Temporary Insanity: Junstine’s Heart Breaks

If nothing is sweeter than first love then nothing hurts like the first time a heart gets broken. Though by the time I met Liam’s father my heart had been broken and mended a few times already. The scabs had gotten thicker and thicker that over time it feels nothing more than a dull pain every time a relationship ends.

I still I feel a little pinch in my heart every time I remember Ian, my first love. What a mess it was. It took a few years before I could get over the humiliation I felt after dating him. Looking back now, I am not even sure if we were in any kind of relationship at all.

Come to think of it, Ian was also a product of two races. His mother a young Filipina, worked in Japan as an entertainer and then later on married a Japanese man. These entertainers were called Japayuki, though I think it sort of demeaning to call them that. As I mentioned previously most of the Filipinos were leaving the country at that time and besides being domestic helpers this was the most popular choice of occupation abroad.

Unlike me though being a biracial didn’t affect Ian much for he was popular and was considered good looking. I guess his facial features were still similar to that of a typical Filipino, chinky black eyes and brown skinned. Sometimes I wonder what a native Filipino really looks like. I mean, since Magellan landed in the shores of Cebu, the natives have been inter marrying or having relations with every colonizer who ever step foot in the country. With the Spanish, the Japanese and Americans and even with the Chinese who later migrated there. I do not think any single Filipino has a pure blood in him. No wonder the Philippines itself, like me feels at odds with its neighbors in South East Asia. In terms of religion for example, we are the only majorly Catholic nation in the region.

I guess you can call it a cute meet, how I met Ian. He and his popular friends were playing volleyball in a small yard near the classroom where I was going to that day. I was lost in my thoughts and hugging a couple of thick books when the ball hit me. He came running towards me to apologize and help pick up my books which had fallen on the ground. Our eyes met and I thought sparks flew. Well at least on my side. I could not hide my embarrassment as my otherwise pale cheeks became tomato red. I was speechless and ran towards the room while Ian’s friends laughed and hooted. After that incident every time I pass Ian’s group of friends, they would heckle and tease Ian.

” Uy Ian! si tisay! Go on ask her name! ” Tisay is a slang for the word mestiza meaning a girl of mixed race with one part Filipina.

Ian would then walk beside me and ask me if he can help me carry my books. I was not immune to his charm as he would smile sweetly but I did not know how to respond as I was used to shying away from any unwanted attention. His friends would laugh loudly when again I would run away from them.

Ian was flirtatious with me when he was with his friends but every time I ran into him while he was walking with his girlfriend, Juliet he would pretend not see me. I think now that was the lure that got me entangled in a web. I was in that phase of my young adolescent life where I have already concluded that being a wife is the most boring thing a woman can be. I was then living inside the novel Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton. I was obssesed with Countess Olenska. She was so mysterious, enigmatic compared to May the colorless wife of Newland. Countess Olenska and Newland’s hopeless and unfilled love made me toss and turn a few nights. And in most of my days I day dreamed about them. I begun to think I was Countess Olenska, Ian was Newland and Juliet, was May. In my own twisted mind we were in a love triangle.

It was a few weeks before Prom, I was a junior and Ian was a Senior, when I received a letter from him, handed to me by one of his noisy friends. It was tucked inside of a slum book which he asked me to fill up. Slumbooks were wildly popular then. You have to answers cheesy questions such as ” What is your motto?” or ” What is the name of your crush?” it was a really subtle way of getting someone to reveal which boy or girl they like.

To be continued…

Copyright 2013 JMKhapra

*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Package A Suicide

Ashok received the package with a thundering heart. He signed the form, thank the courier man and hurriedly went inside his home office.

He recognized the stamp coming from her country but the return address was not familiar to him. He placed the brown package on his desk and opened his laptop.

Until now he haven’t had the courage to open the e-mail she sent him. He had been postponing it for weeks afraid to find a summon from her. Afraid that if she ask him to come he would not be able to stop himself from running to her and throwing his mediocre life away to be with her forever. Not a day went by that he did not long for her. Long to be with her.

