To Be Thankful

We've always celebrated Thanksgiving. And from where I'm from, people would always give me a weird look whenever I told them that. I'd be weirded out too if someone told me they celebrated Thanksgiving in a place where no one else did. We weren't living in the USA after all, and we weren't expats either. It's just one of the many quirks of my grandparents... one of their many quirks that i've grown to love. People would ask me why we celebrated Thanksgiving, and I couldn't give them a straight answer. Truth be told, I couldn't even give a straight answer to this day. My grandparents just wanted to celebrate the occasion. They probably just have a lot to be thankful for. And I looked forward to that single day every year wherein we would have a Turkey dinner. It felt a lot like Christmas, only more simple and intimate, free from all that sentimental fluff. It was just us having dinner, and no one else. Thanksgiving was one of those rare occasions that i've felt that we were one family... that I was a part of a family. It was a yearly tradition... until last year. I was far from home this time last year, and when I asked my grandparents why they didn't celebrate Thanksgiving, they told me it was because our family wasn't complete. I found that surprising. That wasn't the first Thanksgiving that I've missed. I had to work at the hospital two years prior to that and still they had a Turkey dinner without me. They told me it was different because I was far from home. And when I'm thousands of miles away, it just wouldn't be the same. That still didn't sound logical to me... I was actually a bit irritated as they were telling me that... yet I agreed. There's no use arguing with my grandparents when they were in one of their cloyingly sentimental moods. I joined some other family for Thanksgiving, and that felt surreal. Unlike Christmas wherein i've grown tired of all the familiarity, the familiarity of Thanksgiving was something i could never grow tired of. And without that familiarity, it just wasn't the same.

I guess you could say that I have a lot to be thankful for in my life. But when it comes to the events that have transpired this year, I couldn't think of anything that I should be thankful for. Almost eleven months in, the year 2010 has brought me nothing but anger and sadness... disappointment and despair. Both of my grandparents are gone now. Thanksgiving would never be the same without them. Looking back only brings me grief, and it would be easier if there's something to look forward to... but the future only seems as bleak. All those rejection letters only serve to bring me down... as if I need further confirmation that I've grown to be such a failure. Thanksgiving has lost its essence for me. Now, it's just turkey dinner, devoid of all its deeper meaning. The people who have introduced me to this tradition are gone now, and there's no use of continuing this annual tradition when i do not share the same thoughts and feelings as theirs. The road that they have travelled is a different one, and it's not as bleak as mine. As I look ahead from where I am standing now, there's absolutely nothing to be thankful for. The future brings me as much grief as the past, and seems even more bleak as the present. My life is still the mess that it has been for the past couple of years. This isn't something that I should be thankful for.

One Shot

I've just made a very huge gamble, and the stakes are so high. If I've made the wrong decision, I would be left with nothing. There is no second chance. I will lose EVERYTHING.

I finally bought a plane ticket. I've been flip flopping for weeks. It was all systems go a few months back. But things were so much different back then. Back then, we had no problems with money. Back then, all I needed to worry about was to pass all the exams and submit all the required documents before the deadline. It's funny. Just when I have finished all the exams and all I need to do is to apply for residency training, this comes up. To others, I may be very close to the finish line, but to me, I've never felt so far from it.

I was thinking about giving everything up. Application for residency training is a gamble in itself. There's a hug chance that you won't get accepted in any training program. Others would just shrug it off and just try again next year. But I just can't afford to do that---figuratively and literally. I would most probably spend every cent that I have. It won't really matter if I manage to get a job. I'd be able to get back every penny that I would have spent in a matter of months. And I'd be away from all the pain that this place has been continuously causing me. But if I don't get a job... I will be left with nothing. I won't get a second chance. If I chose to let go of the plans that I have made, I would still have a fair amount of money. I could use that money for other things. Things that are tangible. Things that are necessary. I could get a job here even if I can't stand this place. Even if this place is slowly chipping away whatever's left of my sanity. I would most probably be miserable, but not as miserable as i would be if I am stuck here and broke at the same time. Nothing could be worse than that. Not even hell.

I paid for my plane ticket using the money in the joint account that my grandma shared with me. It was barely enough. Money was siphoned off that account at such a rapid rate these past few months that there wasn't much left. I didn't want to withdraw any more money from that account. It's one of the few tangible things that I have left of my grandmother, and I wanted it to last for as long as possible. It represented all the hard work that she had done all those years, and I didn't want to let go of it just like that. But I don't have much choice now, do I? The next day my father asked me to write him a check again, this time for insurance. I told him there was no more money left. Of course I lied. There were still a few thousands left, but whatever's left isn't even half of the amount that he's asking for. And i didn't want to give him all that was left. i wanted to keep the account open for a little more time. He has already taken a lot, and i think it was about time that I said enough. Let him find the means to make ends meet. He's been digging that grave for himself his whole life, let him figure out a way to crawl out of it, instead of bringing us all down with him.

So now all i need to do is wait. This is possibly the biggest gamble that I have made in my life. If things turn out right, I'd get everything that I wanted. I can finally go away. I can finally be free. On the other hand, there's a huge possibility that I could also lose everything. But I would never know unless I tried, right? I still have this one chance, and although my common sense gives me enough reason to be apprehensive, I still have to give it a shot. There's a very huge risk, but there's also a huge chance that I can make it. I might as well grab the opportunity because I may never get an opportunity like this again. I wouldn't want to be stuck in this miserable place, doing some miserable job, wondering what could have been. I have thrown all caution to the wind, and now I'm just hoping for the best. My life has been one hell of a mess these past few years. I'm keeping my fingers crossed, and I hope that this time, things would turn out just the way I've planned. I've been from one torrential storm after another. Instead of trying to bring me down, it's about time that life finally gave me a break.

In Melancholia.

I have to block out thoughts of you, so I don't lose my head.

They crawl in like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed.

Dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I'm alone.

Playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home.

There's a burning in my pride, a nervous bleeding in my brain.

An ounce of peace is all I want for you, Will you never call again?

And will you never say that you loved me just to put it in my face.

And will you never try to reach me, it is I that wanted space.

I'm sober now for 3 whole months, it's one accomplishment that you helped me with.

The one thing that always tore us apart is the one thing I won't touch again.

In a sick way I want to thank you

for holding my head up late at night.

While I was busy waging wars on myself,

you were trying to stop the fight.

You never doubted my warped opinions on things like suicidal hate.

You made me compliment myself

when it was way too hard to take.

So I'll drive so fucking far away that I'll never cross your mind.

And do whatever it takes in your heart to leave me behind.

And with a sad heart I say bye to you and wave

Kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that I have made.

And like a baby boy I never was a man,

Until I saw your blue eyes cry and I held your face in my hand.

And then I fell down yelling Make it go away!

Just make her smile come back and shine just like it used to be.

And then she whispered "How can you do this to me?"

Hate me today.

Hate me tomorrow.

Hate me for all the things

i didn't do for you.

Hate me in ways, in ways hard to swallow.

Hate me so you can finally

see what's good for you.

One After The Other

They say that when it rains, it pours. In my case, especially this year... it has been one torrential storm after another.

Talk about rude awakenings. Last weekend, it has been one drinking spree after another. Catching up with old friends while downing down bottle after bottle of alcohol. In the land of my birth, it seems that I am only capable of being happy when I'm not sober. Last weekend, it seemed that all my problems have been blown away, albeit temporarily. And for a few fleeting moments, I was glad.

And then came yesterday. For some weird reason, my sister chose to take my car on her way to work, and she asked that new family driver to drive her there. She could have taken the family car, she could have asked my dad to drive her to work like she usually does, but nooooooo... she had to take mine. Without my permission. Then i received a call from her yesterday morning. She told me that they got into a driving accident, and my car was wrecked. That stupid driver failed to hit the brakes on time. In broad daylight. In an intersection. In a traffic jam. They weren't going fast, and yet he managed to wreck the car. And to add insult to injury, he did some stupid reflex action. Instead of just stopping, he immediately shifted the gear in reverse and he hit the car behind him as well. That's so much worse than stupidity, I can't even think of a proper word for it.

