Through the Traces of Crimson Ties

They say that in love, timing holds the key. If it is meant to happen, it will — at the right time, at the right place; for the right reasons.

That is a fact.

We all have red strings tied to our pinky fingers, binding those who are destined to meet — those who are called soulmates. This string can twist, tangle, or stretch, but it can never break.

That, on the other hand, is a myth.

However, I believe in that myth. Legend has it that the two people connected by this thread will have an important story, regardless of the time, place, or circumstances. Isn’t it so beautiful to think? All along, we are bound to someone, and no matter what, we will always find our way to them — even in another lifetime.

I was running to catch up with my class when I met his eyes — his luminous coal eyes. It’s as though I am being sucked into the deep hole that is the depth of his gaze, a soothing deep gaze.

“Maliah! There you are, I've been looking for you for a while now. Let's go! The quiz will be starting soon,”

I snap back from a trance as my friend drags me to our classroom.

After we finished our quiz, I headed straight to my secret little rendezvous — the hidden garden near our university. It’s my safe little haven, surrounded by Sampaguita flowers. I often go here whenever I run out of inspiration to write or whenever I want to read. When I’m here, my heart is light, and words just flow; time stands still, and nothing else matters.

I took out my favorite book from my bag; It is an old book I found at my grandma’s house titled “Damhin ang Sigwa,” which means “Feel the Storm.” And to my surprise, back then, my mom told me my great aunt wrote it. I never saw a single picture of her at Grandma’s house though, and they never really talked about her.

I love this book because, first, it was well-written. Ever since then, as an aspiring writer studying at UP Diliman, my great aunt has become my role model. Second, it tells not just the main character’s love story but also her dreams of a life beyond the constraints of her time. Even despite reading it a hundred times, I have never grown tired of reading it.

My favorite quote from this book is “Sometimes, you separate at the wrong time to meet at the right time,” a line that always seems to whisper hope into the depths of my soul.

As I was engrossed in my reading, a piece of paper flew near me. It was a drawing of a backyard near a bay full of fireflies. I remembered finding a handkerchief here before too, like someone had been around. It made me think that there is also someone else who knows about this place, yet I have never crossed paths with them.

The day after, I went to our school library to work on my assignments in Comparative Literature. As I strained to reach the book I needed from the top shelf of the school library, a shadow loomed over me. I looked up to see who it was. It was him, the guy I saw yesterday, his dark, expressive eyes now fixed on the book I was trying to reach. He turned his gaze to me and smiled at me gently and softly.

“Is this what you’re reaching for?” He asked as he reached the book for me.

“Uh, yes. Thank you.” I replied with a hint of awkwardness.

“No problem.”

From then on, I began to notice him more frequently. I see him in the school hallway, at the coffee shop 10 miles away from our school, and even at the bench on the bay where he was sketching. His side profile is as beautiful as a sculpted masterpiece. And now, there he is again with his black glasses sitting comfortably on his nose, stepping out of the convenience store along the street I pass on my way home. Our paths continue to cross, but I’m not complaining; he has sort of become my crush.

A week passed and my friend invited me to go to an upcoming small painting exhibition organized by our university.

“Come on, let's go! I heard that the artist is handsome. His name is Liam.”

I rolled my eyes at her.

“But kidding aside, they say he's really good. He's famous in their department, he's like a prodigy, that's why the school chose him for this.”

“You know I love going to these events, but I still have a lot of assignments to finish.”

She looked at me with pleading eyes. I scoffed. Acting cute huh.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

The day came, and as we entered the gallery, I scanned the room, and my eyes landed on him — the artist. My heart skipped a beat as I realized who he was. It was him! Even from a distance, I could see the intensity in his eyes and the passion that radiated him. I felt happy for him.

As we approached his paintings, my jaw dropped at how beautifully crafted they were. He truly is a master of his craft. With each painting, I can feel how much emotion and story it holds. It captures the beauty of different places and architecture unfamiliar to our generation, yet I felt a sense of familiarity and nostalgia looking at the paintings. It was both mesmerizing and unsettling.

We continued wandering, until one particular painting caught my eye; it was a painting of old war ruins with a little Sampaguita flower on it. It looked oddly and beautifully sad. I saw a quote at the bottom of the canvas, “Sa bawat labanan, sa gitna ng bawat unos, hahawakan kita nang mahigpit, maging sa dakilang digmaan ng ating buhay.”

