TATAY

I remember that day. I was on my way home from school. Tatay, my lolo on my mother's side, was very sick, he'd been so for some time. He had kidney problems and his condition had somehow worsened because of complications. At this point he could barely get out of his room. We visited him at our grandparents' house, which wasn't very far from ours.

Anyway, that afternoon while I was in the tricycle my mom texted and said maybe this was a good time to go there again. They were preparing to bring him to the hospital and it was best to have more people around to help. I was thinking the exact same thing. I was on my way already and I think I even texted my aunts about it.

The tricycle was about to turn the corner towards my grandparents' house. Suddenly something told me it shouldn't. The feeling was so strong I just couldn't ignore it. So I told the driver to go straight ahead instead and take the route towards our house.

But I wasn't really going home. After getting off I walked further, just three blocks from our house. I went to church.

It was a weekday, no one was there. This was the first time I went to church alone; I don't know why, but it felt so comforting. I went inside and knelt. I prayed for Tatay. I asked God to please take away his pain. He was in so much pain. I asked for forgiveness for being such a bad granddaughter.

Tatay and I were never really close. He was the patriarch of the family. He was everything the Garcia name stood for: pride, intelligence, control, reason, honor, dignity, family. He was a rock. A proud man, he always stood stood firm. His reasoning was beyond question. Everyone followed what he said. Not because they were scared--and they were--but beyond that, because he had their ultimate respect.

People turned to Tatay, and he never turned his back. He was the embodiment of strict compassion, if ever there is such (this was eventually softened by the next generation of Garcias). He was the one NPAs went to for help whenever they came down from the mountains. And he would help them, but it was clear that they would never touch his family or the people in their barrio. The buck stopped with him.

What I remember most about Tatay was when I was very small and had a very hard time finishing my meals. For me, it was a task that I found too taxing (I still think that way sometimes). So what he did was sit down beside me, for as long as it took me to finish eating my food. Sometimes it took me an hour, maybe more. He sat there patiently, just waiting for me.

Growing up, though, I never really appreciated him. He was too straight and narrow for me. He always said things that were meant to teach me how to be good and honorable, things that seemed too theoretical for me. I was just a kid after all and I was deeply irritated (which was a coverup for being overwhelmed) by his looming, overbearing presence. And I didn't like it that he had no tolerance for mediocrity. To him that was unacceptable. When you do less than what you are capable of, you would know his disappointment. It was as if you were marked for life. I felt it was so difficult to get redemption. So I did all that I can to stay away from him.

These things and more were racing through my mind as I knelt in church. I let all the memories of him and my family wash over me until I almost felt a ringing in my ears from all the activity in my head. My chest was about to burst. Before I got dizzy I opened my eyes and sat up.

I went out and walked all the way to my grandparents' house, which was also just a few blocks away on the other side of the church.

As I opened the gate I knew something was terribly wrong. Tatay was no longer there; he had been rushed--not brought, rushed--by my tita to the hospital just a minute or two before I got to the house. Nanay and a couple of other relatives were still there, and we all went to the hospital together.

In the emergency room I found my tita massaging Tatay's legs, mumbling something incomprehensible, asking Tatay if he wanted to drink his Ensure--knowing full well that Tatay could no longer respond. He was in a coma.

Mama...Mama wasn't there yet. She was with a client that afternoon, and she was one of the last to arrive because she was one of the farthest from the hospital. Mama is a control freak and she was closest to Tatay. Because of this, I don't think she has fully forgiven or will ever fully forgive herself for not having gotten there earlier. A few days after the incident she suffered a stroke.

It's easy to figure out what happened next. Tatay's systems started to collapse, and after he was wheeled into a private room, the doctor advised us to call a priest. No one wanted to. But there was no beating around the bush, and we finally called the head of our parish. My Tatay deserved no less.

Before the night ended, the line went straight. Tatay had left. I guess God answered my prayers after all. He took away Tatay's pain.

My younger cousins were most affected. Camille cried and said she didn't even have the chance to talk to him and say thank you and sorry for all the wrong she had done him. I could've said the exact same thing, only I didn't because I was either too ashamed or too proud.

