Of July, Davao, and Super Ferry

In the dry month of July, the very same day today, twenty-eight years ago, Mama was brought to the hospital. At first, you two would not come out of this world—and take the reins of your lives. Tita Nenen, Josie Galacgac nee Jordan would accompany Mama in the ambulance that sped off going to Iloilo City to a hospital with better facilities. That’s when, as legends say, Alpha was born. In the ambulance. The ambulance came back to Guimaras Provincial Hospital and that was when Omega, was born. In the hospital.

Living with three other kids in the family seemed fun, with Harold, JM, and Mae Lann. When we lived in Camp Nikos, Guimaras, I really had no memory so much of how I was dealing with your birth thereafter. All I can vividly remember was that, it took extra effort for Mama to take care of the two of you. And so, most of the time we were left to fend for ourselves, to play in the green grounds of Camp Nikos, and sometimes, visit relatives in Millan.

In 1995, our parents decided to move to Davao del Norte. You both were less than a year old. You probably had no memory of the travel via Super Ferry from Iloilo Port and how Tita Neneng Pet accompanied the family as we embarked on a new adventure as a family. Mama, and Papa, had a difficult time looking after the six of us. But I remember that Papa would join us—Nonoy, Harold, JM, and Mae Lann—and we would roam the seemingly, at that time, gigantic ship. Tita Neneng Pet and Mama would care for the two of you as we sailed for two (or was it three?) days towards our new destination.

_{My God Is So Big}

When we arrived in Davao City, it was early in the morning. Papa hired a porter to help him with the baggage that we’ve brought from Camp Nikos, Guimaras. But, the goodbye started in the house of Lola Deding Gantala Jordan. I distinctly remember Lola Narda and Lola Apa were one of those who sent us off, and when I looked down from the passenger level of the ship as Super Ferry’s massive horn toots as a signal that it’s sailing away, I could see Lola Narda wipe a tear from her eyes. Or was it my imagination?

I could not remember in detail what kind of transportation we took from Davao City to Davao del Norte. To be fair, Mama probably never had a hard time dealing with the two of you, as young and innocent as you two were during that time. You were probably thrilled that we were traveling as a family. I only remember that we were very tired.

When we arrived at Feeder Road 3, Sto. Tomas Davao del Norte, we stood at the the red gate of the compound which separates the neighboring house of Abigail’s and her siblings. In the compound stood the church and the old two-story school building. We were brought to the place where we would reside for the next year. It was a one-bedroom with a kitchen, a front door and a back entrance, with stairs that lead to the second floor of the building, and the room where Tita Neneng Pet would occupy. Ma and Pa would sleep inside the room, together with the girls, while the rest of us, would sleep in the sala.

It was forgivable. It was quaint. But we were together.

There also came a time, when our parents hired yayas for the two of you. One of those, I remember, was a recommended friend, who’s religion is a 7^th-Day Adventist, and who almost influenced me to not eat pork and blood, and to go to church only on Saturdays. She was not the best yaya out there, but she cared. She did not last.

One of those who lasted was the daughter of the member of the church, who’s already in the United States. Her name is Nang Baday, and I was close to her family. She loved the both of you like her own siblings. I remember their house is located going to Marsman, an estate plantation of bananas and sometimes we would drop by at Nang Baday’s house and we would feel that we would always be welcome.

If I’m not mistaken, it was 1996 when Lola Tata Demit died. Lolo Tata was one of those who put value on education. Whenever we would visit Tigbi, at Lola Deding and Lolo Robing’s house, I felt like I was in the presence of someone great—like my childhood hero. Lolo Tata always said that education is important because no one could steal it away from us.

As Mama was extremely close to Lolo Tata and Lola Bandi, Pa and Ma, together with the other siblings went home to Guimaras when the family received a telegram that Lolo Demit passed away. As the eldest child in the family, I was tasked to take care of the two of you for a week, together with Nang Baday, because we could not all go home together as a family, and we couldn’t afford the fare going back and forth.

Ma’am Carol, my 2^nd grade adviser, even announced to the whole class that I would be taking care of my younger twin siblings. I didn’t care that she had to make known to my other classmates the reason as to why I would be absent in class for the whole week. I thought of that one week as play—free from the rigors of the school.

