Genre: Non-fiction

I was in fourth grade when I fell in love with her. We met on a cruise around five in the afternoon. She had existed for years before I was born. But seeing her in that dress for the first time, I felt like I was staring at a little girl. Bright. Shining. Everything seems to be revolving around her, just like a pure soul who believes in the goodness of the universe.

I was about to go to the ship's balcony. My parents were in our room. It was the first time we were complete. All aboard from Mindanao to Manila. I was young. We were happy. My parents were in love.

As I climbed the stairs, I noticed the crowd lined up on the balcony. Everyone was taking pictures of something faraway. I tiptoed, trying to get into a small space where I could squeeze my tiny body. Yet, I failed.

On the far end of the ship, I ran. In that hot afternoon, I gathered all of my remaining energy. I reached a bench. An old, long chair was installed along the deck. It was made of steel. Its white paint covered its rusty parts, just like the people with me that day, staring at the ocean, adoring the sky. Filling their souls with good memories trying to make up for the bad ones.

Not for me. I was young. I considered every experience as part of something bigger. I was hopeful. I believed that something great awaited every dreamer. A dreamer like me.

I sat on the bench. The cloudy sky was kind enough to take the heat away. It still felt warm and exhausted, just like every soul on that day.

I raised my head. I squinted my eyes enough to see what the commotion was about. I looked at the horizon. The line where the deep sea would meet the everlasting sky.

I smiled. I adored that imaginary line. It was a reminder that humans can only appreciate impossible things from a distance. It is a place you could never reach. A place you could never touch. A place we could only admire from afar.

Then I saw some clouds hindering the view. I tried to find out why those people were all fixated. I tried to search for whales. I observed the splash of water for dolphins. I studied every drop for flying fishes. Still, I saw nothing.

I looked back at the crowd. They all returned to the ship, disappointed. I gazed again at the horizon, puzzled at whatever had taken their smiles away. Again, I saw nothing, just a bunch of red clouds covering the sky.

Suddenly, a gust of northern wind blew past me, warm and calm like a friend I longed for. Strong enough to alter the flow of the waves. Kind enough to guide the tides. With that brief breeze, I saw how the clouds parted. Like a curtain, they unveiled a princess. That moment, I understood what the previous commotion was about.

Then I saw her, dressed in red, with a train that seemed to cover the entire sky. Her dress left a trail of blood from the clouds on top of me to the horizon where she was sitting. This was the first time I saw her. She was bright red, blazing orange, and beaming in gold.

They call her the sunset. But since that day, I have referred to it as "her". On the horizon, there was a girl who was dancing. She was fanning her rays against the cloud, creating fragments of rainbows. I saw patterns that can only be seen in Renaissance paintings. Yet they were there in front of me, moving as if someone were just painting them right on the spot.

As half her body sat on the sea, every color became bolder. The sea turned red. The sky turned gold. The horizon was lined with magenta mixed with lavender. The clouds were like sponges that couldn't decide which color to absorb. Everything was merging into a single hue, yet my human eyes could differentiate every shade—so easily, in fact. The sky and the sea were like crayons on a piece of paper. But these were colors I had never seen before. It was bright, yet it was dim. It was colorful yet simple. It was pastel, yet it was an entire view of neon lights.

I stared at her with every second that passed. As she completely sank, my heart mourned. She took every bit of color in the sky to wherever she had to scatter them next. With the appearance of the north star came the end of her performance. I stood. On that empty spot, I clapped my hands.

Oh, how unlucky is the crowd that so easily gave up on her? I understood life that day. There is joy in delayed gratification. There is happiness in solitude. There is bliss in the simplest of things.

Looking back now, whenever I am asked what my happiest memory is, I have something that is not as extravagant as most people would have. It is not about riding a roller coaster. It is not about flying on a plane. It is never about seeing the snow for the first time or having my first kiss.

My happiest memory is a precious one. That golden hour around me, that bench, and that setting sun.