When Kite was a young man his father had bought him a telescope. It was a magnificent telescope that could see miles into the galaxy; it would see Jupiter in its majestical form at times. They would stare at the stars and wonder in awe and amazement about how such celestial things exist and how they are formed and made. But they both knew that the things that made such godly things in the universe are the same things that made our eyes, ears, nose, mouth, limbs, heart, mind and everything else. But there was something that bothered him. There was always something that bothered him and his faith.
“Why would God create something like stars, planets, and other galaxies in this universe? They make us feel so small and inferior.” Kite said to his father one night.
“He created them so they would remind us where we belong.” His father replied as he adjusts the telescope.
“To tell us how insignificant we are in comparison to all the things he created?” He asked. That caught his father’s attention but he simply shrugged as if he already knew the answer before the question was even asked.
“Insignificance is a product of human ignorance. We’re all puzzle pieces, significant to the puzzle itself.” His father answered. Kite knew that it was true. So he stayed quiet and smiled to himself and stared into the billion stars that all contain various significances in this expanding universe.
–––
He swam further into the sea, the land behind him, almost gone, only small details, small spectacles of design could be seen from where he was. But under him was the clear sea, where fishes swam ever so slowly to the their current location, each one of them ignorant to the other, but each one of them giving enough space so they won’t bump into each other. Above him was the sky where the birds flew, migrating to a safer place where winter couldn’t touch them. He was jealous of the birds, he wished that he could just fly away and never come back to the places that brought him too many memories, too much hurt, too much emotion. He wished that he could be like the fishes in the sea so that he could swim away and be forever away from the land he came from. He wished that he was something else– someone else that wasn’t him.
–––
“I used to have a dog when I was a kid.” He said. The woman leaned forward in anticipation. “I named him Richie and he was this golden retriever that followed me around every where and anywhere. One time I didn’t notice that he came to class with me so I had to walk him back home.” He gave a wistful smile. “He stayed with me until I was a teenager, then he died. I loved that dog.”
He gave pause. “I also had friends who stayed and left. Friends who I shared my life with, but after a couple of months they just disappeared as if nothing had ever happened between us. Maybe it’s because I chased away everyone that I ever loved. It’s not that I didn’t want to be with them, it’s just that most of the time it didn’t feel right, you know? Then there’s my mother’s passing. My father explained to me that cancer is not a battle against the sickness itself.” He gave another pause to compose himself.
“He said that, it’s a battle against time itself and the only being that could stand against time is God. So we prayed but nothing happened. I hated him for that. God never saved my mom and I would never know the reason why.” He paused for a while. “Don’t get me wrong though, I’ve always believed in good, I just also believe that sometimes there needs to exist a shade of evil for it to be seen.” He said. “It’s just annoying and stupid and I could never fathom why God, an omnipotent being, create life and then take it away just like that. I can never fathom why we can’t live forever. It’s so absurd.”
She stared at him for a while, inspecting if he was ready for her next question.
“You keep talking about your mother.” She said as a matter of fact. “You don’t really talk about your father. What happened to him?”
He breathed in and exhaled, tensing with anger.
“After mom died, we decided to go on our separate ways. He always wanted to become a school teacher after his pastoral job. Maybe he did just that. Who knows?”
She looked at him hurt.
“You don’t remember, do you?”
“Remember what?”
“Look at your wrists.”
He looked and he saw clean white wrists as if nothing had ever touched them before. The bandages that he thought wrapped his wrists were gone, as if they never existed.
“What? No. It can’t be. But how did I. . .”
Memories flooded his mind, memories that was his and memories that wasn’t his.
“Your father,” she started, “he died by slitting his wrists in your bathtub.” She paused and then continued. “That’s the thing about memories, they could always be distorted. There are memories that are truly yours and there are those that you stole and thought you lived it. Sometimes we would remember our loved ones’ memories and keep it as if it ours, as if we have lived their lives.” She looked him straight in his eyes. She had the same eyes as his mother’s. “And there are memories we completely forget.” she finished.
“Then if he. . .” He gave a pause, closing his eyes tight, trying to connect whatever pieces he had together. “If he did that, then what am I here for?”
She stared into him as if she was seeing his soul.
“You drowned.”
