Chapter Text
The velvet seats of my father’s car feel like ice against my legs. Everything in this house is expensive, beautiful, and freezing.
Kumikirot yung balikat ko kung saan ako tinamaan ng sinturon kagabi—yung leather buckle, saktong bumaon sa balat ko, leaving a jagged bloom of purple and red polka dots na kailangan ko pang lagyan ng powder kanina para lang maitago. I’ve learned how to breathe in shallow sips para hindi masyadong mag-grate yung ribs ko sa isa't isa.
Naaalala ko pa yung bawat bagsak ng kamay niya kagabi. Ang kasalanan ko? I was only in second place. Second place. Sa bahay na ito, ang second place ay hindi panalo; ito ay isang pampublikong kahihiyan.
"Does it still hurt?" my father asked, not out of concern, but as a reminder. He didn't even look at me, his eyes fixed on the road.
"No, Dad," I lied, my voice small.
"It should. Para matandaan mo yung tunog ng pagkakamali mo," he hissed, bigla niyang hinampas ang manibela, at kahit hindi ako ang tinamaan, napapikit ako sa takot. "I spent thousands on your lessons, Wonwoo. I bought you the best grand piano in the country, and you couldn't even finish a fucking piece without your fingers trembling. You looked weak on that stage. Nakakahiya ka."
I kept my gaze out the window, watching the blur of Manila. "The other student was—"
"I don't care about the other student!" he roared, his hand slamming against the steering wheel, making me flinch and hit my bruised shoulder against the seat. I gasped, the pain blinding me for a second. "There is no 'other student.' There is only you and your failure. Do you know what people said? They asked if I was going soft on you. Pinagtatawanan ka nila, Wonwoo, pinagtatawanan nila tayo."
He reached over, his grip tightening on the back of my neck, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were cold, void of any fatherly warmth.
"Listen to me," he hissed. ”I don't invest in failed projects. Sa susunod na competition, kung hindi gold ang i-uuwi mo, huwag ka nang umuwi sa bahay. Maliwanag?"
"O-Opo, Dad," sagot ko, pilit na pinipigilan ang luha.
"Be the greatest," ‘yan ang laging sinasabi sa akin ni papa—but how can I say to him that I can’t be the greatest? That I’m a hollow shell with a heart that beats too fast and a mind that won't stop screaming—his shadow towering over me hanggang sa lamunin na ng dilim yung buong kwarto ko.
I am just a project to them, hindi ko naramdaman na itinuring nila akong anak. Family dinner is a performance kung saan yung kalansing lang ng silverware ang tanging ingay na allowed. Kapag nagsalita ako nang medyo malakas, "unrefined" daw ako. Kapag nanatili naman akong tahimik, "an embarrassment." There is no in between.
Naalala ko nung six years old ako, umiyak ako kasi nadapa ako at nagasgas yung tuhod ko; pero hindi ako binigyan ni Mama ng bandage. Tiningnan lang niya yung dugo na tumatagos sa suot kong pantalon ko, "Look at the mess you've made, Wonwoo. You're always so fragile." Fragile. 'Yun yung salitang bumuo sa pagkatao ko.
Natuto akong itago yung panginginig ng mga kamay ko sa bulsa ng mga suot ko. I learned that "perfection" was just another word for "invisible." Kapag perfect ako, hindi nila ako kailangang pansinin. Kapag perfect ako, hindi nila ako kailangang hawakan gamit yung mga kamay nilang wala namang alam gawin kundi manakit o manulak palayo.
Isang gabi, habang nag-aaral ako sa dining table, narinig ko ang yabag ni Mom. Hindi man lang siya tumingin sa akin; dire-diretso siya sa bar counter para magsalin ng wine.
"Wonwoo," tawag niya, her voice like glass scraping against stone. "I saw your latest exam scores. 98? Why not a perfect score?"
"Mahirap po yung Calculus portion, Mom. Pero babawi po ako sa finals," mahina kong sagot, pilit na itinatago ang panginginig ng ballpen sa kamay ko.
"Babawi? That’s what you always say," she scoffed, turning around to face me with a look of pure indifference. "Your father is already stressed about the firm. Huwag mo nang dagdagan ang iniisip niya. You know what happens when dad gets disappointed, right?"
Napahigpit ang hawak ko sa armchair. Ramdam ko ang hapdi ng pasa sa likod ko. "Opo, Mom."
Biglang bumukas ang pinto at pumasok si Dad. He didn't greet us. He didn't even acknowledge the fact na gabi na at hindi pa ako kumakain. He just dropped a thick folder on top of my notes, crushing the pages I worked so hard on.
"Sign this. Enrollment papers for the summer advanced classes in Singapore," utos niya.
"Pero Dad... graduating na po kami sa June. I thought... I thought we were going to have a break bago mag-college," malakas-loob kong sabi.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Lumapit si Dad sa akin, dahan-dahan, hanggang sa maramdaman ko ang bigat ng presensya niya sa likuran ko. He leaned down, his mouth inches from my ear.
"Break? Is that what you think life is, Wonwoo? Isang laro?" He gripped my wounded shoulder, his thumb digging deep into the bruise. Napakagat-labi ako sa sobrang sakit, pero hindi ako pwedeng dumaing. "You don't get a break until you are at the top. Do you want to end up like those people on the streets? Walang kwenta? Walang pangalan?"
"Hindi po, Dad," pabulong kong sagot, ang mga luha ko ay nagbabantang pumatak na sa folder.
"Good. Now, go to your room," sabi niya bago binitawan ang balikat ko nang may puwersa, dahilan para tumama ang dibdib ko sa gilid ng mesa.
Hindi sila lumingon nung tumayo ako. I was invisible again. I walked to my room, locking the door behind me, and finally let the shaking take over my whole body. In that house, I wasn't a son. I was just a ghost they were trying to polish until I disappeared completely.
My room is a museum of trophies I was forced to achieve—trophies para sa mga debate na kinamumuhian ko, mga certificates para sa grades na naging kapalit ng tulog ko. Sometimes, tumatayo lang ako sa gitna ng kwartong 'to at iniisip kung mapapansin ba nila kung palitan ko yung sarili ko ng isang mannequin. Mas madali kasing bihisan 'yun, hindi nagdurugo, at walang puso na naghahangad sa isang pagmamahal na hinding-hindi ko mararamdaman.
I even think a mannequin is way better than me, someone who doesn’t crave attention, who cries when he makes mistakes, just existing as a perfect trophy.
Isang gabi, pumasok si Mom sa kwarto ko habang nakatitig ako sa kawalan. Hindi niya tiningnan ang namumulang mga mata ko. Sa halip, lumapit siya sa display case at inayos ang pagkaka-align ng isa kong gold medal.
"Bakit hindi ka pa natutulog?" she said, walking toward me with a gentle smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Nilapag niya ang gatas sa table ko, saktong sa ibabaw ng Calculus reviewer ko. “We have that foundation anniversary event, remember?"
"Mom, medyo masama po ang pakiramdam ko," mahina kong sabi, holding my side where the bruises were pulsing. "Can I skip the event? Just for tomorrow?"
Lumapit siya sa akin, hinawakan ang pisngi ko at hinaplos ito nang napakagaan—halos parang hinahawakan niya ang isang mamahaling porcelain vase na ayaw niyang mabasag.
"Oh, anak," she sighed, her voice dripping with a fake kind of sympathy. "I know you're tired. But everyone is expecting to see you. You're our pride, Wonwoo. Sayang naman yung binitawan naming pera para sa tutor mo kung hindi mo man lang ipapakita sa kanila kung gaano ka katalino, 'di ba?"
"Pero Mom, pagod na po talaga ako. Hindi ko na po kaya—"
"Shh," she cut me off, her thumb brushing my lip to silence me. The sweetness in her voice stayed, but her grip on my chin tightened just enough for me to feel the threat. "Don't be selfish, sweetheart. We do all of this for you. Your dad is working so hard for you. Huwag mo naman kaming pahiyain. Konting tiis na lang, okay?"
