness,” I heard myself saying out loud while taking a small portion to taste.

Surprisingly, it actually did. A little hint of bitterness but still, the sweetness won over.

My mom laughed saying I’m a genius. He would never know that the cake was charred. I laughed too. I laughed so hard… so hard… because it hurts. And laughing is the only way I know how to make it stop hurting.

I hurt because it just hit me. Maybe I’m not really designed for sweetness. Maybe he had been right all along.