Francia writes to her mother about her recent trip to the province to find a model for her sculpting project. She discovers a farmer named Vidal who becomes her perfect model. However, she learns Vidal cannot come work for her in the city long-term due to plans to marry another woman. His brother Fabian fills in to complete Francia's sculptures, leaving her feeling guilty though unsure of the reason.

1. Dearest Mother,
I always thought it was a mistake.
Still recovering from what they call a ‘serious illness’, I would have been pleased with
the idea of just resting up to my heart’s content. Too bad. I’m not that kind of a person. When
they offered me another crack at the job I left, I immediately, without any hint of doubt, said
yes. What’s wrong with wanting to have my project back? Selfish. I know. I just can’t let
another amateur and naïve newbie of a sculptor take this one away from me. Not again.
First, I should look for a model. A good one.No. a perfect one. No. The Perfect One. Yes.
He should be everything according to my standards. Nothing more and less. He should have
this particular aura that the very moment I lock my eyes on him, a burst of emotions will lead
into a bright inspiration. He must have the best bodily features in a sort of Adonis-like kind of
way. A handsome face and one attractive smile, he must also have those. You know how much
I’m particular with my subjects. He simply must. That’s not too much to ask right?
Without wasting any time, I told my two ever so loyal and helpful assistants to put up
posters and print out flyers announcing the male-model job. I also requested that they take
pictures, as many as they can possibly snap, of the city men.
Alas –
None of these city men, in their grey and black corporate suits fit my ideal model’s
description. The dullness and sameness they possess simply is unacceptable.
I figured that if I wanted the perfect inspiration, I needed to go look somewhere else
where my perfect man must be lurking at.
Sure enough, the time for me to pay a visit to our relatives in the province came. I was
still indeed convalescing from my illness. Going there would be a sort of therapy while I try to
recover. Besides, being required to go was a good enough excuse to escape the city spotlight.
Armed with a suitcase of new perspectives, apart from the loads of prescription medicine
I had to carry along with me, together with my assistants, I travelled a good 100 kilometres or
so north of the city leaving behind the failure it placed upon my platter.
The very moment I climbed out of the truck that drove us to our family’s Texan
equivalent of a ranch, the sheer vastness of the rice fields was enough to jolt me back to my
childhood. It was harvest season when we arrived. The smell of newly husked rice grains
reminded me of how peaceful it was living in here. But I didn’t let it get to me. I had my goals
laid out already. Simply no distractions should be entertained.
Ah, the heck with it.
Loosen up, Franny!

2. My mental laid-back alter ego argued.
So I did.
I untied my braid, letting my long, black train of hair be blown by the dry wind. A
curious ray of sunlight touched my pale and sickly skin. Ait felt great, Mom! Almost amazing,
even.
The first one in the mansion who welcomed us was my cousin. He made sure of that.
You know how he is, competitive, even down to the simplest things. I didn’t have time to rest.
We must get to work at once. One of my assistants went out with my cousin to bring the
quality clay I needed for my masterpieces. The other I’ve given instructions to seek out the best
representative out of the farmers along with me. Surely, due to the demands of their occupation,
there must be someone I can have as my model.
And so we basked under the heavy sunlight in search of the perfect him.
Reply as soon as you receive this, okay!
Love,
Francia
P.S.
Yes, I’ll take my medicines. Yes, I’ll take a rest every time I feel like I need to. Yes, I
will visit you after this project. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.

3. Dearest Mother,
Eureka!
Mother, he’s finally found!
Eeiipppp! I feel like a school girl again.
My sought-after model
And he is perfect.
I first laid my eyes on Vidal (that’s his name, by the way) when he paid a visit to the
mansion; looking for someone they called ‘master’.
Ah, my cousin.
I almost forgot about that fact. Almost forgot that he runs the family business now since
each of grandpa’s (dad’s father) apo decided to move to the Metro. Am guilty of that, I know.
One of the maids gossiped something about him, Vidal I mean. Just upon hearing about
how widely known this young man’s should I say, beauty, it was enough to call attention.
Apparently, he was as excited as I was.
To be able to work with him, it will transform a piece of my sculpture froma so-so to
spectacular.
I needed to meet him as soon as possible. So I arranged a surprise visit to the rice fields
where he worked at the very next day.
Dressed in my long, lacy slip-on paired with the simple doll shoes you got me from your
trip in Japan (a cute ensemble for the gloomy laid-back field backdrop), we (two assistants and
cousin) trudged our way to the rice fields.
Even through the crowd of farmers and golden palay stalks, it was easy for me to spot
my potential model. The swing of Vidal’s figure was as graceful as the downward curve of the
crescent-shaped scythe. In the middle of his heaping of the fallen stalks, he stopped to wipe off
the heavy sweat from his brow. This action reassured the gut feeling I had for him.
Goddamn, i am one lucky gal.
He eventually caught a glimpse of me. It must’ve been the crunch of our footsteps that
gave away the surprise. Oh well, so much for that. Anyways, he seemed completely shocked as
he shyly acknowledged our presence.
We talked about the job of course. What else to talk about? Cousin agreed to let me
have him every morning (or possibly all day at sometimes).

