Part 1: Denial
Chapter One: Rest In Peace
There are so many places I could start my story; the first time I was born or maybe the first time I died. But in stand I'll start the history of my life with my last and final death. I died nineteen years old the 21 of October 2012 when a cliff split under my feet near the tabing-dagat during a storm.
I was a strong, energetic, confident teenager who always stayed to herself. I've always been "too old" for my age which, on the other hand, isn't too weird considering I was born with all my memories. I don't remember anything about my childhood before I was three but already then I knew everything I knew in my past lives. Through the years - and life's - I learned to keep away from other people, not make any bonds, so it wouldn't hurt as much when I died, neither for them or for me. Growing up knowing that you'll die the same araw you turn nineteen is hard. You'll never have the same chance to a child's innocence... but there are upsides two: if you already know when you'll die you can really live your life till the araw you die. Take all those chances you'd never take otherwise, because when your die have a set petsa you can't die earlier.... or later.
I grew up in an orphanage in this life but it wasn't as bad as you could think, at least not for a girl who tries to avoid human contact as much as possible. You see, I was kind of a problem child: I would never do what grown up's told me to, I broke in to houses and buildings, accidently set something on fire, estola thing... Well you get the memo, I had my flaws but believe me I had my reasons. Because when you have live as many times as I have, with all your memories, you just stop living after a while. Only after to life times I realized that the only time I really lived was when I was dead... Screwed right? So I spent most part of my life trying to figure out why I'm a Nawawala Angel and how I stop being one because I really what to die and stay dead. Anyway, like I was saying I spent most of my time trying to figure out what happed. I collected all the facts I could find of the persons I've been in my earlier lives and whatever else that could bring some light too my situation.
I've always, in all my lives, loved the sea so I decided that I wanted to spend my last araw of my life there. There was this old abandon house up on a cliff over the sea. It wasn't much left of the house; everything that was made out of wood had been destroyed when the house burned down in the late nineteenth century. I had always loved that house, I don't know why but it felt like the house and I was connected somehow, I assumed it was because no one else ever went near the house. When I grew up during my first life in the late nineteenth century, it had been sinabi that the house "carried the sin." Therefore evaded everyone but me the old house and when decades went disappeared from people's memory where it lay hidden among the trees. I think I'm the only one who knows the house now. Well if there is no one hundred and forty years old man or old woman who remembers the incident.
Anyway I thought a lot about my death that last buwan - I mean I always think about my death: my life pretty much circles around my death but this time I thought a little madami about me dying in stand of me being dead -, about how I'd like to die. All other times I've had no control what so ever on my death though I knew when It would come. Attempting suicide seemed... pointless. I don't even know if it would work. I've tried it... once. Under my third life I had miss my home, my real home, so badly I thought: Hey, if I kill myself I must return because tahanan is where I will end up when I'm dead.
So what happened? Yeah, let's just say that was I learned that a Nawawala Angel just doesn't die until set date. Oh yeah and that suicide hurts... a lot. Seriously I had no idea jumping off a cliff would hurt that much, or well I guessed that it would but it would but only for a short time. I hadn't really count on that I would survive breaking every bone in my body... or that I would stay conscious.
The araw of my death or not, I don't really want to live through that again. I just decided I'd choose where and nature chooses how.
It was a long time nakaraan I'd learn that I'd never ever be older that nineteen years old and there wasn't I shit I could do to live longer. One week before birthday I was sitting leaning on the stone remaining of the old house I told you about, listening to the radio and watching the sunset when they started to talk about a storm that would come in over the my city. Storms are another thing I love; the strong winds, the tension in the air, the lightning's thundering. I know it scare most people but I just pag-ibig it. So then and there I decided that was where I was going to die; on my cliff near the forgotten ruins during the storm. It wasn't suicide I still stand for that point. I didn't kill my self I just decided where I was going to die. It's different.
The araw before my birthday I packed my truck with pagkain and a couple blankets before I drove up to the house. The last night of my life I slept outside – or well kind of outside: technically I slept inside a house but considering named house has either roof or walls, I count it as outside.