Ever since my grandmother passed away, i have become extra careful when driving. I was really taking care of that car. No more speeding. No more drunk driving. I was mindful of traffic rules. For one thing, there's no way that we can afford to buy another car in case I manage to totally wreck my car again. Like the way I did to the one before. And the one before that. Add the fact that I was aware that we were not able to renew the insurance. We had a lot of things on our minds last May and paying for insurance was the last thing we needed to worry about. And as I expected, being the responsible person that he is, my dad still wasn't able to renew it upon my return. But mostly... I was taking good care of it because it was an expensive gift that my grandmother gave me. It's one of the last few concrete things about her that I can hold on to.

We already have a lot of expenses, and because of my dad's penchant for spending every cent that he gets as soon as he gets a hold of them, I really don't know where we are going to get the money for repairs. it was that stupid driver's fault so we have to pay for the damage that he made to the two other cars as well. And those two other cars were even more damaged than my car. It's a shame that he quit his job immediately after filing the police report. I would have loved to see him for one last time so that I could seriously damage his face. I would have felt such immense pleasure if I could have wrecked his face the way he wrecked by car.

I really can't understand why my dad has zero savings. He's getting the same amount of money that our tenants used to pay my grandmother. My grandma always manages to save more than half of that, yet he can't seem to save any. I know he has to pay for the estate tax plus a whole lot of other expenses, but I have this feeling that he's not using the money to pay for those expenses. How else could you explain the fact that he keeps on borrowing money from me? and why does he keep asking me to write checks from him, even though he knows that the joint account that my grandmother used to share with me is almost depleted? And he can't even pay our bills on time, we have been receiving one disconnection notice after another! I really don't know where all that money is going, and when we ask him, he just can't give any definite answer. I was worried that if an emergency happened... if one of us got into an accident, if one of us got sick, or if, god forbid one of us died... we have no way to pay for such emergency expenses. And true enough, something unexpected happened, and he's at a loss on how to pay for it all.

Somehow, he found out that my grandma left money for me before she passed away. It was meant to fund my upcoming trip. The only people who knew about this are my mom, my sister, and our house helper. And none of them are admitting that they told him, whether intentionally or unintentionally. One of them is lying and that really pisses me off. They know about how my dad deals with money. I trusted these three people and just like that, they broke my trust. I feel incredibly pissed and disappointed. I can't help but feel betrayed. There's absolutely no one in this family that I can trust now. I should be thankful I guess. That just makes it easier to leave everyone behind.

Again I told my dad that I don't have money. He told me he knows for a fact that I had money with me. He called me selfish. He called me a liar. He told me that he couldn't understand why I don't want to lend him money when he will be able to pay for it immediately. Really?! with what?! with the huge fortune that is about to come his way, any minute now? the one that he has been blabbing about for years? Jesus Christ. If he can't understand me, well I can't understand him either! I am a realist. Unlike him, I don't live in a dream world. I know that as of now, I have barely enough money with me. If I lend him as much as he's asking now, I definitely won't be able to leave. I'll be stuck here. With him. With them. My siblings have jobs, why doesn't he ask them to lend him money instead? Oh, that's right. Because they don't want to lend him money either. Then don't want to have anything to do with him either. But they have a steady income, he should direct his words at them instead. Fine, I'm selfish, but he should call them selfish as well. I'm selfish because I have to be. I'm the only one looking out for myself. There's no one left here to help me reach my dreams but me. If I choose to become selfless, I might as well let go of my dreams as well. A few months from now, there will be no turning back. I can keep on driving a wrecked car for a few more months. It's still functional anyway, who cares about that huge dent in the front and in the back. As long as it keeps on running, I don't care. After that, they can do whatever they want with it. I already have a lot of memories of my grandma that I can hold on to that would last for my entire lifetime. A few months from now, they can do what they want with their lives, I would let them handle their own problems, let them get out of the mess that they have created themselves. There's no turning back, and I don't even have to look back. A few months from now, I could stop caring. Because a few months from now, there would only be me.

In All Reverie

I dreamt about her the other night.

That was the first time I dreamed about her after she passed away. I was drunk when I went home. I went directly to her bedroom, turned on the airconditioning, and then lied down on her bed, face down. I was awake for a few more minutes, talking out loud like i always do when I am intoxicated... and then all the alcohol in my bloodstream finally took effect. For the first time in weeks, I was asleep before daylight. And the mere thought of it was comforting. No idle thoughts before going to bed, no tossing and turning... for the first time in months, I immediately slept. no worries, no distractions. I just slept. And when i dreamt, i thought everything was real. The life that I was living for the past few months was the dream, and that the world that my subconscious had created was reality. In my dream, she was inside the very same room where i was sleeping. it was probably late in the afternoon, when the sun's rays fills her room with a unique afterglow. It was nothing short of surreal. she was seated at the edge of her bed, in that corner where her photo albums are presently piled up on top of each other. But it seemed like a different bedroom. everything had that washed out look of old photographs--- everything was faded, yet everything seemed so much better because they remind us of happier times. She asked me to sit beside her, and I obliged. She held my hand, our fingers intertwined, and she was saying so many things, none of which i could presently remember. But I can remember that she was smiling all the time. There was an instance that she was laughing. And somehow, that made everything feel all right. Though i can't understand the things that she has been saying, the fact that she seemed happy made me feel happy. There's no trace of anger in her face, no trace of disappointment or loneliness. All that I could see was her smile, and that smile was enough to brighten everything in my world. She was happy after all, and that was enough to make me feel happy. And it didn't feel like a dream at all.

I woke up late in the afternoon. And eerily, the room looked exactly the way it was in my dream. And initially, i thought I was still dreaming. I thought she just went out for a while, maybe she was walking around the house or cooking dinner for us... or maybe visiting a few neighbors, like the way she always did during all those boring afternoons a few years ago when she still had the strength to walk on her own. Any moment now, she's going to come back. Any moment now she's going to walk inside the room, and she's going to chide me for sleeping all day, wasting another perfect day. For a few more minutes, everything seemed all right. I was waiting for her to barge in. But when I saw the photo albums piled on that corner of the bed... when I saw that her dresser was already empty... I immediately awoke to reality. For one fleeting moment, i was unusually happy. Everything seemed perfectly all right with the world... and just like that, that great feeling was gone in an instant. it's all gone.

Just like her.

Now as i patiently wait for these tablets of Valium to take effect, I am hoping to experience that feeling once again. These past few months have been nothing but a mess. It would be a welcome reprieve to feel happiness once again, however fleeting it may be. I might see her in my dreams again. I may be able to talk to her again... see her smile... hold her hand... A few more doses of Valium may do the trick. maybe a whole lot more. Once I've reached that tipping point, everything will be all right once again. i will be happy. I will be at peace.

At least in my very own fabricated little world.

Dear God.

wish i could still believe.

Dear God, Performed by Avenged Sevenfold. 2008 Warner Bros. Records.

The Lifelong Stupor

Four years ago, I decided to create this blog so that I could put my feelings into words. I had hoped to experience some form of catharsis every time i create an entry, and usually that's what happens. It works most of the time. Yet sometimes, I just forego everything and choose to keep it all inside. Like when the emotions that I have been feeling are caused by nothing but petty annoyances. Or when the thing that upsets me is something that I experience again and again, that putting those feelings into words every time would only make me sound redundant. If I created a blog entry every time my father upsets me, I’d have close to a thousand entries by now… and that’s a pretty conservative estimate. This blog is already more than four years old. If I wrote about him every time he upsets me, like the way i did a few years ago, I’d probably have more than a thousand entries. One for every day that has passed for the past four years. That's how much he upsets me. That's how often my dad manages to piss me off.

