The Baby Is Now a Monkey

Nineteen years ago, my parents brought home my little brother, who happens to be anything but little now. I have a very hazy memory of the day itself. I think we had ice cream (chocolate favor).

He was so small and my sister and I wanted to hold him and play with him. But our parents were very adamant. He was not a toy and given the fact that our toys were in a very sad state (headless dolls with amputated limbs and such), my twenty-five year old self could very well understand my parents' concern. I suppose they were afraid we'd drop him on his head. Or something.

We eventually did. Drop him on his head, I mean. But by then he was a few months older and there was no permanent brain damage. (Hmmm... I think).

He was a sickly (kind of wimpy) child. And terribly spoiled, being the youngest and the only son. But he was a smart little boy, excelling in school and living up to his name (Excel). I was very fond of him, of course. We were pretty close as kids and would often team up against my younger sister, Cho. (We still do.. Sort of.) Or sometimes, Cho and I would team up against him. Or they'd team up against me. Well, that's what siblings are for.

I could tell embarrassing stories about him. Like the time he was in kindergarten and... well, I'm not telling. :)

He was also not good in sports in elementary, being asthmatic and thin as a stick. We used to call him "Tiking Kwangol" and "Unggoy" When he was eleven or twelve, he joined the basketball team and during warm-up, tripped and broke his arm. The team eventually won the championship. His moral support from the bench must have been incredibly effective.

I left home to study in Cebu when he was starting high school. And then he started growing up in earnest and  before long, he's so much bigger than I am and I can no longer win in wrestling. Also, he got himself a girl before I got myself a boy. Tsk tsk tsk.

So anyway, what I really just wanted to say is my little brother is incredibly annoying (like most little brothers are) but he grew up incredibly well. What would I do without him? I'd probably go to sleep on an empty stomach if he wasn't around to cook porkchop for dinner. I'm very proud of him so just read between the lines because I don't want to be mushy and sentimental.

Happy birthday, you big Monkey!

A Farewell

I find it hard to write about things that move me deeply. It's easier to write about random, day-to-day  stuff. Or rant. Ranting is easy. But when it comes to the things which touch me bone-deep, I am rendered speechless.

Words fail me. I cannot write. Because writing means feeling and I do not want to feel.

But then Tito deserves more than my silence. He deserves to be remembered. Even if it's just in my little corner.

. . .

When I think of him, I see him in my mind's eye, in front of the computer doing business transactions. He always had a ready smile for me. I am always greeted by a cheery "Hello, doc!" and when I leave, he'd say, "Goodbye, Mel doc! Come back, come back!"

"Of course," I'd always reply.

He had so much to give to the world. He was so full of grand ideas. "The Philippines will be great again!" he'd tell me, his eyes alight with fire and enthusiasm.

He was an incredibly brilliant man. He had his flaws, to be sure. Are we not all flawed? For one, I knew he had a temper. I suppose brilliant minds are less tolerant to others' flaws. He'd often rant about this or that person's idiocy. And then he'd show me his email correspondence and read out aloud how he responded.

There were so many good things about him. He could have been more than great. But then it always seemed that circumstances were against him. He was given a difficult life. Yet he always shouldered on, undaunted, ready for another fight.

He treated me like his own. And for that, I am forever grateful.

There are so many things I regret. I regret that I had not talked with him more. Or listened to his stories more. And when the sickness came, I regret that I was helpless. At the back of mind are a list of "If only" and "What ifs". But then it was too late and I could only stand back and be there for the people he loves.

. . .

Every time I'm at Bo's, it always feels like that he's still there. That perhaps he's just in the garden having a breath of fresh air, or maybe going about his various business.

But then again, he'll always be there. He may be out of sight, but I know that he is looking out for Tita, Jam, An and his Miguel. And as an extension of the family, me as well.

Tito, you'll be in our prayers.