Chapter XXV: Open My Eyes
Liz wakes up early, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. Today is another day to serve, and she is eager to continue on her journey of faith. After freshening up, she joins her grandmother, and together they take a tricycle to Ciudad Fernandina. The streets are still quiet, with only a few vendors setting up their stalls. As they arrive, Liz’s grandmother heads to the market to buy necessities for the house, while Liz walks briskly to the Colegio to prepare for the Mass service.
Upon entering the auditorium, Liz spots Wyn, who is already arranging hymnals and assisting in setting up the altar.
“Morning, Wyn,” Liz greets with a warm smile.
“Morning, Liz! Ready for today’s Mass?” Wyn replies, adjusting the microphone at the lector’s stand.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Liz says. She feels lighter these days, her heart unburdened from past regrets. Serving now feels more fulfilling, more personal.
As the Mass begins, Liz and Wyn take their respective places. The choir sings harmoniously, and Liz finds herself immersed in the solemnity of the celebration. When the time for the homily comes, the priest steps forward, his eyes sweeping over the congregation before he begins to speak.
“Today, we celebrate the memorial of Saint Lucy, a martyr known for her unwavering faith and devotion to God,” the priest begins.
“But more than that, she is also the patron saint of those with eye disorders and the blind. Why, you might ask? Because Saint Lucy’s story is one of vision—not just physical, but the vision of truth, the sight of faith, the clarity of God’s wisdom.”
He pauses for a moment, allowing the words to settle in.
“We often take our physical sight for granted. With our eyes, we perceive the world, we witness beauty, we see joy and suffering alike. But sight alone is not enough. Many of us see, yet we do not truly look. We gaze, but we do not understand. How many times have we looked at someone in need and turned away? How often do we see injustice and choose blindness?”
Liz listens intently, the priest’s words striking a chord within her.
“The eyes of truth are different from our physical eyes. The eyes of truth are the eyes of God. They see beyond the surface, beyond what is shown, beyond the illusions the world presents. God’s eyes see the heart, the intention, the sincerity of one’s soul. We, too, are called to seek truth—not just with our eyes, but with our hearts. To see truth means to recognize what is right and wrong. It means to acknowledge our faults and strive for righteousness. It means not being deceived by material things but understanding what truly matters in life.”
The priest’s voice softens.
“Saint Lucy’s name means ‘light.’ She was a light to those who struggled in darkness, a beacon of faith when others faltered. And today, I ask all of you—are your eyes open to the truth? Do you see the light of faith, or do you walk blindly in the dark?”
Liz feels a lump in her throat. The message is clear, and she reflects on how she had been blind before—blind to her mother’s sacrifices, blind to Bennett’s kindness, blind to her own faults. But now, she wants to see. She wants to truly see, with both her eyes and her heart.
As the Mass concludes, Liz and Wyn walk side by side.
“That was deep,” Wyn comments.
“Yeah,” Liz agrees, still processing everything. “It really makes you think.”
“I didn’t know much about Saint Lucy before,” Wyn admits. “I wonder what else she did.”
Liz nods.
“Maybe we should read more about her. If anything, I want to understand more about faith and truth.”
With that thought lingering, the two head to class. The rest of the day is filled with endless discussions, assignments, and homework. But despite the workload, Liz carries the priest’s words with her. The eyes of truth—she will make sure hers remain open from now on.
Liz goes home, following her nightly routine before bed—brushing her teeth, saying her prayers, and kissing Bennett’s picture. As she settles under the blankets, exhaustion weighs on her, but as soon as she closes her eyes, she finds herself in a dream once again.
A voice, deep and soothing, speaks to her:
“Open my eyes to see the wonderful truths in your instructions.”
Liz blinks, and suddenly, she is seated at a table, across from Bennett. The atmosphere is familiar—it’s a memory, but she feels fully present. She notices herself hiding her phone under the table, subtly angling it away from Bennett’s sight. Bennett, ever observant, tilts his head and asks with a gentle curiosity,
“Liz, what’s that?”
Liz tenses.
“Nothing.”
Bennett leans forward slightly.
“Are you sure? You seem like you’re hiding something.”
Her expression hardens, frustration bubbling within her.
“Why do you always have to be so nosy?”
Bennett raises his hands in surrender.
“I’m just asking. You know you can tell me anything.”
Liz exhales sharply and hesitates before slowly placing her phone on the table. The screen reveals an online shopping cart filled with expensive items. Bennett’s eyes soften, and he studies her carefully before speaking.
“Is this really necessary?”
Liz remains silent, biting her lip. When he continues, his voice is gentle yet firm.
“I just think... maybe you don’t need all of this to be happy.”
His words strike a nerve. She clenches her fists and suddenly bursts,
“Why do you always have to be like this? You act like you know everything! You don’t understand me at all!”
As soon as she shouts, the world shifts. The restaurant vanishes, and she is transported into a dimly lit room. It resembles Bennett’s bedroom, but something is off—the arrangement of furniture, the color of the walls. It is familiar, yet different.
A whisper echoes in the stillness.
“What do thou seek?”
Liz turns her head, searching for the source of the voice. Her heart races.
“Seek?” she murmurs, confused. “Why not ‘see’ like before?”
The voice answers, cryptic yet profound.
“To see is to see, but yet to see, what you need to seek, and that is to seek what the truth you are seeking.”
Before she can process the words, a figure steps forward. He is draped in a green robe with a red tunic underneath, a thick beard framing his stern yet kind face. In one hand, he holds a book; in the other, a sword. Recognition dawns upon Liz—Saint Paul of Tarsus, the patron saint of Ciudad Fernandina.
Her breath catches in her throat.
“Saint Paul...?”
He opens his book, and as he does, memories flood the space around them—memories of Bennett. Their laughter, their conversations, the moments she had taken for granted.
Saint Paul looks at her with knowing eyes.
“What do thou seek?”
Liz’s shoulders tremble, tears forming in her eyes.
“I seek forgiveness... I seek to undo my mistakes... I seek to make things right.”
The saint gently places a hand on her head.
“Thy heart is burdened, but know that God’s mercy is boundless. If thou art sincere, then forgiveness is already upon thee.”
As he lifts his sword, he fades into nothingness. In his place, another figure materializes.
Liz gasps. It’s Bennett.
He stands there, a warm smile playing on his lips.
“Liz... I missed you.”
Tears stream down her cheeks as she rushes toward him, throwing her arms around him.
“I missed you too! So much!”
Bennett holds her close for a moment before gently pulling back.
“Liz, listen carefully. There’s something I need to tell you.”
She nods, hanging onto every word.
“I can’t explain everything just yet, but I will leave you clues through your dreams.”
Liz swallows hard, determination setting in.
“I’ll remember them. I promise.”
Bennett looks at her with deep sincerity before revealing the first clue:
“Up to the third of the old edifice I am there, though no one comes, around and care, I say not you I am talking of, but literally no one is permitted to walk on that edifice I speak of.”
Liz furrows her brows, trying to process the riddle. Before she can ask anything, the dream starts fading. Desperate, she pulls Bennett into another embrace, pressing a tearful kiss to his cheek.
“Please, don’t go.”
But he only smiles.
“We’ll meet again soon.”
With those final words, the dream shatters.
Liz bolts upright in bed, her breath ragged, her heart pounding. Tears still linger in her eyes, but now, there’s something else—a spark of determination.
She quickly grabs a sheet of paper and writes down the first clue in bold letters. She stares at the words, committing them to memory.
“This time, I won’t fail,” she whispers.
And with that, she sets her pen down, her resolve stronger than ever.
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