Chapter 61
As time went by, I slowly found myself smiling again-genuinely, this time. It wasn't forced or hollow like before. It felt real. After years of drowning in silence and pretending to be okay, I think I can finally say... I'm happy now.
I've been struggling with my depression and anxiety since I was just seven. I remember the first time they told me I needed medication-it felt like the world confirmed that something was wrong with me. Since then, pills, therapy, and isolation became part of my everyday life. It was a long, lonely battle. But now, after all the breakdowns and sleepless nights, we're finally here-what might be my last check-up.
We're at the clinic, seated in a room I've known far too well.
It's sterile, cold, and too quiet. I sit on the small chair beside my Tita while she scrolls mindlessly through her phone, barely glancing up. I've grown used to her presence meaning nothing.
She was never really there-not emotionally, not mentally.
She only tagged along because she had to.
Maybe to say she did her part.
To look responsible.
"Doc Ramero, kamusta na po si Cynthia?" she asked, not even looking at me.
Her tone was casual, like she was asking about the weather-not her niece's mental health. I didn't react. I've stopped expecting anything from her.
Doc Ramero smiled kindly as he looked up from my chart. "Cynthia is doing well. She's made great progress over the years. She has finally overcome her depression. She's stable now. She'll still need to take her medication for another month, just as a precaution, but she's doing well."
Tita smiled.
But I knew that smile.
It wasn't relief. It wasn't pride.
It was fake.
A smile you wear when someone is watching, even if no one really is.
She didn't care-I knew that. She never cried with me. Never sat with me when I couldn't get out of bed.
Never asked how I was without following it up with a judgment or a sigh.
Her concern was performative.
A show for strangers.
"Cynthia, can you excuse us for a minute?" Doc Ramero said gently.
I nodded and stood up without a word, stepping out of the room and letting the door close behind me.
Standing in the hallway, a strange silence surrounded me. Not the heavy kind I used to dread, but a calm one. For the first time, someone said I was okay. That I had overcome something I once thought would kill me. And even though she didn't care... I did. I was proud of myself.
Because I didn't survive because of her. I survived despite her.
And I didn't get through this alone. It was because of the people who actually saw me. The ones who stayed. The ones who loved me even when I couldn't love myself. Especially her-Sylvia.
When I'm with her, the world feels softer. She laughs in a way that makes everything feel lighter. She speaks to the broken child in me without even knowing it. Somehow, she brings warmth to all the cold places I've carried for so long.
She made me believe healing was possible.
That I could be loved without conditions.
It's funny, really. I ended up falling in love with someone younger than me. But age didn't matter-not when she loved me better than anyone older ever did. Sylvia didn't just walk into my life. She changed it. She healed me in ways medicine never could.
I'm still healing. Still figuring things out. But for once, I feel like I'm finally living-not just surviving.
I was just staring at the "Brush Twice a Day" poster outside Doc. Ramero's office, quietly counting the number of teeth on the cartoon tooth when a boy popped out from behind the water dispenser.
"Hi! Cynthia, right?" he grinned like he just discovered ice cream for the first time.
He was holding a melting popsicle and wearing a bucket hat indoors. Red flag.
"Ikaw nga pala 'yung patient na kinukuwento ni Dad. Ako si Theo-anak ni Doc. Ramero." He said it like I was supposed to be impressed. "Tahimik ka raw, mysterious. Gusto mo bang-"
"I'm not interested," I said.
He froze. Popsicle mid-air. "H-ha? Wala pa akong tinatanong."
"You were going to ask if I wanted to hang out. Or talk. Or if I liked your shirt or some other irrelevant thing. I still don't want to."
"Grabe naman," he blinked. "Ang sungit mo. Wala pa akong ginagawa."
"You smiled like you had intentions," I said, turning slightly. "I assumed."
"Assuming mo pala teh. FYI, hindi ako magkakagusto sa'yo. You're not my type anyway!" he said, like I hurt his feeling.
"So? Why are you talking with me right now?" I asked.
"Hindi ba pwedeng makipagkaibigan?" he said, one hand on his hip, the other holding his now-pathetic popsicle like it was a mic in a telenovela.
