Itong mga Bulaklak ay para sa Iyo

A heart beats swiftly somewhere in Ohio. . .

          A man is remembering his true love. . . Ang puso ko, itong mga bulaklak ay para sa iyo. Magandang bulaklak. Naaalala kita.

          These words are the first ones I will ask you to teach me: Your face is a place for my eyes to rest, there I see your black eyes of heaven. As your soft lips of honey speak my name, the only wish of my heart as I hear their words is to taste this sweetness. I want to kiss you many times. I long for the honey of your heart.

          Ang puso ko, kailangan kita.

          The first time I saw you, I held my breath for a moment.You were standing there smiling as I walked toward you. My eyes were filled with your every movement during those slow moments of walking. Your scent called my name. You were so beautiful in my heart. I wished I held in my hands a bundle of roses to place at your feet. Your beauty caught my eyes so completely at that moment, the eyes of my heart still see your face. Ikaw ay maganda.

          Your skin was the color of almond rose petals beneath the blush of freshly unearthed baby potatoes. I wanted to run toward you and touch your face to feel with my hands the same beauty my eyes were seeing. Your eyes were black midnight shaded beneath your brow. I remember, I wondered in my heart at that moment if your eyes would see me.

          Naaalala kita.

          Before I had seen your face, I knew you. You were the Matamis na Pulang Clover of my heart. I had already called you the sweet mother of my daughter. Through her eyes, my eyes had seen the face of your heart. I had looked into your heart, and found it sweet to the taste of my spirit.

          Kailangan kita. Iniisip kita.

          Beside the campfires of long ago, I had looked into your eyes. In blue violets and yellow honeysuckle blossoms your fragrance spoke my name. The song of my spirit reached for your hand in the sweet air of long ago singing. Before I had seen your face, I knew you.

          Ikaw ay maganda.

          Now as I walk toward you my heart beats swiftly. Once it beats so strong and full of tender love for the one who stands beside you, the daughter of my heart. My baby. Twice it beats and jumps to see your face, and I silently ask the God of heaven if he has truly blessed me twice on this day.

          Ikaw ay maganda. Naaalala kita.

          I am getting closer to you now, in a moment I will jump over the chrome colored barricade that tries to keep me from touching you. Your smile is so pretty. You smell of violets and fresh soap. I want to touch you so much my heart hurts. I am afraid if I do not hurry, you will somehow disappear. I want to hold you in my arms the way I once held a hummingbird in my hands, looking at you and seeing your beauty. The hummingbird I allowed to fly away, your beauty has captured my eyes and arms forever.

          Ang puso ko. . . ikaw ay maganda.

          Oh, my voice begins to sing for you silently, and I pray your eyes will look my way and see me. I want you. I need you. Kailangan kita.

          Pretty Woman, kind I'd like to meet. . .

Ninoy Aquino International Airport, Manila

          I can see you both standing only a few feet away from me. I have waited so long for this moment. There stands my baby, the precious daughter of her Daddy's heart, and beside her stands the reason she is so beautiful.

          Now I see clearly your smiles waiting for me to touch them, and I am longing in my heart to actually feel them beneath my hands. I run now. I hurry forward, leaping the barricade that binds my heart from you. My heart thumps raggedly in my chest.

May 26, 2008

          Nakita mo ako. Mahal kita aking magandang bulaklak. On this day I know you have seen my face, you have touched my heart with your eyes and saw the tenderness of its love for you. My smile of happiness is wanting so much to jump from the redbud tree and come to the one who is waiting for me with love in her heart. Ikaw ay maganda.

          These words I speak are flowers, flowers from the heart of the one who loves you. Itong mga bulaklak ay para sa iyo. Ang mga bulaklak ng puso ko. Every day, I will bring you flowers. You will make my pillow sweet. Ako'y tinatawag ng iyong mga mata sa gitna ng gabi. Ang halimuyak mo ay nananahan sa aking puso.

Tamis ng Hamog sa Umaga

          February 25, 2007. . . At this moment, Ang puso ko ay umiiyak. My heart cries. I see in my tears that gather on the keyboard the face of my beloved daughter, Sweet Morning Dew. This story will bare some of the pain that has followed me this past year, and if the words will come, all the beauty and love that has replaced it.

          Ang puso ko ay umiiyak. I did not truly know I would fly until I was in the air. My wings were broken. My spirit was dejected. I was trapped on the cold, ragged borderline between sweet happiness and despair. I was a temporary census dweller on a lost page of eternity. I was scattered throughout the cracks where twilight pours through into the lives of man. Ako ang tunay na uwak. Sisikat din ang araw. Isang bagong simula sa kinabukasan.

          Throughout the doubt that had attached itself to the walls of my veins, the voice of my heart soothed each slow moment of my affliction. My feet at last had loosened their clenched toes from the womb of the redbud tree. My wings had healed. The song of wind called out my name. My heart fluttered. Each breath I exhaled carried the song that had awakened. . . I tensed as the spirit within me gathered itself for that exhilarating leap. . . The kiss of the wind once more touched my face. The sweetest of voices guided my way. Minamahal kong anak na babae. She stood unwavering beside the China Sea calling my name. "Father, please come."

