Chapter Text
In another life, maybe Saturday nights still belonged to us.
Halfway across the world, Saturday night looked nothing like I memorized these past 4 years. Walang tumutugtog. Walang tumatawa. Walang music. Walang buhay. Just the low buzz of the street outside my window, and the white glow of my laptop screen that shadows against the walls.
I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, hay. This article I've been trying to finish for the past 2 hours? 'Di parin tapos.
There’s a room
In my heart with the memories we made.
In another life, I’d be sitting across from Colet by now. Umiinom ng kape kahit disoras na ng gabi. Legs brushing under the table. Tinatawanan lahat ng bagay na hindi naman ganun nakakatawa. Here, there was only the cold press of the air against my forehead, and a city that still didn’t make me feel that I belong.
I had everything I ever said I wanted. The bylines. The recognition. The dream. But not the hands that used to hold me steady. Not the voice that used to call me home.
I curled my fingers into a loose fist against my chest, as if I could catch the memory before it slipped away. I could still see it — our tiny apartment, the mismatched mugs piled up in the sink.
The late nights spent dreaming aloud:
- After we save enough, we’ll move to Europe.
- We’ll open a tiny café in the mornings and write songs at night.
- We’ll get a dog — a big goofy corgi— and name him Cappy, because you always have a stain of your cappuccino on my notes.
I pictured our wedding, too. Nothing grand. Just the sea, the sky, the people who mattered. The promises we’d already whispered to each other a hundred times on nights when forever felt close enough to hold.
I dreamed so hard I almost believed it was inevitable — like gravity. Like breathing. I dreamed enough for both of us.
In another life, maybe Saturday nights still belonged to us.
To the nights we fought and then found our way back to each other.
To the nights we slept side by side, even when the world outside felt too loud.
To the nights we held on — stubbornly, desperately — when everything else told us to let go.
To the nights we made love not because everything was perfect, but because we chose each other anyway.
In another life, Saturday nights were messy, and real, and ours. Here, they belonged to deadlines, rejected drafts, and I... don't belong to you.
In Colet, I found a future —
A reason to dream beyond just surviving.
A life that wasn’t measured by titles or promotions, but by mornings waking up to the same smile.
By dinners eaten side by side, not hurried goodbyes.
By a home we built, hand in hand.
In her, I saw everything I wanted to become. In us, I saw a life I was brave enough to believe in.
Took ‘em down, but they’re still in their frames.
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I could still hear her guitar playing. Like a love song written just for me. And for a moment — just a moment — I let myself believe I could still walk back into that life. That it was still waiting. That she was still waiting. She loved me like it was the most natural thing in the world. When I was with her, I didn’t have to hide the parts of me that were messy. I didn’t have to be “the best version” of myself to be worth loving. I could just… be. And she still chose me.
Maybe that’s why it hurts the way it does now.
Because I felt so safe in her love, I never even saw the ending coming. I never prepared for a version of my life where she wasn’t holding my hand through it. I didn’t know how to plan for a future that didn’t have her in it.
Maybe that was my mistake... loving her so completely, so fearlessly, that I forgot things could still fall apart. I thought that a love like that — the kind that made you dream bigger, breathe deeper — couldn’t just disappear. She loved me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
There’s no way I could ever forget.
When I was with her, I didn’t have to hide the parts of me that were messy. I didn’t have to be “the best version” of myself to be worth loving. I could just… be. And she still chose me.
Kaya siguro hindi ko rin napansin na habang pinangarap ko ‘yung mas malaking mundo para sa sarili ko, unti-unti ko na rin palang tinatalikuran ‘yung mundong binuo namin dalawa.
Gustong-gusto ko ’yung pangarap na ’yon.
Gustong-gusto ko makaalis, makalipad.
Gustong-gusto ko patunayan na kaya ko.
Kaya kahit masakit, kahit ayaw niya ng distansya… tinuloy ko. Akala ko, mauunawaan niya. Akala ko, sapat na ’yung pagmamahal namin para lampasan ang lahat.
Sabi pa nila, “Ang selfish naman niya. Dapat suportahan ka niya. Ang liit ng pangarap niya kung ayaw niyang sumabay sa’yo.”
Tinanggap ko ’yon. Pinilit kong paniwalaan na tama akong lumalayo para sa sarili ko. Pero kahit ilang beses akong sabihan na “you deserve better,” hindi ko magawang talikuran ‘yung isang tao na nagturo sa’kin kung paano mangarap hindi lang para sa sarili ko, kundi para sa dalawa naming buhay.
Minsan iniisip ko. Siguro nga, hindi naman talaga kulang ang pagmamahal. Baka mali lang ang timing. Baka hindi sapat ang pangarap kung hindi na kayo magkasabay sa paglakad. Akala ko kapag ganito mo kamahal ang isang tao, sapat na. Akala ko kapag pinangarap mo siya, pinangarap n’yo ang isa’t isa… hindi na pwedeng mawala.
Hindi ko nakita.
Hindi ko inakala.
Na kahit ang pinakamagandang pagmamahal… pwedeng mawala.
And so...
I write one last time, for you,
Col…
Baka pwede mo naman ako bigyan ng isa pang araw.
Gusto ko lang makasama ka.
Isang huling pagkakataon,
para kumain kasama ka,
para tumawa kasabay mo,
para makakwentuhan ka,
para mayakap ka.
Isa pang pagkakataon kung saan titigil ang oras, kahit ngayon lang,
kahit saglit lang.
Ang panalangin ko lang naman,
na kapag pinagsama-sama yung pa-isa isang araw… umabot tayo ng habambuhay.
Baka sakaling… hindi na kailangan bumitaw.
Pero… walang ganun, ’di ba?
Hindi ganun.
Wala na tayong ‘isa pa.’
Nakilala kita nung lahat okay.
Masaya.
Magulo.
At puno ng pangarap.
At hanggang ngayon… nandun pa rin ang lahat ng ‘yon.
Para sa’yo.
Para sa’kin.
Pero hindi na… para sa atin.
Sabi nila, pag nasira ang isang bagay,
kung malalaki pa ang piraso,
pwede pang buuin.
Pwede pang ayusin.
Pero minsan… hindi lang nababasag ang mga bagay.
Minsan, nadudurog sila.
At pag nadurog, ang tanging magagawa mo na lang ay ang hayaan silang saluhin ng liwanag. Dahil kahit durog, ang bubog… kumikislap pa rin.
At sa bawat kislap, aalalahanin ko…
kung gaano tayo kaganda.
Kung gaano tayo kasaya.
Kung gaano tayo naging…
tayo.