PHASE TWENTY-FOUR

FOR ENTRY; FOR NAUGHT

I do not like where this accompaniment was going because this was straying farther from that.

"Hindi mo 'ko kilala," was the first thing I said when Michelangelo gave me an unstamped letter.

It was a folded crème-colored vintage paper and had no stamp or any signs that it was sealed, untampered, and secured. It laid crisply between his fingers, unbreathing, but also had a life of itself—one that had a journey to tell.

I'd be lying if I said that I was uninterested in the map, but it was one of the misdirections, so, no.

Because I knew what he meant when he gave me this letter—the instructor made clear of it during class. Or maybe, I was the one who was overthinking this and interpreted it on my own when the truth was, it should be harmless.

Even though you had already slid a letter in his studio, Lael?

"Hindi sa 'kin naka-address 'yan," giit ko, ang tingin ay mula sa nakatuping papel papunta sa kan'ya.

Michelangelo had a small smirk on his face, his hands unmoving. "May nakalagay na 'Lael'."

He stood, relaxed in front of me—his right arm bent which hand was stretched to give me the letter, his left hand tucked in his pockets with the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and his feet close together.

I sighed. "Anong laman n'yan?"

"Malalaman mo kapag binuksan mo."

"It's not sealed. Baka may nakabasa na n'yan," depensa ko.

"It's sincere," giit niya, ang mata ay nagmamakaawa.

Why was he pleading? Was my hunch right?

No, it can't be.

Pinaningkitan ko siya ng mata. "How could that be sincere? There's no seal or anything."

He groaned as I stood still, unfazed by his nagging.

Nagpatuloy ako sa paglalakad—na siyang napigilan ng pagharang niya sa 'kin kanina—ngunit napigilan muli nang hawakan niya ang pulsuhan ko.

"Do you not know the 'without wax' concept that sculptors had?"

Itinagilid ko ang ulo. "I just got into sculpture that's why I won't know things about that. At sa pagkatatanda ko, wala pang naituturong gan'yan."

He sighed, frustrated because of my defiance.

But what I said was the truth—I had no idea about the 'without wax' concept that he was saying.

He looked at me, determined. "When stone sculptors make mistake with their works, they'd cover it by filling it with wax. But a true statue was said to be without wax."

I tipped my head. "And?"

Nanunuyo niya akong tiningnan. "The Latin for 'without' was sine, and cera for 'wax'. The phrase 'without wax' means 'no mistake'. If you put it together, it means sinecera, or sincerely—which is true."

What was he talking about?

I stared at the bronze sculpture that was turning into a sculptor, eventually, a person that breathed—finally, himself.

The emotions in his eyes marked by sincerity without hostility, eagerness without rudeness, and affection to give me direction were out of bounds. Because what he had shown me cemented the idea that he had his emotions to himself—one that he could wield whenever he pleased, one that he could fake whenever it was needed, and one that could be intensified whenever he was defied.

It was very different from what I had been used to—something that could throw me off my path which I was finding hard to hold on to recently.

Staying with him shouldn't be an option, but which adventurer would leave his compass while journeying?

"Then you're telling me that those sealed with wax stamps are insincere?" was my only response.

I was confused about how I should treat his actions, but he was clear to himself about his intentions. It was a distinct difference—a concrete idea that he was good at. But, of course, there were parts of him that he was unaware of—one could be known by someone who dared understand.

A circumstance that was similar to mine.

This was not the right path.

"Ibang usapan 'yon," ang tanging sagot niya pagkatapos ng ilang segundong katahimikan.

"Okay. Out of all the people, why did you give it to me?"

"Gusto kitang makilala," he said, his eyes on me. "Kidnappers give letters to express their need for ransom. A divorce letter to divorce the marriage. An apology letter to express apology, or as simple as a love letter to express your love. Sometimes, their writing speaks better than them. Did they write this out of pressure? Anxiousness? Fear? Uncertainty? We won't know, Lael, unless we take time to understand the context behind the letter."

Humalukipkip ako. "But what if I am too lazy to read your letter? Or you don't matter to me that's why I'd put it in the trash?"

He clenched his jaw when I said that.

Nagpakawala ako ng hininga at umiling. "Michelangelo—"

"In love letters, you give it to your significant other to talk about what you're thinking, how was your day, how are you and have you been well? Ibinibigay nila hindi lang para makatanggap ng sagot pabalik, kun'di para mangumusta at malaman kung ano na ang ginagawa niya."

Out of bounds.

You're being out of bounds, Michelangelo de Angelis.

"Consider it as a billet-doux," he added, a little skeptical with his words.

Kinunotan ko siya ng noo. "A bill— what?"

"A letter of sincerity."

