by Mayumi Cruz

You started it all, Serena.

The moment your dainty little feet stepped on the creamy white sand, I felt the moon’s invisible, magnetic pull tug at my heartstrings, spinning them into an infinite dance of tides. 

You sat upon the old stone, born of the salt of my tears, and unknowingly marked it as your own—-your dark tresses dancing with the wind. Your eyes wandered with awe, and my breath was caught in their beauty. You loved the sun as it touched your pink cheeks. Your gentle smile and your naiveté held me prisoner. And when you sang, your dulcet voice brought me unimaginable joy, and my heart burst into rainbows.

Lovingly, I singed your skin with my saltwater, leaving a faint mark on your ankle that would not fade. You became my child. 

Each day, I watched you grow into a beautiful lass, full of hope and promise. Each second you were away from the shore, my arms reached for you, longing to feel you again. I called for you, my voice tempered by the wind, even in ebony hours. 

And then, inevitably, as time passed, the breeze carried your song over surfaces and depths, over waters both stormy and still, into the place where light and darkness mixed and parted—until it reached the ears of one who belonged to me. 

*

You heard her, Litao. 

From the deepest depths, you listened. And when her voice pierced your icy heart, everything changed. Your finned ears pricked up, folding and unfolding. Your scales flared with the color of fire, spreading across your body like magma on the sea floor. I sighed, feeling the tingle of your desire; knowing that it was because of her made me smile.

Before, you were content to remain beneath the waves. Now, you sought the sound that moved the tides and made you want to fly. From your coral abode, you rose to catch a glimpse of the enchantment that held you captive for days and nights. I could hear, even across my rolling waves, the beating of your heart.

And when you saw her, you knew.  Two things you knew.

You knew you found the one, the only being worthy of every beat of your heart, and every second of your thoughts. 

You knew, too, that you were worlds apart. She was mortal; you were not. Her skin was smooth; you had scales. And feet she had, while you had a tail. 

You turned away, determined to forget the most beautiful bearer of songs. But your heart would not allow it. It wept and broke—you felt it break and mourn. It left you paralyzed. Then you understood: love did not hold or divide space. Love did not distinguish between worlds. 

Love, instead, was the world.

From that moment, you were on fire. You swore you would make her love you, no matter the cost. For days, you scoured the whitest pearls, and when you found them one evening, you left them at her door. She squealed with delight when she saw them in the morning, and your heart soared. 

But then, her earth mother warned her–for she feared you, Litao. She knew who you were; what you were. A mother always knows. You watched as the woman shut their door and hammered nails on the windows. You heard her say, “Anak, huwag kang lalapit sa dagat. It takes what it loves.” 

It cut like a knife. 

Like you, I felt a stab of pain. It was unfair of her to judge, to generalize. But fear can do that. 

Like the pearls you had harvested, the one you loved was locked up inside the comforts of her oyster, a prisoner in her own home. 

You could do nothing but watch her from afar. You gritted your sharp teeth and let out a long, soft wail–much like a tide that turned too soon, drawn away by the moon’s gravity before it could touch the land. 

A broken heart’s cry. 

A cry that made me shiver and weep. It pulled at my heartstrings. The white veins of the surf stood out on my dark arms and hands, forceful and strong. The wind, who thought I was only playing, caught the waves, carrying them to crash ashore. Again and again.

All night, you cried, and all night, I lashed out—for you. 

When morning came, the door to Serena’s house stood wide open, and she stepped out, grateful for the sun. But it wasn’t just the sun casting light. She glimpsed something glimmering in the water. Curious, she approached and looked  down–only to see you, Litao. 

The moment her eyes met yours, she was besotted. Your tail, your scales–they didn’t matter. What she saw was the kindness and tender love overflowing from your heart. You realized your fear was unfounded. 

Love can do that. Love can see beyond the exterior, straight to what lies within.

You reached your hand to her, she grasped it, and as she did, I surged up to meet her, wrapping myself around her. There was no turning back. Even her earth mother recognized it, tearfully waving  goodbye.

