The first year was too hard for them. It was the year when they had to constantly struggle from pain and loneliness caused by Remma's absence. And the things they'd done together seemed too hard and heavy for them to keep doing without her. They had struggled and poured their efforts to keep everything as normal and unaffected as before, but they knew it from their hearts that it would never be. And so they had felt the need to reach out to her, and she had reached out to them, too, to keep herself from missing them so badly. And that had gone for two years. The year after that, their exchange of letters had become less frequent, and they had started to forget some things they used to do. And, unknowingly, the world had revolved against theirs. Three years after that, they had no longer heard from Remma, and Remma had heard nothing more from them. And they couldn't remember who had stopped writing letters first. And they had thought less of it over time.



"Turn the volume up," Donald, now a fourth year high school student, said as he took a bite from the fried chicken he was holding with his right hand. Leandro didn't hear him clearly because the sea breeze swept his voice and scattered it into the air. Their fishing boat rocked tenderly against the small waves.

"What?" Leandro, who was his classmate and basketball buddy at the same time, glanced at him.

"The volume, turn it up."

Leandro turned the dial of the battery-operated AM/FM receiver. The voice of Gwen Stefani drowned the serenity around them.

"It's 'Don't Speak'," Donald continued. "The band's called 'No Doubt'."

"No Doubt. What an odd name for a band," Leandro commented as he dug himself to the food on the Tupperware that he was holding with his left hand.

"Did you hear the rumor about the Spice Girls?" Donald asked.

"What about them?"

"That they're a bunch of gays?"

Leandro looked at him and frowned. "No way."

"Just a rumor," Donald shrugged and went back to eating.

"I have a crush on Posh."

"Nah. Too sophisticated. I like Baby Spice," Donald remarked.

"Oh, yeah, she's hot," he agreed. "But too innocent-looking."

"What, you like Samantha?" Donald laughed. "She's hot and liberated."

"From Section B? Get out," he frowned and shook his head.

Donald chuckled.

Silence.

Leandro pushed the oar, which was lying on the floor, aside and took a bottle of Coke from the styropore and gave it to his friend. Then he took another one for him.

"When you ever start courting a girl?"

Leandro didn't look at him. He acted like he didn't hear him. "What?"

"Okay," Donald sighed deeply and slapped the outside walling of the boat with his left hand in exasperation. "Here we go again."

"You know my answer, and you're gonna hear the same now." He opened the bottle with his teeth, and then gulped some soda.

"C'mon, be serious. School will be over in two months and you haven't even told me yet about your crush at school."

"I found nobody I like yet. Maybe in college," he threw a piece of the fried chicken to the water and watched enthusiastically the small school of fish that began feasting around it.

"You're unbelievable."

"That's me."

"You're completely honest?"

Leandro nodded.

Donald looked at him for some time, remembered something, and then suddenly smiled to himself.

"Do you still have Rem's picture?" Donald asked him casually.

He hesitated. He couldn't sense where the sudden change of conversation was leading to, but he took some precautions. "Uh-huh."

"Where'd you put it?" Donald still didn't look at him. He just continued eating.

"In my photo album. Where else?"

"I don't know. Your wallet?"

"I don't have one, and you know that."

"Oh, yeah," Donald said, nodding. "But Julia said she saw it in your bed."

"She's lying."

"She is?"

Leandro gave in and rolled his eyes, and said that once or twice he took it from the album and held it when he sleep.

Donald's stifled amusement erupted into laughter.

Leandro realized what it was about.

"Hey!" he said defensively. "It's not what you think. I know you still think about her, too. Admit it."

"Yeah, but not like sleeping with her pictures in my hand."

"It's not what you think."

Donald's eyes narrowed teasingly as he looked at him, and then nodded amusingly. "Oh, yeah. Sure."



After their lunch break they proceeded to the site where they had submerged the fish nets, circled around it once more to scare the fish and eventually lead them into the nets. When they came to rest and waited once more, Donald said he was in the mood to swim.

