Married By Accident

Prologue

onism - n. the awareness of how little of the world you'll experience.

Imagine standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with strange place names like other people's passwords, each representing one more thing you'll never get to see before you die—and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out, you are here.

-Source: Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

~~~

I stood in front of a busy room full of young up and coming celebrities, fashion designers, models, style crazed individuals, and passing waiters carrying a tray of champagne glasses.

I'm a part of the main runway photographers for The Philippine Fashion Week.

This was a hectic view. Everyone was engaged and famous models were neatly seated in front. Spark took care of the event so Juls and Maza were immersed in a lot of small talks and full of instructions for the staff, mostly stubborn and entitled participants.

But my mind was somewhere else.

I'm nursing a really bad hangover from last night. Earlier this morning my housemate lectured me about the basic principles in life and how to survive after a failed relationship. She's particularly not the best person for it but given my current situation, a five-year-old can help me manage my daily routine. I'm incapable of making simple decisions right now.

If I were to be left alone, I would end up rolling in bed all day, reflecting on the scarring past couple of months.

My mind is a constant place of melancholy and paralysis.

Franki and I broke up a couple of weeks ago.

It felt like she only existed in my head like she wasn't real. The universe gave me a short taste of what it felt like when things go your way and you're permitted that tiny bit of happiness. Then it was taken in an instant, just like that, as if your heart was snatched out of your chest without a warning.

"Diana, what the hell is wrong with you? It's gonna start in a few seconds! Get your ass in there!" Liz yells, gripping my arm and pulling me in front of the catwalk.

Liz was my housemate. Yup, a lot has changed ever since she left.

"Don't make me slap you again." She says in a serious note.

I slowly shook my head to brush off images of Franki circulating in my thoughts and fixed at the camera in my hand, "I've had enough slapping for the past two days, thank you."

"Good." She hesitated to leave then gave me a concerned look, almost compassionate. My eyes started watering.

I recently developed this condition where I would casually burst out crying in random places at any given time no matter what the occasion is.

This was one of those moments.

"You're in front of the show, everyone's looking at you, VIP guests are sitting right behind you, there are cameras everywhere, GET. YOUR. s**t. TOGETHER." She then eyed Maza at the corner and started gesturing her to come over.

I felt a lump growing in my throat and I immediately swallowed before it completely dismantled me.

I'm so f*****g miserable.

"What's wrong, are you okay? Can you do this? Do you want me to—"

"She's completely fine and she... promised... that she will be here. She's a grown-ass woman and she will get through this night." Liz did a complete speech, never taking her eyes off me while Maza stood a few inches away with an apprehensive look.

"Listen, I have someone else—"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"I'll be in the back," Liz whispered and finally vanished.

I remember all those times when I would never want to leave the bed, she would throw in some clothes just so she can scramble the fridge, find something we can eat, and carry it back to the room. I loved watching the first sip of her coffee, how her beautiful light brown eyes playfully squinted at me for figuring out I didn't put enough milk in it, how she would eat her cereal sitting cross-legged in our small dining table...

"Diana..."

I missed hearing her say my name, seeing her beautiful face peering down at me, desperately close, chest falling and rising from her heavy breaths.

I missed that gentle and raspy voice.

I missed Franki.