"There are things I wish never happened. He is never one of them."

- From Corazon's Diary

I didn't know what I should do. Should I put it back inside that drawer? Should I read it?

I looked around, expecting someone to be watching me.

Alone in that room, without anyone to see me, I could do anything. So I chose to close the drawer and take the diary. I wouldn't read it tonight. I would just keep it safe.

I grabbed the photo as well.

As I exited my grandmother's room, I saw Erik reach the top of the steps. He saw me as I closed the door. "Hey," he beamed. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing you should know," I answered, arching my brow.

He shrugged and turned to the left corridor.

"Where are you going?"

He frowned. "To my room. I need to rest as well."

"Your room?"

"Do you have a problem if I was given a room here? Would you prefer I sleep outside with the dogs?"

"Is that possible?"

"You wouldn't want to hear me bark," he teased.

I grimaced at the thought. I walked to my room without a word and locked myself in. How come he was given a room upstairs? Well, Manang June had one. Maybe he was given the other room in case he was needed during an emergency when Wawa was still alive.

I walked to the bed that once belonged to my mother and looked at the diary in my hand. A big part of me wanted to read it. Another said that it was not right. My grandmother was to be buried the day after tomorrow.

My eyes went to the photo. She looked so happy. What had changed, then? Or did things change? Was I wrong? Did I paint a different picture of my grandmother in my head?

A knock on the door pulled me back from my thoughts.

"Stephanie, it's Dad."

I went and unlocked the door. The door creaked open. I saw my father enter and stop after a few paces. He looked around. "I've been here twice, you know."

I settled back unto the bed. "In this room?"

He nodded. "When your mother and I married, we stayed here for a day. And then we were gone."

I desperately wanted to ask him what happened, to tell me the whole story, but I was afraid. I was afraid to know that my grandmother had been cruel to my father. If possible, I wanted to be left in the dark on that matter.

"What's that?" He motioned at the diary in my hand.

"It's nothing." I nonchalantly placed the book to the side, over the photo like it was a journal I brought at the National Bookstore. "Notes for work. Why did you come back? I thought you were having a good time?"

He smiled. "I knew Mr. and Mrs. Luzuriaga years back. They've been my mentors."

"In what?"

"Business, of course. I used to work for them before I met your mother."

"Ah...yes, I remember. You introduced us earlier."

"I didn't think you were interested," he said when he read the slight bitterness in my tone.

"If they're people you know, I would want to know them."

He approached me and stroked my head. "I'll introduce you tomorrow."

I gave him a sweet smile of thanks.

"Go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow."

🌳🌳🌳

Tomorrow came so fast. I didn't know how that it would be the day that I had to prove myself. In line with the funeral which had to happen the day after, I was given the task to look for a good catering service, prepare the venue and deliver the eulogy.

Of course, I complained about everything.

"Why me?" We were back in speaking Tagalog.

"You're your Wawa's only grandchild. At least, make people believe that you care."

"I do! I do care!"

"Then prove it," my father had said.

"Can't we just use the catering service from yesterday and today?"

"They already have a schedule for tomorrow," Yaya Sana replied, she too speaking in Tagalog. She had that instinct whenever she was around me. Her face was blank. I knew she was disappointed in me. She wanted to see that I would gladly do anything for my grandmother. But what the hell! I didn't even know the woman in the first place. How do I make a good eulogy?

I sighed. "How about the venue? Doesn't the memorial chapel have something to offer?"

"Yes, but they need someone to facilitate."

I groaned, dropping my fork on my plate. I lost my appetite.

Erik was standing by the doorway of the kitchen and I heard him stifle a laugh. I threw him a darting look. I couldn't stand him. He was dressed in a light blue shirt and dark pants and he still looked great. However did my grandmother find a driver that hot—and irritating?

"Fine."

I stood from my chair and left everyone in the kitchen. When I entered my mother's former room, I spotted the red diary on the bed. Taking it with my right hand, I turned it over. With the natural light of day, it appeared to be really old. The same desire to read it came over me but I stopped myself. I had a lot of things to do.

