Letters after Goodbye

CHAPTER 8 --The Things We Never Finished

MIKA'S POV

October 22 — 8:17 AM

May problema sa mga plano.

Kapag naisulat mo na sila, nagmumukha silang totoo.

Kagabi, apat lang ang nakasulat sa notebook ko.

Alamin kung anong company/job offer.

Alamin kung anong city.

Hanapin ang address/contact.

Decide kung pupunta.

Ngayong umaga, parang ticket na lang ang kulang.

Nakatitig ako sa salitang CANADA sa ibabaw ng page.

“Hindi ka pa pupunta.”

“Hindi ka pa susunod.”

Sinara ko ang notebook.

First things first.

Information.

Binuksan ko ang laptop at hinanap ulit ang dating architecture firm ni Derek sa Makati.

Ilang segundo lang, nasa website na ako.

Projects.

Services.

Contact information.

I hovered over the email address.

Madali lang naman.

Hello. I’m trying to reconnect with a former employee, Derek Santos…

No.

Parang stalker.

Good morning. I would like to inquire about…

About what?

Kung saan nagpunta ang ex-boyfriend kong tatlong taon nang nagpapadala sa akin ng sulat pero hindi nagbibigay ng address?

“Normal.”

I closed the email draft.

Maybe calling would be easier.

Then I imagined someone answering.

Why are you looking for him?

Hindi ko alam kung anong isasagot ko.

Because I love him?

Because I'm angry?

Because he keep writes to me?

Because someone I don't know keeps telling me that my memories are wrong?

I closed the website.

Mamaya.

Nagtrabaho ako hanggang tanghali.

Surprisingly productive.

Tatlong revisions.

Dalawang client email.

Isang layout approved.

Normal.

I liked it.

Then at 12:14, may message si Lara.

Peace offering.

Kasunod ay picture ng iced coffee.

I replied:

Me: Wow, bribery.

Her: Hehe--effective ba?

Me: It depends.

Her: I'm downstairs.

Napatingin ako sa screen.

Of course she was.

Pagbukas ko ng pinto, nakataas na ang dalawang kape sa kamay niya.

“I come in peace.”

“Debatable.”

“May pagkain din.”

“Come in.”

“Easy.”

“Shut up.”

Pumasok siya.

Walang usapan tungkol sa Canada.

At first.

Kumain kami sa maliit kong dining table habang nagrereklamo siya tungkol sa traffic.

Then she noticed the notebook.

Nakasara iyon.

Pero nakalabas sa gilid ang maliit na papel na sinulatan ko ng pangalan ng architecture firm.

Her eyes paused.

“Mika.”

“No.”

“Hindi pa ako nagsasalita.”

“Alam ko na.”

“Tinuloy mo?”

“Wala pa akong tinutuloy.”

“Pero hinahanap mo siya.”

“I said I would.”

She looked down.

“Akala ko nagbibiro ka.”

“Hindi ako nagbibiro tungkol kay Derek.”

“I know.”

Something about the way she said it irritated me.

“Bakit parang kasalanan naman ang ginagawa ko?”

“Hindi.”

“Then stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Parang may ginagawa akong mali.”

She sighed.

“I'm worried.”

“Why?”

“Because what if you don't get what you want?”

“At least may makukuha akong sagot.”

“Hindi lahat ng sagot nagbibigay ng closure.”

“Again with the philosophical lines.”

“I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

She rubbed her forehead.

“Tatlong taon ka nang naghihintay.”

“Exactly.”

“Hindi ba iyon mismo ang sagot?”

I stared at her.

“What?”

“If someone wanted to come back--”

“Don't.”

She stopped.

“He writes to me.”

“Mika--”

“Every month.”

“I know.”

“He says he loves me.”

“I know.”

“Then don't sit there and tell me na ayaw niyang bumalik.”

She looked away.

That hurt more than if she'd argued.

“Say something.”