          "I will embrace you and show you my love for you." These were her words that made me finally stir from the redbud tree. For so long a mourning heart had beaten in my chest. So many moments of longing for my daughter had stuck in my caw. I longed to touch her face, to transfer the love of my heart through my fingertips. I loved her with all the love our creator had given me. My eyes desperately sought to see the pathway to this daughter with a heart kissed by the wind of God, a heart the same as mine.

          The black fog of doubt permeated my wings and kissed my flight feathers with the lips of death as I clung to the redbud tree. The hole beside the ocean in another world gaped open periodically as I strained to fly. Coinciding with these two events the voice of Sweet Morning Dew continually called me. "Ama! Aking Ama! Minamahal kita."

          A silence reigned in my heart. . . then her voice began to reach for the red moon while her heart told me her secrets amidst the song of love she sang for me.

          She told me everything. She told me nothing. Lahat. Wala lang. Her voice is very sweet and beautiful. Each time we speak my precious sings a song for me. My favorite is: The Song of the Violets.

          I bring the morning violets to Red Clover,
          violets silver with the dew of darkness.
          I take the sage of trembling leaves
          to soothe the lodge fire's spirit.
          I pound the skin of the sassafras root
          with my red stick of cedar.
          I am the sweet dew of the morning,
          I am the daughter of my father true.

          Nangingitim ang puso ko. So many doubts lived in my heart. So many questions filled my mind. I made so many promises I could not keep. Worry carried my heart in its hand.

          She has told me, "If I do not see you in February, I must accept that life can not be in fairy tales, that it is over." At that moment I heard the voice of my heart, You will go in the month of March. If her heart is true your daughter will be waiting for you. She will not stop loving you.

          These were her words that made the lips of my heart speak silently. These few words were close kin to death itself. May patak ng ulan sa aking mga mata. . . nagdaramdam ang puso ko. . . dalawang masamang espiritu. Ang puso ko ay dumadaing sa sakit. . .

          Once more a mountain has been placed before me. Is it still in my heart to climb this mountain? Even on the day of my jubilation when at last I stand on the mountaintop, will I be pushed back to the bottom again?

          "Ako ang ama ng kaniyang puso. Ako'y kanyang regalo. Ang puso ng tunay na uwak."

          "Oo, ang aking tula. . .The day my heart first became tender for her." Umiyak siya sa simula ng tula. . . Oo, ang anak na babae ng puso ko. . . Tamis ng hamog sa umaga. Umiyak siya pagkatapos ng tula.

          In the beginning I could see from the words she spoke when she came walking so sweetly through the e-mail box that a part of me drew her close. The wish of my heart was to protect her and shield her from hurt. My heart had become tender for her. A father's love dwelt in my heart. I loved her with all the love my heart could give.


         

Over on Shelby Mountain. . .Pike County, Kentucky.

          He was back on Shelby Mountain again, or at least that was what was in his mind. Everyone said he had died in July of 1899, but it wasn't that easy to get rid of old Gilmore Justice. Why, hadn't he left his name on the census of June in 1900 as proof he was still a kickin'? He shore had. Gm. Justice was close enough for him, what with a leavin' the names of his children: Lillian, Mary, Nancy and John right along side of him. Most folks didn't even know he was a prisoner of war durin' the Rebellion. Old Colonel John Dils and the 39th Kentucky had caught him a comin' down Shelby Mountain and shipped him off to a Union prison camp at McLean Barracks in Cincinnati, Ohio. Lt. Colonel Eastman had turned him loose right fetchin' though.

          He could still feel his neck stretchin' when them boys from the 39th had got a holt of him. The 39th Kentucky was the unit he had joined and deserted from when he had taken him a peculiar notion to join the rebellion. Ever' one of them boys knowed him. Hell, some of them was close kin, but that was another story. They was a lot of things folks didn't know about him, like his daughter, Causby Justice, got from purty, little Miss Elizabeth Ann Justice. My, she was a looker. Peyton Justice sure knowed how to make some right purty daughters. A good sip of yaller corn was what he needed right now to get his head straightened out.

          "Polly honey, we got any 'lasses for sweetenin'?" A thirst boiled right up from the soul of his gut for his sweet, sweet Polly. " Polly honey, please don't go. I need you."

          He couldn't get Polly out of his mind. She was a sweet, sweet woman. "Lord, help me," he whispered.

          It was becomin' clear to him now, this wasn't Shelby Mountain. This mountain was covered with a growth of hickory trees, not like the white oaks over on Shelby. "Lord a mercy, if this ain't Shelby, where in the world has the good Lord set me down?"

          He knowed it was Kentucky, wasn't no mistakin' that fact, but what particular patch of it? He was a goin' to set down in that bed of moss over yonder and think about a few things afore he went any further. He was goin' to think about sippin' on a jug of yaller corn. He was goin' think about the why fors of his bein' here at this moment, and he was goin' to think about gettin' him a kiss from his Polly honey.

Son of ManWhoseHairFlowsCopperyAgainsttheSky

          He was thinking, Mahal kita aking Mellie. I can still feel you in the nights of my dreams. I can still hear you calling my name when we were in the cold place of hearts. I can feel you next to me in the night, with my arm across your breasts and your head on my pillow.

