I Called Myself Cassandra

By Lourdes Duque Baron

With his confession, I realized Robin was torn and left ripped apart by two lovers who demanded from him two completely different things. One wanted to start a new family, while the other wanted him to stick around for her aging, maturing, and now trifling self. Verna gave him a fresh opportunity, while the only thing I had to offer was to grow

• Language: English
• Publisher: TOPLINK PUBLISHING, LLC
• Release date: Sep 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781947938137

Lourdes Duque Baron

Lourdes Duque Baron, MHA, MSG, is a Catholic baby boomer and the wife of Dr. Robinson V. Baron. Upon embarking on this incredible journey, she has dedicated her life to spreading the message of Padre Pio. In late 2012, she will open a shrine of St. Pio da Pietrelcina in the convent of the Trinitarians of Mary on 3009 E. Cameron Avenue in West Covina, California. Somewhere in the process of putting this book together, I had a self-realization: the lost soul that I desired to save belonged to me. And so, while I penned the simple truth of our great trials and tribulations, I found God speaking to me. I found myself in the middle of a transformation. It was March 16, 2011. I had just finished reading The 33 Doctors of the Church by the Capuchin author Fr. Christopher Rengers, O.F.M. Cap. It was an account of the lives of saints who shaped the hearts and minds of the Catholic Church. In my study, I had a new revelation every time I came to a new page in the book, prompting me to develop this incessant need to turn to the next, to seek out the next revelation. I came to realize how little I knew of my faith and it became clear to me that I have not only been keeping Jesus at a distance, but that I have been offending my Lord for the past 64 years of my life.

Book preview

I Called Myself Cassandra

Lourdes Duque Baron

MHA, MSG

Copyright © 2017 by Lourdes Duque Baron.

Paperback: 978-1-947938-12-0

eBook: 978-1-947938-13-7

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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Printed in the United States of America

DEDICATION

Maria Barrios

Teresita Platon Cuevas | Teresita Cuevas Lucero

Teresita Galang Zamora

I Called Myself Cassandra

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Act I

The Beginning of a Beautiful Love Story

Australia

First Year Abroad + First Broad

An Unexpected Gift

Falling In & Falling Out

Robin’s Absence + Malvin’s Presence

My Response

A Farewell to Arms

Turning Back

There’s No Place Like Home

Back Down Under

Act II

A Husband At Home

The Circumcision

Manila International Airport

Act III

To New York Via Wisconsin

Rotating Years

Sisterhood

Ugly People & Rotating Years

Death & Darkness

Lindsey

Family Tree

Act IV

Golden Years

Go and Conquer the World.

Verna’s Call

Hot Pursuit

Family Meeting

Face To Face

Desperately Fighting Back

Mere Memories

Settling for Comfort

Pushed to the Limit

Act V

#01. Markey, Phd: First Bee Wanting My Nectar

#02. My Initiation

#03. Foreign Affairs

#04. Wasted Night

The Evolution Of Revenge

The Showdown

Counsel from a Brother

Leilani

#05. Franz

#06. A Wrong Turn

Gregg’s Birthday

#07. Kevin Eleven

#08. Muchacho from Across Border

Clear and Present Danger

A Bitter Revenge

#09. Brent: The Blond

Robin Finds Out

#10. Trevor: The Manager

Matchmaking

His First Move

The Cassanova

The Chase Begins

A Reality Check

Second Fiddle

Losing Jay

911 Call

Stephanie’s Graduation

Going Home

Act I

PHILIPPINES TO AUSTRALIA AND BACK

1964 | Summer

THE BEGINNING OF A BEAUTIFUL LOVE STORY

I was just 17 when I came back home to the Philippines after living abroad with an American family for one year. I had just finished studying at Old Rochester Regional High School, in Mattapoisett, Massachusetts, as part of the program from the American Field Service International Scholarship. Now finished with high school, I enrolled at Far Eastern University in Manila, where I intended to work on my Bachelor of Arts, majoring in Psychology and minoring in English. At that time, FEU was the biggest university in the Far East and its Institute of Arts & Sciences had the largest student enrollment that year I registered.

