While I was Gone

I have been so cold and insensitive, dwelling on insecurities, laziness, uneasiness, and sometimes unexplainable human nature. I have been quiet for a long time and never cared to give you my friends about what has been going on with me. I felt I have been smitten with indifference which have bogged me down for some time. My apologies again.

The reason for my absence need not be explained. It is simple but it is portentous. I hope you guys don't get sick and tired of my litanies. I just lost the fire and I needed to rest my thoughts since maintaining this blog and thinking of what to write next had been onerous. I had rather enjoyed months of mental liberation. Now I am back with a staggering zeal which I hope will last me a long time. Just in case you have been wondering, here's a quick rundown, I suppose.

Last December 2007, on a chilly and quiet evening, the cool breeze of the mountains and the misty evening greeted AJ and myself as we got off the bus. We were finally in Baguio, my beloved hometown. We had planned to celebrate the New Year at home. My two younger brothers were there with their eyes ogling earlier at the windows of the bus. When I called them, they shot me with wide grins and quickly ran up to us to help with our luggage. Their smiles and their presence eased the body ache and giddiness that took its toll on me during the 6-hour trip. We quickly managed to hail a cab and in less than twenty minutes, we were at home. I surely missed the quick trips to and fro my home in the highlands. My trips in Manila hither and thither were different. They would take me hours. I just missed Baguio, its simplicity, its serenity, its canopy of twinkling stars overhead in a tranquil night, its stormy days. Comparing it to the city which adopted me as its own and helped me survive for the past years, is a clear-cut perfidy.

The squeaking of the door made up of slabs of wood signified the reunion I had been yearning for. The longing for home was made manifest in the few knocks I so eagerly let go. She opened the door and gave a short grin. She was my mom. I knew how happy she was to see me in sight, close to her, though her usual glumly face tried to hide the yearning of a mother to her son. Homesickness is just hard to deal with. I wished I had been there before Christmas but the nature of my job deprived me to be with them during the major Holiday. Christmas was over yet I was full of excitement to celebrate the start of the New Year with them. As usual, I was with AJ who conspired with my pretension, to give me company. All the while he has been regarded as a close friend of mine, just a close friend.

Seeing my family was exhilarating. The moment my eyes lay on their countenances made my heart jump. I smoldered the yearning of hugging them, kissing them on the cheeks...We are not used to that. My siblings and I were somehow raised with indifference at home. We know how much we love each other but none has been demonstrative. We acted as if we were distant from each other. My parents never taught us what kids usually do in terms of displaying their affection and reverence to their parents. There was a short exchange of hi's and hello's and how-are-you's, and after that everybody was busy unpacking the bags and boxes containing pasalubong (gifts and presents). Being homeward bound again gave me ethereal pleasure, yet it was unthinkable to realize that my being with them would only give me ephemeral satisfaction.

AJ and I spent almost two-weeks of stay in Baguio. I was glad my boss allowed me to take a leave. The cold weather in Baguio taught us to avoid going to town for additional expenses, to survive without taking a bath, to snuggle daily in the couch while watching TV, to eat, to sleep, to rest and relax. AJ noticed the boredom and he started complaining why I didn't tour him around the city. Oh, how much he wanted to go to the Strawberry Farm.

There was no sight of the strawberry farm that took place because two days after new year, we traveled down south to witness my younger brother's wedding. It was the first time somebody among my siblings was getting married. It was exciting but it was a little scary. It was hard to put up with all the pretensions and ostentatious ceremonies, conversations, etc. Nonetheless, the wedding commenced and it ended smoothly. We took a glorious splash of water at a nearby beach before we headed back up North.

We left for Manila on the second week of January, 2008 full of a hodgepodge of memories.

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.

Foraging For Food Before The Duck Hunt

The days faded and I had not gone home. The weeks flourished so swiftly and it witnessed the growing desperation that had been dwelling on my execrable self. I was such a loser and I let it. There were times I would go to sleep with other friends who had eloped from their homes with the disturbing thoughts of my father. He was still a habitual drunkard then and it scared me to death thinking that anytime he might just storm in Kuya M’s ( a friend and the owner of the house where I found temporary shelter and consolation) house and forcibly drag me to get back home. Nothing of that sort happened though and I took it to signify that my parents must have understood my rebellious behavior.

I was deeply hurt and the longer I stayed at Kuya M’s, the more brooding the future got envisioned in me. I wasn’t hopeless but I acted I was. My frailty gave in to the thrills my youth could offer. I started sucking in on cigarettes more than I had used to and got more exposed to the different tastes of inebriants.

In some occasions, I’d get surprised to see some of my classmates paying me a visit or two. I’d hear them asking where I was in the village and my neighbors who knew me would direct them at Kuya M’s. They’d always convince me to go back to school and that there was enough time I could still catch up by taking special exams. They were also witness of my jeremiads but they didn’t get the reciprocation they’d wanted from me. I’d tell them how the recent event in my life had ripped off the zeal and passion I once had wrought and feared I’d never step back in college again.

The life at I had at Kuya M's was not a bed of roses. Living without their parents somehow taught us to depend on each other and find means for survival. It was a give and take relationship for a certain period of time. There were days we had to support ourselves foraging for food around the village. There were open neighbors’ yards with sweet potato tops and openly wide lattice of chayote. We’d furtively scour promising targets for our next meal and sheepishly deal with the hostile looks of some neighbors. A lot of them though were generous and understanding enough to let go of our notoriety. Mostly, we’d fare on some chayote tops mixed with a small can of sardines for days. We intermittently fared on these edible greens and though jobless as we were, we miraculously survived for several weeks.

I was on the verge of giving up realizing that my pride might have worsened my situation. I thought I was ready to go back home.