It was the darkest, most conflicted night for everyone. We were still in control, yes, as only Garcias could be. There was the funeral parlor to contact, burial rites to arrange, people to call. But there was something we couldn't get hold of. We couldn't stop him from dying. And we couldn't stop the tears.

---

It has been more than three years. Tatay's death changed us all. It threatened to shake the stability of the Garcias. Looking back, I realize that wasn't such a bad thing. It revealed something in each of us, a vulnerability, some rawness and truthfulness beneath our shells. Leave it to Tatay to destroy what he himself created. He was still in control after all.

We are all better off today, I think. The family he left behind is still a proud family, still compassionate, still ruled by reason. But his children make more mistakes now, old and wise though they are. They are less rigid, less controlled, more willing to get out of the box. And that's okay. In losing him, we are starting to find ourselves.

A pheonix can only rise from the ashes.

Happy birthday Tatay.

THERE IS LIGHT AFTER ALL

Gods do not do for men what men can do for themselves. --Athena, The Odyssey

When we want something, all the universe conspires in helping us to achieve it. -- The Alchemist

You just have to want it. --my ex

How much do you want it? -- me

And God said, "let there be light!" And there was light. -- Holy Bible

Just do it. -- Nike

Tama na yan, inuman na! --Parokya ni Edgar

IN A FUNK

How shitty is it when you want something and yet you know that you deserve something else? Worse, that what you deserve is far more or better than what you want? But you still want what you want.

Wanting less does not make you less. It just makes you a bit more honest. A bit sadder as well.

I am sad.

At the end of the day I chose to do the right thing. I know it was right. I did it to preserve myself, and to protect others. Maybe that was a bit too Messianic for me because no one asked for protection. But I am not blind or stupid, and I cannot bear to think that I may cause pain in others even in the most minute possible way.

So here I am, still good, still faithful to the promise of great and greater things. But a part of me aches to answer the what ifs. On the other hand, I know that life is what it is, no ifs or buts.

Life on the whole is fair, I still believe that. But sometimes the little situations that make up that whole are not. Like the one I am in.

It sucks.

I need tequila.

KAINIS

Something is strangely fucked up in this house today. It's like every particle that makes up this living space is filled with...irritants. I am annoyed at everything and everyone! I am deeply, inexplicably irritated, even as I sit here all by myself. Meanwhile, in the kitchen Ivan and Mama had just had an argument, and now they've both locked themselves up in their rooms. Lisa, the maid, is crying because my titas who are watching tv didn't turn the volume down and she couldn't hear the person she was talking to on the phone. And now it seems she has sworn not to call that person (ever) again. Turns out that person was the water delivery guy. Does that mean no showers tomorrow?

And freakin' Freaky Friday is playing on vcd/dvd again (Lindsay Lohan is Ivan's newest chick).

I hate this day. It's as if yesterday has carried over. Yesterday I went to school for my first day of the second semester. I arrived there an hour early because, well, when you live at the other end of the metropolis it's better to be early than late. So I got there, walked around a bit. I checked out the bulletin board. Once in a while they post job offers and schedules of seminars and workshops that I always take a note of but never attend. Before I turned the corner on the way to the tambayan I caught an announcement about classes that had been postponed. With a sinking feeling I scanned the poster, and sure enough, my class for that day was listed. I'm sorry, pero tangina. I came all the way from fucking Paranaque, and you tell me that the class is cancelled? You tell me NOW? When I'm already here?!?!

To make things worse, I was the only one there. Meaning it was I who called up my friends--who happen to be living in the same micro-climate as UP for chrissake--to tell them not to bother taking that, oh, five-minute jeep ride to school. And then I had to trudge off and go back to the mountains where I live.

Sure, the mountain part is an exaggeration, but isn't it very irritating all the same? The secretary could've picked up the phone and called us (they did it last sem). Or texted us. There had to be a reson they recorded our numbers. And hello. This is grad school. It's one class a day. Students usually have work before they go to school. They deserve to know these things at the proper time. I am not being a brat. I wasted money, wasted one day's worth of clothes, wasted one day's worth of exfoliation (okay, that's bratty). Point is, we deserved better than an announcement posted one hour before the class.

