27

I've finally completed the editing process for my novel, and I'm thrilled to submit it to my publisher. The timing couldn't be more perfect, as they contacted me last week with the exciting news that they want to release my book in a hardbound copy.

My heart skipped a beat when I heard the news. A hardbound release is a dream come true for any author, and I feel grateful and honored that my publisher believes in my work enough to invest in this format. I eagerly agreed to the proposal, and I couldn't be more excited to see my book take shape in this beautiful, permanent form.

I beamed with pride as I thought about my latest accomplishment. My previous novels had been published, but this one was special - it was my first self-published book, and it was being released in a stunning hardbound edition. I felt like I was walking on air, my excitement and joy threatening to spill over.

But as I basked in the glow of my success, I reminded myself to keep my feet grounded. I didn't want to get too ahead of myself, to let my emotions get the better of me. I took a deep breath, savoring the moment, but also keeping a level head. After all, there was still work to be done, and I wanted to stay focused and humble. Still, it was hard not to feel a sense of pride and accomplishment - I had worked tirelessly to bring this book to life, and now it was finally a reality.

"Yep, I've already submitted it," I replied to my publisher's inquiry. He was a kind and supportive mentor from the Philippines, who had been instrumental in guiding me throughout my writing journey. His encouragement and expertise had been invaluable to me, and I was grateful for his presence in my life.

But despite his kindness, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of amusement at his persistent attempts to convince me to return to the Philippines.

Kung hindi lang talaga 'to bading, iisipin ko talagang type ako nito.

I continued our conversation, "But to let you know, I won't be available for calls for the next couple of hours." My publisher's curiosity was piqued,

"Why's that? I might need to call you for more details about your novel."

I smiled, "I have a flight to catch."

His interest was piqued, "Sa'n ka nanaman ngayon?"

I replied, "Italy."

He wished me well, "Ingat ka," before we bid each other goodbye.

As I packed my bags for Italy, I couldn't help but reflect on the past six years I'd spent in Switzerland. It had been a transformative journey, one that had allowed me to pour my heart and soul into my passions: writing, painting, and traveling.

The freedom to pursue my dreams had been exhilarating, and I'd found joy in the simple act of creating. My writing had even gained recognition in the Philippines, earning me a name and a steady income. I'd finally achieved financial independence, no longer relying on others for support.

But the most profound realization I'd made during my time abroad was the importance of self-sufficiency. I'd learned to be my own rock, to find happiness and love within myself. I'd come to understand that true validation came from within, and that I didn't need others to complete me.

As I zipped up my luggage, I felt a sense of pride and accomplishment. I'd taken control of my life, and in doing so, had discovered a sense of purpose and fulfillment.

The money my father had left me, I'd donated to an orphanage, knowing that they needed it more than I did. It was a small act of kindness, but one that had brought me a sense of peace.

As I prepared to embark on my next adventure, I felt grateful for the journey that had brought me to this place. I was ready to take on whatever came next, knowing that I had the strength and resilience to face it head-on.

As I settled into my window seat on the plane, I felt a sense of independence wash over me. I was doing this trip on my own, and that thought was both thrilling and liberating.

I sent a quick message to my mom and my friend Kiraz, who has been a constant source of support and comfort over the years. Her consistent check-ins and willingness to listen to my rants have been a lifeline, and I'm grateful to have her in my life.

As the plane took off, I immersed myself in a book about the world's most famous artists, from Leonardo da Vinci to Frida Kahlo. I was fascinated by their stories and works, and the hours flew by as I read.

At one point, I sensed the person sitting next to me watching me, but I didn't let it distract me from my reading. The gentle hum of the plane and the fascinating stories of these artistic geniuses were the perfect companions for my solo journey.

Somehow his smile remind me of a guy I didn't think off for how many years.

The guy next to me caught my glare and apologized, "Ow, sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He gestured to the book in my hands,

"I just couldn't help myself, I've been curious about the book you've been reading since takeoff." I eyed him warily, unsure of his intentions.

"Are you into art?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. I hesitated for a moment before nodding slightly.

He beamed with excitement and leaned in closer, but I flinched, instinctively pulling away from him.

He noticed my reaction and immediately backed off, respecting my personal space. "I'm sorry for that," he said, his smile still warm but more subdued. "I just get excited when I meet someone who shares my interests." He seemed genuinely apologetic, and I found myself relaxing a bit in his presence.

