today i looked at all my memories with you

I was thinking of how my graduation is coming up in December.
And I wanted to send you an invitation.

I was thinking of how to celebrate your birthday in September.
One hundred and three years of your life; 10 decades.

I was thinking of last Christmas when you and I just sat together.
In the middle of the food and gifts and the people, we laughed at all the things.

I was thinking of seeing you today.
Instead I looked at all the pictures I had with you.
I'm glad that all of them had us smiling together.

I thought I had more time with you.
It never crossed my mind that you might get tired.
People remark on your age but I barely gave it a thought.
I always felt that we were kindred spirits,
You in a 100 year old body, me in a 20 year old one
But always, we were friends.

I'll miss your stories of grand adventures of your past
I'll miss bringing you coffee and a little bit of 'yes, dulce lola'
I'll miss just sitting beside you and yelling a bit louder because you dislike your hearing aid
I'll miss listening to you speak a mishmash of Tagalog, Ilocano, Spanish, and English
I'll miss lending you books that you forget to bring back
I'll miss browsing for crossword puzzles and wondering if you have that one
I'll miss hearing of your dreams for me: to graduate with honors, to be my own person, to be happy
I'll miss watching you show off your jewelry and telling me where each one came from
I'll miss hugging you and resting our heads together while we watch others around us
I'll miss our conversations and our gossiping, and you saying I should paint and draw
I'll miss seeing your smiling face and hearing you laugh
I'll miss you
I miss you

A Year of Thanks, Almost

Dear _________,

Thank you. You have brought me so much this year that I apologize in advance knowing that I have forgotten about some, most of them. But I hope you know that all the things I am thankful for, and will, I have kept as treasures in my heart.

Thank you for your faith in me, your trust, and the love that abounds. Thank you for the prayers, and the kind words and thoughts, and thank you for the messages that made me smile, that me light up, that made me alive again. Thank you for your patience, and the guidance, the wit and the silly conversations via notes, the phone, e-mail, Facebook, and face to face. Thank you for the gentle and sometimes pointed reminders of things that I have missed, lessons I needed to learn, and encouragements that have held me together when I doubted.

Thank you, if you have not heard me say these words. Thank you. I am grateful for humbling me down, with tears, with hurt, with heartache, with disappointment, with loss that I have shared with amazing people, some individuals I only recall through vague initials or shared moments. I can only thank you for your strength, and your determined drive to endure. I can only stand back and bask on how much is out there, how little I give and how much I gain.

Thank you for being the wind beneath my wings. Thank you for laughing along with me. Thank you for taking the time out of your equally busy life to share a simple but heart-filling and heart-warming meal with me as we take this adventure together. Thank you for being there when I needed someone to chat with, even at 1 AM and you have responsibilities later. Thank you for remembering my birthday, and I am sorry if I greeted you late on yours. Just know, I meant my birthday wish with my whole heart.

Thanks for being firm with me, honest, and being a real friend. Thank you for keeping me in check, and prodding me, and saying no when I needed to hear it. Thank you though for reminding me to have fun, to ease my rigidity, and live this one life I have with intent and laughter. Thank you for going to the movies with me, for singing loudly along, and spending time to just hang-out. Thank you for taking pictures of me, with me, of us; proof that yes, those are real moments and not just hazy memories.

Thank you for reconciling with me. That was probably awkward and painful for us but what matters more is us being okay and mending. Thank you because even when I wasn't there for the worst parts of your life you don't hold those against me. I am sorry though, and I hope I will be a better friend, sister, daughter, aunt, grandchild, niece, classmate, and random stranger. Thank you because you inspire me to be better, and more. I love more now, and laugh more, and cry easier, and hug a little bit tighter. Thank you for teaching me how to be.

Thank you for being a mentor, a friend, my mom, my dad, my brother, my sister, my brother in law, my niece, my cousin, my uncle, my aunt, my grandmother, almost in-laws, comrades in school, and all those things in between, like being someone who knew what to do with my dead car batteries, or the person telling me directions after I got lost for the 3,127th time.

Thank you because even though I don't name names, you know I am thanking God for you, because hopefully I have already said those words to you at least once. If not, then I hope you know now.

Thank you God, for all these things, and all those people, and all those experiences that you have brought in my life to make me more, and better. And thank you, for so much more, for the love, there's so much love that I cannot help but smile and breathe deeper.

Thank you is just one tiny part of the huge balled-up tangle that I feel.

With the hope that you love always,
Kat.

Nothing in common

It surprised me when I checked my inbox and saw an email from you. Of you apologizing of all things for things unsaid. And I wondered who put you up to it. We've drifted, it's been years, we don't talk. And that about sums it up. You've moved on and I am, well, I've learned to just let go. I've stopped chasing after you awhile now because I don't know really, I just got tired of it. Cynical. We have nothing in common anymore. I'm certainly not the one you need in your life, I'm finally learning that I am no longer a little kid and you are moving into a life where you fit in with someone better. Someone who isn't your younger sister. I could try and chase after your coattails as long as I could, but I no longer wish to. I miss you, yeah. I miss getting emails and chats and silly jokes. But I no longer feel compelled to chase after you because I know that even at my pace I'll meet with you at the same stage sooner or later, but with less heartaches, with less bitterness. I've learned that you are your own person and you do not belong to me and I can't keep you with me forever. I've been seeing that we can never own people for our own selves because we can only share bits and pieces of each other. That I can't possess people because the moment I do they become possessions and no longer persons. And I'm sorry if you felt the need to coddle and hold my hand far longer than any other persons would allow just because I refused to let yours go, that I shackled you to my leg only letting you go so far before I dragged you back beside me again. This is me letting you go, unchaining you from my side and stepping back. It's past time that I stopped using my insecurities and my own self-bondage into blackmailing you into staying. Thank you for indulging me and coaxing me along life but I can manage on my own now, but thank you. And I won't begrudge you of running off into the sunset when I myself have realized freedom. I'm happy for you, and I always love you.

I think I'm ready now

Warning: This long post is long. If you want a summarized version, skip to the last paragraph down there☟. You have been warned.
April, where hast thou gone? Suddenly, it's May. I believe this is a déjà vu, haven't I written similar phrases previously? I think I've forgotten the last time I've written, the last time I just sat down and felt how my bones ached, the last time I exhaled and breathed in relief, but I remember how I've thought that time keeps flying by me.

In between the months of March and May was April; and she was a tempest. She found me and pressed me down, stared as I shook and cried on my knees. She grabbed my hair and through it all she saw all of me. It's not an easy lesson to learn; humility. It seeks you out and forces all of your being to stay and still, as it teaches you to soften the haughty angle of your nose and push down the tilt of your jaw, even as she gentles the way you grit your teeth.

I remember one Tuesday afternoon, I found myself horrified just standing there in front of my professor as I realized that I was breaking down. I could feel the tears stinging behind my eyes, even as I tried to reassure her and myself that I am fine, I am okay, No, thank you I don't need to talk. My eyes were round and bright I bet with the tears that were threatening to fall so I escaped with a hurried I'll see you next week. My hands were reaching up to my eyes to wipe and wipe and press down any more tears as I quickly rushed to the lobby and out the door. You're crying in public, how quaint.

