(A Short Story)
By Tino Belarmino Castillo
He taught me to say goodbye five times a day. First upon waking up; second, before eating lunch; third, when the shadows of the trees become long; fourth, when the sun has been wrapped by darkness and fifth, before falling asleep. He made me believe that when a moment walks out, it is gone forever. Whatever there is, in one moment, it will not be the same the next second. We never stay the same so we have to remember the moments and say goodbye to them. I believed it without him asking me to believe. I said my goodbyes five times a day just like how he did it. We stored everything in our minds and goodbyes became a form of keeping, not letting go. We kept a lot of things as we went on with our lives.
I was 13 years old. He was 36 and unmarried. I was his son. It didn’t feel like I was his son. The people I call Mama and Papa until now are his parents. I felt more like I was a stranger watching and listening as his life unfolded before me like a brother, not as a father. He told me about this woman who fancied his face and had a habit of touching. They touched each other a lot of times and then she went away. She was crying when she left and when she came back, there was a baby in her arms. She was crying. She left without the baby. She was crying.
That baby that was left was I. That baby who became a boy heard his stories about the glowing forms that would suddenly appear in front of him from time to time. Those glowing forms talk to each other. But the boy that was I could not see or hear them. The whole time, I only heard the man talking to them, who would be forced by his parents to take drugs so he will not see and hear those glowing forms. The boy that was I could not understand why Mama and Papa would not want him to talk to the glowing light. The boy that was I could not understand why he would be angry at the glowing light sometimes and smoke a series of cigarettes that Mama and Papa would not want him to do. The boy that was I could not understand why he would growl at Mama and Papa about things in the past and things in the future over and over again like a rotating carousel. The boy that was I would see the twitching of his lips and the tremors of his legs that were like secrets he wanted to keep but could not; and a pleading that his mother wants to answer but could not do anything about.
One day he said, "I want to break out of my body and let the glow of light in me be free." I didn't understand what he meant by it. Maybe he meant to say that we all have a glow in us, just like the glow of light that would appear to him and talk to him. Maybe by breaking his body he will be able to set his glowing light free and join the other glowing forms. The boy that was I kept on thinking how he would do that. I found no answer. I found no answer because he left. The man that was my father, one day left. He left the two people we call papa and mama. He left the boy that was I.
I said I was 13 years old. He was 36 and unmarried. I was his son. He came back. But he didn't come back for me. He came back for comfort. He came back for mama to cry for him. He came back for papa to accept him. I was there just to watch. I was there to see him say his goodbyes five times a day and listen to all what he has kept in his mind that he was saying goodbye to. It was a noisy and never ending rotating carousel of goodbyes. Those glowing forms that he alone could see, seemed like, they were the ones riding on the horses of the carousel; sometimes giggling, sometimes silent, sometimes in anguish, sometimes in fear, a lot of times in regret and sometimes just watching. Maybe they have seen me watching too. But I could not see them. He alone could see them. He alone could hear them.
I remember how Papa tried to explain my father's malady when I was a boy. He said, "There is this water in his brain that is making him see those glowing light. You know this water seems like a mirror where you can see yourself. This water is in different places in his head at different times that is why he thinks that what he sees is not himself but other forms; like a glow that can talk the way he does and would talk about the past again and again. But what he does not realize is that, it is himself that he talks to. It is himself at different times in his past." I listened intently and then after some thought I asked, "Don't I have that water in my brain?" Papa kept silent. He did not want to say a myth. It was Mama who decided to say the myth. She said, "You see, if you catch a cold and you swallow the phlegm; that will be the water. So be careful." After that conversation, I wanted to have a cold so I could swallow the phlegm and then maybe I could see what my father could see.
I was 13 years old. He was 36 and unmarried. I was his son. He left and came back but he stayed only for a while. He was sent to an institution and there for 15 years he stayed. I was relieved that he was sent away. I didn't like the way he made mama cry and the way he argued with papa almost everyday. I didn't like it that I know I was his son, but it didn't feel like it. I forgot about him and enjoyed high school. I forgot about him and enjoyed taking my science degree in the university that opened a lot of doors for me. He was not in my mind when I got my degree from that university. He was never in my mind when I did my post-graduate studies in medicine. But he came to mind when I remembered the thing about saying goodbye five times a day. I remembered because the cloud over my head made me remember.
Mama and Papa were happy about me doing all my studies. They didn't know that I too, became so sad just like my father that I had to say my goodbyes five times a day. I didn't want them to know. Having my father was enough experience for them. So, I decided to say my goodbyes five times a day somewhere else very far away from them.
Here in this park, where it doesn't rain, the sun is always smiling and when it decides to rest for the day, it simply gradually bows down and dims out. Here, very far away from my Papa and Mama, I am happy. I am happy not because I don't like to be with them but because the eternal sun drives away the sadness. The night times are too short and bearable. It does not rain here. I am glad it doesn't rain here. I am very far away from where I was born where rain soaks my fears and make it germinate. Here in this land that once was a dessert there is no cold rain that clouds my mind. Here, I am happy being alone. Here I can say my goodbyes five times a day freely.
But today, the reason I am sitting on this bench in this park is because I got the news that he died. He who I have forgotten. He who taught me to say goodbye five times a day. He who made me believe that when a moment walks out, it is gone forever. He died. He finally managed to break his body and set his glow free. I'll say my goodbye; my fourth goodbye of the day. Probably my last one. I have to say goodbye to saying goodbye.
THE END
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