She kissed my forehead—isang halik na walang init.
Pero sa kabila ng lahat, may isang liwanag na pinilit pumasok sa mundo ko.
Despite everything.
There was him.
Mingyu.
Tuwing papasok ako sa school, naninikip yung dibdib ko. The anxiety is a physical weight, parang batong nakadagan sa balikat ko, reminding me of the bruises hidden beneath my uniform. Pero kapag nahuli ni Mingyu yung tingin ko mula sa kabilang dulo ng cafeteria at kumaway siya—hindi yung mabilis na kaway lang, kundi yung full-body, goofy movement na nagpapagulo sa buhok niya—yung bigat sa dibdib ko, nagiging balahibo. Biglang gagaan.
Siya lang yung tanging parte ng buhay ko na hindi kontrolado ng mga magulang ko. He’s the only person who looks at me and doesn't see a "Jeon." Ang nakikita lang niya ay si Wonwoo. And that is the most terrifying, beautiful thing na naranasan ko.
Our dynamics are what I have lived for—isang batang pilit na binubura ng mundo, at isang lalakeng pilit akong binubuo.
Sa school, I was seen as the untouchable rich kid na kinaiinisan ng lahat. People ignored me like I was a ghost, or worse, they picked on me just to see if I’d finally break. Naririnig ko yung mga bulong sa hallway.
"Akala mo kung sinong malinis, corrupt daw ang pamilya niya eh."
"Anak mayaman kasi kaya ganyan, akala mo kung sino."
o kaya, "Ang ganda siguro ng buhay niyan, pasarap lang kasi kahit anong gusto ibinibigay." Their words were like small cuts, bleeding me dry slowly.
Pero si Mingyu? He never looked at me that way.
"Group yourselves into pairs," sabi ni Sir.
Hindi pa natatapos ang sentence ni Sir, ramdam ko na ang pamilyar na bigat sa dibdib ko. Awtomatiko akong napayuko, tinititigan ang dulo ng ballpen ko. Alam ko na ang mangyayari. No one ever voluntarily chooses me. I’m always the odd one out, the one who ends up with whoever is left over.
Pero bago ko pa man mabilang ang tibok ng puso ko, may humintong sapatos sa tapat ng table ko.
"Wonwoo," hingal na tawag ng isang boses.
Nag-angat ako ng tingin, startled. It was Mingyu. He was leaning over my desk, his hands gripping the wood as if he had just run a marathon. "Mingyu?"
"Partner tayo. Please?" Hindi niya ako binigyan ng chance na humindi. He flashed me his best, most charming grin—yung ngiting pati yung mga pangil niya ay kitang-kita.
Napakurap ako. "But... your friends—" Lumingon ako sa mga teammates niya sa likod na tinatawag siya, but he didn't even glance back.
"My friends can handle themselves. So, deal?"
Napatitig lang ako sa kanya. I expected him to just give me the work and walk away after this—to use me for the grades and leave. Pero hindi. He pulled his chair so close that our shoulders touched. For the first time, yung lamig na laging dala ko ay natunaw ng init ng braso niya.
"Wonwoo, we can do this. Kaya natin 'to, basta ikaw partner ko," he said, and the way he whispered my name... it didn't sound like the way my parents said it. My name didn't sound like a burden or a curse coming from him. It sounded... safe.
"Deal," I whispered, barely audible, but he caught it and beamed at me.
Mula noon, hindi na ako tinigilan ni Mingyu. Every single day, bago pa tumunog ang bell, nandoon na siya sa upuan ko. Usually, may dala siyang strawberry milk o yung favorite bread ko.
"For you," sabi niya sabay lapag ng gatas. "Para may energy ka mag-solve ng formulas mamaya."
"Bakit strawberry?" tanong ko isang beses, habang sinusundot yung straw.
"Bagay kasi sa'yo. Sweet pero understated," biro niya, sabay kindat.
Sa loob ng ilang buwan na naging partners kami, Mingyu did something my parents never even tried to do. Simula noon, I clung to his presence. Even when he was surrounded by his popular friends, the moment he saw me walking alone, he’d break away from the crowd. "Wonwoo! Share tayo," he'd say, handing me half of his snack, his fingers brushing against mine.
Whenever the anxiety became too much—yung tipong naririnig ko na naman yung boses ni Papa sa ulo ko habang nasa gitna ng klase—Mingyu would notice. He wouldn’t ask questions. He’d just find a way for us to sneak out.
Sa paborito naming spot sa park, sa ilalim ng malaking puno kung saan tago kami sa mundo, doon lang ako nakakahinga. Mingyu would offer me the warmest hugs—yung yakap na parang binabalot ako sa kumot para hindi ako lamigin. He’d wrap his arms around me and just stay there. His chest felt like home, a place where no one could hit me or yell at me.
"Wonwoo, tingnan mo oh," Mingyu said, breaking the comfortable silence. He was holding a half-empty water bottle, shaking it so the sunlight caught the droplets. "Pag nag-college na tayo, ganito dapat. Chill lang. Walang pressure. Just you and me, maybe a small apartment near the campus tapos may malaking bintana para hindi masikip tignan."
I looked at him, my heart aching at the 'we' and the 'us' he used so easily. "College? Malayo pa 'yun, Gyu. Baka pagod ka na sa akin nun."
"Never," he laughed, and before I could react, he flicked the bottle, spraying a fine mist of cold water right onto my face.
"Mingyu!" I gasped, wiping my glasses, but I couldn't stop the small, rare smile from tugging at my lips.
"Ayaw mo nun? Para magising ka! Masyado kang seryoso eh," he grinned, his fangs catching the light. He sprayed me again, a bit more this time, and I finally reached out to grab his wrist. We wrestled for the bottle, our laughter echoing under the canopy of the big tree—the only place where our voices were allowed to be loud.
"Wait, wait! Tama na!" I pleaded, breathless. He stopped, but he didn't pull away. He kept his hand over mine on the bottle, his warmth seeping into my skin.
"Seryoso, Wonwoo," he whispered, his eyes searching mine. "Pag graduate natin, lalaro tayo ng basketball araw-araw hanggang sa mapagod ka. I’ll teach you how to shoot properly para hindi ka na laging tagapalakpak ko lang. And then, we’ll travel. Pupunta tayo sa dagat, 'yung malayo sa ingay ng Manila. Kakalimutan natin lahat ng 'to."
I looked away, staring at the grass. dagat. future. It sounded like a fairy tale I wasn't allowed to star in. "What if I don't make it that far, Gyu? What if I'm not... what if I'm too broken to travel?"
Mingyu moved closer, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me into that blanket-warm hug. He leaned his chin on top of my head. "Then I’ll carry you. Kung hindi mo kayang maglakad, bubuhatin kita hanggang sa makarating tayo sa dagat. I’ll be your legs, Wonwoo. Basta wag mo lang bibitawan 'yung kamay ko."
I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of his smell of the park. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to tell him that his voice was the only thing keeping me from shattering right there on the grass.
"Promise?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
"Promise," he said, squeezing my arm gently—right over the spot where a fresh bruise was hidden beneath my sleeve. "Walang iwanan. Sabay tayong mag-ga-graduate. Sabay tayong tatanda."
He would often shower me with words I pray to hear from my parents.
"You're doing so well, Wonwoo," he would whisper, his voice soft, like a secret meant only for me. "I'm so proud of you for just being here." para akong sinuntok sa dibdib, pero yung suntok na nagbubuo sa akin imbes na sumisira. Gusto kong sumigaw. I wanted to tell him that "just being here" is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Gusto kong sabihin na bawat umaga, nakikipag-negotiate pa ako sa sarili ko para lang huminga dahil yung bigat ng expectations ni Papa, parang bundok na nakadagan sa akin.