"Do you ever wonder how she's been?" Leandro asked as Donald took off his shirt.

"Yes, sometimes," Donald replied. "But not as often as you do."

Leandro threw a chicken bone at him. Donald winced.

"Stop that."

"It's true?"

Leandro did not answer. Instead he went on. "It's been three years since her last letter. She seems to be forgetting us already."

"Well, the thing is, we stopped writing her, too. It's either she forgets us or we do," Donald looked at him in the eye, and then went on to fold his shirt.

"I still miss her."

"You see? It's not ordinary anymore."

Exhausted, Leandro said, "Okay, okay."

Donald grinned victoriously. After he placed the folded shirt on top of the styropore cover, he spoke seriously, "Write her a letter."

"I don't know what to say."

Donald squinted his eyes and spoke knowingly, "Oh, you know exactly what you're going to say."

"Maybe you should write her, too."

"I have nothing else to write except consuming the whole page explaining why we stopped writing her letters. But you, you have something to write more important than that," Donald said as he unzipped his pants.

Leandro leaned forward, pressed his elbows against his knees, folded his arms between his legs, and said, "Her grandma said they've changed their address."

"I'll take care of that. I'll go ask Lola Dorya for the address."

"You're gonna do that?"

"Uh-huh."

"Gee, thanks."

"Nah," Donald dismissed it by waving his right hand forward and down. After a while, as he stood there naked and the boat rocked under his weight, he asked, "You sure you ain't swimming?"

"The sun's already high. You'll get sunburn."

"Well, not only me," Donald said and then threw himself into the water in an awkward angle on his attempt to dive headfirst but lacked enough height. When he resurfaced he hit the water with the base of his right palm, which then sent a shower of seawater toward Leandro enough to wet his shirt.

Leandro protested, but Donald just kept laughing.Then came another one. And another. He quickly undressed himself and went after his friend who was now boisterously laughing. The echoes of their yelling and laughter tore the quietude of the afternoon sea.



During recess at school, if not chatting around with his classmates or sitting in the cafeteria with his best friend or in the gym doing a basketball round, he would consume the whole thirty minutes digging himself on books. Sometimes he would excuse himself from his group of friends, and some other times he would go in the library with Donald. But that was rare, for most of the time Donald would just go with him if he felt like reading, which seldom happened. But Donald knew where to find him every time he's not around with him, just like today.

Leandro found an empty table next to the huge west window, which was visible from the main door, and from the strict, man-eating librarian. He was flipping pages of an astronomy book, found the page where he stopped during his last visit, and then continued reading. Beside him was an unopened encyclopedia.

He was reading about space explorations when he noticed someone walked toward him and stood in front of him. He looked up and saw Leah, his classmate since their first year but were never close. He didn't ask himself why, for he never had the slightest urge or reason to. They had different group of friends, dissimilar interests, different taste on most things. They just knew each other as casual friends. But today he was completely surprised to see her in the library, alone.

"May I sit with you?" she asked.

"Sure," he said with inquisitive look.

"You don't mind? I'm not disturbing you?"

"No, it's OK."

Leah grabbed a chair and sat. "Is that an Astronomy book?"

He darted his eyes from her to the book and back to her, and then smiled faintly. "Yes, the only one here."

"Astronomy is interesting."

"You think so?" he was surprised to hear that, but was skeptical to believe her.

"Uh-huh," Leah affirmed. "Why don't you share it with me? What you're reading now."

"You serious?"

"Yes. Tell me something about stars and comets. Those, I'm more fascinated with," Leah managed a smile.

After thinking about it for a while, he nodded and said, "Alright." He paused, and then went on, "The comet we saw back in '92, remember that?"

Leah nodded. Yeah, she remembered.

"It was the only comet believed to come into contact with our planet," he said, knowingly.

"You mean collision?" Leah's forehead wrinkled.

He nodded. "But, that's the basic theory. After some recalculations and study they said it might not happen at all."