I dressed in a sleeveless white shirt and dark pants. I paired my simple look with a pair of black pumps and my red Prada bag. I went to the dresser where I had set up my essentials and fixed my face. I didn't need a lot of makeup but I chose to wear a dark shade of eye shadow to give my eyes some attitude. I used to hate my slit eyes. They had no creases to work with, but as time went by, I realized that people actually loved my 75% Filipino and 25% Chinese look. Thanks to my half-Chinese father, I guess.

Preparing for battle, I tightly tied my hair in a ponytail.

When I came downstairs, my father was not there.

"Where's Dad?" I asked Yaya Sana.

"He already left. He used the van."

"How about me?" I asked in horror.

"I'll be at you service," Erik announced, striding in the living room, juggling the keys.

"I think I can drive," I told him.

He raised his eyebrow. "You think you know every nook and corner of this place?"

I gave it a second thought and sighed in surrender.

"That's what I was talking about. Can we go now?"

He was still talking in Tagalog. Didn't anyone tell him he could speak Hiligaynon?

"Let's go to the memorial chapel first. I want to make sure the venue will be ready."

"Whatever you want." He shrugged and walked to the door. Before following him, I gave Yaya Sana a look that cried for help. She just laughed and waved me goodbye.

🌳🌳🌳

"Tomorrow at 3 PM," I said, jotting down notes. "And the priest?"

"We have a list of recommendations if you don't have a particular one in mind."

"I know someone close to your Wawa," Erik said, finally breaking his silence since we entered the office.

It was the first time I was glad he was with me. "Is he okay for tomorrow?"

He thought about it for a moment and nodded. "He'll do this much for her. She has donated to the church every year without fail."

"That's settled then."

His eyes were on my notes. "His name is Fr. Guevarra."

I nodded and wrote down the name.

"You still have to choose what to write on the tombstone," the lady behind the table said. "We have a list from the bible here," she added, opening a plastic folder for me to leaf through.

"I know what she wants for her tombstone." It was Erik again.

"You do?"

"She told me herself a few months ago."

"What does she want?" I wanted it to be over with so it was not a problem for me even if it meant Erik was the one to give me the help I needed.

"I think she wanted it to be, 'I laughed, I cried, I fought, I loved...and now I surrender...'."

I was speechless for a few moments as I tried to absorb the words. I suddenly had that same feeling of longing for my grandmother, a woman I never knew but someone who talked about her death to someone like Erik.

How come she never had the courage to reach out to me? I should be the one to say everything Erik had about her. It should have been me.

"I would need you to write that down for me," the woman behind the table said, pulling me back to the present.

Erik nodded and walked to the table. He bent down to write down the words that my grandmother shared with him.

"Are we set?" I finally asked with my composure back to normal.

"I think we are," the lady said with a small smile. I couldn't imagine how hard her work was. She was trying to work with clients who were grieving. Well, at least most of them were.

"Where to next?" Erik asked as we walked out the door.

"We need a catering service."

"I know just the place."

I scoffed in disbelief. "Of course, you do." I looked at him with eyes that could have thrown daggers. "If you know everything, why didn't you just volunteer earlier this morning? I don't have to do all of this and actually do nothing."

"Hey—" he held up both hands in defense "—I'm not family. I just happen to know your grandmother and I just happen to know a lot about this place. I'm here to help."

He sounded sincere so I just nodded and walked to the pick-up truck. I opened the passenger side, not expecting him to suddenly be a gentleman.

🌳🌳🌳

The catering service he took me to was a house. We reached it after a short drive around Lagoon Park.

"What's this?"

"Just follow me," he said in his typical cheerful tone.

"What are we doing here?" I looked up at the big house in front of us.

"This is where we can find the best catering service. Come on."

I did not immediately follow and when I did, Erik was already at the front door. A woman dressed in a servant's uniform opened the door.

"Hi, Kat. Is Rock here?"

The petite servant nodded and stepped aside. "She's in the kitchen."

"This is Stephanie Sy, a friend."

Friend? What made him decide to name me a friend?

"Hello, ma'am. Good morning," she greeted in Hilagaynon.

"She doesn't speak the language," Erik told her.