Pero hindi ko sinabi 'yun. Tiningnan ko lang kung paano lumalabas yung mga fangs niya kapag ngumingiti siya—isang maliit at matulis na paalala kung gaano siya kabuhay.
Words of encouragement were foreign to me. Sa bahay, puro "fail," "disappointing," at "not enough." Pero kay Mingyu, I was always enough. He’d give me the brightest smiles, yung tipong pati mata niya tumatawa, and for a second, I’d forget that I was a ticking time bomb of sadness.
Kaya lang, pag-uwi ko ng gabi na 'yun, sinalubong ako ng katotohanan. Pagkapasok ko pa lang sa pinto, narinig ko na ang boses ni Papa mula sa study room.
"Wonwoo, come here."
Pumasok ako, nakatungo. Nakita ko ang Science project namin ni Mingyu na nakalapag sa table niya. Kinuha niya 'yun at tiningnan nang may halong pandidiri.
"I received a call. Your teacher said you've been spending more time laughing with that basketball player than actually studying," sabi niya, ang boses ay kalmado pero puno ng panganib. "And this? Isang 95? This is the work of a distracted boy."
"Pa, mataas na po ang 95—"
Hindi ko natapos ang sasabihin ko. Isang malakas na sampal ang nagpalingon sa ulo ko. Ramdam ko ang pagputok ng labi ko at ang pamilyar na pag-init ng pisngi ko.
"Don't talk back to me!" sigaw niya. Kinuha niya ang ruler sa table at hinampas sa braso ko—saktong sa tapat ng mga pasa na hindi pa naghihilom. Napaluhod ako sa sahig, iniinda ang hapdi na parang sinusunog ang balat ko. "You want to be a clown, yung pinagtatawan ka ng lahat? Go ahead! But don't you dare bring that filth into this house! Ayusin mo ang sarili mo, Wonwoo. Or I will make sure you’ll never see him again."
Hinayaan niya akong nakasalampak sa floor. Pilit akong tumayo, nanginginig ang buong katawan. Pumasok ako sa banyo at tiningnan ang sarili ko sa salamin.
Hide it. Perfect. Invisible.
Kinabukasan sa school, naramdaman ko ang presensya ni Mingyu bago ko pa siya makita.
"Wonwoo! Look, I got you the blue drink today—" Huminto siya sa harap ko, nawala ang ngiti niya. "Hey... bakit ang putla mo? At bakit may concealer ka rito sa gilid ng labi?"
Iniwas ko ang tingin. I put my hands in my pockets to hide the shaking. "Wala 'to, Mingyu. Nasagi lang sa pinto kagabi. You know how clumsy I am."
He leaned in closer, his fangs hidden as his expression turned serious. "Wonwoo, look at me."
"Kaya natin 'to, 'di ba?" pag-iiba ko ng topic, pilit na ngumingiti kahit kumikirot ang labi ko. "The project. We’re doing so well, right?"
He stared at me for a long beat, his eyes searching mine. For a second, I thought he’d see through the paint and the lies. But I just tilted my head and gave him the most "perfect" smile I could muster.
"Yeah," he finally whispered, his voice thick with a worry he couldn't hide. "We're doing so well, Woo."
He reached out to pat my head, and I had to use every ounce of my strength not to flinch. I let him stay close. I let his warmth be my support, because the mountain on my chest was getting heavier, and I didn't know how much longer "just being here" would be enough.
I want to ruin this, I’d think every time he’d wipe a stray tear from my cheek using his thumb. I want to grab his hand and never let go. I want to tell him that he’s the only oxygen I have left.
But I stayed quiet. Because if I told him I loved him, and he looked at me with that same pity my mother had, I wouldn’t survive it.
Pero natakot kasi ako, baka lumayo siya sakin. Baka hindi niya magustuhan ang totoong ako.
That I might scare him away for being broken—too broken for his own good.
What if kapag nakita niya ang lahat ng itinatago ko, matakot siya? What if imbes na yakapin ako, marealize niya na masyadong madilim ang mundo ko para sa isang taong kasing liwanag niya? O mas malala—paano kung subukan niyang harapin si Papa?
I imagined it in my head: Mingyu, with his brave heart and loud voice, trying to protect me. At si Dad, with his cold power and cruel influence. Alam ko ang mangyayari. One word from my father and Mingyu’s future would be crushed. Isang utos lang ni Papa at ilalayo nila ako sa kanya nang tuluyan. I wouldn't be able to see his fangs when he smiles or hear him call my name ever again.
I’d rather be lonely beside him than be completely alone without him.
Kaya nakuntento ako.
I’d rather have this—this fragile, beautiful friendship—than lose him entirely to the truth. I was okay with just being the boy he shared snacks with, the boy he walked to the gate, and the boy he protected from the rain.
Kahit na sa loob-loob ko, bawat ngiti niya ay parang paalala kung gaano kalaki yung mawawala sa akin kapag tuluyan na akong nilamon ng dilim.
Pero sa tuwing ko yung mga kamay niya—malaki, mainit, at may kalyo dahil sa basketball. Kapag hinahawakan niya yung braso ko, sobrang gaan, na parang isa akong mamahaling porcelain na kailangang ingatan. Hindi niya alam na sa ilalim, durog na durog na ako. He doesn't know that his "I'm proud of you" was the only thing keeping the jagged pieces from falling apart completely.
"Wonwoo, tulala ka na naman," biro ni Mingyu habang naglalakad kami palabas ng gate. Binuksan niya ang payong niya dahil nagsisimula nang umambon. Agad niyang inilapit ang sarili sa akin para hindi ako mabasa. "Dikit ka sa akin, baka magkasakit ka. Lagot ako kay Sir kapag nawalan ako ng partner."
I looked at his shoulder, which was already getting soaked just to keep me dry. "Mingyu, mababasa ka."
"Okay lang," he grinned, those fangs flashing. "Matibay 'to. Basta ikaw, bawal mabasa."
Gusto kong umiyak. Gusto kong sabihin na, 'Mingyu, tumakbo ka na palayo hangga't hindi ka pa nahahawa sa malas ko.' Pero nanatili akong tahimik. I’d rather have this—this fragile, beautiful friendship—than lose him entirely to the truth. I was okay with just being the boy he shared snacks with, the boy he walked to the gate, and the boy he protected from the rain.
Kahit na pag-uwi ko, ang sasalubong sa akin ay ang malamig na tingin ni Papa at ang hapdi ng sinturon. Kahit na alam kong ang bawat segundo kasama si Mingyu ay hiram na oras lang. I was fine with being a ghost, as long as Mingyu was the one haunting me.
"Ingat ka, Woo," sabi niya nung huminto na ang silver sedan sa tapat namin.
Sumakay ako sa kotse at lumingon sa bintana. Nakita ko si Mingyu na kumakaway pa rin habang nakatayo sa ulan, basang-basa ang kalahati ng balikat. I pressed my hand against the cold glass, my heart aching with a truth I could never voice.
I love you, I thought, as the car sped away towards my cold museum of a home. I love you enough to keep you away from the monster under my bed.
But fate was not done yet, it can be even crueler that it already has.
Nagsimula yung mga tsismis na parang lason—mabagal sa umpisa, hanggang sa unti-unti na nitong pinapatay ang bawat sulok ng pagkatao ko.
“Wala na talagang tinirang dignidad sa sarili niya, nag-cheat pa.”
“Akala mo kung sinong magaling, cheater naman pala. Kaya naman pala laging perfect.”
“Tignan mo nga naman, wala talagang perpekto sa mundo.”
Kaya pala biglang nagbago ang ihip ng hangin. The rumor spread like wildfire: I allegedly cheated on the final exams. I—the "perfect" student, the "pride" of the Jeon family—isang manloloko lang pala sa paningin nila. Hindi nila alam na bawat perfect score ko ay binabayaran ko ng dugo at luha sa loob ng bahay namin.