"That's scary," Leah said, expressing her pure concern.

"Well, not in our lifetime at least."

"It's still scary."

Leandro thought for a moment, trying to scan his memory for something more interesting to share.

"The first recorded collision between two objects in the solar system was with a comet named Shoemaker-Levy 9 and the planet Jupiter. And that happened 4 years ago. During our first year here."

"OK. That's too scary for a start," Leah laughed nervously.

He laughed, too.

The librarian looked at them and hushed them. Silence followed.

"I know I'm not a nerd, but you think I'm a geek?" he asked in a low voice.

"No, you're not," she said while shaking her head. "Not at all."

"You're being nice?"

"I'm being honest."

Another silence.

After a while, Leah spoke. "Look, this Friday's my birthday, and I'm inviting you to come."

He looked at her, waiting.

"I know this is kind of unusual, but yeah, I'd like you to come."

"We're not that ---"

"I know. I'm just hoping you'd still come," she sounded nervous with her seemingly controlled yet heavy breathing. "You can bring Donald along, if you want."

He thought about it for a while, and then shrugged as he pouted his lips. "Okay."

"Really?"

He nodded.

"Friday then?"

"Sure."

After staying there for a couple of minutes, Leah stood up, collected her things, and said goodbye to him.

When she walked past the librarian and into the door, Donald came in with his duffle bag hanging from his right shoulder. Leah smiled and walked past him. Donald went straight to him with a curious, questioning look.

"What's going on?" he asked with a frowning, smiling face.

"Nothing."

"You're lying," he grabbed the chair previously used by Leah, put his bag on the table, and then sat. "No secrets, man. No secrets. C'mon, what did I miss?" he asked as he bent his body forward and leaned with his arms folded on the table.

"She invited me to her birthday," he said, expressionless, as he continued reading.

"Ahahaha!" Donald exclaimed. "I knew it!"

The librarian heard the noise, glared straight at them, and warned, "Silence!"

Leandro glanced from the librarian to his friend and muffled his giggling.

In a hushed voice Donald continued talking. "I knew something's up with her. I just couldn't tell then. Now I know it. I think she likes you."

"Nah. She's just being friendly," he reasoned as he flipped a page.

"You're unbelievably insensitive!"

"I may be unbelievable, but not insensitive," he flatly said as he continued flipping some pages.

"Whatever."

Donald turned around to check the librarian, and then turned back again to look at him. He moved his head more closely toward Leandro. "Guess what."

"What?" he asked with less interest, his eyes still on the book.

"Try."

"Christine's pregnant?"

Donald grimaced. "What the --- get lost!"

"Tell me."

"I've already talked to Lola Dorya."

"Now, this is conversation," he said jokingly and shifted his attention to his friend. "You got the address?"

"Uh-huh," Donald answered almost like hurriedly. "Here's more, she said Rem's coming back."

Leandro was speechless for a while. "No bullshit."

"I'm serious," Donald pressed. "And guess when?"

"When?"

"In May. No specific date, but most probably before the fiesta," Donald grinned widely, and raised both his brows rhythmically.

Leandro went back to reading. And smiled.



That evening when Leandro went to bed, he turned the battery-operated AM/FM receiver on and lied there staring at Remma's picture. She was 12 years old in the photograph; young and innocent. Her smile was pure and contagious, which made him smile, too. After quite some time he went to sleep when the radio played the song of Richard Marx.

Donald was just staring blankly at the ceiling in his bedroom. It was already past midnight, but he still couldn't force himself to sleep. His mind was traveling far away into an unknown distance. Wandering. Searching. Discovering. Drifting away with thoughts and images and memories. He was dreaming wide awake.





The photograph used in this entry is from Chokkolat's Flickr page. Click here to go there.

When he arrived at Leah's hotel room, the door was unlocked. He heard some movements inside, an indication that she was already home. He opened the door and stepped inside. He found her at the living room by the fireplace with her back on him. When he closed the door behind him, Leah turned her head and saw him.

