I wrote this piece back in 13 September 2007, inspired by a dream I had, which felt surreal at the time.
A Love From Beyond Reality
My name is Toph and this is my story.
I am 23 years old, a young professional working in an IT consulting firm. I still live with my parents, though, as has been a tradition in the Philippines. Here, young bachelors only become independent and live independently when, well, they become non-bachelors.
My resourceful father works in a government agency responsible for collecting taxes. Though this means having a clear opportunity to collect underground funds, my honest father simply wills to stay legal. As a result, we remain quite poor, but truthful.
My mother is a plain housewife. She stays at home taking care of my nine-year old sister, Princess Camille, who annoys me much of the time. Aside from wanting almost anything useless, she seems to have a knack at knowing things and actions I hate. Plus, she has the uncanny ability to deliver such deeds perfectly. This makes Princess Camille and Toph direct antonyms.
My hobbies include playing basketball, online games, or just simply surfing the net. On other, more boring times, I kill time by making fun of my sister’s name. Princess? Camille? C’mon. They could have named her better. My sister, who simply cries to get our parents’ fervor, is actually unable to fight back since she either does not know my complete name, or she just can not be resourceful enough to make fun of it.
As I always tell everyone, I love my PC (Personal Computer) more than P.C. (Princess Camille).
One night during our trip to the province, a very rural area with only nipa huts and no concrete houses, a wild thunderstorm struck. With strong winds, pouring rain, bright flashes and loud thunders, our hut’s roof was blown off within minutes. Princess Camille rushed towards me, in tears and in panic, and sought for me to relax her. I shrugged and forcefully removed her leechlike grip around my waist. With nowhere else to go, and no one to hold on to, Princess Camille collapsed into the wet, flooded floor, crying uncontrollably.
My parents tried frantically to provide us with a temporary roof while the conscience-less storm continued to terrorize our once peaceful vacation. With the speed of light, however, five successive lightning and thunder blasts hit the surrounding area. My father told everyone to stay within the confines of the ‘hut’ and never to go out as we might get struck, I thought otherwise.
Knowing that the hut is probably at the highest point in the terrain, I insisted that we move out and head for lower ground as quickly as possible. My father digressed, and instead explicitly instructed me never to let go of my sister. Frustrated that he didn’t bother to consider my point, and that he even asked me to take care of the person I hated the most, I grabbed my sister by her dress and ran off. Twenty steps out, lightning struck.
They both died.
Their bodies were so charred that choosing cremation over traditional burial was a dead (pardon the pun) giveaway. I, myself, was devastated. Despite the fact that I can easily support my sister with my job, find a wife someday, and live a happy, normal life, I couldn’t believe the manner by which they passed. But the more painful thing, to my surprise, was not that I was shocked, or hurt, or inconvenienced.
It was my sister.
Ever since that night, she never spoke a word. She would look blankly at nowhere, drop a tear or two, eat a spoonful of food, or two, but that’s about it. She wouldn’t respond to my jokes or teases, would not smile, speak, react, frown, or move! In fact, she seemed to have lost her desire to live.
As I was forcing her to eat one night, I was the one who got fed up (again, pardon the pun). “If you want to die, then die,” I said to her. I finished my meal before glancing back at her, her cheeks now brutally damp with her own tears and sweat, her nose red with mucus, and finally, after two months, I heard her voice again.
Well, not exactly.
It was more of a grunt, a snivel, or a moan. It was at this point that my heart broke down. With tears on my own eyes trickling across my own cheeks, I dove towards her and gave her the most sincere hug I could ever give. I apologized, from the deepest recesses of my heart, and we cried and sobbed for minutes while I embraced her, until it was time for bed.
I woke up the next day and felt the warm body of my sister beside me. She kissed me on my cheek and hugged me. It was a new feeling, and just as the weather was fine, so was my morning. The mourning was over. It was time to face the new life.
Suddenly, she kissed me on the lips.
I jumped out of bed and stared at a stranger. No, she was no stranger. But she wasn’t my sister either. “Where’s my sister?” I asked. “What sister?” she replied. “You don’t have a sister.”
I didn’t. The truth struck me hard, and good. I have four brothers, but no sister. I live alone in my apartment while my parents are in the province. I don’t have a wife, but I do have a girlfriend, who happened to sleep beside me the night before. Yes, I don’t have a sister, and my parents are alive. It was all a dream; a clear, realistic, and vivid dream. I could not react properly. I should be happy that my parents are alive, but somehow, I was once again devastated, this time by the loss of a sister I have finally learned to love.
But it wasn’t even a loss. She never existed. Though the love developed was the truest and most genuine love I ever gave someone, the fact still remains.
It was a love beyond reality.
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