By: rogue
Graphics by: Cassius Klai C. Francisco
Photo by: Daphne Ysabella P. Dion
In an instance where an angel would appear in my dreams to ask for what my heart yearns for, I would wish for a universe where I wouldn’t be afraid to hold her hand, not receiving tormenting stares for doing so.
I wish for a universe where her mother knows me more than just a dear friend, where I can dream freely of a veil on her head while I wait down the aisle, nervous as the bells crash and birds sing in harmony, where we’d be thrilled if our offspring would inherit her sleek cheekbones or my narrow forehead.
Suppose I happen to free a genie inside a bottle to grant my three wishes. In that case, I’d only ask for one: A world where my seven-year-old self wouldn’t be confused as to why I’m not gushing over the tall prince with a charming smile in the fairy tale I used to watch — just like how my playmates did him, how the definition of a normal little girl in my world should be.
I would wish for a world where tiny old me wouldn’t feel terrible and scared due to my stomach twirling whenever I see Princess Rapunzel on screen—wondering why I want to be always near the pretty girl by the playground more than anyone else, tying her shoelaces, brushing her hair.
When the Grim Reaper arrives to claim my soul, I hope the afterlife will be more forgiving for millions of individuals like me. Contrary to my belief in rebirth, I would like to be born again in a life where a phase of feeling my entirety as sin wouldn’t exist.
If an entire galaxy were given to me on a silver platter, I would trade billions of heavenly bodies that come along with it for a small island where I’m free to love my own kind. I just know one thing for sure: despite the complications and chaos this world offers, if the multiverse is real, I’m brave in all of them.
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