I blinked at him. "That's not usually how people open conversations when they want friends."
He gasped. "Aba, ikaw na! Ms. Social Etiquette! Girl, I was being friendly, tapos ni-reject mo ako like ako si jowa mo trying to propose sa Paris!"
"I didn't mean to offend you."
"You wounded me," he said, dramatically placing his hand over his chest like he was about to faint.
"I was just trying to say hi kasi sabi ni Dad ang ganda raw ng progress mo. And I was like, 'Ooh, let's support fellow survivors!' Pero ikaw? You shut me down like a locked iPhone!"
I tilted my head. "...So you weren't flirting?"
"OH MY GOD-hindi! Girl, you are barking up the wrong glittery tree." He pointed at his pants. "Does this sequin detail say 'heterosexual' to you?"
I stared. "No."
"Exactly." He sighed, wiped imaginary tears from under his eyes, then sat beside me on the bench like we were in a reality show confessional.
"I just thought..."
He glanced at me, softer now. "You're used to people talking to you because they want something?"
I didn't answer. But I looked at him.
Theo suddenly kicked his legs like a kid on a swing. "Well, surprise. I'm not one of those people. I'm just annoying."
"You are," I agreed.
He gasped again, then smiled. "But charming, right?"
I squinted. "Debatable."
He laughed. "I like you. You're mean. We're going to be friends."
"That's not how this works."
"Wala ka nang choice, girl. Desisyon ako eh. Btw, you don't need to worry, I like guys too. Stay bading all the time! Pero syempre, secret lang kay daddy hehehe."
I looked at him. "Does your dad not know you're gay?"
Theo leaned back dramatically, whispering, "Sis, my dad is a doctor, not an empath. He thinks 'rainbow' is just a salad ingredient."
"I see."
"Which is why, if ever he asks what we talked about-tell him we discussed vitamins. Or Bible verses. Or both."
I stared at him. "Are you... okay?"
Theo turned to me, dead serious for the first time. "No. I have been clinically diagnosed with being too fabulous for this cruel world."
"Right."
He grinned again. "Anyway, now that we're besties-"
"We're not."
"Harsh mo talaga girl!" he jokingly said, and I just found myself laughing because he was hilarious.
"Thank you again, Doc," I heard my Tita say from inside the room, her voice drawing closer to the hallway.
There it was again-her polite tone, the one she uses with strangers, with authority figures. It was hollow. Just words. Not gratitude. Not relief. Just something to say before walking away.
A moment later, the door opened and Doc Ramero stepped out with a friendly smile on his face. He had always been kind to me-patient, understanding, even when I wasn't able to speak at all.
Theo gave me a playful little wave. "Ayan, nandiyan na ang tita mo. 'Til next time, Cynthia! Bestie na tayo ah!" he said with a light chuckle.
We silently walked to the car. The moment we got inside and the doors closed, it felt like the air tightened. Tita didn't even start the engine right away. She just sat there, hands on the steering wheel like she was holding something heavy.
Then she spoke.
"Sa ibang bansa ka na mag-aaral simula bukas."
I turned to her, stunned. "What? Why?! I don't want to, Tita!"
My voice cracked. My heart dropped to my stomach. Was she serious? Tomorrow?
How could she make such a huge decision without even talking to me first? After everything I've been through? After all the progress I've made?
I don't want to leave. Not now. Not when I'm finally okay. Not when I finally have Sylvia. And my friends. They make me feel like I'm alive again.
"Huwag nang matigas ang ulo mo," she said coldly, as if my reaction was unreasonable. "Ikaw ang nag-iisang anak ni papa mo. Ikaw lahat ang may hawak ng responsabilidad ng Sanchez. Kailangan mong makapagtapos ng maraming courses according sa mga ihahandle mong negosyo."
She said it like it was all just business. Like I was a spreadsheet. A plan. A legacy.
But I'm not.
"Tita, I don't want to! I'm happy here, please," I said, tears already streaming down my face. I was begging now, my voice shaking.
