And on the Third Day [Entry 3: Rebirth]

Words by Solace

“Excuse me, Ma’am?” A lady in a matching navy blouse and skirt with an olive apron tied around her waist smiled at me. She looks young, ebony hair properly tied at the back, no loose strand in sight. “Would you like to try our new hazelnut pancakes?”

Ah. Probably a part-timer or a newbie.

The white coffee cup in my grasp now weighing less than it did a few seconds ago made me sigh. It’s only in this lifetime that I drank too much coffee.

“Sure. And one more americano, please,” I stated, not wanting to be kicked out of the outdoor restaurant yet.

The waitress left me to my devices immediately. That left me to dwell on nature as well as other fellow customers.

The two story building to my right with eggshell white walls, glass windows and doors, and a brown tiled roof is filled with different types of people. Different ages, different genders, different nationalities. Black colored metallic seats matched with white umbrellas are aligned with each other. To the left there are bushes of various flowers: Roses, Daisies, Lavenders, and Tulips. The moist soil complemented the illuminated droplets on the leaves. The weather is thankfully not too hot nor cold.

Spring has come.

Reaching for my black and gold purse, I took out a notebook wrapped in a ziplock bag. After my fifth life, I started finding ways to end my own cycle and monitoring my past lives. Every memorable experience I’d have, I would write it down. And honestly, it helped me a lot in making wiser decisions as an adult. Before I pass on, I would hide the notebook in secret places. I bury them, mostly at a specific place or make my then relatives leave it near my tombstone.

I flipped through the pages and saw old family pictures, love interests, and my then children. Sections and pages are dedicated to listing down facts or impressions about them. I wonder how are they now?

“Here are your pancakes, ma’am.” The server lady came back with chocolate pancakes topped with strawberries, blueberries, and whipped cream. The scent of brewed coffee filled my nostrils as she placed the new cup in front of me. “If you have any concerns, my name is Yvonne.” she said, pointing at her nameplate.

She left and I started reminiscing, opening the notebook again. What was the key to breaking the cycle? Do good deeds? Have a legacy? Guide someone? Now at my tenth life, I’m still stuck with nowhere to go.

God, if you hear me please send a sign. Where do I go?

Halfway through my drink, I notice a small hand reaching for my pancakes. A kid with pigtails and denim overalls munched on a strawberry in front of me. Eyebrows raising, I looked at my plate and, sure enough, all of the strawberries were gone.

“Hey.” I reached out to her to wipe whipped cream from her cheek. “Where’s mommy?”

She pointed at me, “Mommy.”

Immediately my motherly instincts kicked in, I looked around for any women acting hysterical or confused. But no one seems to be looking for their kid. It was still a peaceful morning with a half-eaten breakfast. That’s so strange. I look back at the girl who continued to play with her strawberry, unaware of the situation.

Throughout my lifetimes, I’d lie if I were to say that I’m not drawn towards children. It wasn’t natural at all, but a product of all my experiences with raising them. Maybe it was the way that they were so unapologetically themselves or it was the innocence and excitement I saw in their eyes, ready to live their lives, unafraid of anything. A trait I pray that stays in my children and grandchildren alike. There was nothing more satisfying yet equally melancholic in witnessing them mature throughout the years and go their separate ways. And when they come back, I’m always at my happiest.

“You want the pancakes?” I asked and she grinned at me, a missing tooth evident in her smile. I moved the plate towards her as she kicked her short legs underneath the table, never taking her eyes off the food. I laughed at the sight, some of my children also have that habit.

“Thank you, mommy.”

Warmth lingered in my heart. it’s been awhile since I had children so I didn’t even bother to correct her. Instead, I pushed the call button for service, in hopes of finding the child’s parents. It took a while, but the then prim and proper waitress came out disheveled and vigilant to the point that I would empathize with enough to help her. She took a breath and went towards me, but froze in horror when she saw the kid.

Well, that explains it.

