Bad News

With the progress of the telecommunication technology in this new era, I was able to get hold of Damien. We’ve been in communication for several years now; at least once in every six months or three, we exchanged letters for quite sometimes since the wonders of the telephone no matter how advance the technology as they say, refuse to connect the remote area of Saint-Augustine to the world, nevertheless internet access is inaccessible until today…

 

Seldom as the eclipse, but when ever we get the chance, we talked for hours and hours and hours, it’s a never ending discussion about anything that happens in our lives, laughter is frequent as we reminisce about the past. The topic of misery is excruciating to talk about but Damien is the only person in the world that I can only trust, we disclose confidentiality in life as we never disclose to anyone.

 

Besides, catching-up is exciting as it is stimulatingly arousing as the matter of flirtatious attempt in both ends. I enjoy every little game of words that we have and knowing that he feel the same way makes it more unbearably blissful as he often tells me how he look forward to our next conversation as we said our goodbyes.      

 

He usually updates me about my father’s condition, whether if it’s his new ventures or health issues. It isn’t a shocker either that time consumed the youthful glow out of my father’s aging years, his strength or his succulent bliss is subsiding and left him in the course of fifteen years as he is aging rapidly as I was told… Complications and health issues are expected on later years just like everyone else.

 

Seems like old age is the most inconsiderate! Choices and reasons are irrelevant in this stage of human life, its like all of the living; breathing and moving in this aesthetic world are born to die. There’s no amount of philosophy or even psychology of how it was design can take anyone out of it. We, unfortunate as it is cannot bail out of old age; even the brand-ness of all brands of ageless beauty labels can’t bail us out. It is painfully design that way, the benign or malignant truth about the duration of life like lifetime is paltry as the nihilist inside of me would say. It doesn’t matter what is beautiful, it doesn’t matter what is physique or meaning and knowledge for it will diminish at the end. To accept without to contest, what is there to contest anyway? What will happen to someone who refuses? Or is there really someone who can refuse old age? I doubt.    

 

“You mean this Saturday? God I almost forgot Dame, Sorry I haven’t thought about it for a very long time, how’s dad?” I told him apologetically.

 

When Nana Sol died three years ago, it was her daughter Nana Lourdes and grandson Damien took her place in our household. Nana Lourdes supervise the housemaids with their chores, she helps my step mother Flora run the house while Damien assist my father everywhere he goes, in his late sixties my father is still very active with his farming business, the boy inside his heart refuses to admit the caution of the man inside his mind.

 

Through the years of pondering the variation of alternatives in the farming business, the plantation expanded from its usual harvests of rice, corn and sugarcane to the contemporary ways of poultry business and piggery farm. This animal farming is located at the far end of the plantation where my father created a huge barn and poultry house for the pig and chicken that is remote to the public eyes and of the communities dwelling in Saint-Augustine.

 

Though not all the farmers survived the changes took place for the agricultural industry-many of the Haciendas of Saint Augustine suffered the consequence of down grade proprietorship. Several Haciendas in Saint-Augustine have been foreclosed and some of them are sold to the new generation of businessman. These new capitalists with their new plans of industrialism and construction are careless and ignorant about the origin and history of the place; they didn’t care about Saint-Augustine, they never do-its authenticity of beautiful scenery and harmonious views will soon vanish in oblivion, gone with the wind as if heaven can be extinct through time…

 

My family’s survival through the crisis of the agricultural world credited the hard-work and structural idealism of my father, his thorough mind and years and years of experience in the business took its tool in his expansion of the plantation-that instead of downgrading properties, he manages to buy more and expand it for his benefit and so for his kindred. 

         

“Uncle Cill is good,” Damien spoke, his voice is huskier but not rough or maybe the hard native accent is giving me the trickery most of the part, “though he rarely visit the farm now a days, He ask me to check the farm once in awhile for him, he just enjoy reading news paper in the porch or watch news on TV but his doing good, I just think he misses you Gave”, he said it in a lonely tone as if he wanted to beg me to jump on the next flight and come home, though I can feel his hesitation, there’s something that he wanted to tell me. “What is it Dame?” I ask, “I’m sorry to tell you this Gave, I really am but I think it’s your right to know, though he didn’t want you to know, Uncle Cillian Is dying Gave, it’s the lung cancer”… I didn’t say anything or even a sigh to respond, there’s no words that comes out in my mouth as I let my jaw drop to breathe, I felt the numbness mounting from my feet traveling to my veins, to my knees then my whole body shaken, but I didn’t feel a thing as if my muscles are frozen in a bucket of ice, I lean back on the couch and rest my head, I looked up searching some answers from the ceiling, I feel suffocated, as if there’s no amount of air in my apartment to breathe…

The information is like a nuclear bomb blasting in front of me, taking away all of the senses in my body, my hearing left me for awhile as there is no sound in my ear, there’s nothing to hear, only my heart racing in my chest as if it will burst out any minute now. Fighting back the tears choke me painfully, swallowing it hard didn’t help me from stopping my teardrops to fall in my eyes.

