My Dad told this story a hundred times, about how I wanted to return Tj and buy a new brother when we were still kids. I was maybe around 6 years old and Tj was only 3. Daddy found me at the porch—elbows on knees, palms on my chin, a pout on my face. He asked me what’s wrong. I said “Where did you buy Tj? Please return him and get me another brother. He’s so kulit (naughty)” My Dad will end the story with laughter, as if it’s the first time he related it. We’ll laugh with him, anyway.
Years later, the story is still the same. Of course I already know I couldn't ask for a refund but there's this recurring love-hate relationship because I find him so irresponsible, immature, and hard-headed. Because of that, my Ate (big sister) duties include loaning him money. Getting blamed for his actions. Paying for lunch. And breakfast. And dinner. And for whatever cravings he might have in between meals. In the process, I nag him with lots of I-told-you-so’s and You-should-have-listened-to-me-in-the-first-place and other yada-yada that will make him go red and sometimes lose his temper too.
I guess I become overprotective of him because of fear—of losing him. Not the “passing over” kind of losing but being away from the brother that I’ve grown to quarrel with, the one that ran errands for me, or the butt of my jokes. Every mistake he commits is a risk that he will lose himself in the process. Every wrong move he takes is a risk of hitting rock bottom. While I always throw the lifeline, I’m afraid that one day, the rope’s end will not reach him anymore and he will be carried far, far away from us. Even as a kid, he already earned lots of bumps and bruises. He already lost too many teeth while playing (and he blames me for losing the front ones). He almost got kicked out of school for cutting classes; died of heartache; and if minors can be jailed, he’ll be the youngest at the age of 5. Not that he was violent, he just didn’t know that a razor blade can cut flesh that severely. Those are the kinds of trouble he's into.
A few days ago, we had a fight as usual. It was something about getting himself in another trouble. I nagged him about not setting his priorities straight and even told him he makes me look bad and he’s a burden to me. Hurting words, exploding temper. You know what I mean. For days, we were not in speaking terms.
This afternoon, he came into my office unannounced. I was still “nagtatampo” (heavy-hearted—for absence of direct translation) so I gave him a cold treatment. I asked him why he’s here and if he needs something. He said he just wanted to visit me. It was the end of my shift so I was on my way out. I didn’t intend to stop for him even though I wanted to take him to dinner or ask him to crash my place. 'Catch up or stay behind. I don’t care,' I thought defiantly.
“Ate, bukas na flight ko.”
I froze. It’s like I got splashed with cold water. The news was expected but shocking at the same time. We were expecting a month’s or at least a week’s notice. But a day’s notice? It’s unfair! We need more time to kiss and make up.
“Let’s go sit at the lounge,” was all I could muster.
I called up our Dad and told him the news. I guess he also had that cold-water-splashing moment because he got silent for a few sec. I gave the phone to Tj and let them talk. It’s another one of his risky moves. Despite our protests and insistent nagging, he’s decided to go back to Saudi Arabia to work for the same abusive employer.
Tj handed me back the phone, my Dad still on the other line.
“Now, what?”
“Well, it’s his decision so just let him go.”
“Okay.” I hung up.
What I wanted to tell my Dad was different. I want him to pull some strings to hold Tj’s departure, to off-load him, or detain him at the airport. I wanted to tell my Dad, "I don’t want you to buy me a different brother anymore because I already love what you gave me. I wouldn't trade him for anything. So please don’t let him go.”
I stood up and got ready to leave.
“Uuwi ka na?” Tj asked.
“Yes. What else should I do? Ingat na lang.”
“Hindi ka na pupunta?” I knew he wanted me to send him off.
“Pupunta saan?”
He didn’t say anymore.
If there was hurt or disappointment, he didn’t show. We were in a telenovela. We’re both acting out a role: a cold sister who wanted to teach his brother a lesson and a brother who is not affected by his sister’s indifference. I was holding my breath. But no director called a “cut.” So the show must go on. I couldn’t show him. He must learn, I need to let him go...
“I’ll walk you out,” he just said.
We didn’t talk much on our way out. I couldn’t. But I don’t want him to leave with a heavy heart. So before I took a ride home, I gathered all my courage and hugged him. He hugged me back and I pulled away after a brief moment. I managed a smile and said, “Ingat. Papakabait ka ha.” It was a sincere gesture for me, not my usual nagging and scolding statement. He gave me that puppy look like he was 3 years old again and my heart melted. How could I even thought of replacing this rascal? Before a tear falls down or before giving in to the idea of taking him out to dinner so I can talk him out of leaving, I decided to just turn away and get on board the vehicle.
