“The Handkerchief” (Sequel Scene)

As Amanda walked toward the center of the park, the dusk had deepened. The lights around the fountain flickered to life, casting a golden haze over the trees. She clutched the handkerchief in her hand — Duncan's handkerchief — soft with use, with a delicate whisper of amber and musk. She held it like a keepsake. The orchestra had begun setting up under the arch of the bandstand. Amanda was introduced with polite applause — “guest soloist for tonight’s Concert at the Park…” — but she barely heard it. Her mind was still on the ledge. On Duncan. She sat at the grand piano, adjusted the bench, and let her fingers hover above the keys. The night air was gentle on her skin. Then she began to play. The first notes floated into the evening — a quiet, reflective sonata — tender and bittersweet. She had planned a different piece. But something stirred inside her as she remembered the quiet man at the ledge, with kind eyes and an oddly familiar smile. As her fingers moved across the keys, she glanced up — and there he was. Still leaning over the raised promenade, one hand tucked into his jacket pocket, the other resting casually on the adobe wall. Watching her. Their eyes met for a moment. She smiled. Duncan didn’t move. He didn’t smile back — not because he didn’t want to, but because he suddenly felt too much. She was radiant, lost in the music, and it was like looking across a bridge to a time that never was. His throat tightened. He left before the final number. Amanda’s eyes darted back to the ledge after every piece. But by the time she finished her final piece — Ennio Morricone's Love Affair, soft and longing — the ledge was empty. When the applause came, she stood and bowed. But her eyes still searched. She ran backstage quickly, grabbing her bag, waving off the organizers. “I’ll be back,” she said breathlessly. She slipped past the arches and headed straight to the park gate, heart pounding, the handkerchief still in her hand. Then she saw it — a motorcycle turning the corner at the far end of the street. Duncan. His hair tousled by the wind, his jacket fluttering slightly. He didn’t look back. Amanda froze. She wanted to call out, to run — but something held her in place. Maybe it was disbelief. Maybe it was the weight of the moment. Or maybe — just maybe — it wasn’t time yet. The motorcycle disappeared into the night. Amanda stood at the gate, wind whispering around her, hand still clutching the handkerchief. She looked down at it, smiled to herself, and folded it gently into her bag. The music still echoed behind her. But the song — the one meant for him — had already been played.

An Open Letter To My Son

To my dear son Magnus,

This letter is just one of the things I'll keep in my room until you are old enough to make it as your own, including all the other good stuff inside. That day will come when you’ll read this letter and your Mama Christine will have left you alone with it. This was written on the eve of your first month. You’re cozy in the warm arms of your mama, both of you sleeping soundly tonight.

In a few hours, you will be a month old and I’m still staring at you in awe as in the day I first saw you. Sometimes I just can’t believe that you were made because of me. I don’t know if I have done much good in this world to deserve such a precious blessing that is you. For that, I am eternally grateful.

You were placed in my arms at 6:18am on September 18, 2017, and my heart leapt. You were all red and crying...and so was I.

Yes, my son, I cried without embarrassment as the doctor handed you to me. It might sound funny, but you were worth all those tears during our first moments together.

Little did your mama know, I have been searching for a name from the time she told me that she's going to have you. I had been playing around with names such as Sebastian, Griffin, and Jaeger, but they did not seem to have that satisfactory ring to it. And since I wanted you to have a biblical name, the names Samson and Gideon, also crossed my mind.

Your mama seemed to like my suggestions. But in about two weeks before you were born, she asked me what do I think of the name Magnus. Right there and then, I knew. Magnus. A good strong name for our first born son. For your second name I chose Kane— a homonym for the biblical bad boy Cain, for that touch of badassery.

And so that is how you ended up as Magnus Kane Ramirez Lubaton. Soon enough, you’ll learn the meanings behind your name and hopefully live up to it.

What you will also have discovered is how wonderful your Mama Christine is. Before I met her, I was already reconciled with the fact that I'll grow old a bachelor and, to tell you the truth, I had no problem with that. While I did have my share of relationships in the past, none turned out to what I hoped them to be.

I did not expect to be a father either, again contented myself with the fact that I was already enjoying the love of your older cousins Iday, Noah, Luis, Sam, and Matt. As you know, Haeli came only a few weeks before you were born. For me, it was already a good deal—having all the fun and play without going through the sleepless nights and relentless demands of taking care of a child.

Then, somewhere along the way, I met your mother. She changed my perspective in life and gave me purpose and happiness.

Surprisingly, she was 9 years younger than me and yet blessed with maturity and wisdom. For us there was no gap. Within months of meeting we knew that we wanted to be together.

We also knew that we wanted children someday, something that turned out to be more challenging than what we have imagined. We endured one miscarriage, and suffice to say, the experience broke our hearts into pieces.

You are a triumph of love and determination after those trying times. And you have your mama to thank for that, because she bore the brunt of the emotional and physical toll. She did everything and sacrificed a whole lot just to bring you to this world safe and healthy.

More than that, though, she has always taken cared of me and supported me in my shortcomings. She has always been selfless, thoughtful, and generous, putting aside her comforts just to be of help to others. You are blessed to have her.

You are also blessed with a loving kin. Your lolos and lolas, titos and titas, as well as your cousins love you very much. By now you would have known that. And this family will stand by you always.
It was in God's perfect timing that you came to our lives. I just sometimes wish that your Lolo Pat and Lola Alice had lived to see you. And I wish you had been able to talk to them.

I am excited at the prospect of doing a lot of things with you, making awesome memories while you are growing up. We'll have lots of camping trips and Sunday swims, bike rides and quiet walks with your mama. When you're old enough , I'll take you to learn jiu-jitsu and we could come to class and train together. And yes, you’ll get to drive a motorcycle too.