I was about to correct that but a pretty lady with disheveled hair walked into view from what appeared to be the kitchen of the large house. She walked on the tiled floor in her Crocs slippers, a pair of short shorts and a loose white shirt. "Erik! Nice to see you!" She walked toward Erik and gave him a peck. "I'm sorry. I smell of smoke."

"I figured you were cooking?"

Rock smiled, flashing her prefect white teeth.

"By the way, this is Stephanie Sy." Erik motioned his hand toward me.

Rock's eyes widened. "Mrs. Gozar's granddaughter?"

I nodded.

"I've heard a lot of stories about you," she said, holding out her hand, now speaking in Tagalog. I took it but didn't say anything. "She's a good friend of my family."

Again, I nodded. I was confused. How come Erik was close to almost everyone my grandmother knew? Was he more than her driver?

"Rock owns a restaurant in Bacolod, one of the best."

"Stop flattering me." Rock playfully punched Erik's arm. "What can I do for you guys?"

"We're looking for a catering service for tomorrow's funeral. Everyone else is booked."

Rock's face turned from gleeful to sad. "Anything I can do for Mrs. Gozar. What time is the funeral?"

"Three in the afternoon," I answered.

"I'll be there. I'll bring Mom."

"Thanks."

"And don't worry about the food. You'll love them," she said with a wink.

"She's one of the best cooks I know," Erik said with pride, looking at Rock with tenderness.

There was something about these two that I just couldn't figure out yet.

Rock led us to her office and we discussed the menu. Well, she and Erik did because I didn't know any of the things they were talking about. All I did was listen and nod when they would both look at me with expectation.

Everything I did since that morning was all useless. Erik could have handled it and I couldn't figure out why I had to do it. As the granddaughter, I knew I had to because it was obligatory. But if personal relationship was the standard, I would be the last anyone would think of for this task.

We were back in the truck when I finally said, "I don't think I can go to the memorial chapel. I want to go back to the house and rest."

Erik frowned. "It's your grandmother's last night before the funeral."

I didn't answer. I was not sure how. I honestly had no reason because I also found none to even stay there. "Dad can handle the guests. He's good at that."

"And I figure you're not." It was not a question.

I nodded. "So, can you take me to the house now?"

He didn't answer but I realized he was driving to the direction of the road that would lead us back to my grandparents' home.

🌳🌳🌳

Erik broke the silence after I climbed out of the truck. "At least show people you care for your grandmother."

I sharply turned to him. I intended to say something sharp, but I couldn't find the words. His expression was blank but I hinted a tinge of anger in his eyes.

"Why do you care so much how I behave?"

"Because unlike you, I care for your grandmother a lot." He was standing too close to me now and I realized that my 5 feet, 5 inches height was nothing to his.

"You don't know me enough to know I don't care."

"You don't make the best effort to show that you do."

My jaw clenched. I was angry too. I wanted to shout at him that I cared but then that would be a lie. I didn't know my grandmother. I never developed any feelings or relationship with the lady so why was I angry? Because he said the truth?

"I never grew up with her around. I never even got the chance to call her Wawa. She was never there for me. I never even heard her freaking voice. I know all of you think she is a great lady but I don't know her! So don't expect me to pretend that I care for someone who made it certain she was never part of my life."

After I said that, I walked straight to the door, opened it and slammed it shut.

🌳🌳🌳

My breathing was heavy when I reached my mother's old bedroom. I fell on the bed and I bounced for a few times before everything became still. The only animate object in the room was the silk curtain. I watched it gently float for almost a minute. When I could no longer strain my eyes, I shifted my gaze at the diary I left lying on the bed that morning. It was just a foot away from my hand. Slowly, I moved and sat cross-legged on the bed.

I felt the edges of the leather-bound diary with my fingers. Written inside was the story of the woman I had never known. If I would just open it and read through it, I would have something to tell everyone tomorrow. I would have something for the eulogy.

Quickly, before I changed my mind, I pulled the string that held the diary close. My heart was pounding against my chest when I pulled the cover open. The first page was blank. There was still time for me to back out, close the thing and tie the strings like it had never been touched.

But I didn't do that.

I turned the first page over and for the first time, I saw my grandmother's neat handwriting.