A few minutes earlier from my bout of hysteria, was me failing a proficiency test by a point 2 percent. Six hours earlier was me receiving a test score of 79, the lowest test score I've had since grade school? When I was rebelling against the unfairness of my private school? I didn't fail that test but I've never gotten a test grade like that in Nursing school until now. I don't know if you can imagine how flummoxed I was about this. A classmate of mine got a 74 and said, "Oh, I missed passing by two points. Eh, it's not like I care". Two different people, two different reactions on the same test. Another who got 78, said, "Aww, I'm glad I passed". At this, my brain goes, there is something wrong with me.

And then I failed my proficiency test, so my brain goes, What just? I don't... What? I failed something and I... I need to fix this. I don't know how. So of course, I get to the parking lot just wanting to go home and kill myself figuratively and literally partially. But I had to face three people who passed the test with no dice in the parking lot so there's me trying to not just burst in undignified tears of defeat while attempting to be self-deprecating. I guess I managed that one okay since I get into my car with no more fussing, and I drove home crying and shouting and squeezing five dollars to a homeless lady's hand during a stop signal.

April sucked so much. It sucked. Because I broke down in public no less, because I'm never half-hearted even in falling down and crashing, and because I wanted to make all these excuses why I spectacularly failed; like how my mom has cancer and it's the awful-est thing ever, or how our class is the hardest and other people are having a hard time too, or how I have sacrificed my life and all that's in it so shouldn't that be enough? I wish I could blame these reasons and say Aha, you are the culprit, but no, sometimes God just wants me to tank multiple tests, break down in public, and cry myself in the freeway, to teach me lessons. Lessons like humility, that high scores come from God, not my brain or my awesomeness; like there's no such thing as perfection as we remain human, because God doesn't want perfection from me, that's not how He wants His glory. He wants effort and faith, and a readiness to serve and do, a heart that just wants to be what God wants it to be, and a spirit that is ready to grow.

The greatest lesson I learned as I cried in my car and paused as I watched a homeless lady walk back and forth the island is that no matter what age you are and no matter where you are in life, you need God. My needs may be small compared to the needs of the lady homeless on the streets but we both need a God that is bigger than both our needs. I cried for three hours more as I sat in the living room with my mom and my dad at home. I told them how stupid I felt, how hollow and unhappy I felt, how alone and bitter I felt about my life, nursing school, and the stuff in between. I've always handled things on my own until I couldn't anymore and they were there to sit with me and listen, and point out things I've only started to see in myself, and tell me that I'm not stupid, and I can change the things I feel unhappy and bitter about so I can be fulfilled and happy.

If I could only thank God for two things, it would be my parents, and my family. They were there with me as I picked at my old wounds and dug through layers and layers of my baggage. It wasn't easy to admit that I had bound myself up so that I was only to be perfect and happy in solitude; that I had imprisoned my imagination and my will so that I could be more like something I thought was what I should be. It hurt to be unraveled and broken, to spew out things that hurt and are hurtful, to find out how wrong I have been all these years, and how tightly bound and tethered I was by me. There is a relief in the peace that I am being re-molded and that I am safe in His hands. I think that even when April sucked, it didn't turn out all bad since hey, I get another year in life and I finished level two of nursing. Three more to go, an NCLEX, and a job interview, and I think I'll be okay. By God's grace. Amazingly, I don't think I'd trade this April for any other ones I've had.

I know, I know this is TL;DR (too long; didn't read), pardon me, I missed staying up late to just blog and read, and cruise the internet. The gist of my long narrative was the plight that was my April and how suck-y it was but I celebrated my twenty-first birthday with my loved ones and all is well, almost. That's it in a nutshell. Until next time, my lovelies, I hope you had a much more enjoyable April than I did. Or not, you can just be jealous of my super eventful and dramatic one! So, it's your turn to tell me how your April went? Or actually, the last four months that have gone by. : )

A side effect from caring

There's been two types of adjectives that have been predominantly applied to me when I was growing up: one being aloof; the other being nice. Many people who meet me at first confide to me later on that they thought I was snobbish and reserved. I can honestly say that when I don't smile, I don't look very friendly; but really who does? When they get to know me better, that is when people start applying the term nice. They figure out that I don't actually bite people nor do I bide my time thinking ill of them.

Honestly, they're not too far when they call me both aloof and nice. I know for a fact that I can be not nice, that I can be this person who does not care. I have seen myself stare blankly as someone cried in front of me. I have rolled my eyes and mocked someone's sob story. I should empathize but no, I just don't care sometimes. But then again, a lot of people tell me their problems and I listen, and I comfort, and I help. I have hugged someone as they cried their eyes out, tucked someone in bed as they felt utter misery, and helped someone to their feet as they wished to try again. I have cried with people and cried for people with the same eyes that mocked and stared.

Anyone has a propensity to choose apathy over niceness any day of the week, and vice versa. Lately though, I've been more apt to care. I've cringed over hateful words, my heart clenches as I hear contempt in people's voices, and I have stilled in horror as people choose to stop caring. I find myself horrified at the thought of becoming this crybaby who is affected by every little sign of discord. Apathy is so much more easier a mask. No tears, no cooing or false sympathies. No drama. Such is a life I want. No complications. But caring has this way of insinuating itself between the cracks and insisting that it matters.

And it does, I suppose. It does when it's about my family, and the people I love, and then it starts extending to the people I just met, and to the people I have yet to learn about. And I get lost. My world that consists of me and a handful of people are expanding to let more in. And it terrifies me to care about all these other people when I hardly know how to care for all of me. I know that no matter how much I care for people, it cannot change the world. Caring cannot change someone's opinion, or create more food, or reduce global warming, or grow back someone's hair.

But one of the most annoying things that happens when a person cares is the persistent desire to hope. That tomorrow everything will be better, that life will be easier, that there's more to come. I care because I want to love with something bigger than my body, more than my cells can hold, greater than my mind can dream of. There's only one of me but I can have a love that renews more than what is possible, more than what is expected of me, and more than what I expect of myself.

To Darla, I love you. A lot. I first loved you with a selfish reason of not wanting to let you go. But I know that I never will; that some special guy can sweep you off your feet and take you away with him, but I'll hold you forever in my heart. I love you not because you are my sister. I love you because of your own person. You're not all perfect, and neither am I. You're not all squishy and huggable, but the parts of you that are, are more than enough to love everyone else that you wish to.

To Kuya, I love you. I've admired you before I loved you. And I hated you before I learned how to love you. But in the end, I love you, and that's mostly what matters. The rest of the thing that matters is the fact that you will always be the person who riles me up, makes me mad as spit, and then pets me to calm me down. We're complicated. You're the older brother who never got a manual on how to figure out a younger sibling. And I'm the younger sibling who never got the memo on playing nice. All in all, we're a pair. But seeing you grow up, I know that you'll even make a greater pair that special girl who'll keep you on your toes and make you laugh the loudest and the longest. Don't ever change.

To Sister. You're my greatest friend. And I don't ever need to tell you what's what for you to figure out how I feel. There's many reasons why I looked up to you when I was growing up. And there were many reasons why I desperately wanted to hold on to us. But I've learned that it's not about letting go, because neither you nor I have. It's about extending the reigns to someone else until we come full circle and our world becomes smaller. You are grace and strength and air. And you have all of yourself to offer. I thank you for that.

To Momi. Thank you. Without you, I wouldn't be. I want you to know that I haven't always understood you and I haven't always wanted to understand you. But now I do. You're so much more than what other people see in you. You're so much more than what other people will think of you. Your family, they are only one part of you. They are not you. I hope you understand that your strength is one thing that makes you stand apart from others, but one thing else is your freedom. You know where your freedom lies, and I hope that later you'll find comfort in knowing that your love hasn't been in vain. And it hasn't. Those seeds you've sown that didn't seem to grow, they're still budding. And so are you.