Don’t get me wrong. I know that he loves us. Like most parents, i know that he would do just about anything for his kids. I can recognize the fact that he’s trying to reach out. I can see that he’s trying to make up for all those years that he never reached out. But all his efforts only seem useless, because it’s all a little too late. I never felt close to him as I was growing up, and no amount of effort on his part could make me feel closer to him now. I also recognize his sincerity. All those years, I could see that he really strives hard to provide for us, but he just kept on doing the wrong things... again and again and again. Thus all his efforts to be a good father only seem worthless.

For one thing, he keeps on chasing rainbows.

For as long as I can remember, he keeps on saying the same things. He’s about to get loads of cash. A huge fortune is gonna come his way. All my life, he keeps on saying the same things. I know I should be used to all that by now, but the fact that he keeps on saying the same things for almost 30 god damned years makes it even more unsettling. He’s devoted his entire life to these certain people, with the promise of a huge payback anytime soon. But the thing is, that payback never came. Days have turned into weeks and into years, years have turned into decades, and there’s still no payback in sight. But to him, that payback is already around the corner… the same place that it was for the past couple of years.

He keeps living in a dream world.

And that really pisses me off. Sometimes I wonder if I should hit him hard in the face in order for him to wake up to reality. But with the level of stupor that he’s in, I doubt if that could even be enough. I doubt if anything could even be enough. Nothing could awake a man who's in such deep slumber. He’s an intelligent man, and I just can’t figure out why he’s so entrenched in such stupidity. Before I left last year he told me I didn’t have to look for work in another country. A huge fortune was already coming, and he could build a hospital for me if I wanted him to. I didn’t even look at him as we’re driving to the airport. I couldn’t even acknowledge him. i couldn't even give him that for it might give him a little bit of satisfaction. It might give him the impression that I believed him, that i believed in him. When he was taking me to the airport again last June, he kept saying the same things again. The exact same things. Jesus fuckin’ Christ. And he was deeply entrenched in his dream world that he didn’t even notice that I wasn’t listening. That I didn’t even care. He fails to see that I want to live my own life, and I had no desire to be a part of his life, whether it’s real or imaginary. He never noticed that we have all grown tired.

of his fantasies.

of his preposterous ambitions.

and the fact that he doesn’t know how to set his priorities.

Amidst all the grief that we were feeling when my grandmother passed away, we have managed to make room for another set of emotions. Those emotions were fueled by our hatred towards him. Before my grandpa died, he was given a huge sum of money to fund the mausoleum for my grandparents. When our grandpa died, his coffin was placed within a pile of hollow blocks, but he promised that the mausoleum would be finished in a month. During that time, he ran for a local government position. And as we expected, he lost terribly. In the interim, my grandma wanted to see the mausoleum for herself, because my dad kept saying it was finished, and that it looked beautiful. It looked elegant. But he always told her he was too busy campaigning and he had no time to take her there. My grandma died two months after. She never got to see that elegant mausoleum. We didn't get to see it either. We buried her within a pile of wood and hollow blocks. That was supposed to be the beautiful mausoleum that he kept telling her. Just like the huge fortune that was always coming his way, that mausoleum was also a figment of his imagination.

We weren’t stupid. The money that was given to him was more than enough to build a mausoleum. We believed that he used up all that money for his campaign. He used up all that money to fulfill one of his stupid lifelong ambitions. He wanted to fulfill his quest for wealth and power. Never mind if it was such a long shot. He just had to do it, no matter what. There was no other logical explanation. Of course he denied all this, with tears flowing through his eyes, saying he was deeply hurt that we would even think that he was capable of such a thing. But how the hell could we believe him? He had no job, he had no money to fund his campaign. Where the heck did he get all that money that he used?! If anything, those tears represented all the guilt that he was feeling. He wasn’t hurt because we accused him of such a terrible thing. He felt guilty because he has done such a terrible thing. We didn’t care if he chose to remain in his dreamworld all our lives. He could have easily brought us all down with him, but our grandmother was there to keep us from falling with him. Now he gets all the money from our grandparent’s tenants. He gets a lot of money, yet he never gets to save anything. He gets a lot of money from the tenants, yet somehow he still fails to pay the bills on time, and that me and my brother have to use our own money to pay for some of our household expenses. It’s all gone in an instant, because he needs every cent to fund his expensive lifestyle. He needs every cent to impress the people around him. He needs every scent to maintain the impression that he has a lot of money. He needs so much money to pay for our estate tax, yet he doesn’t allocate funds for that. For someone who is unemployed, he was very lucky that the bank gave him a loan, but that loan still isn’t enough to pay for the estate tax. The deadline is only several months from now, but still he acts as if there’s nothing to worry about. And to add insult to injury, he’s planning an expensive family trip for all of us abroad, and when I asked my mom where the hell is he going to get the money for that, I was surprised by what she said. He was planning to use part of the money that the bank loaned to him… even if that money still wasn’t enough to pay for the taxes. I shouldn’t even be surprised. I’ve known this man for years, and he’s really like that. Nothing should surprised me anymore.

He’s a man with no direction.

He’s a man with blind ambition.

He’s a man who can’t get his priorities straight.

He’s the man that I would never ever want to become.

I remember one instance many summers ago. We were on our way home from our family vacation. 70's music was playing on the radio. My dad was driving the car, talking to my mom. My siblings were asleep, and I was pretending to be asleep. They were talking about us, and I heard him say to my mom that there was nothing he would not do for his children. All these years, all we ever wanted was for him to wake up. All we ever wanted was for him to change. If he would really do anything for us, why the hell can't he even do something as simple as that.

All my life, I've heard so many lies and fabrications from my dad. Plus a lot of wishful thinking in between. I guess it wouldn't come as a surprise that those words that he spoke to my mom many summers ago were nothing but lies as well.

All Rage and Fury

I used to be that sort of person. The one who just lets things pass. The one just keeps everything in stride. The one who can still manage to smile even when everything is boiling deep inside. That was me back then. And this is me now.

In recent years, it’s becoming harder and harder to keep the anger inside. It’s just that I’ve become pissed with so many things in my life, and one thing just tends to aggravate all the others. When I’m trying to contain all that anger inside me, it all builds up. And every now and then, I could no longer contain the pressure, and I just burst from the slightest provocation. But after that I feel fine again. All the anger has gone away. All that’s left is an empty vessel, ready to be filled up again.

It used to take such a long time before that vessel is all filled up. But these past few weeks, I’ve been losing my temper way too often. Ever since I’ve had the taste for blood on my grandmother’s funeral march, ever since I’ve experienced that unique feeling of exhilaration… I seem to have been looking for it. For the past couple of months, almost every time that I have been driving during rush hour, I engage in a shouting match with several stupid drivers. And it’s not just purely shouting. I immediately get out of my car, shouting at the other driver, taunting him, telling him to get out of his fucking car and face me like a man. And every time, I’m ready to fight. Every time, I want to fight. And all those times, the other person always backs off. No one seems to have to guts to fight a seemingly crazy person shouting hysterically in public, for all the world to see. Then there was this one time at the gym last week, when I got so annoyed with this guy who kept on grunting loudly every time he was lifting weights. I got so pissed off that I shouted at him, telling him that if he didn’t stop all that annoying grunting, I was going to shut him up permanently. Everyone looked at me, and i didn't care. all I wanted to do was to fight. This guy was bigger than me in every way. Taller than me. Way more muscular than me. There was no way I was going to win a fight with this guy, he could easily beat me to a pulp. Yet I didn’t care. All I wanted was to fight. I wasn’t thinking anymore. All I wanted was to release my anger, I didn’t care anymore if I would get hurt in the process. I had no regard for safety. It’s not just about that great feeling you get when your anger is released. It's not just about that great feeling you feel when you beat up somebody. It's not just about that great feeling you get when you've won a battle based on strength. I was looking for something more. Maybe subconsciously, I do want to get hurt. I want to punish myself, because subconsciously, I’ve been telling myself that I deserve to get hurt. I’ve done so many mistakes in my life, I haven’t done so many things that I should have done, I’ve hurt so many people both intentionally and unintentionally… and I feel that I have to get hurt. I feel that I have to suffer. It’s not enough that I keep beating myself up. Others have to beat the hell out of me as well. I do not deserve all the great things that have happened to me. I don’t deserve such care, such love. I keep wallowing on self pity, yet it’s still not enough. This could just be the result of all the sorrow and grief that I’ve been feeling for the past few months… and all that anger only creates a greater turbulence of emotions. This may just be a phase, I don’t know. All I know is I’ve been feeling so low lately. Maybe someone has to hit me hard on the head to get me out of it. maybe someone has to totally beat me up and leave me for dead to make me realize how pathetic i have been acting lately. But I know that I do not deserve such a quick escape. Maybe to continue wallowing in pain and sorrow is exactly the type of punishment that I deserve. Maybe I haven't suffered enough. Maybe i deserve to suffer more.

