Exactly 6 o’clock in the evening, on August 11, there in my room, when Sophia my niece suddenly shouted, ” oi, butterfly…cute!”. I looked up and immediately responded ” ahh,!”. Nothing follows with that interjection. I was just happy when I saw it. My eyes were glued to wherever the beautiful tiny creature roamed around my room…on my bedding, my books, on my clothes, wherever.

                  Realizing it has been a month now. Yes, when it was like yesterday– July 11, at 7 in the evening when I was rushed  to Saint Paul’s Hospital for an attempted miscarriage. I was bleeding then. Bleeding…

                Barely a month now yet, the memories of pain and losing are still very much unmarked and piercing.

                They told  me to move on. All of my friends, acquaintances and hypocrites told me this. Thinking moving on was an overnight job to do. Click and viola!

                 Have I moved on?

     I cannot answer that easily with No or a Yes. I can only give those who were asking me a faint smile- that might give a thousand things.

     The note I shared “I Saw the Tiny Arm Beautifully Carved” was my way to lighten up my exhausted emotion and my crumpled mind.    Now, I am not prepared to tell the story, again.

     Rather, let me ask: Do you believe that a lost loved one could metamorphose into a butterfly?

     A, this I forgot to tell you, when “my unborn” was placed inside a small box, I decorated on top of it, a cute purple butterfly. Along with it was my whisper for a ‘ sign that whenever I see a butterfly inside my room, it will tell me that my “unborn” is happy, and is telling me to let go…

     On August 11, that very night, I remember July 12…

     I remember the sympathetic people & concerned  friends who stood by me and told me to smile after all the devastation.

     I remember July 12, inside the DR, the huge light. I remember every detail of it.

     I remember how I questioned the Almighty in the midst of my agony.

     I remember how I bleed, literally and bleed hypothetically.

     I remember there was one coward man who left me sharp traces and scars…

     I remember how my fists clenched, and my heart beats for anger and revenge.

     I remember everything.

     But I didn’t cry.

‘Though the memories of pain and losing remained vivid, but I just smiled. Though my eyes empty.

I told you, what happened left me with countless scars, too deep and hollow. But I survived.

    If an empty smile is hypocrisy, then I am.

    What matters now is a woman in me will always endure.