Despite the prestige of the university, I was quite embarrassed to dress in the ugly, dark green skirt that was supposed to match the even uglier collared shirt with green and beige stripes, which the entire student body hated, but the private university dictated that those enrolled have no other choice than to wear the hideous uniform with pride for the alma mater. I usually picked up a copy of The Advocate to conveniently hide my face behind the oversized newspaper spread whenever I preferred not to be spotted. I’d much rather drown in the dull, gray pages of the school paper than caught wearing such an ensemble that’s so deprived of style. My freshman self would shy away, and in the act of digging my face deeper into the paper, my eyes would wander around in interest, and often I’d learn something new. One time, my eyes came across an article that showcased the recently elected Student Council that had just convened with its new members who began their term in office when the school year started three weeks ago. Their mayor was a full scholar senior working on his Bachelor of Science degree in Pre-Med. His name was Robinson Villaverde Baron. The name was familiar, partly because he was a fairly popular guy on campus, or so I’ve heard. Even my sister Fely, who has been attending FEU for over four years and is now on her first year at the Institute of Medicine, had mentioned his name to me before.

Lud, go for Baron, she teased. Bait him!

I knew nothing else of Robin aside from the fact that he’s charmingly handsome, but that did not interest me one bit. Besides, I had just gotten out of a relationship with my high school boyfriend, an AFS scholar from Switzerland. We were miles apart now, but our feelings for each other, though only fledgling had grown so much over an unforgettable school year abroad. Our fling left me as a foolish daydreamer in love, slaving me to build castles in the air with my aspirations of becoming a Philippine Airline stewardess who would fly international frequently and who could meet her lover anywhere in this big world. And if that fantasy did not play out, I’ve got a pen pal from Venezuela who sometimes visited me from the neighboring town when we were living in Massachusetts. Both of the boys kept writing me letters, even after our scholarship program in the States had ended. When we were sent back to our home countries, it was clear that whatever we shared would soon start to die out, but however short-lived the possibility, I always fantasize about the romance story of lovers separated by the seas, even when I was but a little girl who knew nothing about love. Going abroad made me realize that there was a whole world out there, and in it, are plenty of men of different flavors. Curious, I was convinced I wanted a taste of something else, to settle and marry another, for to me, a fellow Filipino had gotten to be too familiar.

In July, an election for the Women’s Club in the Institute of Arts & Sciences was the talk among the students a month after the semester began. Striving to make a mark early in my college career, I ran for Treasurer of the organization. I wasn’t new to competition, but still, I was worried to run against a senior who having been around longer easily knew more people on campus. Surprisingly, by the time Election Day came, I managed to garner more votes than my more tenured competition and I was declared the winner. An induction ball followed the election, in which student leaders from the entire university gathered to celebrate their victories and rub elbows with those who would comprise our student government. There in the large conference room, I laid my eyes on the elusive Robin for the very first time. We exchanged glances, but nothing notable came out of the occasion, not a simple smile, or even a formal introduction. Either we dismissed each other as uninteresting or that neither of us had the courage to approach the other, but I didn’t bother to make an effort to shake the hand of my Class President.

More and more, Robin and I bumped into one another more ever since our awkward meeting of the eyes at the induction ball. Despite studying in such a large campus, I often stumble onto him, multiple times on some days, while he’d hurriedly walk right pass me on other occasions. I even began to wonder if our crossing paths was serendipitous or if he was secretly stalking me, however, our exchanges were limited to quick ganders and maybe an occasional smirk, so I dismissed the idea that it was coincidental, or that he was intentional and had some ulterior motive. He couldn’t have been that slow though. If he had an agenda, he would have made a move by now.

The common area on the second floor of the IAS building became my preferred place to do my homework during study period. It seemed that my spot grew on Robin too since he began to frequent the area days after I discovered it. It became less of an incidence and more like scheduled routine whenever Robin walked right pass by, strutting tall, convinced that every eye stared at him in admiration. Yes, he was smart and handsome, but still, I was not impressed.