"I was looking for you back there," Leandro said as he walked toward her.

"I got tired and sleepy," she said. The wine softly swayed in the glass she was holding as she turned around. "And I rather not disturb the two of you."

"She asked me if I still love her."

"And?"

"I don't love her anymore," he said. He walked closer to her until their heads touched. He gently placed his right hand thumb and forefinger on her chin, and made her look at him. "It's you that I love, Leah."

Leah was about to say something when he kissed her passionately on her lips. He wanted to make it last longer, but Leah backed her head and turned it sideway. She looked down, away from his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Leandro said, wondering.

"Leandro---" she let herself free from his left hand that was wrapping around her waist. "Please don't get everything wrong."

Leandro was perplexed. He couldn't understand it at all. His heart raced so hard and so loudly. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Leandro, I don't love you."

He heard it. And then he felt like his heart was stabbed with those words and left him bleeding. Suddenly, the world around him was spinning wildly. Muted. Blurred. Numb.



They were sitting on the couch side by side; she was sitting there feeling sorry for him, feeling down and sad for him, and feeling guilty of not telling him earlier when it wouldn't be this painful yet. Leandro, on the other hand, was sitting there, feeling the world collapsed cruelly unto him.

"I love Donald," Leah said after a long silence. "I love him so much that I couldn't love anybody else like this again."

Leandro said nothing. He was just sitting there, his body leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands cupping over his head.

"And I would do everything to make him happy," Remma continued. "He wanted the three of you to reunite. And I'm doing my part to make that happen."

Leandro was confused. He looked at her with questioning eyes. "What do you mean?"

Remma couldn't look at him. "The reason why I brought you along tonight, is for you to see her."

Leandro grimaced in rile and disbelief. "You planned this?"

Remma weakly nodded. "This is what he wanted for the three of you."

Leandro breathed in heavily and then sighed. He had just dumped Remma, and then Leah dropped him and watched him rolled down a bottomless cliff. Now this.

"Why is this happening to me?" Leandro desperately asked not her but the world.

"Leandro---"

But he wasn't listening; he was breaking.

Silence. None of them wanted to speak. None of them had the courage to break the silence. But after some time, Leandro asked, "Does he knows?"

Leah nodded. "We talked one summer, way back in college."

Leandro said nothing.

Leah stared down and sighed heavily.

"But he don't love me."

Leandro was astonished and, simultaneously, turned his head to her.

"What?"

"He," Leah stopped herself from crying. She was fighting back her emotion when she continued, "He don't love me, Leandro."

"And he don't love Remma, too."

Leah knew so well why. After fighting it over, after fighting so desperately not to tell him the truth, she heard himself say, "He's gay."

Leandro froze. Then he laughed at it as though it was hilarious and ridiculous at the same time. "Oh, ho-ho-hoow. You're not serious."

"He told me," she continued. "I know I am not in the position to tell you this, but I thought you deserve to know. He's your friend after all."

Leandro's face suddenly changed reaction. "Don't fuck with me!"

Leah went silent.

"You're just fucking with me, Leah," Leandro defended.

"I have no reason to do that."

"NO! YOU'RE LYING! YOU'RE FUCKING LYING! DON'T YOU EVER SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT!"

She said nothing.

"This is bullshit!"

"He realized it by the time Remma came back. He had been through alot of time facing himself and asking who he really was, and why he suddenly felt that way to you," Leah went on. "His feelings for you became intense when Remma was around. It was so intense that he finally heard what his heart wanted to tell him for so long. He finally understood what it was, and what it was screaming for. And that was the reason why he didn't love Remma, because it was when he discovered the answer to his own question."

"Oh, God. This is unbelievable!" Leandro said after a long time thinking it over. He was weighing her words, her intention, her motive. But he couldn't find anything that would tell him she was lying.

"You promised him something, Leandro. I think it's about time to visit him. As his friend."



