... He painted.
I was taking all my stuff when my professor told me to go to his office. It’s been a year since I studied in this university. It was hard to communicate at first but the people here were welcoming and friendly. It’s been a year, too, since I last saw her. Before I went to this place, I decided to just let it go. I realized that it would never work out. She never liked me. She never did and never will. But..
-
“I like you to meet my wife,” I was standing in front of a beautiful, young lady. I looked at my professor again who was almost bald and in his forties. He laughed and the lady smiled.
“I was just kidding, Jerry. She’s my daughter. I figured that since you are one of the best artists here, I want you to meet her. She’s also good in arts. She will be your personal teacher,” the lady bowed and I bowed as well as a sign of courtesy.
We started our session together the day after. She was always smiling and very lively. She was good in sculptures. She was also a very good teacher and gave me a lot of tips. She was three years older than me and a graduate in the same university.
“Can you paint me?” she asked me, all of a sudden.
I was stunned, of course. She was beautiful and my classmates confessed they were a bit envious of me. “Uh..uh..I..”
She laughed and said, “You don’t really have to if you don’t want..” I took my sketchpad and took a pencil. She smiled and positioned herself. I looked at her and remembered the times I tried skecthing a girl too. I just stared at her when she asked me what was wrong. I snapped myself out of my thoughts and smiled. I made a rough sketch.. Eyes.. Nose.. Lips.. I stopped. I took and crumpled it.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.” Then I went back to sketching again. That was weird. But it happened again. I drew her. That girl. Not the girl in front of me but her. I crumpled it again.
“I think you’re having a hard time. Maybe next time?” she smiled and took the the paper. “I wonder who she is. She’s pretty.” Then she took her things and said her good-byes.
What was that all about?
-
The next time we had a session, she asked me who the girl I drew the last time. I told her, she was just someone I know, nothing really special.
She start waving her hands in the air.
“You know? I’m making these hands move and I could stop them, at my will.” Then she put her hands on her chest. “But I can’t make my heart stop unless I kill myself.”
She looked at me and smiled. “I sometimes wonder, why I can’t stop it.. Well, maybe because.. We are not supposed to dictate it. If we love someone but tries to stop because, we thought it is right, it’s like making a heart stop without killing yourself. You try so hard but it won’t.. stop. And it becomes tiring. It’s like trying to run away when you’re already caught. It’s like pretending when you are already figured out. It’s like splashing white paint, thinking it’s gone when you were just covering it up.” Her words that time made me realize things.I remembered the first time I actually became closer to a certain girl. I looked at her and didn’t notice I was crying already.
“Thank you.”
She pulled out something from her pocket. She actually kept the sketch I drew before.
“Are you still going to try stopping it?”
-
I said my good-byes to all my friends and professor. I learned a lot from this university. I gained a lot of friends. But if I were to keep one memory with me, I’d always remember the time when my professor’s daughter taught me those things. I went back. I will not run away. I will not pretend anymore. I will not cover my feelings with white paint just so I could ignore it. I..
LitTLe .
iF tHerE's sOmeThinG sToriEs TeLL, wHaT cOuLd iT bE?
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