4. Then as I finished with the deal he turned to face another man. Apparently, it was his
older brother. I hope the curiosity in my voice didn’t show. He seemed pleased to have met me,
too.
Typical.
Everyone told me that I had that attraction to men. I have to thank you for that with
your genes and all. My past lovers, D and M plus the other, unlucky suitors said that I have
this haunting quality and grace in me and if not always, most of the times the mole on my
lower lip sealed the deal for them. Said it gave me this strange loveliness. Whatever that
means.
Mom, you should have seen his arms. They simply were heaven-made. As if perfected by
unbroken and rhythmical strokes of the stalks and maybe from other demands of his job, his
physique was absolutely magnifique!
Splendid indeed, as what you would probably say.
But I already had his brother to work for me. I only needed one goo-looking man.
And so it was Vidal.
On the patio, for several gruelling but fulfilling days, every piece I made was to his
likeness. I moulded, chiselled, shaped and reshaped many kinds of men, who all had his face on
the clay I worked on. We were the perfect team. Artist and subject working together in sound
harmony. Each motion stopped and captured in a slab of clay. The imprints of emotion on
Vidal’s face and down to the smallest details: the sweat always dominating his face, the fine
lines beside his lips when he smiles (or frown) and the sparkle twinkling joyously in his eyes.
To be honest, he’s one of the best. Wait, no.
He is the best I’ve worked with.
One day, I had woken up with my mind full of fresh, new ideas for more sculptures. But
I needed to be back to the city to report to my immediate boss in the art gallery within a matter
of days.
So that means I needed to ask Vidal a huge favour. I can’t lose him. I just can’t. He had
been the perfect model throughout my stay here.
What should I do, Mom? Call me okay.
And write back A.S.A.P. please!
Love,
Francia

5. P.S.
Do you want me to bring back something for you? Don’t worry I’ll compile everything
in a scrapbook when I get back.

6. Dearest Mother,
Mom! You gave me a great idea!
I should bring him to the city to work for me, as a model.
However, one day as I was giving some finishing touches to the reaper figure that
paused to wipe off the heavy sweat from his brow, a man came to me. At first I thought that he
was a complete stranger, maybe just some gentleman who happened to pass by and greeted
(that’s how they were in the province, always so polite) but still I smiled graciously as I try to
rack my brain for his name.
It was Vidal’s older brother, the one with the splendid arms.
The news he brought with him broke my heart silently.
How could Vidal not possibly go with me? Was my offer too little for him? Why?
Vidal’s older brother, Fabian was his name I believe, seemed to be a bit too neutral
about it. I can’t shake off the funny feeling I got while he was speaking to them.
I knew about the girl whose father has five carabaos. Vidal told me about her. He said
his brother wants for him to marry this Milia girl just because of the ‘carabaos’ her family
owns.
Oh please, I’m way better off in life than her. I could offer Vidal a way better salary if he
stays with me as my model.
For a second there, I was a bit amused and annoyed at the same time. Saying that Vidal
only said that to cover up the truth and that he has wronged that Milia person. That there will
be a child.
Super absurd, don’t you think?
But in reality, I didn’t say anything though I was sure that the look on my face was
something like it was full of bitter protest. It must’ve said: it is not so.
Instead of a rude reply I called a servant, gave him a twenty-peso bill and some
instructions.
That left me empty handed. I still needed to finish a statue, with its arms still
incomplete.
Arms.Arms.Arms.
Right then my imaginary light bulb dinged.

7. Fabian would be perfect for it. Good thing he was willing to pose for the sculpture. Too
willing if you ask me.
So for the last time in the mansion’s patio, I smoothed the clay, patted it and moulded
vein, muscle, arm while stealing the firmness of his flexed triceps and biceps. The strength.His
arms gave life to my lifeless statue. I did get lost in my work, I’ve got to admit he was good. To
put it in other words, he was amazing. I didn’t even notice the time as it passed. He was
fabulous to work with.
At last, my works are complete. In a matter of hours I was home bound, arrived to the
city and was back in my cosy bed.
Mom.
How come I feel this, what do you call it again, guilt? I don’t know why but it’s been
haunting me since the day Fabian went to the mansion.
Why do I feel like I just participated in some kind of a murder? See the word murder
seems a little out of place, too, isn’t it?
But why, Mom?
Even the look in Vidal’s eyes when he said goodbye, it was horrible.
What did I do?
Why am I feeling this?
Was it only because of stress?
Or maybe I’m ill again?
So many questions, still no answers.
I feel terrible right now
Francia