The Pink Letter
By Jonell B. Estillore
Second Year, BSIT

Believe it or not, I have not the faintest idea why she gave it to me late last night. I was too preoccupied with what transpired so I just left it unopened and put it inside my treasure box.

Early today, I called her up to check if she’s fine but, expectedly, she put the phone down right before I could greet her a good morning. It was not a good morning at all for me. I wanted to spend the rest of the day without thinking even the last detail of her pretty face or the slightest smell of her perfume or the softest sound of her voice but ignoring her existence on my mind was worse than having a severe illness. Time without her by my side seemed to be slower as compared to the time I usually share with her.

Focusless, I attended two out of four of the classes I should go to today. I was too lazy to listen to my professors and participate on the discussions. It was a noiseless day. I did not speak and people around me did not speak to me as well. I was hoping that my closest classmates can accommodate me during this phase but none of them reached my expectation. Perhaps they heard the news long before I realized it myself. It was as if they were not seeing me.

Am I a ghost? I sure am, as far as my interpretation regarding this matter is concerned. I am a ghost without the benefit of knowing what I am still here for on Earth. I am a ghost untenanted by reality and solely cloaked with bewilderment.

Don’t take me wrongly. I did not cry over this simple matter. I simply took advantage of the way the world treated me.

The world is something I hate now. More than my parents. More than the endless rumors I barely noticed each time I step foot on the university grounds. More than strawberry syrup. The world is the red cloth my bull-like eyes can’t resist to stare at. I see the world as an illusion in every aspect of its engineering. The world is but a void filled with things we believed to see and are still looking forward to discover and invent. We are living on our own dreamlands that can either form steep landforms or heights we refuse to climb.

Evening came and all I was able to do was sit on my bed and yanked from under it a box filled with her memories. Hesitantly, I opened the box and was nearly bedazzled with crying. All of her letters were there as well as the receipts from the fast food chains we ate at then. Included were the number of photographs I took and the gifts she gave me.

Among her gifts, three of them were the most important possessions I treasure.

The first one was the small teddy bear she gave me on our first anniversary. I still remember how she surprised me with that one. I almost laughed into tears when she hid the teddy bear under my shoes, together with a small piece of card saying the three words I always want to hear from her.

The second gift was a vial with a cork locking its content tightly. I examined the inside and reminisced her telling me of the meaning of the two small shells, each of which representing each of us. She gave that to me on my birthday. Just recently. She promised me that as long as I have the vial, the two of us will still be together. Right at that moment of her explanation, she reached my lips and I officially received her first kiss on my lips.

After picking the third gift, I idly stared at it. For a long time, I put the pink letter near my chest and let it seemingly hear the beating of my heart.

I began to cry.

As tears were rolling down my sad face, I opened the letter and immediately recognized her fancy yet understandable writing. The letter consisted of just one paragraph.

You know how much I love you. I have to admit that I enjoyed the past two years I spent with you and I will never forget you. But everything must come to a sudden end. I believe this is that end. I want to give you time to search for the truth about what you really want for yourself. What I saw this afternoon is enough for me to put an end on our relationship. You know I hate goodbyes.

I closed the letter and put it back on the box. I looked at one of her pictures and took my last glance on her mementoes. I slid the box under my bed. My eyes were wet; my soul was thriving for comfort. Had she not seen me inside this very room yesterday afternoon having a torrid kissing scene with someone else, she couldn’t have broken up with me.

I knew I was wrong but it was impossible now to win her back.

Later on, before I fell myself into slumber, my phone rang and I immediately recognized who the owner of the soothing voice was.

“Can I come over tonight? I can’t sleep. I want to be with you. I miss you.”

An ear-splitting pause.

“After what happened yesterday afternoon? I can’t, James. I am not in love with you.”

And I pulled the telephone cord out of its socket.

 

April 1st, 2009 by paurong Paurong is an 18-year old BSIT sophomore student who loves to think, act, and talk in vacuum.