26

Coping with the pain was like drowning in an endless ocean of sorrow. Every wave crashed against my fragile heart, threatening to pull me under. I was lost in the darkness, unable to find my way back to the surface.

The pain was suffocating, a heavy weight that pressed upon my chest, making it hard to breathe. I felt like I was wandering through a desolate landscape, with no map to guide me, no shelter to protect me from the storm.

Every step I took felt like a struggle, every breath a chore. The darkness seemed to closing in around me, a relentless and merciless foe that would not rest until it had consumed me whole.

I was alone, so alone, with no one to turn to, no one to hold onto. The pain was my constant companion, my shadow, my nemesis. And I didn't know how to escape it, how to outrun it, how to overcome it.

Nasanay akong nariyan siya. Nasanay akong nasa tabi ko siya. Sinananay niya 'ko ka nasa tabi ko siya palagi.

My mind was a relentless treadmill of "what ifs," each one a fresh pang of regret and longing. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had left behind a life that could have been mine, a life that I had once envisioned with Jarred.

What if I had stayed? What if I had forgiven him? What if we had worked through our issues and come out stronger on the other side? What if we had built a life together, one filled with love, laughter, and adventure?

The questions swirled in my head, a maddening vortex of uncertainty and doubt. I couldn't help but wonder what could have been, what should have been, what would have been if only I had made different choices.

The what ifs were a constant reminder of the life I had left behind, a life that I had once thought was mine to claim. But now, it seemed like nothing more than a distant memory, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been, but never was.

My first week after leaving Jarred was a blur of emotions, a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows. I had decided to take a leap of faith and travel abroad, to Switzerland, a country known for its breathtaking scenery and serene landscapes. I hoped that the change of environment would help me clear my mind and heal my broken heart.

Mama and Kuya had offered to accompany me, but I had declined, knowing that I needed to learn to stand on my own two feet. I had become too dependent on Jarred, and it was one of the reasons why leaving him had been so hard. I needed to learn to be independent, to rely on myself, and not on someone else.

The days were okay, I managed to keep myself busy with exercise, healthy eating, and calming activities. But the nights were a different story. As soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, I would feel a wave of sadness wash over me, and I would cry. It was as if my body had become accustomed to falling asleep with tears streaming down my face.

I would lie in bed, surrounded by the silence of the Swiss night, and let the tears flow. I would think of Jarred, of our memories, of our laughter, and of our tears. I would wonder what could have been, what should have been, and what would never be. And as the night wore on, I would slowly drift off to sleep, my heart heavy with grief, my soul weary from the pain.

The ache of longing echoed through my very being. I missed him, every fiber of my existence yearning for his presence. I missed the warmth of his touch, the gentle way he used to hold me. I missed the sound of his voice, the way it could soothe my soul and make me feel alive.

I missed his face, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the way his lips curved into a gentle, loving smile. I missed the way he used to care for me, the way he would anticipate my needs and make sure I was happy.

Most of all, I missed his love. I missed the way he used to look at me, with eyes that shone with adoration and devotion. I missed the way he used to hold me, like I was the most precious thing in the world. I missed the way he used to make me feel, like I was home, like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

I missed everything about him, every little thing that made him who he was. I missed our laughter, our tears, our late-night conversations, and our silly jokes. I missed our quiet moments, our adventures, and our lazy Sundays. I missed us, the way we used to be, the way we used to love.

I sat alone on the weathered wooden bridge, suspended above the crystal-clear waters of Lake Geneva. The majestic Swiss Alps rose up in the distance, their peaks shrouded in a veil of mist. But the breathtaking view only served as a cruel reminder of my isolation.

As I gazed out at the serene landscape, my mind was ravaged by the agony of memories. I had just finished my daily jogging routine, but the physical exhaustion was nothing compared to the emotional toll of my heartache. Every step I took, every breath I made, felt like a fresh wound, a constant reminder of what I had lost.

I wasn't used to being alone. Growing up, I had always been surrounded by loved ones, people who cared for me and made me feel like I belonged. But now, the silence and solitude were suffocating me, making me feel like I was drowning in a sea of despair.

