Nice to (Re)Meet You

2 | let that mango

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2

let that mango

FOR THE SECOND TIME today, I heard the same stupid love song.

I was out on a grocery run in a nearby supermarket, examining the group of Philippine mangoes in front of me and weighing one with my hand, when it happened—snippets of the song sounded somewhere in the next aisle, making me freeze on spot.

Just like that, I was made the unwilling audience of the memories I wish I could forget.

It was flashes now, scenes overlapping each other, words like who are you and I'm Pio's girlfriend echoing in the background. And this time, I felt a sense of injustice—

It was unfair, really, how my favorite song had now become a flashback reel of tragedy. I couldn't listen to it the same way again, the magic of it poisoned by the curse of a relationship ending.

Worse still: the relationship ends, even when the feelings haven't.

"Excuse me, iha, kukunin mo ba 'yan?"

I was sucked back to the present by the voice of a woman who'd somehow materialized beside me. Wavy, silver-streaked hair framed her small face, faint wrinkles at the corner of her smiling eyes. She had about an inch on me, so I had to chin up a bit. Her strong jasmine perfume helped anchor me to the moment, making me realize she'd just asked me—in Filipino—if I'd be getting the mango.

I offered her a tentative smile, lifting my mango-carrying hand. "Yes po, I'll be getting this one."

If she was surprised that I understood her, she didn't show it. Instead, she nodded at my mango. "Pasensya ka na, ha. I noticed kasi you were just staring at it. Are you wondering if it's the sweetest?"

For a moment, I wondered what I would say if I were to tell the truth—that no, I wasn't staring at the mango and wondering if it was the sweetest. But yes, I was staring—into space, because my stubborn mind held me captive in a flashback.

It's like this, kind stranger: my ex and I were together for five years, right? (He's my first love, by the way.) But then he got into an accident, and now he doesn't remember me. We both had this song we loved so much we called it our song, and—get this—I just heard it in passing for the second time today! Isn't that crazy? I'm trying to move on, so, um, would you happen to know a higher-up that can issue a strategic ban on that song? You can say it's for charity.

Clearly, I couldn't say that—so I merely said, "Opo."

She tipped her head, curling her lip. "This one," she said, bending down to pick up a mango from the aisle, giving it a light squeeze. It was noticeably bigger than what I chose, which I thought was already the biggest. How had I missed that? She extended it to me, an almost proud twinkle in her eye. "Bigger, and sweeter."

Good thing she wasn't holding a banana.

I gave her a polite smile, taking the mango from her. "Thank you po," I said, my chirpy intonation belying my confusion, carefully placing both the mango I chose and the one she picked out for me in my crowded cart.

But since I wasn't quite in the mood to socialize—my social energy had been completely zapped by this conversation alone—I was about to excuse myself, when I caught someone striding over to us, schlepping their full shopping cart in front of them. It must be the woman's companion, seeing as the woman didn't have any cart or basket with her—