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[ejaydoeshisbest]

A magnetic pull, a force, like how air feeds flame, like how boys looked at girls, and how girls tried not to look at boys.

I felt like a reed when the wind pushed past. Our voices mingled, trying to catch the right notes, the guitar strings keeping us in tempo, in tune. You finished with a flourish.

I clapped, you bowed. And then we held each other’s gaze as our laughter quelled in our throats. It was a prickling thing, like cloths knitted together.

It was the ghost of the music; the message that lingered in the soft haze of the sun, the steady beating of the waves below.

My heart insisted that there was more weight to it when you sang. It made us turn away from each other, suddenly shy. It felt like a gushing, swelling bee settled itself nicely in something that was blooming in me.

When we turned to look at each other again, your eyes were searching mine.

I swallowed. You did not stare at me so intently before. It felt like you were digging for something. You looked like the time when you found a pearl in one of the many oysters you caught.

A magnetic pull, a force, like how air feeds flame, like how boys looked at girls, and how girls tried not to look at boys. It was the way Papa used to look at Mama.

You were making me feel warm and cold. It made the hairs on my arms stand as if chilled by the wind. It was like the first night I met you as the moonlight pulled a mighty wave to blanket me.

“You have grown… well,” you said slowly. The heat radiating from you seemed to burn me. I chuckled nervously. “Are you cold?” you asked when your eyes fell on the hairs standing on my skin.

“No. Are you?” I said when I saw the same kind of gooseflesh on your arms.

“I think I am.” You smiled and sounded apologetic.

You hugged me, and we huddled together. You felt nice, warmer than any blanket I owned, I thought.

“I missed you.” You touched the end of my finger. A pleasant shiver crawled from there. “It would be nice, though, wouldn’t it? If only you could be here. If only I could be there.”

“Us walking the sunset street every day,” I said.

“Us picking mangoes. Diving into the waters. Whenever we wanted,” you said.

We let that fantasy linger; strengthened and almost made real under the blissful night. Under the twinkling stars, wishes and dreams were freer. My head rested on your shoulder. So close, we were; two trees planted in one patch of soil.

“I could never play,” I whispered. “My fingers were trained to draw, but I have yet to control strings and percussion.

To me, music was as wonderful as stories penned to existence. It was a connection to the divine, to muses unnamed. We were meant to sing, to tell stories, to connect, to entertain. To love. We are more beautiful for it.

We were meant more than to toil and labor. We hurt. We hope. We cry. We live.

Words: Ejay Diwas, Chapter 17.2

[ejaydoeshisbest]

I heard it over a hundred times by now, but I felt captivated when I listened to you in this spot.

You took me to the cliff where your friends pushed me before. You wanted to replace the bad memory with a good one. I smiled at the idea. I wondered if you were still friends with them.

I wanted to ask. But you looked peaceful staring out into the ocean, then closing your eyes as sleepy warm wind made you yawn. We napped with old tunes in our ears.

When the cool wind picked up, you raised your arms like an airplane. It ruffled our long hair like blades of dark grass.

“The province never changes even if we do.” You looked at me, somber. You kicked sand. “I love this place. But sometimes, I keep imagining if I could just…” your fingers formed into two legs running. And then into a fish swimming. And into a bird flapping away to the endless sky.

“You could come with me to the city,” I said. “Stay at our place. Papa will be thrilled to have you.” I’ve been thinking about this for almost a year now.

You shook your head. “I would owe you for the trip. I would owe you too much.”

I was about to protest. Here we go again, I thought. But you smiled and covered my lips with your hand, grabbing something in the bushes nearby.

My eyebrows shot up at the sight of an old guitar. You showed me the strings and pegs.

“I found it near the dump site. It had a broken peg. That was it. One of the richer kids from the subdivision must not have bothered to fix it. Can you believe my luck?”

You were smiling as if you were showing me a brand-new car. Or a puppy. You looked so adorable. You showed me an old magazine with faces of rock bands and solo music artists and told me you spent your free time learning the chords.

“Well?” I said, “Show me.” I sat attentively, cross-legged on the sand. And in that moment it seemed like the waves and wind held their pace to listen to you.