With trembling hands he clicked the e-mail she sent him. He read it slowly not comprehending for a brief moment. Then when the meaning of the message finally dawned on him the shock that went through his being almost stopped his heart from beating.

She’s dead. We found her lifeless in her apartment. She killed herself. In the letter she left for me she asked that I send her diary to you. I am her sister and I so loathe you. I hope you suffer as much as she did.

Ashok stared at the package lying on the desk, unable to move.

” What did you get? I saw the courier guy leaving. ” His wife Ayesha came into the room wiping her hands with a towel. Her gaze fell upon the package.

” Oh, who is it from? ” Ayesha reached out to touch the package but Ashok snatched it away before she could. Without answering her he opened his small metallic safe and locked away the package there.

Ashok took his car keys from the desk. ” I’m going out. Don’t wait for me.” He tried to control his voice from breaking walking fast almost half ran towards the garage.

Ayesha followed him until the gate, frowning.

A Parallel Life

© JMKhapra

A Remorseful Succubi

Illustration by Harry Clarke

Beauty and youth. What a dazzling combination. To bewilder and to sparkle. Days filled with sunshines. And men worshipping at her feet. Love was a game she played with wanton and mischief. Never lacking in affections and adorations. Long curvy limbs draped in elegance gliding across the room. Luxuriant tresses falling on her shoulder, parting in the middle concealing a corner of her dark smoldering eyes. Her red pouty lips in a half smile. Who can resist her? A waft of her perfume caressed the cheeks of those she passed by. And she is never forgotten.

She preyed on men for their vanity. Narcissism drives these fools to pursue her relentlessly. Remorse for these men she had none. Most often the ego was shattered more than the heart. But once or twice in her wild abandon innocents were trampled upon. Usually unsuspecting girlfriends. Occasionally she is left to wonder what are these fine women doing with this kind of men. And there was one in particular she could not forget. Christina was her name.

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A Dish Best Served Cold

Illustration by Harry Clarke

That day I saw you. Damn! The sun was hot. But you were hotter. A mirage, I thought you were. Your face. My brain had memorized. From childhood days when my eyes were permanently glued to the television. OMG! I bit my lips to stop myself from screaming. Are you that actor or are you the perfect doppelgänger? Then I realized you were the former. I walked towards my office. Pretending not to care. But my insides were shaking. Your rayban-ned countenance, in my head kept on popping. I had to stopped what I was doing. Funny, red, the color of your polo shirt how vividly I remembered.

Later we were introduced. I learned that we were assigned to work together. I stifled a shiver. Sandra, the office slut already hanging around your ankle. I feigned indifference. But really my heart was racing. You smiled. Oh boy. Was that a cruel joke of fate. A dream granted. A dream taken away.

You pursued me and we were like a cat and a mouse in chase. I was scared. Some dreams don’t come true I knew for sure. Besides I was committed to another. But you were relentless and we were ever constantly thrown together. How much can my heart resists? You were funny. You were kind. I should have know better. I’ve fallen hard. I feared of hurting another.

One night I asked you if we could meet. Something important, I have to tell you. It was dark and it was raining. On a bench in a park we held hand as we were sitting. Our clothes were wet but we did not care. Our emotions we laid bare. ” I’m getting married soon.” I told you. A sad smile you gave me. You leaned forward. Our lips touched briefly. I drew a long sigh. My heart twisting inside. “Is there nothing you can do?” you asked. I shook my head. “The wedding’s been planned much before I have met you.”

You took me to your house and led me to your room. You peeled my wet clothes and touched me as if I was a bride and you the groom. I sink deeper into love as you plung me in ecstasy. Then you whisperd ‘ You are so beautiful, my honey.’ I shivered in your arms. And you pulled me close to you. The sky continued to weep. So we held each other until we fell asleep. I woke up when the rain abated. ” I love you.” Three fatal words from my lips escaped. You stirred. And reached for me. A passionate kiss and a tight embrace we shared. In my memory I could not erased. Though now I can recall. I love you too, I thought you said but never did. How foolish was I. So enthralled. So mystified. You made me fall. And fell I did. But that was just your game. You did not feel the same.

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