"How did I come to know you?
I saw you at the corner of my eye, like a weak candle flame that is extinguished the moment you pass by it. The same applies to me. When I saw you for the first time, we passed by each other on the street, and for that inscrutable moment, I decided to look back. But the moment I did, you were gone, and you left me wondering what kind of person you were. Isn't it funny how we pass by hundreds of strangers a day, but we never really take the time to ponder about their identities? That day, the thought might have crossed my mind that I never got to really know anyone because my mother had always restricted my company to the head of the family, like how someone builds a fence to mark the limits to his or her own property.
The second time I saw you, you were sitting on school steps with your hair pulled back in a severe matronly way that I thought that was oppressing to you. I thought it might have been nice if your hair was unrestrained, blowing in the breeze with the tendrils crossing your face as you laughed. But you didn't laugh then, your mouth was in a straight puckered line and your eyes were lifeless like a flower that has been kept in the dark for far too long. You seemed to be poring over textbooks the size of dictionaries, far too big of a context for someone as young as you. Girls your age back then played skip rope on the streets and played hopscotch on chalk-drawn boxes. Seeing you bent over in study on those street steps, I felt sorry for you. I wanted to throw those books away, take your hand and show you the world.
The third time I saw you, you were with your mother. I hid in the shadows, blue cap covering my face. You passed by me without noticing, or maybe it was because you were far too preoccupied to detect my presence. Even while walking you weren't given a moment's rest, for your mother was drilling you in vocabulary. I saw your fingers nervously play around with the ends of your shirt, as you responded to every one in a voice that was reminiscent of mines when I talked with my elders – reserved and emotionless. I followed you until you reached your house, where I hid behind the shrubbery. At that moment, a wrong answer spilled from your lips and your mother stopped in her tracks and grabbed your arm. She threw the flashcards she had her hands onto the ground before you and told you to study for an extra hour, calling you a stupid, useless child.
When she left, I saw you pick up those flashcards wearily and tuck them inside your shirt before you trekked back into the house. And at that moment, I had just realized something, from looking at the snow covered around me, and the cherry blossom tree in your garden that bore no flowers.
It was Christmas Day.
She tucked the note under her pillow, and looked outside at the snowflakes swirling around in dreamlike patterns. It was February, and it was still snowing. Maybe he would come by in the middle of the day and build her a snowman like that fateful Christmas Day. But then again, it was only snowing lightly and there was probably not enough snow to build one.
She rolled over to the side and saw the white tip of the note sticking out from under her pillow. Wanting to read the words again for comfort and peace, she pulled it out from beneath her covers and unfolded it. It was only then did she realize that on the other side of the sheet was a crudely drawn snowman with miniscule snow falling down from a cloud drawn on the top.
It seemed that he had not forgotten either.