“I don't know what you want me to say.”

“The truth.”

Her eyes snapped back to mine.

The word hung between us.

Truth.

Again.

For a second, she looked frightened.

Then she stood.

“I need water.”

“Lara.”

She walked toward the kitchen.

I followed.

“Bakit sa tuwing sinasabi ko 'yang word na 'yan parang natatakot ka?”

“Hindi ako natatakot.”

“You are.”

“Hindi.”

“Then look at me.”

She did.

Her eyes were already wet.

My anger weakened.

“Lara…”

“Can we not do this today?”

I didn't answer.

She swallowed.

“Please.”

There it was again.

I hated that word now.

But I nodded.

“Fine.”

Bago siya umalis, huminto siya sa pinto.

“Mika?”

“Hm?”

“Kung hahanapin mo siya…”

I waited.

“Make sure handa ka sa kahit anong makita mo.”

My stomach tightened.

“Anong ibig mong sabihin?”

But she shook her head.

“Nothing.”

“Lara.”

“Take care of yourself.”

Then she left.

I stared at the closed door.

“Wow--amazing.”

Another unfinished conversation.

Parang iyon na lang ang alam gawin ng lahat.

Bandang alas-tres, bumalik ako sa laptop.

This time, hindi ko binuksan ang architecture firm's website.

Binuksan ko ang old messages namin ni Derek.

I searched:

Canada

Hundreds of results.

My heart sank.

Apparently, we talked about it more than I remembered.

I opened one from months before he left.

Derek: They asked again.

Me: Canada?

Derek: Yeah.

Me: And?

Derek: Haven't answered.

Another.

Me: Six months becomes one year. One year becomes permanent.

Derek: You don't know that.

Me: Neither do you.

Another.

Derek: Come with me.

I froze.

What?

I opened the full conversation.

Derek: Come with me.

Me: What?

Derek: If I accept.

Me: You can't be serious.

Derek: Why not?

Me: I have work here. My life is here.

Derek: You can work anywhere.

Me: That's not the point.

Derek: Then what's the point?

No reply from me for thirteen minutes.

Then:

Me: I don't want my life to become something I followed you into.

I leaned back.

I remembered saying that.

Barely.

But I did.

Another message from Derek:

Derek: I'm not asking you to follow me. I'm asking if we can figure it out together.

My chest hurt.

I closed my eyes.

And the memory came.

“Bakit parang ako lang ang kailangang mag-adjust?”

Derek was standing by my window.

“Hindi iyon ang sinasabi ko.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“Na opportunity ito.”

“Para sa'yo.”

“Yes. Para sa akin. And I want you to be part of it.”

“At paano?”

He turned toward me.

“Hindi ko pa alam.”

“Exactly.”

“Mika, kailangan ba lahat may final answer agad?”

“Yes--of course.”

He almost laughed, but stopped when he saw my face.

“Of course.”

“Don't.”

“I'm not making fun of you.”

“You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Kapag seryoso ako, ginagawa mong joke huh.”

His expression changed.

“I don't.”

“You do.”

“Mika baby--”

“I need to know what happens next.”

“So do I!”

“Then tell me.”

“I can't!”

Silence.

Derek rubbed both hands over his face.

“I don't know yet.”

And that was always the problem.

I needed certainty.

Derek lived comfortably inside maybe.

I hated maybe.

“Paano kung gusto mong manatili?”

“I don't know.”

“Paano kung ayaw mo nang bumalik?”

“Mika please..”

“Paano kung--”

He stepped closer.

“Paano kung bumalik ako?”

I stopped.

He looked tired.

“Bakit laging worst-case scenario?”

“Because somebody has to think about it.”

“And somebody has to believe things can work.”

“Love isn't a plan, Derek.”

“No.”

His voice softened.

“But it's a reason to make one.”

The memory disappeared.

I stared at the screen.

We never finished that conversation.

