He became petrified as he held his breath. Could it be possible? Didn't his eyes deceive him? This Sylvia who was giving him her hand affectionately was she the same Sylvia of twelve years back, all loveliness in the New Luneta, near the rocks? She had aged, grown thin, and was evidently sick. She was just any woman. She could not be Sylvia, the Sylvia he had waited for, for twelve long years. They had met in the market and Salvador had to exert extra effort trying to recall her, to recognize in this emaciated figure he was looking at, the woman he had dreamed so much about. Twelve years lost! Twelve years of useless hatred of her husband, of the wretched guy who had never done him any harm, and all of this, only to end up this way. The disenchantment of reality was coming to him even as illusion was fading away with the repugnance he could not help feeling at the sight of this haggard creature.
He bade her goodbye and excused himself with trivial words. he all but shrank from the touch of the hand she extended to him affectionately. And right here and then he decided to Joaquin's stupefaction who did not understand anything at all.
"I'm sick of Baguio! Let's go back to Manila at once..."
Enrique K. Laygo
April 20, 1932
Translated to English by Pilar E. Mariño
Link to Spanish Version