          Suddenly, he was awake and he began to realize he was thirty years past the moment of his seeing the spirit of Old Man Gilmore Justice for the first time. He'd been way up in the blue-skied mountains near Caney Knob, Kentucky where he had first met ManWhoseHairFlowsCopperyAgainsttheSky, when he saw Gilmore, his great, great granddaddy. A true place of the spirits, Caney Knob was.

          Aie-e-e-e-e! His granddaddy was a handsome man. "Aie-e-e-e-e."

          He had done everything Gilmore had said he must do, yet the spirit of his heart still waited. His eyes were open, still he could not see. He must break the lock on the spirit of his heart to see the things of the spirit.

          Aie-eee! The eyes of his heart once more talked to him at last.

          He stood in a far place beneath the sky of heaven. Strange houses and unfamiliar sounds called his name.

          In his heart of hearts he began to see black eyes. Four black eyes were looking into his heart with love and tenderness. "Aie-e-e-e-e."

          Far away in the distance a voice called his secret name. Aie-e-e-e-e! Has the mountain crow talked? He began to walk toward the one who was calling. Of a sudden, before his eyes, looking into his face, and being most beautiful, he saw a woman in the doorway of a small shop. Her graceful movements spoke the names of his eyes, and they became excited by her innocence. Her lips were sweet, pink sapphires. Violets were with her, and yellow honeysuckle blossoms wept silently because they could not compare to the scent of her womanhood.

          Of a sudden, his heart leapt in his chest. He wanted to touch her with his heart and his hands. She was most beautiful in his eyes. Aie-eee! She lifted her face toward him and her lips moved.

          “Your eyes? Tingnan ko nga ang mga mata mo. I have the optical and the grinder for the lenses."

          At that moment he realized the shop was an optical, and this one who smelled of violets asked if she would examine his eyes.

          Aie-e-e-e-e-e! There is nothing wrong with his eyes, but he will have the examination only to feel her touch, to smell her beauty. . .

          "Bago ang lahat, tingnan ko nga ang mga labi mo. I have two lips who cry for your kisses."

          A blush comes across her face as she whispers, "Come, we will go into the clinic and I will look into your blue eyes to see what I can see.”

          He thought, If only she knew the words in his eyes were these: "Halika't sumama sa akin sa malamig na lugar magandang binibini”

          It was as if she read the eyes of his heart. Suddenly, she blushed and crossed her arms across her breasts, but he also heard the beautiful giggle that came from her lips.

          “Huwag kang mahiya magandang binibini. Kung nalalaman mo lang kung gaano ka kaganda para sa akin.”

          "Halika dito”

          She moved into the optical and he followed. Her behind was two dozen dancing yellow roses. He wanted to touch it and feel the movement of each petal as she walked. His heart calmed itself as she made a motion for him to sit. He sat in a chair she used for the examinations of her patients. Aie-e-e-e! He thought.Today there will be two examinations, the one she will give me, and the one I will give her.

          She touches his arm and he jumps into heaven. Her hand is brown, soft and beautiful.

         Her hair is black. Her eyes are sweet and deep with kindness. She is so small, when standing her height is beyond his ribs. Aie-e-e-e!

          As she finishes her examinations, he is still staring at her, and in his heart he understands, the real examination will begin at this moment.

          Their eyes meet, once more she blushes.

          She whispers from beneath her lowered eyelids, “Your hair is ripe peaches and golden mangoes. Your skin is the color of cooked Burma rice and there is nothing wrong in your blue eyes.”

          “Lumapit ka dito,” he tells her. “I am sorry for your time. You see, there is something wrong with my eyes. It is a most serious matter to my heart. Did you not see in your examination that my eyes will die if they do not have you to look into them?"

          On her face appears a giggle and two blushes so sweet as spicebush honey.

          “Did you not see the words my blue eyes speak to you aking magandang binibini?”

          “Kailangan kita, may I touch your face so my heart will stop hurting?”

          Her voice is low as she speaks to him. "Halika't dito."

          Of a sudden he thinks, There is really something wrong with my eyes. Is it a small face I see resting against her thigh?

          “Eat bulaga, little one. Eat bulaga."

          The small face filled with big, opal eyes vanishes.

          “Nasaan ka? Peek a boo."

          Is that the hem of a little blue dress there behind her, and two feet small as hummingbirds?

          No, his eyes do not deceive him. There she is. . .

          "Eat bulaga, little one. Eat bulaga."

          "Nasaan ka?"

          He hears the little one moving as he steps forward to touch the honey of his heart's sapphire lips.

          With the fingers of his right hand he lightly traces a path across her lips as he says, "Para sa akin ba ang mga ito aking magandang binibini?"

          She whispers, "Para sa iyo."

          He takes her hand into his, and touches one of her dancing roses. Aie-e-e-e-e! Maganda ang puwit niya. She does not move away from his hand; she snuggles closer. "Sa inyo ba ang batang ito? Kanino ang anak na babae?"

          "Siya ay sa akin, Asul ang mga Mata. Siya ay sa inyo."

          "Maliit na isa, ikaw ay maganda. Ano ang pangalan mo?"

          Her eyes wide with excitement, the small girl softly whispers, "Tamis ng Hamog sa Umaga."

          "Sino ka? Ikaw ba ang tatay ko?"

          The eyes of the little one look into his heart and pluck the strings that play the music of his tears. He looks to her mother's eyes as he speaks. "May asawa ka ba?"

