"When I'm with him, I forget the dreams I was taught to reach for because he teaches me how to give things a second glance and realize they are what I needed after all."

- From Corazon's Diary

"We are now leaving Silay city," Yaya Sana explained after we passed through different ancient Spanish houses.

Merely a few minutes later, she spoke again. "This is Talisay. It's a small city, but it's nice." I looked out the window. She bet it was small. It took us only five minutes to drive through it before we reached Bacolod.

To give Bacolod credit, there were a lot of green fields, one that you could no longer find in Makati. And their roads were wide—I give them that.

"This is Robinson's Mall." Yaya Sana pointed to the right.

I just nodded. It was probably the second biggest structure I saw since we started our drive. Yes, there were no buildings taller than fifteen floors which was a BPO building right before we passed the mall. I checked my watch. It was eight in the morning.

"Where's the traffic?" I asked.

"You won't find it here," Erik answered in Tagalog. He said it with that same Hiligaynon tone. I did not bother telling him he could freely speak his native tongue. "Here in Bacolod, the jeepneys fight over commuters."

"That's a joke, right?" I asked Yaya Sana.

She shook her head and laughed.

In Makati, I often see people lining up for a jeepney ride, a common public transport in the Philippines.

"This is what I miss the most in Bacolod," my father spoke for the first time after he climbed on the passenger side.

"And is one of the reasons why I never left," Erik told him. "I heard you're into the food industry, sir," he said, an obvious conversation starter.

I rolled my eyes. I'd heard that several times when common people wanted to talk to my father, hoping for a chance to be showered with his generosity.

It was surprising though that he knew a lot about the business.

"Stephanie actually has a chain of coffee shops around Manila," my dad said with pride.

"Really?" Erik glanced at me through the rearview mirror. I did not answer but I did look away. His interested gaze bothered me.

"It's sad you never knew your Wawa," Yaya Sana said to me in a whisper.

"Yeah," I said, not certain if I agreed or not.

"She was a good lady despite everything. If there's one wrong I have to point out, it's her pride. She was one, big proud woman." She turned to give me a meaningful smile. "You got that trait from her, you know."

Ignoring her last statement, I said in a low voice, "I heard you talked to her often." My father was deep in conversation with the driver.

Yaya Sana looked at me with guilt. "Yes. She would pretend to call to ask about petty things and in passing she would asked after you. I asked her many times if she wanted me to hand the phone over to you, especially after your mother passed away but she wouldn't. She never said it, but I sensed she was afraid you hated her for not seeing you before."

"She should've at least tried," I said with bitterness. I never had pictures taken with her, never had the chance to actually use the name 'Wawa' to call her, never had that normal childhood spoiled by my own grandparents.

Before Yaya Sana could say a word, the van stopped. Curious, I looked out the window. "Why are we stopping?"

"We're here," Yaya Sana explained, pointing at the building.

I looked up and saw the big sign, Rolling Hills Memorial Chapels. I heard my father take a deep breath as Erik climbed out. Yaya Sana opened the door and waited until I decided it was time to face this.

It's just for three days, I told myself. Then it's back to normal.

There was no sticky air outside. It was a nice morning apart from the fact that we were standing outside a memorial chapel.

We let Erik guide us inside the gloomy building. My grandmother's wake was held inside a spacious room and I was very surprised to see a lot of people inside.

Heads turned, their expressions those of curiosity. Apart from Yaya Sana, I didn't know anyone. I could count Erik as someone I knew, but he was just the driver. He didn't play a big role in the occasion.

Words of us being Wawa's closest family eventually spread across the room. People started to come forward, offering their condolences and all I had to do was give them a small smile.

I thought I needed to escape and in my black dress, I walked to the front of the room where a bronze coffin stood, covered with flowers. Three stands of Mass Cards stood in one corner. The carpeted floor silenced my footsteps. Just before I reached the rectangular bronze box that held my grandmother inside, I stopped and searched for Yaya Sana. She was right behind me, like she always was in the past. Her face was solemn. I held out my hand and she took it like she used to whenever I was afraid. Like that first time when I went to school, my first day in high school, my first plane ride—all my firsts, including this one.

Together, we made the last few steps toward my grandmother and when I saw her face, I had to turn away. I didn't want to remember her in that lifeless state. I saw pictures of her and I wanted that stern face etched in my memory, not this. I never knew her. To me, she was a stranger, so at least I wanted to preserve her living look in my mind and not someone I saw inside a coffin.

Tears of regret flowed as Yaya Sana guided me to a nearby seat. Regret of never reaching out to my grandmother. Regret of never even thinking about her. Regret of not sending even a simple Christmas card. Regret of not knowing her birth date. She never made an effort to reach out to me. Shouldn't have I done what she couldn't do?

