The Reunion

Oh, Joanna just had a chat with me today through Yahoo Messenger. She is a distant friend working for care homes in Canada but no matter how many miles apart we are due to inevitable circumstances in life, she is always dear in my heart.

I heard she is coming over to spend Christmas with her loved ones. She found a new inspiration in her life there and that made me flash a wide grin in front of the camera earlier. She was happy to see the big smile in me and she reciprocated with a sigh, perhaps relieved knowing I was ready to accept her new found relationship. We haven't really talked much since she flew in to Canada to better her life and her daughter's whom she abandoned years ago under the custody of her mom. I told her how smart her daughter had become the last time I paid a visit back home. Then, she asked about my sister who is just a few years older than her daughter.

We talked about life, our struggles, our happiness, and the benign future we expect to be awaiting us. We ended the jovial conversation with my head inclined to recall one mushy yet glorious evening in my life.

After the duck hunt, a reunion with my family was about to unfold.

I wanted to go back home and the yearning to see my family again after being away for several weeks had been even more inflamed when I heard from a relative that my mom had just given birth to the only girl among my siblings. My happiness was beyond horizon but I felt bitter and hesitant still that seeing my family especially the newly born angel would entail enough courage from me. The fear I had for my inebriate dad when I was younger persisted in my teen life though he had started cutting loose from the intoxicating addiction. I had to gather my strength enough to humble before my parents especially my dad's high-and-mighty tower. I almost gave up thinking how to possibly push through with the plan that day. Almost feeling hopeless, I ended up drinking the ubiquitous brand of gin available in all the stores in the neighborhood with Brandon (Kuya M's younger brother) up until around ten p.m that night.

We had our usual talks of our lives, dreams, and youthful stories to tell. I felt comfortable sharing everything with him but not the secret I had been contemplating on earlier and was forging in the inward bravado in me. I never told Brandon I was going home on that dark night with the diminishing yet seemingly endless downpour. I left after our short drink and managed to wedge the bottle of glue inside my underwear. I got my hand on a bottle of a glue or a contact cement and though this skeleton of my past had to be resurrected, I had to succumb to its temporary effect to agitate the cringed fear inside me.

It was dark and I arrived almost drenched in the rain at the backyard of the house. Our dog was there but it never barked. It only gave me a whimpering sound and I felt how it missed me with his waggly tail, lunging it's head towards me. I decided to go near my parents' room to hear the crying baby. I was a bit drunk but it wasn't enough to boldly bolt me out where I was to see my parents face to face. The baby would continually cry but that was like sweet melody to my ears. I felt overjoyed knowing I already had a sister though was vaguely unsure if I could see how she looked. That made my heart melt still sensing if my moves would give me the expected end-product which is the longing to see my sister. I eased my face closer to the galvanized wall of the house and I could hear my mom trying to lull my baby sister to sleep. I missed my mom too as she was hushing the baby out. A spurt of emotions got caught in my throat and I remember wiping tears rolling out my eyes.

Braving myself enough, I took out the bottle of glue and a small plastic bag which I managed to obtain from the horse stable in the courtyard earlier. My spot in the back of the house was dark. The neighbors exterior bulbs and lamps a few meters away were not enough to illuminate my drunken self, my maniacal huffing of the glue. I remember talking to the dog then when my stupefied demeanor and mentality made the world stop. The last thing I recall seeing was the empty bottle of glue. I couldn't believe myself emptying almost a half-litter of bottle through huffing.

Next came hysteria, I was crying uncontrollably and so was my mom. My dad on the other hand was drunken, heavily snoring in bed like there's no tomorrow. He didn't see the drama. Nevertheless, I felt so happy making it inside. That was the first time I said "I love you" to my mom. My other brothers were there, one of them making me a cup of coffee. My sister was there, soundly asleep in the antiquated crib. I looked at my mom and she saw the eagerness in me. She motioned to me and I caught the angel in my palms. I was at home eventually sobered a few minutes before the daylight wrapped the darkness that canopied the recent events in my life.

I want to go back to school

"Then, why not? If that is your current disposition, you have the autonomy to do it and nobody should get in the way. That is your right." Forgive me, I am talking to myself.

That takes me again to a trip down memory lane. One time, Kuya M told me that one of the clear indications of a person who is likely to become a wacko is someone who unconsciously often engages in soliloquy. Yeah, I talk to myself often especially when I'd rehearse for my opening spiels working as a call center representative somewhere in Quezon City almost two years ago. Like, I'd do that everyday while enjoying the short period of my morning walks on the way to work. I had done the same thing in front of the mirror creating a teacher-student conversation by myself when I was still teaching back in my hometown prior to attending my classes. Sometimes, I just have the uncontrolled tendency to do it over and over again when letting out some smothered grudges, banters, and unspoken rants.

But I am not going crazy. And before I could have been, the volition to go back home had finally materialized. A few days after that magnificent meal, after that ambrosian experience of the product of my betrayal to my dad and my brother who industriously fed the duck with succulent earthworms almost day in and day out, I made the decision to swallow my pride and be reunited with my family. But there was a fear growing in my forsaken self. I had never got the chance to really communicate with my brothers about how my parents felt about my running away from home. I had doubts whether my dad was still willing to forgive me or not. I knew my pregnant mom was, but not him. I could picture his stoic face ignoring my plea for forgiveness. He had always been like that, not so expressive of what he felt. There were times I knew, he wanted to say he loved me despite hurting me several times but maybe he wasn't just used to that kind of drama. He hated drama madness and that is the culprit as to why we never learned how to kiss them, hug them, get their hands dabbed on our foreheads as a traditional way of showing respect to elders in the Philippines. Not even say I love you, nor greet each other "Happy Birthday."



