September 20, 2008

I am reading his LETTERS, my Bien.

…My parents died poor. But they gave me all their love. I can see them now struggling, even in old age, just to see me happy. They were very good to me. But they were poor. They loved me, they loved me dearly. They have left me that heritage. When Father was about to die, he told me that he was dying without leaving us anything. But he had done all he could for us. My brother has taken good care of me. When I grew to manhood, I extended what little help I could. I feel I have no youth.

They would lie gaping before my dazzled eyes, brutal, cruel world. In the darkness, I held out my frail hand groping, searching for love. There were times when I thought I had found it. But I have always been disillusioned. My heart broke many a time, and I was still young….

***


Why do you still doubt that I shall marry you for nothing else but love? I cannot bid you farewell no matter how I find you. You seemed to have resented my allusion to a schoolteacher. No harm meant, dearest. I don’t know why I think of luminous clouds. Is it because life itself to me seems to be a luminous cloud, and you, the silver lining?

It is only when I am so dependent that I think of running away. You are one of the chosen few, --. You do not know half of this kind of life I am living now. I only find it worthwhile- this life- because of you- and to think that you want to discard every memory of me- hurts, hurts- oh, more than that, --.

Ma and Pa must be very happy honeymooning in the mountains. When we get old shall we be together like them, so happy? With children out into this world, content and competent?

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