Maybe.

Hereafter

I've been spending the last couple of days in my grandma's room. I've been sleeping there for the past two nights as well. It's funny how everyone else seems to be afraid to be left alone inside her room. Somehow, being inside her room gives me comfort. Staying in her room fills me with grief... the rush of painful memories is just too much for me to bear... but it gives me an odd sense of comfort as well.

I really don't understand why my parents and my siblings are behaving that way. I guess people who are not in the medical field see things differently. they are prone to religious manipulations, and are more receptive to folklore and superstitions. i don't believe in ghosts. i don't believe in spirits who choose to remain with the living because they still can't move on for whatever reason. With the number of deaths that I have witnessed, with the number of times i spend alone in dark and secluded places, if those entities were real, i would have seen one by now. Every now and then i hear people saying that they have seen ghosts, that they have seen departed loved ones... in my head, I just keep on saying bullsh*t. There is absolutely no proof. All we have are anecdotes, people swearing by what they thought they have seen, but with absolutely no tangible evidence to support their pronouncements. It's been well documented that people are prone to experience visual and auditory hallucinations whenever they are stressed, whenever they experience much grief. I have tried to explain this to my mom, to my aunt, to my cousins who have sworn that they've seen their departed loved ones reaching out to them. but even with sufficient evidence, when it comes to the battle between what's real and what's only an illusion, people would still choose to believe what they want to believe. I can't really say I blame them. When the truth hurts as much as it does sometimes, it is better to believe in lies when they give us so much comfort.

My family believes that my grandma's presence is still in her room. That's the exact words of my dad. Let's say for the sake of argument, she still is. her spirit is still with us. I am willing to suspend my disbelief. I just can't understand why they are so afraid of her. She played a big part in all our lives. She played such a big part in my life. How I can I possibly be afraid of her. If it's true that she's still there, i would spend more time there, talking to her, trying to reach out to her. And that's exactly what i have been doing for the past few days. i suspended my disbelief, and tried to reach out to her.

Most of the time I just sit on her chair. Looking at her photo albums, watching TV, eating a snack, but most of the time i just sit there doing nothing. i try talking to her, asking her how she felt about me, if she was angry, if she was disappointed. I tell her how sorry I am for not doing enough. for never doing enough. but most of the time, i just sit there, in silence. And then without warning and without any provocation, I always start to cry. There were still so many things that i wanted to do, and so many things that I wanted to say, but i just couldn't. Because the belief that she's still here with us is nothing but superstition. I never wanted to admit this, but everyone knows that i was her favorite grandchild, and I just find it impossible to believe that she reached out to our family driver, that she made her presence felt to our housekeeper, but she never tried to reach out to me. The things that they say they've seen, the noises that they say they've heard, the things that they say they've felt--- all of those things are nothing but figments of their overly active imaginations, because their minds have been programmed to react in such a way. Because the minds of most people have been programmed to react in such a way when faced with death. All those hours that i spend inside her room, those two nights that i cried myself to sleep in her bed, all those times that i have been talking to her, crying out to her, and i never got any answer. not even one small sign that she could hear everything that i have been saying. I try to convince myself that she's still there, but i never got any confirmation. Because all those stories are just lies after all. Lies created by people to give themselves comfort. Lies that are passed on in every generation, so that it would be easier for all of us to cope with such loss. So that it would be much easier for us to move on. We pretend that it's not really too late because there's still an afterlife, and our loved ones are still watching us, guiding us as we go on with our lives. We pretend that it's never too late because they can still hear us say thanks, they can still hear our apologies. But it's all just a myth. There is no afterlife. Upon death, there is only nothing. We created this selfish fantasy so that we could feel good about ourselves. So that we could get rid of the grief... so that we can be free from the guilt. so that we can avoid all the pain that we deserve, all the hurt that we should be feeling indefinitely. We can say thanks, we can ask for forgiveness, we can tell them how much we love them, we can tell them all the things that we never told them when they were still alive... we can tell them all those words that would have mattered if we had told them when we could still hold their hands, when we could still see their smiles, when they could still answer back... but all this would be futile, because all those words wouldn't reach anyone. We could still make believe and convince ourselves otherwise, but the truth is, it's all just a myth. it's all make believe. It's all bullsh*t. I can no longer reach her, no matter how hard i try... because she is long gone.

And that only makes the guilt, the loneliness, and the pain that i have been feeling so much harder to bear.

Poignant.

here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are

as my memory rests

but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when September ends.

Eternal Lament

All alone, I walk on this road to nowhere
Weighed down by all the guilt and regret.
I look on beyond all that’s left behind
As I try to move on, as I try to forget.

I feel her warmth as the sun burns my face.
When she was still here, I always found my place.
As the wind blows I hear her whisper.
The last words that she spoke, I will always remember.

I feel her caress as the wind blows through my cheeks
She gave me all her strength whenever I felt weak.
I sat on the ground, finally beaten and weary.
too late to say goodbye, too late to say I was sorry.

If I choose to turn back, all that I would find is nothing.
That’s all that is left of what was once my everything.
If I choose to remain still, maybe things would turn out well
Until the storm has passed, I’ll remain inside my shell.

If only there was a way to turn back time
I could be free from this personal damnation.
I could try to erase all past mistakes.
I could have listened to the voice of reason.

I convince myself that I’m perfectly fine
But it’s just so damn hard to pretend.
I may move on, but I can never forget
For so many words were left unsaid in the end.

09/15/10

Grey Skies

I've been back in the dumps for a few days now, and I'm hating every minute of it. The disdain that I have felt towards this place has grown incrementally through the years, and now I've reached the point that I can't possibly be any more jaded. For the past few days I have been confined to my room, and honestly, I prefer it this way. To heck with boredom, to heck with monotony. As dull as it may seem, this is actually more convenient. And this is the easiest way to avoid confrontation.

During the few times that I went outside, I just couldn't help but feel pissed off. I mean, who wouldn't when everywhere you look, all you'll see is disarray. A stupid and completely f*cked up government. utter mismanagement on all possible levels. Mass media without an ounce of responsibility, only self righteousness. Citizens who are apathetic. People behaving like savages. People driven by greed and nothing else. People who fail to see their mistakes, let alone admit them. Everywhere I look there is chaos. Maybe it's because I was away for so long, that I was no longer used to such disarray. Until I've learn to adapt to such savagery again, i guess it would be best to just stay in my own little universe for now. Every time i go out, I feel as if my head is going to explode. This is what's best for whatever's left of my sanity.