A lump formed in my throat. Suddenly, it felt like there was a dam behind my eyes, about to overflow. The feeling of longing and loss washed over me. As my overwhelming emotions started to gush over me, I suddenly felt a presence behind me. I turned around and found him standing there, his gaze pierced through the veil of my defenses, stirring something within me. Without a word, he reached into his pocket and handed me a handkerchief.

“Thank you,” I murmured, wiping away the tears that had escaped without my consent.

He smiled softly, his gaze never leaving mine.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad my painting could evoke such emotion in you.”

“It’s… it’s beautiful,”

“But also… haunting, in a way.” I added.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful.

“That’s the beauty of art, isn’t it? It has the power to stir something deep within us, to make us feel things we never knew we were capable of feeling.”

I couldn’t help but agree.

“What inspired you to paint this?” I asked, gesturing towards the painting of the war ruins.

He paused for a moment, clearly searching for the right words.

“I suppose you could say I just get visions of these places,” he said finally.

“But this painting, in particular, holds a special place in my heart. It’s my favorite, actually. It makes me feel something unexplainable — a loss and a hope.”

Before I could say anything else, the organizer approached us, interrupting our conversation, “Oh, you're just here! There are a lot of people waiting to meet you.”

The artist, whose name I heard was Liam, smiled apologetically at me before turning to the organizer.

“Of course, I’ll be right there.”

Then, he turned back to me with that gaze of his.

“It was nice meeting you,” he said softly before disappearing into the crowd.

Later on, we went home too.

Days passed, but I still couldn’t shake those feelings I had during the exhibition. So, since it’s the weekend, I’ll just read my favorite book in my room to divert my attention.

As I reached the end of the book, I noticed that because of its age and the many times I have used it, the cover is now worn out. I saw a subtle protrusion of an object under it and grabbed it. They were old pictures. A black and white portrait of a woman and a photo of the same woman holding a book but with a man painting under a tree in the backyard near a bay.

She looks uncannily like me. And the man seems familiar, too. He looks like Liam.

I saw a fading inscription behind the photo of the two.

My dear Leon,

As I hold this picture close to my heart, I remember the tireless moments we shared. Your presence by my side, under the shadow of the tree, gave me peace in the midst of the chaos of the world around us. To me, you are like a breeze on a quiet afternoon — giving so much comfort.

I'm happy that we fought together through the worst trials of our lives as we held each other throughout the war, and this is what I will continue to do.

Time passes quickly as they say, but your absence here is like an eternity. I will continue to wait, my love, no matter how long, even if it takes a lifetime and more.

-Love, Mahalia

I caressed the photo as my eyes shimmered with a sheen of emotion.

Mahalia… That’s the name of the very author of the book I held in my hands.

1899, during the Philippine-American War

Amidst the noise of war, love whispers the loudest.

It was a time of the Philippine-American War and political turmoil, but their love blossomed. Mahalia dreamed of becoming a great writer and Leon is a great painter. They both came from wealthy families and studied abroad. They had been friends since childhood, and despite the chaos around them, they found peace and love in each other.

Leon often visited Mahalia's home, where they spent time together in the backyard. One evening, he visited while the fireflies twinkled like moonlight. He carried a bouquet of roses. Leon saw his beloved sitting on a wooden bench under the branches of an old tree, his eyes shining with love. He quietly approached her and handed her the roses with a gentle smile.

They sat together in comfortable silence, the only sound being the soft rustle of leaves above. Leon gently caressed Mahalia's hair and braided it. His other half let out a deep sigh, so he held her hand.

"What troubles you, my love?" Leon asked, looking into her eyes with concern.

“My parents did not allow me to pursue my writing. They want me to focus on marriage and household duties.”

“You know, my love? You have an innate ability with words. I know you will be a great writer of your dreams, and the world will marvel at your words…”

"...And I will remain by your side through it all."

Mahalia looked at her lover full of love and comfort, she knew he was going through the same thing, with his family opposing his art and wanting him to join the military for the honor of their family and country.

"I also know that one day your creations will grace the walls of galleries, and my words will inspire generations to come. And nothing will stand in our way..."

"...When that time comes, I will attend your exhibition."