I mentally shook my head. I didn't want to think of anyone to blame for what we had become. It could have been my father's fault or it could have been my mother's. It could have been mine and it could have been my grandmother's or my grandfather's.

When I finally had my emotions checked, I looked around the room. I did not mind the stare of the crowd. I found my father at the back, talking with a couple who seemed the same age as him and I found Erik drinking a cup of coffee just a few feet away from them. I looked away when our eyes met.

🌳🌳🌳

My father easily made a circle of companions, people who looked like they were part of the high society as well. I, on the other hand, had no one but Yaya Sana to take care of me. She gave me lunch from the buffet table and watched as I ate.

"Your father arranged for the two of you to sleep in your grandparents' ancestral home."

My eyes widened. "I was hoping to stay in a hotel."

"It's peak season. The Masskara Festival is underway. You don't know how many tourists turn up during this time of year."

"I don't know, it's creepy." I grimaced at the thought of sleeping under the roof of my grandparents whom I never had the chance to meet before they passed away. "I was really hoping to get into a decent hotel where there was free Wi-Fi and efficient service.

Yaya Sana held my hand. "Don't think that way."

"I don't know the place, Yaya. I don't feel safe."

"This child," she said, shaking her head. "The compound is a safe place. And Erik will be staying the night to watch over us."

I frowned. "You trust him that much?"

"I trust him with my life, child. He's been around the family since he was a child. I watched him grow up to be a fine man."

My head turned to where Erik was standing. If I didn't know, I would have mistaken him to be one of the guests. He didn't dress like one and he felt comfortable to be surrounded by people who dressed in pretty clothes. He was confident. But then, as Yaya Sana said, he grew up around the family. He was used to it, I concluded.

"You cut your hair. It's nice," Yaya Sana praised, stroking my hair which went down just below my shoulders. I remembered she used to braid it when I was young. "What have you been doing? Tell me."

I told her about how my business was growing, my new friends, my new car, my ex-boyfriend named Greg, my ex-best friend who cheated with Greg, my new collection of shoes...I told her about everything new.

Yaya Sana was still in shock with what happened between me and Greg. "Don't worry," she finally said when she got over it. "There's someone who will show you what real love is."

I laughed at that. As I grew older, I realized that real love was scarce. I had been around enough men in bars and social events to realize that nothing lasted for them. Greg had been fun but he was not such a big loss. He was just like every man I had ever met—a great disappointment.

"Maybe you can find one here," Yaya Sana joked.

"Yeah, right. And then I'll live here?" I huffed. "No way."

"You've never experienced Negros, my dear. Once you do, you'll never want to go back to the busy life of Manila."

"I love the busy life. I live for it."

She looked at me as if she knew something I didn't. "If you say so."

🌳🌳🌳

If it was any other ordinary day, I would have already gotten a ticket back to Makati. But it was a day of grieving and I had to at least act like I was.

"Are you ready to go?" Erik was standing before me. I didn't notice him approaching, too busy with my phone.

"What made you think I want to leave?"

"You've been on your phone for almost an hour now," he pointed out, still talking in Tagalog.

"I'm just busy."

"And?"

I was getting irritated. He was acting too cool for a driver. Why couldn't he just wait when I was ready to leave? Wasn't it his job?

"And I want to be alone?"

He placed his hands in his pockets and shrugged, "Fine," and then walked away.

"Impossible," I murmured, my attention back on my phone. I had to call my new manager to see how she was doing. "Joan, how are things?"

"Everything's fine, Miss Steph. A lot of customers today."

"That's good. Make sure you stock well. I've called the suppliers. They'll deliver in a day."

"I think we'll have enough until a few more days."

I also called my secretary to keep things under control in the office. I didn't want to go home to a mess. But knowing her, I knew that I was in good hands. I handpicked her after a month of waiting for the perfect one and she was nearly perfect.

When I had no more excuse to use my phone, I stood up and went to my father. He was still talking to the old couple whom he introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Luzuriaga. "Dad, I want to go home and rest for a while. Can you manage alone?"

Of course he said yes. Despite his relationship with my grandmother, he was having a good time with some of the locals, most of whom businessmen like him.

Yaya Sana was busy serving guests so I decided to search for the driver on my own.

It was already dark outside. I found him outside, talking with two other guys. "I'm ready to go," I announced, haughtily holding my chin high.

"Sure," he said after he took a good look at me. Without another word spoken, I walked straight to the van parked in front of the memorial chapel.

