Usually people have to wait for hours just for the sound to appear. Somehow, every time I’m here,
the melody begins.
I lie down onto the sea of sand. Why can’t I stay here? Why are humans so fragile? Why must
there be so many conditions for us to survive? Why can’t we be like the sand dunes? Infinite.
Beads of perspiration emerge on my forehead. I can only hear the glorious singing of the
spirits during noon. I’ve camped out here for hours and hours hoping the music would last forever.
It never did. The singing disappears. I would try to hum a tune but nothing comes out right. The
notes don’t sound pleasant. It only sounds like a broken violin. Am I broken? No, the question is
can I ever be fixed?
The sweat dances down my cheeks. My eyes are puffy and red, eyebrows tilting downwards. I
love it when I sweat, that way no one can tell that I’m crying.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here, the sun beating down on my fragile body. My lips are
chapped, throat grating, completely exhausted.
“You shouldn’t be here for too long. It’s not good for someone as delicate as you.” I came here
alone. My head slowly turns, unable to believe what I have just heard.
The familiar head of mussed inky dark hair; ebony eyes and tanned golden skin. The
thumping of my heart suddenly feels a lot louder. My throat constricts, unable to form words.
“Batu?” He grins.
“Who else could it be, little sister?” I’m not sweating anymore, but there are still splotches of
liquid on my cheeks. Suddenly, my vision blurs and nausea overtakes my body. A pair of strong
hands catch me, engulfing my petite body.
“You have to take care of yourself while I’m not around. You make your big brother worry too
much.” There’s been so much I’ve been holding back for the past two months. So much I didn’t
let myself say, knowing if I did, I’d have to face the true problem; I’d have to face his death and I
really didn’t know if I could deal with it.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine, I’m always fine,” I croak gruffly while mustering the smile
I’ve perfected. He shakes his head. Even if I can trick myself, I’ll never trick him. He’s always
known me better than I know myself.
This can’t be true, yet him carrying me home says differently. I can’t let myself question what
is happening. For the past month I’ve been dreaming, hoping and wishing for this to happen and
now that it has happened, she’s starting to doubt herself.
“This is bad. You’re dehydrated. We have got to get you back.” I open my mouth to speak
again, but before I can, the darkness catches up devouring the last shred of light.
“I told you not to run off!”
Blinking a couple of times, my eyes adjust to the harsh light.
“Look at the state you’re in now!” I feel sand everywhere, well more sand than usual. The
exhaustion has faded away. What had happened? My eyes widen in realization. That can’t have
happened. I must have been hallucinating because of the dehydration. However, if what had
happened was just my imagination, how did I get back?
“Never do that again! You are never going out running again!” my mother shouts at me sternly.
“I’ve- I’ve already lost one. I can’t lose another,” she murmurs, suddenly clutching onto me.
Dampness is spreading over my left shoulder. This takes me back to what it was like the first days my
only brother died. I heard my parents arguing all the time, blaming each other, blaming themselves.
My mother would blame herself for scolding him too much; for being too strict; for loving
