Multi-coated glasses

'Tis the season of break-ups.

I have noticed this recently, for the last couple of months. Couples I have always admired for staying together so long are now breaking up, or have already broken up, or are very well on their way of getting there.

These are the couples who have people saying, "Ah, sila na yan," or "Inaantay na nga lang namin yan [na magpakasal]."

If these things literally fall apart and crumble into teeny bits of residual guilt, anger, and good old-fashioned sadness, then what else is there to believe in?

I always had in mind that people knew true love in the 1920s: the time my grandparents met. My mother would always tell me how they would converse, my lolo singing humble hymns to my lola in the moonlight, and their walks in the park (when it was still safe).

The war broke loose, yet they remained loyal to each other, forging this great connection that surpassed even that truly depressing time.

My grandparents loved my mother and I so much I could still feel it now. I'm sure they're having a party in heaven, for all the Yñiguez boys (the four brothers who went Upstairs already whom my lolo Tomas is part of), being swing kids all over again. It was a sort of recompense for them, to enjoy the time the war took away.

I'll believe in that. I'll believe anything worth getting into is worth fighting for til the very end.