You seemed nervous suddenly, fingers shaking. I breathed encouragement. You took a breath and steadied them. A short chuckle escaped your lips.

You closed your eyes. Your words flowed as your fingers tickled the instrument. I knew the song well. “Bakit nga ba mahal kita…”

I groaned to break the tension. Everyone was singing this song. I heard it over a hundred times by now, but I felt captivated when I listened to you in this spot.

You opened your eyes and invited me to sing with you, just like last summer.

Words: Ejay Diwas, Chapter 17.1

[ejaydoeshisbest]

If I was the wind...

If I was the wind, I’d carry music and voices and the wishes of people, and deliver them to the sky. To the moon and stars. I’d blow away the clouds so that the light will always favor you, wherever you go. Your world will never be dark, my friend. You would close your eyes at my touch. I will pass through you each time you whistle. I am yours to command. I will be there for you.

Words: Ejay Diwas

[ejaydoeshisbest]

I heard it over a hundred times by now, but I felt captivated when I listened to you in this spot.

You took me to the cliff where your friends pushed me before. You wanted to replace the bad memory with a good one. I smiled at the idea. I wondered if you were still friends with them. I wanted to ask. But you looked peaceful staring out into the ocean, then closing your eyes as sleepy warm wind made you yawn. We napped with old tunes in our ears. When the cool wind picked up, you raised your arms like an airplane. It ruffled our long hair like blades of dark grass. “The province never changes even if we do.” You looked at me, somber. You kicked sand. “I love this place. But sometimes, I keep imagining if I could just…” your fingers formed into two legs running. And then into a fish swimming. And into a bird flapping away to the endless sky. “You could come with me to the city,” I said. “Stay at our place. Papa will be thrilled to have you.” I’ve been thinking about this for almost a year now. You shook your head. “I would owe you for the trip. I would owe you too much.” I was about to protest. Here we go again, I thought. But you smiled and covered my lips with your hand, grabbing something in the bushes nearby. My eyebrows shot up at the sight of an old guitar. You showed me the strings and pegs. “I found it near the dump site. It had a broken peg. That was it. One of the richer kids from the subdivision must not have bothered to fix it. Can you believe my luck?” You were smiling as if you were showing me a brand-new car. Or a puppy. You looked so adorable. You showed me an old magazine with faces of rock bands and solo music artists and told me you spent your free time learning the chords. “Well?” I said, “Show me.” I sat attentively, cross-legged on the sand. And in that moment it seemed like the waves and wind held their pace to listen to you. You seemed nervous suddenly, fingers shaking. I breathed encouragement. You took a breath and steadied them. A short chuckle escaped your lips. You closed your eyes. Your words flowed as your fingers tickled the instrument. I knew the song well. “Bakit nga ba mahal kita…” I groaned to break the tension. Everyone was singing this song. I heard it over a hundred times by now, but I felt captivated when I listened to you in this spot. You opened your eyes and invited me to sing with you, just like last summer.

Words: Ejay Diwas, Chapter 17.1

[ejaydoeshisbest]

“I mean, I like being alone, and I don’t think I’m lonely. But I’m also going to make sure that I don’t ostracize myself by being stuck in a world inside this little head of mine."

At dinner, I unloaded the months I did not spend with you on my grandmother’s table. If you had told me years before that I would join both the soccer and writing clubs, I would have stared at you and blinked. Papa was happy. I even invited some of my clubmates to our apartment once. I chuckled as they tried to match their differing personalities. The quiet kids trying to become more animated, the athletic kids more subdued and thoughtful. But when pizza arrived, we were all the same, bonding over movies, books, and games. We weren’t much different from each other, after all. “I think he was just glad I was behaving like a normal kid, finally,” I concluded. I think he’s glad I’m not turning out to be like my mother. I was not cultivating a world inside my head, I explained. “Is that so bad?” You swept away the hair falling over my eyes. “You got a pretty world inside your head.” I thought about it. “Yes,” I said. “Diving into your head keeps you from living in the world that’s in front of you. If you’re using it to escape, all the time. In excess. You’re avoiding the life you could be living.” I touched your hair and you let me tie it up with a string. I pointed to the golden beams filtering through leaves and the dotted eggs on a nest. “Residing in the world you made for yourself without acting on whatever thoughts you have there is like watching cable TV on repeat. Like writing the same words on paper. It’s like wasting your life away overthinking, and over-dreaming. Doing nothing instead of living every moment you have on this earth. I thought of my mother and the thoughts she harbored for all those who did not understand her. “You’d be cynical and angry and scared. You’d cut people off, which makes you more alone than you already are.” I yawned and stretched my hands over my head. “I mean, I like being alone, and I don’t think I’m lonely. But I’m also going to make sure that I don’t ostracize myself by being stuck in a world inside this little head of mine.”

