Journal Entry

March 5, 2025 – 22:35 PM

I'm sitting here in the dark, surrounded by the silence of my room, and all I can think about is that night. The night everything changed. The night my world came crashing down.

I remember walking through the door, exhausted from school, but still feeling a spark of excitement. "I'm home!" I shouted, dropping my bag by the entrance. But the living room was empty. Too quiet. I thought maybe Dad was resting in his room, so I tiptoed upstairs, hoping to surprise him.

And then I saw him.

I don't know how to describe what happened next. Time seemed to slow down, and everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. I fell to the floor, my hand covering my mouth to stifle the scream that was building in my throat. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could do was stare at him, hanging from the ceiling, his body swaying gently like a puppet on a string.

I called the police, but my hands were shaking so hard I could barely dial the numbers. I remember crying so hard that my vision blurred. The ambulance came, but deep down, I already knew it was too late.

That night, I lost my dad. I lost my sense of security. I lost my innocence. And I gained a weight of guilt that I'll carry with me for the rest of my life.

I keep thinking about what I could have done differently. Was he struggling silently, hiding his pain behind a mask of normalcy? Was he trying to tell me something, and I was too blind, too caught up in my own world to see? The questions haunt me, taunting me with the possibility that I might have saved him if only I had been more aware, more attentive.

I replay our conversations in my head, searching for signs I might have missed. I remember the way he'd smile, the way he'd laugh, but I don't recall seeing the pain behind his eyes. Or maybe I did, and I just chose to ignore it.

I wish I could turn back time. I wish I could hug him more, listen more, ask if he's okay. But wishes are just that – wishes. And reality is harsh.

Tonight, as I sit here in the darkness, I'm overwhelmed by the realization that I'll never get to tell him how much I love him, how much I need him. The pain is suffocating, and I'm left with the echoes of what could have been, what should have been.

I look around my room, and everything reminds me of him. The photo on my desk, the way he'd tease me about my messy room. It's all still here, but he's not. And that realization hits me like a ton of bricks every time.

I don't know how to move forward from here. I don't know how to heal from this wound. But for now, I'll just sit here, surrounded by the shadows of my past, and let the tears fall. Maybe someday, I'll find a way to let go of the guilt, to forgive myself for not seeing the signs. But until then, I'll hold on to the memories, and the pain.

They say you’ll never know unless you try.

Well, I tried… and now, I know.

And honestly? Knowing hurts more than not trying.

“Xianne Ramirez?”

The coach's voice broke through the silence of the gym, echoing against the walls still ringing with the sharp squeaks of rubber soles and the soft thuds of shuttlecocks. Training had just ended. The players, breathless and glistening with sweat, sat cross-legged on the floor—exhausted, but hopeful.

“Yes, Coach?” I replied, wiping my forehead with the sleeve of my jersey.

“Come here. I need to tell you something.”

His expression was unreadable, but his tone gave it away. My heart thudded with a heavy rhythm as I stood and approached.

He told me about the results of the last tournament.

And just like that—

I didn’t make it.

“Just focus on your academics for now. You’re still young, and you’re about to graduate. There are many more opportunities in the future. This doesn’t mean you should stop. Just keep doing what you always do,” Coach Jay Madayag said, his voice steady but kind.

“Thank you, Coach.”

I managed a smile—one that didn't quite reach my eyes—and quietly returned to my seat.

I worked harder than anyone else when it came to badminton. I was always the first to arrive, the last to leave. I gave everything I had—every serve, every sprint, every breath. I often won…

But I guess you never truly understand what defeat feels like until it’s yours to carry.

“Jas! Did you get in?” Eric's voice sliced through the air like a sudden gust of wind. He turned to Jasper, who was sitting just a few feet in front of me.

Jasper nodded.

“Nice one! You’ve been waiting for this moment, bro!” Eric exclaimed, clapping his shoulder. Their voices buzzed in my ears. I looked at them but felt a million miles away.

“Xianne?”

Michelle’s voice tugged me gently back into the present.

“Huh? Sorry—what was that?”

Jasper glanced over at us, his face unreadable.

“We’re heading to the karaoke booth. Wanna come?”

“Sorry… I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Again?” Rika muttered.

“You’ve been turning us down for days. Where do you keep going?” Shiela pressed, her brows knit.

“To my dad’s office,” I lied smoothly. “Sorry, maybe next time.”

“Alright, take care. Call me when you get home,” Michelle said, her tone laced with concern. I nodded.

As I walked away, the laughter and whispers behind me started to fade—but the heaviness in my chest didn’t. They didn’t know the truth.

Only Michelle did.

Because she was there with me when it started. When everything began to fall apart.

—

“Mom… we’re here,” I said softly as we entered the sterile, too-white hospital room.

“Honey…” Dad whispered beside me.

Mom’s face lit up—tired, pale, but still glowing with warmth.

“Oh, you’re here…”

She looked so small in that bed, buried in linens and wires.

We asked if she was comfortable, if anything hurt. She smiled and nodded gently, always trying to be strong for us.

The doctor entered soon after. I watched as he took Dad aside.

Their hushed conversation didn’t need volume to be loud.

We were too late.

It was already late-stage cancer.

No one prepares you for that kind of grief—the slow, creeping one. The one that doesn’t strike all at once, but every single day in quiet ways.

I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

I’m still not.

—

Back at the gym, whispers started again.

“Wow, are you guys really friends with Xianne?” Eric said, disbelief coloring his voice.

“Gossiping already? Unbelievable,” Jude added, rolling his eyes.