To Papa. Papa, I love you. For every hug that you've given me, I repay you three-fold. For every prayer that you've said for me, I offer God five more. For every laughter and tears of joy, I ask Him for a thousand more. And for every lesson you've taught me, I will honor them all. For every fear and anger that you've felt for me, I say an assurance. And for every word of discipline and pat of my hair as I cried, I bow my head in humility. And for that day when you put my hands together as I accepted God, I put my hands together as I thank the one who did the same for you. Thank you, Papa.

To Kuya Ancho, I bless you as your sister and as my brother. There's many things that could have gone wrong between your meeting my sister and your permanence with us. But the years have passed by more than a decade now and still your roots have dug in and stayed entwined with ours. You're a tree of such patience and of such passion, and you've spent and shared so much of both not only with Manang but with us. Thank you for showing us the dazzle of vibrant colors. You've brought so much to us and we haven't caught up to yet.

To Baba. Babalove. You're still my sweet. You've grown like a rose, like a mountain. You're both spring and lightning. I missed so much of your growing up but I don't regret that much. Because you have such great parents and people who love around you. And they all love you. I miss hugging you and making you laugh with silly jokes and fixing your hair because it always needs fixing. I miss how your eyes twinkle and how your lips quirk in a reluctant smile, then a full fledged laugh, even as you try to knit your eyebrows together and look stern. I miss your curiosity and your ability to go on for days and days, and days like a whirlwind that plays with the leaves and then I miss how you simply know confidently how to be. I miss many things. But I miss the fun that we create together. Always have fun, Ba. All the time. Remember that having fun is a choice too.

I can make more lists of these. I can write down more love for all the world to see. I can do all these and still have love to spare. But right now, this is enough. Because these are the words that I've held closed in my heart for so long and today, I set them free. If you read this then you know that I love you, always will, even when I'm no longer here to agree. Even when it's not from my lips that you hear it. Even when it hurts more said out loud than whispered quietly in the back of your mind. Even then. Because love like this isn't the kind that goes away. This stains and holds deeper when you rub at it. It holds your hand tightly in the crowds, and pokes you on the sides 'til you frown, and it keeps at you until you bat it with your hands. My love is annoying, let's just say that. But that's because it's the kind that is persistently hopeful that when you wake up tomorrow, it's to a lighter and better day.

They told us not to cry

My best friend sent me an instant message asking if I was there. I replied and received her response that said her grandfather just passed away. He never woke up. Oh.

I gave my condolences and said that I was sorry. And I was. I was sorry for the fact that she wasn't able to say goodbye. I knew how hard it was for her to receive a call or a text message letting her know that she no longer had a grandfather. I knew how it felt when you hear family cry over the phone. It's unimaginable. It's painful to hear heartbreak over the line.

She asked me if I knew how much he meant to her. That he was the father she had in her life. And that she was so sad. I told her I did. That I knew how much she loved him and how much he loved her. I told her that I understood how much it hurts that she was unable to say goodbye to him. But I knew that he would never begrudge her her feelings. That he would not allow her to pretend that she was okay, that it was okay, that it didn't hurt. I told her that it was okay to cry.

She told me she again that she was so sad. She told me of her plan to go home to the province, that she asked for a leave. I wished her a safe trip. I said that I would pray for her and her family. I asked her to give my condolences to her grandmother.

I was slightly uncomfortable when I was chatting with her, honestly. I knew she was crying when she was typing since she misspelled every now and then. That was the first time that I ever told someone that it was okay to cry. And even as I expected her to cry, I was unsure whether I was actually comforting her correctly. No one tells you as you grow up, "this is how you comfort someone, especially when they lose their grandfather, specifically when you're chatting with them continents away."

The twenty-first century has seen evolution and devolution, raced through inventions and application of laws and logic. Human socialization is growing even as you read this through interactive networks but there is a growing chasm in human connection and community. We don't hesitate to "add" someone, a friend, an aunt, a cousin twice removed, or the crazy uncle no one talks about on our page. But there is a definite pause when asked who lives three doors across your house or if you actually acknowledged that small smile-nod Mr. Smith gave you earlier or you either stared between his brows and gave your own smile-nod as you ducked away.

I think people are becoming socially awkward. Even as I admit that no one is taught the art of comforting and say that it comes naturally, I find that I am at a loss as to how I should break that silence of grief. That I don't say or not say something and then wince as I see them shirk further away. Some might say that just being there counts as an act of comfort. I suppose. But then my being continents away does pose some trouble. I don't want to make an ass of myself as I type an instant message.

All I could tell my best friend was from my own experience. She told me again that it hurt so much. And I replied that it would get worse. That it would hurt as she would remember how he looked, his favorite breakfast, how he smiled when she would greet him as she came home. That we lose parts of ourselves when a person we love passes away. I couldn't bear to tell her that sometimes we would forget how their voice sounded like, or whether they ever wore this shirt. The simple details would fade from our minds even as we desperately try to hold on to as much as we could.

I couldn't tell her that it would ease in time. That it would hurt less. That she would be able to breathe easier. And that she could smile at the thought of him in time and not be guilty that she was still alive. That it would be okay not to cry. But maybe I don't have to. Maybe she'll figure it out herself.

The great thing about human beings is our capacity for change, our capacity to adapt, our capacity to survive. And the great thing about us is that we don't have to be told how to comfort someone; that even as we awkwardly pat someone on the back, it comes naturally. I think it is great to be a human being. That's the beauty of humanity, we are always being. Not becoming, or doing, but being.

Always the Smart Ones

I bet her eyes widened as her brain digested what she just heard. I can imagine how they would hold that involuntary response for a second, and then she would blink. But her mouth would be slightly opened as she would form the words, "What? What happened?"

I asked her how she felt. Sad. Yes, I was too. But then she says, "So, nice weather we're having." And all I could do was laugh while we proceeded making small talk to hastily change the subject. There we were on the phone discussing cows on the freeway, brunch, how Twilight sucks, and the distinction between cliff diving and cliff jumping. All the while in the backs of our mind contemplating how it isn't really funny, and we shouldn't really be laughing. It was inappropriate after all.

"We need to talk. I need to talk to you," was what my Mom first said when she opened their bedroom door. And I could tell it was going to be a serious discussion. And in a habitual childhood-borne reflex, I started thinking of what I could have possibly done wrong in the past couple of days, and then weeks, that warranted that serious tone of voice, and that grave facial expression.

My mom started with chitchat. She explained why she didn't think visiting my cousins would be a good choice, because she couldn't, no time, and all that. And then she explained why she wouldn't agree to my desire of buying a smaller cupcake pan, because it wouldn't be fair for everyone. I understood, I explained that I figured that out. It's fine, I'll get over it. "It just makes me feel bad when you make that face, I feel like it's my fault." It's not, Mom, it's normal that I'll be sad. But I get over it.

What is this about? I was asking mentally because we don't normally do this, we do, but not over trivial matters of vacation or cupcake pans. So I asked, "Is that all?" And not surprisingly the answer is No. The next thing she tells me makes me frown, raise my eyebrow, take a breath, and laugh. Maybe that was inappropriate as well. But I did not mean to be disrespectful in light of having someone I loved try to cheat life and fail.