One afternoon, while I was at study hall, I saw Robin from the corner of my eyes, finally walking towards my direction and actually not deviating from it. He mustered up the courage to approach me at last, but not without a mediator by my side. Robin apparently came to my table to talk to Leilani, who I’ve known since we were classmates in high school, and who I then discovered has also been a friend of his for the last year. Sensing an awkward reservation between us, she facilitated a casual introduction.

Hello. It was a benumbed first impression.

Finally, we uttered something to each other, but nothing more substantial than a cordial greeting.

Hi. Plainly, I responded.

I’ve heard many rumors that plenty of girls are after Robin. Some even claim that his young female professors have a questionable, secret crush on him. My curiosity pressed me to know more about this ubiquitous big man on campus, but we were so timidly reserved. For a ladies’ man, he seemed comparably shy, and for someone who sought for an introduction, he was too much of a recluse to engage in a lasting impression, which instead regrettably turned out to be lackluster.

  

One Saturday afternoon in September, my sister and I decided to repaint the rusting front gate of our house in a busy neighborhood in Quezon City. The humid tropical weather had aged the metal so much that we first had to buff off the rust with a steel bristle brush before we could even coat it with the flashy silver paint that was getting to be a popular trend. It was already two o’clock when we finished the front face of the gate and began working from the inside. The sun’s rays burned bright, blazing so hot that by the time we completed brushing on the first coat, the simmering heat had already dried up the newly applied paint. After a second coat and an hour and a half later, our weekend project was done. I looked at my sister’s face, which had splatters of silver all over it.

Let me paint the rest of your face so it’s even, I joked.

Her laughter was interrupted when we heard a knock on the gate. There was a foot-tall grill on the bottom of the tall, solid gate that had bars three inches apart, small enough to keep animals away, but big enough to allow us to see those who lingered outside, who could possibly be intruders. Standing outside were two men wearing jeans. My sister and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

Who’s that? Fely wondered.

I shrugged, not expecting any visitors, especially not two men.

Fely, a voice yelled from behind the gate, it’s Mars and Robin.

Pleasantly surprised, my sister swung open the heavy door to welcome the two unexpected visitors.

Come on in, she welcomed. What brings you here? Are we having a Student Council meeting? she jested, as the four of us were all elected officials.

We led them inside our humble home and into the small living room. I sat on the wooden loveseat, and despite all other chairs in the living room remaining unoccupied, Robin followed closely to sit right next to me on the uncomfortably hard one. He pulled out his bus ticket from his pocket and pointed out the random number printed on it. It was a trivial numeral of 120, coincidentally the same number as my street address. Without saying a word, he smiled, as if to suggest that he was meant to be here, that it was a sign and a premonition of good things to come. Our interactions on campus have been few, though already a month has passed since we were formally introduced, and the words we’ve actually said to each other have been limited, despite having been personally connected by a common close friend, so it was strange that he was now here at my house, unannounced, just for a visit. I found it even stranger that though he was now here, in my home, he still would not speak to me. He hesitated, as if he were adverse to a personal, intimate dialogue. I’ve met men of few words before, but Robin was a man of no words. He was something else.

I escaped the awkwardness of the room by way of the kitchen to prepare a light snack for our guests, part following the protocol of Filipino hospitality. Only after grabbing some cookies and a cold bottle of Coca-Cola did I realize that I looked like a mess when I glanced at my reflection. I was wearing unflattering loosely fitted shorts now stained with paint. My face and hair too shined with silver.

He must be a fool to like this mess, my rugged self said to my reflection in the mirror.

After two and a half hours of an uncomfortably awkward visit from strangers, Mars and Robin said their goodbyes. Finally, I thought.

Sis, is this the same guy you told me about? It was hard to believe that my sister would suggest someone so boring for me, so I asked her if that visitor was really the same Robin character from campus she suggested I snare.

Yes. He’s handsome, right? Did you know he was coming over? No. He just came by without warning.

She smiled, realizing Robin’s intention for his visit. Fely teased, He has a crush on you!