It came to a point where the two of you would get sick often. It was probably because Davao del Norte is a different environment altogether than Guimaras. So, when Tita Neneng Pet decided to go home to Guimaras and get married, Ma and Pa brought the two of you. Omega lived with Lola Narda, and Alpha lived with Lola Deding. You were separated but you would see each other during church, and during family functions.

Back in Davao del Norte, we would receive letters from Tita Bucay how Alpha has learned to turn on the electric fan, how she learned how to sing, and all the progress that she made, and how during one time, Omega had to cry outside the church building during the wedding of Tita Nenen because she was not included as one of the flower girls. I could not imagine how unfair that would be, and how privileged the other was. There were also updates from the letters how Tita Libeth would visit Lola Narda’s house in Talangban and would demand to take Omega and Alpha with her.

Reading these letters from a distance seemed like it was happening in a totally different dimension, in a totally different universe, and yet I could not feel anything. I could not imagine how Mama and Papa felt that time—reading those letters from Tita Bucay—and realizing that they missed out on the growth and your firsts. But, I felt like it was also difficult for them to hear about the updates of their two youngest daughters during that time and they could not do anything about it because Mama teaches High School Science and Math and Papa, a Senior Pastor of the church at Feeder Road 3. We had to get by.

I felt like, the separation, and the seeming abandonment, had to happen in order for our family to survive. And although during field trips in the Crocodile Farm in Davao City, and the time when we went to Samal Island, the two of you were not in the pictures, when we were asked by Mama’s students and other acquaintances during church fellowships how many of us were in the family, we would always answer 6—the youngest are twins and they’re back in Guimaras.

When we finally went home to Guimaras in the summer of 1998, and we were reunited, and we would spend our summers in Loblob together with Lolo Narding and Lola Auring, it was one of those times when I felt like our parents were the happiest. Despite the fact that after a few months, Lola Auring died from leukemia, and years after, when I was in third-year high school, Lolo Narding departed this world. Coming home was what brought us back together again, albeit in a non-traditional way.

The months with Pastor Toto Carbon, when he went with us from Davao del Norte to study at Doane Baptist Seminary, and helped in the construction of our old house in Mama’s lot during the summer of 1998, made these memories as fresh as though they happened just yesterday.

How Mama taught kindergarten within the church at Millan, the two of you became her Nursery and Kindergarten 2 students, together with Mae Lann. It was the same Mother who homeschooled Keith, and who made use of my drawing skills by having me drew objects that start with the first letter in the alphabet.

As someone who lived with Lola Narda, and spent the last two years of my high school with the family in Talangban, I could understand your abandonment issues, if there were any.

But it was never really abandonment issues that made you, Omega, became full-time caregiver for Mama when she was undergoing chemotherapy. It was love from a daughter. It never really was about duty when you sing, Alpha, at Antique Medical Center, while Mama was sitting at her chair oblivious to the praise and worship song that you belt—glorifying our Creator amidst pain and suffering. It was because, despite the heartbreak and the inevitable end, you knew that you are going to be reunited with Mama someday, even if death is, at that time, her destiny.

There are issues that we don’t talk about in the family. There are disappointments and struggles that we live through alone, even if you have been with each other since birth.

And although these familial, relational, and intergenerational traumas were not talked about as a family, I’m quite proud that in one way or another, you rose up from the choices that our parents made for us as a family and you became the unique versions of yourselves—you became readers and lived, and continue to live a thousand lives; you came to know how to think independently; and you two are about to finally wear your Sablay—a flimsy reminder of the struggles and the hurdles that you had to endure but an enduring testament to the grace of THE Father, who was with you both when you were born, in the most interesting of circumstances.

Happy 28^th Birthday, Alpha and Omega! We cheer in the sidelines. Every step matters.

^{Ma, Alpha, and Omega}

“Then He said to me, “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give to the one who thirsts from the spring of the water of life without cost. He who overcomes will inherit these things, and I will be his God and he will be My son.”