Kinuha niya ang kamay ko at ibinuka 'yon, maingat na inilalagay ang sulat. "But if you don't want to believe my sincerity, then interpret this unwaxed letter as much as you want. Understand me like how I chose to understand you. For a sculptor can choose whether he wants his ideas molded or not."

Nanatili ang nanunuyo niyang tingin sa 'kin, nagmamakaawa na huwag kong ibalik ang sulat sa kan'ya.

"I won't read it," I said, his letter laid gently on my hands.

Ibabalik ko sa kan'ya 'to, hindi ngayon ngunit sa susunod na pagkakataon.

"Ayaw mo bang tanggapin kasi may natanggap ka nang iba?" Hinuli niya ang tingin ko, ang tono ay pumapait.

I knew that we unconsciously formed a connection, but I was trying my best not to be bound by it. I knew until when I could hold onto this, but I was afraid that I'd hold longer from what I had expected.

The emotions started to linger like specks of dust on my bag.

Umiling ako. "Wala."

"Then, why are you acting distant towards me when we were just starting to get closer?" Nanunuyo niya akong tiningnan.

The bright emotion that he had slowly turned into disappointment.

He thought that you were close, Lael.

It was the truth, however, I realized that it was slowly getting out of bounds.

Hindi pwede 'to.

Hindi pwedeng ganito.

I don't want to stray away from my path, yet Michelangelo failed to realize it.

Was he expecting something beyond this relationship? Hindi ko kayang ibigay 'yon.

"I..." I couldn't compose my words.

Nag-iwas ako ng tingin dala ng kabang nagpabibingi sa 'kin.

"I can't do this..." I said, breathless.

Gumalaw ang mata niya sa bawat sulok ng mukha ko, inaaral ang ekspresyon sa mukha ko. Ilang segundo siyang tahimik bago mapirmi ang tingin sa mata ko, dumidilim at nagdadala ng kung ano-anong gulo.

In the end, I resigned to the foreign feeling in my chest.

"I-I can't accept this." Tinagpo ko ang tingin niya.

He clenched his jaw, the glint of his eyes showed that he was offended.

I kept up with it and battled his stares.

"Because this wasn't what I needed," I stated. "Naligaw ulit ako, but this letter won't guide me; it would mislead me."

"Bakit?" His voice sounded pained. "Ano ang nalaman mo?"

Na iba na ang trato mo sa 'kin.

I looked away and firmly closed my eyes.

I don't want to tell it not because I was scared for myself, but I was afraid that it would mislead him because there was a huge possibility that he was unaware of it.

Ayoko nang magdagdag pa sa bilang ng mga naliligaw na tao.

"I don't think you'd want to hear it," I stated, breathless.

He sucked a deep breath. The hospitality that was in his eyes slowly returned into hostility.

Dito na ba matatapos ang lahat?

Our accompaniment was short, but I was happy that it happened.

"Ayaw mong tumigil kasi ayaw mong mapamilyar at manatili sa isang pwesto. Pero ni hindi mo man lang ba napansin 'yung oras na sinabi mo na gawa ni Ophelia 'yon, nanatili ka na?"

Natigilan ako, hindi ko alam kung dala ng sinabi niya, o dahil ba sa tono niyang bumalik sa unang beses naming pagkakilala.

"You're not scared of stopping—you're scared of being familiar," he declared, his tone victorious.

It pained me because I thought I knew was doing good at keeping him out of my personal issues.

Little did I know that he knew me better than how I knew myself.

Maybe, I knew it all along, and I just wanted someone to recognize it. Maybe I tucked it in a corner—left to accumulate dust. Maybe I hid it deep in the belongings that I'd carried, hoping that one day, I'd forgotten what it was all about.

And then I'd move on and hope that when my bag got destroyed, it was one of the things that got lost—then I won't notice that it got lost because I had forgotten it.

Maybe all I wanted was to stay and be familiar in one place, unbother myself from the loss of excitement. Maybe I just wanted to be there—just to be there without thinking of the consequences that would follow.

Maybe I liked sculpting.

But maybe I didn't.

Maybe I forced myself to like sculpting.

But maybe I loved it.

Maybe I dislike journeying.

And maybe I was tired of it.

But giving up to tiredness would mean defeat, wasn't it?

"It's one of the things needed in this discipline," was my safe answer, afraid that he could know me more if I would speak better.

Because with Michelangelo de Angelis, everything was unpredictable.

He clenched his jaw and firmly closed his eyes. "Forget about the bearing of the letter but keep it."

He silently spun his back towards me and walked away. I watched how his back disappeared from my sight before I decided to check the letter.

I'm sure this is what he meant; I was not interpreting it on my own.

Gusto niya akong makilala, ngunit ayaw ko nang magpakilala pa.