Thursday, November 11, 2010

Silence: I

There was a time when we could talk of things under the sky without a care in the world. We explored the landscape of our respective dreams, and our fears. We never discussed our tears. No. We neither shed or shared them. There was no need, after all. We discussed our hurts, yes, yours more than mine. Your eyes were windows to a  sad soul. Your skin was fair, but your soul weathered storms that bent your mindset. It almost broke your ability to trust. Your voice was soft, but I knew you hardened your heart for quite a while; it was quiet and your opinions agreeable, but I heard the defiance when you spoke. You were young, but I saw how withered you were inside. 

My earliest memories of you were from the summer before fourth grade. We went to the same workshop then. I was among the newest students, and you were among the veterans. I do not now recall anything of your creation.  I have heard of your skill then, though I never saw its fruits until a few years later. I was rarely present during those workshops. It tended to conflict with my other, more academically inclined stage workshop. When I were, though, it was usually with the other groups. I never made lasting friendships with anyone, except you. It was founded on common interests, yes, and that workshop did contribute something to it, but we only became friends during our sophomore year. Before that, we were merely vague acquaintances. Faces and names of each other we knew, but that was that. I do recall Olana, and her sister Ella,  a Doctor we called ate, a now nameless kuya, and another person who evoked feelings I did not think I were capable of feeling, but that's another story. We never talked. We barely saw each other. Still, for reasons unknown, your name burned itself into my memory. It must have been how it sounded. Or perhaps it was because I have heard of your name from somewhere. Have I really heard it elsewhere before? Was that memory artificed? I do not know. Your name was familiar and I never quite forgot it. That was that.

Then sped the gears of time and we soon found ourselves in the same high school. No one will ever dare refute our claim that high school, our high school, was the best time of our lives. Bonds we made and nourish even up to now and we intend to continue to as long as we can, but that is the story of over 60 people who lived and grew and survived four years of adolescence together. I digress. This is our spotlight. 

I have Ragnarok Online to thank for the myriad things I have and am now. I cannot name them all, suffice to say that it played a part in bringing a large number of strangers together and tied them up in a tight friendship knot. It gave us a common ground with which to found our friendship on. I was a mage and you were a knight. In time you told us that you became one because you wished to be strong. That simple statement was my first looking glass to your soul. I do not now recall your face as you said it, but I remember you said it wistfully. I felt wistful in turn.

Then there are the books. You introduced me the world of Neil Gaiman, but our time was largely devoted to wands. We, together with quite a lot of other friends, were witnesses of Sirius Black's death. Over lunch we all reminisced the adventures that brought us before the Sorcerer's Stone. Together we recalled the curiosity that burned within us as we longed to know the secrets of the Chamber of Secrets. We agreed that we could never quite forget the feel of the wind and the thrill inside us as we flew beside Sirius Black when he escaped. We agreed that he was innocent - we knew that much of the secret truth. The spell of Pettigrew's illusion was broken. Cedric's death was quite a blow. We remembered his name and deeds with a quiet happiness. When we were Juniors, I came to present to our not-so-little group the riddle of the Horcruxes. We all wondered. We all speculated. Blair was the harbinger of truth during our Senior year. Did we not all get teary-eyed when serpent-lightning struck the tower of Dumbledore's death? Those were the days, yet even now, as those adventures get brought to life for the second to the last time, I remember you. I intend to watch it with our friends, but I cannot make plans with you. No, not anymore.

The silence, the emptiness is overwhelming.




3 comments:

  1. I wonder what caused the silence, for silence, indeed, can be deafening.

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  2. i'm sorry for the silence. i can't say i didn't regret any of this. i guess the old adage "you can't have your cake and eat it too" comes to play. when you make a decision but you have to give up things equal in weight in return. i did lose a lot and i'm sorry you had to be one of them. i'm sorry it has all gotten complicated.

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