First Part: My Solitary North Star

Pain in life is  something more constant than love or faith. A feeling that may never abandon a heart in each gloomy rainy dawn or blistering summer night that he is forced to endure. Its presence can even grow into an unfading companion  more than a family or a friend can ever offer.

I sat there on the long rusted white-painted bench of a local provincial bus terminal waiting for him along with other passengers who now tried to lie flat and rob a nap while waiting for their own trip. I on the other hand, tugged a copy of the Metro Chronicles, trying to kill time by reading some random entertainment article about two Hollywood actresses that have gone into different paths in their respective career. The page shows two ironic pictures of the two, the first dark-haired actress was all smiling and glamorous in her very neat swept up hairstyle while the blonde was shown in perhaps her ugliest photo with her scarlet red lipstick was not working with her mouth that was awkwardly parted (which gave me the idea that the picture was taken while she was in a middle of some argument), her yellow blonde mane was messy and she totally look like she was harassed or something.

The better looking actress, Atasha Pri just won herself an Oscar for her outstanding performance in her latest film that bagged recognitions from almost all award giving bodies, while the young haggard Lola Truman scores herself an exclusive contract with an alcoholic slash drug rehabilitation facility plus an ultimate  meet and greet opportunity with the state prosecutors and other prominent authorities of the law. As  I skimmed the page with my eyes moving on the bottom part almost covering my face to continue  and to ward off the malicious stare of an old man whose face can no longer give space to more of  his sprouting,swollen  and puss filled acne and who was just sitting across me.

The author of the newspaper assessed that Atasha and Lola's differences were varied because of their parent's extremely different manner of raising a child. Atasha were raised by good folks who asked her to stop her acting career to finish her studies at an ivy league university such as Harvard. The obedient child then  did as she was told and brought home a diploma in Psychology.Alongside of this rare educational accomplishment for a Hollywood actress, were lead roles in numerous plays from New York's outstanding theaters and other notable achievements.

Unfortunately,Lola was left to endure the stage parenting of both her showbiz parents who pushed her to do stuff and made her own identity erode. After starring in different block buster films starting when she was just eight years old she then became an all time favorite for the tabloids and gossip hungry paparazzi that made her famous in all the negative sense there could possibly be. She was seen dating men and lesbians at the same time, smoking pot and marijuana after getting wasted on too much clubbing and partying all night. Recently, she was headlined for the nth time for crashing her car while trying to get away from her old business partner who was trying to get her for unsettled financial obligations. Then the writer of the newspaper bade both actresses good luck in their endeavors.

I on the other was muttering, "Yes, thank you for the fair and just journalism Einstein." concealing a sarcastic tone feeling utterly sympathetic to Lola whose films I have seen countless times and whose life I can at least claim to understand.

After that, I tried flipping through the pages again and laughed silently on the hilarious comic strips that were published in black and white. Of course I purposely ignored the crossword puzzle, I was "oh puhleeez!"  like as if I needed more thinking to keep my brain busy. That day, I kind of feel like my heart and my mind were so tired to do their routinely roles which was to constantly worry and ache for all that I am worth.Then just when I was beginning to get bored and consider the time so much in its funeral already, since I was trying to kill time earlier, wasn't I?

Then, like a ray of light in that gloomy cloudy afternoon of a rainy summer Lucas came. He was already standing in front of me like a cavalier ready to serve his damsel in distress while smiling like a little boy who just saw a red balloon for the first time.

"Sorry to keep you waiting my Perdita Leonore" he said giggling as he sat beside me and I slouched a little, faking a close to tantrum look for he knew I hate it when he calls me by my ugh so old from the dusty baul(wooden chest) given names. Names that depict who I am, what I have been,what I always will be and what I can only be, no further different from the fictitious characters powerfully created by literary masters. I am as literally the human equate of the lost girl from Shakespeare and the lady who was forever lost as far as Edgar Allan Poe is concerned.

I looked at him much  longer than I should have normally looked at someone, trying to fight the tears and the stories throbbing inside me aching to be heard.  I fought the urge and plastered a smile instead, the corners of my mouth stung a little, perhaps my facial nerves was in so much protest of my advocacy in pretending to be happy or at the very least look okay to other people, including to the only man I love.

More than all this mix of thoughts and emotions, I knew better, that Lucas has been so good to me and someone whom I cannot live without. I have decided, he does not deserve a part of my misery. Definitely, not him, not my ray of light, not my Solitary North Star...