You pulled her into your kingdom, showing her every corner of lush coral gardens and dangerous reefs. You revealed your greenhouse of hydrophytes, rivers of clear glass, and fish of different shapes and sizes. She marveled at each one, and with every passing second, her love for you grew.

When she confessed she wanted to live with you forever, you had already decided. 

And though I could have stopped you, I knew it was a lost cause. I saw it in your eyes—resolute, unbreakable. 

Love can do that. Love can make the supreme sacrifice.

Who was I to counter? I did not own your will, nor command the beat of your heart. I may be water, but I can never steer the course.

You prepared a drink for her: a drink mixed with your blood. A potion so potent it would render her like you, a being with tails and scales and gills, to live in a kingdom of wonder and thrills forever.

“Drink this and share your life with mine,” you told her. She did not hesitate. She drank it in a single breath, never seeing the tears you furiously held back. 

Because you didn’t tell her, did you? She didn’t know the dark secret you withheld: that there was a price you had to pay for her immortality:

Death for you after a hundred years.

*

I watched you, Serena. 

I saw you live happily within my depths. You bloomed like a sea anemone, glowing with bioluminescent colors. You swam and glided as if you had never been born on land, exploring the deep, embracing the life you picked. And though at times I detected a longing for the sun in your eyes, you were content.

Your union with Litao gave me seven granddaughters, who became my everyday pride and joy. They surrounded me with their tinkling laughter, and every night I cradled them to sleep under my steady, throbbing heartbeat—a lullaby of rhythmic ebb and flow.

Until the last night of the ninety-ninth year came and Litao whispered gently in your ear: “A hundred years with you is better than an eternity without you.”

You were confused. You were scared. You asked him what he meant by that. 

Softly, gently, he told you. That in exchange for your immortality under the water, he had given up his own. 

You screamed. You slapped his handsome face, you beat your fists on his chest, demanding to know who gave him permission to do that. You pulled your hair and gnashed your teeth and wailed, wailed long throughout the night, unmindful of your daughters’ pleas to stop.

Your dreadful wails echoed within my trenches, and I swallowed sorrow, grief, rage. 

And fear. Fear of a life without him. 

But there was nothing you could do. As he placed his last, loving kiss on your lips, you fell asleep with tear-streaked cheeks, spent and exhausted. When you woke up, he was gone. 

He had turned into stone when dawn broke. 

You wept relentlessly for days and nights. You were inconsolable. Your daughters begged you to come with them, but you adamantly refused. You wanted to be left alone. But inside your castle, every corner reminded you of him, taunting you and tearing your heart again and again. You swam outside, you wandered aimlessly, blindly. Yet still, his face and his memories followed you. You wanted to die, but you could not. You just wanted to forget, to end the unbearable emptiness that had taken up residence in your heart. 

That was why, one evening, you found yourself by the shore. You did not speak, but the loud beating of your heart told me what you sought. I tried to snatch you away, to bring you back with me, but you paid me no mind, and the wind respected your wishes—it stayed and did not carry my waves. I watched helplessly as you hurled yourself onto the sand.

But even then, you did not find respite. Because when you touched land, your immortality refused to yield. Your lungs burst open, and air flooded in. Your tail shriveled and split into bone and flesh. I watched as your limbs and feet and toenails took shape, as your scales burrowed into new skin.  You writhed, you convulsed, remade into something that you once were–but not entirely. You screamed.

And he heard you—a  man, walking nearby, came rushing to your side. 

Ramon.

He reminded you of Litao with his kind eyes and warm smile. And grief vanished from your heart. He took you in, and once again, you found life among mortals. You bore him a son.

But Ramon’s eyes did not remain kind, nor did his smile stay warm. Whenever he was consumed with wine, or when he caught no fish, or when he just wanted to strike someone—most often, you. Every slap, every punch, every kick, you felt more intensely as the days went by. And though you prayed for rest, Litao’s gift healed every wound, mended every broken rib, and dragged you back from each dying breath.

It was a horror you did not fathom. You went from paradise to hell.

Many times, you tried to leave Ramon, but he would tearfully promise to change, shower you with gifts and attention—before going back to his old ways. Then, when that no longer worked, he turned to your son and punished him instead.