It made me both mad and sad that she did that. I was mad at myself because she felt she couldn't approach me at any time. I was mad that she bottled it all up and used a bottle to end it all as well. I was sad because she's only fourteen, and in the two years I've been with her I didn't see it coming. Or maybe I did and it pisses me off because I chose not to see it. I was sad because it shouldn't have come down to that and she shouldn't have felt the need to do that.

What do I tell her? Do I ask her why? Do I pretend that it's okay and say everything will be fine? Do I tell her honestly that what she did was crap and that she should have thought of her family? Of her younger siblings who looked up to her? I could say that the worst thing I've heard is someone saying they're giving up on life. It makes me feel like there's nothing worthy enough for you to stick around here until the end. It makes me feel so angry because there are hundreds and thousands of babies being born everyday that don't even survive to take their first breath. And it makes me sad because no one should choose that option ever.

We all have our pain, we're all broken, and we're all human. And if you think that life sucks, then welcome to the real world. Because in this world your younger sisters will be affected and scarred by that all their life. The youngest might not even know what happened but your younger sister, well, you probably broke her heart. This might sound spiteful, it might offend you, that I'm ranting at you when you're in a frail and delicate situation. But you should at least think about the fact that I care enough to be angry, I care enough to be mad at you. You have so much going for you, you're smart, you have a great sense of humor, you're highly intelligent, you have a great family, and you don't have body odor. I hope you realize that life doesn't have to be perfect for you to be happy. Life is pain, but it is a gift. Life is a choice and in all things you have a choice. The only thing you don't have a choice over is death. But when the time comes for that, I hope you can honestly say you don't have regrets on how you lived.

Holding On to the Dead

Forgiveness is the act of releasing or letting go of what you hold against someone. It reminds me of the anime Cardcaptor Sakura, when Sakura chants a spell, swings her wand forward, and shouts "Release," and the Clow Card would become effective in its natural state of power. I guess. So here I am, ready to exorcise you from my scarred soul into your natural state.

I forgive you for how you laughed at me at the wrong times: when you hit my head hard with that golf club, accidentally, when I fell down the stairs chasing after you, and when you again, accidentally, closed the car door while I was getting out behind you. That really hurt, by the way.

I forgive you for locking me out of the apartment because you just felt like it, and how you chased me in the room with a belt when I refused to obey you. I was so scared of you that time that I took hours staying in the bathroom. I forgive you for refusing to give me my allowance and having me starve. I was really angry and mad at that. I hated you for that.

I forgive you for using me as an experiment in your sadistic games. For when you nightly pricked my finger with a blood sugar testing kit because you thought it was fun. It was probably for you, but you made me cry myself to sleep every night. And that time you deliberately electrocuted me when I said no. That really wasn't funny.

I forgive you for gambling away the Ipod I gave you. Again, that stung. I felt like you didn't really care about me, that I was disposable to you. I forgive you for always asking me to buy you stuff, and you conveniently never asking me back what I wanted. It's not that a big of a deal, but I know you're a nice guy, maybe not just to me.

I forgive you for when you forgot that you have a temper and had me on the receiving end even when none of it was my fault. I forgive you for never apologizing on your own, you always had to be prodded by Mama and Papa. I forgive you for breaking my heart. I forgive you for being such a sucky big brother. I forgive you for even having me do this, for making me hate you unwittingly. I forgive you for making me hate guys, I just looked up to you for so long and then realized you didn't love me.

I really hated you, do you know that? You made my childhood miserable. You made me feel so small, defenseless, and you laughed instead of apologizing. I don't care that Mama likes you more, I understand that, but I dislike the fact that you got away on tormenting me. Disillusionment sucks so much.

I'm sorry if I became the baby in the family, I know you liked that spot. But you see, you're our only favorite brother, that's your role. I'm sorry if I screamed at you when you teased me many times before. Believe me, you're the only one who riles me to the point of anger management mandate. I'm sorry if I made fun of you unknowingly, or when I hurt your feelings. I'm sorry if I cramped your style, when you had to go with me when you wanted to go with your friends. I'm sorry for only having time for good times and forgetting to ask you how you were, we don't really know each other.

I'm sorry for clinging to you like a leech, I wanted a friend because I was alone. Maybe you needed a friend too, but I was so busy being selfish. I'm sorry for not being a good younger sister, I know I can be a pain. I'm sorry for the times I wasn't there for you, I'm here if you need someone. And I'm sorry for not loving you as I should. I do love you, I just forgot underneath all my hatred. You're still my favorite brother.

We're made of sterner stuff.

I know how belated this new year message is, but I hope that everyone is starting their new year right. Whether you have a resolution or not, or whether you do have a resolution and forgot already, I hope your year is still starting out better than last year.

My family's Christmas and New Year's celebration was quieter this year. Not because of the recession or because their were fewer relatives here in Arizona. I think it's because this year it wasn't because of the presents we gave and received, but because of the blessings we've received the previous year.

The previous year, I had an uncle who was diagnosed with liver cancer during the Christmas of 2007. Despite the prognosis that he only had six months left and despite how the tumor has progressed to his lungs, he is still with us this year. In 2008, I had an aunt who suffered a stroke, but despite the paralysis on some of her body, or how she can't use her hands, or her feet, or speak 'normally,' she is alive and undergoing rehabilitation currently. My sister's mother in law, was diagnosed with cancer in the colon. But with successful surgery, she is still able to enjoy her children and grandchildren. We have undergone a tumultuous year filled with people we love experiencing pain and disease, siblings going through demanding situations, and then there is the uncertainty of finances and future, and the nightmare of how everything is going wrong.

It may seem to us that there is no hope, that nothing else matters, that this is it. But life is suffered by everyone. No matter how it feels and seems that you're alone in your pain, and that no one else in the world understands what you're going through, despite breaking down in defeat and utter desperation, it's not the end, not yet. It's not through if you don't give up. Everyone of us has our crappy days, when all our demons rush in to devour us, when everything we do is wrong. It's okay to angst, and cry, and break down. But afterwards, get up, dry your face, and take a big breath. Exhale.

I'm not trying to belittle the problems, or the feelings of those who are facing problems. No, all I'm trying to say is, you're not alone, that no matter how life sucks for you, you are stronger, and braver, and smarter, but you'll never know unless you try and do something. I know that despite how I angst and huff and puff over my studies or my worries, as long as I don't give up, I'll be fine. There's nothing wrong with psyching your self up, there's nothing wrong in hoping for the better if hope is all you have left in your pockets. Hope is infectious.

If all else fails, if you only remember one thing from this post, I hope it's this: You can't get everything right. But you can't get everything wrong.

It's okay to make mistakes. Mistakes, problems, angst, and incurable diseases, are part of our lives that reveal who we truly are, what we're capable of, and what we're shaping to become. There's no shame in breaking down, but there is strength in getting up, brushing your knees, and moving forward.

the fasten seatbelt sign is on

10 and 9. Those are the number of times we've moved houses and the times I've moved schools, respectively. The number of times I've been on airplanes I've lost count, as well as the number of times I've had to introduce myself to a new crowd. My life has been full of introductions. A new introduction presented itself when Princess called and said she was leaving for Canada.