"Wag mo 'kong iyak-iyakan d'yan!" she snapped, eyes sharp as knives. "Gusto mo man o hindi, matutuloy tayo bukas. At hindi mo na puwedeng makita mga kaibigan mo. Masama ang impluwensiya nila sa'yo."
My chest tightened.
Bad?
Sylvia? Athena? Diana? Seinna? Samantha?
The people who made me laugh again? Who reminded me how it felt to be normal, to be seen, to be loved?
"How can you say that?" I whispered, in disbelief. "They saved me."
My heart dropped.
"I can't even say goodbye?" I asked, voice trembling. "Not even to Sylvia?"
"Hay naku, 'yang Sylvia na 'yan na naman!" Tita snapped. "Siya ang dahilan kung bakit ka nagiging matigas ang ulo."
I looked out the window, trying to breathe, trying to not scream.
"She's the reason I'm even okay now," I whispered to myself.
"Hindi siya mabuting impluwensiya. Babae sa babae? Cynthia, anong klaseng kahihiyan 'yan sa pamilya natin?"
I didn't answer. I just stared straight ahead.
If I spoke again, I'd break something.
Maybe myself.
"Tapos na ang pasensiya ko sa'yo, Cynthia. Bukas, aalis tayo. At kung magmatigas ka pa, ipapa-confine kita ulit sa ospital. Gusto mo ba 'yon?"
She was serious.
I could hear it in her voice. Cold. Firm. Final.
I hated how small I felt. How powerless. How trapped.
"Just one night," I whispered. "Please."
"Hindi puwede. Diretso tayong airport galing bahay. At itatapon ko ang cellphone mo mamaya."
My blood ran cold.
No phone. No message. No goodbye.
Just silence.
"You're punishing me for being happy," I said.
"Pinoprotektahan kita. 'Wag mong kalimutan, Cynthia. Anak ka ng Sanchez. Hindi ka puwedeng maging ordinaryo."
She started the engine.
My fists clenched on my lap.
Sylvia's face flashed in my mind-her grin, her warmth, the way she always listened even when I didn't know how to speak.
I wanted to run.
I wanted to scream.
But I just sat there.
Silent.
---
Today is the day of our flight.
I wish I could say I was excited, or even a little curious about what's ahead-but all I feel is emptiness. A numb, aching kind of emptiness that wraps itself around my chest and refuses to let go.
I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye.
Last night, I tried to call her.
I wanted to hear her voice one last time, even if it was just for a minute.
I wanted to say all the things I didn't get to say when everything was still okay. But before I could even unlock my phone, Tita snatched it from my hands. She didn't say anything.
She just.
.
.
took it.
And then, right in front of me, she threw it in the trash like it was nothing.
Like all the memories stored in that phone-messages, photos, her voice recordings-meant absolutely nothing.
I begged her. I cried and pleaded just to be allowed one call. One message. One goodbye. But she looked at me the same way she always has-with that cold, dismissive stare that told me she was tired of dealing with me. That she never really understood why I was always so "emotional."
She didn't even let me see her in person. No warning. No explanation. Just silence. Just decisions made for me, as if my voice didn't matter.
So I did the only thing I could: I cried. And cried. Until I couldn't breathe. Until my head hurt. Until there were no more tears left to fall. It felt like everything was being taken from me all over again. And I was powerless to stop it.
Now, I'm sitting here in the airport with swollen eyes and a hollow chest, waiting to board a plane to who-knows-where-just another unfamiliar place, another forced chapter. My bags are packed, but my heart is still stuck in yesterday.
Tita told me that I'll be studying with someone named Theo. Yeah, that Theo-the son of Dr. Ramero. Apparently, they talked about it yesterday when I wasn't even around to ask or agree. Another decision made without me.
I don't know why they planned it. Maybe it's because Tita thinks I still need "supervision." Maybe she believes I need to be around someone responsible.
Or maybe it's just convenience. I honestly don't know.
All I know is that Theo and I barely know each other, and now we're supposed to study together like it's no big deal.
He seems nice, I guess. From the few times I've seen him at the clinic, he gives off this laid-back, cool energy. Very different from me. Very different from Sylvia.
