When I heard of his passing, I thought of the time when he asked me to marry him. Had I said yes, I would have been a widow by now. I did not say no, but I guess my silence was loud enough for him to hear.
It was not a proper proposal, it happened during our drive to Shimoda, a seven-hour drive away from our home. Long drives like that makes you think of things you thought did not bother you. You get to talk about the things you are usually afraid to talk about. Maybe because you are both looking at the road, able to avoid each other’s eyes. Maybe that is why I did not think he was serious enough because he just dropped it right there without a ring, not even an eye contact.
I am sure that he knew my silence also meant something else other than a no. It was a silence that bore so many words that had been wanting to get out of my mouth. So to probably help my mind get off the topic, he asked me what my earliest childhood memory is.
I told him that one of my earliest childhood memories is that of my brother and I playing at the park. We would go inside this dome-like structure that had a ceiling that seemed to be higher than the sky. We would climb its stairs and I would slide from the top face down and eyes closed. Sometimes I would stand at the top for a while, tightly holding onto the rail. My legs would shake and the cold metal rail would seem warm against my ice-cold hands. But my brother would always press me into doing it. Until now, I can still hear his miniscule voice saying “Come on, it’s not scary at all!”
Until now, whenever I have to make big life decisions, he would still say the same things, but with a deep, grown-up voice, as if he is god who knows all the answers. But of course, the decisions you have to make when you are twenty-three are not the same as the decisions you had to make when you were four. When you were four, you just had to choose whether you should do it or not, or whether you should do it now or later. It didn’t even matter which one you chose in the end because someone was always there to save you just in case you made the wrong choice. As we get older, every move we make seems to carry a tinge of regret. Every choice not taken carries a “what if,” or several “what ifs.” Maybe that is why every time I have to make a big decision, I always end up staring at the ceiling thinking which of the option carries the least fatal damage, the least number of "what ifs." The words of my brother “It’s not scary at all” does not sound so assuring anymore. It is scary to make decisions especially when it involves cutting an important person off your life.
The real reason why we were taking that seven-hour drive to Shimoda is because I found out about him fucking another girl. But I did not tell him that I already knew. Of course, he would notice a change of attitude. I would be so restless, always looking for things to do just to avoid a conversation, or sex. Because that’s what you do when you have so much to think about. You wash the dirty clothes. Wash the dishes. Clean the floor. Dust the windows. Wash some more dirty clothes. Sometimes, it will make you think goddamn, how was I able to live in such a mess? But at least you have already cleaned that up. And now you only have your life to worry about.
So how did I find out? Gut feeling.
While he was asleep, I rummaged through his car to see if I could find some traces of this girl I initially made up in my head. I did not want to be labeled as a psycho girlfriend so I wanted to have something tangible that I could slap on his face when it was time to confront him. Two minutes in and I found a letter in the compartment of his car. It read:
Futoshi,
You're working too hard. Take a break and look at Luffy's face. It will cheer you up.
Yui
I looked for any sign of Luffy all over his car and what I found was a small Luffy stick-on figure. She even had her mobile e-mail address written on the removeable sticker seal at the bottom of the figure. But I did not know what to do with it. I tilted the car seat back, sat there for a while and looked at the sky. I realized that I was not ready to face the truth so I decided to put them back and say nothing about it.
But it became an obsession. Sometimes I would follow him to his work to see if he was really going there. Sometimes I would check his GPS to see where he had been. I would even go through his phone every single night and read every single message, even those from his mother. I remember counting the number of condoms he kept in his car and constantly checked if he had used any.
One day, while we were driving to our favorite ramen shop, I casually asked him if he was cheating on me. He said of course not, slightly raising his voice. I felt relieved that maybe I was just really the psycho girlfriend that mothers warn their sons about. I had never wanted to assume the title of a psycho girlfriend so bad if only it meant that everything I presumed turned out to be false. But when I turned my head to him, I saw him choking on the next few words he was about to say. He forced himself to look at me in the eye but he would anxiously blink and constantly checked if the traffic light had turned green. That was the last time I saw him as the man I would walk down the aisle with.
When he asked me to go to Shimoda with him, I took it as a sign that he was finally going to man up and confront the unspoken issue. I thought that maybe if he got down on his knees and tell me how sorry he is, the little tenderness I had left for him would win against the hatred. Or if we ended up deciding to break up, at least it was as truthful as how it started. I did not know his reasons, I still don't and will never do, but whether it was for the purpose of reconciling or putting an end to a two-year relationship, it was one of the moments I would replay in my head on my deathbed.
We arrived at this beach house I found online, I chose it because of its name, Ernest House. Their website says:
The name, Ernest House, comes from Ernest Hemingway, the great author who represents the "Lost Generation." He poured himself into his creative works while relishing his life at the sea. Ernest House is intended to be the home where you can find your hideaway to spread your wings, to read, to chat away, or to do creative activities. You are always welcome home with your family, your beloved one, your jolly peers, your lovely pets, and also by yourself.