The other reason... i choose to stay in my own little world to avoid loneliness. The same loneliness that I felt two months ago when I left. More than anything else, I needed to leave because i just had to get away from it all. And for the most part, it worked. During those two months that I was away from home, there were only three instances that I felt depressed. The first part was the extension of the grief and mourning resulting from my grandmother's passing. Coupled with the feelings of guilt and regret, it was hard to escape from depression. But I've managed to keep myself busy and therefore divert my attention to other things, and the distance helped a lot. Being far away with no contact to the people at home, it was easy to pretend that things remained as they were. The next instance was when I got my exam result. Yeah, I passed, and some have said that passing alone was already a cause for celebration... but I barely passed. And that sucked so much because my grandma paid for that exam, and again she's the one who funded my trip posthumously... I couldn't help but feel that I let her down again. What even makes it harder to accept is the fact that I have been studying for that exam for 6 months, and a few weeks before the exam I felt that I was really prepared for it... and then it happened. Some of my friends said that it's not my fault. After all, i wasn't in my right state of mind when i took the exam. truth be told, i wasn't really thinking half the time I was taking it... i guess it's a miracle that I managed to pass. But I was counting on a high score on that exam to boost my resume, and I blew it. I can't help but feel that even after my grandmother's death, I still keep on disappointing her. That fact alone makes it so much harder to bear.

The last instance that I felt lonely was those few hours that I was waiting at the airport for my flight back home. That was when reality had set in. In a few hours, I'll be back to the place of anger and loneliness, to the place i despised for so many reasons. I'll be back to once again face the things that I would rather leave behind. And when i got back, i chose to continue the strategy that I have been doing for the past couple of months, which is avoidance. As long as i remain inside my room, it's easier to pretend that nothing has changed. For the past few months, this is where I spent most of my days anyway. Just studying and doing nothing. I just go out every now and then to check on my grandma. And after spending a couple of minutes with her, I'm back in my room, doing my usual routine, oblivious to the world outside. As long as I remain inside my room, it's easier to think that nothing has changed. As long as i remain here, it's easier to pretend that everything is all right.

Everything was fine until I made that stupid decision to go inside her room. When I sat on her bed, the emotions came flooding back in. There it was, the reality that I have been avoiding for the past couple of days. There it was, the reality that i almost forgot when I was several thousand miles away. The pain and loneliness were as fresh as they were two months ago. I used to laugh when I see similar scenes in movies, yet there I was doing exactly what those actors were doing. Crying as I hugged her clothes, crying as I was looking at old photographs, crying as I embraced her pillows. Besides memories, all that remained in her room was emptiness. Despite all the clutter, all that remained was nothingness. All that's left is a void that couldn't be filled with anything, and that's what makes it so hard to accept.

If only life had a fast forward button, I'd be pressing it right now. For me to move on, I need to be far away from this place because it brings out nothing but the worst in me. It's causing such a drain in my emotions that I am left being incapable of doing anything else. All the anger and loneliness would keep on consuming me until I am left with nothing. A year from now I should be out of here, and hopefully it's for good. And if the myth of heaven turns out to be true, a year from now when my grandma looks down on me, she'll finally see a grandson that she could truly be proud of. For now, I am still the exact same person when she left. For now, I am still the same. But i'm looking forward to a brighter future, though I'm still unsure of what lies ahead. I am hoping for the best, things can't possibly grow any worse. Hopefully, by this time next year, my life would no longer be the mess that it is now. Hopefully, a year from now, I will no longer be me.

One Hell of A Bloodbath

Piranha 3D gives you exactly what you expect, and that's what made it so much fun to watch. Lots of gore and nudity, with plenty of tongue in cheek humor. No pretensions, it knows its target audience and it gives what its target audience wants. And when I say "give", this movie just keeps on giving! This movie delivers one hell of a blood bath! Appearances from Richard Dreyfuss and Christopher Lloyd made the movie even more amusing, especially for fans of those old school monster movies. Oh, and did I mention that overly extended underwater nude ballet scene? And that you'd see a lot of t*ts in 3D? Man, i feel guilty for liking this movie so much. Sure, it looks and feels like a B movie... obviously that was what the producers were aiming for. They weren't aiming for something else. Surely, you wouldn't expect Oscar quality film making when you see a movie called Piranha 3D, right? This kind of brainless fun is the perfect way to end the summer. Call me crass, call me gross, you can even call me a pig. If you don't love horror movies as much as I do, then you'll never understand why Piranha 3D is my guilty pleasure of the year.

Inception!

I've said it so many times before, and now I'll say it again. Christopher Nolan is one hell of a genius. And with each new film, he just keeps getting better and better. Seriously, one has to be smoking some truly exceptional sh*t to be able to imagine the world that he has created this time around. Some may nitpick and say Inception isn't entirely original, and I have to agree that some of the ideas seen here are rather derivative from past movies. But taken in its entirety, I would still say that this is a movie that's unlike any other. Those action set pieces elicit enough excitement that even the most jaded moviegoer would probably be amused, if not totally impressed. The story is multi layered and mind bending, and like most of the other Nolan films this movie entails repeat viewings for us to completely understand all of its nuances. Naysayers can nitpick all they want, but I would still say that Inception is the best movie I have seen so far this year.

Endless Replay

Don't you ever wish that you could turn back time? In my thirty years of existence, i have wished for that ability a number of times. To correct past mistakes. To make things better. To make things easier. To avoid all the pain and misery that our past actions have caused. But after some time, I would learn to live with the consequences of my past actions... mistakes, indiscretions, indecision. You could say that my mistakes have made me stronger, they have made me into a better person. You could say that with the help of time, which seems to have to ability to heal most wounds and mitigate all suffering... things have turned out for the best. With time, all the hurt that we have felt and caused in the past wouldn't seem to matter anymore. Eventually, with the help of time, all that would remain would only be a flicker.

For 23 days now, the events that transpired on the 13th day of June has been on endless replay on my mind. Before i go to sleep, when i wake up, when I'm walking alone, when I'm sitting alone, in every idle moment... I keep on remembering. And every day I would wish that i could turn back time, because maybe... just maybe... if I had done things differently, things would be so much different now. Maybe things would still be the way they were. I would still be in my comfort zone, where mostly everything was fine the way it was, where someone was always watching my back, that place where I could afford to be complacent and carefree, where I could afford to take risks because I knew that there was always someone who's supporting me and ready to catch me if ever I would fall. Not a single day would pass by wherein I wouldn't stare into nothing and keep on remembering. I have dissected every moment, every minute, every second, and I just keep seeing opportunities wherein I could have acted differently. And as days would pass by, I just can't help but feel more and more guilty. i can't help but feel that it's somehow my fault.

If I had been more persistent, if I didn't take no for an answer, if I went down on my knees and practically begged her to, maybe I could have brought her to the hospital when things weren't as critical and everything would be just the way it was. When I held her hand for the last time, and it just wouldn't stop shaking... if I only took that as a sign that things were taking their turn for the worst... if I only used my clinical eye and acted like a real doctor to her for the very first time, without any trace of weariness or spite, I could have finally done something to her that mattered. If I didn't leave her alone, even just for a few minutes, maybe I could have been there the very second her heart stopped beating... maybe that would have made the difference. Maybe if i didn't even bother to change clothes, or maybe if i didn't even bother to put her on her wheelchair because it just wouldn't fit through the door of her bedroom... maybe that could have amounted to something. If I called some of our neighbors to help us carry her, if only I drove faster, If I didn't even bother with stubborn pedestrians and stupid traffic rules, maybe we could have gotten to the hospital in time. If only I ran towards the emergency room faster, if only i shouted louder to call the attention of the hospital staff, they could have responded with a greater sense of urgency. If only I wasn't stupid enough to park the car near a post so that we could have brought the stretcher nearer to her side of the car, emergency measures could have probably been administered on time. Or maybe if I just brought her to a better hospital instead, one equipped with better facilities and manned by doctors who have better skills... to the hospital where we have always brought her, she could still be alive by now. I could still be talking to her right now. She could still be back home waiting patiently for the day that I would return.

