Snapshots of memories

Magic show at Folk Arts Theater. Tickets from a scalper. M/V Filipina Princess. Plates of pineapple slices. A deep gash from the sharp exposed edge of the iron roof. No crying out of pain. Bags full of fresh fish and vegetables during weekends. The infamous pork stew recipe. Endless cups of coffee during the day - no table sugar, just a tablet of artificial sweetener. The small red car. Early Sunday masses. Immaculate and crisply ironed clothes.

To Uncle Gary. Or Kong as we - his nieces and nephews - affectionately call him, we will miss you.

And I'm sorry I don't know how to write a eulogy.

Walking Home

I found myself yesterday night, getting off the jeepney, still a full block away from the apartment. I had to drop by the small grocery store to buy some stuff - in this case, canned corned beef and tuna, a couple of eggs, a bag of corn chips, and a bottle of liniment. My brother left for Manila early that morning and I had to prepare dinner on my own. Of course, my mom always reminds me that canned goods are "unhealthy". But what the heck.

While walking home, there was this kid who was ahead of me. About two or three years old. One can tell that the skill of walking is still new to him and I kept on worrying whether he'd trip any time because of his quick but uncoordinated feet movement. His mom was walking alongside him, not really paying much attention to her son.

That was one of those rare moments when you're already tired, your defenses are down, it's almost half past nine pm, and the walk home was something you didn't have to concentrate on. Suddenly, probably realizing that there was somebody behind him, the kid turned his head to look at me, while his puppet-like feet movement still staggered on. I smiled at him, gave him a little wave, and mouthed "Hello."

He looked back at me with unchanging expression. He raised his hand to his mother's and walked on. A few meters away, they turned to the corner. I, on the other hand, walked farther on. I climbed the three floors of our building, reached my door, opened it with my key. I switched on the television.

At last, a different voice in the silence.

Oh, brother...

For the past three weeks, our apartment has been at the mercy of our - my brother's and mine - housekeeping skills or lack thereof. We've been asked to take charge of everything until my parents and sister get back.

Now, my Kuya and I get along pretty well. Even back in high school, I'd prefer to watch tv in his room than in Mae's because she gets upset if I crease her bedspread or get crumbs on the floor. In my Kuya's case - well, anything goes.

Without our Mom there to remind us to keep things as immaculately clean as possible, we tend to forget about doing chores like sweeping and mopping the floor, doing and folding laundry, or keeping the kitchen utensils in order.

An advantage of getting along with your siblings is that you agree about what to do, what not to do, what to put off for later, and what not to let our parents know. I bet my mom would have disapproved if she saw us throwing Fuji apples back and forth just to see who's the better catcher. We also get to watch basketball games on tv without switching channels (we're the only family members who want to watch them from start to end).

It also helps that we have similar interests. We analyze my plates for my computer-aided design class and both solve for trigo functions at one am in the morning. We take turns reading the Bible (It's a good thing that the Bible has two markers because I read the Old Testament, and he reads the New). We also take turns with my guitar - he practices while I'm still learning to play.

I am not sure from where we got this, but I notice that we each have our own odd behavior. Once, while watching tv, out of the blue, my Kuya dared me to do at least two clean push-ups and sixteen sit-ups (and boy, how my muscles ached the next morning). He experimented cooking rice toppings and it turned out to be sooo bad that we had to throw everything and had to fry hotdogs instead for lunch. And aside from her borderline neat-freak tendencies, I bet if my sister was left behind with us, she'd also have her share of eccentricities. She has been known to do impromptu interpretative dances while singing off key.

They're coming home in a few days. We already planned to make the place squeaky clean by the time they get back. I just hope that my mom doesn't do another one of her last minute decisions wherein nobody's aware when she's arriving. She's notorious for her indecisions. The long-standing joke is that if she says she'll be at the pier in the morning, fetch her from the airport at night.

I guess I do know where we get the quirks from, after all.