About three weeks ago marked the third year of my aunt’s departure from our world. I decided not to visit her resting place and instead wrote her a letter, feeling this way, I can properly and wholeheartedly talk to her. Though it got a bit overwhelming for me from time to time that this took me a week and I always had to pause to get a grip of myself here and there, I felt like a great load was lifted off my shoulders when I actually did finish writing.

This got really personal and I seriously considered not to post this. But life overall is currently heavy for me, I need to let out some things and, I don’t know, sharing on my blog, to strangers, is the most comfortable option I have compared to my other alternatives. Also, somehow, posting this on the internet makes me feel like I’m actually sending my letter to my aunt. Wherever she is, I hope she has good Wifi.

Dearest Tita Guy-guy,

It’s been… what, 3 years since you started to look out for me—for us—from the heavens. I feel awkward, to be honest, writing this letter and even more while considering if I should say that I miss you. I realize we really didn’t spend a good deal of time together when you were still around. I mean, our time together was always short and in between intervals of long periods that we would barely remember our last encounter the next time we’d meet. Are our short moments enough to merit me a right to say, truly, that I miss you?

I wonder what conversations we could’ve had especially now that I am older. Maybe you could’ve taught me about commitment and faith? Being a nun, I could’ve asked you your views on certain topics. Maybe we could’ve watched Spotlight together. Or I could’ve just told you random things like a new meme I found, God ditching heavens and our prayers in Supernatural, or a joke that I found funny. You were always eager to listen to me before. I wonder if it would still be the same if we had more chances, more time.

Truth be told, Tita, half of me still doesn’t believe you’re gone. I’ve resulted to our lack of interaction as the reason why I feel this way. Sometimes, I feel you’re just called to work somewhere in the country, doing God’s mission, and will turn up for a visit soon. I still expect you to come during our family Christmas reunions actually, bearing all kinds of gifts and chocolates like you used to do. I’d always have to pause and remind myself that such thing is impossible. You’re up with the angels now, I’d like to imagine given your profession and probably forcing to them to help you tame your wild curly hair.

Don’t feel bad, Tita. It’s not your fault, it’s nobody’s fault.

We only did have fewer moments than what I would’ve wanted, yes, and yet as I look back at everything while writing this, your presence in my life, I realize, was never equal to the number of time we spent together for it was, always, so much bigger. Despite not always seeing each other, I still knew you were there. I still felt your huge heart for me and our family. You were like the moon when the sun rises, I can’t see you but I know you’re there. Like the wind, I can always feel you.

Perhaps that’s why I can’t bring myself to believe you’re gone nor can I will myself to say that I miss you. You were—you’re never gone. I feel you, Tita. With my entire heart, I do.

But you wouldn’t easily believe that for how much I’ve ignore you the past 3 years, would you? I have been ignoring you, I can’t deny that no matter how ashamed I am of the fact. I tried, Tita. I really did but one thing keep holding me back.

It was that day you came home and before lunch you came to me asking for my architectural plates. Do you remember? I gave them, my plates, to you and you settled yourself comfortably on the couch and began to look at them. Only, you were thoroughly examining them, more serious and focused than my teachers ever did. I started to become nervous and scared that you might be disappointed about my work but then, you looked at me after and had the widest smile I ever saw you wear. Your smile and your eyes told me that you weren’t—not even the slightest—disappointed. That, in fact, I could never disappoint you and you were very proud of me. It was that look that spoke volumes told me that no words could ever fully express your belief in me.

You returned my plates then and said, “Finish, okay?” And I promised you that I will.

That was the most vivid memory of you that I have. The last conversation with you that I could remember. A promise. A promise that I broke for I didn’t finish. I'm finally admiting it to you now. I broke my promise, Tita, and I am so sorry.

Shame, guilt, a mixture of both and attempts of coming up with excuses that always fail and end up of me telling myself, “Next time, I’ll face her next time,” led me here. Three years after. Words fail me. But I guess, there’s nothing really much to say? You have seen it all from where you are right now. I hope that you know how sorry I am and that I wish you don’t think less of me, Tita.

In fact, I actually need you to believe in me because I can’t do it for myself right now, Tita. I need that one look again to back me up, even just for a moment, and make me believe in myself and in a future as you did so once. I’m in dire need, Tita. Talk to the big Man you committed your life for me, if it’s not too much? Do your magic and make the stars where you are right now, the wind that you’ve always been to rattle me hard until a better version of myself come out—a version that is able to see what you saw in me all those years, that is able to say that my life and I am… of worth.

I’m sorry, Tita, if this letter suddenly took a dark turn and suddenly became about me. (Insert a long, long... long sigh from me somewhere here...) I don’t know how that happened, I just realized halfway through that my depression and dropping out of school was around the same time you said your goodbye, only a year apart. I don’t know what to make out of it but it got me thinking that maybe we did have a lot of thing in common like our family would always say.

Tita, I hope you’re doing well wherever you are. I hope you’re at peace and you’re not suffering anymore. I hope you’re somewhere good and beautiful just like how you’ve always treated and seen the world.

I’m not gonna say I miss you. You’re always around, right? Thank you. And I love you, Tita.

Always,
Dems.

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