The whispers didn't stay as whispers. They turned physical. Kapag dadaan ako, may biglang lalakad nang mabilis para banggain ang balikat ko—yung balikat na punong-puno na ng pasa. Isang beses, pagbukas ko ng locker, bumuhos ang itim na tinta sa mga gamit ko, kasabay ng isang note: "Cheater. Don't act like you're better than us."
Nung hapon na 'yun, umuwi akong punit ang manggas ng uniporme ko at may mantsa ng tinta ang mukha. Pagkakita pa lang sa akin ni Papa sa foyer, hindi niya tinanong kung anong nangyari. Hindi niya tinanong kung nasasaktan ba ako.
"Anong kaguluhan ito, Wonwoo?" boses niya, kasing talim ng labaha. "I received calls. People are talking about you. Are you really trying to destroy my reputation? Naag-rereblde ka?"
"Dad hindi totoo 'yun. Sinisiraan lang nila ako—"
"SILENCE!"
Bago pa ako makaiwas, naramdaman ko na ang bigat ng kamay niya sa pisngi ko. Natumba ako sa sahig, at doon, sinturon ang naging sagot niya sa "kahinaan" ko. . Bawat latay was a reminder na ang tanging halaga ko lang sa kanila ay yung mga numerong nakasulat sa report card ko. Kapag wala 'yun, wala rin akong kwenta.
"Puro na lang problema ang dala mo sa pamilyang ‘to, mas mabuting mawala ka na lang!" sigaw niya habang hinihingal sa galit. "I did not raise a cheater! I did not raise a loser!"
Iniwan niya akong nakadapa sa malamig na sahig. Pilit kong inabot ang gilid ng table para tumayo, ang buong katawan ko ay nanginginig na sa sakit—hindi lang ng latay, kundi ng katotohanang kahit kailan, hindi ako magiging sapat.
Kinabukasan, pumasok ako sa school na parang walang nangyari. I put on more concealer, I buttoned my shirt up to the collar, and I kept my head down.
Yung kulay ube sa likod ko ay sariwa pa nung makita ko si Mingyu kinabukasan. Pero for the first time, hindi siya humiwalay sa mga kaibigan niya. He looked at me—yung tingin na tagos sa kaluluwa—and then he looked away.
Yung rejection na 'yun, mas masakit pa sa sinturon. It felt like the sun had decided to stop shining specifically sa mukha ko. I tried to reach out, nanginginig yung mga daliri ko, pero yung espasyo sa pagitan namin, biglang naging dagat. I was drowning in the middle of a crowded hallway, at yung tanging lifeguard ko, nakatingin lang sa sahig.
He stayed with them. He chose to stay in the circle of people who were calling me names, and the silence from his side was louder than the insults of everyone else.
Napayuko ako. I clutched my bag strap so hard my knuckles turned white, hitting the fresh bruises on my shoulder. I walked past them—isang multong hindi na nakikita. I felt his presence as I brushed past his shoulder, but neither of us spoke. No strawberry milk. No "brightest star." No fangs on full display.
Doon ko narealize: even my only oxygen was starting to run out. If Mingyu believed them, then there was truly nothing left for me here.
Nagpatuloy ako sa paglalakad papunta sa classroom, bawat hakbang ay parang papunta sa sarili kong libing. I looked at the hallway one last time, hoping he’d call my name. But there was only the sound of lockers slamming and the cruel laughter of people who didn't know I was already dead inside.
Tapos nangyari yung sa likod ng gym. Tatlong lalaki, tawa na parang basag na salamin, at mga suntok na walang paki kung "perfect" ba ako o hindi. Nung nagising ako sa ospital, yung puting kisame lang ang bumati sa akin. Hindi ang mga magulang ko—masyado silang busy i-manage yung "PR scandal" ng anak nilang cheater.
Dahan-dahan kong inabot ang phone ko sa bedside table. Bawat galaw ko ay parang may tumutusok na karayom sa tadyang ko.
With trembling fingers, binuksan ko ang screen. My eyes burned as I scrolled through the notifications. I was hoping for one name. Just one.
Mingyu.
Hinihintay kong mag-pop up yung message niya. Hinihintay kong tanungin niya kung nasaan ako, kung bakit hindi ako pumasok, o kung okay lang ba ako. Kahit "dot" lang, kahit isang letter. Pero wala.
I checked our last conversation.
Mingyu :)
"Goodnight, Wonwoo. You did well today. Proud of you always."
Tinitigan ko yung screen hanggang sa lumabo ang paningin ko dahil sa luha. Proud of you always.
Iyon na pala ang huli naming pag-uusap. Itried to refresh my inbox—isang beses, dalawa, sampu. Umaasa na baka na-delay lang yung text niya, baka nag-aalala rin siya, baka hinahanap niya ako.
Pero nung binuksan ko ‘yung instagram, at ang unang bumulaga sa akin ay isang photo ni Mingyu sa court, nakangiti, kasama ang team niya. He looked so happy. He looked so... unaffected.
"Kinalimutan mo na ba ako?" bulong ko sa hangin, kasabay ng pagtulo ng luha na pilit kong pinipigilan.
I turned off my phone and stared back at the white ceiling. The silence of the hospital room was louder than the punches I took earlier. Doon ko narealize na kahit gaano mo i-perfect ang sarili mo, pagdating sa dulo, mag-isa ka pa rin.
Pagbalik ko sa school, hindi ko alam kung ano ang mas masakit—yung mga pasa sa katawan ko o yung lamig na bumabalot sa buong hallway. I felt like a walking open wound, and every whisper was a grain of salt.
“Hala, akala ko nag-transfer na siya.”
“Di na talaga nahiya, bumalik pa.”
“What a disgrace to his family.”
I wanted to scream at them. I want to cover my ears and tell them to stop, pero hindi ko magawa.
But the hardest part? It was Mingyu. Sa bawat beses na dadaan siya, ramdam ko yung hangin na dala niya, pero never siyang tumingin. He ignored me completely. I was left alone in a crowd, isolated sa gitna ng mundo na dati-rati ay sabay naming nilalakaran.
Doon ko nakilala si Kuya Jeonghan. He’s also a graduating senior, the only one who didn't look at me like I was a piece of trash. Isang hapon, sa rooftop, doon ko ibinuhos lahat.
"Kuya, wala nang naniniwala sa akin," bulong ko, habang nakatingin sa malayo. "Wala na akong kakampi. I’m just... tired of everything."
Jeonghan leaned against the railing, his long hair catching the wind. Hindi niya ako tiningnan nang may awa, at 'yun ang kailangan ko. "Wonwoo, life isn't always going to be about sunshine and rainbows. Minsan, sapat na yung nandito ka lang."
Mapait akong napangiti. "Pero Kuya, kahit yung 'nandito lang,' ang hirap na panindigan. Yung tanging tao na akala ko makakaintindi... hindi na rin ako tinitingnan."
"Si Mingyu?" tanong niya.
Tumango ako, ramdam ang pamilyar na kirot.
Inabot ko sa kanya yung sobre. My hands were shaking. "Please, Kuya. Ibigay mo 'to kay Mingyu kapag wala na ako rito. I’m transferring soon... to somewhere quiet, hopefully it’s peaceful there just like what they said, malayo sa lahat."
Tinitigan ni Jeonghan ang sobre, bago dahan-dahang tumingin sa akin. "Wonwoo, sigurado ka ba rito? Alam mo, pwede ka namang humingi ng tulong. Hindi mo kailangang gawin 'to mag-isa."
"I tried, Kuya," sagot ko, ang boses ko ay halos hangin na lang. "I tried so hard. I performed, I studied, I took the hits, and I smiled. Pero kahit gaano ko galingan, laging may kulang. And now everybody thinks I’m a cheater. Hah, what a life."
"You sound like you're saying goodbye, not just transferring," bulong ni Jeonghan, his voice laced with a sudden, sharp concern.
