21

It's been a long time since I wrote something. In a blog. In a letter.

I used to write long letters, long emails. But now written words haunt me. I seldom write because my fingers are tainted not anymore with laughter but with an unconcealable sadness.

I remember one of my bestfriends reminding me that we haven't talked about my sister's death yet. That was very long time ago. That was when the wounds were still fresh. They still are.

It has been 4 years since Xybel died. And tomorrow is her birthday. Tomorrow she will be 21. Again. Just like last year. And the year before that. She remains 21.

I used to want to grow old. I couldn't wait to have white hair and wrinkled hands. I couldn't wait to host family reunions in December. I couldn't wait to see my siblings as grown-ups, as grandparents themselves. I couldn't wait to meet them in the future.

Now I would have to grow old without her. I am afraid that the years will keep us farther and further apart. She would still be 21 when our grandchildren are about the same age as her.
I am saddened by the fact that they would not know a Lola Ambel. I am saddened that life can still go on even without a Xybel.

Yes, written words haunt me. Because they reflect the sadness in my heart. Because I still cannot confront that sadness. Because I am still there at her wake, wondering where she really is and why the name outside the funeral home was hers. I am still there in the past when she first turned 21.