          "Wala akong asawa."

          "Akin magandang binibini. . ."

          He stoops forward, his arms open to receive her as he says, "Little one, ako ay sumakay sa pulang hangin. Ako ay ang tatay mo. Ikaw'y ang aming anak na babae."

          He sees the small, silent cry escaping from her opal eyes as she runs into his arms. . . a pent up cry of hurt and longing.

          He lifts her up so easily into his embrace. Her tears fall onto his bared heart. She calls him Daddy over and over as she hugs and kisses him many times before resting her cheek against his. He whispers to her, "Minamahal kong anak na babae. Mahal na mahal kita." She feels so warm and precious in his arms.

          A smile has nested in his heart as he looks toward her mother's eyes. "He hears her whisper, "Sabik na sabik na ako sayo Asul ang mga Mata." She is looking at him tenderly.

          The words of his heart begin to speak of their own accord. "Aking irog, halika't pumunta tayo sa malamig na lugar ng puso. Pagmamasdan ko ang iyong puso at titingnan ko ang aking makikita. Ikaw ay ang aking napakaganda, napakatamis na babae."

         . . . as he awakens, two voices are whispering to him.

         “Tatay, Tatay.”

         “Lumapit ka.”

          "Halika't dito."

The Raft of Heaven

          The journey had been painted in his heart. The journey fifty seven years in the making. . . The Tug Fork of the Big Sandy River would be the beginning. . . down the Tug to the Big Sandy, to the Ohio. . . He knew the way, every inch of his path had been dreamed. Tears still crept from his eyes as he remembered her words from last night. . . if she only knew, if she only trusted. . . This journey was hers, the last gift of his heart.

          The strongest and most supple tree of the Appalachian Mountains would be his feet for this, his final journey into the face of the red wind. Hickory. . . Kentucky hickory.

          At the present moment his Raft of Heaven called his name. "Whose voice is it I hear calling me? My feet have never been wet, the Briggs and Stratton engine that will push me is just a dream, and I feel as if I am in a whirlpool spinning. Whose voice is it I hear calling me? This voice speaks with two mouths."

          "Come home, Tatay. I need my daddy"

          "Go away."

          "Whose voice is it I hear calling me? I am the Raft of Heaven. Whom will I believe? Whose voice is it I hear calling me?"

          His heart stirred as he listened to the lament of the Raft of Heaven. Meanwhile, among the ancient sycamore trees fencing the small stream to his left, a wisp of wind opened its mouth and yawned. Peering right through his mind with its opal eyes, the wind began to sing the most lovely song ever heard in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky.

          This voice made his heart tremble with love, and the words of the song carried calmness inside them to root in his heart.

          Oh, father of my heart,
          please sing the song of your heart
          on the Raft of Heaven
          in your journey
          to reach your daughter.

          Please tell me the words of your heart. . .
          My strength is your sweetness.
          Your love is the remedy
          of my melancholy life.
          One day, my daddy will be home at last.

          In the midst of wait,
          my soul trembles for your touch.
          Give me your hands,
          tell me of your love
          as you ride the waves.

          'Though, the great Pacific
          lies forever between us,
          let me feel by your words.
          Sing sweetly to me
          as you come near on the Raft of Heaven.

          Whisper to the wind in the sycamores
          and she will tell me,
          I am not the only one
          in dire longing of missing you.

          I will wait. . .
          I will survive here by the China Sea.
          I will be full
          because of a father's love.

          If I am the one
          who makes the flowers bloom,
          if I am the one
          who can make you smile,
          hold me close
          with a father's touch.

          I will wait for you
          till the end of forever
          here by the side
          of the China Sea.

          "I am the Raft of Heaven. . . Oh, one who makes me, whose tears do I see growing on your face? Let us cry together. Today, I have heard the song of the nightingale. So sweet, so stunning were her words of melody. . . Come, my friend, do not cry alone. Deep in this heart of hickory, I yearn to see her face just as you do. Her song has stilled my harsh words. Lean on me as your tears fall, allow the tracks of your weeping to find the path of my tears. Come. my friend, do not cry alone."

          Here he had been thinking he was making a raft, and all the time an unbidden companion had slept in the hickory wood. A companion was everything the man he was needed, especially an opinionated one. Ha. . . he called himself, The Raft of Heaven. . . a little rough around the ends of the logs in etiquette if you asked him, suggesting they cry together. . . why, they were strangers still. . .

          Abruptly, those strange words from long ages past rose up into his throat trying to find the light of day. . . A man does not cry.

          Oh, father of my heart, why have you killed me in this way?

San Juan, Manila. . . Tria's Optical Shop

          The small girl was hungry. She wanted to pee so badly, and she missed her Daddy. . . The tiny pizza breads her Mommy had made had been so good. Her Mommy could do anything. . . Isn't it so, God?
Across the small, almost barren room, a slightly larger girl busied herself with the class work she must pass tomorrow. . .

          The little pizza breads lay like a hard ball of nothing in the small girl's stomach, momentarily suppressing her urge to pee, and having the usual effect on the hunger that almost consumed her every mealtime. She thought, I must thank God, and pray there will be rice tomorrow.

