All Soul's Day Blues

SINCE MOST of my friends are either out of town or are busy with their families, I found myself alone in my own apartment without any friend to talk with.

It's one of those days when I feel so drained of energy. I can't comfortably watch TV since many of the shows are of the scary type and I don't think I'm in the mood for scary movies. I keep on jumping for the remote control everytime TV stations start to air horror show plugs.

But my more serious consideration is that there are some recurring feelings of depression, feelings that may have been due to the thought that we are commemorating departed loved ones. A depressing celebration, isn't it?

I remember Papa who passed away when I was 17. I've written part of the story here before. His death scene can pass as one of those pang-Maala-ala Mo Kaya episodes.

Three days before he died, my relatives found and asked my long-lost Mama to finally tell the truth to my long-lost brother, who Papa never met, about his real father (our Papa). I do not know how she was able to tell him but I assume it's one of the most emotionally confusing and draining confrontations that could ever happen to emotional human beings. All along my brother thought that his real father is Tito B, the man Mama lived with ever since my brother was a kid. I do not know where or when they met, if ever my Papa and Tito B "overlapped" in my Mama's life and I don't care anymore. To be fair, I think somehow Tito B tried to be a father to my brother (although it was pretty obvious to him that Tito B's more fond of his real son, my half-brother J).

When Mama and Papa finally met after more than 16 years of not seeing each other, no words can express how I felt. It was on his deathbed, Papa cannot even speak because he was attached to a respirator. But I knew that his mind was clear. He communicated to us through an alphabet chart where he spell out the words by pointing at the letters. We find it hard to understand him sometimes but that was all we can do. At that time, I was still very hopeful he'll get better. Yet, I knew we were losing him.

On Mama's first visit, their conversation was all kumustahan. It was also the first time I saw her, the first time I saw them hold hands. I did not sense any bitterness in them as they "talked." Maybe they were sorry. Sorry that things did not work out. Sorry that we -- the kids -- did not even experience growing up together.

On Mama's second visit, she brought along my brother. There he was, looking a lot like Papa. His eyes, his posture, his hands, his feet. He even got Papa's manner of walking. They're undeniably father and son. And I'm sorry they never had the opportunity to act as father and son. They were only connected biologically.

Two days after that meeting, Papa's health deteriorated rapidly. All of us were at his deathbed. Me, my brother, Papa's brothers, my cousins, my friends. As Papa's heartbeat fluctuated, I held on to prayer.

Please God. Please do not take Papa yet. Give him at least 10 more years so that he and my brother can make up for the lost time.

But God did not hear my prayer, not in the way I wanted it to be heard. He took Papa anyway.

After his death, I became my brother's connection to Papa. I told him how Papa was, that he was actually masungit and namamalo. He was so strict that he stopped accompanying me to school (which was only 5 minutes away from our house) only after my grade six graduation.

To this, my brother only said one thing which broke my heart: "Hindi ko man lang narinig ang boses niya." It was one of those rare moments when I suddenly felt a raging anger in my heart. I was mad at myself because back in high school I was already planning to look for Mama so I can finally meet my brother (a neighbor who happened to be Mama's former officemate told us about the existence of my brother). But for some reason, I chickened out because I thought that maybe they were already happy and that I should not meddle with their peaceful life anymore. I was mad at my Mama for not taking my brother to Papa earlier. And I was mad at God for not hearing my prayers.

I was just mad.

It's been six years and so much has happened. My brother, who'll be 23 by March next year, already has his own familly. He promised to take care of his family and their relationship the way our parents did not take care of ours. I certainly hope he'll make good his promise. Thankfully, we both learned to love and accept each other through good times and bad times. I love my brother so much although sometimes I really feel burdened by his financial burdens. But we'll survive.

Meanwhile, Mama and I are drifting apart. As much as I want to be close to her, I don't think we understand each other. Maybe it's because we were used to not having each other around that it's hard for us to find the need for each other now that life has both become tougher for both of us. But I told myself, I should still be thankful for having her as my mother. Her experiences has taught me to be more discerning in life. I wish I could help her with her problems. Maybe in due time, I can (provided that she, too, become more discerning in life).

Hay naku, my life's been so full of drama. Yet, I still tell myself to smile though my heart keeps on aching because happiness will come to those who believe.