Sylvia...
I don't even know if she's looking for me. If she's wondering where I went. If she's waiting for a message that will never come.
And that hurts more than anything else.
Because I didn't want to leave her behind. I didn't want our last moment to be silence.
But I had no choice.
And she'll never know how much I loved her-not now.
"Ang lungkot mo ata. Smile naman d'yan oh, ayaw moba nito makakapunta tayo sa ibang bansa?" Theo said, trying to lighten the mood. But even what I do, wouldn't make things happy. Especially when I'm leaving the people that heal me.
I didn't answer Theo right away. The words just wouldn't come out, like a heavy weight in my chest that I couldn't shake. He had been talking non-stop ever since we left, trying to make me laugh, to distract me from the storm brewing inside me. But all I could do was look out the window, watching the passing city fade into unfamiliar roads.
"Malungkot kaba dahil hindi mo kasama kaibigan mo?" he asked again, this time his voice softer, less playful. "Don't worry, nandito naman ako oh! Papasayahin kita. Ano ba gusto mo? Mala clown sa party?"
His attempt at humor fell flat. All I could think about was Sylvia, the friends I'd left behind, the life I was forced to leave behind. I missed them so much. It hurt to think about it.
"I don't need a clown," I muttered, my voice thick with emotion.
Theo went quiet for a second.
I could feel him watching me, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. The tears had dried up, but the ache was still there. It was a deep kind of hurt-the kind that makes you feel like you're losing something you can't get back. And I was losing everything I had worked so hard to keep.
He sighed, leaning back in his seat, and I could feel the weight of his gaze. "I get it," he said after a long pause, his voice unusually gentle. "I know I'm not who you want to talk to right now. But... I'm here, okay? You don't have to be alone in this."
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, unsure of what to say. Theo wasn't exactly the person I'd choose to lean on. He was... too much. Too loud. Too extra. But at that moment, his sincerity made me feel like I could trust him, even if just a little.
"You don't have to pretend to be happy for me," I said, finally turning to face him. "I just... I don't want this. I want to go back. I want to see Sylvia. I want to be with my friends."
Theo studied me for a moment, then, to my surprise, he chuckled softly.
"Okay, you want honesty?" he said, leaning in with a mischievous grin. "I don't know how to help you feel better right now. But I do know that if you let me, I'll keep you company. At least until you get your chance to escape."
He leaned back again, crossing his arms. "And when you do get a chance to escape, I'll be the first to hear about it."
I stared at him for a second, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. Or maybe it was just that I needed someone to talk to, even if he was the last person I expected to be that someone.
"You're a lot," I said with a small laugh.
Theo grinned wider. "And you're lucky I'm your only company for the next few years. Can't escape me now!"
I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress the laugh that bubbled up. It felt good. It felt like something normal, something I had almost forgotten was possible.
"Thanks," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "I still don't want to be here, though."
He just shrugged. "Well, we're stuck together, so let's make the most of it. Anyway, we're going to Paris soon. You can cry in front of the Eiffel Tower and make it a dramatic movie moment. Maybe I'll even get you a beret to make it even more cliché."
I couldn't help but laugh at the thought. "I think you're a little too excited about this trip."
Theo put his hand over his heart in mock offense. "How dare you? It's Paris, the land of romance and fashion! I'm going to live my best life. We're going to live our best life."
"Just don't make me be part of your best life drama," I muttered, though I could feel a tiny spark of hope inside me.
He grinned. "Deal. But if you end up loving it, don't blame me."
I rolled my eyes, but this time, I wasn't as upset. Maybe this wasn't exactly how I'd wanted things to turn out, but at least I wasn't alone. For now, that was enough.
I'm now 20 years old.
It feels surreal sometimes, saying that out loud. Twenty. A whole decade past childhood, and yet, there are days I still feel like that broken little girl clutching at silence, trying to understand why everything had to hurt so much.
But I've come a long way.
I recently finished studying Civil Engineering and Corporate Law—two demanding fields I took on because I wanted to prove something, maybe to myself, maybe to everyone who said I wouldn’t make it.