          There were five of them making a home in this small room. . . Pallets served as their beds, leaned against an obscure wall by daylight, and employed on the floor at night. Their clothes were folded and stored in a clothes cabinet, or hung on hooks on the door and walls. They were full of happiness for each other, close with the sweet love of a family. When it became the moment for the making of sleep, the pallets were pushed touching together just as each of their hearts touched.

          This was the home of the mother, her three daughters and her young son, unknown to them, but also living in this room was a shadow of light the small girl sometimes dreamed about. In the small girl's dreams the shadow of light was called The Angel of San Juan. . . The six of them depended on each other, without any one, the five would die. And so the time passed. . .

          On this particular night, weeks later, the family lay sleeping. The mother, Tamis ng Pulang Bulaklak, sighed in her sleep. Next to her the little one, Tamis ng Hamog sa Umaga, was still awake, although somewhat drowsy. On the adjoining pallet sleeping soundly were April, Earl and Lee Ann.

          Tamis ng Hamog sa Umaga was so sweet in her mother's heart, not that she was more loved, but in the manner that some children are naturally sweet in their dispositions. Tamis ng Hamog sa Umaga affected her mother in this way. She was so small, like a beautiful hummingbird her mother always told her. . .

          There were fresh tears on the sweet face of Tamis ng Hamog sa Umaga on this night. She wept for the love of her father, just a word, a touch of his fingers, his smile. Oh, how her heart was dead inside without him. Although, she knew where his body lay, tonight she was praying to God for his return. Near the ceiling, just out of the reach of Tamis ng Hamog sa Umaga's eyes, The Angel of San Juan listened helplessly. . . In his heart there was a stirring, the brief glimpse of a future day in the life of Tamis ng Hamog sa Umaga. . . On this day a man called her name once more, his heart loved her as she needed to be loved by a father. A smile lived on the face of Tamis ng Hamog sa Umaga.

Cries Into the Depths. . .

          September 26, 1987, the day I was born in the appointed time of God with no expectation of my parents. My name came from the first names of my grandparents, Genevieve Tria and her husband, Fernando, and so they called me Jennifer. I was the third child among the three daughters and one son of Melvina and Ricardo Tria. Our life was in the middle class; we used to live our lives with great honor and modesty. Being the third daughter wasn’t that easy, but I still considerd myself contented for having a father who was there in times of loneliness and despair.

          The most sorrowful and tragic thing that happened in my life was the death of my father, who was the only cause why I believed there was a good future that would come into my life. . . but when he had been snatched from me, I lost these reasons and the strength which I possessed waned for just a pace. I was very innocent in the moment of the death of my father. I was not yet aware of the things around me.

          Amidst a great storm of pains and sorrows she had been born unexpectedly. Sometimes in her heart she wondered why she had to live, shattered as she was in this obnoxious world of miseries.

          Hardly ever she wished to die for a glimpse, only when the sorrow became overwhelming. It was as if she had not been born.

          Looking back from her early age, she kept seeing the face of a man who drowned for saving a child’s life. Her eyes had seen every picture of his death. It was still fresh and very clear in her mind.

          She could still hear her own voice pleading. "Help us, my father is dying." Everyone within the reach of help pretended to be deaf, not to hear her voice. That was the time in her mind she began to think her father's death was intentional.

          She was sitting there on the wall of desperation and seeing the grave of her lost father. Thirteen years had passed, yet justice had been hidden to the so-called truth. The teardrops in her eyes were diminishing as she released the immense emotions coming from her heart, those within still bled. After a while she wiped away the tears on the outside and stood up, deciding to go home.

          She was eighteen years old, a self-assured student taking a course of Mass Communication, majoring in Journalism. She never called attention to herself, her writing was a good evidence that she had a potential to be a writer. Her mom supported her studies always and gave her a good and modest life. The reason of taking her course wasn’t just for an inclination toward writing, but for a great passion that burned into her soul. She was a true-blooded writer who was searching for the ultimate cause of everything. She wanted to reveal simple truths, those ones which concerned her most. Nevertheless, her Daddy had died. This burden was still her strength and inspiration. His writings still existed and drifted in her mind. His words were the main reason why she dreamed to be exceptional.

          She had black straight hair, black small eyes, and skin the color of coffee and cream. As far back as she could remember, she had been the center of gossip and rumors. She seldom spoke, but when she did, there would be different reactions from her audience. Some were saying, “She is good enough, a girl with dreams. . . nothing can stop her." Some were also saying, “She is so confident about herself, but the truth is she is dumb."

          It was one placid evening when she had sat down on the couch in her room and was remembering good thoughts. Her mind was going to a place she wasn’t sure really existed. It was a place where there was no pain, only happiness.There was no hate, only love. A rain had began to fall in her her memory. . .

          The rain was very hard. A father and his child were waiting for the rain to stop. They were in a little house staring out the window and having a serious talk. Memories were still so fresh that she remembered every single word.

          My daughter, sometime the wind will stop blowing, the sun will stop rising, the rain will stop pouring, and the heart will stop beating. If this day comes to pass, do not be unhappy when your world changes fast.There is something that lies beyond our naked eyes, unseen things you might understand by now. Time will tell you my little child, why life must be colored only two colors, black and white. I might go somewhere one day and leave you. Do not worry, for I would go to a peaceful place. I will be a friend of nature, the trees. . . The birds, lions, elephants and all God's creations will know my name. I’ll be good friends with them. I will be with my father too, and all the loved ones I haven’t seen for so long. They are waiting for me. I will meet some new friends and we’ll worship the most high. . . Someday I will be with you again, but for now, look forward for things around you. I know that one day you will find me in a different way. You will see my face staring at you.You might not know that I am the one, but your heart will speak her words of love.

