Jul 13, 2008 15
The longest post and it’s about my cousin.
This is a long post, and I DARE anyone to read the ENTIRE of it. Lol
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It was around seven - probably twenty minutes before eight - and I was sitting on some wrought iron garden chair. It was California cold, and I was at my cousin Josh’s birthday party. Though I kept my distance over their slang-speaking conversations with the fear that my tongue might betray me and with the fear that I might not catch the drifts of their sentences, so I just sat at the far corner of their well-lit backyard with roses glooming at the dark and their caged dogs and two other dogs (named Gucci and Cisco) running along the basketball court.
Sitting next to me was Joshua’s brother, Jeric. He’s a little below fourteen. We’re tired after shooting some hoops so we decided to rest for a while and enjoy the cold night sitting silently. We were still playing with the ball, though, dribbling it on the concrete floor while sitting and leaning on it.
“Is college really difficult?”
“Not really, why do you ask?”
“I was just wondering since Josh’s gonna take a course about automobiles.”
I then remember Josh and I arguing over some Thumper-looking (you might know Thumper if you play Twisted Metal) violet Cadillac miniature ten years ago, then I remember those days when we were eating Jell-O and when I slept at the upper deck of his double deck. Anyway, I haven’t thought he’d be so passionate about cars that he’d make it as his career.
“It’s really hard. Very much different with high school. I rarely sleep three hours straight especially during exams week - it really demands a lot of exhausting stuff so your eyebags would sag, your days are longer.”
“Really? That must be hard.” He sounds worried. I don’t know, but he’s quite a sincere conversationalist.
“Yeah, but I’m enjoying it. I drink a bottle of beer or two with my friends just to ease away the hardships and all, and smoke cigarettes as well.”
“You smoking!?” I can tell he was surprised with it.
“Yeah, but don’t tell anybody anything. It’s for now a secret.”
“Geez, I won’t dare to try smoking.”
“That’s more or less the same thing I’ve said before I learned how to do it.” I said jokingly.
“Then I guess I’d stick to what I’ve said.”
“Yeah, it’s really addictive. Anyway, don’t worry about college. It’ll come naturally; the first-semester jitters are usual, and I think you can adjust to it before it could even scare you. Though I have no idea, really, since college here is somewhat different than ours.”
“How did you do that? Like what Mom told me, you passed some University that’s like UCBerkeley here. I’m just interested since you nailed it.”
They have this UC Berkeley at California; it’s a government-ran university, and probably one of the best universities in California (Stanford’s better, they say, but I have no idea. Their tuition’s a king’s ransom, though). And her mom just told him I’m studying on the equivalent of UC Berkeley in the Philippines. That sounded like a big deal to him.
“I have no idea. They usually base half of the results on the admission test and half from your High School grades. And maybe I just got lucky.” I really was lucky back then that I jumped in front of my laptop after seeing my name on the UPCAT website.
“Cool. You must be smart.”
“HELL, I’m not smart! I literally ditched studying way back High School that I only go to school in the afternoon, so I attend only two to three subjects a day. Maybe I’m just really lucky - just think about it that way.”
“What kind of guy are you back at High School?” I don’t know what he precisely mean by that. Are there emo kind of guys in their school? Punk kind of guys? Skaters and rockers and casually-fashioned guys? I don’t get it.
“I’m basically the good guy (that’s ninety percent false, but I must perfume my dignity and set an example to Jeric). I haven’t flunked any of my subjects back then, but I’m not downright studious or anything. I just hate it when I flunk exams, so maybe I’m concerned with academics but not in a nerdy way.”
“You had girlfriends back then, huh?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I won’t engage myself on it.”
“Why?!”
“I have to study first.” Wow, I must say he’s a good guy.
“Yeah, be serious with studying. Girls can come afterwards.”
“Correct me if I’m entirely wrong but the way I look at girls, they’re a hindrance to studying.” That’s harsh.
“That’s just one side of it; they may also serve as an inspiration! Somehow they could boost you to study, they could tell you to study and quit playing around.” To tell you the truth, I sound like I’m shedding some light on him about girls. Well I did.
“But girls can come afterwards. I’ll marry somebody when I turn 21, buy a house, work, be happy.” Twenty-one for me is a young age to marry but I restrained myself from commenting on that one.
“Frankly, I haven’t thought of marrying someone.” I confided.
“No kidding?”
“Well, probably I’ve thought of it once but lately, I wanna live being single. Girlfriends are girlfriends; rarely do we guys assume that our first girlfriend would be the very bride of our dreams.”
“So like, girlfriends are for playing or flirting purposes?”
“You got me wrong. No. We somehow cling to the idea of having a girlfriend to prepare us and train us for the big thing to come. And we need inspiration and affection during our teenage lives. But that’s just me. I don’t know how everybody else’s perspective would sound like.”
“So yeah, I wanna live a single life.” I added, just to stanch the growing silence.
“Single how? Like, you won’t marry anyone?”
“Probably, but I can’t say that. As of now, I’m thinking about it. My eldest sister’s not married and she’s thirty-something, and I kind of adored her for that.”