How did I finish those courses within five years?
I took advanced classes and completed them early because of my capability.
And now, I’m planning to pursue a degree in Education.
It might sound odd, I know—especially after earning technical degrees—but it’s no longer about prestige.
It’s about promises.
Me and my friends once made a pact: to become professors together, to work in one university, side by side, teaching the next generation. We were young when we said it, maybe too young to understand how big dreams can feel. But I held onto it. I still do.
Beside me, Theo let out a long, tired sigh, slumping back into his chair.
"Hirap naman maging doctor. Bakit ko ba ginusto 'to?" he groaned, flipping through his notes like the words were mocking him.
I chuckled under my breath. "You want that."
We were seated at our usual spot by the wide glass window of the small Parisian apartment we now called home.
Theo and I have been together since the day we left the Philippines.
He's been constant. Supportive. A little annoying sometimes, but in a comforting way. He's three years older than me, studying to become a general surgeon.
Honestly, I don't know how he still finds the energy to joke around with the pressure he carries.
He's always been good at lightening the mood. Especially when my thoughts drift-like now.
Because I miss her. I miss Sylvia.
And it's not just some passing feeling. I miss her like a wound that never healed right. Quietly, but always there. I didn't realize how deeply I had fallen for her until it was already too late. Until I found myself reaching for something I could no longer touch.
Theo noticed the way I'd zoned out, staring blankly at my untouched notebook.
"Miss mo nanaman?" he asked, nudging me lightly on the arm.
"Yeah, so what?" I muttered, rolling my eyes, but not denying it.
He smirked a little. "Sus, unting tiis pa. Makakabalik na rin tayo sa Pilipinas."
I nodded slowly. That was the plan. Once we both finished our current tracks, we'd go back. Back home. Back to where everything started-and maybe, if I was lucky, back to her.
Here in Paris, things went smoothly on the surface. We studied, we worked, we tried to live. But underneath, there was always pressure. Tita never changed. She kept pushing me to do more, be more, achieve more-as if I was still that fragile girl she could control.
But I learned to stop letting her get to me.
She doesn't get to decide who I become anymore. I deserve to breathe. To choose. To live freely, without guilt wrapped around my ankles.
Suddenly, Theo's phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen.
"Hello? Who is this?" he answered casually, leaning back in his chair.
I wasn't paying attention at first-until his tone shifted slightly.
"No, I'm not related to her. But I'm with her niece," he said, sitting up straighter now.
That made me look up. My eyes locked on his as unease slowly crept into my chest.
"Who was that?" I asked, confused as he handed the phone to me.
"Hindi ko kilala. Pero tungkol sa Tita mo daw," he replied, eyes slightly narrowed now, as if trying to figure out what was going on himself.
My heart started to race.
There was something in the air. A shift. A strange kind of quiet before something breaks.
And somehow, I knew..
This wasn't just any call.
I took the phone from Theo's hand, feeling the familiar weight of uncertainty settle in my chest. The cold screen felt foreign to my fingers as I pressed it to my ear, the name on the screen only adding to my confusion.
"Hello?" I said, my voice wavering a little despite my best efforts.
There was a brief pause, followed by a voice I didn't recognize, but somehow felt eerily familiar.
"Hello, is this Cynthia?" the voice asked, its tone strained and tense. "I'm... I'm calling from the hospital. It's about your Tita Anna."
My heart dropped into my stomach. Tita Anna? The woman who had been my unyielding, controlling force all my life? The woman who had pushed me away from everything I loved? A cold knot twisted in my gut, a strange mixture of dread and something else I couldn't name.
"What about her?" I asked, my voice sounding distant, like I was listening to myself from far away.
I heard a deep breath on the other end, and then the words came, slow and deliberate, like they were trying to prepare me for something I didn't want to hear.
"I'm so sorry to inform you, but your Tita Anna has passed away... from a heart attack. It happened suddenly. We did everything we could... but we couldn't save her."
For a long, unbearable moment, everything was still.