Revelation 21:6-7

Blessings and Light,

The Prodigal Kid

JAI

Fifteen years ago, when I entered the seminary, I was a teen in the last year of my teenage years, lost and determined to redeem myself. Years prior, I took up BS Nursing with the dream of going abroad and earning dollars in North America. Mama, in this reality, wanted me to take up Nursing because it was the demand of the global market. I was one of those whom my country, and my family, wanted to export to other countries.

Having decided to quit Nursing School because of the exorbitant tuition fees, at that time, and that my parents could not afford, plus wanting to find “God’s will” for me inside the seminary, I decided that I would dedicate one year of my lifetime learning HIS story and live with fellow individuals who dream of serving the Master.

It was a difficult decision for me to make. I had to travel miles and seas away from my comfort zone and live in a totally new environment. But months before I embarked on this new journey, I did my homework. I studied every photo on The Lamp, the annual school publication of the seminary, and familiarized myself with the view and the culture of the school. There’s not much helpful content on YouTube then and Google Maps was not yet created. When the time came for me to decide what I wanted to do with my life, I considered our family’s situation. Studying in the seminary meant that I would become a full scholar—tuition, board and lodging, and food included. It was a no-brainer.

My father went with me. We journeyed via Roll On-Roll Off ship and arrived inside the gates at Kaytikling, Taytay, Rizal.

One of the first courses that I took as a first year in the seminary was Christian Education of Children, with Adelia “Mommy Dhal” Sanchez as our teacher. I sat on the furthest seat beside the door leading to the hallway of the new academic building. A few minutes after the start of the class where we were encouraged to recite Psalm 8 as a group, Jai sat beside me.

And that’s when we became seatmates for the rest of the semester.

At first, I would not mind her side comments when she would disagree or agree on something that our teacher would say. But as the days passed, I would actually chuckle inside.

We also became groupmates in Christian Ethics and reported about Rock Music. And while I enjoyed the research part of the class reporting, it was Jai who faced the whole class and answered each question.

What’s interesting to note is that since the first-year class is big, we were divided into the Alpha and Aleph classes. There were times when we would have classes only with the Alpha group, and there were times when we were combined with the Aleph group. The Christian Ethics class was one of those where we were in a big group.

Other than being seatmates in Mommy Dhal’s Christian Education of Children and groupmates in Christian Ethics, we also applied as writers for The Lamp, the very same annual publication that I studied to familiarize myself with the culture and the layout of the school. We attended editorial meetings together, and were assigned different topics to write about.

My sanctuary when I was in the seminary was the library. I loved the smell of books and the newspapers. I have been reading broadsheets ever since high school, before the advent of online news outfits, and being in the library comforted me. During those times, reading the news made me aware of what was happening around me.

One time, I was browsing through the broadsheet and she talked about the Philippine Stock Exchange in the Business Section. I had no idea what she was talking about but I smiled at her.

There were times when we would meet near the walkway between the Chapel and the new Academic Building and she would call me “Adik”.

Months turned into semesters and my goal of earning high grades was fulfilled. I was amazed at how my brain could absorb all the study materials that I would make before midterms and final exams. I never thought that it was already a sign of my burgeoning mania and psychosis, exacerbated by the instances when I was bullied during basketball games when I would man the Red Cross Youth first-aid booth. I was called “Library Boy” for having spent almost all of my free time in the library during school days.

During Christmas vacation (or was it summer vacation?), we would text each other and she would share that one of their traditions in the family was to watch Titanic. It actually prompted me to watch Titanic all over again. I used to think that James Cameron’s blockbuster hit was a formulaic movie but having known from her that Titanic was part of their family tradition made me appreciate the Jack and Rose story.

When I came back from summer vacation in the year 2008, I was already lost. I read The Kite Runner that summer and it unearthed childhood memories that I have long repressed and buried in my subconscious. I wanted to study in a university and not go back to the seminary. But I was a full scholar and my family had no enough money to send me to school. So, I went back.

Specific details aside, the person who sat beside me during the first day of class never left my side when I needed someone to talk to in the darkest days of my 21-year existence. Although I felt that time that I had nothing to cling on to—no anchor and no steering wheel—I felt comforted knowing that there was (and still is) someone who would stand up to me when worse comes to worst.