It’s unavoidable to suddenly feel a rush the moment another intends to share the affections of the heart, but it took some time before Robin’s timidity sparked a thing, especially since I mistook his unannounced visit as a random stop. Still, I was flattered that one of the most popular guys from school came to my house hoping to capture my attention. In this dating culture, his intentions signal the beginning of a long, conventionally prudish courtship to be followed in strict Filipino tradition. However unappealing it was to think about submitting myself to a restraining relationship, the idea that I was the lucky chosen freshman girl made me feel special. I smiled at the thought of this boy liking me, but I tried my best to hide it from my sister, who was now poking and provoking.

The following day, after my last class in the late afternoon, I found Robin standing by outside my classroom. To my surprise, he was waiting for me.

I hope I don’t creep you out, but I got your schedule from my friend who works at the Registrar’s Office, he said with an innocent smile.

My heart skipped a beat to find him standing there patiently lingering until I was dismissed. How could I feel threatened by someone wearing such an enchanting grin?

Making sure to spend the afternoon together as soon as we were both free, the gentlemen requested, May I ride the bus with you on the way home today?

  

We were nearing the end of my first semester and for two months now, Robin has been accompanying me on the hour-long bus ride home almost everyday. More than a gentlemanly gesture, our bus rides together, in which he chose to be my escort, allowed us to sit close together and spend time outside of school, though I was still in school uniform. Despite sitting next to each other, which is all the physical closeness allowed, our routine rides came to signify that we had developed a mutual understanding, that we were somewhat going steady with the other. Still though, despite the 60 minutes we had all to ourselves everyday, we barely engaged in conversation, heeding the counsel of elders who advise young couples courting from talking and thus possibly revealing too much. My mother has personally made it a point to tell me that a big-mouthed chatterbox of a lady is undesirable. Our culture, especially in the ’60s, dictated that we were to be prim and proper, so Robin and I, acting against our own emotions, refrained and restrained during our bus dates. Yet, without saying much, Robin always found a sly way to make me smile.

For weeks now, we’ve enjoyed each other’s company, but we were reaching a plateau. Frustrated, I was tired of the strict social conducts that we were and were not allowed to do. All the courting rules of this and that constrained lovers who wanted to articulate their affections. Because we were unable to express ourselves, I worried that our bus rides together—the only thing we shared and had going on—was becoming boring. Ignoring that the unwritten rule that a woman should never make the first move, I set to put things back in motion. I had to show him that I wasn’t dull, but instead a lively character full of surprises.

One particular day, during our short walk from the bus stop to my house, I stopped on the street corner before turning into my neighborhood. I don’t want to see you anymore, I blurted with a blank face, partly to play a joke, but mostly to break the ice that seemed to have frozen over us.

Without saying anything, not even to question or to bargain or beg, he turned around and walked away from me and directly back towards the bus stop, with feet dragging on the asphalt and head hanging low. I wanted to stop him in his tracks and tell him that I was merely joking, that I was teasing and testing his heart’s intent, but a young lady could not possibly be caught chasing a man down, much less holding on to him, for it would imperil her reputation. That was taboo, punishable by God, and condemned by mother.

Panicked, I stood there, shocked that my words pushed him away, but there was nothing I could do to unsay what I’ve said. The only thing left was to watch him go, and hope that maybe he’ll fight for me. When he was no longer in sight, I then began my sad stroll, with feet dragging on the asphalt and head hanging low.

It would take a long three days for me to hear from him again, which was quite an extended break for someone who I previously saw afterschool on a near daily basis. After my last class, I found Bob, his trusted friend since elementary, waiting for me outside the classroom where Robin would usually pick me up before heading to the bus stop together. Bob handed me a letter from Robin, and as instructed, waited to make sure I read it right there and then.

Dear Lourdes,

I am very sad and sorry that I cannot continue to see you anymore. I thought I found the woman who would make my life complete…

Not hearing from Robin for the last three days has made me think about how stupid I was for unintentionally driving him away, so to see that he sent a proxy was a relief, and to read this love letter from him was reprieve. I was so ecstatic not just to finally hear from him after our hiatus, but delighted that he, for the first time, confessed and articulated his feelings for me, which he, too, felt he needed to hide. Enthused, I didn’t bother reading the rest of the letter, folding and shoving it in one of my folders so I can look for Robin instead.