“Isn’t that sad?”
“Not really. I got my parents and my sisters and maybe a housemate or some friend on the house. Anyway, I just liked the idea of having all the money on me. It may sound materialistic though, but I want to buy what I want to buy and do what I wanna do before I marry someone.”
“But isn’t that sad to live on a house and sleep alone without someone to hold on?”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking of dying on my house alone without even calling for some help since, say, I’m on the veranda and I got stroke. Like, if ever I got stroke or some shocking disease that could be fatal in an instant, how would people know that I’m dying if I’m alone in the house?”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah. But that’s the big plan. I’ll work first and think if I’ll marry.”
“Aww, yeah! That’s just cool; you work and save money and earn money for some camera or some house or just settling your life’s financial aspect before you find someone to marry!”
“Yeah. I’m quite wondering why you’d marry at an early age when you can still focus on yourself first. Buy what you want. Do what you want. Have fun before being committed to someone.” At fourteen, he’s helluva serious talker. “You can’t really tell what’s gonna happen for the next few years, but - but at least you have plans for yourself.”
It was getting colder so we decided to go inside the house. The party’s not really that big. Maan hollered me to meet two of her blonde friends, so I sort of waved at them and said hello and all. Then I got some cheesecake and a glass of water and sat at the living room with Jeric and Kiely. Joshua’s hanging around with my other cousins, Lawrence and Michael and Maan and two of her pretty friends.
“I’ve never been to the Philippines.”
“Really?!”
“Yeah. What’s it like?”
“It’s totally hot there,” it was the fast-paced diction of Kiely.
“But how’s the people?”
“Oh, they’re chaotic sometimes, but they’re warm-hearted and all. They’re not even snobbish.” Kiely visited us last year. Right after her graduation rites, her mom packed everything on their luggage and headed to the airport.
“And you can see jeepneys around and tricycles and lots of street food!” I suddenly interjected.
“But I don’t know, I just don’t know how to speak Filipino.”
“Most Filipinos actually understand and know how to speak in English.”
“Really how?” Are they not aware that the Philippines consider English as their second (in some cases, third) language?
“We have grammar subjects. Writing subjects. Reading subjects. All about English. So you won’t have any problem with talking to people.”
“Well I understand a little of Filipino, but that’s it. C’mon, try me!” Now he’s excited.
“Marunong ka bang magtimpla ng juice?” I could vividly remember that question I asked to him.
“Do you know how to make some juice? Or fix some juice?”
“Great!”
“Paki-patay naman yung ilaw sa sala.”
“Turn the lights off?”
“Yeah, just add the word living room since sala means living room. You could understand Filipino huh.” I’m somehow impressed since he learned it since his parents use Filipino when talking, or when dealing with problems.
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It was Thursday. A day after Joshua’s birthday party, I’m packing my things. We’ll be going home at that day. It’s quite fast and I just can’t catch up with everything that’s happening; a week ago I’m in New York, now I’m in San Francisco, and tomorrow I’ll be sitting on the airplane to Manila. Everything has this irregularly confusing state or order, and I’m not liking it.
And I remembered that the next day, Friday, it was Jeric’s birthday.
I went to the bathroom the moment I finished packing my things. I locked the door and looked at the mirror. There I saw myself - half of my body, my shoulders leaning on the marble faucet counter. There I told myself that I’m not ready to go home. That I’m not prepared, that I’ll miss everyone and everything that happened during my summer vacation. That somehow, I’m not missing anything about Manila since my entire family’s in New York, and some of my cousins are here in California, and that it’s only me and my Dad who’s working our asses in Manila.
I didn’t cry. I hate to see myself crying, and besides I’m not really a crybaby - I’m not easily carried away by some type of emotion.
Before we left the house for the airport, I talked to Kiely. She was separating all the colored from the whites, since her Mom told her to launder the clothes. The laundry’s pretty easy there since they have the dryers and fabric softeners and all those stuff that could wash and dry the clothes in two hours.
“Hey, will you send my regards to Jeric for his birthday tomorrow?”
“Sure. Stay safe, okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Tell him I’ll miss him.”
“No problem.”
I actually felt lonely after knowing that I can’t attend to Jeric’s birthday. I wanted to tell Dad to cancel our flight and make it tomorrow, just so I could attend Jeric’s birthday. It’s as if there was this pressing need or urgency for me to talk to Jeric again, say my regards, greet him a Happy Birthday, play basketball with him and talk to him for another two hours. But I just can’t tell Dad.
On our way to the airport, I told Dad that I’m not ready to go home. It’s too late not to go home, though.
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I just miss Jeric. Or maybe I just miss talking to someone serious.
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P.S: This is more or less an accurate account of what Jeric and I have talked about during my vacation at California. I started to appreciate him as my cousin, really, and ever since we talked about that kind of serious stuff, we basically became friends. We also talked about how we hated our older brothers, and at one point he even asked the meaning of “mushy” after my mentioning it, but that fragment of our long conversation probably slipped out of my mind.