"Where are you going?" I heard Erik ask a few feet away. His right hand was holding a set of keys and he was standing outside a large black pick-up truck.

"Aren't we using the van?"

"Manang Sana and the others will need that later. We'll use this." Manang is the respectful Hiligaynon term used to call older women.

"How about my things?"

He sighed and strode to the back of the van. He opened it. "Well?" his brows rose in question. "Aren't you going to grab your suitcase?"

My mouth fell open. He expected me to do what? "Why? Isn't it your job?"

"Hey, lady, I'm just the driver here."

I scoffed in disbelief.

"Believe it," he said as if he heard my thoughts. He stepped aside to give way for me.

I grumpily pulled my suitcase out and dropped it on the ground.

"Careful. You'll still need it."

"Yeah, right," I snapped, struggling with the handle. He went back to the pick-up truck and climbed in. I gaped after him in disbelief. How was I supposed to load my suitcase onto that thing? It was over six feet high! Did my grandmother use this vehicle? She would have needed a ladder just to climb on it.

Angry, I knocked on the tinted window. It slid down and his amused face stared at me.

"I can't load this thing on my own," I said, kicking the suitcase with my high heels.

"Move aside," he said.

"What?"

"You want me to help you load it up, right?"

"So?"

"So, move aside so I can open the door and get out."

I tiny growl escaped my lips. I was too frustrated to even shout. He laughed and climbed out the driver seat.

"This is not that heavy," he said as he bent down to lift my suitcase. "Open the door."

I couldn't believe this man. He had the nerve to order me around! When I didn't move, he shrugged and threw the suitcase at the open rear of the truck.

"My father will hear of this!"

"I'd be happy to hear what he has to say, Malfoy," he answered. The bastard had read Harry Potter. Great. Before I could open the back door, he added, "Don't even think about it."

"What now?"

"Get in the passenger side."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because you're my only passenger and I don't drive with one passenger sitting at the back."

"You're a freaking driver."

"You want to drive?" he challenged.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I truly couldn't comprehend it. None of our drivers back home dared to treat us this way. Was this man feeling entitled just because he grew up with the family?

"If you want to go, find another driver. I'm sure those guys are willing to drive you around." He motioned his head to the two men he was chatting with earlier. I looked at them looking at me and I stomped my way to the passenger side of the pick-up truck. "Now, that was not so difficult, was it?"

I did not say another word. He started the engine and backed out of the parking lot. He reached out and turned on the music. It was jazz. A fine selection, I noted.

"You want to grab dinner first?"

"No, I want to get out of this truck as soon as possible, please."

"Fine."

We drove through the wide roads of Bacolod. I didn't imagine the streets to be that wide, honestly. I thought it would be narrower and—well, rocky. I found the sidewalks nice as well.

"This is Lacson street," Erik finally broke the silence.

"I didn't ask."

"During Masskara Festival, the whole road is closed for three days. Street parties and everything," he continued to explain, not hearing me. "And as you can see, restaurants line up all the way to Lagoon. Most of them local ones except for a few."

"I want to rest. A little silence will help."

He threw me a mischievous grin. "You don't like me, do you?"

"You just figured that out?" I asked sarcastically.

"No, I'm not just used to people not liking me," he said with pride.

"It's easy not to. Trust me."

"Lola Cora told me about you, you know."

Lola Cora. Not Ma'am Cora. Just who does this guy think he is?

But then his words sank in and that one surprised me. "What's there to tell? We never even met."

"Even when two people have never met, it doesn't mean they don't have a story together."

I rolled my eyes. "Which part of the bible did you take that from? Or is that from Harry Potter?"

He chuckled but did not answer.

A few moments of silence later, I couldn't help but ask, "What did she say?"

"Who?" It was obvious he knew what I was trying to ask.

"My grandmother. What did she say about me?"

"That you're arrogant and prideful like her." He glanced at my direction before adding, "And that you are beautiful."

I didn't want to hear another word about my grandmother from this guy. I didn't know him and I didn't trust him despite Yaya Sana's words.

And did Yaya Sana tell my grandmother I was arrogant and prideful? Because where else would she get that information from?

We travelled for a few minutes, passing the Lagoon and circling the Bacolod plaza where the cathedral was located just across the street. Five more minutes of driving without traffic, we reached my grandparents' ancestral home. It was similar to the ones I saw in Silay. It was big and spacious. And of course, creepy. It had a freaking big fountain in the middle of the driveway! And then there were those lion statues standing old at the bottom of the front steps, some of them had parts chipped away.

I knew my grandfather came from old money, but I never realized he settled down with the old family home as well.

"Oh God," I moaned under my breath.