He apparently had been standing by at the Students’ Office, waiting for my next move, so Bob led a still giggly me there to see Robin, who I spotted sitting on a desk, reading a textbook, and taking notes on a yellow pad of paper.

I’m just kidding with you, I clarified after a hearty laughter when he looked up at me.

For the very first time, Robin saw me crack more than a smile and burst into a loud, nearly unladylike laughter that must have been infectious for he cackled right along. Though my plan and somewhat child-like behavior frenzied him at first, it worked, eventually. It broke the ice and the rigidity, and for the first time, we felt comfortable to show each other our unfiltered personalities and allowed them to come together. After the laughs, and after discovering the desire of his heart, falling came naturally.

Without missing a moment, he got up from his desk and walked towards the door, closer to me.

May I take you home? he invited, as if it were his first time asking me out.

Together again on the bus, he sat closer to me, closer than ever before. It was the closest our bodies ever touched, but still, he refrained from holding my hand. Especially in comparison to the boys abroad who felt free to hold hands, even kiss, and in public, at the ripe age of youth. The sexual liberation of the Make love, not war slogan-totting hippies of the ’60s had not yet crossed the waters and reached the islands of the Philippines, but still, Robin had a way of showing affection, usually through his sharp humor and sweet romantic gestures.

  

Becoming more invested in what we shared, Robin made sure that I was always accompanied safely home. By always trying his hardest to never miss a single bus ride home with me, he proved that he’s not only a true gentleman, but a natural protector who would look out for my wellbeing.

While waiting to catch a bus at the stop in front of campus one time, I felt a stare coming from behind. When I turned around to look, I saw my distant cousin standing just a few feet away from me. As soon as I recognized that face, which I tried hard to forget in the two years that I’ve not seen him, vivid memories came rushing back, and I was petrified. Almost two years ago, this older cousin of mine, doubled in age, viciously tried to take advantage of me. In broad daylight, the unprovoked drunken punk painfully twisted my arm behind my back and pushed me hard up into a corner, rendering me helpless from his tenacious threats. The crowd of classmates who witnessed his intoxicated aggression was not enough to discourage him from attacking me, but their presence surely saved me from being raped by this maniacal cousin whose blood runs in my family.

It’s that perverted psycho, I muttered trembling as I felt the piercing eyes of a mad man violate my body.

Sensing that I was threatened, Robin turned around and stared him down. When I told him about my cousin’s attack and his attempted rape, he put his arms around me, and without loosening his comforting embrace that wrapped me carefully, Robin turned to him again to give the deranged a lasting look. In good time, our bus arrived at the stop so, determined, Robin and I pushed our way through the crowd of commuters and immediately hopped inside where he led me to a seat towards the middle of the bus and away from the criminal.

Seeing that I was still visibly shaken by the encounter with the unhinged perverted deviation from my family, Robin was quick to commiserate. Whatever happens, I will be the one to marry you. He was conclusive, and his reassuring words hinted that even if I were violated, or worse, impregnated by a renegade rapist, my honorable groom would gladly take me in and see me as nothing less than his desired virgin bride, pure still despite her damaged goods and the extra baggage.

We’ll get married wherever you like, he added, swooping in to save this damsel in distress.

He reached for my hand, and for the first time, grasped it with his. The tender touch of his warm hand sent a calming sensation that drove my fears away. His words heartened my disgusted and discouraged morale, stating that I had nothing to worry about with him in my life to protect me now, but it was his caress in his embrace, which proved that he’d shelter me from anyone and anything.

  

In December, I got my first gift from Robin. It was a keepsake that resembled an opened book. On the cover was a red heart that said For you. On the left was a picture of a vintage wind-up clock with a troubled face, and on the opposite side, had a dedication inscribed in bold letters: You are what makes me tick. It was a cute unexpected gesture, but what surprised me most was that for the first time, Robin vocalized his affection towards me, even comparing him to a useless instrument that seemed to lose its functioning capabilities without my synchronism.