Yvonne bolted to my table with a lowered head, apologizing profusely partly because of her maybe-child eating my ordered meal. At close she was younger than I realized, but the fatigue evident on her face erased expectations of a youth-filled life only to be burdened with the challenges of adulthood.

“Your daughter?” I asked curtly.

“She is my sister, miss…”

“Michaela” I nodded at her direction and offered a hand.

“I can look after her for you, if you want.” I said, looking at the child still gleefully chewing with a fork in hand. Yvonne took it by surprise and hesitantly shook my hand, her gaze turned contemplative.

”It would be better if the child eats here, I assure you that she won’t go anywhere.” I reasoned, not admitting that meeting her sister made me miss my own children .

“You don’t have to decide right now.” I added, now apprehensive of her long silence realizing that I may have overstepped boundaries at the sudden offer. “I would also like another hazelnut pancake and americano, please.” I finished trying to hide the embarrassment I felt .

It didn’t take long after Yvonne finally agreed, admitting that it would also save trouble for her colleagues who check on the child from time to time. Now slicing through my pancakes, I heard a rustling of papers and was met with the sight of the girl taking out some paper and a pencil case from her lavender backpack. Her plate was empty and clean.

“Homework?” I asked. She looked at me, all doe eyed, and nodded. I shifted in my seat, “What’s your name, dear?”

“Faith.” She pulled out a big box of crayons, one of those one hundred twenty-eight piece sets that was surely enough to last a whole class for an academic year or two and started drawing.

I left her to her devices, pulling out my notebook and documenting this day. Finding a blank page, I wrote a new entry:

X.

Michaela — —

Architect, 25

• writing this after a three hour car ride from the city and visiting my grave at the countryside area. would have found this early if not for the distance :(((
• career-wise everything is doing well, currently up for promotion!!
• will soon save up enough money to donate to others (maybe the key is philanthropy??)

“Mommy, when will we go back to the beach?” I looked at her, her small hand clutching a blue green crayon in a fist, coloring almost a third of the paper with inconsistent stroke patterns. The space above it was beige where five stick figures were drawn: two huge and three smaller ones. At the side, thick brown-colored vertical strokes were prominent, with thin green lines drawn with left and right strokes alternately.

It’s the beach. It must have been a while for her. She must have loved it there.

“You’ll go soon with your family, Faith.” I gave her assurance automatically. Instilling hope in the child would surely make her happier. Faith released her crayon and gazed at her work, then proceeded to look at me carefully yet somehow full of love. And how I’m fond of looking at her back.

“Promise?” She asked slowly, hopefully. She raised her pinky towards my direction. Me on the other hand, overjoyed at her response, thoughtlessly decided to play along. I showed her my pinky and approached hers, touching. I laughed, her whole fist was only the size of my palm.

No matter how serious she intended to look, hints of maple syrup still visibly stained her cheeks, making me pull out some wipes to clean her up.

“Promise.”

“Faith, you did it again?” I turned and saw Yvonne looking with affection and patience, now casually dressed up with jeans and a plain white shirt.

Yvonne carried Faith and sat her on her lap as she proceeded to clean her up more thoroughly. She proceeded to light-heartedly reprimand her along the lines of “Don’t steal strawberries” and “Let’s cook pancakes” while attempting to tickle the younger. Faith giggled at her sister’s actions. After her shows of affection, she responded to me more comfortably than before, “Ma’am, thank you for your patience. I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

She gently reached for my hand and gave me money. I looked at her. “For the pancakes she ate,” Yvonne answered immediately.

I didn’t mind paying for her at all, though. But then, Yvonne is family. She has that responsibility.

Instead I ask, “Does she always draw that?” as Yvonne started shoving Faith’s crayons and paper into her tote bag.

“Yes, although I still don’t know why. Every man or woman she met, she would draw that for them and make them promise to go to the sea. She calls all of them mom. I would always ask her why but she would only say it’s to find our mom.”