Despite their families' opposition, they found solace and love in their art. They exchanged letters filled with Mahalia's prose and Leon's sketches. However, as their love deepened, so did the pressure from their families. It reached a point where a rift formed between their families because of power dispute. Mahalia's parents arranged a marriage for her with a wealthy suitor and threatened to disown her if she continued to defy their wishes.

But this did not deter them. They secretly met in a war-torn building. Once, Mahalia went there with Sampaguita seeds, and they planted them together.

"Why do you want to do this, my love?" Leon asked after they planted the Sampaguita.

"To bring life amid the destruction," Mahalia replied with a smile on her face.

"And do you know what's beautiful about this flower? It's a Spanish word derived from the Filipino words 'Sumpa kita,' which in English means 'I promise you.' It's a promise of our love for each other. It's also a symbol of peace because I hope this war will end—the actual war and the war in our love."

Only one Sampaguita blossomed. Nevertheless, they were happy until it lasted.

As days passed, Leon was ordered by his family to fight as a soldier as the conflict between the Philippines and America intensified, causing him to leave his dreams behind.

Feeling trapped, they tried to elope, but their families discovered their plan. For a long time, they did not see each other due to their families' barriers. But on the day Leon was to leave for the war, they insisted on meeting at their secret place.

In their tearful farewell, Leon whispered, "Even if the flow of destiny separates us, know this, my love: I will not say goodbye. In every battle, amidst every storm, I will hold you tightly, even in the great war of our lives."

Mahalia was left waiting for his return. They secretly exchanged letters filled with longing and hope. Despite the physical distance, they continued to yearn for each other. Mahalia found solace in writing about their love, while Leon poured his pain into drawing, sketching his beloved in a garden full of Sampaguita, realizing he had never painted her. But he never finished it. Leon was reported missing, leaving Mahalia devastated and alone, waiting for him and trying to find him.

She waited and waited, holding on to the memory of their love, pouring her grief into writing as a way to deal with the pain of loss. On her wedding day, she ran away and worked hard to get her book published. She and her book became famous not only in the Philippines but all around the world, and she was recognized as the first female author in the Philippines.

"Beyond life, amidst new beginnings and new hopes, our souls will find each other, for love has no end, not in this life, not in the next."

The surroundings were full of chaos and destruction, explosions streaked through the air, and gunfire echoed in every direction. Amidst the turmoil, Leon bravely fought alongside his fellow soldiers. But as the fighting continued, fate turned cruel. Leon and two other Filipino soldiers were captured by American soldiers. They were brutally defeated, enduring pain and suffering at the hands of their captors. Despite the suffering, Leon refused to give up and tried to escape.

"Why do you keep trying and insisting, Leon? You're only hurting yourself. We have no hope left."

He smiled foolishly.

"I can't give up yet. There's someone I still want to see. Someone's waiting for me."

2024.

I held tight to the photograph as the memories of my past life flashed before my eyes. I remember it all too vividly — too well, as if it happened just yesterday.

I hurriedly went to the hidden garden. Full of disbelief, I stared quietly into the once-war-torn ruins that now blossomed into the serene garden where I stood, the same garden where Mahalia and Leon had found solace amidst the chaos. The same place where we loved and fought.

And there, in the corner of the garden, I saw a painting of me surrounded by white Sampaguita flowers in this garden. As I reached for it, I felt a presence behind me. I turned slowly, and there he was — Leon, whose name is now Liam, standing before me with a look of longing and love in his eyes.

“Liam…” I whispered, the name escaping my lips like a fragile breath. The longing in his eyes mirrored my own, confirming what my soul had always known.

He smiled as if trying to convey all the words his lips couldn’t utter.

“Well, Even in this lifetime, I fell for you first.” I teased him.

He let out a laugh and shook his head.

“You’re wrong, both then and now.”

“I saw you sitting here in this garden, lost in your book. I had come back to get my handkerchief, but when I saw you, I couldn’t bear to disturb you…”

“… You are a portrait of serenity.”

His gaze remained fixed on mine. Moments of silence passed between us as we gazed into each other’s eyes. He embraced me, and we held onto each other tightly, afraid to let go.

“I really thought I lost you,” I whispered.

“You did not, my love,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

He let go of the embrace, cupped my face tenderly, and wiped my tears, looking at me intently.

“Not then, not now… and not ever.”

As we stood there, hand in hand, I knew that our love was eternal, destined to withstand the trials of time and the challenges of life, for we survived the great war.