"You're leaving me?" were the first words I blurted out. I didn't really know what to say. When I was going to the US, I was totally depressed. I wasn't excited about new life, starting over, yadda yadda. No. What I wanted was to stay. What I was wanted was to keep my life the way it was and be happy. What I wanted was to never move again, end of story. Except it was never the end of any story and I had to start over again in a foreign place. And now that Princess is moving, I feel for her. I feel sad that she's not going to be able to see her friends when she wants to as she normally does. I feel sad that she's not going to be able to just book a flight and relax in Boracay. I feel sad that she's going to miss out on our niece's life. I feel sad that she won't be able to just take a jeep to the mall and window shop all she likes. And most of all I feel sad that nothing is going to be the same anymore.

Jokes that made you laugh before would make you cry on the spot. Clothes that were comfortable before would make you feel alien and naked. Foods that used to keep you company would make you feel homesick and alone. Nothing is familiar when you leave familiarity with your friends and toys. I wish I could say that it's going to be better, that sooner or later you'll be fine and happy again. It does in some ways. But there's a void that you avoid because that's where everything you were and had is.

Moving is a trying experience. It has an emotional roller coaster mandatory for everyone. But moving is moving forward. Where your past and future become your present. Where every thing is new and exciting. I'm blessed that with every move my family is still there, a room away, a phone call away, an email away, a video chat away, a prayer away. My bestfriend once said that even though we never see each other we are still under the same blue sky. As cliched as that sounds, I find comfort in the fact that we are connected by God's love, under the same blue sky.

Princess, I know you're going to okay. Just think of the place you're going to as a bigger Cebu. You're going to be just fine.

Lessons from our backyard

For the past six weeks my Dad has been with us here in Arizona. In the last couple of years, six weeks is not the longest we have been together, but six weeks weighs more than a year's worth of Skype video chats, sparse cellphone conversations, and at most, bi-weekly emails. I have never thought about the strangeness of this situation a lot. Since it's not like I think it is strange. Not seeing or talking or hearing from my Dad daily is as normal as my hair tangling up like a wretched hairball. Both are certainly unappealing, though hairballs are generally more disgusting. By unappealing, I mean that daughters usually want to know how their father is faring and vice versa. In my case, I DO want to know how my father is faring but again, in my case, that's just not always been possible. There was that one simple hang up with us not being in the same house, or even in the same continent. Good news, we're in the same planet.

I have (as you mostly are all probably aware) always been a daddy's girl. My mom and I are close but my dad and I just mesh better. As cliched as being a daddy's girl is, I think it's enjoyable. Most of the time, anyway. My dad is a military man, a math man, a straight forward and loyal man, a Bible man, a generous man, a well respected man. Not in that exact order but he is certainly the kind of guy you want with you when your car breaks down or when you are lost in this crazy Twilight Zone kind of place. Being with him again has reminded me and shown me that as smart mouthed and sarcastic I am most of the time, I still need my dad in my life. Especially since I usually keep everything to myself to the point of bursting my figurative innards.

Ever since I can remember I have always tagged along with my dad. Driving with him to Manila or taking the bus back to the Farm, I have always been by his side. Most of our conversations were conducted on the move or during nap time when I was trying to make him sleep so I could play. One time when I was four and my brother would not let me join him and his friends play, I went to my parents' room and sat beside my dad. I was clearly sulking so my dad asked me what happened. And I just told him, "I wish I was born a guy, then I could do whatever I wanted." My dad just laughed at that and replied, "Not every thing's going to be okay if you were a guy. That's why God didn't make you that way." I just humphed and stayed quiet. When I was five, I told him I wanted to be an assassin when I grew up. My eldest sister looked at me then at my dad when he calmly said, "That's not really an easy profession, why don't you choose something else?" My sister wholeheartedly agreed with him.

There were many instances of me saying some random thing to him and he would respond in a straight forward manner, despite the amusement or astonishment to my sentiments. I have always felt that he was not talking to me as a child but as a person. Once, we were parked somewhere and just sat there watching jeepneys when I noticed the signs painted on the sides of the jeeps. I asked him, "So where is 'Vice Versa' located in Cebu?" He was silent for a couple of seconds before responding, "Vice Versa?" I nodded as he started saying, "It means it also goes the other way around. It's not a place in Cebu." And with that, I sat silently, and we burst out laughing. There goes my English classes.

The past six weeks, he's been taking care of our backyard. My dad's first love is planting, and plants love him too. So my mom has given him the task of planting new plants and flowers in place of the ones that have succumbed to the desert heat. The plants which have been withering before are now basking on growth since my dad started caring for them. Another project he was tasked to do was to replant the uprooted tree on my aunt's backyard. He took me there one afternoon with his shovel, his ropes, a couple of stakes, and my car's jack. All the while I was angsting over what my mom told me just hours ago. He did all the talking while tying up the tree, talking about his childhood and how my grandfather gave him a job in the farm. I sat on the loose rocks and listened to him talk of responsibility and the hardship of sacrifice. In the end, we prayed and he asked me if I was hurt by what my mom said. I tried explaining but all he wanted was a Yes or No answer. I said yes, and he replied, "Ok. It's okay to tell her you were hurt."

I've learned a lot from my dad, and I'm still learning. I've learned that it's okay to say what you feel, and that you should. I learned that driving a car should only be done when you are sure of what you're doing. I've learned that math will not eat you alive, and that anything can be learned if you are willing to. I've learned how to really plant a flower and not see it die in two days. I've learned how to cement bricks, the difference between cementing and plastering, and that if you get cement on your hair you can wash it off as long as it hasn't hardened yet. I've learned that gardening and watering plants are relaxing and enjoyable work. I've learned that taking a break can be relaxing and enjoyable too, especially after you really worked hard.

My dad is a great influence in my life, and by great I mean in intensity and ability. I went back to Philippines one time to figure out if I should take Nursing or not. My mom wanted me to, of course, but she wanted me to decide. My dad gave me a verse in Psalm and I decided on Nursing. "Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me." Despite the fact that Art was my first love, I decided on taking a risk with Nursing because of my dad's confidence and support in me. And in times when I doubt myself for my choice, I remember that verse and feel better again.

I had a conversation on the phone once with my dad where he was asking me if I missed him. I thought about it for a second before I answered, "No." He was clearly taken aback by that and replied in a hurt voice, "Oh, why don't you miss me? Why did you answer no?" I just said, "Well I don't miss you right now. And you told me not to lie." My mom had to explain to him later that I was just an abnormal kid and did not think normally. The truth is I miss him everyday. But I just don't think of him so I don't miss him so I don't think I miss him. It's not logical but that's just the way I cope with not seeing my family. For me it's not absence making a heart fonder, but out of sight, out of mind. But when I do say I miss someone, I really do miss them. Cross my heart.

So when my dad goes to San Francisco tomorrow, I may not get to say goodby to him at the airport. Or I may forget to email him in a week. But I think it's safe to say that I will miss him even as I bury myself on schoolwork and reading. Lessons from our backyard go from mundane to enlightening, from poignant to silly, and from father to daughter but the answer to "Do you miss me?" will always be "Yes," from now to forever.

Tough Love

My head hurts. After mulling over the happenings the past few days, I can certainly say that my head hurts. This, of course, does not imply insult to my intelligence. I'm not that dumb. My thoughts just refused to let go of me, perhaps like a cow and her cud, just refusing to go down effortlessly. I digress. Cows and cud aside, my thoughts are just too bold in wearing out their stay in the confines of my brain. And I wish I could just forget about thinking and thoughts all together like every other time but no, this one time it has to regurgitate itself over and over. Just me and my pathetic luck. Or lack of pathetic luck, even.