I wanted to go back home and that yearning to see my family again after being away for several weeks was even more inflamed when I heard from a relative that my mom had just given birth to the only girl among my siblings. My happiness was beyond horizon but I felt bitter and hesitant still that seeing my family especially the newly born angel at home would entail enough courage from me. The fear I had for my inebriate dad when I was younger persisted in my teen life though he had started cutting loose from the intoxicating addiction. I had to gather my strength enough to humble before my parents especially my dad, and I almost gave up thinking how to possibly push through with the plan that day.

Almost feeling hopeless, I sought courage from the power of the ubiquitous brand of gin available in all the stores in the neighborhood with Brandon(Kuya M's younger brother) up until around ten p.m that night.

To be continued...

The Duck Hunt

I remember one time a few hours just before a stormy night. My friends and I conferred in the small living room and started discussing how we could survive the calamity and its aftermath. We went on talking about how to feed our jobless selves also in the next few days.

Kuya M's monthly allowance from his mom working in Hongkong never arrived on time and we were damn worried about how to sustain our precarious living, stuff our tummies before a cold night sleep.

One of my friends, suggested that we go loot one of my dad’s ducks in the backyard. We heard Kuya M makes the best duck recipe by glazing it with his magical and one in a million combination of tropical condiments. The idea outrightly scared me to hell. Knowing my dad considered his ducks more important than his own children was a thing to reckon with. I remember him count his ducks every afternoon when I was still at home. He'd make sure they were all well-fed and served with the copious earthworms which he had instructed my younger brother to rummage in the softer soils and the decomposing horses' dung in the backyard. I was certain my dad would kill me if he caught me red-handed but the angst ensconced in me towards him masked my fear. I agreed with the plan and just thought, "Que Sera, Sera, Whatever will be, will be."

We went on with the plan just before the twilight had purpled. It was a peaceful afternoon and the entire compound where our house belonged in was quiet except for our dog which momentarily yapped at my friends when we arrived a few meters from the structure through the fenced in backyard of the house. The courtyard fringed with hibiscus then was still commodious before my dad went insane selling every parcel of land he'd find profitable. The earlier weather forecast of a threatening storm might have shoved the people to stay put and prepare for a thunderous din of the night, I thought.

The quietude in the backyard gave me some consolation. It eased my worries earlier but it also sent me a more horrible picture of my what-if's to catch one of the ducks. The ducks seemed intellectually wary of the storm en route as they were gregariously huddled in their open coop but not of our devilish scheme.

With an open, empty sack of rice ready to stow one of them, my friends and I started our effortless duck hunt. I couldn't believe my eyes that in less than a minute my friend was able to catch one and managed to keep it squirming inside the sack. I felt relieved knowing we had worked on the plan without any travails. However, my compunction told me I just betrayed my dad, my family.

The ducks had started cawing loudly and to my surprise their noise didn't create much stir to bring one of my family members outside and witness my betrayal. We left through the small opening in the fenced in yard and fled through the bamboos near the river to make sure none of my neighbors would blow the whistle on our dirty tactic.

The rains had started tattooing on the roof while we were savoring the special meal Kuya M warmly prepared for us on that cold night. It was one of the best meals I have ever had and for the record my dad never found out, or might have he just feigned to send a signal that he had forgiven me?

Remorse and Hibernation

Was there a time you were in hibernation or in a hiatus? Why? How did you deal with it?

"Time is as fast as an arrow."

It sucks but I have been mulling over the reasons behind being unable to post in a long time. There are a lot of things to say. The clear-cut getting-in-the-way tuition and quotidian job I have shouldn't be mentioned since it is not a good excuse. Maybe, I was just too lazy to post. Or the fire that was for sometime ablaze just died down. I still love to blog and I just can't understand why the spark just had to fade away.

Now, I am thinking more deeply. There was a time I admitted that I have an obsessive-compulsive behavior though I never actually had to undergo a psychological test or whatsoever. I may just be too naive to understand what it really means and I was to clueless to believe that I am indeed obsessive-compulsive. Then again, I remember a time when my eye got caught in the discussion at blogcatalog about a blogger who kept changing his blog's template to deal with what he called a "cycle". An impulse that hits people with obsessive-compulsive behavior. A spurt of a chameleon-like character, being whimsical, feeble, etc. I really don't know what's eating me. Insecurities, discontentment, anxieties, sexuality...there are too many to mention. But the compunction that has been eating me away from doing the regular things I had been doing is overwhelming. I am uncertain if spilling the beans will give me a relief. This is something that has been haunting me and I have always turned to AJ for help, reasurrance, and strenght to calmly deal with it.

I am really sorry if there are people I have disappointed or people I might have cajoled to live up to my expectations, perhaps my manipulations. Maybe, this is the real me- a very complicated person whom himself doesn't even know.