This story originally appeared in the Philippine Daily Inquirer on September 23, 1999.
I bought a new glass door panel recently. It took a long time, but finally I was able to summon the enthusiasm to replace the one that I had broken two years ago. Somehow I seemed to want it to stay broken. The glass door led to a closet of some kind. There I kept everything that was important to me. But ironically, I tried to stay away from that room for a long time. Not that I was forbidden to go into that room, but I was afraid I would spend too much time there and get too attached to the things that were stored there. There were times when I kept glancing at the room and wondered what was in there, but I always stayed away from it.
Two years ago, I forced myself to approach the glass door. I was peering when it happened. I leaned on the glass and, as I had feared, the glass broke. Some pieces of broken glass fell, and I saw what things I had kept inside. All the albums that I had created were there. I took one look and it struck me how well I had compartmentalized my life. One album was for my school life, another contained pictures of my family, and still another held my writings. Then I noticed one particular album, made of paper, ribbon and other materials. It was empty. I remembered that I had kept the album planning to put in it the life I wanted to share with the person I will love. In other words, it was going to contain my imagined future.
The first time I saw the album at a bookstore, I noted that it was the only one of its kind. But I didn’t have enough money to buy it. I saved for about a week and went back to the bookstore, with only the faintest hope that it would still be there. But it was and I paid for it. I thought then that it was really meant to be mine. I felt it was a perfect place to keep the perfect life I was hoping to live with a partner. I told my parents what had happened to the door pane and they told me to replace it as soon as I could. However, I chose to keep the door broken. It was the only time I stood up for the things that were in the closet: all of my dreams and weaknesses as documented by the things in there. I felt that the space left by the broken pieces kept me breathing and attuned with the totality of myself. The air that entered that closet and went back to my room made my life a little bit better. I loved the thought that I could see the perfect future I imagined through that gap. That broken space completed me.
Two years passed before I examined what had become of the things I kept inside that room. Everything was still in good condition, except for the album. Apparently, the draft that entered the closet had destroyed the materials of the album. I felt numb for a second. I realized that the broken space had eaten up my imagined future. I felt very sad. I went out of the closet and it suddenly dawned on me. What I once thought to be good for me was actually bad. The space that completed me had eaten what was beyond me. I knew then that I had to close that door. Closure, I guess, is what that space needed. I know now that closure does not necessarily mean leaving those things, but actually preparing for the future. They are inside not because they are being kept away from me but so that they would mature and be ready when the right time comes. Exposing it to the elements did not end my fascination with my future but it certainly did bad things to my reality.
Closing that space meant protecting what I had inside. I could always open it, but only with utmost care. Caring for what I had was what completed me, not the space. It was not the space but the thought that I had them that made me breathe. And now it’s gone. I do not regret for one minute that I let the pane remain unrepaired. Now, seeing the warped album, I think maybe fate had a reason for letting me have it. It was not to contain the future that I imagined. Now, I realize how much keeping that broken piece meant to me. For two years I derived some strength from the perfection it made me imagine. I have finished installing the new door pane. It fit perfectly and quite snugly. I banged against the door and it was sturdy.
As for the album, I have not yet replaced it, but I no longer imagine my future in it. I still want something as perfect as that old, damaged one. I still believe that nature has reasons for letting things happen in my life. I don’t know them but I’ve come to trust them. The old album seemed perfect then. I’m sure something as perfect would soon come my way. In installing the new door, I suffered a few small cuts. It hurt but I had to do it. Knowing where to go and what to do gave me the freedom to breathe. Somehow, I am glad it is over. I kept the old album in the closet, but I know that pretty soon I will be throwing it away along with the broken toys and other thingamajigs. I also kept a broken piece of the old door, just to remind me what I had gone through. When I shut the door, I heaved a sigh of relief. It was over and now there are only cuts on my hands to remind me of it. The cuts are mine. They are not part of what happened. I exhale and leave everything to life. Before, I thought I had to solve problems by myself. Shutting the door, I knew nature has its reasons. The cuts are mine and as I closed the door, life started anew.