The wind rustled through the trees, whispering cruel taunts in my ear. "You're alone now. You're truly alone." I felt like I was being slowly consumed by the darkness, like I was losing myself in the abyss of my own sorrow.

I thought of Jarred, of our life together, of the memories we had made. I thought of the way he used to hold me, the way he used to make me laugh. And I thought of the way it had all fallen apart, the way he had shattered my trust and broken my heart.

The pain was a living, breathing thing, a monster that had taken up residence inside my chest. It gnawed at my soul, feeding on my tears and my sorrow. And I knew that I would never be the same again, that I would never be able to go back to the way things were before.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a cold, dark shadow, I felt like I was losing myself, like I was disappearing into the abyss of my own heartache. And I wondered, in that moment, if I would ever find my way back to the surface, or if I would be forever trapped in this sea of sorrow.

I trudged through the front door, feeling like a hollow shell of my former self. The house, once a symbol of warmth and comfort, now felt like a cold, empty vessel. It was a shelter, a physical space to protect me from the elements, but it was not a home. It was not a place where I felt safe, where I felt loved, where I felt like I belonged.

As I wandered through the deserted halls, I couldn't shake off the feeling of desolation. I had no job, no purpose, no direction. The money my father had left me, a gift from Mr. Garcia, Jarred's dad, was enough to sustain me, but it was not enough to give me a sense of fulfillment.

I thought about my father, about the sacrifices he had made, about the price he had paid for being a hero. My mom had been right, of course. The money was not a handout, but a legacy, a reminder of my father's love and devotion.

I sat down at my small study table, surrounded by the silence of the house. I opened my laptop, and with a sense of detachment, I began to deactivate all my social media accounts. I turned off my phone, severing my connection to the outside world.

The only lifeline I left intact was my laptop, which I would use to stay in touch with my mom. I needed to find a way to release all the emotions that were bottled up inside me. I needed to find a way to deal with the pain, to process my grief, to learn to live with the ache of my broken heart.

As I sat there, surrounded by the silence and the darkness, I knew that I had a long and difficult journey ahead of me. But I also knew that I had to take the first step, to start the process of healing, of finding a way to move forward, even when every fiber of my being seemed to be pulling me back.

As I gazed at my mom's concerned face on the screen, I forced a weak smile. "I'm doing good, Ma," I said, trying to sound convincing. But the truth was, I was far from okay. My life had become a desolate wasteland, devoid of hope and purpose.

My mom's eyes narrowed, as if she could see right through my facade. "Ayaw mo bang makibalita sa kaniya?" she asked, her voice laced with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. But my mom's words had already awakened a deep-seated longing within me.

"Kamusta siya?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

My mom's expression turned somber. "Dinala ng Papa niya sina Jane at Jelly sa ibang bansa, nag paiwan naman siya dito sa Pilipinas," she said, her words dripping with a sense of sadness.

I felt a pang in my heart, a sharp stab of pain that left me breathless. Jarred was alone, just like me. And then my mom dropped another bombshell: "Nag resign din 'to sa trabaho niya."

I was shocked. Jarred loved teaching, loved helping kids with special needs. What had driven him to give up on something that brought him so much joy?

My mom's next words were like a dagger to my heart: "He's not doing good." I bit my lip to stop myself from crying, but it was too late. Tears began to fall as I bid my mom goodbye and turned off my laptop.

As I lay on my bed, surrounded by the darkness, I felt like I was drowning in a sea of sorrow. I mourned the loss of my unborn child, the shattered dreams of motherhood, the trauma inflicted by Danie, and the pain of Jarred's infidelity.

Our last conversation echoed in my mind, the sound of his pleading voice still haunting me. "Baby, ikaw nalang lakas ko. 'Wag muna ngayon please. 'Wag muna ngayon." I had been on the verge of choosing him, of forgiving him and giving our relationship another chance. But then I saw the lipstick stain on his collar, and everything changed.

As I hugged myself tightly, trying to stem the tide of tears, I realized that I was still trapped in a cycle of pain and heartache. And I didn't know how to escape.

I took a deep breath, the air filling my lungs as I stood up, determination etched on my face. I knew I had to release the emotions that had been suffocating me. The weight was too much to bear, the pain too intense to ignore.

