The longest wait
By Emmanuelle

 

This is the stuff of which movies are made. A dusky young man holds the hands of a pretty Chinese mestiza. They are not lovers; they are the best of friends. But seeing his distress, she allows him to enfold her in his arms – so gently, so warmly. He gives her a whisper of a kiss. It is their first embrace, their first kiss. Actually, it is their only embrace, their one kiss. He has not left yet, but he says, “Na-mimiss na kita.” He bids “Goodnight. Goodbye.” He would have wanted to say more of what is in the depths of his heart, to express in words the feeling roaring to be free of the tight confines of his chest. But the gentleman in him admonishes: “this is not the time, this is just the start. We have all the time, the rest of our lives. To say more, I might frighten her away! For now, the trust of that embrace, of that kiss would suffice. I will have patience; I will wait.” For now, they are best friends; someday, if he will have his wish, they will be more that friends.    
It will be the longest wait.
Sad movies always make me cry. Though this story I share with you, as it continues from the above, is not straight from reel. It is all too real.
Months later, the phone rings. The caller is coming all the way from Manila; in fact, he just arrived from US. He is not familiar with the town. He would like to ask the parents’ permission to have a few moments with their daughter. The father picks him up at the crossroads; he brings the visitor to where the daughter is. He leaves them alone. He looks back to see the couple bathed in sunlight   shimmering through the open but perpetually barred windows. He sighs.
When the visitor left, he leaves a thick sheaf of white coupon. Curious, the parents ask their daughter’s permission for them to have a glimpse. It is a letter to their daughter, written in blank ink, of almost more than ten pages. It goes:
Dear Kathleen,
Never did I have it in my mind to write these words on paper. I always imagined that someday, when the time is right, these words you must hear from my lips straight from my heart – I love you, Kathleen.
But, you beat me to it.
Never did I hold you so tight in my hands, so close to my chest – as I held your framed picture when I learned what happened to you. And never did I shed so much tears in my life, as I shed them now for you, for us.
I have let so many opportunities slip through my fingers to tell you how precious you are to me and how much you are treasured in my heart. I have done so in the belief that we will always have the luxury of time. But then, time ran out for you and for me.
Have you not seen it in my eyes? You were not only my best friend. You were more! But each time I start to open myself up to you, courage fails me. I might lose you, you might take flight, and I will end up with not even a friend in you. And I would rather have you even just as a friend than to lose you forever.
Now, I have lost you, but then in a much final way.
Your beloved face might someday fade from memory; I might love again. But your smile! – I will always remember. You will never know how much I look forward to the hours we spent texting or talking on the phone! Afterwards, I go through my mind what we have said, what we have laughed about. And these thoughts carry me through the next time we get in touch.
But then, I never realized the last time we said “Goodnight, goodbye, na-miss na kita” will be the last time we will ever do so.
You beat me to it.
 I console myself with the thought that, wherever you are now, it must be a place where you are as much or even more loved. For you are with Him who has created you in the first place, and lent you to us for so short a time. Please, say hello to Him for me. And while you are doing so, ask Him too what disease He has given you as to have you taken away from us with no notice at all?
Someday, I will be able to tell you personally what I have written for you in these ten pages or so. But till then, Kathleen, wait for me.
Here and there, the ink was darker, probably from dried blotches of moisture, tears maybe.   
The letter is signed Dino. He is the younger brother of a female SAKSI host of GMA. Kathleen is the only daughter of a mayor of a Pangasinan town. She died October 2005 of aneurism. Kathleen was laid in a marble tomb beside an open barred window in the family mausoleum.
This letter is the writer’s shortened version of the original, read by the author with permission from Dino and Kathleen. May the readers gleam some guidance from it in their own lives.     
  (To be continued next week: What Does It Take To Be A Queen?)

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