"More than a stunning debut. It is the announcement of a bold new literary voice"
—Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower

I have never really acknowledged this, but as I read “Love Letters to the Dead”, I realize that there are a lot of things that I’ve never known about you. When I was a child, you were (and still are) my favorite ninang, because you weren’t the kind to just disappear after my baptism. I remember so little of my childhood, but I remember you, in a white dress, smiling at me.
I remember the little paper stars that you gave me. There was a whole, small box of them, all in different colors. I had a hard time giving some of them up to give to my sister, but you insisted. I lost them–I wish I hadn’t. They were supposed to be proof that once upon a time, you did live and you did make a little girl happy.
But I also remember seeing you at the hospital, not truly knowing what was happening. I remember going down the stairs all the time to see the fishes near the staircase, swimming freely around the clear little pond. I don’t remember seeing you on the hospital bed, but I think that’s better. If I remember you there, I would have a hard time letting you go. I remember a funeral, I remember “sadness” (this was, of course, before I found out the correct word was grief), I remember everything and nothing.
The thing about losing someone when you’re a child is that it only ever hits you when you’re old enough to understand. I don’t remember why you ever died, but now that I think about it, they might have told me and I might have forgotten it because when you’re a child, you never understand complex things.
I recall a night when I had read a book and the character talks to a star that he/she believes to be the passed-away person he/she care(s) about. I tried it once. But the thing is, I had to search my soul. I realize now that I only lost one person in my family. I am truly grateful for that, but somehow I wish that you’re still alive. I feel like I could talk to you for anything. And, being the crybaby that I am, I cried while talking to you. Maybe because I then truly, really, believed you are dead and I didn’t even realize it.
Reading the book made me realize how lucky I am. A lot of these people have lost so many things, and here I am, wadding through life with a complete family. I think…I think I may have lost my confidence when I lost you. Because right now, I can’t even join a club without first making sure that it doesn’t involve dancing or singing in front of a crowd.
I hope that while you watch over me, you’re proud. You’re proud of who I am now, proud of who I’m building myself to be. I hope you can continue becoming the star of my life; the anchor that keeps me grounded even as I’m getting numb with pain and hurt and loss.
People lose, get hurt, get left behind, but you were always smiling. Through everything, you had on an ethereal smile, a smile that, even though when I close my eyes I can no longer remember your face, will get etched in my heart. It will remind me to smile at everything and everyone, too. A lot of people remind me of you. But there’s one: she’s a nurse and she wears glasses and she’s soft-spoken and she smiles twenty-four hours–I fool myself, for just one moment, that you’re her.
It hurts to lose someone you love. But what hurts even more is losing a part of who you are. From there, you always have to find out who you are. I imagine your smile and hope that, as you look down from your heavenly bliss, you twinkle, and lead me to where you are someday, and it’ll all feel like I was simply dreaming, and in blissful ignorance.
You have taught me to smile. Through the stories that I weave and write, I will teach people to feel. Be brave. Seize every ounce of feeling and emotions. This is sad, but I’ll tell you this: sometimes I’ll reach out to hold you, but you keep getting farther and farther away…
This is a poem I made:
Thank you for the feeling of love and being free,
For the sound of the calming sea.

For the smell of you fragrance,
For our ever-silent dance.

For the sight of you and me,
I thank thee.

I’ll never be truly free from the past,
But I’ll keep in mind the spell you cast.

I had originally addressed this to a boy I liked, but I realize now that it fits you more. I hope you like it. One day, I will be brave. One day, I will be really, truly happy. One day, I’ll look up at the stars and reach out to you. And maybe one day, you’ll reach out to me, too.