WARNING: UNEDITED + HAS HOMOSEXUAL THEMES. PLEASE DON'T READ IF YOU HAVE NOTHING GOOD TO SAY ABOUT THE LGBT COMMUNITY. THANKS.
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<i>Life is a pattern of interwoven events and stories between a human being and the persons he have met and shall meet, often characterised by distinctions between these stories and the causes of these events. Think of each period of a person's life as a piece of fabric, and as time passes other pieces of fabric—either with a vibrant pattern or a duller colour—is added to it, sown together with the thread of existence by relativity and kept apart by distinctions until the piece is complete, and nothing more can be added or taken away.</i>
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He stood by the counter, his back to me as I read the words out to him. I thought he would have left the room by the time I reached the end of the first sentence, but he didn't. I felt a surge of something in my chest, an emotion I couldn't pinpoint.
I stopped reading by the end of the first paragraph, watching him intently.
"It's the best piece you've ever written." He said, suddenly. My heart skipped a beat, as if I was a lovestruck teenager again.
"Is that a compliment?" I almost smiled.
"No." He took his mug and made his way to the door. "I was being sarcastic."
I wanted to laugh to ease the tension somewhat, but I stopped myself. He was still standing there, and this is the most time we've ever spent in a room together since the day it happened.
"Asher," I started, but he was gone before I could continue. He stepped out of the kitchen and out of sight, and in all the years I've known him, this was the first time I hesitated coming after him.
Asher has always been unpredictable. He is moody and temperamental, and it takes a good deal of knowledge to get through his emotional upheavals unscathed. He wears a mask of indifference in an effort to shun people away, and, in his words, would sooner cut off his tongue than say a word to anyone about the inner workings of his mind.
And now that he's come so close to saying the three words I've been craving for him to utter, to seeing the side of him he's never shown anyone, he's shutting me out.
I sighed.
Asher Roxas, 23 years old. He was brought up by his uncle in the province while his mother, Ella, worked as a military doctor. As a child, he was forced to endure sexual harassment from his uncle's friends. He stood out from the others due to his fair skin and bright eyes, and he more than paid for it.
Going back to Manila to live with his family seemed like a relief, but it wasn't. His father, a retired soldier, ruled the household with an iron hand. Every mistake must be paid for—even his mother's—and Asher had to endure countless beatings, both physical and verbal, as his father continued to make him feel like the bastard son he was. Eventually, due to the hard work he put into studying, he managed to snag a scholarship at one of the most prestigious schools in the country—Ateneo de Manila.
To Asher, it was a one-way ticket to freedom.
I met him years later, in 11th Grade, when I finally realized that getting good grades in a reputed school may actually lead me to success. I was the only openly homosexual male in the class, and he was the only one who cared enough to ward off the people bullying me. We became fast friends after that.
All throughout college, I always felt like there was a chance he would reciprocate my feelings, but the thought was only cemented in my mind a few nights ago when he kissed me in the middle of a game. His face was constantly flushed red in the days after, and no matter how many times I tried to coax him into talking about it, he clams up and leaves.
But being the savant I thought I was, I was dead set on getting answers, and so I followed him.
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<i>If you think of those events and stories as pieces of square cloth, then a person's life can be compared to a patchwork quilt. Upon birth, it starts with a small piece of cloth. As time passes, it is sown together with other pieces of cloth. The little squares may be pink or blue or striped or white, but whoever they may represent, whatever emotion or action they might have invoked from that person, will stay with him for as long as the quilt remains intact.</i>
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I remember when Asher first saw the scars on my wrists.
He looked me in the eye and said "Promise me you'll never do this again", and I promised him. He started holding my hand ever since, as if he was protecting me from myself. And despite the many people who taunted and ridiculed us whenever we were out in public, he never cared for them. "Mind your own business", he would say in that cold manner of his, before pulling me away.
I admired that about him, how he could be so intact despite being broken.
"I'm coming in." I called out. I slowly twisted the knob and prepared to be met with dead silence as I stepped in the room.
He was sitting on his bed, looking down at his hands. I made a move to sit down beside him, but stopped when he spoke.
"Don't speak." He said, voice low.
I gave a tentative nod. He looked away as I sat down beside him.
"You're wrong, you know." He said. "All these years you've taught me that the people in the past make the individual, but that was never true."
"What do you mean?" I asked softly. He shook his head.
"Don't. Speak." His tone was cold, but forced. I bit my lower lip and nodded.
He clenched and unclenched his fists. "Jill, Marie, Eva, Trisha—heck, even my parents. <i>None</i> of them ever made me feel like you did."
Our eyes met. I couldn't breathe as he spoke.
"None of them ever made me want to be a better person, to love for the sake of loving and not ask for anything in return. None of them made me feel like the luckiest man in the world whenever they made me breakfast, nor the biggest dick in history whenever I made them cry."
I bit my lip even harder.
"For you to care for someone like me is a big mistake." He gripped my chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes. "And I never wanted that for you. Do you get it now?"
"Never wanted what?" He let go of me. I leveled his gaze with my own challenging stare. "Never wanted me to endure anyone's tantrums and temper flares? Never wanted me to be subject to anyone's flights of fancy and be pushed away?"
I smiled. "Don't worry, you're already doing a pretty good job of it."
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<i>All the victories and mistakes—from the good quality cloth to the ugly-patterned ones, from the superb stitches to the harried ones—will never be forgotten by the person, as all are integral to his being. The good friends and the bad apples, the time he was robbed and the time he was named Employee of the Year, have all influenced him in one way or another. It may have made him happier, more vigilant, or perhaps even crippled him. But in the end, these persons and experiences have shaped him to be the person he is, a one of a kind quilt that can and never will be replicated for all the years to come.</i>
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That's it! It's a short excerpt thing from a story I'm writing so it's really short, but I hope that those of you who took the time to read it and understand the underlying message at least enjoyed it. :) I would appreciate critiques, otherwise thank you for your time!
PS. If you spot any inconsistencies, please let me know as well! It's currently 5AM and my brain isn't functioning properly, but I knew I had to pull another all-nighter and write something with a bit of substance haha