Many times, you went back to the shore, but your legs did not turn back into a tail no matter how deep you waded in my waters. You bit your lip and knew: Without Litao, there was no going back. 

You have become an exile. Not a stranger, but no longer my child. Many times, your heavy sighs reached me, as the bitter tears of regret on your face shone under the moonlight.  My heart went out to you, but there was nothing I could do. I could rage and roar and rise to reach the skies; the wind could carry and throw and toss my tears around. But beyond the shore, beyond that thin border of sand, the world belonged to the land, and the land only. My arms could not reach you there. And you—you had become a tailless creature of the shore, a thing I could no longer pull into my depths.

Your earth mother once told you that I take what I love. But this is the more cruel truth: I cannot take back the love I have lost.

And so, I watched you, day and night, impotently.

*

You watched her, too, Dayang Masalanta.

Not with pity, as I. But with outrage. Rage against her, and sorrow for Litao. 

For you had loved Litao even before the world began. You, whose dominion covers both land and water, and to whom I humbly bow. 

I witnessed the moment when, out of the purity of your heart, you had chosen to give way to Serena. You, a goddess, allowed yourself to be humbled in the name of love and peace, the sacrifice which you embodied. But now, seeing Litao’s own sacrifice discarded and laid to waste, your anguish knew no bounds.

Love can do that. Love can make even a benevolent goddess indignant. 

You descended into my depths and wept before the stone that was once my son. You wept for his immortality, sacrificed for nothing; for his kingdom, deserted; for his daughters, abandoned; and for his love, cast away like sea foam, exchanged for a deeply flawed mortal.

Your tears spilled generously, and lo and behold, when they touched his face, his eyes opened, his breath caught—and he awoke.  You broke no spell. Your love itself was the catalyst, rewriting the command of the deep, making him live again.

You were beyond elated. 

And you were hopeful. You thought that because you had brought him back from the dead, he would see you, finally, see you, with new eyes. But when he spoke, your hope collapsed like a delicate sandcastle swept away by the tides. He asked for Serena. Even as he had heard the truths you uttered, his heart was still her captive, and he wanted to get her back. 

“Stay with me,” you beseeched him, “and you will know a love such as you have never known before.”

He smiled sadly, not wanting to hurt you. “I am grateful to you forever.” He bowed his head. “But Goddess, I am unworthy of your love, for I will always love another.”

You said nothing as he swam away, taking your heart with him. Goddess you may be, but in that moment, you were a mere woman watching love drift beyond her  reach.

But hope lived still, and that was why you followed him.

*

You called her by name, Litao. 

She came to the water’s edge, at first not believing that it was you whose face gazed back from beneath the surface. But it was you—there could be no other— and she threw herself into the water.

She was not the same, though. When you rose to take her into your arms, her frail, bony body clung to you like seaweed, devoid of warmth. Gone was the beauty that had bewitched you more than a century ago. Gone was the sweet voice that sang lullabies to you and your children. Gone was the glory of her smile and the sparkle of her eyes. What was left was a mere shadow of who she once was—broken and despondent. 

You whispered, “I am taking you away, back to where you truly belong.”

Oh, Litao. Who were you, to play at being a god again? You, a ghost made of stolen time, trying to claim a woman who had already been forged into something else by the earth. 

Her teary eyes looked down at her legs, then at the bench upon which her child lay sleeping, and then sought yours, pleading. “But what of my son? Can he come as well?”

Slowly, you shook your head. “He cannot. He is a child of a mortal, and so he must stay.”

“But I was once mortal too.”

“And now you aren’t. Because of me,” you reminded her. “Remember your daughters under the deep who need you more than he does.”

Her brows knitted, you felt her hesitate. And at once, doubt crept into your mind—a seed that quickly took root, and spread, and brined.

How could you trust her to remain by your side when she had already left your memory once before? How could you know if she loved you still, when she had given herself to a mortal without so much a thought for what you had both shared? Would her heart be completely yours, or with her son on the shore? Would she ever be truly content under the water again?

