CHAPTER III: None of love, only hope

WORDS: KRISTEN NICOLE RANARIO | FEBRUARY 16, 2024

“February 14.”

I whispered as I read the poster placed on the basilica’s door. It was more of a gasp in appreciation of all the sparkling design and intricate curves of its letters. On the day of hearts, I’ll be able to see how two people’s lives collide.

As the church doors opened, the bride walked slowly down the aisle. Her gaze—filled with admiration and awe—was fixed only on the man standing right in front of the altar.

The church and all their eyes shined brighter than any sparkling garment they wore, with their tears reflecting all the flowers that adorned the holy union.

Clutching the flowers in my hands, holding them as if life depended on them, I stood at the entrance as if waiting for my turn to walk in the magical aisle. These white petals—now removed from their stems—seemed like they would make the best addition to all the decorations.

Seeing them smile at each other, and close their eyes as they let their hands and foreheads touch, I could only be thankful that I am able to witness such blissful love.

Pure bliss and contentment. Their expressions seem to profess that there’s no other place they’d rather be but in each other’s arms. To be the happiest people in the world—does one need love?

As they moved apart from each other, still holding hands, I almost forgot that the priest was there.

“Love never gives up, never loses faith,” he said with much glee in his voice. Yet even with his soft eyes and wide smile, my heart clenched. What seemed to be an imitation of heaven became the dimly lit corner of the orphanage I came from.

I wonder, when will love come for a child left alone right after she was born? How would I believe that love never gives up? When a child like me exists? Someone so unfortunate to never have felt even an ounce of love. When love had already given up right before it started.

Life’s too hard to put my faith in something as fragile as love.

“Love is always hopeful and endures through every circumstance.”

Hope? Can hope be more than love and not just a part of it? When hope is more of a companion to me than a fictitious love. Hope allows me to survive each day, but love wasn’t enough for me to be saved.

But... if love does equate hope, if love truly helps someone endure, then maybe, love is what I give myself day after day. Then maybe, love could be mine alone and would not require anyone else.

I stared once again at the couple in front, both often stealing glances from each other. Maybe a love like this can never come to someone like me.

Realizing that, what seemed to be a bright haven turned darker and darker. I watched how each eye and flower that stunned me earlier lost their spark. I was being consumed. Again.

But, in what seemed to be a pull all the way back to reality, a church staff tapped me on my left shoulder.

“Neng, bawal dito. May kinakasal oh,” he said with eyes that flashed a bit of pity.

“Ay, sorry ho,” I said and walked out in shame. Though it was hard to look back, I wanted to see if the magical scene wasn’t just a dream or my imagination. Hope remains once again, for I wanted to believe that I truly saw the basilica in its heavenly form.

When I turned my head, a girl in a short white dress that seemed to resemble the bride met my eyes. I remembered how she threw petals on the aisle as if blessing it.

I held on to the edge of my tattered dress and placed my bare feet together. I could only hope for the kind of love she has. A love that provides whatever she needs to be well taken care of. A love that made her clean and beautiful.

So, I ran, still clutching the flowers in my hand, pressing them in my stomach as it now aches in hunger, shouting—

“Sampaguita, sampaguita po kayo! Pangkain lang.”