Why in the name of all that's noble and ignoble am I being tortured by my own brain? Well, first off, my brain just plain sadistically enjoys my discomfort. Self-sabotage, much? Okay, so maybe not that reason. The only reason I can think of is that reason, that which is Tough Love. And I mean that in the most platonic sense. The only sense that is of parent and child, specifically, mother and daughter in perfect discord. Don't you just love oxymorons? At any rate, there is that Tough Love in every mother-daughter tandem that even sitcoms make money off it. In my case though that tough love can be a bit jarring to the point of wounding.

What exactly can I say? First, it was just annoyance that I was watching anime instead of typing my laboratory report (which wasn't due until next week [Yeah, Kat, excuses, excuses]). Then there was the displeasure at the fact that I haven't been resuming my job hunt in two weeks now. And then there was the little incident of overhearing her retell to Papa the earlier scene of annoyance and displeasure she had with me. When I told her that she should say the things she wanted to my face, she did that and more, to my regret. Maybe it hurts a little to hear her talking about me in her vexed voice to Papa and hearing it in the way that sounds as if she enjoyed scolding me. Or the matter-of-fact voice of hers saying, "There is no secret between your papa and me." After that it was just me tearing up and staring at her emotionlessly that made her say, "Don't you dare look at me like that, I know how your mind works. You think I'm just being hysterical. I'm not." And continuing on to say that she does not work herself to the bone to have it all be for nothing, a waste. And that she has provided for me and so I would lack nothing. Again with the remark on me looking at her that way (my emotionless stare mask) which made her say, "You looking at me that way is such a disrespect to me. Your mother." And with that, she left.

So I just stood there for a while. Then I remembered my book and notes in the living room and sat there. I cried. Maybe it was because of monthly hormones that made it hurt more. Or maybe because I was completely blindsided by the whole thing. It was Sunday, it was not supposed to be that way. I didn't come home from church to have everything blow up in my face. I could make excuses for my inaction from job hunting or taking a break from writing the lab report. But no, that's just not working for me. It would all just sound pathetic and false. All the while, I completed my job application online, shut the laptop off and locked myself in my room.

Papa came knocking moments later so I had to open the door. He wanted to talk but what would I say? I didn't want to be in a pissy, vulnerable mood while talking to him. And I'm not a Talk kind of person. So I just told him an excuse and shut the door again. Later I had to go with Papa to help water the plants in my aunt's house across the street. I just seriously really wanted to be alone, by myself, in solitary isolation. I really can't get a break can I?

So there I was exiting my room when she stops mopping the floor and looks at me. "O, ano?*" She not speaking in English anymore, indicating that she was considerably calmer. Oh, goody. I just stared at the floor since I figured that staring at her would just make me appear disrespectful. She starts out by saying that she was not mad at me but frustrated that she was not seeing any effort from me. That I was not doing my best in looking for a job. That she just wants the best for me. That she just wants to see me enjoying my life, seeing me have a passion for something. That she does not see me making any ripples in my life, or in any one's, basically. I guess it went from frustration at my inertness to me being passionless then to me being a waste of space. That remarkably does not do great and passionate things to my ego and self-esteem. If I have any left. Then she asks if I was angry with her or hurt. I could only continue to stare at the floor with my face tracked with tears as I answered silently. "I don't know."

I really did not know how to feel about her. I wanted to be angry at her for having the ability to hurt me when she knew I would not retaliate. I wanted to keep on crying because it just hurt so much. I wanted to punish her by ignoring her and whatever else she would say to me. I just did not know how to feel when I felt like I was betrayed and naked. She and Papa are the only ones who can hurt me so much with their words. To everyone else, I would just emotionlessly stare back and cry privately. But with them, I cry on the spot, where ever the spot maybe. So I continued to cry as she hugged me after being surprised by my answer. She just confidently said that I would understand what she means in time. Maybe.

Maybe it's just me blowing it out of proportion. Maybe I'm overreacting and I shouldn't be. Maybe I just wish that never happened so I can continue on with life, blissfully not trying to avoid her. Maybe I'm trying to desperately keep my apathetic mask back on to prevent myself from shedding more tears. Maybe I shouldn't even be sad right now. Maybe I should just continue to retreat to my shell and stay there indefinitely, until I get my bearings set. Maybe I should never have left that shell and tried how it is to feel again. Maybe. Maybe tomorrow I'll have acquired amnesia and live happily ever after. Not bloody likely. What can I say, we all have our days. I just wish mine were pre-marked in the calendar so there'll be no surprises. Ha. My head still hurts.

*O, ano? -Tagalog for 'So?' or 'What?'

the grass is greener

I am currently still in Edmonton, Alberta. It's almost three weeks now that I've been here to attend my cousin's wedding and to visit the Queen. Well, my cousins in fact, but this side of the family is like royalty after all. Not that my mother's side of the family isn't descended from Dons and Doῆas. But my father's side is too noble and prideful to be considered anything less than royalty. I guess I just come from a family of extremes. And coming here to Edmonton gave me a chance to experience another side of my family from a different angle, perspective. Same difference.

I know that when one travels to a place for the first time, Traveler must mention, describe, and excite people of what the place looks like, of the different people encountered, of the meals one had eaten or had not eaten but wished they did, and of the activities one had done and wish to repeat, or not. As for myself, all I can say is I like Edmonton. If you have money and time, come here and enjoy. Done. I have done my touristly duty and wish to go on to my true purpose of sharing more stuff about my royalty family that may or may not mean anything to you. Shush, I just need to write. So, on to my family.

Specifically, I am writing about my dad's side of the family. The side that lives here in Edmonton. As I wrote earlier, I come from a family of extremes. And this extreme extends to the fact that my dad is my uncle's brother. Some of you are going, "Duh." What I mean is the fact that they are related translates to the fact that they not only share or have the same temperemental, stubborn disposition and discipline, but they also share the noble qualities consisting of honesty, generosity, caring, loving, and quirky sense of humor. These characters are trademarked in each sibling coming from my dad's side of the family. And my cousins and I had the great time of discovering these similarities in our parents. Stories upon stories brought out the common bond that is our parents, and we drew closer together as we cast our collection of memories and shared them as one. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy, and giddy, I admit. But I rejoice in being reunited with cousins and titos and titas that I have been too young to remember or been to apart from.

It is true that I have been too apart from the royalty. E-mails and rare phone calls are the only correspondence that have kept us from completely being out of each other's lives. We all have been moving from one area to another, one town or country away. Moving is normal for us; it is like a complicated dance, to and fro, to and fro. Packing and putting away is part of the lifestyle, yet in all the complications we have always belonged where ever we were.

I came to Edmonton just expecting cooler weather and living in my Tito Joy and Tita Lulu's house. Yes, both are what I expected. However, living with them for two weeks and a half has shown me more than I was expecting. I saw that the grass is greener here. Their family see each other almost daily, they just live minutes aways from each other, they eat out all the time, and they come and go as they please. They're not a perfect family by any means, no one has that. But perfect is not what I have been wanting since I was a child. What I wanted was a family like theirs, a family living close to each other. As I wrote, I come from a family of extremes. And as their family live minutes away from each other, mine live continents apart from each other. Well, before it was just islands apart. Funny.

