First, I would like to make it clear that after this entry, I will no longer be writing anything about what I just went through--or going through--in relation to the depressing end of my more than a year relationship with Athan. This, as I resist the call not to bounce immediately because I want to bounce now, despite not really having been able to completely pick-up the self from where it went to because of what happened.

AR, a colleague from Manila, discouraged me from bouncing. For someone who went through a marital ordeal that ended in separation, I guess no one could beat her in the How-To Department of a broken relationship.

I met her Monday afternoon, few hours after I once again had a bout with another short-span depression, a series of episodic drama that I was consistently warned about my a number of reachable friends despite my claim of being ok. The day Athan announced he was bolting out, I told myself to take a rest for awhile. And by rest, I mean "rest."

Last night, while oblivious of the already bleeding knees after more than an hour of Inner Dancing, I (re)discovered my capacity to scribble using my left hand. (Ambidexterity is something that I did not desire to learn and whatever was that that was ignited it in me, thank you) First words were a repetition of my name, written, albeit invisibly as I was using a stick I found somewhere, on the red cold floor of Don Bosco's Trinitas Hall. The next batch of words were Athan's full name, streaming fluidly---literally encircling my sweat-drenched body.

I wanted to stop. But how can you stop your Higher Self? I even resisted, but failed, that force who told me to stand up and move to one corner of the room where I later continued writing ambidextrously a three-word unsigned letter addressed to Athan---the size of it could pass as the shortest letter I have ever written in my whole, whole life.

It says: Dear Athan, Why?

Few hours before that, I was in a trance while exchaning text messages with Jaydey. He knows that I like him but I don't want to read what is not yet apparent in the exchange of messages happening between us since the overcast blinded my sky. In one of the text messages, he asked me: "What do you want me to do (just) to make you happy?"

It was one question that was never asked me before.