Words: Ejay Diwas, Chapter 16.2

[ejaydoeshisbest]

“How long can you hold your breath?” I asked. “As long as I like,” you smiled.

I was taller than you now. You got darker, the plumpness of childhood turning to firm muscles, arms sculpted by the sea, always pushing against the waves and hunting for fish and oysters to sell, to cook. Your old shirt hugged your torso, too tight for your growing body. Yet you still looked good wearing it. I tried not to stare. We both wore our hair long. Mine straight, yours wavy. You swam even faster, legs and hands cutting the sea. “How long can you hold your breath?” I asked. “As long as I like,” you smiled. Your voice was deeper than mine too. You filled your lungs with air and disappeared underwater. I counted the seconds until they were minutes. You did not resurface. I let pass another minute before I dove after you, thinking that your feet must have snagged seaweed. But there you were, posed like a fetus in a womb, floating still, arms grabbing your knees, a single beam of strong sunlight shining down on you. Delicate. A bubble that must not be popped.

Words: Ejay Diwas, Chapter 16.1

[ejaydoeshisbest]

She was smiling: a smile less vibrant than the past summer, a flower drooping to the ground.

Another year, another golden summer with you. The laughter was already leaping from my lungs when my sandals stepped on the shore. But I felt the joy dissipate, the smile dropping from my face, when I saw my grandmother hobble towards me. She never walked that slowly before. Her hand was on your arm. She looked like she would fall over without support. Years ago, she had sped between people like a mighty, agile racehorse just to lift me and cradle me. She used to dance like the wind, merrily rolling from the mountain to the hills. And now… she looked smaller. As we grew taller, her bones and skin sunk lower to meet the ground. Lola… was it just last summer that I was still looking up at her? Why does she barely reach my chin now? I did not like this. She was supposed to be strong, always, for the rest of her days. Memories of when she picked me up when I weighed nothing more than a blanket jumped into my mind. She pressed her nose against mine as I grabbed her cheeks and giggled. Her hand wanted to touch my hair. I bent down so she could comb it over. Tears swelled, then fell from the corner of my eye, and I hurriedly wiped them away with the back of my hand. I held her shriveled arm and brought her fingers to my forehead. I forgot you were there. I grabbed both her hands and told her things she would like to hear. “I made friends in the city!” I told her of all the awards I won. Because they were dedicated to her. “Are you well?” I asked her, once I’d said what I could say. She was smiling: a smile less vibrant than the past summer, a flower drooping to the ground. “I am well,” she replied. “Now that you are here. I will get stronger.” She nudged an arm beside her. I suddenly saw you. “This one has been helping me all this time.” You and I smiled sadly.

Words: Ejay Diwas, Chapter 15

[ejaydoeshisbest]

It looked like you were dancing and flying, flapping your arms and twisting like a ballerina. You were freer in the water.

Breaking dawn. I helped you fish. You borrowed a boat and rowed us farther than I’ve ever swam before the sun warmed the world. You cast your net. The sun peeked from the mountains, scattering away the blue of the night.

You surprised me when you grabbed a spear and goggles. You told me to watch.

You dived, and I watched your body, made for the water, glide in that vast cold blueness, avoiding the colony of multi-colored corals. It looked like you were dancing and flying, flapping your arms and twisting like a ballerina. You were freer in the water.

You caught fish and collected crab with your spear. The sun hitting the corals looked like the stained-glass window of the church. You grinned, bubbles escaping your nose and mouth.

You held the bounty of the ocean out to me back on the boat, triumphant, our eyes glittering, already thinking of our favorite ginataang dinner.

