Zyphera

His name sounds like the month of June. The desired summer arrives safely with its promises and colors marked upon on our skin. Jun is the transition from spring to summer, from tenderness to joy.

I was working in a hotel, when he arrived, accompanying an Emir. The hotel was busy, occupied by many people—policemen and other employees. He was the Emir’s nurse. Jun was a young Filipino man. We didn’t understand each other very well. He had perfect English but a dreadful accent, while I had a good accent but approximate English. I watched him coming and going from his room to the restaurant then pool every day.

One evening, he stopped at the desk where I was posted. We exchanged a few words. Carried away by his huge smile, he made me travel. He told me that “Jun” was a name the Emir had given him, but not his real name. He told me his studies and his family, and his future projects.

Before his departure, he offered me a few things. A deck of cards – as a sign of the chance that our paths would cross each each others. A pair of chopstick – because what could be more unifying than sharing food? And Philippine currency bill on which he had written « Dear Carolyn, Take care of you for me. » Before he left, we took a picture together in front of the hotel bar, which he proudly showed me.

For months, we exchanged mails. He wrote me about his life, sometimes in French and I answered in English. At the end of each of his emails he wrote that he would never forget my warm welcome. If he only knew how much I was trying to give him back his own softness.

I keep a specific memory of him, sitting at the restaurant table with his friend. One Muslim, the other Catholic. Both praying together before sharing the same plate.