Yvonne continued talking. Apparently she brought up the matter to their father recently. While he didn’t mind it, believing that Faith will grow out of it one day, Yvonne insisted he should try talking to her too.

Yvonne paused and looked at Faith, she busied her hands in fixing her sister’s loose pigtails then continued, “I just want to know, even if it doesn’t make sense.”

Faith grabbed Yvonne’s hand and played with it, pressing her thumbs down Yvonne’s palms. Yvonne and I laughed at the action. The spark of youth I thought Yvonne lost was reignited in Faith’s presence.

I shook my head, “Isn’t that normal? I mean she must have loved the sea. Maybe it reminds Faith of her mother?”

Yvonne smiled sadly, “Probably. But we both lost Mom when she was born…”

It piqued my interest, “And?”

“She’s never been to the sea.”

They left me after that; feeling empty, lonelier than ever, despite the sudden influx of new customers in a rush. Fresh faces simply passing in my mind. I would have stayed longer if not for the other waitresses who were already wary of my presence, eager to please their growing line of customers with a seat.

Yvonne also forgot to bring Faith’s drawing. A windy breeze passed through, and the paper fell from the table. I picked it up and gently patted away the dust that settled there with my fingers.

Looking at it again, I noticed more details. Each stick figure had colored clothes. Shirt, shoes, hat, everything. All five figures wore a happy face. I flipped the paper and saw scribbles. Numbers.

2004

Then something clicked. I quickly grabbed my notebook, looking for something.

That was decades ago. Is it really possible?

Finally, I pulled out a picture from my notebook’s pocket. It was once developed, but the colors are still vibrant, easily distinguishing the shades and hues of each floral pattern on our sale-bought Hawaiian shirts. If not for the faded handwriting behind it, it would still look new from afar.

Hawaii, 2004. My ninth life.

Tears streamed down my face. I could care less for all the wondering gazes sent to me. I laugh remembering Faith’s restless habit of swinging her legs as she sat down. It reminded me of someone dearly. The picture was identical with the drawing, despite the skill. I flipped the picture:

All in the good years with Faye, Luke, and Hugo.

Half of me doesn’t want to believe it. Because it hurts my heart that my daughter would suffer the same fate I did. Wandering aimlessly for lifetimes without anyone knowing exactly the names of the people who left and hurt you. Knowing that the ones who loved you had moved on, except for you.

My mind starts running with questions and trains of thoughts.

Was it her first past life? What could have happened in those two and a half decades after I left? Most importantly, how did she die? Wasn’t it too early? Is it really her?

Knowing I can’t immediately jump into conclusions, I turned to my notebook and retrieved as much information about her as possible. Faye, being the youngest of the three, was the most free-spirited and relentless of them all. She makes sure she can keep up with her brothers and their hobbies: sports and the likes.

The Hawaii trip was her favorite: it was the first time she beat her brothers in a swimming race despite the fierce cerulean waves of the sea splashing on its pearly white shores. And ever since, Faye would always boast about that achievement.

But to no avail, my frustration got the best of me, realizing that my notebook lacked enough relevant information. I can’t even remember any encounter with Faye that could support my suspicions. I sighed, already feeling defeated. I could have done a better job of documenting.

My mind recounts the events earlier, still not being able to comprehend the possibility of other people remembering past lives. More so the chance of encountering one, thinking it might take at least fifty lives to do so. But that idea bloomed into existence, manifested in Faith’s existence.

My heart beat erratically at the thought of it. Who knew there was a chance of meeting her in another lifetime? I might be wrong about Faith. I could be mistaken about everything. But the thought of children going through the struggle of remembering past lives? That was a possibility I couldn’t ignore. Even if they were once mine or not.

Everyone deserves to feel safe, no matter how outrageous their circumstances are. And with that guidance, Faith or any other child that had to go through living lives will always feel supported.

I laughed. It really is the mother in me.

I paid for my bill and left with the drawing in hand. There are things to be taken care of first. Preparation is essential and it need not be long.

After all, I promised Faith another trip to the beach.