Aauugh!!! I couldn't contain myself and I just had to whine to Eug when he called (of course I was already in the jeepney on a noisy highway, so I couldn't hear half of what he was saying, which added to my annoyance), and to Tita Reg who really couldn't do anything but offer to watch a movie with me, which I couldn't do because I'm friggin broke.

And now, this. I am sometimes perplexed by the capacity of the mind to store negative energy.

Hay, kainis!

SEMI-CHARMED KIND OF DAY

Blew off my remaining money--not actually my money, but kickback from my tuition hahaha--yesterday on a couple of overpriced sandwiches, pizza, pasta and salad that I had been craving for at the Peninsula Manila. But it was well worth it because I was with two of my oldest and dearest friends, and the food was divine.

They arrived late, naturally, so breakfast turned out to be lunch. Shiva, who was wearing not black but black with yellow stars and star-shaped earrings (KL: you're starstudded!), was determined to finish off her penne. KL, fresh from work and armed with a swanky new phone (welcome to the Ericsson club!), downed her Club Pen sandwich and complained about her not-so-chilled juice. They both finished off my friench fries, which I learned were not made of potatoes (what a bummer). The very fattening salad dressing was very good on the leafy greens and the pizza was obviously good because Shiva took them all home.

Ah, I love them both. We truly deserve getting stuffed while listening to beautiful piano music. We are fabulous, yes we are.

Afterwards, Shiva and I watched a movie (KL had to go), whined about life over Bizu milkshake and carrot cake, and tried on ridiculously-priced shoes worth two years of UP education. At that point we resolved to be rich--without having to marry an old Chinese guy. Then we can Pen and Bizu and Jimmy Choo all we want, baby.

It was a weird realization, and probably coming from a skewed perspective. Funny how a certain environment modifies one's attitude. For one, I never wanted to be rich. It just isn't my thing. On the other hand, staring at a P24k price tag in a store accessible to a lot of people, I can now see that each person does indeed have the capacity to reach higher levels of financial freedom. And it doesn't necessarily mean we have to spend our riches on outrageous purchases. We can save the world, too. Okay, that's a stretch, but the point is, money isn't evil if you don't want it to be. If having money means making your grandmother or street children happy, how bad can it be, right?

I went home completely, utterly broke, but nevertheless satisfied. And perhaps a bit more motivated to become a millionaire before I turn 25.

CARPE DIEM

"I'll tell you a secret: the gods envy us. Because we're mortal. We're doomed. You are never more beautiful than you are today." -- Achilles, Troy

And that is why life is so utterly, frighteningly beautiful. Problem is, very few embrace their mortality. Most of us are helplessly confident about living forever, and forever scared of truly, truly living.

But those who seize the day, who make mistakes that bring about great triumphs, who do foolish things and get their hearts broken and live each emotion...those who know that each day may be their last day on earth, they are not afraid. They know the secret.

And the rest, gods of their own worlds, oh how they envy the descendants of Achilles.

(I'M A SUCKER FOR ) SILLY SURVEYS

You Are a Pundit Blogger!

Your blog is smart, insightful, and always a quality read. Truly appreciated by many, surpassed by only a few.

What kind of blogger are you?

LINGER

Online. Always online. Always there.

Can I not see you for a second? It's bad enough that you linger in my head like cigarette smoke. Do I really have to feel your presence every time I log on?

Dammit.

I know, I know, I should relish every moment, every emotion. Live life, right? Accept that I am so friggin' drawn to you it's beginning to sound hilarious. And because I'm so doggedly positive about my life now, it should be okay. But hey, sometimes it's just so...argh!

Like right now. It's nearly 3 am, for crying out loud. And you're still awake. Apparently, we're the only two people who are.

Like everyday. It just can't be, and yet you're there. You're just...there. Always.

What's the point?!? Is there a point?

"God doesn't give us what we don't need." So why are you here? Are you here so I can be with you? Or are you here so I can make the difficult choice NOT to (want to) be with you?

Times like this, I just shake my head and say, argh.