I know that nothing is certain, and for all i know it could all have been inevitable... but with so many instances wherein i could have acted differently, I can't help but feel that things could have resulted to a much better outcome. I just can't help but think otherwise. All my life I never did enough for her. On the last day of her life, i still didn't do enough. It was as if I didn't care enough. For 30 years, I've had numerous opportunities to change and be a better grandson to her. The thirteenth of June was basically the synopsis of how I treated her for the past 30 years. Always in a rush, with a lot of mistakes... littered with opportunities wherein i could have acted differently but failed to do so... maybe even chose not to do so. She had waited patiently for 30 long years, still I never got to be the grandson that she truly deserved.

I doubt if i could ever learn to live with such a mistake.

It Comes in Threes

As expected, things went downhill...

Toy Story 3 is not one of Pixar's best efforts. It even pales in comparison to the first two Toy Story Movies. But it's still a good movie, especially when you compare it to the lackluster animated movies that the other studios keep on putting out... and even though it couldn't keep the momentum of the franchise going, it does give a fitting end to the Toy Story Saga Let's just hope this really is the last one. Another Toy Story movie would only be detrimental to the franchise.

and surprisingly, things went uphill. But just barely.

Barf inducing romantic scenes. Horribly cheesy dialogue. Wooden acting all throughout. You got that right. It's another Twilight movie.

I'd hate to say this, but despite the above mentioned faults, i did find Eclipse quite enjoyable... but just barely. It must be because of the number of killings onscreen. And the battle scene towards the end did pique my interest for a bit... too bad there wasn't much gore, and it was also over too soon. So for the next movie, I hope the producers give us hapless folks a favor. Since they can't tone down all that brainless mush, else they suffer from the wrath of all those screaming teenage fans... they should at least put more and better executed action scenes to give the males of our species something worth watching onscreen. And for Christ's sake, don't scrimp on the blood. Show lots and lots of it, show puddles and geysers of the sweet red stuff. More violent deaths would make it better, and speaking of deaths, better kill off some of the Cullens if you can't kill any of the three leads. That would make the story less mechanical and predictable, and we've at least have something to look forward to. The next one is gonna be the last one, right? We have tagged along for three movies now, they should at least throw us guys a bone. Even though senseless violence can barely cancel out all that brainless mush, at least it can make those 2 hours of watching a Twilight movie a less harrowing experience for anyone who has a pair of balls.

The Longest Goodbye

It’s been 2 weeks since my grandmother passed away, and I’m still stuck in that stage of denial. I’m far away from home, so I guess that makes it easier. I can pretend that she’s still alive, I can pretend that I will still see her smiling face when I get back home a few months from now… but every time I find myself alone, I am quickly overcome by the harshness of reality… That I’d never get to see her again. I always remember how I spent those last few minutes of her life with her… how she looked, how her voice sounded, how her skin felt… and I just couldn’t keep myself from breaking down. She has done so much for me and for a lot of people… she didn’t deserve to go that way.

I doubt if I could ever forget. I doubt if anything could make this pain go away. How can I ever forget when many things around me tend to remind me of her? How could I ever forget when everything that I am now, I owe to her? I owe her so much that every time I look at myself in the mirror, I am reminded of her? And every time I look at myself, I can only imagine how disappointed she was of what I have become. That feeling of guilt only makes it harder. If only I have done something of worth, If only I have become that person that she could truly be proud of, it would have been easier. She would have left this world with a great sense of fulfillment. I could try to convince myself otherwise, I could keep on telling myself that i have become that person that anyone would be proud of... but every time I look into my eyes as I’m staring at my own reflection, I know that I would only be trying to fool myself.

When I first saw her when my parents brought her home from the hospital, I knew that she wasn’t well. I was right. She wasn’t supposed to be home yet, she went home against medical advice. As I sat beside her during her last few days, I was always filled with dread. Something wasn’t right. It felt as if something was about to break. I couldn’t carry any decent conversation with her. She failed to laugh as I told jokes, she failed to give any sensible answers to questions I would ask… I didn’t even see her smile anymore. It was as if the simple act of talking caused her a great deal of burden. I couldn’t stand seeing her that way, that was why I kept crying. Whereas before she would show immediate concern each time she felt that I was lonely or if something was bothering me… during those days she remained still and silent, with both of her eyes closed. As if she didn’t care about my feelings anymore… as if she didn’t care about the world anymore. I was practically begging her to go back to the hospital, but she would simply say NO. If I asked her why she didn’t want to go back, she would just say that she hated being at the hospital. When she said she’d rather die than to go back there, that’s when I finally shut up.

I spent that whole Saturday with her. She was just sitting still, desperately trying to sleep, while I was studying beside her. I knew that she wasn’t well, and that she probably wouldn’t make it until the end of the year… but I never thought that she would be gone the next day. It was inevitable, yet it happened so soon. I just wasn't ready. It’s been years since I’ve spent that much time with her. For the past few years we rarely talked. Our daily encounters were mostly confined to those times wherein I gave her meds and checked her blood pressure. It has been years since we’ve talked, and when I finally found the time to talk, it seemed that see was no longer able to. But as I sat beside her on that warm afternoon, even though we were not talking, everything seemed to be all right. In that certain moment in time, everything seemed right with the world. For some unexplainable reason that i could not fully grasp, that afternoon was close to perfection.

During that night, we began her routine of trying to lie down in bed, and then wanting to sit up again after only a few seconds. I would tell her that it’s no use since she cannot tolerate lying flat on the bed, but she would still insist so we would just oblige. After a few minutes of sitting down, she would ask us to help her lie down again, and this cycle went on and on even though she knew that there’s no way she could sleep on her bed. Normally I would have already lost my temper, but on that night, i remained calm. I was unusually calm. We did this all night, and when the sun had risen on Sunday, I knew that she was already too tired. She hadn’t slept for two whole days, and this had caused her even more fatigue. When her private nurse came, I tried to get some sleep. I lied down on my bed for almost three hours, but it was no use. I had lunch at around eleven that morning, and then sat beside her again afterward. When I opened the door to her room, I saw that she was becoming worse. When I sat beside her, I told her i would already be leaving in a few days. She asked me if I already booked my flight. I said yes. I then tried to persuade her to go back to the hospital again, but she still remained firm with her decision. I knew that I had to bring her to the hospital that day because her condition was worsening. I said everything that I could to try and convince her, and miraculously, she finally agreed. She picked up the phone and called my dad. She told him that she wants to go back to the hospital. My dad said he was on his way. I touched her skin and I noticed how dry it was, how rough it was. I held her hand, and noticed how weak her grip was. I ran my fingers through her hair as i hear her raspy breathing, and I told her I'll be back in a minute. I went back to my room to change my clothes. I wasn’t even gone for five minutes. When I went back to her room I saw her slumped on her chair and her nurse was panicking. I quickly rushed towards her and checked on her pulse. I felt nothing, and she was also no longer breathing.

I panicked. i did not know what to do at first. It was as if I've encountered a person who has suffered from cardiorespiratory arrest for the very first time. I tried to carry her on my own but I just couldn’t do it. My brother left a few minutes earlier along with my aunt, and my parents weren’t there yet. The only other person in the house was our maid, and I called for her. Together with the nurse, I tried to carry her, and they were barely helping at all. Both were small women, and they weren’t used to carrying such weight. We transferred her to her wheelchair, but it just couldn’t fit through the door, so we tried to carry her again. She was too heavy, and I was already screaming out of frustration and desperation. We managed to carry her outside but by that time our arms gave in. She fell on the ground, her dressed soiled as she lay on the ground of our garden. I started to cry. She has done so much good, she didn’t deserve to go this way, soiled and dirty on the ground, lying lifeless on the grass and weeds. I just couldn’t allow that to happen to her. That just felt so wrong. We managed to carry her again before we lost our grip and she fell again in our garage just as I was about to open the door to my car. By the time I turned the engine on, I tried to estimate the time that had lapsed. It took us such a long time, 10 minutes had probably already passed. And although I knew that it was probably already too late and that any resuscitative measures will be of no use, I still pressed on. I drove her to the nearest hospital. It wasn’t the best hospital, but in that situation, it was the best possible choice.