 

I am crying! I can’t help it anymore as there are no walls in my body refuse to crumble vigorously and collapse to the ground. All my guards are down; my citadels have crushed and fall off to pieces. I am a child again, crying fearfully, alone in the four corners of my diminutive abode. There are no words coming out of my mouth, only mournful cry, weeping to my hearts content as if I was drown. “Damien” the word is like a whisper escaped without being aware, as if I am begging for him to embrace me, begging for him to seat here beside me until I feel safe, as if asking him to tell me that everything is going to be fine.

 

How can I be so stupid? My father is suffering and ill, this lethal disease of Cancer is devouring him everyday and I am dreaming of Damien’s embrace and of his voice whispering the words of comfort in my ears, there’s nothing comforting about cancer. That’s an understatement! Ludicrous thoughts for Damien will not help me escape this entrapment of sweet misfortune.

 

 “What kind of cancer? When did you find out?” I ask in a panic whisper, “Last week Gave, it’s stage 4 cancer, the Doctor wants him to undergo Chemo but the Doctor also said that there’s no guarantee that the cancer will go, uncle Cill’s body is weak and if the cancer will not kill him, the chemo does” Damien explain.

 

“Is there any other option? Why don’t you bring him here in Manila? He could have a chance Dame; you know he could have a chance!” The tears are flowing from my face now, sobbing heavily as I ramble and try my luck to express my opinion. “Your Father didn’t want to take the chance Gave, Aunt Flora tried to persuade him, I tried and Nana Lourdes many times but seemed like his giving up any chances, his decision is final” he sigh, I heard his manly sigh as his breathe escape from his mouth. I remember his cherub mouth vividly in my head as if I am touching it with my bare hand, for fifteen years that thin mouth of Damien is an overdue guilty pleasure. The softness of its flesh, its deep pinkish glow torturing my blatant little mind and shove the fantasy aside for it is the righteous thing to do, for this moment.

 

I clear my throat to distract myself “What can I do, is there anything I can do, anything at all to help?” I ask calmly as if a naïve child unaware of his part in this whirlwind adversity. “Come home, talk him out of his decision or just be with him, you’ve been away for a long time you know, maybe it’s time for you to be home, we need you here Gave, your father needs you” his last words as we agree to end the conversation, we said our goodbyes and I told Damien that I’ll give him a call anytime soon…

 

I pull myself to stand up, went to the bed room, take my bath and prepare myself for work. Driving my way to the office with my black Honda CRV, I take the narrow road of Katipunan avenue to the magnificent buildings of Eastwood city, where my office in the 1800 building located, I made the sign of the cross when I pass by the Monasterio de Sta. Clara church at the cross road of Katipunan avenue and Aurora boulevard…reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Our Father in heaven please, please for the love of God calm my restless heart- I am still shaken from the news that Damien told me through that agonizing phone call. Every time Damien asks me to go home even for a short duration of time, it always put me in a dilemma and the fear of my painful past hunting me like lion’s on its prey. Afraid that this time I will not reach the surface and totally drown from the perfidious river of damnation and judgment-the abyss is too deep for me to mount myself up. I was lucky enough to set myself free and moved on from the bondage of that unforgettable moment of my life, an experience that is worth keeping yet forgetting.

 

As I take the tunnel from Katipunan Avenue to E. Rodriguez Avenue to get across the long and treacherous road of C5, as many of vehicular accident happen in this road-it reminds me of the darkness unstructured cobwebs that shaped my past life and the reason of my running away, my deceitful choice of turning against the people that matters in my life and never looking back. This choice I made for everyone that I love to have the chance to live, to move forward without prejudice against the vicious eyes of controversies of the old days. Blinding darkness of the midnight sky devoid the pigmentation of the evening stars from afar to guide, lost in the shadow of the solid clouds, casing all directions from my visual as my desperate heart set the sails for the wind blows and carried me across the ocean to my destiny in this big city, this capital city of Manila fifteen years ago.

 

Out of the tunnel I went, the ominous condition of the day give way to the sun to penetrate its rays of brilliant light as I watch in my front window- the skyscrapers of Eastwood city is visible from a far. As I come nearer and nearer, I feast my eyes on the humongous beauty of the Lafayette Tower, the Excelsior Tower stand on its glory and the City Bank building governing the entire small yet well structured community, a landmark of this place, defining the progress and state of the art design that represents Eastwood life, city of the stars, a contemporary life of urban living, its finest grandeur.

