Young Blood

So long, typhoon


You are my typhoon. When you left my area of responsibility, I was in a state of calamity.

I clearly remember the day the drizzle of my feelings for you began. The moon was up and we were having one of our pretty serious conversations. You loathed my best friend so much that you made me promise that I would always take your side. Of course, I had to say yes because you were one of my close friends and I subconsciously liked you back then. It was getting late and my Friday nights usually end at one in the morning of the following day, but I was very exhausted so I decided to end our conversation. You know what you said to me? You said you’d never leave me no matter what. “Basta. Kahit anong mangyari, walang iwanan. Promise yan.”

That’s when I felt the first drop. The first feeling. The first time my heart skipped a beat. I didn’t mind that little tingling, because I thought that it was nothing. That it was just a feeling I could easily get rid of. I never knew it would end up being the strongest storm I’ve ever felt in my whole life.

Then it became a little rain. I don’t know how you did it, but looking back, it was everything I could’ve asked for. Maybe it’s your words or your text messages. How open we were to each other. I wanted to run away for some shade, but there’s something about you that made me think, “Hey, a little rain wouldn’t be bad.”

My feelings became a downpour, and it’s because I kept on replaying our memories every single day. Signal No. 1 was for the way you helped me get through anything. Signal No. 2 was when I called you on the telephone and you told me my voice sounded like it belonged to an angel. Signal No. 3 was when you looked at me. Signal No. 4 was just purely you. The thunder was my beating heart, and you were the bolts of lightning that marched with the symphony of it.

So I danced with the rain. I played along, knowing that eventually, it would stop. Isn’t that how rain works? It stops once the heavens calm down. But even though I wasn’t really prepared for the rainfall, I reckoned that I would be able to survive. When I sensed that in a few days the sun would shine and I would lose you, I fell down on my knees and prayed to Him to keep you with me. I pleaded, “Lord, I wouldn’t mind having a personal rain cloud. It’s not yet time for the sun to rise, so please, please… Lord, let (insert name here) stay.”

God was good. I had you and I sang, danced, and smiled with the rain. You had me back then. I was so happy and it was like I had everything. I felt complete having you around. I didn’t mind paying for my cell phone bills and sacrificing my extra time just to help you, and just to hear your voice on the other end of the line. I didn’t mind staying up all night for you. That was how much I loved you. I suspended every doubt, fear, and uncertainty, for I was holding on to your words and our conversations.

But then you just… stopped talking to me. You were pouring and I was subsiding with thoughts of you, and then you just left. I felt like I wasn’t even able to make the trip to the evacuation center or to experience even a bit of the rescue operation. Certainly, I became a mess, just like the trees that fell and the posts that collapsed. The wires of my heart exploded, and I was trapped in a long and severe blackout. I was shattered and you were completely fine. It was so unfair, but I had to accept the fact that I was a fool for even thinking that a typhoon like you wouldn’t affect me that much.

Months later, I found myself slowly coping and recovering from the tragic heartache you caused. I’ve evacuated my feelings for you and shoved them to the bottom of the ocean. To cut to the chase, you’re nothing but a distant memory I’m glad I’m coming to terms with.

And now, don’t come back again. Because this time, I know better in case you drizzle your way back again. I’ve prepared candles of faith and a generator to light me up in case you shut me down again. I can feel the drizzle dropping on my forearm just like before, but now I wipe it away. I open my umbrella and I won’t sing with the rain anymore. I’m rushing toward the shaded area and coming back to where I should be, in some place where the sun is bound to shine for me.

With or without you, my personal typhoon, I can survive.

Chlarine M. Gianan, 14, studies at St. Scholastica’s College-Westgrove

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Tags: Chlarine M. Gianan , opinion , Typhoon , Young Blood

  • slicenziuten

    so cheesy. havent you heard of the word Pagasa?

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