I do find it funny. Funny in the ironic kind of way. Although, I also find it funny that despite the fact that I feel that I should be jealous, I am not. Of course, it makes me a bit sad to see how it could have been with my family. I can see driving to visit Sister's place and spending time with my brother in law and my niece. Or going to Princess' apartment and just kill time with her. Or goof around with my brother later while my dad and mom call and ask what time I'll go home for dinner. It makes me sad because I know that although the grass is greener this side of the family, I just sigh and move on because I also know that this isn't my grass. My grass doesn't exist since what I have is desert sand and all that grow in it are tough weeds that look pretty and flowers that struggle to survive the day's heat.

My visit in Edmonton humbled me. I can't have everything in life and what I have is enough. What's more important than having my family close by is having a close family intact. I wouldn't trade my royalty family for any green grass, beanstalk, or ducks that lay golden eggs in the world.

fitting room wars

Friday morning I woke up to my mom asking me when Fall semester starts. August 25th is when my Food and Nutrition class starts. The question of why was uttered sleepily by me and the not so plain answer was "You're going to Canada." Oh. That certainly woke me up.

Fast forward to Saturday morning I woke up to be asked what I was going to wear for the wedding. Piles of scattered dresses and hangers later, my mom and I were on our way to JC Penney, Lola's free blank cheque in hand. After all, blank cheques are for shopping.

Hours later I was backed into a fitting room surrounded by dresses and hangers. Deja vu, much? My eyes just continued to narrow and my brows drew together as the dresses that continued to mock me were becoming worse and worse in style and fit (and would you believe, in smell). kasuigdbajbshbjh.

In actuality, I already had a dress I wanted. It was simple and comfortable. It was a nice, black dress. The kind that doesn't compete with bride's white (or near that color scheme) wedding dress However, my mom seemed intent in finding the holy grail of dresses. Or at least the dress she wanted me to wear. It was ridiculous to be having a fitting room war. I would glare at the door when I would hear a scuffle indicating my mom's presence outside bearing more dresses to be worn, like Santa Claus sneaking in through your chimney bearing either gifts or coals. My face grew stiff in an attempt to be apathetic.

When she finally found a dress she wanted I was ready to burst into tears of chaos and frustration. Finally. I was hungry. The holy grail dress was (how should I say this) perky for a long, brown dress. I guess having humongous red and orange print of flowers can do that. Alone in the fitting room with the holy grail dress, I was conversing with it, out of annoyance and hunger. I was apologizing that I didn't like it but I would like us to try and get along since we were going to spend more time together. I found that completely ridiculous but I somewhat felt better. At least I could be honest with the dress.

In case you find it curious that we were having a fitting room war, the truth was we were shopping for a wedding dress or a dress one when wears for a wedding. A dress I would wear for my cousin's wedding in Canada. SO now that you're up to speed, let's move along with the rest of my weekend blues. If none of you noticed, my mom can be a bit overbearing. I assure you that I know that she is overbearing for my own good and the wellness of my well-being. I doubly assure you that that is not sarcasm you hear.

Knowing that, you can probably deduce that the fitting room war continued to the battle of the heels. As I said, jdbbaskhabaKJK. Short story miniscule, it was a standoff between open toe wedge shoes and open toe stilletos. Their color, of course, matched the holy grail dress. The better heels won, and I am happy to declare that mine KO'd the other shoe. Woot. A small victory, but a victory no less.

In the end, the Queen gave in bought my mistress as well, the other dress, so to speak. And we all lived happily ever after. Yes, you can totally hear the trumpets rejoicing in the background.

to hear you say that

there's so many things i want to say. the things that i keep inside and exchange a smile instead. it's funny how as an introvert i rarely say what i want to. it annoys my sisters, or rather bothers them, i should say. when they ask me what i want, without fail i answer "just choose what you want, it's fine by me." and they ask me again what i want, i reply minutes (eternities) later. i know how to choose, i just don't choose for myself. i don't really blame anyone for that. it's my flaw that i nourished growing up. i let other people take away my power of choice. what i eat, when i eat, which dress i buy, which shoe i wear, what class i take, when i take the class, which movie to watch, and so on. you may say, but kat those are such small decisions, they don't really matter. indeed, but they matter to me.

i want to change. i don't want to rely on other people to live my life for me. i don't like living that way. it isn't because of me wanting control. it's just me wanting to be free of other people controlling me. i know that they mean well, and i know they want what's best for me but that can only go so far. if i let other people choose how i live my life, i might as well give them my life to do away with it. i am not rebelling. that's absurd. i just want to make my own choices. i just want to be able to make my own mistakes and know that they're still proud of me. not that i made a mistake but because i am my own person.

my dad wrote me an email a while ago which made me cry for some reason. he said he was proud of me for getting the grade i wanted in my classes and for learning a lot the past semester. why cry? i guess because it meant a lot to me. i made a choice the last semester to not give up until i finished. usually i'd just say i don't care anymore, que sera, sera. but this time, i decided to push myself more and refuse to back down. it was a great feeling when i finally got the grade i worked so much for. i felt so accomplished. and it made me happy that i made my parents happy. to hear them say that i did great was momentous. hopefully, it will remind me that i have the power to choose. to choose whether i want to be great or not. or whether i eat that chocolate or not. whatever.

i said what?

okay, so we had a party today. my party. so technically it was supposed to be for my birthday last month but our social calendar was full, so to speak, and we decided to have it today instead. yeah, there was cake and presents brought by titas and titos. after all that jazz, we got talking, chismis and new news. we were talking about vacation and going home to the philippines on january. suddenly, it turned into an "oh my gosh, let's all go home on january and have a big, badass reunion" excursion. yeah. wait, what?

so, my head hurts. my mom suddenly asks for paper and pen and starts writing down the trip details and itinerary. that's my mom for you. not to be outdone, my tita b says she'll arrange the tickets for the trip, though not pay for all of them mind you. she'll just handle them with a travel agent. further talking led to my tita t saying we'll do this and that, book a hotel here and rent a van there. basically, being the eldest, she'll do the supervising aka the boss.

meanwhile, outside on our backyard, my three titos were chatting and getting drunk...pleasantly buzzed? whatever. inside, all my titas were talking all at once, over each other. migraine is building on my temples. i just sat there eating cake and playing with my laptop, acting as the deranged errand girl to do their bidding.

four hours, two cake slices and a half, one drink, and a dozen pictures later, we had a full blown planned trip to the philippines on january for two (three?) weeks including a trip to cebu, bohol, boracay, zambales, manila and shopping (not in that order). but wait there's more...crud. are they serious? i'd say yeah. are they carried away? i'd say, it's the alcohol talking (oh wait, only tita t was drunk). are they related to me? i'd say sadly yes. whatever.

the point of this blog is, never celebrate your birthday on another day. either celebrate it on the day you were born or not at all. because weird things will happen to you and you will be ignored in favor of planning a trip so spontaneous you will combust. i just don't know how it went from being a party to planning to a plan. somewhere in the middle, the camera flash disoriented me and funked up my system.

my fortune cookie aptly warned me by proclaiming: IT'S OVER YOUR HEAD NOW. TIME TO SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP. yes, indeed. kat, save yourself.

10 years later

I was 8 when my parents sat my brother and I down to talk. It was somber that night in our small living room in Cebu. My brother and I were thinking to ourselves what the talk would be about, did we goof up that day? But no, it was about our eldest sister. She was going to get married. We youngsters stared at my dad like he spouted some nonsense and was just kidding. He wasn't. And the next days were a blur of taking a flight to Manila and staying near my aunt's place.

