RED SUNSETS fascinate me. Staring into the crimson skies in the horizons
makes me feel peace and serenity. I could feel some sort of energy
from it. I just don't know if it's because I'm dreaming to become
a supersaiyan. (I am a self-proclaimed anime fanatic.)
As the wind slapped me incessantly, my thoughts drifted to her. It
has been years since I saw her. I would admit that red sunsets bring
me back to the abundance of memories we've shared.
But she's already gone.
She was the only one who painted rainbows in my sullen world. I happened
to meet her while I was leaning on the acacia tree and trying to capture
the surge of my blood. It was in the park called Freedom though later
changed by insensitive and selfish university officials. I was then
watching the western skies splattered with red. I love to see such
kind of spectacle because I'm sort of a trying-hard bum who thinks
I could be a writer. Much more when I saw the simple Eve that aroused
all the sterile ink of my pen.
She was not as beautiful as you may think. But I am fascinated by
her simple lingo in deconstructing complex realities. Also, the way
her scribbles paint images that would appeal to your innermost eye
of discernment.
I guess those things gave me the wisdom to find every reason in this
world to be close to her. I conspired with the world to get her attention.
We became good friends. Even more than that. If only she were still
here, you would surely envy my lot.
She could have been one of the best writers today. But she was not
as selfish as me to just long for it. She was steadfast with the principles
pursued by her religiously. Her pen wanted to articulate the suppressed
voices of the masses—a thing I did not understand before. Maybe
I was just too young then to comprehend. Or maybe I was just too selfish
and obsessed with my own vanities in life.
It was a Friday night when she left to join the highest level of
struggle. She wore her favorite "Serve The People" T-shirt
matched with her faded maong pants. I saw in her the bliss of a peaceful
countenance in the path she choose. Her backpack was stuffed with
her clothes and other things. Five of them left that night.
"I will wait for you there. I love you." I would hear from
the simple Eve that aroused all the sterile ink of my pen, those last
words.
Indeed those were the last words I've heard from her.
She wasn't able to wait for me. After ninety days, my mind could
not contain the shocking news. She was gone. Merciless fatigue-clad
mercenaries felled her. Her frail body sustained 37 wounds from the
cold-hearted bullets of the heartless foes. I cried in agony of loss
and solitudes. Till my sorrow's cries awakened the sleeping anger
of thousand dragons residing in my fiery heart.
Although her demise would be a scar in my memory, I've learned to
accept the fact that death is natural among living organisms and not
just as possible consequence of an armed conflict.
Then I came up with a sound realization. I know she would not want
me to immortalize her in my pains. I know she would desire that what
she had left would be continued.
I could still recall how patiently she taught me about Philippine
society and revolution. It would later guide me to the path of enlightenment
I would learn to treasure. And it was a fulfillment to follow the
route of genuine service to the people where she consciously offered
the very best she could—even her life.
Now, I'm still fascinated with the red sunsets. But here I am now
braving the darkest nights of the struggle to see the rise of the
red sun.
---------------
