Strings of Memory

Chapter 4

But no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't get a word from us. We stayed inside, and I stopped going to school for a while.

We held the funeral, with reporters strictly banned. Only those truly close to my father were allowed to attend, and each of them gave us their condolences.

The days passed until it was time to say goodbye to his body. He wasn't there anymore; it was just his body. We went to the cemetery, and even there, I saw reporters lurking, desperate for any scoop. Thankfully, the company the band was signed with provided security, ensuring that those hungry hyenas couldn't disrupt our final goodbye.

Once my father was buried, the news kept buzzing about him for a month. And then, like a bubble, it all popped. The world moved on as if nothing had happened, leaving only us—the ones who truly loved him—to remember. We were the only ones who missed him.

The media is a hungry beast. It will latch onto anyone who can give them a big scoop, no matter who, no matter what, no matter when, no matter how, and no matter why. All they care about is grabbing that headline, earning money from every story. It's disgusting.

I thought that was the end of it, that they would finally let us grieve in peace. But I was wrong. They started camping outside our house again when news of the band broke. They were disbanding. The public was told it was so they could focus on themselves, but I knew better. Without my father, they didn't feel whole. Even if any one of them left, the band would never feel the same. They had been together for twenty years. The band they formed back in high school had now come to an end. Twenty years full of memories, but when I looked at it from their perspective, those years must have felt so short. Still, this was what they needed to do for themselves, and I understood that.

I watched them during their final interview, cameras flashing in every direction. They simply stared into the lens in front of them, their faces drawn and exhausted. It was surreal because just a few months ago, they were all alive with energy, playing in the studio with such fire. Now, the spark in their eyes had died; they all looked utterly worn out.

I felt something twist inside me, so I turned off the TV and went back to my room. When I opened the door, a gray wall greeted me. Everything seemed cast in black and white. I knew the walls were painted light blue, but I couldn't see it.

I glanced at my study table, where faint marks remained from the posters I'd once hung there, the only trace left by the tape that held them. I took in the emptiness of my room. It used to be filled with music-related things, but now that they were gone, it felt bare—like something was missing.

My gaze settled on my bed, where the black bass my father gave me still rested. Naglakad ako papalapit at inilagay ito sa lagayan niya.

I... don't need this anymore.

Binitbit ko iyon at lumabas ng kwarto pero napahinto ako nang tawagin ako ni Mommy.

"Where are you going?" tanong niya.

Tinignan ko siya at pinag-aralan ang mukha niya. Since my father died, she hadn't smiled at all. I could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the effort it took just to keep going, pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn't.

Napatingin siya sa hawak ko at nakita ko ang panlalaki ng mga mata niya. Nagsalita siyang muli pero hindi ako sumagot kaya naman marahan niyang hinawakan ang braso ko.

Inalis ko ang pagkakahawak niya sa akin bago sumagot. "I don't need it anymore."

Pagkatapos ay naglakad ako papunta sa storage room ng bahay namin. Binuksan ko ang pinto at bumungad sa akin ang mga rack na naglalaman ng mga kahon. Naglakad ako papunta sa isang gilid at marahan na ibinaba doon ang bass.

Tinitigan ko ang itim na lagayan ng bass at unti-unting pumasok sa isipan ko ang mga ala-ala ko kasama ang instrumentong iyon. From the day my father gave it to me, the day I played it with his bandmates. Everything came rushing back, like a river, washing over me and stirring up a whirlwind of emotions.

When my father died, I didn't cry. I just felt a heavy weight in my heart, a sharp pain in my heart, but that was it. At his funeral, at his burial—I couldn't cry, kahit na gustuhin ko mang umiyak, I still couldn't and I don't know why.

But now, while looking at the bass he gave me, the only memory he left with me. The one thing that connects us to what we both loved, I felt tears start to form, so I looked up and took a deep breath.

I know I'm being impulsive by putting it away like this, but if I keep seeing it, it will only continue to hurt. It will only keep reminding me of the dream we shared, the promise we made to make it happen. But it was no longer possible because he's... gone now.

Ang daya mo, Dad. You couldn't even fulfill your promise. Akala ko ba we would make it happen? So why did you leave me behind? How can I move toward that dream when you're no longer here?

Letting go of something you love is painful, but holding onto it—when it's all tied up in memories—is even harder. Staying with it keeps bringing back those moments, the happiness that now just hurts. By letting go, I can at least avoid it. I know it's a coward's choice, but I've always been a coward. I'm scared of feeling this pain for the rest of my life, so this is the best thing I can do for myself.

Humugot ako nang malalim na hininga bago tinignang muli ang bass na nasa lapag.

Goodbye, Dad. I'm sorry for doing this to the gift you gave me. I'm sorry for being such a coward. I'm sorry. But this is the only way I can keep moving forward. Please forgive me.

With that, lumabas ako at muling bumalik sa kwarto ko. My posters... and everything that's related to music—I put them all away. At first, I'd planned to burn them all, except for the bass. But I changed my mind.

I packed everything into a box and placed it in the storage room. I wanted to erase music from my life, to escape it completely. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't. My attachment to these things, to things I love held me back from doing something I might regret.

So, I just put everything away to avoid it. Avoiding it feels better than destroying it.