A COUPLE OF BIRTHDAYS
Kris Ryan is the second son of my second brother, the middle child, neither this nor that, relentlessly headstrong, yet quiet and unassuming.
As always, I was with my brother and sister-in-law when Kris was born. It was a relatively easy birth this time, as compared to that of his elder brother. But his mom had to stay in the hospital longer than he had to. So after two days at the nursery, I took Kris home, a day before his mom was let out... a surrogate mother for one night.
The night I had Kris all to myself, I didn't sleep a wink. He was so quiet, as most newborns would be, and I would poke him at times, so he would get startled, and I would have reason to pick him up and cradle him in my arms. I couldn't get enough of him. I wished for the night to never end.
The following morning, my sister-in-law got out of the hospital and I had to relinquish their son. It wasn't easy. I just spent the whole night with him.
Yesterday, he turned 15, and I called him up to greet him. Light as our conversation was, I could sense that he was painfully uncomfortable talking to an old aunt. I asked him about school (he's in 3rd year highschool), about his girlfriend (with whom he has recently broken up), what he plans to take up in college (he wants to become a computer engineer like his Tito Jay), and lots of other things. Although he responded to every question I asked, his answers were mostly monosyllabic, and even that, I sometimes had to pry from him by asking the question twice.
I always wanted to be the kind of aunt they would take in as one of them, somebody they could talk to about anything that comes to mind, somebody they could tell their secrets to, their deepest fears, their darkest shame, their biggest guilt. I wanted to be that somebody they could tell their little wishes to, their little jokes, somebody they'd think of sharing their little triumphs with, somebody they'd feel comfortable playing pranks to... just one of the kids. I dreaded the thought of them seeing me as one of the authorities, in whose presence they'd have to be in their best behavior, the least said the better, bad idea to talk to about messing up or being a curd. I always wanted the little ones to know that good or bad, I'd love them like they were my own, that I'd let them be the children that they are cause that is how I would always find the child in me. So it's okay with me if they mess up cause I am not the parent who wants to see them soar. I'm just an aunt who adores them and who would want to spend some fun times with them. Of course I'd support them on whatever they set their minds to, with whatever it takes, but for now, I just want to be their pal, maybe even a honky-tonk buddy.
I'd like to believe I tried to live up to that 'pal' image. I played a lot with them, I went to every birthday, every school activity. Sometimes, I was even the one who went to the PTA meetings. Sometimes, when school's out, I'd drop in on them for no special reason than to spend a lazy afternoon watching tv with them, just to see what they like watching. Kris was a very playful kid, and when the show got boring, I'd grab his little arms and trap him between myself and the corner of the couch and tickle him till he cried out for help... heh. When I graduated and started to work, I would sometimes take the kids for a Saturday afternoon in the mall, get burgers, go roller skating or watch a movie. I always knew when they were sick cause my brother would call me, and I'd drop by bringing some ice-cream... that always did the trick. Sometimes, I even think they feigned being sick just so their ice-cream bearing aunt would deliver some to them... heh... cute.
Well, seems like a couple of years and several hundred miles threw all of it out the window. I know that growing up might have had a hand in it but the thought offers me little consolation. I keep thinking, what now? Where do I start again? How do I capture that child again so the child in me will have its playmate?
Maybe when Kris and the other kids get older, when life has given them their share of cynism, enough for them to have the need to find the child in them again, to let it out, to let it play.
Another 15 years down the road, maybe, a handful of disappointments, some dreams lost, save a little spark of hope so they aren't left frustrated, and God forbid, defeated... enough for them to remember that once they have been silly and frolicked in nonsense with their old aunt.
For now, I will let you be 15 Kris, and pray to God that you have a marvelous time. And maybe I'll find a way to have a marvelous time playing aunt... until we find ourselves back in our playground.
Just one thing kid... don't you dare make me a grandma before you're 30.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY KRIS!
Darlene... by now, most of you would probably know who she is... my youngest sister, mother to Lucas, wife to Papa's friend since the grades, and probably the best of my bestest friends.
We weren't close when we were kids. I was the youngest for four years, before she came, and in a way, I guess I took that against her. She was everything that I wasn't too. She was chubby where I was skinny, she was a joy to feed where I was a pain in the ass, and even as a baby, she was quick-witted where I was slow. Everybody marveled at how cute and cuddly she was and I had to stay in the sidelines and well... agree. She was cute alright. And it didn't help me feel good that she was obviously my Mom's favorite. It would have helped if I was my Dad's but no such luck... that was our elder sister's place.
