// 10 January 2018 - Guesthouse near Nusa Dua Beach, Bali, Indonesia //
When I opened my eyes, nothing felt so different. The dark monster of misery still circulated through my every vein and fed on my entire being.
I gawked at the ceiling and wondered if Jeffrey was already awake. Last night, we sat in the green grasses of the front yard and watched the heavenly night sky.
Jeffrey was the company I needed last night. His humor was the base to the acid of my repeating sentiments. It was a conversation with no alcohol needed, but merely words and affection.
For very long, he listened to me, and shared words of his own by the time I finally shut my mouth and wiped those stinging teardrops away.
I needed no blanket to cover myself from the cold because Jeffrey’s warm friendship was more than enough. Jeffrey held me close and spoke to me softly. “It’s not love when it is free of pain,” he said and I could only watch him in awe and return a courteous nod.
He was right, and the kind of love I shared with Ethan fell quick and unsettled. So many questions left unanswered.
Crystal clear, I could remember Ethan’s face from the last Christmas eve, when he came home to our flat from his parents’ house. Although I could already sense something was up, I chose to ignore it and instead went on to prepare the table. I was in denial. And I wonder now what could have happened if I had the courage to ask him.
Just the two of us, together in the flat, was the whole world to me. Ethan loved the idea of us living together, of us having a complete, happy family one day. He, himself, comes from a family of strong ties. And he hated that I never opened up about my parents’ annulment nor my non-speaking terms with everyone from my family.
It’s been years since I came home to my parents’ house in the heart of Manila nor to the vacation house in the northern city. I learned to live alone and stay away.
Dad, who was the only ally at home, is gone. Cancer. Lung cancer took him away from me five years ago. And that was the time when Ethan played a greater role in my life. He was my comfort when I didn’t have enough strength to visit Dad’s grave.
Dad was into tobacco smoking, his only form of relief each time he’d lose a fight with my mother. I seldom saw him drink hard liquor or go out with men his age. He was always a family man.
But Mom… she’s the opposite. She was away, most often. How could I ever forget the day I saw her with another man! And that night… That Friday night when she tiptoed out and entered a strange black sedan and didn’t come home for a week, in an alibi of visiting an old friend outside the city.
I was the only one who saw her and William that night. Mom and I never had good talks after that, couldn’t even look her in the eye and even say hi. For what I know then, William was my father’s financial advisor.
I never told Yvonne about it, neither dad. It was always a secret I kept to myself. If I ever told Dad or Yvonne, our family could have not pulled through. And Dad could have done the worst to Mom.
Back then, I convinced myself I was doing the right thing: to keep it all a secret. Somehow, something good came out of it. At the time, Yvonne had taken the company position Dad always wanted her to have. But that was also the time when Ethan’s family began to lose a portion of ownership in the company.
Yvonne is always good in everything she does. Always determined. An alpha woman. The perfect person to take over the family business.
Unlike Yvonne, I never granted my father’s dream for me in the company. Instead, I chose to be in the marketing team, not in a corner office like Yvonne’s, but in a job that requires me to be active. Creative. Away most often. And fond of making TV commercials of a family eating together—or in other words my personal fantasies.
***
// A several minutes later - Breakfast at the Guesthouse //
I grabbed a cup of freshly brewed black coffee which Yan-Yan, the caretaker of the guesthouse, served to us early.
According to Yan-Yan, the black coffee is proudly Indonesian made and such local product has been the source of income of their small village for years.
For a while, Yan-Yan and I exchanged words, and by listening to him alone, of how they cultivate and export the product, I felt the special privilege to be hearing it first hand and unsolicited.
I switched my gaze to Jeffrey as he started on the Eggs Benedict for our breakfast. It was topped with fresh herbs, chives and paprika. Watching Jeffrey slice in between mouthfuls, I remembered Ethan in the kitchen.
He would melt a spoonful of margarine on a pan and dump some largely-cut onions into it to make an omelet, our all-time favorite breakfast meal.
I asked Jeffrey to pass the salt and pepper. “Did you get enough sleep?” he asked as he handed them to me. “Yes,” I said. In my stage of depression, two hours of sleep is absolutely a serious form of deprivation.
“You wanna go to the beach later?” Jeffrey added. “Of course, that’s why we’re here,” I replied in a cordial tone.
“That’s my girl,” he concluded, winking, and we both hurried to finish our meal.