Words: Ejay Diwas, Chapter 14.5

[ejaydoeshisbest]

I didn’t want my nightmares spilling into your dreams.

The beach at noon. You told me about this dream you kept having; of a fish drowning in his own sea. The sea turned into a pond, into a pool, into a puddle. You kept gasping awake and disturbing your cousins that you had to sleep in the cave where we first met.

“Why didn’t you sleep in my room?”

“I didn’t want my nightmares spilling into your dreams,” you whispered.

Some of the foreigners and metropolitan tourists were throwing plastic cups on the beach. They reeked of beer. They snapped photos of themselves goofing off, causing a ruckus. You gave them the stink eye and muttered under your breath, collecting the trash floating on the surface. I waded and helped you clean up. I overheard one blonde man with a large belly pointing at you. He looked like a walrus and had a mustache for it too. His skin was red from the sun. “He’s ruining the shot.”

I spoke to them in their language. “You’re running the sea.” They blinked at me, bleary-eyed, and laughed like seagulls.

They walked away not even having the decency to help us throw their garbage. Beautiful people with white skin, long limbs, auburn hair, amber and blue eyes, but stupid to think that the beach would clean itself. Or expect someone to always clean after them.

Words: Ejay Diwas, Chapter 14.4

[ejaydoeshisbest]

The chorus of the song was on your open mouth, about to roll off your tongue.

Even when you took me to the cold river, far away from the beach to help lola with the laundry, I could not escape this curious melody.

Even the radio blared different songs of love: Araw-Gabi. Kung Ako Na Lang Sana.

Your feet splashed on the cold riverstones. You held out a hand to me. “Join me,” you said. The chorus of the song was on your open mouth, about to roll off your tongue.

The chorus of the song was on your open mouth, about to roll off your tongue. Were you hearing the melody that I heard? Do you stop yourself from jumping back when my skin touches yours?

And when the same songs repeated in the afternoon, I dialed the radio down. You chuckled and said, “Yeah, it does get pretty old real quick.” Our smiles were shy and lola chuckled in a corner. She shook her head, rolling her eyes at the black-and-white portrait of my grandfather.

Even Father Crisanto shared that look with my grandmother as we milked the goats. You gave me a string of little red flowers. You tied it around my arm. I gave you a flower crown made from the biggest petals I could find.

“Show off,” you said as you wore the crown. I bowed to you like a knight in one of my stories. You placed your hand on my shoulder and declared me your hero. We laughed. We laughed until this newfound shyness dwindled. Finally, this sound I recognize.

I was glad that you spent more time at the chapel now. I’m glad you found peace in a quiet place near where your mother was resting. I’m glad that Father Crisanto never forced the teachings of the church on you, and I’m glad you found someone to talk to, other than me and my grandmother, about your different views about our shared religion. I thought it was healthy.

Words: Ejay Diwas

Chapter 14.2

[ejaydoeshisbest]

My heart thrummed with a string newly formed.

The mountains sang a different song in the air. My heart thrummed with a string newly formed. I touched my chest. Will I have more strings than a guitar as I get older, I wondered. And all those poor souls I saw on the urban streets, have they no more music in them? Souls cut with broken strings…

The craggy slopes and smooth meadows were strumming that song in me with each barefoot step.

I did not yet quite understand what it was; a tune familiar and foreign. It was different from a lullaby. It made my palms sweat.

Sometimes, when you touched me, I either leaned in or jumped back. I was moved by the melody. But also afraid of it. It was like looking at a fish in the sea and watching if it would splash water on your face.

“What?” you said when you caught me staring at you.

I shrugged and picked a flower. I brought it to my ear and batted my eyes. You laughed and grabbed a bright red one and put it on my other ear. The petals too were whispering this new song. My heart told me what to do: I pulled you near and spun you around and caught you when you tripped. We rolled around on the grass, laughing.

When we took off our shirts at the beach, I suddenly did not want to be near you even though you kept grabbing my arms and ankles. You were hugging me and pulling me under. I chuckled and squirmed away, feeling both cold and flushed. I shivered as if I touched an open socket.

Words: Ejay Diwas

Chapter 14.1

[ejaydoeshisbest]

Back home, you wore the look of my mother. “I don’t like being poor,” you said.