I forced a laugh, a sound so hollow it felt like it came from a ghost. "Transferring is a kind of goodbye, right? Somewhere new. Somewhere where I don't have to wear this mask anymore."
Tinitigan niya ako nang matagal, parang binabasa ang mukha ko. But he just reached out and squeezed my shoulder—the one that wasn't bruised.
"Pangako, Wonwoo. Makakarating 'to sa kanya," sabi niya, her voice heavy. "Pero sana... sana makahanap ka rin ng kapayapaan sa lilipatan mo."
"I will, Kuya. I promise," I lied.
The next few days, I performed. For the first time, naging "masaya" ako. Ngumingiti ako sa mga classmates ko na nandidiri sa akin. I laughed at my parents' dinner table kahit gusto ko nang sumuka. I was so lively that everyone was weirded out. Maskara lang 'to, Gyu. Isang huling palabas.
The mask was heavy, but I wore it with grace, wala naman kasi akong choice eh. For the first time in seventeen years, I wasn't just "fragile" or a "project"—I was a ghost haunting my own life, pretending to be alive one last time.
Sa hallways, hindi na ako nakatingin sa sahig. Tinitigan ko yung mga taong nagbulong-bulungan tungkol sa akin at ngumiti ako.
"Good morning!" bati ko sa isang babaeng tumawag sa akin noong isang araw. Napakurap siya, yakap-yakap yung mga libro niya. "Are you... okay, Wonwoo?"
"I've never been better," sagot ko. At sa totoo lang, hindi iyon puro kasinungalingan. The decision gave me a strange, hollow lightness. Parang sa Physics lang, F = ma; yung force ng expectations ni Papa, sa wakas, nahanap na yung katapat na force—yung kagustuhan ko na lang na maglaho. Ang bilis ng acceleration ko papunta sa dulo, at nakakahilo siya sa saya.
Sa dinner, nandoon pa rin yung katahimikan, pero ako ang bumasag noon. Tumawa ako—isang matalas at maliwanag na tunog na umalingawngaw sa malamig na marble walls.
"The steak is wonderful, Ma," sabi ko, beaming at her. Natigilan siya, yung tinidor niya bitbit sa ere, tinitingnan ako na parang tinubuan ako ng pangalawang ulo. "And Dad, I’ve decided to stop worrying about the exam rumors."
Naningkit yung mata ni Dad. "Finally, you’re showing some sense. Or I’d pull you out of that school and throw you somewhere far"
"You won't have to worry about that anymore," sagot ko, steady ang boses ko. I’ll be the one to do that myself, somewhere far you wouldn’t have to worry about me.
Tumingin ako sa kanila, isa-isa. For the first time, hindi ako nakaramdam ng takot. I felt a strange, hollow lightness.
"Thank you, Ma," sabi ko, my smile never wavering. "Thank you for teaching me how to look good even when I'm falling apart. Thank you for the milk, and for the lessons."
My mother blinked, her expression shifting from confusion to a faint, uncomfortable frown. "Wonwoo, what are you—"
"And you, Dad," I interrupted, turning to the man who had spent seventeen years trying to carve me into a statue. "Thank you for the discipline. Thank you for showing me that second place is never enough. Salamat sa lahat ng 'lessons' na ibinigay mo sa akin. Without you, I wouldn't have the courage to make this decision tonight."
I stood up and folded my napkin neatly, placing it beside my plate. "I'm thankful for this life, for the trophies, and for the name. I've realized that I've finally achieved everything I can here.”
Bago ako tuluyang tumalikod sa hapag, nanatili muna akong nakatayo sa gitna ng dining room. Ang bawat dekorasyon sa bahay na 'to—mula sa chandelier hanggang sa mga naka-frame na certificates ko sa dingding—ay tila mga bantay na nagbabantay sa bawat kilos ko.
"Ma, Dad," tawag ko ulit, dahilan para mapahinto si Papa sa pag-hiwa ng steak niya.
"What now, Wonwoo? We're eating," reklamo ni Papa, hindi man lang nag-angat ng tingin.
"Gusto ko lang sabihin na... sorry if I wasn't enough for the longest time," sabi ko, ang boses ko ay kalmado na parang dagat bago ang bagyo. "But I promise, after tonight, you’ll have the perfect son you always wanted. Yung hindi nagrereklamo, yung hindi napapagod, at yung hindi niyo na kailangang intindihin."
Napatingin si Mama sa akin, may saglit na pag-aalala sa mga mata niya, pero agad din itong napalitan ng pagiging dismissive. "Good. As long as you understand that your actions reflect on us. Now, go up and rest."
"I will, Ma. Magpapahinga na po talaga ako," sagot ko.
Lumingon ako sa kanila sa huling pagkakataon. Nakita ko silang dalawa—nakaupo sa dulo ng mahabang mesa, kumakain nang tahimik, napapalibutan ng lahat ng karangyaan pero walang init. This was the "perfect" family they protected so much.
Umakyat ako sa hagdan, bawat baitang ay parang pag-akyat sa langit. Pagpasok ko sa kwarto ko, nilock ko ang pinto. Doon ko kinuha ang phone ko para i-text si Mingyu.
I sent the text at 6:00 PM.
Mingyu
Field. 7:30. Please
Umupo ako sa bleachers, nanunuot yung lamig sa manipis kong jacket. Kanina pa nagba-vibrate yung phone ko sa bulsa—three, five, ten missed calls mula sa driver ko. I ignored them. The moon was a sliver of ice in the sky, reminding me of the trophies in my room—shiny, cold, and empty.
In-expect ko na na hindi siya dadating. Why would he? I was a scandal. I was "broken." I was the boy he chose to ignore when the world got loud. But then, there were footsteps.
Mingyu,
He came.
Nakatayo lang siya ilang talampakan ang layo, nakasuksok yung mga kamay sa bulsa. He looked tired. Mukhang mas gusto niyang mapunta kahit saan wag lang dito. Yung distansya sa pagitan namin, parang naging bangin na hindi ko na kayang tawirin.
"You’re late," bulong ko, basag ang boses sa gitna ng katahimikan.
"Wonwoo, ano ba 'to? My mom is asking why I’m out so late, at yung mga rumors—"
"I just wanted to say thank you," putol ko sa kanya. Pinanatili ko yung smile ko kahit feeling ko mapupunit na yung balat ko. "Salamat sa snacks. Sa mga yakap sa ilalim ng puno. Salamat kasi pinaramdam mo sa akin na ako si Wonwoo, even just for a little while."
"Why are you talking like this?" Defensive yung boses niya, may halong guilt na ayaw niyang aminin.
Tinitigan ko siya. Gusto kong sabihin, kasi ito na yung huli, Gyu. Kasi bukas, hindi mo na kailangang umiwas at maguilty na kinaibigan mo ako kapag nakikita mo ako sa hallway. Kasi bukas, malaya ka na sa 'cheater' na kaibigan mo. Pero ngumiti lang ako lalo. It felt like my face was a porcelain mask cracking under the pressure.
"Wala lang. Gusto ko lang siguraduhin na alam mo," pagpapatuloy ko, stepping a bit closer pero sapat lang para maamoy ko yung pamilyar niyang scent. "Salamat kasi nung mga panahong hindi ko na kayang bitbitin yung sarili ko, hindi mo tinanong kung bakit—niyakap mo lang ako. Salamat sa mga lunch na hinahati mo sa akin nung wala akong gana kumain or of like wala akong kasamang kumain. Those small things... they were my only reason to stay awake, Gyu."
"You were everything to me," isip ko habang nakatingin sa mga mata niyang hindi makatagal sa tingin ko. Every time you called my name, it felt like I existed. Hindi bilang isang tropeo, hindi bilang isang investment, kundi bilang isang tao.
"Salamat din pala sa pagtatanggol sa akin dati," mahina kong dagdag. "Kahit nung huli... kahit nung tumahimik ka na... salamat pa rin. At least I had those months where I felt safe. I felt... loved, even if I was too scared to ask if you felt the same."