I replied hesitantly, "Uhm...okay?" feeling a bit awkward.

The guy chuckled and said, "Call me crazy, but I get really excited when I meet someone who shares my passions." He flashed me another warm smile.

"Who's your favorite artist?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. I sighed inwardly, thinking that this guy wasn't going to let up anytime soon.

I glanced at the book in my hands and replied, "Artemisia Gentileschi."

His smile grew even wider. "You're really into art," he exclaimed. I raised an eyebrow, slightly amused by his enthusiasm.

He continued, "Most people I ask about their favorite artist always say Leonardo da Vinci, just because he's the most famous one they've heard of."

I whispered under my breath, "Baka si Leonardo talaga bet nila. Masyadong ma-issue"  I was pretty sure he wouldn't understand filipino, so I felt safe making a witty remark.

"Pinoy ka?" he asked, catching me off guard. I stared at him in surprise, wondering how this Italian-looking guy could possibly be Filipino.

I mean, I wasn't saying that Filipinos weren't good-looking, but this guy looked like he belonged in a Italian mafia movie.

He noticed my surprise and laughed. "Mas lalo tuloy akong naganahan," he said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

I shook my head, still trying to process this revelation. "Hindi halata na Pinoy ka," I said, still trying to wrap my head around it.

He chuckled and explained, "Hindi naman kasi talaga ako Pinoy, sa Pilipinas lang ako lumaki kaya fluent sa Filipino"

I nodded, understanding now why he didn't have typical Filipino features.

He then asked, "Do you know a fun fact about your favorite artist, Artemisia Gentileschi?" I nodded, curious about what he had to share.

This guy was a breath of fresh air - he knew how to have a proper conversation, effortlessly flowing from one topic to another. His intimidating face was a stark contrast to his bubbly personality, making him all the more intriguing.

"She's a friend of Galileo." He said.

When he shared that Artemisia Gentileschi was friends with Galileo, I was surprised. "Galileo Galilei? Like the one who supported the heliocentric theory?" I asked, and he nodded.

I was impressed. "Wow, I didn't know that."

He chuckled and asked if I wanted more fun facts. I smirked and said, "Dami mo naman atang alam"

He just laughed and said, "I just love art."

Just as he was about to share another fun fact, the flight stewardess announced that we were about to land. "That's good timing," he said with a chuckle. I chuckled too and began gathering my things.

As I stood up to retrieve my handbag, I turned back to him and said, "It was nice talking to you. See you if I see you." With that, I left, feeling a sense of satisfaction from our enjoyable conversation.

As I stepped out of the airport, I was enveloped in the warm and cozy ambiance of Italy. The gentle sunshine and soft breeze immediately wrapped me in a sense of comfort and tranquility. The vibrant Italian atmosphere was palpable, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and wonder as I began my Italian adventure.

As I waited for my taxi, my stomach growled with hunger, but I decided to hold off on eating until I arrived at my hotel. I checked the time, and it was already 6:00 pm in Italy. When the taxi arrived, I got in and we set off towards my destination.

As we drove, I gazed blankly ahead, my eyes falling on the air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. It was a cherry blossom scent, and suddenly, a mix of emotions flooded my chest. Memories of a past love came rushing back, memories that I thought I had long buried.

A bitter smile spread across my face as I realized that time may have numbed the pain, but it still lingered. I never moved on. I actually never did. I had learned to accept it, to get used to the ache of his absence.

Nasanay nalang ako na wala siya.

As I entered the hotel room, I collapsed onto the bed, feeling exhausted and famished. I couldn't help but think that the chatty guy on the plane had ruined my appetite. "Hindi ako naka-kain ng maayos dahil ang daldal ng katabi ko," I muttered to myself, pouting.

I got up, deciding to freshen up with a quick shower. Afterward, I ordered room service, opting for a delicious carbonara. When the food arrived, I took a moment to say a prayer before digging in.

Just as I started eating, my phone rang. It was my friend Kiraz calling. I answered immediately, eager to catch up with her.

"Clydeee..." Kiraz exclaimed, her voice bursting with excitement. I could almost see her beaming smile through the phone.

"I'm getting married," she announced, and I raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"You're already married," I pointed out, taking another bite of my carbonara.

Kiraz and Clint had tied the knot a year after I left the country, and unfortunately, I hadn't been able to attend the wedding. But Kiraz had understood my situation.