Probably because of it, or maybe it's just how sisters are, we fought a lot. I remember one time, struggling for the last clean pair of school socks, I was pulling at the strap of her chemise until it broke and she wailed, loud. We got the slippers, both of us, but at that time, I wasn't feeling anything anymore, except the horrible sense I had seeing the horror and disbelief in my sister's face, that I could do such a thing. I mean, we did have our spats, we shouted and had our exchange of glaring eyes shot at each other, but we never really dealt with each other physically. Not that she was hurt, but to us, what I have done, no matter if it was accidental, was as painful as if I've slapped her face.
After that, I realized that I loved my sister.
We've been through a lot and in an idle moment, when my thoughts would drift back to those days, my eyes would still smart with tears, like they're doing now. I'm sure you know what I mean. Sometime in your life, you must have loved somebody so much that you would want to shield that person from every pain, that you would find it so easy to come up with things you know would bring a smile to her face even if sometimes that very thing would make it necessary for you to deny yourself a little, that in your mind you keep all of these little memories and each remembrance makes your heart well up with so much emotion it couldn't hold everything in without making it explode.
Yes, that's how much I've come to love Darlene.
Except for the years between us, it has never been very clear who's the elder one. At times, we'd both act silly it doesn't matter who is. When push comes to shove though, we'd both be big sisters to each other. I'll never forget the time Papa and I moved into our house. It was Darlene who did the interiors, that's her job, see. She's an interior designer. She designed everything from the master's bed down to the built-in cabinets in the library. She fixed the furnitures. Everything. I might have had my own ideas of how to fix the house but whatever it is I would have come up with would probably be incredibly ridiculous or annoyingly impractical, or both. You should have seen her during the move. She was directing where boxes had to go, which rooms needed to be cleaned and done first, where we could keep what. I mostly watched and thought to myself, 'Hey, shouldn't I be doing that?' And smiled happily that I wasn't.
On the last night of our most recent visit, I slept with Darlene and Lucas. Before we drifted to sleep, we had a little conversation.
Me: Susundan mo ba si Lucas?
Darlene: Ayoko na sana kasi mahirap pero kelangan e.
Me: Bakit kelangan?
Darlene: E kasi kawawa naman si Lucas kung di nya ma-experience ang may kapatid. Sarap pa naman magkaroon ng kapatid.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ATE DARLENE!
Kris Ryan is the second son of my second brother, the middle child, neither this nor that, relentlessly headstrong, yet quiet and unassuming.
As always, I was with my brother and sister-in-law when Kris was born. It was a relatively easy birth this time, as compared to that of his elder brother. But his mom had to stay in the hospital longer than he had to. So after two days at the nursery, I took Kris home, a day before his mom was let out... a surrogate mother for one night.
The night I had Kris all to myself, I didn't sleep a wink. He was so quiet, as most newborns would be, and I would poke him at times, so he would get startled, and I would have reason to pick him up and cradle him in my arms. I couldn't get enough of him. I wished for the night to never end.
The following morning, my sister-in-law got out of the hospital and I had to relinquish their son. It wasn't easy. I just spent the whole night with him.
Yesterday, he turned 15, and I called him up to greet him. Light as our conversation was, I could sense that he was painfully uncomfortable talking to an old aunt. I asked him about school (he's in 3rd year highschool), about his girlfriend (with whom he has recently broken up), what he plans to take up in college (he wants to become a computer engineer like his Tito Jay), and lots of other things. Although he responded to every question I asked, his answers were mostly monosyllabic, and even that, I sometimes had to pry from him by asking the question twice.
I always wanted to be the kind of aunt they would take in as one of them, somebody they could talk to about anything that comes to mind, somebody they could tell their secrets to, their deepest fears, their darkest shame, their biggest guilt. I wanted to be that somebody they could tell their little wishes to, their little jokes, somebody they'd think of sharing their little triumphs with, somebody they'd feel comfortable playing pranks to... just one of the kids. I dreaded the thought of them seeing me as one of the authorities, in whose presence they'd have to be in their best behavior, the least said the better, bad idea to talk to about messing up or being a curd. I always wanted the little ones to know that good or bad, I'd love them like they were my own, that I'd let them be the children that they are cause that is how I would always find the child in me. So it's okay with me if they mess up cause I am not the parent who wants to see them soar. I'm just an aunt who adores them and who would want to spend some fun times with them. Of course I'd support them on whatever they set their minds to, with whatever it takes, but for now, I just want to be their pal, maybe even a honky-tonk buddy.