His eyes flickered with something—pain? Regret? Pero masyado na itong huli. The bridge was already burning behind me, and I was the one holding the match.
"Wonwoo, stop it. You’re scaring me," Mingyu said, his voice cracking. He took a step back, and that small movement—that tiny retreat—felt like a landslide.
"Gyu," bulong ko. Humakbang ako palapit, isa, dalawa—hanggang sa maramdaman ko na yung init na nanggagaling sa kanya. "If I told you... if I sinabi ko bang hindi ko ginawa 'yun? Na hindi ako nag-cheat. Na frame up lang ako... maniniwala ka ba?"
Mingyu opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked at the grass, looking everywhere but at me. "Wonwoo, I—lahat kasi sila sinasabi—yung pictures, yung leak... it was on your desk, Wonwoo."
"I know," putol ko sa kanya, keeping that fake smile on my face kahit nararamdaman ko na ang panginginig ng buong katawan ko. Gusto kong sumigaw. Gusto kong hilahin ang laylayan ng jacket niya at magmakaawa. 'Gyu, look at me! Look at the bruises! Look at the boy who almost died for those grades just to be enough!' Pero nanatili akong nakatayo, pilit na pinatitigas ang sarili.
"It’s okay. Siguro kung ako rin, maniniwala ako sa kanila. I don’t even trust myself sometimes. I’m fragile. A mess. Isang malaking disappointment."
"Don't say that," he choked out, his voice thick with guilt. "Wonwoo, please..."
"I won’t keep you long. Gusto ko lang sabihin na aalis na rin naman ako, Gyu," sabi ko, my voice steady but hollow. "I’m transferring. I’m moving somewhere far, where no one knows my name or the rumors. Malayo sa lahat ng gulo."
Napaangat ang tingin ni Mingyu, his eyes searching mine. "Transfer? Saan? Bakit hindi mo sinabi agad?"
Ngumiti lang ako, yung ngiting hanggang labi lang pero hindi umaabot sa mata. "Para hindi ka na mahirapan. Para hindi mo na kailangang umiwas sa hallway o mahiya dahil kaibigan mo ang 'cheater' ng school. It’s better this way, 'di ba? You won’t have to be ashamed of having a friend who is a cheater."
Inabot ko siya. My hands were shaking so bad, parang bawat buto ko ay nagmamakaawang hawakan siya sa huling pagkakataon. I forced them to be steady. Dahan-dahan, tinakpan ko yung bibig niya gamit yung palad ko—softly, as if I was protecting him from the truth I was about to leave behind. His breath was hot against my skin, a stark contrast to the ice in my veins.
I leaned in and pressed my lips to the back of my own hand. Isang halik na may harang. Isang halik na punong-puno ng "sana."
Maybe I should’ve kissed you anyway, isip ko. Dapat sinira ko na yung friendship para malasahan ko man lang yung hangin mo bago ako tuluyang mawala.
"Goodbye, Gyu," bulong ko sa balat ko. "Thank you for everything. Mamimiss kita. Sobra. Take care of yourself for me, okay?”
Hinigpitan ko ang diin ng palad ko sa mukha niya sa huling sandali, ninanamnam ang bawat segundo. I turned around and walked away. Hindi ako lumingon, kahit narinig ko siyang tinawag yung pangalan ko.
Thank you for everything, Mingyu.
I love you.
Sa dining table, kinuha ko ang iilang piraso ng papel at ballpen. Nagsimula akong magsulat ng mga letters na iiwan ko para sa pamilya ko.
"Ate Gigi," tawag ko sa nanny ko—the only person whose hands touched me without wanting to mold or break me.
Lumapit siya sa akin, may dalang basahan. "Wonwoo, bakit hindi ka pa umaakyat? Gabi na, ah."
"Salamat po, Ate," panimula ko, at sa pagkakataong ito, hindi ko na napigilan ang panginginig ng boses ko. "Salamat sa pagtrato sa akin na parang sarili ninyong anak. Sa lahat ng beses na hinarangan niyo ako kay Dad... sa lahat ng pasa na nilagyan niyo ng yelo habang umiiyak ako nang patago."
Nabitawan niya ang hawak niyang basahan. "Ano ba ang sinasabi mo, bata ka? Trabaho ko 'yun—"
"Hindi po, Ate. Higit pa sa trabaho ang ginawa niyo," putol ko sa kanya. "Salamat sa mga gabi nung bata pa ako na niyayakap niyo ako hanggang sa makatulog ako kasi takot ako sa dilim. Salamat sa mga bedtime stories na ikinukwento niyo para lang malimutan ko yung sermon ni Dad nung araw na 'yun. Para sa mga lutong bahay na puno ng pagmamahal—yung mga pagkaing nagpapainit sa tyan ko kapag pakiramdam ko ay napakalamig ng mundong 'to."
Hinawakan ko ang kamay niya. Magaspang pero puno ng pagkalinga. "Salamat po sa mga hawak niyo na hindi nananakit. Sa bawat haplos sa likod ko na nagpaparamdam na tao ako, hindi lang isang tropeo. Kayo lang po ang yumakap sa akin nang walang hinihinging kapalit."
Ate Gigi started to tear up, her hand shaking in mine. "Wonwoo, nag-aalala ako sa'yo. May problema ba? Sabihin mo kay Ate."
"Wala po, Ate. Masaya lang ako na nakapagpasalamat ako sa inyo," I lied, forcing a smile that felt like it was breaking my soul. "Paki-ingatan po ang sarili niyo para sa akin, okay? Wag niyo pong kakalimutan na kayo ang paborito kong nanay."
I gave her one last, lingering hug—absorbing her warmth, the smell of laundry soap and home—before I pulled away.
Pag-akyat ko sa kwarto, doon ko naabutan si Mom na nilalapag ang baso ng gatas.
"Wonwoo, your milk," she said, her voice unusually soft as she placed the glass on my nightstand. She didn't leave immediately. Instead, she lingered, her eyes tracing the sharp lines of my face as if searching for a glitch in a familiar painting. "You’ve been... different tonight. Yung mga sinabi mo sa dinner, it wasn’t like you."
"Different how, Mom? Di ba mas gusto niyo 'to? Quiet, compliant, and finally accepting my place?" I asked, my voice devoid of any edge.
She stepped closer, the scent of her expensive perfume filling the small gap between us. For a second, I saw the polished mask of Mrs. Jeon slip, revealing a woman who looked genuinely frightened. "You’re smiling too much, Wonwoo. It feels... forced. Are you still upset about the rumors? Your father and I, we’re handling it. You don't have to worry about it anymore."
"I'm not worried, Mom. Not anymore," I whispered. I looked at her—really looked at her—not as the judge of my life, but as the woman who carried me. "Ma, can I ask you something? Just this once?"
"What is it?"
"Are you proud of me?" I felt my heart hammer against my ribs, a desperate, dying bird. "Not of the grades. Not of the trophies or the way I carry the family name. Are you proud of me? Just for being your son? Just for... being here?"
The silence that followed was deafening. She opened her mouth, and for a fleeting moment, I thought she would reach out and hug me. I thought she would say the words that might actually make me put the car keys back on the desk.
She stiffened. The softness in her eyes vanished, pero umias siya ng tingin.
"Wonwoo, don't be sentimental. It doesn't suit you," she said, her voice turning cold and dismissive. "Alam mo naman ang sagot diyan. We provide for you, we protect you. Bakit kailangan mo pang itanong ang mga ganyang bagay? Focus on your recovery and your studies. Iyan ang mahalaga."
The rejection was silent, but it felt like a physical blow to my chest. Even just once, I was still not a son worthy enough to be loved, to make them proud.
"I see," I replied, giving her one last, hauntingly beautiful smile. I looked at her, memorizing the face that I had spent my whole life trying to please. "I love you, Mom."