"Yes, but I'm getting married again," she said, and I asked, "Why?"

Kiraz explained, "Eh, diba 'yung kasal namin sekreto lang dahil nga ayaw sa 'kin ng family ni Clint."

As far as I knew, Clint's family had wanted him to marry the daughter of their business partner, not Kiraz. This new development had me curious.

Kiraz continued, "They've accepted me na, and we decided to get married again. Besides, Clint promised me that he'll marry me three times, because he rejected me three times." I couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Corny nito," I said, chuckling.

But then Kiraz's tone turned serious. "Anyway, you should've been here for my second wedding." My smile faded, and I felt a pang of guilt.

"Wala ka nung una, kaya dapat nandito ka na sa pangalawa," she added, her voice laced with a hint of teasing.

I hesitated, unsure if I was ready to face the emotions that came with attending a wedding. "Kiraz, busy ako," I said, stalling.

But Kiraz wouldn't take no for an answer. "Magtatampo talaga ako, sige!!!" she exclaimed.

I took a deep breath, reflecting on my emotional state. I'm okay now, I thought. I can handle this. I'm no longer crying, no longer sad. I'm happy, and I'm ready to move forward.

Na kaya 'ko. Na kaya 'ko na ako lang mag isa. Naka ahon ako. Naka usad ako.

"I'll be there," I said finally.

Kiraz let out a squeal of delight, and I could almost hear her jumping up and down. "Aasahan ko 'yan ha. Maid of honor kita," she said, her voice filled with excitement.

We continued chatting for a bit, catching up on each other's lives. Eventually, we said our goodbyes, and I hung up the phone, feeling a sense of closure and new beginnings.

As the evening descended, I stepped out onto my balcony, cradling a glass of wine in my hand. The cool night air caressed my skin, carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers from the gardens below.

I gazed up at the sky, mesmerized by the twinkling stars and the soft, silvery glow of the moon. The world seemed to slow down, and for a moment, everything felt at peace. I took a sip of my wine, savoring the rich flavors and letting the tranquility of the night wash over me.

I stood there, lost in thought, as the night sky seemed to whisper secrets to me. Six years had passed, and with them, a multitude of changes had swept through my life. I had become a different person, one who was more guarded and cautious.

I had developed trust issues, a natural response to the hurts and betrayals of the past. I had learned to protect myself, to shield my heart from the vulnerabilities that had once left me open to pain.

As I gazed out at the stars, I realized that I had lost a part of myself, the carefree and innocent Clyde. I had lost her, the person I used to be. But in her place, a new person had emerged, one who was stronger and wiser.

This new Clyde was forged in the fire of adversity, tempered by the trials and tribulations of life. I was no longer the same person I had been six years ago, but I was okay with that. I was stronger now, more resilient, and more determined to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Kinailangan kong maging matapang. Dahil kung mahina ka, mas madali kang masaktan.

I drifted off to sleep, lulled by the comfort of my hotel bed. The next morning, I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the day. I began my morning routine in the bathroom, getting myself cleaned up and energized for the day ahead.

Afterward, I headed down to the hotel's breakfast buffet, where I indulged in a simple yet satisfying meal of pasta and salad. With my hunger sated, I gathered my art materials and set off for the iconic Tower of Pisa.

As I arrived at the tower, I found a picturesque spot on the lawn and settled in to begin my painting. This was a ritual I had grown to love – traveling to famous tourist spots around the world and capturing their beauty on canvas. The Tower of Pisa, with its distinctive lean, was a thrilling subject to tackle, and I lost myself in the creative process.

I was so engrossed in my painting that I didn't notice the person standing beside me until he spoke. "You are not just a person who loves art, you are also an artist," he said, his voice low and smooth. I flinched, startled, and turned to see the guy from the airplane standing next to me. I raised an eyebrow, surprised by the coincidence.

He smiled, seemingly amused by my reaction. "You are so good in painting," he said, his eyes scanning my work. I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as I accepted his compliment.

"Thanks," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

But he didn't stop there. He looked at me with an inquiring gaze and asked, "Would you like to sell this?"

I shook my head, a reflexive response. "I don't sell my work," I said, feeling a sense of protectiveness towards my art.

The guy looked at me, puzzled, and asked, "Why? Ang ganda ng gawa mo. People would be bidding on this painting at an auction." He seemed genuinely perplexed by my decision, and I found myself wondering why he was so interested in my art.