I walked over to my laptop, the screen flickering to life as I opened it. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, and then, as if driven by a force beyond my control, I began to type. The words poured out of me like a river, a torrent of emotions that had been bottled up for so long.

I wrote of my pain, of my heartache, of my loss. I wrote of Jarred, of our love, of our betrayal. I wrote of my unborn child, of my shattered dreams, of my trauma. I wrote of my loneliness, of my isolation, of my desperation.

As I wrote, the words flowed effortlessly, a cathartic release of all the emotions that had been weighing me down. I felt a sense of liberation, of freedom, as if I was finally unburdening myself of the secrets and the sorrows that had been haunting me.

I didn't have anyone to talk to, no friends to confide in, no one to share my burden with. But I had my writing, and that was all I needed. With newfound dedication, I continued to write, letting my emotions guide me, pouring my heart and soul onto the page.

As the words flowed, I felt myself healing, slowly, incrementally, but healing nonetheless. I felt like I was finally finding my voice, my truth, my way. And with each passing sentence, I knew that I would be okay, that I would survive, that I would rise above the pain and the heartache.

As the evening wore on, I poured my heart and soul onto the page, letting my emotions flow freely. The words spilled out of me like a river, a cathartic release of all the pain, sadness, and longing that had been bottled up inside me.

As the night gave way to dawn, I finally stopped writing, exhausted but exhilarated by the sheer volume of emotions I had unleashed. I took a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over me, as if I had finally unburdened myself of a weight that had been crushing me.

As I stood up, stretching my tired limbs, I felt a sense of accomplishment, of pride. I had faced my emotions head-on, and I had emerged victorious. I had taken the first step towards healing, towards moving on from the pain of my past.

Without bothering to sleep, I began my morning routine, the familiar rituals a comforting balm to my frazzled nerves. I took a shower, letting the warm water wash away the tears and the heartache. I got dressed, feeling a sense of renewal, of rebirth.

Ang sinabi mo lang naman ay kumain sa tamang oras, wala kang sinabing matulog sa tamang oras.

As I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a person who was battered, bruised, but not broken. I saw a person who was strong, resilient, and determined to rise above the pain. And with that realization, I knew that I was ready to face whatever the day had in store for me.

I sat down on the rooftop of my small house, the warm sun on my skin and the gentle breeze rustling my hair. I had a plate of fresh salad beside me, the crunchy greens and juicy vegetables a refreshing accompaniment to my thoughts.

As I ate, I held my laptop in my hands, my fingers absently scrolling through the pages of the story I had written. I had poured my heart and soul into those words, and now I was faced with a daunting decision: should I share it with the world?

I hesitated, my mind racing with doubts and fears. What if people judged me, criticized me, or worse, ridiculed me? What if I was rejected, dismissed, or ignored? The thought of putting myself out there, of making myself vulnerable to the opinions and criticisms of others, was terrifying.

But as I looked out at the breathtaking view of Lake Geneva, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. I thought about why I had written this story in the first place: to heal, to process my emotions, and to find closure.

And then it hit me: sharing my story wasn't about seeking validation or approval from others; it was about being brave, being vulnerable, and being true to myself. It was about taking control of my narrative and sharing my truth with the world.

With a newfound sense of determination, I took a deep breath and opened my laptop. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, and then, with a sense of trepidation and excitement, I began to upload my story online.

Maging masaya ka naman siguro sa 'kin no? Magiging proud ka naman siguro kapag sinabi ko na I finally write again?

As I sat on the rooftop, my mind began to wander, searching for a distraction from the emotional turmoil that had been plaguing me. I knew that if I didn't do something, anything, I would succumb to the overwhelming sadness that had been threatening to consume me.

I thought about what I could do to take my mind off things, to channel my emotions into something more productive. And then, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds, I had an idea. I would go to the store and buy some art materials. Maybe, just maybe, painting could be another way for me to express myself, to process my emotions, and to heal.

I felt a spark of excitement ignite within me as I closed my laptop and stood up, determination etched on my face. I would not let my grief define me. I would find a way to rise above it, to transform my pain into something beautiful.

