Love Across Lifetimes: Raphaella & Octavio's Eternal Connection

To:

Christian, Kiersten & Destiny

Without the 3 of you life would not be worth living

&

I love you unconditionally

To: Pepperjack

My ride or die - I love you

Published by: Debby Ng

[email protected]

Copyright© 2018 By Debby Ng

2nd Edition 2023

https://www.amazon.com/author/debbyng

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.

Love Across

Lifetimes

Raphaella & Octavio's Eternal Connection

By:

Debby Ng

Prologue

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The knot had been a constant presence in her life since she was just three years old. Initially, it was no more than a delicate butterfly, but as the years passed, it had grown thicker and tighter, embedding itself deep within her heart. She had resigned herself to the belief that it could never be unraveled. Then, on one ordinary summer night in Haleiwa, everything changed.

After a delightful dinner at one of the charming restaurants in this small coastal town, he gently took her hand as they prepared to cross the street. Beneath the canopy of a star-filled sky, he peered into her eyes and uttered those three enchanting words: 'I love you.'

She whispered back, almost as if she feared her own ears had deceived her, 'You do?'

With unwavering sincerity and tenderness, he affirmed, 'Yes, yes, I do!' In that moment, not only did she believe him, but something remarkable happened—the knot that had bound her heart for so long, simply evaporated. It was gone, dissolved into the warm night air.

She had always believed that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and in his eyes, she found an inexplicable connection. His gaze spoke of a deep understanding, a recognition of her essence, and she, in turn, felt an uncanny familiarity with his soul. She pondered, 'How do I know him? Why is it that I've never truly believed these words until now, and why from a man I barely know?'

These questions would find their answers, but not immediately, and certainly not in the way she anticipated."

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Chapter 1

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The fluttering sensation of a butterfly in her stomach began much like it does for many young children – an innocent and exhilarating feeling that accompanies naivety about the world. The butterfly symbolizes an unknown, tingling mixture of nervousness and excitement. However, for some children, born into less fortunate circumstances, that butterfly takes on a different, foreboding meaning. It becomes a harbinger of uncertainty, signaling the need to tread carefully, for it may be the precursor to some form of abuse.

Raphaela's butterfly feeling first took flight when she was forced to gauge her father's mood due to his drinking habits. She couldn't discern if he would be a happy drunk or the dreaded get out of my face drunk. As life grew harder and her father's drinking escalated, the butterfly transformed into a tightly wound knot in the pit of her stomach. It consumed a substantial part of her being.

Things took a darker turn when, at just three years old, her parents, in a bid to get her out of their way, left her alone in a room with the thirteen-year-old neighbor. This is when the butterfly turned into an insurmountable weight, a rock that anchored her to a world of anguish. Every afternoon, as her father lay passed out on the floor and her mother vented her frustrations in the kitchen, the teenage boy from next door would visit her.

As days turned into weeks, the rock inside her twisted and turned with each game he played – games like post office and then doctor. During these agonizing moments, she would try to mentally distance herself, escaping to imaginary adventures where she rode horses and searched for a time when the world was different, a time before America was discovered, anywhere but in that locked room with a doctor and herself as the patient.

It was during these harrowing moments that she discovered her love for horses and Native Americans. Her vivid imagination became her sanctuary, a place where she could retreat from the cruel reality. Later in life, she would come to realize that it wasn't just her imagination; it was a profound ability to recall past lives. It explained her inexplicable infatuation with Indigenous Peoples and wild Mustangs at such a tender age.

Raphaela was born in Honolulu, Hawaii, but her parents hailed from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. They had ventured to this land with hopes of financial stability and a safe environment to raise their children. Hawaii seemed promising, sharing the same temperate climate as Brazil, with welcoming and friendly people, surrounded by the beauty of oceans and mountains. Unfortunately, they had overlooked the necessity of keeping their home safe.

Anderson, Raphaela's father, had a history of alcoholism that didn't cease upon their arrival in Hawaii. The stress of adapting to a new country and lifestyle only exacerbated his drinking. Renatta, her mother, possessed an insatiable desire for material wealth and was determined to work relentlessly to afford the possessions she believed would bring her happiness, potentially overshadowing her husband's love for alcohol.

In the early years, they both worked tirelessly, Renatta delving into the world of real estate to amass wealth. Anderson, on the other hand, yearned for children and pleaded with Renatta for them. She reluctantly agreed, driven by the belief that her husband would stop drinking, they could save money, and she could have him work the graveyard shift while caring for the children during the day. Little did she know the profound and irreparable impact this decision would have on her children.

A year later, Raphaela was born on the twenty-first day of June, the longest day of the year. She came into the world with boundless energy, her cries echoing her vitality. This was a trait that her mother would soon grow to resent. Nearly two years after her birth, on July seventeenth, her brother Roberto arrived. He was a placid and content baby, and his disposition mirrored his calm demeanor. Roberto quickly became their mother's favorite, and his chubby-cheeked, happy nature also won over Raphaela.