“Think about her situation. She didn’t make it in the team. And now you’re inviting her to karaoke? Like, really?” Vince said, shaking his head.

“Exactly. You guys are something else,” Jude echoed.

“Our point is—we just wanted to cheer her up,” Rika said defensively.

“But the real issue is, you’re gossiping about her. What’s the point of your so-called ‘good intention’ if you’re just going to talk behind her back?” Eric retorted.

Michelle sighed—long and deep, like she’d been holding it all day.

“Guys, just stop. And you—Rika—I hope you reflect on what happened today. Stop gossiping about others if you don’t want others doing the same to you. I’m not joining you at the karaoke booth. You invited—you enjoy yourselves.”

Michelle grabbed her things and walked out without another word.

And just like that, silence followed.

Just like the kind she was used to.

Jasper watched as Xianne returned to her spot after speaking with their coach. That’s when he overheard the conversation between her and Michelle.

He found out she didn’t make it into the next tournament. Her expression said it all—disappointment and sadness clouded her usually bright face. Jasper was surprised. Xianne, their star player, had never lost a match in any tournament they joined. How could she not get in?

In contrast, Jasper had made it—and he still couldn’t believe it.

“You did a great job in the last game. Don’t belittle your efforts, Jasper. I saw how hard you worked to earn this. I know you don’t always win, but this time, you showed everyone you can rise, even after falling so many times. Keep going,” Coach Jay told him.

“Thank you, Coach. I’ll do my best for the team.”

Coach Jay nodded, a proud smile spreading across his face.

But no matter how many good things happened, bad ones always seemed to follow—like unwelcome guests crashing a celebration.

“I’m home...” Jasper called out as he opened the front door.

But once again, the first thing he heard was his parents fighting. It wasn’t anything new. Ever since he could remember, their house had echoed with screaming matches, hurtful words, and the sound of things being thrown in anger.

Despite growing up in that kind of environment, Jasper had a strong sense of right and wrong—thanks to his grandmother. She raised him with love and wisdom until she passed away when he was just eight. Her words still echoed in his heart, guiding him even now at twelve years old. Nothing in this house surprised him anymore.

The only thing he was thankful for was being an only child. No one else had to suffer like he did.

“What?!” his mother shouted.

“I said let’s get divorced. We lived in California for three years—we’ll file there.”

“In front of your son?! Fine! I’m taking custody!”

“Jasper can choose! He’s old enough to decide! You’ve always been so selfish!”

“And now I’m the selfish one?!”

Jasper could only sigh as he climbed the stairs and shut himself in his room. He sat on his bed, thoughts swirling. Who would he choose? Mom or Dad?

The truth? He didn’t want to choose either.

He didn’t love either of them. Aside from making sure his education and financial needs were met, they had no real relationship with him. No warmth. No real care.

He had no good memories with them—except for a few fleeting moments with his mom when he was younger, and only one memory of bonding with his dad.

“This is so exhausting...” Jasper whispered, letting out another sigh.

He decided to go to the badminton training area to clear his mind. When he came downstairs, he saw his dad watching TV. Jasper assumed the fight was still ongoing.

“Where are you going, Jas?” his father asked, voice firm and sharp.

“I’m going to train for a while. I’ll be back before dinner.”

“Okay. Make sure to join us. Your mother went out to buy ingredients. She’s cooking tonight.”

Jasper blinked in disbelief.

“That’s unusual…” he thought. “Mom never cooks for us.”

Still, he nodded. “Yes, Dad.”

When Jasper arrived at the training area, he expected silence—maybe the rhythmic thud of shuttlecocks echoing through the space, maybe the hum of the lights above. But what he didn’t expect was to see her there.

Xianne stood at the far end of the court, her form illuminated by the afternoon light that filtered through the high windows. Her movements were sharp but tired—every swing of her racket was precise, yet weighed down by something heavier than physical exhaustion. It was as if she was trying to hit the sadness away, one shuttle at a time.

Jasper paused at the entrance. For a second, he just watched her. Alone. Determined. Hurt.

She hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on her own quiet storm.

He took a breath and stepped onto the court.

“Hey…”

Xianne stopped, her racket mid-air, surprised by the voice.

“Jasper?” she asked, lowering her arm. Her voice was low, almost cautious.

“You okay?” he asked gently, walking toward her.

She gave a dry chuckle and looked away. “Do I look okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he grabbed a shuttle from the basket and tossed it in the air, hitting it toward her.

She caught it with her racket easily.

“I thought we could practice,” he said. “Unless… you want to be alone.”

For a moment, she didn’t respond. Then, she softly said, “No. I think I need someone here right now.”

They began playing—no score, no rules. Just soft rallies, back and forth. The sound of the shuttlecock was their only rhythm, the court their quiet refuge.

After a few minutes, Xianne broke the silence.

“You got in,” she said, her tone unreadable.

Jasper hesitated before replying. “Yeah... I did.”

“I’m happy for you,” she said, though her eyes were focused on the shuttlecock in her hand. “You deserved it.”

Jasper’s grip on his racket tightened. “But you did, too.”

She looked at him, surprised.

“I saw how hard you worked, Xianne. Everyone did. You’re the best player we have.”

Xianne gave a faint smile—sad and small. “Maybe being the best doesn’t matter when life has other plans.”

Jasper wanted to say something—anything—to take away even a fraction of her pain. But instead, he hit another shuttle toward her.

They kept going, back and forth, the silence between them filled with everything they couldn’t say out loud.

Two players. One court. Two heavy hearts.

And for a while, in that space between noise and quiet, pain and motion—they found comfort in the rhythm of their shared silence.