In the end, the seminary deemed it best that I go home, after the onset of my manic-depression and my emotional breakdown that reverberated across the halls of the Chapel.

I was never sure what happened to Jai after I left.

But when we started communicating again after having recovered, and after 2008, I saw her for the first time in 2013 on the foot bridge in PHILCOA near UP Diliman. I was with my friends from UPOU and she was with Aries. Without thinking twice, I hugged her. She introduced me to Aries, and when we parted ways, I texted her how good-looking Aries is.

Through the years, we kept in touch and she has always been there for me, in the hills and in the valley.

When Mama was diagnosed with breast cancer, it was her whom I called and talked to on the phone, weeping because of what I had been feeling—that I felt like I was navigating a dark tunnel with no light in sight. She was also the one who advised that the tunnel will get darker even more as time passes and that I needed to be ready.

During those moments when I was having a hard time dealing with my grief and taking care of matters pertaining to Mama’s burial, it was her whom I reached out to. Years prior, she lost her Mommy in an instant. Losing a mother does change a person, in more ways than one could imagine.

When she was grieving, I could not totally understand the depth of her sorrow—she kept talking about spikes piercing her skull, her brain. But I knew how it was to be sad or depressed, and to have the compulsion to end things. I didn’t understand then that losing a parent was on a whole different level of pain and heartbreak.

And yet, all the things that she learned, and discovered about herself during those difficult years of her life—the grieving process that she had to take and the emotions that swirled around her during days after death took over—she shared them to me. I may not have absorbed all of them, but I surely value all the “life lessons” that I have learned from her.

Because those precious life lessons were the ones that I needed the most when I lost Mama to breast cancer in January 13, 2021.

There was a time in 2017 when we were booking a GrabCar at Mall of Asia in Pasay after having coffee at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, and she felt that I was a bit fussed with the driver because he had a hard time finding our pinned location. She then told me to inhale and exhale. Or I could not exactly remember what she did but I remember that I calmed down a bit. Perhaps Maya Angelou was right when she said that “people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel”.

Jai has always been like that in the lives of the people around her, or at least to me. She understands what someone needs, she feels deeply, and in specific moments, she knows what to do in order to alleviate human suffering.

She’s also not afraid to speak her mind—even if others would disagree with her. She believes in the power of prayer—she has reiterated so many times how her prayers were answered because “niluhod ko sa Panginoon”.

Before Facebook and Messenger, one of the SMS messages that she sent to me was this: “The reason why Satan keeps reminding you of your past is because he is afraid of your future.”

I held on to that SMS Message for so long because it reminded me that I could overcome by His grace. That no matter how broken we are by our circumstances and our choices, there’s a chance to be good again. There’s redemption. There’s hope. And that Philippians 3:8-9 is truer than ever—nothing else matters in comparison to the pursuit of knowing Christ because He knows our past, present, and future.

Truly, what a blessing it is to have a non-legalistic friend who reminds you of your hope in Christ alone. That heaven is our final destination. And that the irony of death is that “it makes you feel alive.” Plus, a friend who also thinks that [CBTL] Planners are better. Or is it? [Lol]

Even so, Jai, may all your plans succeed and may His hand direct you in each and every path that you take. Blessed Birthday, Jai!

“I have leaned on you since my birth; You are He who took me from my mother’s womb; My praise is continually of You.” —Psalm 71:6

Jai, CBTL, and Planners, 2017

For You, A Thousand Times Over

When I turned 21, I was confused at how I’d stare at the world in such a way that it would welcome me into its arms and give me opportunities to create ripples of change. I felt that the world needed my brilliance (yes, I’m quite delusional sometimes) and that I just had to be out there, trailblazing, digging corpses, sleuthing, book cataloguing in the library, singing, writing songs, joining community-oriented organizations, helping. The whole lot. The real deal.

I felt that I was required to be altruistic. And that in order for me to be used greatly, I must move along, mustn’t stop and smell the roses.

But I found out, in the most heartbreaking way, that the world cannot be changed by one single soul ready to conquer it, if one is not changed first.