Although the siblings were polar opposites, the tumultuous environment within their home forged an unbreakable bond between them. The constant arguments between their parents escalated, and Raphaela felt compelled to protect Roberto, who was naturally reserved and easily affected by the world around him. She shielded him from many of life's hardships, particularly his overwhelming fear of death. She strived to create a joyful world for him to counteract his anxieties.

Whenever their mother returned from work, Roberto would receive undivided attention, while Raphaela would be led into the bedroom by the neighbor and subjected to experiences she knew were wrong but kept hidden from her family. She knew that her brother cherished the time alone with their mother, and revealing the truth would have been futile. Her mother would never have believed her. It was simpler to escape into her vivid imagination, where she became a princess exploring mountains, canyons, and rivers while riding wild Mustangs.

As the years passed, the siblings drifted apart, and Raphaela learned the art of running away. She often felt like an outsider in her own home, a punching bag for her family's problems. One day, she decided to pack a small bag with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, grabbed a blanket, and sought refuge on the beach just across the street from their North Shore home. She fell asleep and didn't return for hours.

Upon her return, her brother unintentionally delivered a devastating blow. He innocently asked, 'Oh Raphaela, can you please go away again? It's so quiet and peaceful when you're not here.' It felt as though a knife had been thrust into her heart. Her beloved brother, the one she had cherished, had turned against her, too.

Her father, while not overtly against her, lacked the strength to oppose her mother, who believed Raphaela was bad and stupid. He went along with her mother's perspective. Running away became her refuge, and by the time she was sixteen, all the police officers on the North Shore were familiar with her and used to bringing her back home. She couldn't fathom why they insisted on returning her to a place she desperately wanted to escape.

When she turned seventeen, she left for good, fleeing to Waikiki, a place where no one knew her or her painful past. This is where our paths crossed, where I met Raphaela. She had departed home at seventeen, her breaking point reached when her mother sold her horse without her knowledge. She'd had enough – enough of living with people who only wanted her around to serve as a scapegoat for their problems. She felt like their punching bag, which explained why the first purchase for her new apartment was a punching bag.

We've shared countless adventures together, including one where a plane had to return to the gate, but that's a tale for a different day and book – the book of Jay. I had always urged her to write her story, but she would simply laugh it off. However, she recognized the importance of sharing this story, and she agreed it needed to be told. I can't do it justice, so she will recount it in her own unique voice, a narrative that might resemble a spicy soup with a sprinkle of other languages and the drama that is unmistakably Rapha. It will be in her voice, as it should be, because she finally listened to my advice.

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Signs

"The universe bestows signs upon us—

At first, they are gentle whispers, meant for our soul. When we don't heed these whispers,

the signs grow louder, more frequent. . . .

When we listen, a whisper suffices. . .

These signs bear significance, they are our guides—

a map— for this life,

sent from our essence before this existence.

Do not disregard the signs,

slow down,

tune into your inner voice,

and above all else, pay heed—

they are there with purpose!"

Chapter 2

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Ibegan riding horses when I was a young girl, and I got my first horse when I was eleven. She was mine - all mine. I felt peaceful and happy when I was alone and riding my horse in the hills of North Shore, feeling the wind in my hair as I galloped across the lush green hills up the mountains until I could turn around to see the gorgeous blue ocean surrounding this exquisite paradise I lived in. Heaven could not be more beautiful. I loved all the smells—guava and oranges along with plumeria and pikake on the way up the hill. The weather up this high was always cool, and it was easy to find old trails and make new trails in the woody hills of North Shore. There was a certain freedom, which could not be explained; it just had to be felt. I felt as though I were a horse—there was no disconnect between my horse, especially when riding bareback, and me. When I rode, I thought of nothing but the moment, and it was incredible—every time.

I rode until I was seventeen. One day, I arrived at the ranch to find my horse was gone. Everything was gone: all my tack and food and everything. The owner of the ranch had no idea I didn’t know, and when she saw me at her door with tears in my eyes, she was shocked.

Raphaela, surely your mother told you—she sold Ku'uipo.

I shook my head, unable to stop the tears and unable to speak. I went home and didn’t speak to anyone for a whole month, and then I left. I packed two duffel bags filled with clothes and pictures of my friends and my horse—none of my family. I went to Waikiki and never looked back. I missed riding . . . but I had a wild and adventurous time living in town.

I met Keala at Liberty House, where I worked in the boys’ department and she worked in the cosmetics area. She was my best friend instantly, and we found excitement and adventure all over Waikiki. She was married to a homebody who was kind but not very social and preferred to stay home and listen to music and watch television. (Boring!) I dated a lot and then finally found a stable relationship with a humble local boy who was an avid motorcycle rider. He owned a Ducati. We met at the University of Hawaii, where Kalani was studying sociology and I was trying to become a teacher. After graduation, we decided to move in together, which was a huge step for me but felt right. I went to work as a first-grade teacher and he went to work at Frito-Lay!

