I Wish You Knew I Loved You

Every time I see a cherry blossom, I remember you. The dainty petals remind me of your little fingers. Every time I see the moon, I see your eyes. So far away, just like how we are now. I remember those deep, glassy orbs behind your lashes reflecting mama’s beaming smile when she saw you for the first time. As you looked back, I could’ve sworn that the first time I saw your smile, I saw a glimpse of you—of us—in the future, together. Just like that, I had an image of you growing up. I saw you playing in the backyard as I watched from afar. I saw myself taking you to school, holding your hand as we walk together. I saw my future in your eyes. Because to have you then meant having you with me forever. And it was like a beautiful rift in time. In that moment, I became so aware of everything, of what it feels like to be alive. Just like that, everything changed. I was amazed that I could feel that much, to see you cradled in mama’s arms and cooing softly. It felt like the universe softened its heart for a moment when I saw your gummy smile. Watching you from behind the glass felt like an ocean apart. I wanted to reach through and hold you. You were so small yet so beautiful. A girl like you could give a lost man newfound hope. I wish I could’ve held you and felt the warmth of your body against my own. I wanted you to know that I was there, that I cared about you.

I want you to know that mama tried. She did her best to fight for you, through and through. The pain was already there in the beginning. It always has been. We all knew what happened after the second doctor’s appointment. The way her face fell when she told us, the light from her eyes dissipated like a candle in the wind. Then she sank in her seat. Then, the whole world felt like it was sinking. And everything just ebbed away since then, like the aftermath of a sandstorm. I don’t know, sweetie. I’m just scared of what you’d think. I’m scared that you’d think we didn’t fight hard enough, because we did.

As time went on, hope gradually slipped away. How unfair that it showed up in the first place, lingering to culminate into a slow-burn agitation of sitting in the waiting room of a crowded hospital, the disappointing doctor’s appointments, endless medical bills, and late-night foot massages at the living room. But no matter how fleeting it was, the time we had left with you was beyond compare. As mama would say, time does not matter as much as the moments spent. You know, as a matter of fact, it was a transgression with the universe because you weren’t meant to stay. Mama fought so hard she disobeyed the universe. But in the end, she lost.

I know it’s been 6 years. But all I think about is what could’ve been—the what ifs and the unanswered questions. The unacknowledged, tucked-away grief. And the sparse memories hidden in every corner of my mind—waiting and anticipating to be revisited like an old friend. When you left, a part of me was hollowed out and it went with you. I don’t know if this is what you would’ve wanted, or if you’d rather we move forward and just look back occasionally, like how grandpa wanted (he’s always been so pragmatic). But I don’t think I can just move forward without looking back. When someone you love leaves, a part of you does too. The absence glares and the darkness seeps to other parts of your being like gushing water. Over time, I don’t believe that the space becomes filled. It’s still there, and it won’t go away. You just become used to it. And you move forward with it, growing with it. That’s just how it is, loving is fulfilling and also emptying.

I just wish you know how much I could’ve loved you—then, now and all the years to come. I would’ve guided you; my decisions aligned with yours, my heart attuned with yours and my life together with yours. I always had a strong feeling you’d turn out incredible, with a strong mind like mama and a tender heart like mine. For some reason unknown to me, I imagined your serious face behind a book, or cooking omelette rice for papa, or playing in the garden with our dog. And mama would’ve taught you something practical, like how to sew and recycle old clothes to new ones. Papa would’ve taught you how to drive a car, and parallel park like a pro. I knew you would’ve liked those things. But I guess we’ll never really know.