My body froze, the words not quite making sense in my mind. My brain couldn't process them. Tita Anna... gone?
I looked up at Theo, who was watching me, his expression unreadable.
I could feel his eyes burning into me as I held the phone to my ear, waiting for something-anything-that would help me understand what was happening.
But there was only silence in my mind, only the rush of blood in my ears as I tried to wrap my head around the reality of it all.
I didn't know how to respond. I didn't know how to feel. My relationship with Tita Anna had always been complicated, filled with resentment, control, and an almost cold indifference. And yet, hearing the finality of her passing... it left me with an emptiness I hadn't expected.
"Are you there?" the voice on the other end asked, and I realized I hadn't said anything for a long time.
"Yeah..." I whispered, still trying to find my voice. "Is there... is there anything I need to do?"
"We'll need you to come to the hospital for some paperwork. We can discuss everything then," the caller said, their voice more gentle now, understanding the shock that was settling in.
"Okay," I replied, my words feeling hollow.
I lowered the phone from my ear, still trying to make sense of everything.
My Tita.
.
.
dead.
A woman who had been the face of my struggle, my pain, my very limitations.
And yet, despite all the bitterness I carried in my heart, there was a strange, empty sadness settling inside me, as if her passing left a void that nothing could fill.
Theo didn't say anything immediately, but I could feel his presence next to me, quiet and still. He didn't need to speak; the weight of what I was feeling was enough for him to understand.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I nodded but didn't respond. The only thing I could think about was how I couldn't go back-how my life, my dreams, my connections, were all suddenly in flux. The world had shifted, and I was left standing in the middle of it, unsure of where I belonged anymore.
Tita Anna had always been a constant shadow, but now that shadow was gone. And I didn't know whether I should mourn, celebrate, or just... remain silent.
I put the phone down gently, feeling like the weight of the world had just shifted beneath me.
"Do you want me to go with you?" Theo asked quietly.
I shook my head slowly, my eyes still distant.
"No," I said, more to myself than to him. "I have to do this on my own."
And just like that, the life I thought I was slowly starting to rebuild began to crumble once again.
On her Interment Day
Theo and I were here, standing by my Tita's grave. I watched as they finally lowered her to the ground, joining my mom, dad, and the rest of my family who are all buried here. This is where the accident happened, in Paris. They're all cemented in this place, and now, Tita is with them.
I should be happy.
I should be relieved that she's gone, that I don't have to carry the weight of her harshness anymore.
But instead, I hate myself.
I hated myself for crying, for feeling anything about her death.
I should be angry, should feel nothing but bitterness.
But here I am, crying.
Because despite everything, I loved her.
She hurt me over and over again, but she was still my family.
She was still the one who took me in when no one else did.
And maybe that's why I can't shake off the feeling of loss.
I kept telling myself that I should hate her. But it's hard to hate someone who you once thought would protect you. Even if she never showed me love, she was family. And for some reason, that mattered.
"Shh, you can cry. Tita mo pa rin naman 'yan kahit ganon siya sa'yo," Theo said softly, wrapping his arm around me. His voice was gentle, like he always knew exactly what to say to make me feel a little better.
He was the one I trusted the most, the one who had seen me at my lowest.
Theo was always there, understanding without having to ask too many questions.
He knew what I was feeling, even when I didn't have the words for it. He knew how to make it bearable, how to remind me that it was okay to grieve, even if it was complicated.
I wiped my tears away, trying to pull myself together. But deep inside, I felt so torn-torn between hating and loving someone who left me with nothing but pain. Yet, I still felt this hollow ache in my chest. I still felt the need to mourn.
And in that moment, standing beside Theo, I realized that sometimes, grief doesn't make sense. It doesn't follow the rules we set for it. And maybe that's okay.
"Tita, you can now rest in peace. I hope you find the peace that you never gave me here on earth. Please be happy with my mommy and papa. Tell them how much I missed them, how every day felt empty without them. I've always wondered if they knew how much I still think of them, how much I wish I could have had more time with them. I hope you can tell them how sorry I am for not being strong enough to hold it all together, and how I'm still learning to live without them."