I was already half-sold the moment I saw the name Ernest Hemingway. But what really sealed the deal was its promise to a “hideaway” where I can “spread my wings.”
I made sure that we booked a room after the summer break to avoid the congested shores; full of people in their bikinis taking selfies of their bums. This way we can have the peace that we drove seven hours for. The price is the chance of a downpour, as the season was already going towards fall.
Our first night was uncomfortable. We decided to go to a restobar nearest to the beach so we could enjoy a drink or two to loosen up. Three drinks later and I still could not tell him that I already knew. I could not tell him that I knew she was probably from Ashikaga because that was where his GPS would point me to every time he told me he was just having drinks in Sano. I could not tell him that I knew he had been sending messages to her because he failed to delete his "recently messaged" contacts. I could not tell him that I knew he had been fucking her because there used to be eight condoms in his car and now there were only five. I could not tell him. And he would not dare speak about it either.
So we just sat there trying to act like nothing was wrong. Smiling at the waitress who brought our orders, letting our beer mugs clink as if saying thank you for the two years you’ve spent with me.
We ended up going back to our room, a little buzzed. The walk back to our room was even more uncomfortable. I felt the sudden urge to hold his hand and tell him that it is okay and that we can still make this work. But I could not do it. Instead, I plunged my hands into the pockets of my jacket and looked at my feet as I dragged them along the sand. We were silent. I felt like I was alone with only the cold sand in between my toes, the sound of waves slowly fading away, and the cry of the cicadas echoing through the whole lamp-lit walkway.
We drank some more at our room’s verandah, underneath the blanket of clouds with the stars and the small, yellow slice of moon occasionally peeking through. I did not attempt to talk about anything. He did not either. We just drank, bobbing our heads to Nujabes, occasionally looking up at the sky, glancing at our burning cigarettes, canned drinks, food, and then back to the sky again, carefully avoiding each other’s eyes.
As forecasted, it rained the next day. But before it started to rain, we were able to finish our breakfast by the beach that the Ernest House staff had left outside our door. It was placed inside a basket with a note “Just in case you want to have breakfast by the beach.” Since Ernest House was a three-minute walk away from the beach, I thought the breakfast in a basket was a brilliant idea. I was definitely up for a morning walk and could not say no to a breakfast-with-a-view despite the clouds warning us to stay in.
Minutes after we finished our breakfast, we managed to take some photos before it started pouring. I would not have minded staying under the rain but I had my camera with me so we ran to the nearest restobar, the same restobar we went to the previous night. They welcomed us with fresh towels to dry ourselves. The waitress guided us to a seat near the verandah and she left to get us our drinks. I know she thought how lovely of a couple we were by the way she smiled at us without knowing how the bones of my neck terribly hurt every time I was compelled to turn and look at the man in front of me.
The heavy downpour lasted for what seemed like hours. We spent the whole time staring at the slew of raindrops gushing towards the Earth's surface. He would say something like what a downpour or fall is here as if we were strangers stuck in an elevator who had nothing better to talk about except the weather. I would gulp ounces of water to help me dilute the alcohol and push the offensive words back down my throat.
I looked around to see what other people might be doing but the restaurant was empty. It was just me, the ocean, the rain, and this person closest to me sitting across who I thought was soon going to be a stranger. I thought about how different it could have been. It could have been a moment full of conversation about him, or me, and all the stupid things we did when we were younger. It could have been a moment we would look back to when we are older and I held him accountable for robbing me of that moment.
I felt the rage of my heart through the violent bursting of the clouds. It was as if my heart was up there with them pouring out violently whatever it was keeping for so long. It was as if they did it with me because I could not do it alone. All the noise inside my head was muffled by the sound of the rainfall. The musky smell of my lover’s perfume dissipated. And what I thought I saw clearly became all hazy.
When the rain started to mellow down, and with a little alcohol in my system, I looked at him and said, “Don’t follow me."
And I braved through the cold rain and ran back to the beach. I submerged myself into the ocean. This time, it was just me, the rain, and the ocean. I could hear the harmonious gushing sound of the water like a perfect piece of music that quieted my soul.
I thought about the dome-like slide. I thought about how I always wanted to take a good look at whatever was on the ground before allowing the gravity to pull me down. I thought about how I always wanted to make sure my Mom was there waiting just in case I hurt myself on my way down.
Then I thought about the life that I was about to take without him. I took a long, hard look at it. I could not imagine the pain I was about to go through but I knew I had to jump out of the sinking ship before it swallowed me whole.
That getaway may not have ended like how I had hoped for it to end, but I have always carried it with me. I carry it with me because I would not have been able to pluck the courage to jump into the sea of unknown just by staring at our ceiling every night. I would not have known that no matter how bombarded we are with hundreds of "what ifs," the ocean has its way of shutting them all down. Whether you are looking at it, or submerged in it, the ocean will always make you feel significantly insignificant.
And isn't that the greatest thing you can ever experience in this life? The rain and the ocean stripping you off of all the things you thought defined you. The rain and the ocean witnessing your highly confidential thoughts and your little freedom.
