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Remnant 100897 It was a windless January evening roughly a quarter before 8 PM. I stood next to a lit lamp post in a waiting area near our schools cafeteria. A foot in front of me stood the guy I fancied, who said the words that I did not want to hear. Just friends, he claimed. If we go further well just hurt each other more. I did not understand. Just a month ago, December 6, to be exact, he told me he liked me too. Now that I look back, I wanted to blurt out to him that thats the risk we take if we open ourselves up to each other. Its becoming vulnerable to another; but, with hopes that the other will never use this chance to hurt us. Of course, at the moment that this event occurred, my mind was too messed up to think of anything; so, I just nodded in stumped silence. After all, I thought then, if he doesnt want anything to do with me anymore then I cannot force him. We parted ways shortly after we said that would still keep in touch and be friends. That night, I half-walked, half-ran back to my dormitory as my hands gripped tightly to the strap of my bag. The words which wont come out of my mouth were now in an uproar inside my head. Intelligent questions mixed with rhetorical questions, which blended with strings of curses. Thoughts along the lines of did I do anything wrong, was I too clingy and didnt I make you happy penetrated my mind like needles digging into flesh. I did not want to have these kinds of thoughts, but I couldnt help it. I was rejected. It is often in rejection that we would most often question who we really are; in a state of a sorrowful wonder. The statement lets still be friends rarely comes true. For the weeks that followed, we did not exchange any words or gestures. I hated the fact that we pass by each other down the hallways and no words were said at all. Not even a greeting, a smile, a slight wave of a hand to acknowledge each others presence. It was in this time of silence that I most needed some sort of affirmation of what we had. Once, I tried to initiate a conversation but it failed in

the sense that we said some words to each other, but the words never did truly express what I wanted to express. The fumble of words I said felt more like attempts to protect my vulnerability instead of it being the medium to let him know how I feel. It was in these moments that I started to scrounge around, and tried to pick up evidences that would tell me that he still thinks of me. I have a text message saved in my phone. It was from a Saturday in November during my sophomore year. It was the end of a school week and I had no money left; to be exact, I only had 20 Pesos and my credit card. My parents were planning to pick me up and take me home that night; but sometime around 11 AM, he called me asking me if I was free to go to Eastwood. I desperately wanted to go; but, I refused to go because of my dire financial situation. He seemed insistent, though, and assured me it was alright. He picked me up around 12, and we went to Eastwood. True to his word, it was alright. He had paid for everything; lunch, snacks, Timezone card, every shop that we went to. The only thing I could do in return was to use my card and treat him to a cup of Happy Lemon. We spent our whole day there and I ended up not going home. The day ended with a game of billiards, and I told him to text me when he got home. He texted, and in that text message he also told me that the day was great. I was happy. We were happy. I saved that text message of his in my phone. We have matching voodoo dolls made out of yarn. We bought it in Fully Booked the same day we went to Eastwood. He bought me a Guardian Angel voodoo doll and I bought him the Devil one. I treasured mine, not wearing it for fear of losing it. He wore his though, and I loved to look at it because I was the one who gave it, after all. I have a small pink plush bunny keychain. He won it for me at the crane game at Timezone. I remembered his attempt to win it for me, and how he failed multiple times. He didnt give up though, because of something along the lines of man pride. In the end, when he got it, he seemed really happy and gave it to me.

I have a book by Lauren Oliver entitled Before I Fall. It was given to me as a Christmas gift in my freshman year. I remember how my lips curled up into a smile because I didnt expect him to gift me a gift; and how my cheeks started to heat up because I did not get him one. I have a book by Ellen Hopkins entitled Perfect. It was given to me as a Christmas gift in my sophomore year. I remember a feeling of pain because I thought that he gave it to me not out of his own will; but out of politeness because I told him that I was going to give him a gift. I have a text message from him on my birthday, December 11. The text message was sent at around 7 PM. I was disappointed. I thought that he would take me out somewhere or at least make my 18th birthday special; or at the very least, greet me exactly when the clock strikes twelve. Nothing of the sort, though. All I get is a crummy text message greeting me Happy Birthday at 7 PM. Nothing more, not even a letter or sentiments or at least a message with more content. I was frustrated because I did not understand. I had so many things and they did not clear up the thoughts that I have. They were a mess of inconsistencies and I did not know what to make do of them; or perhaps I looked at them in the wrong sort of light. I looked at them for concrete answers to my current disposition, but I forgot that these things are just remnants of a greater whole. I tried to look at them as if they would give me back the person who gave me them in the first place. I could try to piece things together and I could make up so many theories that could explain why things were going downhill for us; but, I could not find any use for that. The guy I liked was gone and I do not know why. Making up theories or clinging on to the fact that he might or might not have liked me seemed to be a futile effort. Possibilities upon possibilities came over me and to entertain all of them is not the best thing to do. Its also unhealthy to fixate on a single thing. For example, I did find something that

verified the fact that he liked me, I would simply cling on to that object and have hope that he will return one day; he will not though, and I would simply rot if I were to wait for him. The next thing I did, then, was to delete his text messages. I realized that they will not help me get over things but would only make my heart wrench longer. I also removed the bunny plush from my bag and hid it in my box of mementos. I sadly lost the voodoo doll on Valentines. For the books, theyre packed next to my other books in the shelf. In the end, perhaps the only thing left was to stop looking at objects and memories for answers and simply accept that it was gone; and that perhaps, theres no answer to everything and its alright that way.