EMIRA
JUNE 07, 2022
A Letter For Memory
Memory,
No matter how I look at it, Memory, you are lying inside a casket covered by the great Philippine flag that painfully and proudly shouts that you are one the mightiest soldiers who gave his life for this pathetic, almost helpless county, inside this not-so-big funeral home where you are having your final last three days in this planet, almost feeling the same artificial wind from the air-conditioner with the borderline invisibly written across us, splitting fine boundary I can never cross.
Alas, you are finally the center of attention without feeling flustered, Memory.
I could enumerate how many times you told me how much you hated attention from other people— that you are fine with me, your long-time girlfriend, your fiancé, the mother of your child, and all the attention I'm giving to you.
Trust me, I can clearly remember that day when we were at the festival in Baguio. Everyone were wearing their traditional or casual clothing, and you are the only person wearing your military uniform because you just rushed out of the camp just to join me. Everyone had their attention on you and it made you a little bit anxious that I chose to grab you in the most corner part of Burnham Park to eat so that they won't look at you like it's their first time to see a grown-up, naturally pale man in his military uniform without any guns accompanying him.
"I hate being the center of attention. It feels like someone's choking me," you said pouting while munching on your peanut brittle that I bought in the streets.
I don't even know, not even sure either if you are allowed to eat those kind of foods. I always thought that military always means exercise and proper diet meal, but I know, I always know that you love sweets so much. You can even eat chocolate chip cookies for your breakfast, chocolate cake for you lunch, chocolate ice-cream and milk chocolate bar for you snack, and brownies coated in chocolate for your dinner and you're good to go. You'll definitely survive a day with just chocolates as your food. You're such a sweet tooth, and I used to thanked all heavens that you didn't got yourself a diabetes.
"You should have changed your clothes first before running out here," I responded to you laughing at your own stupidness as I pinch your clear cheeks, even having natural blush and zero pores. How blessed you could be?
"I don't want you to wait," you said as you intertwined our hands and kissed the back of my palm before putting peanut brittle in my mouth. "Besides, I'm already almost ten minutes late. If I changed my clothes, you would've waited for another ten minutes and I don't want that."
I chuckled as I let you lay on my lap while I am combing your short hair that you were forced to cut for the service. "Instead of complaining for the attention. Why do you hate attention that much? It won't eat you," I said.
"It makes me anxious, nauseus, and sick. It feels like they're judging me with how they look at me. I'm definitely fine with all the attention you're giving me—" then you paused for I think five seconds before continuing again, "no, I'm not actually fine. I want you to shower me with your attention more. Give me more of your attention like I'm the only man in your life, like I'm an infant that needs all his mother's care, love, and attention," you said that made the both of us laugh.
If there's a promise that I would break, a promise that I said to you, could I break my promise that I will never say goodbye to you just like how you promised me that you'll never die not until you're one hundred before you catch a bullet and laid your life for this country? Because Memory, no matter how I look at it, in the end of the day, I need to say goodbye to you... to our memories together, to all our promises that suddenly broke, to all our plans and goals that we said we'll achieve together— that will never happen now, tomorrow, next month, next year, nor the next ten years all because you left me alone, breathing the air that I once believed existed because it fated us to be alive and meet each other.
You left me with our memories that fades like words and columns in the story book you said we'll write together, but now you left me alone writing this page, informing everyone about your proud, bravely death. You left me with our memories that fades like a photograph in the albums we filled by our pictures together, and now I was left to take photos of your funeral to post in this album where your smiles can no longer be seen.
By looking at you and how much I've known you being your six years girlfriend and two years fianceé, you're probably anxious now or a little bit mad at me by how this page only talks about you, by how I reminisce you, and by how I'm going to bring back our pasts whether it's good or bad, but I want you to at least let this one slide.
Please forgive me for not knowing what's left to do. Aside from our History, memories are all you left me, Memory. Please don't deprive our memories to me when all I had is this because you now crossed the bridge that I can't follow.
Memory, I'm breaking my promise that I will never say goodbye to you...
Even if I know that it will hurt so much that my heart could die a little times more that your consciousness...
Even if I know that will shatter my soul into million pieces...
Even if I know that saying goodbye to you will never make me whole again because you already took with you the best part of me which is "you"...
Even if I know that I can't...
Love,
Emira
--
asereneko.
YOU ARE READING
MEMORY
Short StoryCOMPLETED DRAMA Epistolary In which Memory, a soldier, wrote letters for his wife. written by: sevenchlorines credits to the rightful owner of the book cover used. under Project Finish (@PFinishIII)