We sat cross-legged, facing each other, knees almost touching. The curtains billowed between us. I asked, “Should I have not tried to buy you anything? Should I just stop?” You did not respond. You were looking down, hands on your lap, fingers curling as if they held the words you wanted to say. I tapped your knee. “You have given me so much. You taught me how to conquer the waves, to climb a tree.” To be brave. To fight back. “This is the only way I can do to thank you. I can’t show you any secret caverns and sunken treasures.”

“You don’t have to thank me. Not in this way.”

“In what way, then?”

“Just be with me. It feels like I want to give back”

Night swallows perched on the weak branches outside my window. “I’ll be with you. All through the summer.”

You still looked sad. I tapped your other knee. You gave a forced smile. I tried to read your face. Was it because you felt bad because you can’t buy me stuff back? I don’t need you to. You’ve already given me so much.

I wanted to tell you that your friendship was more than all the nice clothes, ice cream, and books that I could afford. I wanted to tell you that you were never inadequate. I wanted to give you more that I have not to make you happy, but because that’s what good people like you deserve.

Words: Ejay Diwas

Chapter 13.3

[ejaydoeshisbest]

You do not deserve a seat at my table.

I hope you took comfort in telling the stories you told yourself about me; for abandoning me wordlessly, passive-aggressively, rather than understanding me. I mean, I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t pick myself as good company either. I respect your decision to keep your distance and reserve your time, your sanity, and your life for people more your caliber and speed.

I just wish you had the strength to formally end our friendship, instead of me holding onto the hope that you’re just waiting for me to recover and summon my old self. To jump back to my old skin. To remember the jolly person you met. Only then will we get back to how we’re supposed to be.

Right now, I can’t help but make up stories of the stories you made up for me:

You probably felt light after releasing the weight that was my presence. You probably saved your own sanity by avoiding me; the black hole, the constant drain on your time, the stubborn mule that won’t listen to your upbeat advice. You probably warn others about me. You probably forgot the many good days of our friendship.

I used to be the person who would invite acquaintances and friends when celebrating a milestone in life, the seats filled with smiling people.

Now I know that if I would celebrate my journey returning into a stable spring-summer season from the crushing abyss I fell into, the chair I usually reserve for you would be cold. You do not deserve a seat at my table. Not that you would like to be invited, anyway.

Words: Ejay Diwas Art: Joseph Lorusso, "Dining Alone", 1966

[ejaydoeshisbest]

You were smiling so near me that I could have snatched the curve of your lips and stow it in my pocket.

We didn’t miss a beat. Lola stayed in the restaurant where you still worked, looking at us contentedly as we let the waves cool our feet.

You were smiling so near me that I could have snatched the curve of your lips and stow it in my pocket.

I told you everything. You raised a brow at me. “Looks like somebody found his voice,” you said.

“I know,” I replied. “Even I want to shut myself up.” When our stomachs growled, we sat at our table while Papa and Lola sat on theirs. They seemed to be getting along better now.

I ordered everything that we liked on the menu. You didn’t like that. You frowned. I held your arm. “I want to, please. I just miss you.” Your bites were slow. I tried to distract you, tried to make you laugh. You eased up enough to finish the seafood platter. The steam from boiled crab and corn, from seaweed soups, grabbed your face as if to pull you in.

Dapithapon. The cool purple glow as the sea extinguished the sun. Your despicable aunt saw you eating your glossy meal. I smiled, almost taunting, enjoying every bite. She glowered. This. This is the one thing they cannot take from you. Not the food, no. But this pleasant joy she will never experience because of the jealousy and hatred hooked in her hardened heart.

And then she looked at me and sneered and whispered something to her children. They laughed like hyenas. They spat on the sand. They made a face at me.

Words: Ejay Diwas

Chapter 13.2

[ejaydoeshisbest]

The sun was back in my life. The sunlight, the salt of the sea, the timeless wind, the crooning of all the birds, and the song in my spirit that the mountains sang back to me each dawn.

Summer again. There you were, you and my grandmother; bright, welcoming shadows, hands waving, shouting my name, jumping, stepping on sparkling sands as the ferry neared. 

We splashed on the shore, happy shivers trailed from the soles of my feet to my nose, my suitcase forgotten. Our arms reached for each other. Our chests collided, knocking the breath out of me.