         The child didn’t understand her father, but one thing she was sure of, she wanted to go to that place.

          She was unconscious, not knowing she slept on the couch. On her face lay the ghost of a smile asleep, a picture of her happiness from the days of before. After a few moments of resting her mind she awakened from her dream and heard an angel’s voice singing. “Ahahahaha, ahhhhh." The singing was very beautiful and attractive to the ears. She saw the face of a very beautiful angel whose eyes alit on her face as it began to cry. The voice became louder as the angel was singing, a hard rain of angel tears began falling below the heavens and she gasped for her breath as it seemed to leave her.

          She awakened running to take a breath. . . She wondered what it meant, why she has been so affected. Was it possible to be the angel of her own dream? Then she noticed the time, it was time to go up and prepare for going to school.

          There was still sleep on her, streaked on every corner of her face, but when she thought of how time was important her heavy-eyes formed themselves into a smile that started her day joyfully. She was almost ready to go to school. She glanced at herself one last time in the mirror. She was so confident about herself. Her face was simple, yet beautiful, eyes that were black and a face of brown. She truly believed that there was something more important than beauty, and this more beautiful thing was to be rational. She always thought that every day is a new day for her to do the things undone. Her life was full of hopes despite of the uncounted sorrows she had passed through. Deep inside her a big part was missing, but she still smiled as though nothing was wrong. Her deep ambition to be a brilliant writer had become the reason why she still believed that there would be a better tomorrow. If only she could face the pain. . .

          No matter how hard she tried to hide the pain in her heart, she couldn’t deny the truth. She needed something more important than material things could give. Her heart needed the love she had been left without ever since her Daddy had left this world.

          Loneliness always lived in the expression on her face. Even though she was thinking of good thoughts, her heart was crying as if it were shattering into pieces, slowly killing her feelings bit by bit. She was stunned when her professor called her name at that moment. She had not been aware that she was in the midst of class. Her professor asked her, “For you Miss, what is the true measurement of happiness?" She answered without thinking. “Happiness is very seldom achieved in this world. For me, it is a only a dream, something man couldn’t buy. True happiness is just a fantasy. Man can reach it, but it is limited. It will surely end, so make the most out of it while you are still holding it in your hands."

          Suddenly the bell started to ring. It was dismissal time. Everyone was so curious about her. Mystery marked the minds of everyone, even her professor. She could see the faces of their unasked questions looking at her. What is the reason why this girl speaks bitterly? Why is it so hard for her to be happy?

          She had few words to say, yet she was confident about herself. She was known to be a girl with few words, but these few words made sense because everything she said was knowledgeable. . .

Memories

          The book of her life has been opened to reveal the mystery of her soul. She never dreamt to be known in this world, for all she ever wished was to be happy. The leaves were hovering into the air when she began to remember. . . The heavens were opened and everything in her heart was bestowed into the mind of a man of the purest heart. These things were hers, her mind, her heart, her soul, from the time when she was only a little girl. The sky helped her to view the memories she would never forget. It drifted by and played her memories across the borders of her thoughts, replaying her experiences with noble pains, great wishes and true wealth.

          It began in the yonder of a peaceful tree where I always whispered the name of sorrow. I always felt the caressing touch of the wind as she let me feel that I wasn’t alone. There was an obscure song in my heart. Sometimes I would just dream that I sang in the midst of nowhere, and I was calling for someone I didn’t know. All my life I had been lonesome, ever since the day the truth presented itself to my blind eyes. Another day came and went. . .

          I was sitting alone in my room with my rusty pen and old paper beside me. I was young, yet aware of the things around me. My lost father had been the reason my eyes were opened wide with the sight of a matured one. I was seven, but with the mind of a girl of thirteen years. I was reading the old journal of my father. It served as my strength. There was no doubt it was speaking to me like a living man. Of all his words on paper, of all his remembered thoughts, one work stands above the others. A work that speaks intensely into my heart of a search for the reason of his existence and a great pain in his life. Silently, I stumble through the lines of this poem from my father true. I see the mirror of his soul . . .

         I don’t have wealth,
         neither good health.
         I’m short of the things
         that life provides.

         If not for love,
         I would not exist.
         If not for a purpose,
         I would have perished.

         I tried to learn,
         not just to earn.
         I tried my best
         to be the best.


         Too much ambition
         becomes an illusion.
         Too much pride
         makes me deprived.

         I stress my point
         but not to win
         I only end up
         to be the least.

         My time is short
         and it’s running fast.
         My years are numbered,
         it will be home at last


          These words of my father shaped me as a person. They had become my notion about life as I grew. At an early age I was aware that life is full of trials and sorrows. This poem inspired me to make my own piece. I opened my heart and released the prisoner inside.


         Oh, my father true.
         God took you
         away from me,
         and left me a great mark
         and a burden so deep.

         I just prayed
         you would remember me
         in your second life.
         I’m the daughter
         you just left behind. . .