It took a very long time before the emergency room physician managed to intubate her. After ten more minutes, I knew that she was already gone. Even if they managed to revive her, she would have been brain dead already. That’s when I finally broke down. I felt as if my whole world collapsed. I’ve seen many patients who have suffered from cardiorespiratory arrest before, and I know the routine inside out… but it seemed so different when the person they are trying to revive is someone you know… someone you love. I just couldn’t watch them as they did all those things to her… as if she was some inanimate object… as if she wasn’t a person at all. After a few more minutes, my parents came, and they brought the dog with them. I wondered if they were really concerned. On the way to the hospital I managed to call my dad saying that grandma was no longer breathing and that I was bringing her to the nearest hospital. Their house wasn’t far away yet it took them such a long time to show up… and they even managed to bring the dog. But I didn’t entertain such thoughts at that time. I was too overwhelmed with grief, that I wasn’t capable of any sort of rational thinking. Apparently my dad called our other relatives, and they started to come in trickles. After 30 minutes of resuscitative measures, the ER doctor told us that it was no use anymore, and he was asking our permission for them to stop. I knew it was no use, but I just couldn’t say yes, I was still hoping for a miracle.

After 40 minutes, her heart started to function again. All our relatives breathed a sigh of relief, smiles started to show on their faces, and I didn’t have the heart to tell them the truth. They thought that everything would be all right. Everyone was feeling such joy, but I only kept on crying. I knew that she was already long gone, and nothing could ever bring her back.

The medications kept her heart beating until a little past 6 on Monday evening. She was admitted at the ICU, and our relatives took turns going inside to check on her. I just stayed outside even as most of our relatives went home. They smiled as they told me that my grandma was turning her head towards them, or that she was opening her eyes as they spoke to her… but I knew that all they saw were simply reflexes. She was no longer capable of understanding or even simply hearing the things they were saying because her brain was no longer functioning. The medications were the only things keeping her alive… and to even use the term “alive” entails a bit of exaggeration. My grandma was no longer there. The person who I’ve cherished the most all these years was no longer inside that room. All that remained was a body… with signs of wear and tear, evidence of all the suffering and hardships that she had to endure all those years… full of wounds sustained from this battle that we call life. It was a body that was on the brink of collapse, and any moment now, it would finally give in.

I just stayed outside until sunrise. I tried to sleep because I was so damn tired, but I just couldn’t. Each time I closed my eyes, I would see her… and every time I would think of what ifs. What if we didn’t allow her to go home despite her demands? I would probably still be checking her blood pressure and giving her medications today. What if my whole family was in the house at that time? What my brother didn’t leave the house to have lunch with his girlfriend? What if my parents actually came early for a change? Maybe we could have brought her to the hospital on time. Maybe I would be sitting beside her on a hospital bed today, and I would be talking to her, and I would be able to see her smile back. Maybe I would see her cry again as I kissed her goodbye when i leave for abroad. But all those things didn’t matter anymore. She was long gone, and nothing could ever bring her back.

Memories started to flicker. I have lived with her all my life. We slept in the same bed until after med school. That was when I told her pointblank that I didn’t want to sleep in the same room with my grandma anymore, because I needed some privacy. She patiently woke me up each morning and she literally had to drag me out of bed during elementary school even though I told her each morning that I didn’t want to go to school simply because I didn’t want to. I was such a spoiled brat and she tolerated it--- because I was her favorite. I knew that, and everyone else knew that. Most people knew her as stringy, yet when it came to me, she gave all that I wanted, she gave in to all my demands, no questions asked. She even had to spoonfeed me breakfast and give me a bath each morning because I was too lazy to do those things on my own. I was an overgrown baby. I’ve said hurtful things simply because I felt that I was shackled. She loved me too much that I felt that she kept on treating me like a child even when I was past the age of 18. I’ve said hurtful things on my quest for independence, because at that time, nothing else mattered to me. When she didn’t give me enough allowance to pay for the rent for my apartment during med school, I told her to stop being so stringy because everyone knew that she had a lot of money. Our dad had made us believe that she had an endless supply of cash, even though she was finding it hard at that time to keep all of us in school. She just underwent a major operation, and her bank account was almost empty, yet she never told anyone except for my grandpa. He even told her to stop paying for our education because it wasn’t her responsibility, it was the responsibility of our jobless father. My grandparents had numerous arguments because of this, yet we were so oblivious to the fact that we were the reason for their arguments. She was fighting for us. And I even had the gall to tell her that she was acting selfish, when all along I was the person who was only thinking of himself.

She calls me everyday whenever I’m away from home. When I’m on a 24 hour shift at the hospital, or when I’m on a vacation somewhere, she would always call. When I’m out of the country and gone for several days or even weeks, she would call everyday. Often I would simply ignore her calls, and if I would answer, at times I wouldn’t even try to hide my annoyance. Once, I even asked her why did she have to call everyday when there’s nothing new happening between us, so we just end up saying the same things over and over again. Often she would cry as I was talking to her, and I would tell her pointblank that she was over reacting. It’s not as if I would never come back. Often, I found all that melodrama exasperating. Many times whenever I found it hard to administer her medications intravenously, I don’t even try to hide my irritation. There’s anger in the tone of my voice, even though I could always tell her how hard it was in a nice way. And all those times she would just look at me calmly, as if asking me to please try and try again. There was that one time that she caught me in a bad mood, and after several attempts I just told her it was impossible and I simply walked out on her. When I came back after a few hours, she acted as if nothing happened. She acted as if she wasn’t hurt at all, which was so typical of her. Every time she found herself on the receiving end of my bouts of negative emotions, she would only give me love in return. For as long as I can remember, from my days as a spoiled brat, to my years as an arrogant young adult, she never chose to castigate me. All got in return for being so ungrateful was her unconditional love. She would tell everyone who would care enough to listen that she was so proud of me, that I was the grandchild who was the kindest, that i was the one who was most responsible, most dependable... the one who was always there for her. Even though I believe that she had to have some doubts regarding those things that she has been saying about me, at least if she's able to see me in the proper perspective--- she never said it out loud. She would choose to consciously overlook my faults, so that only the good things in me remained in her line of sight.

Everyone knew how thrifty she was. She’s as thrifty to the point that it wasn’t practical anymore. She seldom buys new shoes and clothes, and whenever she buys some, she chooses those that are of poorest quality. She only had a few nice clothes, and she kept on wearing them again and again on special occasions. Looking at the worn out shoes that she kept on wearing, you’d mistake that she was a homeless person, if you didn't know her at all. A lot of people wondered what she was saving up for. It’s not like she could bring all her riches in the afterlife, that’s what they say. But somehow, I knew the answer. No matter how much money I ask from her to pay for my expenses, she didn’t ask any questions. After she passed away I found out she left money for me to pay for my future expenses on my upcoming trip later this year. Even now that she’s gone, she’s still looking out for me. She rarely touched her money, not even for her own personal needs. She didn’t use that money to do things that would make her happy. But she once told me that she’s happy as long as she sees me happy, so I guess anything material could not give her that sort of happiness. From the day that I was born, until the very end of her life, she was looking after me because that made her happy. And I never could understand how I can give her that level of happiness, in spite of myself. I don’t know if there’s even a person alive who deserved such love. I just know for a fact that if ever such a person existed, that person couldn’t possibly be me.

When I told her that I’ve made the decision to work abroad, she just agreed. She paid for all those exams, no questions asked. She supported my decision, she even said I was making the right choice… yet I knew that she didn’t want me to go. She wouldn’t want her favorite grandchild to go away. Others have told me that she kept crying when I’ve made this decision, but every time I would talk to her about it, she would keep a straight face. All these years, she never showed me her true feelings when she knew that it would affect me in a negative way. She never showed me how sad I made her feel, how angry I made her feel… she never showed me any signs of loneliness, betrayal, nor disappointment, even though I knew that she was already keeping those emotions deep inside. She had always wanted the best for me, and she loved me unconditionally even though I was so undeserving of all that affection. That kind of love cannot be equated with anything else. That kind of love cannot be bought. Such love is unique. Such love is priceless.