It was the longest ride home.
Years later, the story is still the same. Of course I already know I couldn't ask for a refund but there's this recurring love-hate relationship because I find him so irresponsible, immature, and hard-headed. Because of that, my Ate (big sister) duties include loaning him money. Getting blamed for his actions. Paying for lunch. And breakfast. And dinner. And for whatever cravings he might have in between meals. In the process, I nag him with lots of I-told-you-so’s and You-should-have-listened-to-me-in-the-first-place and other yada-yada that will make him go red and sometimes lose his temper too.
I guess I become overprotective of him because of fear—of losing him. Not the “passing over” kind of losing but being away from the brother that I’ve grown to quarrel with, the one that ran errands for me, or the butt of my jokes. Every mistake he commits is a risk that he will lose himself in the process. Every wrong move he takes is a risk of hitting rock bottom. While I always throw the lifeline, I’m afraid that one day, the rope’s end will not reach him anymore and he will be carried far, far away from us. Even as a kid, he already earned lots of bumps and bruises. He already lost too many teeth while playing (and he blames me for losing the front ones). He almost got kicked out of school for cutting classes; died of heartache; and if minors can be jailed, he’ll be the youngest at the age of 5. Not that he was violent, he just didn’t know that a razor blade can cut flesh that severely. Those are the kinds of trouble he's into.
A few days ago, we had a fight as usual. It was something about getting himself in another trouble. I nagged him about not setting his priorities straight and even told him he makes me look bad and he’s a burden to me. Hurting words, exploding temper. You know what I mean. For days, we were not in speaking terms.
This afternoon, he came into my office unannounced. I was still “nagtatampo” (heavy-hearted—for absence of direct translation) so I gave him a cold treatment. I asked him why he’s here and if he needs something. He said he just wanted to visit me. It was the end of my shift so I was on my way out. I didn’t intend to stop for him even though I wanted to take him to dinner or ask him to crash my place. 'Catch up or stay behind. I don’t care,' I thought defiantly.
“Ate, bukas na flight ko.”
I froze. It’s like I got splashed with cold water. The news was expected but shocking at the same time. We were expecting a month’s or at least a week’s notice. But a day’s notice? It’s unfair! We need more time to kiss and make up.
“Let’s go sit at the lounge,” was all I could muster.
I called up our Dad and told him the news. I guess he also had that cold-water-splashing moment because he got silent for a few sec. I gave the phone to Tj and let them talk. It’s another one of his risky moves. Despite our protests and insistent nagging, he’s decided to go back to Saudi Arabia to work for the same abusive employer.
Tj handed me back the phone, my Dad still on the other line.
“Now, what?”
“Well, it’s his decision so just let him go.”
“Okay.” I hung up.
What I wanted to tell my Dad was different. I want him to pull some strings to hold Tj’s departure, to off-load him, or detain him at the airport. I wanted to tell my Dad, "I don’t want you to buy me a different brother anymore because I already love what you gave me. I wouldn't trade him for anything. So please don’t let him go.”
I stood up and got ready to leave.
“Uuwi ka na?” Tj asked.
“Yes. What else should I do? Ingat na lang.”
“Hindi ka na pupunta?” I knew he wanted me to send him off.
“Pupunta saan?”
He didn’t say anymore.
If there was hurt or disappointment, he didn’t show. We were in a telenovela. We’re both acting out a role: a cold sister who wanted to teach his brother a lesson and a brother who is not affected by his sister’s indifference. I was holding my breath. But no director called a “cut.” So the show must go on. I couldn’t show him. He must learn, I need to let him go...
“I’ll walk you out,” he just said.
We didn’t talk much on our way out. I couldn’t. But I don’t want him to leave with a heavy heart. So before I took a ride home, I gathered all my courage and hugged him. He hugged me back and I pulled away after a brief moment. I managed a smile and said, “Ingat. Papakabait ka ha.” It was a sincere gesture for me, not my usual nagging and scolding statement. He gave me that puppy look like he was 3 years old again and my heart melted. How could I even thought of replacing this rascal? Before a tear falls down or before giving in to the idea of taking him out to dinner so I can talk him out of leaving, I decided to just turn away and get on board the vehicle.
It was the longest ride home.