05/06/2025
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | โ๐๐๐ง ๐ ๐๐จ๐ฏ๐โ
๐ฃ๐บ ๐๐ข๐ป๐ฆ๐ญ ๐. ๐๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ณ
Maybe things really do end on a random rainy afternoon. Who would have thought that after cooking and sharing our favorite mealโchicken adoboโand devouring a box of mango graham cake, it would lead to something quite heart-wrenching? Then, memories come flashing back as if they were a video stuck on loop. Suddenly, the umbrella no longer shields you from the storm happening in your chest. And you were leftโwondering if it would have been better to not meet them at all. If you had the chance, would you still choose to meet them while knowing what it might spare you from?
I am an only child. Unlike what people usually assume, my experience wasn't one of pampered comfort or life in the spotlight. I was shy, soft-spoken, and often too afraid to speak up for myselfโeasily overlooked. But as I grew up, I understood how it felt to be misunderstood. I have always seen the good in others, even when it was hidden. And I have always understood how hard it was for my father to be away from us while I grew out of his sight.
We live near the highway, far from the barangay's centro, where kids my age usually play together. I always played alone, but I was fine on my own. I remember when I used to play outside of my lola's house, just before the fence. I would find a random container which I used to pretend that I was a chef. I would wet the sand that was scattered on the yard and pick a rose from my lolaโs plant and make a โcakeโ out of it. My mother would always scold me for playing like that. She didn't want me to catch any hygiene-related illness, I understood that. But I always wondered about what my father would have thought if he ever saw me playing that way. Would he have scolded me the same? Or would he have bought me a cooking toy set instead?
Whenever my classmates in elementary school ask me to go out and swim at the river near our house, I would always decline. It wasnโt because my mother doesn't approveโit was my fear of drowning. Then, I would go back to the thought of my father. He was already present, but he could no longer teach me the things fathers usually teach their daughters. Maybe if he was there sooner, he could have taught me how to swim. That walking towards deep water will never make me fear. And maybe, he would have taught me how not to drown in this ocean tears of mine.
If I felt earlier how a man truly loves me, would I be craving to be loved by one now? If my father had been present since day one, would I be begging for a man to stay? But I understood, it was never his fault. And he's my father, I still love him.
In my sophomore year in college, just before my birthday, I met a man whose name had an extra HโPhaul. I don't really have a specific type. I believe that when I meet someone, I will know immediately if he's the one or not. Well, maybe I do have one: a guy who's taller than me. Aside from the fact that he fit perfectly into my sole standard, I felt the connection I had been looking for, making me think he was โthe one.โ It made me think that, maybe, I was the extra H on his name.
The first time we went out, it was during a student leadership conference, which we both ditched on its last day. Instead of listening to someone's advice on leadership, he drove me to the sea and told me trivial things he knew. It amazed me how someone who claimed to be non-academically inclined knew a lot of things I don't know of. It was the first time I personally met him, but he talks so familiarly. He spoke so much like my fatherโhalf joking, half profound, like he was carrying the world in stories he never got tired of telling. It made me think he would be a great father for the family I wanted to build in the future. That lone idea made me fall for him, unexpectedly.
And so, I did everything I could do to keep him. Gave everything I have to make him stay. Prioritized him even when I could feel my body giving up on me. Cooked our favorite chicken adobo and shared a box of mango graham cake on a random afternoon, after the academic year came to an end.
Yet, there was a fine line between these men I loveโone that could never break the fourth wall in my mind. My father may have been absent during my early childhood, but he would never make me feel like I was never enough. He would never take advantage of me and leave me drained from giving everything I have in hopes of getting loved back. He would never choose someone else over me. And he would never make me weep in pain.
But, just like how I understood my father's earlier absenceโhow I learned that he was away simply to make a living for us, how he got hospitalized and later underwent surgery because of glaucoma, how he could no longer teach me rigorous physical activities because he's past his primeโI understood Phaul, no matter how many times I shed a pool of tears because of him.
And just like how I would always love my father, maybe I will always love Phaul. In the most foolish yet unrepentant wayโwith no regrets, no turning back. If given the chance to turn back time, maybe I would still choose to meet him, despite knowing what might happen. Because I know, there's still good in him, always. After all, it's not love if it doesn't hurt. As time ticks slowly on every second, love endures.
But maybe, love doesn't always have to hurt. Maybe, one day, I'll meet someone new. Someone who, despite not being like my father, will give the rightful love I deserve.
Maybe things really do end on a random rainy afternoon. Right after cooking chicken adobo and sharing mango graham cake with someone who felt like home. Maybe the warmth of that meal was the last comfort before the cold crept in.
But rain, like endings, doesnโt always mean ruin. Sometimes, it just means something has run its courseโand all thatโs left is to feel, to remember, and to grow.
And maybe, just maybe, the next time it rains, Iโll be cooking my favorite meal againโnot for someone to stay, but for someone who would share an umbrella with me in the middle of the storm.
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