I never wanted to become a parent in such a young age. Mama has left me before and my life with my grandparents isn’t even healthy, then Papa found his true love after a heartbreak anniversary and barely gone home. Upon seeing that vision clear, I knew I wasn’t made for such thing—I grew up mentally neglected, I thought I’d raise someone as mentally neglected as much as I was made to be. I’m never going to get over it if I did the same thing on an innocent being.

“Millie!! Bobby!! Brown!!” Those names changed my entire perception, the names I always call out whenever I’m back from school. Obviously, they were named after the actress Millie Bobby Brown, though I'm not even a fan. They would wag their tail together with her siblings as they approach me.

I would throw my backpack inside the house, somewhere I don’t know, somewhere that thing is comfortable. All I can think of are my puppies named after Millie Bobby Brown. It’s not like I’m a fan of her, I just liked her name. Millie is white with these brown big spots on her big face and body. Bobby is tiny and black, he looks like a rat whenever he runs and jumps in excitement. Well, at least that was how my aunt described him. And Brown is brown, just like her name, jolly and full of life.

I would sit on the long bench sitting on our terrace—a secret circus was about to start but only four people can come, and that’s us and my puppies. I would tap the brown-tiled floor to tease them, and they would run to me, licking and biting my toes and hands. The sound of my giggle was like a symbol of the life we wanted: full of glee and soulfully lucky.

“Time to eat!,” I exclaim every time I’ve got something to eat which I took home from somewhere near my high school. Millie will wag her tail with her tongue out, Bobby jumps up and down as if he was a child being excited and watching the toy he wanted be put on top of a cashier’s counter, Brown would stare at me with her starry eyes like Millie, but will bark to get my attention. They looked like children to me rather than puppies.

The sound of the plastic will get them more cheerful and childlike as the moment they’ll taste the similar food as me approaches like a thief in the broad daylight. “Oh my God, I’d get to eat the same luxury as Kate!,” They probably thought. I look at them with an unbelieving expression as they swiftly eat the parts I threw them and stare at me again, haven’t gotten my half yet. But I just laugh it off, they seem euphoric with it, I just know if they were human beings, they would find that moment very funny.

I would spend my entire lifetime with them if they were given a chance to live longer than me. I wish they would, I wish they could. I wish I was better. I wish I did those things instead of doing stuffs that took my time away from them. Those moments are just daydreams, the wishes I would throw my coin for.

On a random Tuesday, I called their name up, still in my school uniform. Sinag, a little cousin of mine told me, “Oh, Brown was sold to someone earlier.” I was shocked. Brown was the jolliest of them all. I felt like I lost a child after that. The sunshine of the family disappeared and I don’t know hitherto which black hole had eaten the universe I always saw in her eyes.

People say that shock doesn’t make you cry, it just plays the whole tape. All it does is pause and go back to make you witness it again. And again. And again. A never-ending cycle I’d always relapse.

I pretended like I don’t care and played with the two puppies. The sad thing was they weren’t happy as they were before. The lacuna was obvious, an imaginary crater was the evidence, a spot they left for her was the sign they still wait for my girl’s step retracing. Just like a parent holding their tears from flowing out in front of their children, I acted as if nothing happened to keep them company. I just lost a kid and I was forced to stay strong. I loved Brown, the three of us loved her. And I hope she knows that. The worst thing was I kept it to myself.

We kept our lives going, different day, same routine. They sometimes would bite each other when I don’t play with them. I often hear their playful barks whenever I’m inside, watching reels in my phone like an irresponsible parent. But they were happy, what do I have to worry? …Right…?

The next following weeks, Mama went home for my moving up ceremony as I will be sophomore no more. I was finishing my 10th grade and she told me that she’ll take Millie with her. I hated that she even thought of that, taking one of my children away again? No way that is happening. I won’t let that occur. If she was strong enough to leave me for a year, well, I was not her. I can’t bear being separated, distances away from my children.

I already lose one. There is no way I’d lose another.

Mama loved Millie. I knew that, I saw how she played with her and Bobby. “Look, they’re playing.” She giggled at the sight. The playful barks were heard as if they were showing off because they just got noticed. It was that wholesome to the extent that even when they were panting, I lit the fire. I’d tap the floor for them to collide again, get triggered, and wrestle playfully.