“You’ve grown taller,” you said when you released me. So have you, I thought.

And then my grandmother approached, along with the perfume of all her lively flowers.

I already smelled home even before stepping into her house. I closed my eyes and smiled as her hands smoothed my hair and clothes.

I breathed out the sighs I collected through the many months without her.

The sun was back in my life. The sunlight, the salt of the sea, the timeless wind, the crooning of all the birds, and the song in my spirit that the mountains sang back to me each dawn.

Lola cradled us both. “We are together again.”

Words: Ejay Diwas

Chapter 13.1

[ejaydoeshisbest]

And what was there to be afraid of? I faced worse than this. I’ve been gobbled and spat out by the churning waves.

I was bullied again that very first day back at school. They laughed at my tan. They pointed at my dark, peeling nose. “I learned how to swim,” I said. They didn’t believe me. They chanted the same taunts and called me an alien as the teachers turned a blind eye. But it was fine. Because I was not hurt. Because I had the light of all our summer days inside me.

And what was there to be afraid of? I faced worse than this. I’ve been gobbled and spat out by the churning waves. When they laughed, I only heard your voice amongst all of them.

Their teasings could not touch me anymore. Your friendship was a net meant to catch the stings and barbs of their words.

The days rolled by and I found myself laughing with them as they laughed at me. They weren’t used to that. And then I began to speak. And some of them listened.

“You’re different,” they said. Classmates and teachers both. I smiled at them. I have changed, it was true. I was not afraid to try new things, especially those that scared me. I joined their games when they let me, and it didn’t matter when I failed. I kept raising my hands. I kept hitting the ball when they passed it to me. I kept chasing. I kept running.

I still laughed as I fell to the ground. If I scraped my knees, then it would just be more stories for you and lola when I return.

I found myself flitting between different groups. Sometimes, I was even invited.

I listened as they talked. Boy, did people love to talk about themselves. Their nice clothes. Their nice houses. Their nice purebred dogs. They whined about the stains on their pristine white shirts.

As for me, I told them about an old woman living alone in her house. She was bent and callused to some, and to others, she was a goddess with an ever-flowering garden. I also told them about the restless spirit who made an underwater cerulean cave his home, and who was always welcomed by the waves and the wind, and who guided children on a secret path towards a quiet pool surrounded by bamboo groves keeping the love of people long gone.

Words: Ejay Diwas

Chapter 12.1

[ejaydoeshisbest]

Your lips were smiling. Your eyes were dew drops forming on glass pane. I held your arm.

Papa hopped on board, taking my suitcase. I turned around. You and I stared at each other. You hugged me. They said that boys didn’t hug boys. I didn’t care. I looked towards my grandmother and father. They were both smiling. They did not care, either.

I hugged my lola next. I will miss her brightness. I will miss her cooking. I will miss the old, wrinkled hands combing my hair one final time. “I won’t forget this time,” I whispered to her.

“I’ll look out for him, don’t you worry,” my grandmother said. “I always do.”

I smiled at her. I wanted to say something to you. You beat me to it. You clapped my shoulder. “I’ll miss ya. Come back soon.” Your lips were smiling. Your eyes were dew drops forming on glass pane. I held your arm.

“I love you,” I said. My words were for her, but I looked at both of you.

“Next summer will come soon enough,” she said.

I tried not to cry. I failed. The tears flowed as soon as we waved goodbye and your face blended with the beach in the ripping distance. I cried, already missing my grandmother’s face and her many stories, and her many, many flowers. I missed how she can summon the wind by whistling and heal any wound on your skin.

I will draw. I will draw the wrinkles decorating her face. I will show the world how age is a beautiful thing.

I will train these clumsy fingers of mine to draw. And then I will draw you. I will draw how you dove into the sea and how the waves parted to receive you. I touched my arms from the scars we got, trophies on my skin now.

I promised myself that I would carry you with me, wherever I go. More than the sands and the cold winds and the bright sun and sudden rains. Your voice, Lola’s glossy coconut-oiled hair, the way an afternoon can stretch, and the boy who found another boy in the caves.

Words: Ejay Diwas

Chapter 11.2