I'd like to believe I tried to live up to that 'pal' image. I played a lot with them, I went to every birthday, every school activity. Sometimes, I was even the one who went to the PTA meetings. Sometimes, when school's out, I'd drop in on them for no special reason than to spend a lazy afternoon watching tv with them, just to see what they like watching. Kris was a very playful kid, and when the show got boring, I'd grab his little arms and trap him between myself and the corner of the couch and tickle him till he cried out for help... heh. When I graduated and started to work, I would sometimes take the kids for a Saturday afternoon in the mall, get burgers, go roller skating or watch a movie. I always knew when they were sick cause my brother would call me, and I'd drop by bringing some ice-cream... that always did the trick. Sometimes, I even think they feigned being sick just so their ice-cream bearing aunt would deliver some to them... heh... cute.
Well, seems like a couple of years and several hundred miles threw all of it out the window. I know that growing up might have had a hand in it but the thought offers me little consolation. I keep thinking, what now? Where do I start again? How do I capture that child again so the child in me will have its playmate?
Maybe when Kris and the other kids get older, when life has given them their share of cynism, enough for them to have the need to find the child in them again, to let it out, to let it play.
Another 15 years down the road, maybe, a handful of disappointments, some dreams lost, save a little spark of hope so they aren't left frustrated, and God forbid, defeated... enough for them to remember that once they have been silly and frolicked in nonsense with their old aunt.
For now, I will let you be 15 Kris, and pray to God that you have a marvelous time. And maybe I'll find a way to have a marvelous time playing aunt... until we find ourselves back in our playground.
Just one thing kid... don't you dare make me a grandma before you're 30.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY KRIS!
Darlene... by now, most of you would probably know who she is... my youngest sister, mother to Lucas, wife to Papa's friend since the grades, and probably the best of my bestest friends.
We weren't close when we were kids. I was the youngest for four years, before she came, and in a way, I guess I took that against her. She was everything that I wasn't too. She was chubby where I was skinny, she was a joy to feed where I was a pain in the ass, and even as a baby, she was quick-witted where I was slow. Everybody marveled at how cute and cuddly she was and I had to stay in the sidelines and well... agree. She was cute alright. And it didn't help me feel good that she was obviously my Mom's favorite. It would have helped if I was my Dad's but no such luck... that was our elder sister's place.
Probably because of it, or maybe it's just how sisters are, we fought a lot. I remember one time, struggling for the last clean pair of school socks, I was pulling at the strap of her chemise until it broke and she wailed, loud. We got the slippers, both of us, but at that time, I wasn't feeling anything anymore, except the horrible sense I had seeing the horror and disbelief in my sister's face, that I could do such a thing. I mean, we did have our spats, we shouted and had our exchange of glaring eyes shot at each other, but we never really dealt with each other physically. Not that she was hurt, but to us, what I have done, no matter if it was accidental, was as painful as if I've slapped her face.
After that, I realized that I loved my sister.
We've been through a lot and in an idle moment, when my thoughts would drift back to those days, my eyes would still smart with tears, like they're doing now. I'm sure you know what I mean. Sometime in your life, you must have loved somebody so much that you would want to shield that person from every pain, that you would find it so easy to come up with things you know would bring a smile to her face even if sometimes that very thing would make it necessary for you to deny yourself a little, that in your mind you keep all of these little memories and each remembrance makes your heart well up with so much emotion it couldn't hold everything in without making it explode.
Yes, that's how much I've come to love Darlene.
Except for the years between us, it has never been very clear who's the elder one. At times, we'd both act silly it doesn't matter who is. When push comes to shove though, we'd both be big sisters to each other. I'll never forget the time Papa and I moved into our house. It was Darlene who did the interiors, that's her job, see. She's an interior designer. She designed everything from the master's bed down to the built-in cabinets in the library. She fixed the furnitures. Everything. I might have had my own ideas of how to fix the house but whatever it is I would have come up with would probably be incredibly ridiculous or annoyingly impractical, or both. You should have seen her during the move. She was directing where boxes had to go, which rooms needed to be cleaned and done first, where we could keep what. I mostly watched and thought to myself, 'Hey, shouldn't I be doing that?' And smiled happily that I wasn't.
On the last night of our most recent visit, I slept with Darlene and Lucas. Before we drifted to sleep, we had a little conversation.
Me: Susundan mo ba si Lucas?
Darlene: Ayoko na sana kasi mahirap pero kelangan e.
Me: Bakit kelangan?
Darlene: E kasi kawawa naman si Lucas kung di nya ma-experience ang may kapatid. Sarap pa naman magkaroon ng kapatid.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ATE DARLENE!
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