The words felt heavy, like a long-kept secret finally escaping. For a split second, she looked stunned—the air between us thick with things unsaid. She wasn't used to hearing it, and she definitely wasn't used to saying it back.
"Goodnight, Wonwoo," she finally said, regaining her composure as she stepped toward the hallway. She didn't say it back, but she lingered at the door for a brief moment. "See you tomorrow. Don't be late for breakfast."
"See you tomorrow," I whispered back to the closing door.
"There is no more tomorrow, Mom," isip ko habang nakatitig sa saradong pinto.
I waited until the house was silent. Dahan-dahan kong binuksan ang pinto ng kwarto nina Mom. Nakita ko silang dalawa—natutulog nang mahimbing, walang kamalay-malay na ang mundong binuo nila ay guguho na sa loob ng ilang oras.
I tiptoed to their bedside tables. My hands were steady now, the adrenaline of the end giving me a strange kind of peace. Inilapag ko ang dalawang sobre. Isa para kay mom, isa para kay dad. I placed them right where they would reach for their glasses or their phones the moment they woke up. Ang unang bagay na bubulaga sa kanila bago pa nila mabalitaan ang nangyari sa balita.
Bago ako umalis, lumapit ako sa gilid ni dad. Tinitigan ko ang mukha niya—ang lalaking kinatakutan ko sa buong buhay ko, ang lalaking nagturo sa akin na ang sugat ay itinatago sa ilalim ng plantsadong polo.
"I forgive you, Dad," bulong ko, ang boses ko ay halos hangin na lang. "And thank you. Thank you for giving me everything... even if it was everything except the one thing I actually needed. I love you."
Lumapit ako sa hook kung saan nakasabit ang mga susi. I took them, the metal cold against my palm.
I looked at them one last time. My parents.
"Goodbye," I whispered.
I headed down to the garage. The house felt lighter now, or maybe I was the one becoming weightless. The night air hit my face, and for the first time in seventeen years, I felt like I could breathe.
I got into the car, placed my phone on the passenger seat—face down—and started the engine.
Bago ako dumiretso sa highway, I found myself driving to his street. I parked the car a few houses away and walked slowly sa tapat ng bahay nina Mingyu.
I stood there, hidden by the shadows of the trees. Tiningala ko yung bintana ng kwarto niya. It was still lit. Alam kong gising pa siya—siguro naglalaro, o siguro nag-iisip din tungkol sa nangyari sa field kanina.
The light from his room was the only warmth I could feel in this freezing night. Nanlabo yung paningin ko dahil sa mga luhang hindi ko na mapigilan. I looked up at that window with tears streaming down my face, my breath hitching in the cold air.
I’m right here, Gyu, isip ko. Isang tawag mo lang, isang silip mo lang sa labas, baka sakaling magbago ang isip ko.
Hinitay ko. Isang minuto. Lima. Sampu. Nakatitig lang ako sa bintana niya habang nanginginig ang buong katawan ko, hoping for a shadow to move, for the curtain to be pulled back.
Pero nanatiling nakasara ang bintana. Ang tanging nakikita ko lang ay ang anino niya sa kurtina. I whispered a silent 'I love you' that the wind carried away. I wanted to run to his door, but I remembered the way he looked away in the hallway. I remembered the belt. I remembered the rumors.
Doon ko binitawan ang huling piraso ng pag-asa na itinatago ko sa loob ng bulsa ko. Pinahid ko ang luha ko gamit ang likod ng kamay ko at huminga nang malalim.
"Goodbye, Mingyu," bulong ko sa hangin, sapat na para marinig ko ang sarili ko. "Hindi na ako maghihintay. This is the last time I’ll be standing under your light."
Hindi na ako nag-atubili. Tumalikod ako at naglakad pabalik sa kotse, bawat hakbang ay mas mabilis, mas sigurado. Pagpasok ko sa loob, naramdaman ko ang lamig ng leather seat pero hindi na ako nanginginig. My hands were finally steady.
I looked at his window one last time through the rearview mirror as I started the engine.
"I wish you the best," sabi ko sa sarili ko bago ko tinapakan ang gas. "Live for me, Okay?"
I drove away from his street, heading straight for the highway. The city lights began to blur as I picked up speed. No more stops. No more looking back. Just the open road and the promise of a silence that no one can ever break again.
The tears finally came nung nasa highway na ako. Hindi sila tahimik. I was sobbing so hard na halos hindi ko na makita yung kalsada.
I am only eighteen, isip ko habang lalong ibinabaon yung paa ko sa accelerator. And I have already felt a hundred years of winter. I’m tired of being cold.
Nakita ko yung concrete pylon ng overpass. It looked so solid. It looked like the only thing that could stop the noise once and for all. Wala nang sakit. Just peace.
Pinaandar ko ang sasakyan, my hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. As the speedometer climbed, doon ako sinalubong ng mga alaala na parang sunud-sunod na sampal.
Nakita ko yung ngiti ni Mingyu habang tumatawa siya sa ilalim ng puno... Naramdaman ko yung hapdi ng sinturon ni Dad... Naalala ko yung tingin ni Mingyu sa hallway—yung pag-iwas niya, yung pagbitaw niya sa kamay ko nung mas kailangan ko siya...
"Stop it," bulong ko, pero lalong bumilis ang tibok ng puso ko. Naalala ko yung amoy ng laundry detergent sa uniform ni Mingyu nung niyakap niya ako dati. Yung bulong niya na, "Proud ako sa'yo, Wonwoo."
"I said stop it, please," hagulgol ko. The tears were burning my eyes, making the road blur into a sea of distorted lights. "I just…I just want this to end, please."
I was sobbing so hard now, my chest heaving, the pain in my ribs screaming for me to stop. Pero hindi ako tumigil. I pushed the accelerator down further—the roar of the engine was the only thing loud enough to drown out the sound of my heart breaking.
"I’m tired of everything, Dad," I choked out, gasping for air. "I’m tired of being not good enough, Mom."
Napatama ang noo ko sa manibela sa sobrang paghikbi. "Sorry... sorry kasi hindi ako naging sapat. Sorry I couldn’t live to be the son that you have asked for," bulong ko sa gitna ng hangos. "I just... I just wanted you to love me. Gusto ko lang naman na maging proud kayo sa akin kahit hindi dahil sa grades ko. Gusto ko lang naman marinig na okay lang ako kahit mahina ako. Na mahal niyo ako kahit ganito lang ako."
Pero wala nang sasagot. Ang tanging naririnig ko lang ay ang hangin sa labas ng bintana.
The concrete pylon of the overpass was getting closer. It looked so massive, so final. I let go of the steering wheel for a split second, feeling the car drift. I looked at the empty passenger seat where Mingyu should have been. I imagined him there, smiling at me one last time, reaching for my hand.
"Maybe, I should've kissed you anyway, Gyu," I whispered, my voice finally calm amidst the chaos of the speed. "At least then, may baon akong totoo bago ako maglaho."
I closed my eyes. For the first time in seventeen years, the weight on my shoulders felt light, I have surrendered my flag.
Then, I pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor.
BREAKING NEWS: 18-ANYOS NA ESTUDYANTE, PATAY SA AKSIDENTE SA MAYNILA.
"Isang malagim na aksidente ang bumulaga sa mga motorista sa bahagi ng España Boulevard, Manila, malapit sa Highway 7 intersection kaninang madaling araw," the reporter begins, standing against the backdrop of a twisted heap of silver metal that used to be a luxury car.
Flash Report: Midnight Tragedy in Manila
"Nandito po tayo ngayon sa kanto ng overpass sa Manila kung saan isang madugong sakuna ang naganap. Ayon sa inisyal na imbestigasyon ng mga awtoridad, isang silver sedan ang sumalpok sa kongretong poste ng overpass sa bilis na lumalagpas sa 140 kph.
Wala umanong nakitang skid marks o senyales ng pag-preno sa kalsada, kaya tinitingnan na rin ng mga pulis ang anggulo ng intentional crash. Ayon sa mga nakuhang dokumento, ang driver ay isang Senior high school student mula sa University of Santo Tomas."