“Aww, my babies! Come here!,” I said as I stretched my arm and welcome them for a hug. Millie always sits on my left lap while Bobby doesn’t like being held that much, he wants to be the one holding me—my fingers inside his mouth, biting in a friendly manner.

 When Mama was cooking supper and I went inside the house, the both of them ran inside, straight to the kitchen. They were naughty kids. My grandparents don’t like the dogs coming in, but those puppies can’t be stopped. I taught them to enter and take their beauty rests within my home.

Mama will squeal and would look happy having them as she cooks. She even gives them a small portion of what she was cooking and they silver line. Something in me says they love it here, they thank God for bringing them here. Little do they know, I thank God for granting me them.

I was the happiest on the 29th of May. I got what I want but there was a catch. I hated that I was in glee that day not knowing what Bobby will go through that night.

“Where’s Bobby?,” I asked when Mama brought up Millie being missing. It was the very next day.

When I went out, I saw Bobby. Lying down, lifeless. Between the pots, seemed like he sought for comfort. The breeze didn’t help the heat to go away but it took Bobby’s warmth, and the reason? I’d never know. I was there, standing, staring at him, thinking, “Why…?”

Was I losing everything? Is it payback time?

I tried searching for Millie, and thank God she was safe. She was sick though, I speculated she ate a frog since she got thin and refused to eat. If I wasn’t able to save Bobby, then I have to salvage Millie. My children out of my own control. My children fading out my grips. I wanted to disappear, my soul kept shattering, and if picking the sharp pieces up means saving my Millie, I’d stab myself with my own edges. Physical wounds heal, emotional ones linger 'til your feet are on the equal level.

Mama fed her sugar since a lot of Filipinos believed it’s a remedy against food poisoning. A plastic spoon was used to force to feed her, water running down her throat to keep her alive and hydrated. And hopefully, be saved. She was then put inside a basket. Although, the basket was upside down with a pot on top in case she runs away again. It ached me.

My child, inside some cage, emotionless. Heartbreaking it was to reminisce the way she was everything but negative feelings and aura. Has Brown’s candle reached its extremity and finally turned Millie’s fire to embers?

I smiled at her. “Get better soon, okay?,” She just stared at me. “Once you’re all okay, I’ll buy you toys, and dog food, and I will make you a bed inside my room, and we’ll play!” I could’ve done that earlier, I thought, when everyone was still here with us.

I woke up the next morning, searching for her. She was the same: no appetite, getting thinner. But her tail was still wagging at the sight of me. It pained me so much. My baby is suffering. I fed her sugar and made her drink water using the same plastic spoon. She threw up twice. That must be a good thing.

“Hello, Millie.” I smiled at the kid that used to approach me with her usual smile. “I’m sorry you had to go through this. Please get well, we will play soon, right? I promise you, I will buy you things you’ll need and I will take better care of you,” I stated those words, stifling the sobs. Seeing my baby in pain was horrible for me, but I needed to be strong for her to be strong. I knew she needed someone to hold on, and I know it was me. Always.

It got worst for me when I saw blood on the ground she sat on. My grandparents wouldn’t take her to the vet, hence, I resorted on asking people from Reddit. Sadly, they didn’t know what it was. Generic, that was the word one used to describe the symptoms I provided. “Hard to diagnose,” I read, I was foolish to even ask people who aren’t even professionals regarding animal health. But God knows I’m desperate. I want my daughter to be saved, I need her to grow up and be a dog. I wish for her to be the dog she wanted to be, loved and will meet death because of old age.

Nighttime haunts me, I wonder where she is. I hope she’s still breathing. I hope she still see the moon’s light. I hope she’s thinking about me, how I want her to get better and all. I wish I had given her my all while she was still strong. I wish I realized it sooner, it didn’t have to be this way.

They said that in order to grieve someone properly and accept things beautifully, you have to turn them into literature. Therefore, I wrote a letter for my girl fighting with all her might, but not for grieving her, this is to give her hope.

Millie, if I was able to read this to you being healthy and that girl again, please know that I apologize for not entertaining you that much. You’re making me proud that you are fighting whatever that illness is. If you get well, which I believe you will, I’ll keep my promise and Mama will love you so so much even if I can’t love you more because I’ve been loving you too much. My child, you are one of the best things that happened to me, you made me feel like a true mother for trying to salvage you with sugar, water, and honey. Sweetheart, Mom’s eyes are tired crying, she needs you, please hold on. It is not yet God’s turn, is it?