In the morning I packed up my things and went down to the sea. There is this hidden part of the tabing-dagat to which you have to swim where there is this amazing high cliff. On the summers, and autumn, spring and some winters for that matter, I like to cliff-dive form there. I climbed up on the cliff and sat down there. The storm had already start to come and the wind where pretty strong up on the cliff and I loved it; I loved the feeling of the wind blowing in my hair, which drew in my clothes smell of the sea in my nostrils and the sense of life that current spirit through me. For the first time in a long time, I felt truly alive. Then split the rock beneath me and I fell into the sea.
My funeral was held three days after my death at a local funeral. I was buried a beautiful autumn morning when the sun was shining down through the trees colorful leaves. The funeral ceremony was held in the church and was quiet and gloomy. My body who was partially covered sa pamamagitan ng the clothes I had on me when I died: my motorcycle dyaket in black leather and my paborito jeans, dark blue and tight with a tear on the thigh where I had pulled up threads and a pair of black fake Converse but instead of my white t-shirt with print on I wore a white tank top, I guessed that the sando has been bloodied in the fall, laid in a white coffin, which was strewn with flowers. My dark brown shiny hair was released and newly comb and, luckily, I was as not covered with make-up now as I have been throughout all my lifetimes. I was not surprised at how few people gathered here to pay their last respects, I had never been very popular and had generally avoided contact with people. The only one who was here was a few of those from my old orphanage. No one cried, but when it was time to lower the coffin into the earth I saw something that made me realize even though I may not have been a significant part of their lives, they had still bothered a bit. At least enough to remember things about me, little things, like that I hated roses.
I've never had a paborito bulaklak but since I practically was buried in mga rosas after my fourth (?) death, I hated them. Now, when I looked around, I realized that there was not a single rose at the funeral. White lilies, sure, but not a single rose. I felt a lump had jammed in the throat and I swallowed to get it down. A sad smile spread across my lips down I bent down susunod to Emelie, one of the girls on orphanage that I actually had got somewhat near to, and whispered, "Goodbye." Each scoop earth that was shoveled over my coffin darkened my vision and it became fuzzier and I had just enough time to hear the first notes of The Band Perry's If I Die Young before everything went black.
Chapter One: Rest In Peace
There are so many places I could start my story; the first time I was born or maybe the first time I died. But in stand I'll start the history of my life with my last and final death. I died nineteen years old the 21 of October 2012 when a cliff split under my feet near the tabing-dagat during a storm.
I was a strong, energetic, confident teenager who always stayed to herself. I've always been "too old" for my age which, on the other hand, isn't too weird considering I was born with all my memories. I don't remember anything about my childhood before I was three but already then I knew everything I knew in my past lives. Through the years - and life's - I learned to keep away from other people, not make any bonds, so it wouldn't hurt as much when I died, neither for them or for me. Growing up knowing that you'll die the same araw you turn nineteen is hard. You'll never have the same chance to a child's innocence... but there are upsides two: if you already know when you'll die you can really live your life till the araw you die. Take all those chances you'd never take otherwise, because when your die have a set petsa you can't die earlier.... or later.
I grew up in an orphanage in this life but it wasn't as bad as you could think, at least not for a girl who tries to avoid human contact as much as possible. You see, I was kind of a problem child: I would never do what grown up's told me to, I broke in to houses and buildings, accidently set something on fire, estola thing... Well you get the memo, I had my flaws but believe me I had my reasons. Because when you have live as many times as I have, with all your memories, you just stop living after a while. Only after to life times I realized that the only time I really lived was when I was dead... Screwed right? So I spent most part of my life trying to figure out why I'm a Nawawala Angel and how I stop being one because I really what to die and stay dead. Anyway, like I was saying I spent most of my time trying to figure out what happed. I collected all the facts I could find of the persons I've been in my earlier lives and whatever else that could bring some light too my situation.
I've always, in all my lives, loved the sea so I decided that I wanted to spend my last araw of my life there. There was this old abandon house up on a cliff over the sea. It wasn't much left of the house; everything that was made out of wood had been destroyed when the house burned down in the late nineteenth century. I had always loved that house, I don't know why but it felt like the house and I was connected somehow, I assumed it was because no one else ever went near the house. When I grew up during my first life in the late nineteenth century, it had been sinabi that the house "carried the sin." Therefore evaded everyone but me the old house and when decades went disappeared from people's memory where it lay hidden among the trees. I think I'm the only one who knows the house now. Well if there is no one hundred and forty years old man or old woman who remembers the incident.