The day before the New Year, Leandro went to the living room and picked up the telephone receiver. He dialed Donald's number in the Philippines. He also called him the night before Christmas, but failed to talk to him. He wouldn't want to confront him or harass him and push him to tell the truth; he couldn't do that partly because he knew his friend so well, and partly because he wasn't convinced Leah was telling the truth. He just wanted to check if he was alright, thinking that failing to keep his promise to visit him would somehow be outweighed by a simple phone call.

The phone on the other end of the line kept ringing for several times before it was picked up by Mr. Gulle, Donald's father. Leandro could hear no loud voices or music in the background, which was unusual for the family whom he knew had never failed to welcome the New Year expensively. But tonight he felt it was very quiet in the Gulle house.

"Hi, Mr. Gulle," he said. "It's me, Leandro. Is Donald there?"

"Yes, but he's already asleep. I'm sorry Leandro, but I can't wake him up."

Leandro checked his watch. It was still 9:30 in the evening there. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, everything's fine."

"Please give my best regards to him. I'm just dropping by to greet him a happy New Year."

"OK. I'll tell him."



One Wednesday night in the first week of May, he woke up from last night's party and booze to a phone ringing by the living room. It was a long distance call from the Philippines. It was his birthday last night, but he was not expecting a call from overseas. His parents had already called him yesterday. When he picked up the receiver he knew it was Mrs. Gulle, who sounded in pain and was crying when she spoke.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He suddenly felt tensed and afraid.

"I can't take it anymore. I can't take it anymore," Mrs. Gulle mumbled. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."

"Please tell me what's going on?"

"Leandro, Donald is dying."



Mrs. Olandria explained everything he needed to know. After he heard it he felt so unimportant and trivial to had been excluded from being informed about his friend's illness as early as he should be. But then he couldn't really blame Donald for having that decision because, in the first place, it was he who had started it. But what his guilt was screaming of was the reality that after ignoring his friend for a long time, and after how his friend felt for being neglected and almost forgotten, still Donald cared so much about him that he had spared him from worrying. And in the end, though they had been through such fragile past, he still understood and respected Donald's reasons. Because after all, he had no reason at all not to.

He couldn't blame all those people who had kept it out of his life either. And he thought this was what he deserved to feel, this was what he rightfully deserve after wrecking their friendship and after letting Donald suffer to an extent he would never know.

Leandro was slumping beside the table, crying all his guilt away and all his pride and remorse for not coming back to see his friend. He could have done it if he really meant to, and if he really wanted to. But because he thought Donald would always understand, that Donald would always be there waiting, he chose to postpone it to another year, and then another, and another year. He couldn't stop blaming himself for so many things, for all those stupidity and arrogance that consumed him. He couldn't even forgive himself. He found nothing to console himself, so he let all of those things out and cried them out loud hoping that somehow all of these would just disappear. He cried so hard all night.

Before going to work to file for an emergency leave, he called Remma and told her about Donald. Remma took it very hard, too. After composing herself back, he told her that he would be going home the soonest time possible. The call had ended several minutes ago, but Remma was still standing before the telephone, leaning on the wall. And she was crying, too.



It was a Friday when he arrived in Tagbilaran City airport. From there he hired a taxi to take him to the town of Candijay, a small, quiet town on the eastern part of the island province tucked between the low-lying mountains and the sea, a two-hour drive away from the city.

When he arrived, he immediately went to visit Donald at their house several meters away from the church and a few meters away to the park beyond. Mrs. Gulle met her at the gate with a happy smile and sad tears. She told him Donald was spending the late afternoon at the park, just like he had always done for the past five years. Mrs. Gulle explained that Donald began spending his afternoons at the park after he secured a job at the town's only college, and was even more determined after he was diagnosed.

Leandro was so stunned to learn this. He couldn't believe at such drive, such patience, such effort, and such dedication to the promise they had made. He was so enthralled by his friend's passion to spend all his afternoons there, watching the sunset like they used to. Such passion was so immeasurable and astounding and intense that he doubt if he could ever manifest the same and he wouldn't trust he could do the same thing himself either.