I finally found the courage to see her at around seven in the morning. I thought that I was already in control of myself, but when I saw her, I started crying again. I just couldn’t stand seeing her that way… intubated, hooked up to all those machines, bloated… lifeless. I held her hand, I brushed my fingers through her hair, I touched her face, and I kissed her on the cheek. And although I knew that she wouldn’t be able to hear me, I started talking to her. I started saying the things that I never had the courage to say to her. i started saying the things that I thought I could always say later. I said sorry for all the things I have done. I told her how much I need her. I told her how much I love her. I poured my heart out even though I knew that saying all those things was useless. I never said those things when it still mattered. I never said those things even though I had numerous chances. And now it was already too late. I couldn’t stand seeing her that way anymore, I wanted to remember her the way she was. I was crying so hard as I said goodbye. I kissed her once again, and I touched her face for the very last time. I decided to go home and just wait. I didn’t know how I would react when they would finally tell us that the effects of the medications have worn off, and that she has expired. Before I went out the door, I looked at her again, and tears started to well up immediately. That woman who was lifeless on that bed couldn't possibly be her. I closed the door behind me. That was the last time I saw her alive.

I drove around for a while, going around in circles, going nowhere. I was such a wreck. When I got home I took lots of Valium and after a few tablets, miraculously I was able to sleep. I woke up to the sound of my cell phone ringing. It was my dad. I knew why he was calling. I answered the phone and he told me the news. He told me that I was the only one they were waiting for before they transferred her to the morgue. I told him that I won’t be coming back to the hospital. i already said goodbye to her earlier, and I was just going to stay home. Then I hung up. I took a couple more tablets, and I was able to cry myself to sleep.

The next few days were surreal. Somehow each day passed by, despite the fact that I felt so detached from everything. Every time I find myself alone, I find myself crying. I always find myself coming back to her room, reliving our daily routine, opening her cabinet and touching her clothes, burrowing my face in her pillows, taking comfort in her scent, looking at all those pictures in those photo albums that she treasured more than anything else. I would always find myself sitting on her chair, lying on her bed, crying as I’m staring into nothing. I was stuck in that stage of denial. I kept telling myself it was all just a bad dream and it couldn’t possibly be real. I kept hoping that someone would wake me up. I just couldn’t continue moving forward without her.

Then came the regrets. We have become too complacent. Every time she got admitted at the hospital, no matter how bad her condition was prior to admission, everything was always back to the way it was by the time she got discharged. We got so used to all the times that we had to push her wheelchair, that we had to give her medications and administer oxygen, that we had bring her to the hospital... it has all become routine, and we barely noticed that her condition was indeed worsening. By the time we had that sense of urgency, it was already too late. I didn’t want to spend last Christmas at home simply because I needed a change. I was so sick and tired of our family traditions. Spending the holidays with the whole family was important to her, but I needed a change and that was more important to me. If I only knew that I would never get to experience our yearly holiday traditions again, if I only knew I would never get to spend Christmas with her again, I would have chosen to stay home and made the most out of it. If I only knew that she only had a few months left to live when I came home last February, I would've spend more time with her. I would have spent most of my days just sitting beside here. Doing anything. Doing nothing. If only I knew that the first few days of June were the last days of her life, I would have chosen to spend more time with her. I would have stayed at the hospital longer, I would have talked to her more, because I know that the simple act of talking to her keeps her loneliness away. Just having someone beside her gave her comfort. Having a loved one by her side at all times made her happy. If I only knew that the Saturday afternoon we’ve spent together would’ve been our last afternoon together, I would’ve said a whole lot more, instead of the usual things that I say to her. I would have told her how grateful I was, I would have said thanks for everything that she has ever done for me. I would have asked for forgiveness and understanding. i would have said sorry for all the wrongs that i have done, and i would have said sorry for not doing enough. I would have told her for the very first time how much I loved her. I would have told her that I loved her so much, and that she means more than anything in the world to me. Saying all those words to her would have made her so happy… now I’ll never get another chance to tell her the things that I should’ve told her a long time ago.

Talks regarding financial concerns simply pissed me off. She wasn’t even buried yet and my father was concerned about our future expenses. About taxes that we had to pay. About the family’s future sources of income. About what little money she had left. He was expecting so much more, and with her numerous hospitalizations, what was left of her savings was only enough to give her the funeral she wanted. He wanted to cut costs, but he had no control over her money. I did. It was her money, she worked hard for it. No one should reap the benefits of her hard work but her. She never used her money for herself unless she really needed to. It was about time someone used her money for her. I almost emptied her savings account. I wanted to give her the funeral that she wanted. She deserved nothing but the best. If only she was still capable of appreciating it all, if only she could still see the things we have done to honor her memory, then it would be a little more comforting.

I knew that I love her so much. But I didn’t know up to what extent I was willing to go just to show my love to her. When someone had the gall to disrupt her funeral procession and show utter disrespect, I beat up that guy badly. I saw red, and I was capable of murder. If my cousins didn’t stop me, I would have killed him. I didn’t care about consequences, all I knew at that time that she did not deserve such treatment. Anyone who dared disrespect her had to pay the price, even with his own life. For a while the loneliness had subsided. It was overcome with rage. All that I felt was anger.

When I boarded the plane last Tuesday, I thought I already had my emotions under control. But by the time the plane landed, I remembered how I would always call her immediately as soon as I’ve landed. Just to tell her I’m safe, and for me to know how she was feeling. And the tears started to flow again, I just couldn’t hold them back. And even though I’m so far away, a lot of little things that I do, a lot of little things that I see all around me still remind me of her, and that just aggravates the loneliness that I am feeling. Everyday, I still feel that I am simply watching the world from a different plane. I feel like an outsider, simply looking in. I still feel as if I am dreaming. Everyday, I’m still hoping, that the past 2 weeks is all an illusion. And when I wake up tomorrow, somehow, everything will be back to the way things were.

What makes it harder to let go is the knowledge that she didn’t want to leave yet. There were so many things that she still wanted to do, there were so many things that she still wanted to witness. During our talks for the past few months, she knew that she didn’t have long to live. She was in and out of the hospital for the past three years, and I knew that she was aware of her current state of health. she told me that she wanted to live to see the day when my two cousins would finish college, because apparently, she was also paying for their education. When we talked about my plans for the year, she told me that she wanted to see the day that I would become a very successful doctor. When I became a doctor she felt such immeasurable pride and happiness. And when I become successful, she told me that it would only make her happier because she would live to see the day that I am already able to stand on my own. Two weeks ago, we were talking about plans for her 80^th birthday this coming October. She wanted a huge celebration because it was her 80^th. I told her to go for it since I knew it would make her very happy, and she’d be using her hard earned money anyway. It was about time that she used that money for herself. We already contacted an event planner, we already chose a venue, and she already contacted someone to design her dress. That was the last time I saw her smile. She was looking forward to a lot of things. She wanted to hold on. A few minutes before I found her in a state of cardiac arrest, I was able to convince her to go back to the hospital. I gave her a lot of reasons to go back, and I thought that nothing I could say would convince her otherwise. Then I told her that I would be leaving for two months, and if she stayed at our house in her present condition, she might already be gone by the time I got back. And I don’t know how I would be able to live without her in my life. i just wouldn't be able to bear it.

A few seconds after I said that, she finally agreed. She told me she wanted to go back to the hospital.

Up until the very last moments of her life, it was still all about me.

She never got the chance to tell me that she was leaving, and I know for a fact that she wouldn’t want to leave that way… unceremoniously and haphazardly… without warning and without proper closure.

My grandma never got the chance to say goodbye. That’s why I find it so hard to say goodbye to her as well.