With newfound purpose, I made my way to the store, ready to embark on a creative journey that would help me navigate the turbulent waters of my emotions. As I walked, the fresh air and sunshine on my skin seemed to lift my spirits, and I felt a sense of hope that I hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe, just maybe, I was starting to find my way again.

As I pushed open the door, a bright "Good morning!" greeted me, accompanied by a warm smile from the store staff. I returned the smile, feeling a sense of friendliness wash over me.

"Good morning, art materials?" I asked, my eyes scanning the store.

The staff pointed down the aisle, her smile never wavering. "3rd stall."

I nodded, flashing a small smile of gratitude before making my way to the 3rd stall. As I arrived, my eyes widened in delight - everything I needed was right there, neatly organized and waiting for me. I couldn't help but smile, feeling a sense of excitement and creativity stirring within me.

As I browsed through the art supplies, a familiar tune floated through the air, catching me off guard. The lyrics echoed in my mind.

Memories came flooding back, and my heart skipped a beat. The song was like a time machine, transporting me to moments I thought I'd forgotten.

As the song began to play, a searing pain shot through my chest, like a dagger twisting in my heart. The familiar lyrics and melody transported me back to a time when Jarred and I were together, our love still pure and untainted. Memories of our laughter, our tears, and our moments of joy flooded my mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of what I had lost.

"Hindi man araw-araw na nakangiti..." The words echoed in my mind, taunting me with memories of the times when Jarred and I would smile together, even on our worst days. But those days were gone now, and I was left with only tears to fill the void.

"Ilang beses na rin tayong humihindi..." I remembered the times when we would argue, our love tested by the fires of doubt and fear. But we had always found our way back to each other, our love prevailing in the end. Or so I thought.

"'Di na mabilang ang ating mga tampuhan..." The memories of our fights and misunderstandings came rushing back, each one a fresh wound in my heart. I had thought that our love was strong enough to overcome any obstacle, but in the end, it was not enough.

"Away-bati natin, 'di na namamalayan..." I recalled the times when we would make up after a fight, our love rekindled in the flames of passion and forgiveness. But those moments were lost to me now, forever trapped in the past.

As the song continued to play, I felt my heart shattering into a million pieces, each one a reminder of what I had lost. The lyrics spoke directly to my soul, reminding me of the love that Jarred and I had shared. But it was a love that was now lost to me, a memory that I could only cherish in my dreams.

"Ngunit sa huli, palagi, babalik pa rin sa yakap mo..." The words cut deep, a cruel reminder that even though Jarred was gone, my heart would always remain with him. I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I remembered the times when Jarred would hold me in his arms, making me feel safe and loved.

But those arms were gone now, and I was left to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart. The song's message of eternal love and devotion resonated deeply within me, a bittersweet reminder of what I had lost.

As the song came to an end, I felt a sense of despair wash over me, a feeling of emptiness that seemed to consume me whole. The memories of Jarred and our love had come flooding back, and I was left to face the painful truth: that I would never be with him again.

I stood there, frozen in agony, as the weight of my grief crushed me. My hands instinctively rose to my chest, as if trying to physically hold back the pain that threatened to consume me. But it was too late. The dam had burst, and a torrent of tears streamed down my face.

I sobbed uncontrollably, my body shaking with each ragged breath. The sound of my own crying was almost deafening, a raw and anguished wail that seemed to echo through the empty space around me.

Time lost all meaning as I stood there, lost in my sorrow. The world around me melted away, leaving only the searing pain of my heartache. I was trapped in a living nightmare, tormented by the memories of what I had lost. And as I wept, I knew that I would never be the same again.

I gathered all my remaining strength and took a deep breath. I shouldn't let my emotions and pain control me. It will hurt now because it's still fresh, but I can do this. I can face this.

Kaya ko 'to. Kaya mo 'to, Clyde. Matapang ka.

As I stepped into the sanctuary of my home, arms laden with the tools of my newfound solace, I felt a sense of purpose wash over me. The blank pages and vibrant paints beckoned, promising to become the canvas of my heart. Writing and painting would be my refuge, my new language of love, a way to pour out the emotions that threatened to consume me. With every stroke of the brush and every word that flowed from my pen, I would weave a tapestry of memories, of love, and of longing.