The camera zooms in on the wreckage. There is nothing left of the "perfection" the Jeon family had curated. The trophies at home in their high-end village are still shiny, but the boy who earned them is now just a headline in the heart of Manila.
"Kinilala ang biktima na si Jeon Wonwoo, labingwalong taong gulang. Ayon sa ulat, nakuha pa sa loob ng sasakyan ang isang punit na litrato at isang cellphone. Idineklarang dead on the spot ang biktima dahil sa tindi ng impact."
At the Jeon household, the "perfection" had finally cracked. The house was no longer a museum of trophies; it was a mausoleum.
Ate Gigi sat in the kitchen, her body rocking back and forth as she clutched a worn-out apron to her chest. She stared at the spot by the counter where Wonwoo had thanked her for the hearty meals and the hugs. Ang bawat hikbi niya ay may kasamang hapdi na hindi matatapos. "Bakit hindi ko naintindihan?" bulong niya, ang boses ay basag na basag. "Diyos ko, Wonwoo... bakit hindi kita pinigilan?" She remembered the warmth of his last hug—the hug of a boy who was already saying goodbye to the world. She wailed into her apron, her cries echoing against the cold marble walls that had seen so much discipline and so little love.
Ate Gigi’s cries were not just for the young man who had walked out the door but for the little boy she had practically raised within these suffocating walls. Her mind drifted back to a memory from years ago—Wonwoo at seven years old, hiding under the kitchen table because he had accidentally broken a vase while playing.
"Ate Gigi, don't tell Dad," he had whispered, his tiny body trembling as he clung to her skirt. "I’m so sorry. Woo is sorry, I promise."
She remembered how she had picked him up, his small frame fitting so easily in her arms. She had wiped his tears and hidden the shards, protecting him from a belt that never seemed to rest. She remembered the way he used to hum when she gave him an extra cookie, a secret treat his parents would have called "undisciplined."
Now, she looked at the empty kitchen, and the silence was deafening. "You were just a baby," she sobbed, the sound raw and guttural. "Bakit kailangang ikaw ang magbayad sa mga pangarap nilang hindi naman sa'yo?"
She could still feel the weight of him sitting on the counter, swinging his legs while she told him stories of a world outside this mansion—a world where he could just be Wonwoo. She wailed, clutching the apron so hard her knuckles turned white. Her heart was breaking for the boy who had learned how to apologize for existing before he even learned how to truly live.
"I’m sorry, anak..." she wailed, her voice bouncing off the cold, expensive tiles. "Sorry kasi hindi ka na naipagtanggol."
Upstairs, the silence of the house was shattered by a sound so raw it didn't even seem human.
Wonwoo’s mother stood in the middle of his room, her knees finally giving out. She collapsed onto the floor, clutching the small note he had left behind to her chest, as if she could pull the ink off the page and turn it back into her son’s heartbeat.
"Wonwoo! Wonwoo, anak!" she screamed, the sound tearing through the hallway like a physical blade. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"
She crawled toward his bed, her silk robe dragging across the floor, until she reached his favorite pillow—the one he’d had since he was a young boy, the only soft thing in a room full of hard edges. She pulled it into her arms, clutching it so tight her fingernails dug into the fabric.
"Patawarin mo ako, Wonwoo... Patawarin mo si Mama," she choked out, her voice a ragged whisper before it escalated back into a sob. "Hindi ko sinasadyang iparamdam na hindi sapat... Anak, please! Bumalik ka na! I'll change everything! I'll tell your dad to stop! Just come back, please!"
She remembered him as a toddler, how he used to reach for her hand when the lightning was too loud. She remembered the way he would look at her with wide, hopeful eyes whenever he finished a drawing, waiting for a "Good job" that she always replaced with "You can do better."
She clutched his pillow to her face, gasping for air, her chest heaving so hard it felt like her ribs would snap. The "I love you" he had whispered at the door earlier tonight—the one she had ignored—replayed in her head like a death sentence. It wasn't a confession; it was a final gift, and she had let it fall to the floor.
"Sana binalik ko yung yakap mo... sana sinabi ko ring mahal kita bago ako lumabas ng pinto," she shrieked, her fingers clawing at the pillowcase. "Anak, bumalik ka... please. Kahit mawala na lahat ng medals, Woo, basta bumalik ka lang. I'll tell everyone I was wrong! I'll tell you how perfect you are!"
She began to rock violently, her tears soaking the fabric of his bedsheets. The image of him as a little boy, reaching for her hand during a storm, haunted her. She realized that for seventeen years, she had been the storm he was trying to survive.
"Wonwoo! My baby!” her voice became a high, thin wail that vibrated through the silent house. "I'm so sorry I didn't see you. I'm so sorry I let you go, thinking you weren't enough. You were everything! You were my everything! Proud na proud ako sa ‘yo, Woo. Mama is so proud of you, anak. I love you, anak ko. Mahal na mahal ka ni Mama."
In the master study, the silence was broken by the sound of a man crumbling. Mr. Jeon, the man who had always been a fortress of stoic discipline, was slumped over his mahogany desk.
"I didn't mean to break you," he choked out, the words getting caught in the throat that had only ever known how to shout orders. "I thought... I thought I was making you strong."
He had spent a lifetime demanding Wonwoo "be a man," only to realize he had never allowed him to be a child. He had wanted a legacy to outlive him, but instead, he was left with a drawer full of weapons and a house that would never echo with his son’s voice again. The reputation he had built was now a tombstone, and he was the one who had carved the name into it.
"God, what have I done?" he looked at the leather belt in the drawer and then at his own hands. He realized now that every time he had demanded "perfection," he was actually demanding the death of his son's spirit. He had built a wall of high expectations so tall that Wonwoo had no choice but to jump from the top of it just to find a way out.
Mr. Jeon let out a guttural, animalistic cry. He grabbed the trophies from the desk—the gold-plated symbols of his pride—and swept them onto the floor. The sound of metal clattering against the marble echoed like gunshots.
"I didn't want the trophies, Wonwoo," he sobbed into the empty room. "I just wanted you to be better than me. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry I didn't tell you that you were already enough."
Wonwoo has finally surrendered his flag. He has found the "somewhere far" he promised Gyu—a place where the expectations cannot reach him and the weight of being perfect can no longer crush his ribs.
The lights of Manila continue to roar, the busy traffic of España oblivious to the boy who traded his future for a single moment of peace. The world will turn 19, 20, and 21 The people who whispered "cheater" will move on to new scandals, their memories of the quiet boy in the hallway fading like old ink.
But Wonwoo never will.
He will never have to face another dawn where he has to calculate his worth in grades or medals. He will never again have to feel the cold sting of a belt or the heavy silence of a mother’s gaze. For him, the clock has finally stopped ticking. He is frozen in a moment of absolute stillness, forever untouched by the grey hairs of age or the heavy disappointments of a future he never asked for.
He was eighteen, and he would be eighteen forever.
He is eighteen, forever sitting on the bleachers watching a sunset he doesn't have to apologize for enjoying. He is seventeen, forever the boy with the gentle smile and the hidden bruises that have finally, mercifully, healed. He remains in the golden haze of that age—a permanent inhabitant of a time before the world could finish breaking him. While everyone else grows old, grows tired, and grows distant, Wonwoo stays behind in the safety of his youth.
He is the boy who will never have to graduate into a world that didn't want the real him. He is the wind that never tires and the shadow that lingers under their tree, forever an eighteen-year-old soul finally allowed to be soft. He is the wind that never tires, the star that never fades, and the shadow that lingers in the park under their tree, forever waiting for a partner who will never be eighteen again.
Wonwoo was eighteen, and in the hearts of those who failed to hold him, he would remain eighteen forever—a haunting, beautiful reminder that some souls are too delicate for a world that only knows how to break things and demand more.