We never finished many things.

Maybe that was why I was still here.

Waiting.

I kept searching.

Then I found something else.

A link Derek had sent.

Architecture company.

Canadian.

The link no longer worked.

But there was a company name.

Northline Atelier.

My heart jumped.

Finally.

Something concrete.

I copied the name.

Searched.

Several results.

Old articles.

Projects.

Images.

The company existed.

Or had existed.

I clicked through.

There was an office listed in--

Vancouver.

I stared.

“Vancouver.”

The word felt familiar.

Had Derek told me?

Maybe.

I wrote it in the notebook.

Possible city-Vancouver.

Possible.

Not certain.

But finally, I had somewhere to start.

My phone vibrated.

I looked down.

Unknown number.

Of course.

Unknown Number: Found something?

A chill ran through me.

I stood.

Looked toward the windows.

Then the door.

This wasn't funny anymore.

I typed-

Me: PAANO MO NALALAMAN ANG GINAGAWA KO?

Typing..

Unknown Number: I don't.

Me: STOP LYING.

Unknown Number: I'm not.

Me: THEN WHO ARE YOU?

No answer.

I called.

Unavailable.

Again.

I typed-

Me: KUNG KILALA MO SI DEREK, SABIHIN MO SA AKIN KUNG NASAAN SIYA.

Three dots.

Gone.

Returned.

Then--

Unknown Number: You don't need me to tell you.

“Then who?”

Another message.

Unknown Number: Ask yourself why every answer feels familiar.

I stared at it.

“Because he's my boyfriend, idiot.”

Ex-boyfriend.

Whatever.

Of course things were familiar.

I knew Derek better than almost anyone.

Maybe even better than Lara.

I blocked the number.

This time without hesitation.

That evening, I searched Northline Atelier again.

I found old project photos.

Modern buildings.

Glass.

Concrete.

Clean lines.

Exactly Derek's taste.

I could imagine him there.

Standing over plans.

Pencil behind his ear.

Coffee too sweet.

Complaining about the cold.

I could see it so clearly.

Derek walking through a gray city.

Derek beside a large window.

Derek looking at his phone.

Maybe thinking about messaging me.

Maybe writing instead.

Maybe somewhere in Vancouver, he had his own box.

My replies weren't with him, obviously.

They were still here.

But maybe he imagined my answers.

The way I imagined his voice.

I closed my eyes.

And there he was.

Not a memory.

Something else.

Derek sitting alone at a desk.

Night outside the window.

A sheet of cream paper in front of him.

His hand moving slowly.

My Mika…

I could almost hear his sigh.

Could almost see him stop after my name.

Like he didn't know what came next.

Then he looked toward the window.

Sad.

Older.

Still him.

I opened my eyes.

Empty apartment.

Of course.

Just imagination.

But it felt comforting.

For once, I let it.

Before sleeping, I pulled out the Someday sketch.

Two-story house.

Balcony.

A tree.

Two ugly figures.

I traced Derek's handwriting.

Someday.

So many things between us had been left unfinished.

The house.

Canada.

The argument.

Us.

Maybe that was what the letters were.

Not promises.

Not apologies.

Maybe they were Derek's way of saying the conversation wasn't finished either.

I wanted to believe that.

Because if something wasn't finished--

you could still go back.

You could still fix it.

You could still reach the ending you were supposed to have.

I placed the sketch beside my bed.

Tomorrow, I would find out more about Northline Atelier.

About Vancouver.

About Derek.

Not because some anonymous number told me to.

Because I was tired of waiting.

For three years, I had let Derek decide the distance between us.

Maybe it was finally my turn to close it.

And somewhere inside my head, I saw him again.

Standing beside that unfamiliar window.

Waiting.

As if he already knew I was coming.

I will come, but not just today.

I will figure out kung nasaan ka--

Saka ako mag-decide to follow after you..

-END OF CHAPTER EIGHT-