And he was even more emotionally and physically shocked to see how much the park had changed beautifully. It had transformed from being bushy and undeveloped and deserted to manicured and landscaped and maintained. The weeds and bushes had gone; the grasses were trimmed and maintained; cobblestones replaced the dusty trail toward the end of the park; street lamps installed at uniform interval and were elegantly designed; concrete fence ran along the perimeter, surrounding the park. He walked slowly toward the edge of the park, admiring the view as he went along and couldn't help but wonder how come he had never thought of doing it himself for their friendship.

From where he was he could see at the far end a man on a wheelchair beside the unfinished lighthouse; he was facing the sunset. As he continued walking a young woman emerged and stood beside the wheelchair. He recognized her, and he knew she was tending his friend. Phoemela sensed his arrival and turned her head. She was surprised to see him there and to see him back, because in the first place Leandro told no one that he would be coming home. But she was also aware of not disturbing Donald from his drifting away into deep reverie. She silently smiled and stepped away from the wheelchair to meet him halfway.

Phoemela hugged his kuya whom she saw for the first time in almost ten years now. She hugged him so tightly, letting him feel how much she missed him. After a while Phoemela told him about Donald's present condition and stood aside to let him come closer to his friend. As he went nearer, the reality of Donald's rapid wilting became clearer and horrifying.

His heart began to ache and his soul began to break into fragments by the time he reached Donald. Nothing had prepared him to see Donald like this. He couldn't dare stare longer at that feeding tube that was being inserted into the skin above his stomach. He couldn't dare look at the neck support or the plastic thing that seemed to be inserted into his throat. He felt his heart was crushed; he felt weak and numb and shivering. Guilt and self-blame wrapped all over him at the same time he felt pity for Donald.

Leandro walked a few more steps and turned around to face him so that he was blocking Donald's view of the sunset and his back on the sea.

With so much difficulty speaking, he said, "Hello, Don." But it was far more harder to say those words or any words at all, than he thought he could.

Donald fought so hard to look up at him. His eyes beamed with so much happiness and excitement to see him at last. Oh, if Leandro only knew how much he longed to see him again. His mouth quivered, his eyes began to water and his body started shaking. But that was all he could ever do. The disease had totally shutdown not only his feet and arms, but had also damaged the muscles that controlled his ability to talk and swallow. And his breathing would be next. Those words he longed to say, those words of happiness and thank you and sorry, they all came out as groans and moans. But Leandro could still hear those words somewhere in his mind and heart, and he could also feel how much Donald had wanted to hug him so badly.

Leandro couldn't take it anymore; he surrendered totally to all his emotions. He slumped on his knees and hugged his friend as he wept; he hugged him for all those times he had ignored and wasted, and he wept for all those times he had let his friend suffer this much and made him fight the disease alone. He asked him to forgive him, and told him over and over how sorry he was.

And though Donald couldn't hug him back, Leandro could feel his friend's arms wrapping around him in return. Accepting him.

Leandro was closing his eyes and tears were flowing profusely as he was hugging his friend, when he felt someone was walking toward them. He could still hear Donald groaning and could still feel his body trembling, but Leandro sensed someone else was there. When he opened his eyes he saw Remma standing silently not far away. Failing to hold back her tears as she watched the two of them, she wept silently. Beside her was her five year-old daughter holding her right hand.

When she saw Leandro smiled as he looked at her, her emotions rushed in so furiously that she broke into crying and ran toward them. With all the words she wanted to say, she hugged them longingly.

At that point, though they had not realized, after a very long time of walking their own lives and chasing their own dreams, the road that led to three different highways had finally led them back to where they had started and into the very place where they had promised to be together once again.




The photograph used in this entry is from Vanilla Coquelicot's Flickr page. To view the owner's webpage, please click here . Thanks!