Anyway I thought a lot about my death that last buwan - I mean I always think about my death: my life pretty much circles around my death but this time I thought a little madami about me dying in stand of me being dead -, about how I'd like to die. All other times I've had no control what so ever on my death though I knew when It would come. Attempting suicide seemed... pointless. I don't even know if it would work. I've tried it... once. Under my third life I had miss my home, my real home, so badly I thought: Hey, if I kill myself I must return because tahanan is where I will end up when I'm dead.
So what happened? Yeah, let's just say that was I learned that a Nawawala Angel just doesn't die until set date. Oh yeah and that suicide hurts... a lot. Seriously I had no idea jumping off a cliff would hurt that much, or well I guessed that it would but it would but only for a short time. I hadn't really count on that I would survive breaking every bone in my body... or that I would stay conscious.
The araw of my death or not, I don't really want to live through that again. I just decided I'd choose where and nature chooses how.
It was a long time nakaraan I'd learn that I'd never ever be older that nineteen years old and there wasn't I shit I could do to live longer. One week before birthday I was sitting leaning on the stone remaining of the old house I told you about, listening to the radio and watching the sunset when they started to talk about a storm that would come in over the my city. Storms are another thing I love; the strong winds, the tension in the air, the lightning's thundering. I know it scare most people but I just pag-ibig it. So then and there I decided that was where I was going to die; on my cliff near the forgotten ruins during the storm. It wasn't suicide I still stand for that point. I didn't kill my self I just decided where I was going to die. It's different.
The araw before my birthday I packed my truck with pagkain and a couple blankets before I drove up to the house. The last night of my life I slept outside – or well kind of outside: technically I slept inside a house but considering named house has either roof or walls, I count it as outside.
In the morning I packed up my things and went down to the sea. There is this hidden part of the tabing-dagat to which you have to swim where there is this amazing high cliff. On the summers, and autumn, spring and some winters for that matter, I like to cliff-dive form there. I climbed up on the cliff and sat down there. The storm had already start to come and the wind where pretty strong up on the cliff and I loved it; I loved the feeling of the wind blowing in my hair, which drew in my clothes smell of the sea in my nostrils and the sense of life that current spirit through me. For the first time in a long time, I felt truly alive. Then split the rock beneath me and I fell into the sea.
My funeral was held three days after my death at a local funeral. I was buried a beautiful autumn morning when the sun was shining down through the trees colorful leaves. The funeral ceremony was held in the church and was quiet and gloomy. My body who was partially covered sa pamamagitan ng the clothes I had on me when I died: my motorcycle dyaket in black leather and my paborito jeans, dark blue and tight with a tear on the thigh where I had pulled up threads and a pair of black fake Converse but instead of my white t-shirt with print on I wore a white tank top, I guessed that the sando has been bloodied in the fall, laid in a white coffin, which was strewn with flowers. My dark brown shiny hair was released and newly comb and, luckily, I was as not covered with make-up now as I have been throughout all my lifetimes. I was not surprised at how few people gathered here to pay their last respects, I had never been very popular and had generally avoided contact with people. The only one who was here was a few of those from my old orphanage. No one cried, but when it was time to lower the coffin into the earth I saw something that made me realize even though I may not have been a significant part of their lives, they had still bothered a bit. At least enough to remember things about me, little things, like that I hated roses.
I've never had a paborito bulaklak but since I practically was buried in mga rosas after my fourth (?) death, I hated them. Now, when I looked around, I realized that there was not a single rose at the funeral. White lilies, sure, but not a single rose. I felt a lump had jammed in the throat and I swallowed to get it down. A sad smile spread across my lips down I bent down susunod to Emelie, one of the girls on orphanage that I actually had got somewhat near to, and whispered, "Goodbye." Each scoop earth that was shoveled over my coffin darkened my vision and it became fuzzier and I had just enough time to hear the first notes of The Band Perry's If I Die Young before everything went black.