          It was my first poem, the beginning of starting to transfer the rotten emotions in my heart into words by means of writing. My mom saw this poem and was very surprised that a small child like me could create a piece like that. What touched her most was seeing my heart with a great longing for a father, knowing that I was living, but broken and missing the biggest part of my heart.

          Everything was still fresh in my memory. My mom embraced me so tightly with powerful words.

          “My little one, I am so amazed that at this age you have searched for truth. One day, you will understand everything and the truth will be revealed, even though you do not ask for it. Just remember that everything has a reason, even your Daddy’s death. He didn’t die for no reason. It was God’s will, and it was your Daddy’s time to die.”

          I walked out with a heavy heart and asked myself, “Why do I need to suffer, why do I need to think the thoughts that might ruin me? These thoughts will only harm me.”


          Far away across the blue sky of heaven the man of the purest heart felt the pain of the young child. There was something in his heart he did not understand. All he ever knew for certain was how important the child was to him, that she belonged with his heart ever since she was born. He continued watching as the skies were presenting every scene of the young child's memories. He did not know in which part of the vast sky he would look as he waited.

          He began to gaze into the sky, and in the shadow of Orion he saw the girl on a past Christmas day. The little child was unhappy while everyone was dancing and singing. When they were exchanging gifts and sharing good moments together she was broken, only a shell of a girl, an empty husk with the seed of life gone. She was trying to be all right, but the expression on her face was enough for the bystander to discern what was inside her soul. She was aloof at the table. She was eating there for quite longer than her relatives. She had no appetite to eat. She was just thinking she must for it was needed. She looked at the Christmas tree and its lights. Memories came into her mind once more.

          It was five years ago, Christmas Eve, in the same place of the house where the celebrations always took place. The Christmas tree with colorful lights on it captured my eyes as I woke up from a deep sleep. I was so happy that it was Christmas. Santa Claus would give me a special gift. As I was staring at my surroundings I saw no one. There was only me in my hour of solitude. The lights of the tree were on. Where are they? I asked myself. I was nervous. Suddenly I heard a very lovely song playing on the radio. I followed the sound it made and found my father and mother dancing together. Also, my sisters and brother were there. My parents looked so sweet. They were a very good couple. My father suddenly took the hands of my eldest sister and away they went across the room. Their dance was full of sweetness. Then my Daddy danced with all of us. My relatives came and danced among us. It was the happiest Christmas I ever knew. I did not realize at that moment it was the last Christmas of my father. . .

          Later, after the little girl's memories had burned away, the grandmother approached the little girl. She knew the reason of her granddaughter's melancholy without asking, because it was also in her heart. It was her son who lay beneath the wet, black earth of misery. She seated herself beside her granddaughter and proceeded to speak her words of wisdom. "Everything has a reason, always there lies a purpose behind the thing that has happened." The girl looked at her grandmother and responded with an emotional answer. "Why do things have to go away of a sudden, Grandmother? When this thing has become your life, why does it leave? Grandmother, I have lost my reason. I am living, but broken."

          Tears fell on the face of the old woman. What would she tell the young girl if she was feeling the same way in her heart? She pretended to be strong and spoke encouraging words. "Look at the good things around you. . . you are young. Since the day you were born your father believed you would hold your dreams in your hand. Stand up! Life is beautiful, continue what he didn’t finish. Granddaughter, fill your mind with hopes of a brighter day."

          At that moment the little girl’s cousin interrupted the conversation. It was time for the exchanging of gifts. The cousin had something for the lonely child. Realizing that Santa Claus was coming, the small girl changed her mood to one of a smile. She was so excited to see what was inside the gift. As she opened the gift she was somewhat nervous. She seldom received gifts. Though she knew that she would receive one, her heart was beating faster as if it was her first time. Then she opened it. She was stunned as she saw a very old, thick, beautiful book. It was the book she was wishing for from Santa Claus. She was amazed. . .


          The man was crying in his heart as he continued to watch the child’s life. His heart burst as if she was the biggest part of him. He could not completely comprehend this. He felt the love in his heart for the young girl drawing him toward her. He was certain she was a part of him in some way. He was crying as he glanced toward the skies. . . He saw the heart of the young girl as she kneeled on the ground talking with herself.

          "I am lonesome, no friends at all. I feel as if I am inferior to my peers. I so want to be happy, but I can't hide this feeling. I don’t blame anyone, even my own mother. I know for some reason that she is also sad like me. What would be more hurtful than to lose the largest piece of her heart? I understand her. I just don’t know how to live without a guide, without the love I am longing for since my father left. Please God, I wish tomorrow would be a great day.”

          The girl’s cousins came closer to where she knelt. One of them spoke to her, "Don’t be sad, and let’s play together." She answered as she pointed her finger at her cousin. “You would never know how hard life is, because you have not had the experience of losing your Daddy!"

          She walked away. Her cousins were annoyed, not understanding her heart.

          The man who could see the child's life lived in a far away place. He often gazed at the stars every night and contemplated on what was missing in his life. He had a family, a good wife and three children. In spite of everything he possessed, he was empty and not contented. He felt something was missing. All he ever wanted was the happiness of the family, but he always lived in disappointment not to reach his expectations. Love.