  

When Christmas break came around, my new beau and I weren’t able to see each other much. When classes finished for the semester, he went back home to his parents in the Camarines Norte province to spend the holidays with family, leaving me to wonder why I had gotten so eager for school to resume instruction and could not seem to wait for my bus adventures with Robin to begin again. Maybe it was something in the December air that makes one long for the company of another much more during such a merry season, or maybe I was only beginning to realize how close Robin and I have become in such a short time, which flew fast past us who lost sense of it, unmistakably distracted by this newfound happiness we found in our pairing. One thing I was ready to admit was that there was tugging in my heart that was overwhelmed by an inexplicable yearning for Robin during our time spent apart. In a manner I wasn’t expecting at all, in one I deemed too old school for today’s young subjects of love, he maneuvered to infiltrate my defenses and capture my attention so much so that I could not save myself from thinking about him all the more that I could not see him.

Regardless of the sentiments spontaneously flourishing from within me, I placed higher importance on more pressing priorities. Resolving that I must first focus on my future above all else and that I not allow the feeling of butterflies, which I wholly enjoyed fluttering around in my starved stomach, distract me from my personal goals. Even as a young schoolgirl making her first steps into the school grounds and taking swift successive strides towards reaching her academic and professional goals, I’ve imagined myself to eventually evolve into a strong-willed, independent woman. Knowing that it was the path that would lead me from having to depend on others, and the alternate road that could detour young wives from the unfortunate fate of falling into the trap of forfeiting their dreams in exchange for a gamble banking on a man’s unquestioned decisions, I aspired to climb that ladder of success, especially inheriting the curse of the detriment of being born into a poor family.

Following my goals instead of listening to the idealizations and whispers of my heart, I applied to a nurse training program abroad at Whyalla Hospital in South Australia during break while Robin and I were disconnected, abstracted from tempting me with fantasies of what our romance could be and what it promised. A fellow student leader from the Student Catholic Action in school had told me about the recruitment opening and suggested that I seize the envied opportunity of the four-year course during which the selected trainees will undergo several clinical rotations closely alongside licensed, registered nurses who’re to watch over the apprentices. Much like a scholarship, students would be awarded a stipend for qualifying in the program, quite an incentivized alternative for me especially since the grant would alleviate the existing financial burden on my meager family, a consequence they must pay for choosing to send me off to receive the most proper and premier education that an expensive, nationally renowned university could offer, and one they could hardly afford.

It was a bittersweet moment when my acceptance letter from Whyalla came in the mail, just days before the end of the year and my first semester as a freshman in college. Should I accept the challenge of the nursing curriculum, I was to start by summer, which left me only a couple of months to spend with Robin, whom I’ve fallen for, and thus knew could unknowingly spoil my academic plans if he continued feeding me with fantastical fabrications and figments of a storybook fairytale of love I wanted so to be a part.

Even when I could now admit that I did in fact fancy Robin, that this school fling has aggrandized into something more substantial than amateur school drama, I at times floundered, swayed to turn around, to make an escape while I wasn’t yet so far deep, when I could still stop myself from plummeting faster, farther into the sinkhole of love. Many could only daydream of being adored by a sincere hopeless romantic who woos, but I feared being with him would put me on the fast track to the aisle dead-ending into the intersection of marriage. At 17, I knew better than to recklessly subject myself into wedding at such an early age, but more importantly, without first completing my education, even when it meant telling my heart to hold back and idly wait around indefinitely.

  

Days disappeared faster with Robin, and the months I had left with him vanished. There was not enough time in a day to spend together, especially knowing the drawing days were counted. Unprepared to tell him I would be gone for four longs years, and thereby prematurely spoiling the few months which would soon expire but that which we could still enjoy, I selfishly kept it a secret, pretending that I was protecting him by keeping him in the dark.

It was a benefit that I carried the burden myself, for he continued to shower me with his affections, unaware that it would soon be gambled away. On my 18th birthday, Robin continued to celebrate what we had by commemorating the day I, his love, was born. He gave me a white evening bag made of silk which had beads carefully crafted in the design that set it apart from the purses I’ve coveted and the few that I own. By merely looking at it, I suspected that it wasn’t cheap, but when I held it in my hand, I was convinced that he dedicated a decent portion of his allowance on the gift he wanted to present to me that day. It was beautiful, but the note inside was even more so.