A few years ago, Life broke me apart. Like a vessel, I was shattered into pieces. My dreams came tumbling down like the walls of Jericho. My detailed plans were totally eroded by the need to look into myself first before I hoist the sails, and steer my boat towards my grandiose ambitions.

My boat hit an iceberg and sank. I almost drowned.

But the years in the waters have taught me to swim for the shore. I was cold and lost.  My North Star shone only at night when I needed to sleep and in the day, the sun blinded my way. I was floating aimlessly, with no direction in mind. I told myself that if dreaming means being broken then I better stay as shards of glass.

The wind must have felt my anguish. Because floating aimlessly was not included in my detailed plans. People were expecting that I cross the ocean, bring home the treasure chest and celebrate the so-called good life.

I did not become the hero.

In fact, I became a casualty. A body that needed to be found. A soul that gasped for purpose. A mind totally demented by the horrors of idealism gone awry.

But the wind, ah the wind, blew me into a direction where in the clear light of the moonlight, I found myself staring at my reflection on the ocean and realized that I may have lost my navigational skills but the tide will always bring me to the shore.

Cold and alone, and with the help of the cool breeze of the wind leading me to the shore, I kept staring at my reflection on the water until I remembered that there are people looking for me, cheering for me to reach the shore.

Out there on my own, I almost forgot that my life meant something. That life, after dashed hopes and dreams, has still value and meaning.

So I aimed for the sands in the shore. On my way to the glistening pebbles, messages in many bottles kept me company.

In one of my favorite books The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Charlie said these words:

“So, I guess we are who we are for alot of reasons. And maybe we’ll never know most of them. But even if we don’t have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them.”

Daniel Keyes, who left this world, shared these words:

“The path I choose through the maze makes me what I am. I am not only a thing, but also a way of being–one of many ways–and knowing the paths I have followed and the ones left to take will help me understand what I am becoming.”

And Life of Pi:

“You might think I lost all hope at that point. I did. And as a result I perked up and felt much better.”’

In my journey, I always remember Hassan. Quoting his words from The Kite Runner, I can’t help but ponder on the thought that to be able to touch a life, one needs to be genuinely selfless.

“He stopped, turned. He cupped his hands around his mouth.

”For you a thousand times over!” he said.

Then he smiled his Hassan smile and disappeared around the corner.

I still haven’t reached the shore though. But, at least, I am on my way there. And I bring good tidings.

© wodumedia.com
For you, a thousand times over.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gather Ye Rosebuds

We shall all die.

This is a painful truth that we have to accept, mortals of the rotten earth. Our bodies will deteriorate, we’ll get hit by a speeding cab or we’ll get infected by a deadly virus specially cultured to wipe out the entire earth so ETs can thrive on this planet.

Morbid. Yes.

But the moment you accept the reality that we will all soon fade away or not really fade away, but the reality that we can go somewhere else where death is a foreign notion, then that’s the time that we begin to really live.

The thought sometimes of dying scares most of those who have so much more to give. Those who have so much to live for. Those who have so much more to fight for. Those who have so much more to accomplish. But when we die, snap, we won’t get to say “not today.”

This May, I lost two of my family’s close friends. The first was my mother’s bestest friend and the second was my father’s good friend. I am not sure if it was my defense mechanism to not really process their deaths but I had to. Unless I want the rest of my days to be dreary.

Ever since I have discovered that I tend to get so caught up with funerals and make so much drama out of it, I have stopped going. I may see that people try to go on with their lives as normal as they could but I tend to notice the sad eyes, the blank facial expressions and the overpowering sadness that hangs between awkward conversations. And as much as I want to initiate conversations in a funeral, I have always believed that it’s better to shut up or not show up at all.

(This part right here contains spoilers for Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire fans.)

Or maybe because A Song of Ice and Fire has desensitized me to the brutality of death. Which reminds me that Jojen Reed’s death in the Season Finale of Game of Thrones Season 4 is really depressing in itself.

So what I am trying to say in this post is that life is short. The goal is not to live forever. The goal is to live the life that you’ve always wanted “in a numbered days”. Hashtag The Fault in Our Stars.