 

I am living my life in comfort as I may say, I have my own condo unit in Burgundy Tower, I have a sufficient job that motivates me everyday in this state of the art construction of the 1800 building, I earn and buy what I want anytime as far as materials and travel expenses is concern I can afford. In a colloquial term and as the language of conversation allows, I am living the life of a single modern man in this big city of dreams and triumphs, I succeed! But despite of the success and the sumptuousness living, I am never in my hearts of heart feel that I am home. I am away as the falcon soar higher, farther and beyond from its first flight, leaving its nest and never looking back. For the first time in my fifteen years of isolation I feel lonely, I miss my home; I miss my father, my La Valencia, my haven in the south. 

 

I am restless the whole day, conjure by the dilemma that consumes my aching heart- sadden by the situation of my father’s illness. I lock myself in my office all day to think “I need to go home, Come on Gave, enough with the drama alright?” I thought to myself.

 

 This four corner room, its high end glass wall window over looking McDonald fast food and the entire City walk, the center of Eastwood. The huge wooden table at the center near the glass window is gorgeous and well polished; the flat screen Dell computer at the right side of the table is open, citing the Airline website for an early flight on Saturday. The leathery arm chair, soft and comforting as it spin situated next to the table, facing the main door of the office and the entire room, as it turn around, the gorgeous view of the whole city is a grandness picture in my sixteen floor office, man made wonders of creation.

 

 The knock from the door separate me from my self-torturing schemes.

 

 “Hey Gavin Floriendo can I come in”, it’s my boss Annie pop out on my door with her signature teasing smirk.

 

 “B***h, Knock your self out” I reply in a mockery.

 

“Good thing you’re here; I am actually on my way to your office boss-I need to talk to you” I smile trying to be the jolly person that I am.

 

“Yeah what’s up? How’s the dinner date last night?” she ask with her upbeat high tone voice.

 

Annie Gamboa is the human resources marketing supervisor of our division, my boss and my mentor in this field of work. The one who taught me the “what and how”, “does and don’t” of this kind of game, who pushed me hard to my limit in his aggressive funny way. Setting aside our professional relationship, we’ve been friends since the first time I step my feet in this blue matted floor building. She’s thirty-seven year old and jokingly introduces herself as single, white, virgin female every time she meets new friends or men in particular. Her flamboyantly cheerful personality made her lovable to her friends and frequently annoying to her officemates but of course not to me. She’s a sweet little girl with a big heart, five foot and four inches tall and her five inches flat form heels, still petite as she is, shoulder length hair and a brow length bangs in her small oval face.

 

Nevertheless, Annie is a f*g hag pretty girl. Sometimes her signature fashionable look is way over the top but she doesn’t seem to mind it. Dress in a white silky and flowy blouse and black skinny jeans with the sky high black stilettos, her signature stilettos made her a walking vibrant character to behold. How can a huge ego of a woman manage to squeeze in something this small? And those shoes, those deadly weapons of shoes are unbelievable to walk on to- it must be inherent talent I presume, exclusively for those who endure fashion’s highest form, the pain and discomfort of ostentation. After all isn’t audacity is to be daring?        

 

 I love how open minded my little Annie is, my best friend or my only friend who knows me behind the walls. She’s caring and sensitive despite of the vulgarity yet cunning when it comes to her profession and often severs her true personality inside the vicinity of our building. But not inside my office or her office for that matter where we can be the person that we are, the crazy person as we are. The most reflective ground of our undying amity is the fact that we are both chameleons in our own pathetic and pretentious ways.  

 

“Oh right the dinner, it went well I think, the client is still considering it but I already lay the entire card Anne, It’s up to them now to decide” I answer slouching at my chair. As if addressing Annie’s question suck the life out of me.

 

 “Right, are you alright?” she ask aggressively, “So far good Anne, Hey, hmm I want to take a vacation for awhile, my father is sick and I think I am needed there at home” I finally said. “Oh, how long Gave?” she reckon, “Indefinite? Maybe three months in max” giving her a miserable smirk of desperation.

 

The best thing about my relationship with Annie is we became close friends instead of being mentor and tutor. She knows my high and lows and vise versa, though we never really disclose secrecy with each other but the respect of privacy is far more important than anything else. We are both private individuals, we have more confidentiality than what we’ve been sharing for the past years. She knows my background as I know hers, but she’s not aware of the reason of why I am here- I told her the details of the fact that I want her to know setting aside the most crucial and sensitively divisive part.  

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A very good chapter. A lot of human conflicts and decisions to be made. I like the discussions and the way you made each new person have reason and purpose. A very strong chapter. Cancer is a hard topic to write about. It is something we all have known in our life and most of us have lost family or friends. A very good chapter. You are doing very well.
Coyote

[Daniel Gardner]

I like the story. The Red for the conversations is great but it may make people skim read it. Just jumping to the conversations only.