And then, you remembered the goddess, Dayang. She was the one who had loved you from the start, even though it was unrequited. She was the one whose pure and unselfish love made it possible for you to live again. She was the one who begged you to love her, and you had turned your back on her like she was nothing but a whisper. 

Who was more worthy of your love?

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

You didn’t want to admit it. But you’d changed too.

*

I saw you waver, Serena. 

Your joy was immeasurable when you saw Litao. I am saved, you thought. My son and I can escape! Already, you were dreaming of a warm bed, delicious food that would fill your hunger, servants at your beck and call, the glorious freedom to do everything, to go everywhere you wanted.

But when he said you must  return  alone, your mother’s heart crumbled. Your little boy’s giggles made you strong through dark days and nights. When his little hands touched your bruises and wounds, they brought you comfort and consolation. His sweet kisses were a balm to your bitter sorrows. You shuddered at the thought of leaving him with a cruel mortal who would vent all his anger at him once you had left. 

You swallowed your hesitation, but it remained in your throat. It wouldn’t budge.

You loved Litao, and you wanted to go back with him to his enchanted kingdom. But was he truly offering you a way back, or was he simply choosing your fate for you again, concealing secrets and lies?

Then you looked at your son. You didn’t want him to suffer. You wanted him to have a good life too. To go back with Litao was to reclaim all you had lost; but to stay was to protect the only being that belonged to you now.

Which shall it be, Serena? 

Who will you give up?

*

I saw you regard them with earnest eyes, Dayang. 

Descending from the clouds, you felt the battles waging inside their hearts, the silent wars that went on and on in their minds, consuming them. You were pleased. 

Litao, by now, would have surely realized your worth and the depth of your love. Already, you were envisioning a brilliant future with him. Together, you would both rule over kingdoms on land and in the water. You would give him sons and daughters who would  fill the earth with song and laughter.

But then, you faltered. 

What about the little one?

Your benevolent, merciful heart ached for the innocent child caught in the middle of this all. Your innate goodness rebelled against the injustice that would inevitably befall a helpless young soul. You knew you could make the boy come with her mother. You had the power to grant Serena’s wish. One single word was all it would take.

But that would mean denying your own happiness. That would mean Litao and Serena would be able to go back to the way they once were—with you watching again from afar, tending to your silly, broken heart.

Why can’t you be happy? You deserve to be. You have endured more than any goddess should. Yet it wasn’t in your nature to turn your back on a soul in need. That would not be you.

Which side would you choose, Goddess?

The good—and lose your chance at love permanently?

Or the dark—and forsake the very essence of your divinity?

*

You stood before me, the three of you—tangled in a web of love, of doubts and fears, of hard choices. 

Serena, you are not my child anymore, but neither are you land’s. If you had only stayed within my bounds, all these things would not have come to pass. But now, I feel neither pity nor passion for the anomaly that you have become.

Oh, Litao, you who belonged to me made a decision that shattered the laws of the deep, and brought you to this moment, a glitch of the universe that cannot be undone. How can I not blame you?

Goddess, I worship you with all my being. But now I see darkness behind your light. I feel my faith crumbling like the sandcastle on the shore. Why can you not be what I expect you to be?

I withdraw, I turn away. I cannot stay to bear witness to what before me lies. Because I know that whatever path is taken, each one of you would lose. There would be no victor in this game of hearts and fates—only the lingering echo of a lament with no end.

Mayumi Cruz is a multi-genre Filipino author whose body of works includes fiction, poetry, non-fiction, and translation.

She writes diverse, cross-genre fiction with emotionally-charged and thought-provoking plots. Her books, Chroma Hearts: A Psychological Thriller, and The Black Widow, have received awards and recognition. Some of Mayumi’s writings have also appeared in Philippines Graphic and other online publications. To date, Mayumi has more than twenty (20) published books, available online and in print.

Beyond writing, Mayumi is also an artist, a website designer, a screenwriter, and a freelance editor. With a degree in Economics and a master’s degree in Educational Management, she is also the founder of Pinoy Indie Authors, a volunteer-run community of independently-published, cross genre Filipino writers.

      | Website: www.mayumi-cruz.com

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