I realize now that even then that was an alien occurrence. Marriage was usually a happy, joyous occasion with a big flourish preparation and an even grander celebration. But my sister's wedding did not happen that way. I remember being held by my dad as we sat on my aunt's couch. I remember crying, and stomping my feet. I remember being heartbroken and inconsolable. I was being a child who wasn't getting what she wanted. And what I wanted was keeping my sister in our family. I wanted her to remain ours.

I smile now when I recall hating my brother in law even before he was officially and legally my brother in law. I remember being in the farm with him and playing Mortal Kombat and Mario with him and my brother. All the while I was wishing and cursing him away from my family. It was childish and petty but it was me experiencing my world shift and tilt off course. But I remember him smiling at me as if knowing and understanding how I felt towards him.

In the end, I was dressed in a simple white gown befitting a sole flower girl. I remember holding a basket full of petals and scattering them on the carpet as I walked by. I remember sitting in front and frowning as my younger cousin found it amusing that I was in a dress. I continued frowning as I felt itchy in my dress and it turned into glaring as I felt my heart stop and pound at the same time. I felt tears well up in my eyes as I clenched my teeth in despair.

In front of the pastor was my sister on her wedding gown and her husband to be standing side by side. I remember looking on but soon averting my eyes so they wont' notice my obvious glare. I remember learning that even when nerve cells are anesthetized they still feel pain but cannot send that information to the brain, so we don't feel the pain the cells do. I felt that there was a scream bubbling in me but I knew that it would not be heard even if I opened my mouth, my brain remained numb. I was afraid that I would ruin her day for her. I was fearful of being scolded for being a brat. But I was even more scared that she would be forever lost to me.

I remember her teaching me how to read my Filipino textbooks and correcting my homework. I remember her being afraid of mice and anything that crawled. I remember her singing during church, she had such a great voice. I remember her driving the motorcycle too fast and ending up crashing it in a ditch. She was really sorry for endangering us due to her desire to speed. I remember being conned into getting money for them from my mom's purse. I remember being introduced to her highschool friends and being told that I was her cutest sibling but until I was older she held that title. I remember her going away to college and seeing less and less of her. I remember her visiting in Cebu, finding the dialect amusing. I remember being in South Cotabato with her and our family for a vacation. I remember wishing they were just there in Cebu with us. I remember being told she was getting married. I remember wanting to beg her not to marry. I remember wanting to cry and ask that she not leave our family. I remember wanting to ask if she was leaving because she no longer wanted us. I remember being heartbroken that I no longer had my big sister.

10 years later I sit here and write about it. I realize that I had begged them all to stay. And they wished they could but it was not possible. However, I am still their baby sister, they say. I am content with that. I wrote this for feeling nostalgic, for her since her birthday is nearing and I have still to get a card. I wrote this for us, for me being born on the same month she was. I wrote this for closure for that little girl who experienced her first heartbreak when she realized that nothing is forever. I wrote this for being on good terms with my brother in law, who sucked at playing the villain who stole the princess. I wrote this for love which is shared greatly in this family.

Happy birthday sister, you are loved always.

esse quam videri

to be, rather than to appear.

Why can't we just be upfront and say what we want? I'm guilty of hiding behind my sarcasm and words so I have no excuse of calling you on your own mask. I'm just curious about our relationship. We've had the typical sibling rivalry, the nonsensical spats, the immature bickering, the quiet moments of peace, and conversations on nothing and everything. I used to hate you when we were younger. You were annoying, pesky, and mean. You had the typical older brother behavior down to pat. But we grew up and matured, somewhat. You opened my doors to animes, computer games, and music. I never relied on you to protect me, and I grew up strong. You were the only one who could get under my skin and get a reaction from me. It was fun to be your younger sister. We had an odd relationship at best but we got each other. What I don't understand is why I don't know who you are right now. I thought I got you pegged as this guy but you aren't him after all or at all. You haven't betrayed me, you haven't hurt me. The only thing you did was strip me away further from my naivete, my reluctant comfort zone of ignorance. I'm not judging you for what you did, I'm not like that. I just sigh because when we grew up I don't know who left whom behind. I guess we can never go back to the past and be the way we were as much as I want to. I hope you know that you're still my kuya and I am still your ading. The sibling dynamics hasn't changed but I have to grow up some more.

because we hurt the ones we love.

it hurts that you don't trust me. that you think so lowly of me. it hurts that you trap me in their shadows. it hurts that you don't know me. that it's not okay. it hurts that i'll always be mediocre. that i'll always be lacking. it hurts because you can hurt me. it hurts because i want to be spiteful but i'm not that person. it hurts that i can't tell you that i'm hurting. it hurts because you have the power to make me cry. how much more do you want me to bleed? how much more do you want me to break?

i just want to cut my bonds. to strengthen my defenses. to keep you out. all of you. i hate you. right now i hate you. but it hurts that i hate you because i love you. you make me bleed with your careless words. you break me down with your doubt. it hurts that i will always forgive you. that i will force myself to forget. just to make you happy.

what more do you want from me? i don't understand what you want me to do, to be. i hope you're freaking happy. because i'm not.

mauled by reality

She sobs quietly behind the closed bathroom door. Only the silence witnesses as tears furiously roll down her cheeks. She is breaking down again. Only this time it seems to hurt more. What has she done to deserve this?

She wipes away the hot tears on her face as more threaten to fall, prickling her eyes. She looks at the mirror and sees her reddening, swollen eyes. She touches her quivering lips, holding back the scream that would completely undo her.

Her gaze grows distant as she remembers her first husband dying. It was slow and yet quick at the same time. There wasn't enough time. He was a kind man, everyone loved him. But cancer ravaged their lives and took him away. It was God's will. She remembered Canada and moving her moving there. She just wanted to forget the pain. She tells herself she's moved on yet her voice still trembles when she talks about him. But she continues forward.

Her mind is forcibly brought back to the present as her breath hitches. Another sob is wrenched from her throat. She deserves to be happy now. She's worked so hard, she's given so much. She's lost too much. But as before, cancer is once again invading her life. She wants to be selfish. She doesn't deserve to lose a person she loves again.

She thinks back on the doctor's appointment. She vaguely remembers the medical charts and displays in the doctor's office. She could only focus on the doctor's concerned voice as he informs them that the tests say it is cancer. There is an inoperable tumor in the liver, further complicated by Hepatitis A. You have three months to two years to live. I'm sorry.

Yes, so is she. Sorry, that is. The appointment went downhill from there. She isn't ready for this. She's going to retire in a few years. How could she live knowing that she's losing to cancer again? There isn't enough time. What will happen to the plans? How will she handle this?

She hugs herself as if warding off breakdown. On the other side of the bathroom door is her husband. She doesn't want him to hear her crying for him, for them. She doesn't want him to know how much this is hurting her. She isn't the one whose life was given a sudden deadline. She isn't the one battling with the tumor. She isn't the one going to die in three months or two years from now. She's just the one that's going to be left alone. Again.

She doesn't hear the bathroom door open. She only feels the warmth embracing her, as arms wrap around her. She lowers her head on his shoulder as sobs wrack her body. She doesn't want to lose him. She can't see herself without him. They don't deserve this. He doesn't deserve this. It isn't fair. She continues to cry as they stand there in the brightly lit bathroom in each other's arms.

In her mind, various memories are playing through as though a film. They weren't expecting this. She only holds on to her husband tighter for comfort. She can only pray to God for a miracle. In this messed up situation, only a miracle can save him. Only a miracle can keep them together longer.

-You only wish this was fictional.