Forever is Hans Christian Andersen’s last word in every fairy tale because interestingly life will always echo across generations depending on how strong the voice you’ve raised in your lifetime. Although one may already be buried six feet under, if one has felt strongly about “things” in this world and has expressed it, then this voice won’t get drowned in society’s chaotic streets.

And I intend to raise my voice along with those whose voices are drowned out by the noise of confusion and oppression.

After all, my favorite quote is from The Newsroom’s “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.”

Soon enough, I will be done with my GE subjects and then I’ll decide what I want to do for the rest of my life. It’s not easy to decide though. In one of my conversations with former Peer Facilitators and overachievers Chester Sales and Rosevelle  Galvez, I have been advised that money makes the world go round.

Truth.

But life is not all about money. If life is all about  accumulating wealth, building big houses, getting the latest gadgets,  traveling across the world once a month, or eating in a posh VIPish restaurant in the metro, then one should have been born an Aquino and go to a school in Katipunan.

What’s interesting to note is that when you talk to people whom you haven’t seen in a long time, they’d always ask how things are: Where are you working? What’s your course in college? Are you married already? [in that order].

Society seems to applaud the citizen with a string of titles beside his name, with a diploma to boast of from this and that school, with a stable job and with the one whose future is already set in the Rosetta Stone.

But why should I care with society’s standards anyway? Society’s standards is not really that reliable when it comes to predicting people most likely to succeed in life. Because society does not even ask this question: Is that what you really want to do? Are you happy?

Life is so short to just live up to society’s standards.

So talking about who has earned Masters and has gotten a law degree or who has saved up 1 Million in a bank, or who has bought 3 cars in a span of three years, bores me. Why would someone follow a path expected by society for everyone to follow? Sometimes, when one takes a detour, the journey gets so much more interesting.

One would argue, if life is short, why waste your life?

There’s no such thing as wasted life. There’s only wasted people. Wasted people are the ones who are too stuck at their own comfortable rooms that they refuse to go out, step on the grass, look at the sky and follow what they really want to be, where they really want to go.

And I don’t intend to be one of the wasted ones. I just have to gather my rosebuds while I may. Because death is, again, full of surprises.

 

Here I am.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grandmothers

April is celebrated with a lot of birthdays in the family. One is my grandmother’s which makes her 79 today. I have written about my grandfather in a previous post. This time, I celebrate the life of one who has taught me everything that I needed to know about love, life and family.

Aurora

I lost my grandmother, my father’s mother, when I was in grade school. But the memories are as fresh as the events of yesterday’s. I remember how she would ask us if we’ve eaten. I find this Ilonggo trait unique and familial. I’m not saying though that my grandmother would ask us, her grandkids, if we’ve eaten or not out of culture but because she’s genuinely concerned. My father never had enough growing up and so from the eyes of my beloved cousin Nene Jocelyn, she witnessed how our grandmother would scour for food for the family. It was probably her motivation why my cousin did everything in her power to improve her chances in life. Indeed, the sacrifices of our OFWs.

I have known death at a young age. That was when a family friend’s son got sick and died after falling from the second floor of an old school building. I was nine years old. But it probably prepared me with the many deaths that I’d face in the family. One was when Lola Auring died peacefully in her sleep.

Leonarda

My grandmother, Lola Narda, was born in a family that placed value in education. My great grandfather, I was told through the eyes of my amused Titas, worked hard to make his family’s circumstances better. He acquired lands in an island province at a time when hectares were cheaper. He encouraged his daughters and later on his great grandchildren to pursue education because it is the only thing that cannot be stolen away from anyone. I used to listen to stories of his honorable acts of kindness through the voice of my mother, his first born granddaughter from his first born daughter, who happens to be my grandmother.

I had known my great grandfather when I was a very young boy. When he died, I wasn’t able to attend the funeral because we were stuck in Mindanao and there was really not enough money for the family to go; only my parents did go. I did not really mind back then. I was a kid. All I cared for were my neighbors and my playmates.

