Like Water

June 11, 2010
Like summer-kissed sea, I shimmer under the light.

She gaily trotted on the sidewalk, her toothy grin exposing every missing tooth and rotting teeth. Her two-day-old shoes already lost its shine, donned with ignored mud stains. Her new white socks were now good for garbage as well as for her school uniform. But what did she know of neatness, of respect, of reputation. There was only the playground and joys of life.

Like the waterfalls, I burst with verve.

Her tenth birthday was settled with cake and ice cream, a few of her good friends, and lots of trinkets to be left unused for the next few years. Her smile was unceasing, from gratitude to humor, it was stuck on her face like an indelible fragment of herself. The glow in her eyes showed how much her mind was preoccupied with the now, with what is in the present. Her blithe feet cadenced in the cool soil below, her laughter echoed with mirth like music for the soul, her blond tresses danced with her graceful figure. There was only the now.

Like the ocean, I run deep in silence.

After myriads of memorable merrymaking in her life, the light of the world finally sundered from her. The crisp, cold morning of August tickled her toes as she lethargically dragged herself downstairs. Something in the house felt different, like the ambiance suddenly shifted into the aura of an undertaker. She shivered. As she got closer to the living room, light sobs sounded muffled by thick fabric. For a mere second, she felt paralyzed with fear. What was unknown rendered her forlorn. The sobs came into view. Her father was hugging her crying sister. She hysterically asked for what happened.

“Your mother” Her father’s words trembled. “…she won’t come home. She’ll be going”

“Where?” It was almost a whisper. She knew now but vaguely, nothing made sense to her at the same time.

“To heaven.”

Sorrow. The very emotion that was in the old man’s word and smile. She only kept silent, her face looking stern with anger and disbelief. There was only the solemn gift of quietness, of loss.

Like the waters deep, I have learned to live in darkness.

The few years after her mother’s death passed by with flying colors, uncaring and insincere. While everybody else grew accustomed to this new life and rediscovered happiness, she remained in the shadows, in some dark corner of the world awaiting no light, no hope. Who was now to tend her socks or wax her shoes or give trinkets to be unused? Who was to comfort her every night, assuring her she was like summer-kissed sea and brisk waterfalls? In her heart, there was only emptiness, an empty void, a dwelling for darkness like the deepest oceans.

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