I shook my head, trying to downplay my skills. "My work is not that good, stop exaggerating," I said, feeling a bit self-conscious.

But he just chuckled and said, "As an artist, I am not exaggerating. You really have a talent in painting." I was taken aback by his words, and my eyes widened in surprise when he revealed that he was an artist himself.

"You're an artist?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

He scratched the back of his head and smiled shyly. "Kind of," he said, before handing me his calling card.

I took the card and my eyes scanned it, my jaw dropping in shock. Luke Pascaliano. The rising contemporary artist in the Philippines. I had heard of him, of course, but I had been out of the loop for so long, I had no idea what he looked like.

"You're...the Luke Pascaliano?" I stuttered, my eyes wide with wonder.

He nodded, a hint of a smile on his face. "Are you going to sell your piece now?" he asked, but I was still reeling from the shock of meeting the famous artist.

I snapped out of my daze and returned to reality, noticing Luke's pouting expression. "It seems that you don't want to sell your piece to me," he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

I smiled and explained, "I paint because I want to express my emotions, not to sell and make a profit." Luke's eyes sparkled with interest, and he looked even more amused.

"Most artists use their craft to express their emotions," he said. "You really do have a talent. Your piece of the Tower of Pisa is incredibly realistic, just like a raw photograph."

He continued to observe my paintings, asking, "Do you have expressionism, impressionism, abstract, or abstract expressionism pieces?"

I replied, "Yes, why?"

Luke's eyes widened in amazement. "Do you have pictures of them?" he asked, and I nodded. I showed him the photos I had taken of each finished piece.

As he scrolled through my phone, his eyes grew wide with wonder. "Wow," he breathed.

"I noticed that your first paintings look sad," he said, his voice filled with empathy. "Do I interpret it correctly?"

I nodded, and Luke asked, "Do you mind telling me the story behind your paintings? I'm sure they have a deep meaning." His eyes locked onto mine, filled with genuine interest and curiosity.

I took a deep breath, and the memories came flooding back as I began to explain the story behind my paintings. "Those pieces represent a difficult time in my life," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "They symbolize the feeling of being lost in darkness after I left everything and everyone behind."

I paused, collecting my thoughts before continuing. "I was alone, trying to survive with no one to rely on. It was a struggle to find my footing, to stand on my own two feet despite feeling like my heart had shattered into a million pieces."

As I spoke, I could feel the emotions rising to the surface again, but this time, they weren't as overwhelming. It was as if sharing my story with Luke had somehow helped me process my feelings, to gain a new perspective on the experiences that had shaped me.

Luke's eyes sparkled with insight as he analyzed my artwork. "Your first few pieces were dominated by dark and cold colors, indicating the emotions you were feeling at the time," he said, his voice filled with empathy.

But then, a warm smile spread across his face. "However, as you continued to paint, you started to incorporate brighter colors, signaling that you were slowly healing, becoming okay, and starting to feel alive again."

I nodded, feeling a sense of validation wash over me. My first year in Switzerland had indeed been incredibly tough. I was alone, and all I seemed to do was cry. But as the years passed, I grew accustomed to my solitary life, and eventually, I found a sense of peace and contentment in it.

I credited my writing and painting as the biggest factors in my growth. These creative outlets had allowed me to express my emotions, process my thoughts, and find solace in the midst of turmoil. They had been my lifeline, my sanctuary, and my path to healing.

I smiled, feeling a sense of liberation wash over me. "You were right. As the days go by, I am slowly becoming okay. Though I can't bring back the old me, I am creating a new version of myself. The stronger one."

Luke's eyes sparkled with understanding, and he nodded in agreement. "That's wonderful. We can't bring back our broken selves, so we choose to build a new one. The stronger and wiser one."

As we talked, I found myself growing more comfortable around him. There was something about his kind and empathetic nature that put me at ease.

"We've talked twice, but I still haven't gotten your name," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled.

I chuckled and extended my hand. "Trixie," I introduced myself.

He took my hand in his, his handshake firm but gentle. "Nice to meet you, Trixie," he said, his eyes sparkling with warmth.

Yes, it's Trixie now. That's how I introduce myself to everyone I meet. Even my pen name as an author is Trixie, not Clyde. The only people who still call me Clyde are those who knew me back then, but now, I'm Trixie.

Clyde was too broken, and I couldn't bring her back. So, I created Trixie – the stronger and wiser one.