Passing Love

Title: Passing Love

Type: One-Shot

Characters: Dara (2NE1) and GD/Jiyong (Big Bang)

Genre: Drama, Slight Comedy

Word Count: 1213

A/N: a one-shot daragon fic based on a real-life story.

-yenara/ayen

“If real love does exists, it is so when I found you.”

I was around twenty-nine and he was around twenty-five then. Yes, he was younger than me. At first, I fretted about it and thought he’s just another player fooling around. You can’t blame me: I married a ramp model. And that’s the biggest understatement that came out of my mouth. Not that I was ugly myself. But as you see, I’m the most beautiful person you have seen. I was busy back then because I was having my Masters degree on English Communication so that I can teach in the tertiary level and he was well, not really a ramp model but you can include that, a businessman. I can still remember how he’d dropped by my class every now and then just to see how I am doing. Isn’t that the sweetest of him?

I finally got to teach in a well-known university for a while before he pursued me for almost two years. (See, I told you I’m beautiful.) And I’d be lying if I said that for those two years I felt nothing to him. He made it to a point he’d see me every day, every second even. After all he owns all the time he has because he is a businessman. When I finally can’t take it, I said yes to him. We waited for another year and then we finally tied the knot.

Did I mention how wonderful that year of our relationship was? Oh, how that was the sweetest year of my life. But, no. It’s was not even comparable when we were finally living together. Not even close when we had our son. I can’t forget the time when we came back for a vacation to Manila. I mean, yes I grew up there, yes, I studied there for awhile, and yes, I became famous there. My sister-in-law and my son were with me. We visited a local mall that I haven’t been for years. It was nearing night time and we still haven’t seen the proper exit.

Both of them can’t speak either Filipino or English well. And I know how it goes for Filipinos: they respect people who speak English fluently so much.

“You better shut up.” I hissed to my sister-in-law.

And I turned to my was eight year-old son, “This is really bad, but Mommy has to do this so we can go home.”

Finally, we approached a security guard to ask for directions.

“Ah, excuse me. We need help. It’s our first time here in the Philippines and that we’ve been lost for awhile now because we can’t find the exit. Could you please lead us to the exit where the MRT station is? As long as I see the MRT we’re safe and we can go home.”

“Right this way, Mam!”

My son finally tugged my pants as we walked. “Mom, lying is bad!”

“But it’s even worse if we stay here at the mall overnight!”

Everyone chuckled at her joke. She finally asked whether we have further questions.

“Miss, what’s your name?” My classmate asked.

“It’s not important,” she answered back.

And then she continued on with the threat of tearing up. “I might be absent on mid-August so I’ll just send in substitute. And since this is a Speech and Oral Communication course, you guys have lots of time and things to do in front. It is only for about two to three meetings that I’ll be doing the talking. And I’m telling you all this now in case you all go blaming or whatever your classmates if you see me in tears; because I’ll be celebrating my husband’s fifth death anniversary this coming August.”

Everyone fell absolutely still.

“Before, he has been picking me up after my last class. And this is usually the time. He used to be sitting anywhere he’d want in the four corners of this room. This very room. This very building. That’s why it’s full of memories of him. The whole university reminds me of him so much that’s why at times I tear up. So don’t go blaming your classmates or lose your poise when you see me in the studio room, crying. Just go on,” she finally said to us.

It was the first time I ever heard a real story like this. And I was about to tear up myself when she talked again.

“Don’t pity me. It’s not something to pity about. It’s just that we never had a proper farewell when he passed away five years ago. He met a vehicular accident which totally wrecked his body from head to waist that’s why I don’t even got to see him inside the casket because it was closed.”

“He just texted me, ‘Mom, I’m going home. See you.’ And that’s it. And until now I’m still hoping to see him. Last week, I dreamt of him texting me that he’d be waiting for me at gate 3 at six. We had our meeting then at twelve. I waited until six; until it was dark and that the guards were asking if I’m waiting for someone and I said yes.”

With that, gush of tears rolled down my cheeks. It was as if I was my professor myself. I could feel both the warmth and the loneliness. The yearning for that someone you love who have actually passed on. The real love two people have shared is overflowing: spilling onto us.

“How I’d gladly leave the driver’s seat and claim the throne again and he’d drive us home. If only he ever came. I ‘m still hoping but I’m working on moving on; no, it’s moving forward.” She said with a lovely smile.

With eyes threatened with water, she moved on to a guessing game.

“So, you have to guess the three most important letters in the English alphabet,” she said to us. “Isaac Newton said that ‘if you’re taking up Speech and Oral Communication, it is a mortal sin not to know the three most important letters of the English alphabet.’ Yes, Newton’s my dad.” This professor sure knows how to throw a joke.

I and another classmate were correct at the first guessing game so she skipped us saying we’d get the chance to guess after the first round if the others have not guessed it correctly. Even before reaching me, my classmates have guessed the three letters already.

“S P K.” She said as she wrote the letter.

Then pointing to my classmate who raised the question about her name, she said, “Remember about me saying that my name is not important?” We all nodded.

“It’s not, because it’s very important,” she said with a smile.

“S for Sandara, P for Park. I will never trade my surname even if to Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, or whosoever’s surname. They can sell theirs but mine’s priceless. And of course, my ramp model slash businessman husband’s surname, K for Kwon.”

And then, it turns out she is the author of the book we’re using as well.

     Fin.

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About yenara

a writer from the dawn of liberty.
This entry was posted in Fan Fiction, General Reading, One-Shot and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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