Wonderful, exciting times, all of which and many more I’ll be doing with you. I might be a lot older than most fathers in your age group, but who cares? All that matters is the love I have for you and my determination to be there for you.

I don’t know what age you will be when you read this, but nevertheless, let me give you some advice.
Never be daunted to stand alone in a crowd. Learn the simple joys of reading books and writing letters by hand. Never be afraid to make mistakes. Value love over money. Your family is your sanctuary, always. Be humble and always be kind. Offer help before it is asked. Waste not, want not. Never look for a fight, but never back down from one either. And always have a knife, lighter, and a handkerchief in your pocket.

It'll be dawn soon and you’ll be waking your mama in a bit for your bonding. That's my cue to end this letter.

I love you very much, Magnus. Having you and your Mama Christine in my life is the best thing that ever happened to me. I can only hope that after our years together, you’ll be able to say the same of me and remember me with love.

                                                                                                              Your proud father,

                                                                                                                     Patrick

 PS: Look after my book and knife collection, they'll serve you well.

August Rain

Let the rain embrace you.
Let it run upon your body like kisses with each silver drop.
Let the rain hush you to sleep,
With its pattering sound on the roof like a lullaby.
Whispering hope for a love gone by.

So the next time it rains, remember that I am there
Thinking of you, wherever I am.

On Turning 40

I’m turning 40 years old this August. Apparently, when one turns 40, one is expected to celebrate in a particularly grand fashion. One is supposed to go into their fourth decade on this planet with guns blazing,and taking 40 by the horns and owning it. 

Or so I’ve been told.

I'm not really that one who's into big parties and celebrations since I find big parties hard to manage. Most of my birthdays were spent simply with family and friends. A small gathering with good food and beer would be enough for me.

The truth is, I never really had a grand birthday party (unlike my sisters who had their respective debuts. Ha ha!) but I didn't mind.

My birthday this year would not be different because as far as I am concerned, 40 is just another number. In my mind, age is irrelevant. It's not that I don't want to celebrate my birthday because I am still in denial or that I am not grateful to have reached my fourth decade in this earth, rather it the pomp and pageantry that comes along with a typical, socially warranted 40th birthday bash.

The idea that I should be holding an extravagant affair and all the preparations leading to such event holds little appeal to me. I dread it, to say the least.

I know that this is a milestone for me, a benchmark in my adulthood, a time to reflect on my achievements and future goals, which is why I would like my 40th celebration to reflect my life. But I still have no idea how I want such celebration to be.

The truth is, I am just a simple man with simple joys. I enjoy watching movies and tv series such as Game of Thrones and Supernatural, among others. I like taking out my dogs for a walk. I get my fix by training Brazilian jiujitsu and strength training in the gym. I love taking my wife to different places she haven't seen before and see her tear up with joy. I have fun playing with my nephews and scaring the hell out of them till they pee in their shorts. I enjoy camping and hike in the jungle to find that sweet spot with a waterfall and plunge in its cool waters. I love riding my motorcycle whether just to buy groceries or  an out-of-town ride.

 

Right now, I feel like I am finally at an age where I shouldn’t feel the need to succumb to social pressure. At 40, I will do more the things that make me happy and fulfilled. Spend quality time with my family and renew friendships with those have touched my life significantly. Appreciate the simple things and count my blessings. I shouldn’t feel the need to to be envious of somebody's fortune but instead be grateful of the one I have. Give more to those in need of my help, especially those who have no means to pay it back.

 

Therefore, that is how I’m going to welcome my 40th natal day. I’m going to celebrate it exactly as I want to — not according to what is trendy or cool, but in terms of what would make it meaningful.  And it will probably seem unappealing, if not, boring to most, and that’s OK. 

 

And that for me, is what being 40 is all about — doing what I want and living life on my own terms. Frankly, I can’t wait.

 

 

 

 

August Musings

Hello my friend. It's great to see you again.

August has nearly flown by this year and I would not have been able to make this entry had I not chanced upon this blog of mine in my laptop's bookmark. Looking through the entries, it made me feel that great longing to write again.

My last post was way back in 2014 and a lot happened since then. Somehow, they have not been able to find their way here---mainly due to my busy schedule, daily distractions that keep me from organizing my thoughts, or even the lack of compulsion, or should I say, inspiration to write.

But here I am. Ready to get back in the saddle.

It is felicitous that I'm doing this at this time of of the year, August being my birth month. This will be my 40th August and somehow there's this feeling of starting over. Life begins at 40, as the popular saying goes.

Here's to more adventures along the way. Let's ride!

 Evermore

 

I was the one who had it all
I was the master of my fate
I never needed anybody in my life
I learned the truth too late

I'll never shake away the pain
I close my eyes but she's still there
I let her steal into my melancholy heart
It's more than I can bear

Now I know she'll never leave me
Even as she runs away
She will still torment me, calm me, hurt me
Move me, come what may

Wasting in my lonely tower
Waiting by an open door
I'll fool myself she'll walk right in
And be with me for evermore

I rage against the trials of love
I curse the fading of the light
Though she's already flown so far beyond my reach
She's never out of sight

Now I know she'll never leave me
Even as she fades from view
She will still inpire me, be a part of
Everything I do

Wasting in my lonely tower
Waiting by an open door
I'll fool myself she'll walk right in
And as the long, long nights begin
I'll think of all that might have been
Waiting here for evermore!

 Lyrics from "Beauty and the Beast"
Performed by Josh Groban
Music and lyrics by Alan Menken and Tim Rice