CHAPTER I: Patience, kindness, and shadows of envy

WORDS: JULIANE BERNARDINE DAMAS | FEBRUARY 12, 2024

Taking my timid steps, I cast my eyes between the colorful flowers strewn along the path and the sea of expectant faces.

As the orchestra's melody fills the Taal Basilica, people dressed in purple and white begin to walk down the aisle.

“It's February 14, and I shouldn't ruin the day. This needs to be perfect,” I whisper in a faint, shaky voice.

With the basket in my hands, I stroll gently, dropping petals on the aisle and attempting to smile.

Grown-ups dressed in finery appear to float on clouds of expectancy and anticipation, while I, an insignificant character in their midst, carry the weight of emotions I struggle to comprehend.

As the large doors open, she stands out from the crowd in a stunning long, white gown.

As she came down the aisle, her eyes met mine. They appeared to be full of enchantment earlier, but why is it frigid when she stares at me now?

I feel a light throb in my chest as I watch her walk away.

Her eyes glitter as she joins the man at the end of the path, holding her favorite bouquet of purple tulips, seeming truly pleased and in love.

But what’s this big lump in my throat? Why do I feel my eyes watering?

I should be celebrating, right?

I should be happy for my mother, right?

“Love is patient…” As the priest declares the love chapter, I feel a deep sensation in my chest.

I've been patient for years in getting her attention. Yearning for her eyes to gaze at me the same way she looks at the man beside her, I spent my time making up stories in my head, picturing a mother who would read bedtime stories, offer warm hugs every day, and plant kisses every time I was hurt.

However, my memories were a weave of loneliness, a patchwork of moments when my mother's touch was as impossible as a passing dream.

“Love is kind…”

But I was kind, simply yearning for a love that I know never existed. I tried to close the distance with kind words and deeds, but they landed on stony ground and never took hold.

The person I yearn for is merely a phantom of the love that never was, existing only in the back of my mind.

“It does not envy...”

But I was envious because the love I wanted had slipped through my fingers, replaced by a promise that excluded me.

Is it wrong to imagine that the affection that was meant for me will now go to a man who had taken up a place at the center of her existence quite quickly?

Is it okay to grieve the loss of a love I have always longed for?

But why can’t I just give up? Why am I still clinging to the sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow would be different?

Why do I continue to believe that it was not my mother's inability to love, but rather a love that stumbles at the shadows of something she badly wants to forget?

That she couldn't bring herself to embrace me because I reminded her of someone she used to love.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

But in my tough heart, there is still a glimmer of hope that the scars of the past will eventually heal.

Maybe in time, the painful memories would disappear, and my mother would see beyond the frightening likeness, embracing the daughter who yearned for a love that might heal the sorrows of the past.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

My eyes returned to them as the priest concluded the ceremony, granting permission to seal the union with a kiss.

Amidst the celebration, my sight was drawn to the sacristan, a young man of quiet diligence. He appeared well-groomed, disciplined, and whole. He looked like he found fulfillment in his duties.

A bitter smile tugged at the edges of my mouth.

"I suppose he's cherished by his mother," I murmur, letting out a sigh of defeat as I lead my way out.

Love is indeed patient and kind, but does it really not envy?