Make no mistake---it is July, and not April, that is the cruellest month. Sometime in July I looked up my monthly horoscope to find something that I could relate to my own experiences come August. True enough, I became preoccupied with house matters. I had been wanting to get a new shelf put up for a certain wall of our bedroom, and that is actually how most of July was spent. But nowhere in any horoscope did I see that while I was busy with wall measurements, I would lose something precious. For days afterward I looked at dozens of other horoscopes, looking for something to the effect of: You will want to lie down and not get up. You will spend nights crying, and you will start wondering how people more alone than you are can weather their own disasters.
Someday I would be able to type up a proper goodbye to Letty. But not today; when attempting to post a send-off via Instagram can still send me crying in the middle of a coffee shop, not caring about the concerned looks of the baristas. I had caused more scenes at the end of July than I ever believed I was capable of: I cried in buses, in restaurants, in a fire exit, in earshot of my roommates in Quezon City as they were watching their soap operas. One of these days I would look back to this time, and find what the universe is trying to teach me. Just not yet. Right now my grief is in puddles all over the place. My Gmail is full of unfinished goodbyes, written during the three nights I couldn't sleep at all. A notebook under my pillow is full of disjoint words that came to mind the first weekend I was going to go home to Cavite and Letty would not be there. The words are in two columns and here are some: Flood. Weight. Well. Shrink. Disappear.
So July has taken off, leaving cleanup of the ransacked house to August. I don't think I have ever hated anything more in my entire life than the past month. I hated last year, but last year I didn't want to just pick up anything jagged off the side of the road and smash it against all the glass I can find, or watch everything be swallowed up by water.
I hate July. I want to bludgeon it, or weigh it down with chains and watch it sink to the bottom of the ocean. I hate it so much. And I don't care if in all the other months, people lose bigger things than I have. I know people lose jobs, houses, or other people. I know that all I lost is a small animal, but I loved that animal as much as my heart would allow.
A few days ago I was thinking, please God, just let me see Letty in a dream. I tried to recall every single detail, from the way he would leap up, to the expression of his face. And I was able to do it. I dreamed briefly that he was sleeping, and I could see it. I don't think I'll manage to do it again. But it's something I have fished out of this murky, misty time. I hold it to myself day in and day out, until I can finally say goodbye to Letty. But not just yet.
Someday I would be able to type up a proper goodbye to Letty. But not today; when attempting to post a send-off via Instagram can still send me crying in the middle of a coffee shop, not caring about the concerned looks of the baristas. I had caused more scenes at the end of July than I ever believed I was capable of: I cried in buses, in restaurants, in a fire exit, in earshot of my roommates in Quezon City as they were watching their soap operas. One of these days I would look back to this time, and find what the universe is trying to teach me. Just not yet. Right now my grief is in puddles all over the place. My Gmail is full of unfinished goodbyes, written during the three nights I couldn't sleep at all. A notebook under my pillow is full of disjoint words that came to mind the first weekend I was going to go home to Cavite and Letty would not be there. The words are in two columns and here are some: Flood. Weight. Well. Shrink. Disappear.
So July has taken off, leaving cleanup of the ransacked house to August. I don't think I have ever hated anything more in my entire life than the past month. I hated last year, but last year I didn't want to just pick up anything jagged off the side of the road and smash it against all the glass I can find, or watch everything be swallowed up by water.
I hate July. I want to bludgeon it, or weigh it down with chains and watch it sink to the bottom of the ocean. I hate it so much. And I don't care if in all the other months, people lose bigger things than I have. I know people lose jobs, houses, or other people. I know that all I lost is a small animal, but I loved that animal as much as my heart would allow.
A few days ago I was thinking, please God, just let me see Letty in a dream. I tried to recall every single detail, from the way he would leap up, to the expression of his face. And I was able to do it. I dreamed briefly that he was sleeping, and I could see it. I don't think I'll manage to do it again. But it's something I have fished out of this murky, misty time. I hold it to myself day in and day out, until I can finally say goodbye to Letty. But not just yet.
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