Three Sisters

Growing up, I would lose the memory of my grandmother in the image of two more dominant sisters. The other a former Cabeza de Barangay with a knack for diplomacy and another, a feisty grade school head teacher with the spite of a lady. My grandmother, too sickly to go to school and become a nurse,chose to live her life outside the demands of the societal structures.

But I didn’t know her life when I was a kid. It was when I came to live with her, when my family moved away again and I decided to finish high school right where I started my freshman year because I was afraid of adjustment, that I came to know her more. I shared most of my teenage issues with her. I would wake up to her quiet business in the kitchen and hurriedly take a bath and skip breakfast so I wouldn’t be late. I would accompany her early in the morning to look  for casoy. We would talk about almost everything and mostly about family memories.

I may understand how fathers love their children but there’s so much to say about how grandmothers try to make something out of whatever they have in order to keep their families. My grandmother has always been fair in her dealings with her grandchildren. She has tried to repetitively reach out to my grandfather who probably felt a little alienated when his children started having a life of their own.

As humanly possible, my grandmother also did try to irk my perspectives. I almost blamed her temperament once when I observed that she didn’t seem to be as authoritative as her sisters. I witnessed her placing Xs over the days in the calendar when my Tito, who’s now happily married by the way, would pass by the house and stay at someplace else’s. I wondered how she couldn’t have imposed her authority. But her son’s an independent working twenty-something badass. What can she do?

Fading away

There was a point in my life when I felt that my grandmother did not stand up for me. I just felt that after all these years, in the absence of my parents while I was trying to battle the shark-infested high school waters and the economically-motivated squabble over inheritance in the family, I had always tried to stay in the middle of conflicts. If there was something I learned growing up, it was that it’s wise to stay out of strained family relationships. And this, I learned on my own.

But I felt that my grandmother turned my back on me when I finally decided for myself. Her weakness had always been her tolerant self. I never even got scolded by her. She never raised her voice in my presence. I heard her bang the door or  grieve in silence but it was all there was regarding her disciplinary measures. And maybe this is why I am a spoiled selfish person.

The years when I was lost and in rebellion at the circumstances life has thrown in my face, I’ve always had my grandmother in mind. She told me a story once about a son who became a nurse and never kept in touch with his family. But all the years this son had been away, he was preparing for his family’s migration abroad. The story struck me as an astute description of my grandmother’s personality. She loves in silence. And though distance is a physical barrier at expressing her love, she does not shy away from the very thought of just loving. Selflessly. Almost denying her own desires for her own children, and for the most part, her grandchildren.

The story has also been in my subconscious all these years. For I have existed in limbo ever since I have shown the world how wrecked I am. And that my only redemption was to prove to the family that I could be anything I wanted to be. But I still am a wandering vagabond. And the very same family who lavished praises on achievements, on extra-curricular participation, on diplomas, on financial stability was the very same family who motivated me to loosen up a bit and remember that the family accepts.

Family and Success

My greatest fear is that in my quest to find my purpose in the face of the earth, I’d lose her just before I would consider myself worthy of the word successful. And though the definition is exemplified by the life of the very same woman who instilled in me the importance of reaching out, my idea of success is not encapsulated in the degree or the title that is attached in someone’s name. For in her life I have seen and felt that the greatest success one could ever accomplish is when a family becomes, well a family and not just some basic unit of society.

When I went home for the Christmas vacation last December, I have witnessed how my grandmother has aged. But I also have come to realize that all these years, my grandmother loved me from afar. Just as how she loves her family scattered in the face of the country and the world.

I have seen her joys as a mother of children with varying circumstances, her shrewd satisfaction as a grandmother trying to adjust to the teenage life of her grandchildren, her struggle as a sister in becoming a moral compass between two younger sisters with strong personalities and her hurts as a wife braving rejection to reach out to a misunderstood husband.

More than anything else, I have seen how she never wavered in her faith. How she basked in the blessings showered to those who faithfully cling to their Creator, in plentiful and in scarcity.

One day when that eventful time comes, I hope the realization of my struggle to live would not be too late. I only have now.

 ***

To one of the two best grandmothers of my lifetime, Happy Birthday! We love you. I love thee.

I dream because you loved me from a distance.

Regal