          The man of the purest heart saw himself on the screen of heaven. He wondered why he was there and what was he doing there? It was his past he was seeing glimpses of, but what was his connection to the young girl who wished for a father? As he looked into the darkness of night, he began to hear the girl talking. He searched for her frantically, but he found nothing. Her voice was carried away from him on the winds of heaven.

          He caught some of her words,and listened carefully. Everyone’s heart has a dream. This dream inside me is becoming strong as time passes by. I don’t know if my strength is enough to live, to fight in this life. I am only a child who has a great belief that I would prove something. I have this notion that behind the darkness lies a purpose. Everything happens for a reason, and I’m living to know that reason. Daddy I promise, I will still love you as long as I am living. You will be my power. Daddy, I love you forever. . . Another dawn burst open into her heart.


          The call for writing was in me for a long time, many emotions riding on words swam in my heart. They were in my depth, screaming passionately into my heart for freedom. There was a time when I felt destitute, with no one, not even the people who I considered family. I wrote the images of my emotions. I still remember the line I made up every time I felt aloof. “Father, if you were still here, I would have no reason to spend tears all my life”

          My high school days were becoming worse than ever I had expected. My mommy was busy with her work and my siblings spent their life in their own good time. There was no one to appreciate me. I considered our house like a hell. I wished I hadn’t been born.

          One typical afternoon, my friend invited me to their house. She gave me a cigarette, and I didn’t even know how to use that. She lit it and taught me to use it. From that moment I learned how to smoke, and it become a habit.

          Far away from her the crow who was a man ducked his head as his heart had seen the reflection of himself when he was young. His head was aching as memories came into his thoughts. He held his skull by his two hands, because it ached so badly. Thunder and lightning came, and rain was falling hard. He remembered the death of his mother. The look on his mother’s face when he saw her in her casket. He almost gave up his life in despair and made things worse. Then he learned to smoke, to cry, to be alone and all he ever found was great pain in his heart.

          He moaned in the middle of nowhere, with wet body and face and empty soul. He heard someone calling, "Daddy, my heart is waiting for you. I love you with all my heart, and I will never give up just to see you by my heart."

          The tears stopped falling as he began to think. Who is this little girl calling for her daddy? Why am I so affected by her voice?

          At that moment he fainted. A few hours passed, then he woke up. The first thing he saw was a child staring at him while he lay down on the ground. The child spoke to him as he tried to look at her face. She was about 12 years old in her appearance.

          “Daddy, are you ok?”

          He was confused. Who was this young girl? He had children, but she was not one of them, yet the man’s heart was nervous, he could feel their attachment to each other.


          His heart spoke louder than words. He embraced the girl and said,

          “Baby I love you so much. You are my daughter I have been longing forever for.”

          The girl cried out so hard. She could not talk, because she was wrapped by emotions in her heart. She was stammering.

          “I. . . I. . . searched for you all my life? Why have you just came? I almost gave up my life daddy.”

          The man cried as he listened to the words of the child. He spoke again.

          “If only I had known you were searching for me, I would have came just to be with you baby, but all I had was a great longing which I could not understand.”

          He closed his eyes and imagined he embraced the daughter of his heart. As he continued to feel the girl’s presence in his arms, suddenly it was as if he were just hugging broken rocks that became sand. The wind started to blow and he sensed that the child was going away from him. As he looked closely into the sky the girls face shaped into a vision in his heart as she spoke, “Find me daddy, you must find me. . .”

          Her face was wretched, full of unwanted tears. Hope was still in her heart, because she knew her daddy would find her one-day.

          Out of the blue, the skies had been back to the child’s life. The man had become more interested to see what would happen next. . .


          In another day beneath the star of heaven a young girl was thinking too. Songs were created for love. How could the composer write when his heart does not beat faster? She glanced once more at the old notebooks and papers she had saved all those years and thought. I would not keep these things without reason. Inspiration will be my companion and I will live solely to be a writer like my lost father. He has given me a reason to hold on to a broken rope. Strength and courage will always be in my heart.

          Suddenly the door slammed as I was writing on the table. My sister shouted in my face as she always did. She was stern and it seemed as if she wanted to kill me.

          “Why didn’t you do the household chores before you did that stupid thing? There’s more important things than that. That is stupid!”

          She slapped my face, pulled my hair and bumped my head on the table. She always saw my mistakes, how I was stupid. Her indifference left a great mark in my heart.

          The girl found place where she could write good, when no one could ever disturb her. She went to the summit of the mountain, beside the trees and lakes. . .where she released her heart. . .

          Trust was marked in her eyes as she sat gazing at the stars. One day she knew, she would find peace of mind. She would have hope that would not abandon her, and courage that would be stronger each time it filled her heart, but from that night she had to look forward and live alone first with a broken heart. A heart broken, but still believing there would be a brighter day for her in the future.

          She cried many tears and prayed. “God, our father with most kindness, I know you’re God. Save me from this imminent death that bothers me, help me to be whole again, to find justice as the truth has closed her eyes and denied me as a child of truth. . ."

           . . . and she is going back to that other place in time, the one that tears her heart in two.




in progress. . .

Copyright James Earl Jackson Holloway and Jennifer Pineda Tria

© Copyright 2008 James Earl Jackson Holloway(UN: therealcrow at
Writing.Com). All rights reserved
© Copyright 2008 TheRealCrow (UN: therealcrow at Writing.Com). All
rights reserved.