There was one problem with my relationship with Kalani, but I kept it to myself. He had a brother named Peter who Keala was definitely crushing on, in a bad way. I knew what a killer attention was. He gave her so much attention, and her husband gave her none. I tried to understand and not pass judgment; as best friends are supposed to do, but it really bothered me. I may be lending a hand to the cheating, which seemed inevitable. It had not happened yet, and I tried to hint to her husband she needed more attention but he was plain lazy. Kalani seemed totally oblivious to the entire thing and stated they were just friends, there was no way his brother would mess around with a married woman but . . . I wasn’t so sure.

One day while we were riding his motorcycle around the island with some friends, I saw some horses on the beach in Mokuleia, the west side of the North Shore.  This is when I got the bug again, the bug to ride horses. Horseback riding is like surfing; it never leaves your blood. I couldn’t stop talking about it, and Kalani piped in saying he was willing to try riding with me since I rode his motorcycle with him. The next weekend, we drove all over the island and finally decided to try riding at Turtle Bay on the North Shore. We booked a private ride so we could do more than just walk and he could get a real feel for riding. We walked around Turtle Bay, holding hands and talking about horses, while we waited for our ride. It was serene and peaceful there, it made me miss the North Shore, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to ride up there because someone would tell my parents. Here, in Turtle Bay, among all the tourists, I felt safe; none of them knew my family or me.

Finally, they called us to ride,  and we walked over to the stables. We were introduced to our tour guide, Sara, and given two horses who seemed rather mellow. They were both chestnut geldings, one was about sixteen hands and the other was fifteen hands. Kalani was nervous, it was so funny, and he quietly asked me to take the bigger horse. No problem, I replied with a wink. We mounted the horses on this cute little step stool they had and began following our guide, Sara. She was great and told us we didn’t have to follow her in a line and we could all walk together since it was a private tour. She explained to us we should not run in the sand since it is hard on the horses’ legs, so we walked out into the ocean a little and along the beach for about half a mile.

The Pacific Ocean is hypnotizing, with its many shades of blue and the peaceful lull of the waves hitting the shore. The best part is you can see down to the sand because the water is so clear! Kalani looked so happy; he had a smile on his face the entire time.

When we came out of the water, we walked across the sand to the woods and found a good-sized trail carved out. Sara told us we were fine to canter now. I took off immediately, and when I came to the part of the trail with an s-curve, I stopped my horse and turned around. Kalani was talking to Sara then I saw him get ready to go. His horse began trotting and then Tammy yelled, Kick him again! Kalani did, and the horse began to canter, right then, I could tell Kalani was hooked. The smile spread all the way across his face from ear to ear. There is nothing like the gait of cantering; it feels so natural and fluid, like you are part of the horse. I began cantering again and Kalani followed. When we got to a new part of the trail, which was really small and wooded, I slowed to a walk and then Kalani’s horse slowed down.

Sara came around the corner and said, Perfect job, you two. How’d you like the trail ride? We told her how much we loved it. We finished up the trail ride after walking for about another twenty minutes. It was heavenly. On the way home, we talked about riding again, but at $120 a person, it seemed so expensive. I mentioned, not really thinking he would buy into it, we could lease a horse together and see how much we enjoyed it. He thought it was a great idea, so I began checking Craigslist every day.

Finally, after about two weeks of research, I finally found a horse for lease at a ranch in Waimanalo. I went to the ranch with Kalani, his brother, Peter, and of course, Keala. She loved this opportunity, as she was swooning over Peter and any extra time they could have together made her happy. Peter hadn’t noticed yet, but eventually he would.

When we pulled up next to a round pen, we saw a man on a horse. He turned around when I got out of the car and asked, Are you looking for Monique?

Uh, yeah, I answered, a little caught off guard by the way he looked at me.

He replied, Follow me. I will take you to her pasture. Shootz! I answered, but I was thinking I would follow him anywhere. He looked like a real cowboy. He wore a black felt cowboy hat, Levi’s, which showed off his tight butt, and boots with spurs. His eyes were light brown, displaying kindness and a quiet strength, and they sparkled as he spoke with a soft Mexican accent. He was so sure of his riding ability and had such control of the horse; I longed to learn from him. As soon as I got back in the car, I tried to let it go by looking at my handsome boyfriend. Kalani smiled at me, making me realize I was just being silly.

When we got to the pasture, a lady rode over on her horse at a dead gallop. She stopped and introduced herself as Monique and her handsome quarter horse as Doc. She asked if I was ready for a trail ride and explained Dakota was the horse for lease. She pointed at the horse near the tack shed. He is a thoroughbred gelding and needs to be ridden more often than the few days a month, which is all the time I have right now, she stated. Monique also explained he was an ex racehorse and needed an experienced rider. I assured her I was up to the task. She pointed me in the direction of the tack shed, told me which bridle to grab, and asked if I wanted a saddle.

Nah, no saddle, I will just grab the bridle and be right back, I answered. I returned, called him over to the edge of the tack shed, put on his bridle, and jumped on bareback.

Monique yelled, Follow me! She led the way up a trail toward the top of the mountain. We walked for about