You’re going to be the mother of my children, he foresaw, but with a forecast I couldn’t yet believe could come to pass in my near future that dictated we’d instead be apart.

Getting to know him, I met his reservations in expressing his affections, perhaps because I myself restrained from wearing my heart on my sleeves, so his candid confession, though written, was a shock that shook me into envisioning my future, blessed with a family perhaps. His avowal was a demonstration of the maturity of his love and how in the mere months, it has developed into more than merely, simply playful puppy love for Robin. Without having to say the words I love you, he proved that his fondness of me is not just infatuation, but an idea of love constructed with an imagination of a future and family that he would build with me.

  

Spending our free time together and banking on what we’ve so far invested in our relationship, I allowed our bond to strengthen, reinforced with each confession of his love and my reciprocation of it. Incautiously, we became inseparable, although knowing that I’d soon leave him, which made it tougher to break the news I’ve failed to disclose from the one who foolishly continued to put stake in a bubble ready to burst.

In the front yard of my parents’ house was a porch swing built with slats of weathered wood. Anchored under the shade of a big tropical caimito tree, it became our favorite nook to waste time in the company of just each other. There, where time was suspended, we would sit and scoot closer than if we were squeezed in an elbow-to- elbow bus ride, holding hands and snuggling together, tightly so for these private moments. There, we listened to music, usually by the King of Rock ’n’ Roll himself, Elvis Presley, from a small transistor radio we had. We’ve spent hours on end on that swing, sometimes singing the songs and sometimes engaging with a conversation, but there was one time, a moment in silence when music and dialogue stopped, when only our eyes were engaged, holding a gaze that looked into at what we’ve found in each other, but forced me to see that it’d soon end.

It took me a long four months to finally forewarn Robin that my departure to Australia was in prospect, partly because nothing was finalized until I signed and sealed the paperwork still subject to review, but mostly because I refrained from rattling what was still shaping up between us. We were at our usual place on the swing in the front yard of my home that April evening, only a month before I was to leave for another continent when I finally broke the news to him.

I’m leaving for Australia.

Despite holding on to this information, I hadn’t yet prepared what to say, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have a clue on how to drop the bombshell with the least amount of damage. Shell-shocked, he desisted from a response, probably pressing me to elaborate, and stared with a puzzled face instead.

What do you mean? Finally mustering the strength to ask, he broke his silence.

I applied and got accepted to the nursing program at Whyalla Hospital, I shared only the facts, delivered without addressing consequences of my move.

Robin was slowly coming to the realization of what this meant, that we would be apart, and it was then when I glimpsed into his uncertainty that I softened reality by making a fantasy out of it. You’ll be the doctor; I’ll be the nurse, I teased, like the two of us were playing hospital, but my silliness did not settle well with the seriousness solidly cemented over his face.

How long will you be there? His voice cracked with sadness.

It’s a four-year program—but I’ll be back every year for vacation, I said as a slight consolation. Aren’t you happy for me?

He took a deep breath to calm himself. How could I ever be happy if you’ll be leaving me? Then, took a chance that this was another one of my absurd antics.

You’re just joking, right?

Left in a shocking state of disbelief, Robin could not get himself to accept what I said to be true, hoping that I was only kidding again like the time I pretended I no longer wanted to see him when he first started to court me. Since it was clear a shadow of doubt and a hint of wishful thinking still clouted his mind, I sprung from the swinging bench and rushed to my room to get my acceptance letter. Now with proof, I handed him the sheet of paper printed on Whyalla Hospital letterhead, the official document that permitted me into the program and granted me to reside in Australia.

You weren’t kidding, he sighed, you are leaving.

He grabbed my hand and held it tightly. For the next hour, we sat in agonizing silence while I witnessed my lover’s flame slowly suffocate as he grappled with the sudden, sad news. I wanted to give him a kiss, for whatever consolation it was worth, but my parents’ peering eyes that surely spied on us were