-Mabuhay!!!

HELLO WORLD~~~

YaaaAAyyY!!! We welcomed our new angel around 10:30 pm last night.

So tiny and delicate… nakakatakot hawakan! We were all sleepy and tired but when he came into the room… *sigh*

Super duper cutie…

Welcome to our crazy family Baby Gino!

[and yeah... he will be christened Gino. Lol~~~]

Hope and prayers

As the world cheered on Manny Pacquiao, my step-grandfather lies in an operating room somewhere in New York after being rushed to the ER. He was diagnosed with aneurysm shortly after dealing with bouts of headache last night and feeling disoriented this morning.

My grandmother devoted her life caring for the man she married more than 20 years ago. It must have been hellish for her whatever Daddy Alvin is going through right now. My mom (and aunts and uncles) do not have a good relationship with him (as was the matter with all stepfather issues) but he was good to us kids when we were growing up. I remember him carrying us on his shoulders and letting us do thump-thump sound on his shaven head (he was bald).

And if only for that one moment of childhood memory, I hope he survives this battle.

Have faith. Hold on.

—————————————

Maybe I should have passed by St. Joseph’s (or was it?) Church in Alabang yesterday. That church has granted a prayer the last time I was there. I should go back.

Cleaning out

When I got that e-mail from my half sister, I realized I was pretty much doing what I hated with people all my life–letting someone feel miserable when you have the power to change things for them.

My parents separated when I was two years old. I am loosely using the term “separation” because that’s exactly what it was–a parting of ways. When I was five or six, I would always ask my mom about my dad; and she would usually get angry because I think, at that time, she does not know either how to answer me. As I grew older, the questions stopped too; and I tried valiantly to explain the “unexplainable” to myself. It was a process I had to undergo alone.

I never did get the story out of my mom myself (or my dad, for that matter). What I know I read from her diary; and I heard from my aunt. Vague. Incomplete. The story was never completed for me.

My mom, though, with all her incapability of explaining the mistakes of their actions with me, never taught me to hate my dad. In retrospect, I think she has always tried to make me understand him. And though at times, I find myself thinking about the injustice of my “situation,” I never did blame my mom or my dad for anything. I do believe they have loved each other (no matter how wrong it may seem that time) and I refuse to believe I am made out of some mistake from their pasts (although, of course, the term “unwanted” has always been in the peremeters of my mind).

On August 20, my dad turned 60. I had no idea, of course. I know his age like this: “late 50s.” I did not know he was turning the big 6-0 already. And so when I learned about how he thinks I was angry with him all these times (from my sis’ e-mail) and how disappointed he was that I did not push through my going there, I felt disgusted with myself. I do not have the right to make someone feel that way, no matter how much he had wronged me.

Then to make matters worst for me (as my conscience is killing me), I received this text from Forever Guy: “nagkulang man siya sa pagiging ama sayo, sana wag ka naman magkulang bilang anak.” Not exactly verbatim but, I hope you get the point. After that, I sent a message to my sis asking her to tell my dad that I never hated him, not even for a millisecond in my whole 22 years of existence. He is a part of me and I hope, somehow, I am a part of him also. I even sent a video message for his surprise party yesterday.

It’s about time he start forgiving himself. Guilt is such a painful cross to bear. And whatever wrong he may have done in the past, he gave my mom something good out of it also–they had me; and I hope that can be enough for the both of them to start forgetting the mistakes of the past.

I never told my dad I love him (not even during the couple of times we saw each other). I told you I am not a vocal person. But I had the chance to do that yesterday. I told him that–three words, eight letters. I do love him and my sis. In some deep, obscure part of me, I love them. And though things will never change for us, I want them to know that. I want my dad to know that he does not have to ask for my forgiveness.

He hurt me, yes. But, my mom hurt someone special in his life also. Only for that, there is nothing more to forgive. My existence in this world hangs on that thin thread of redemption. Every breath that I take gives allude to a mistake.

And I hope, since we have all wronged each other in some way, and there were hearts that get trampled in the way, we can all just forgive ourselves and forget the past. It has been more than two decades already. It’s about damn time we start moving on and hopefully, let go…

Bonding moment with the crazy ones

Above: Jacey and Coco playing Tekken on Nat’s PS; Nat’s playing on Jacey’s PSP while Albert’s trying to decide which one is more interesting–throwing pillows or bothering Nat.

Below: Coco and Jacey posing for the camera.  Two brothers could never be more alike in weight than these two.

Never in my life will I understand how boys can spend the whole day playing video games, drinking iced tea, and eating junks.  But my cousins sure can.  And they’re not even of the same age!  Albert’s four.  Jacey’s nine.  Natnat’s thirteen.  Coco’s twenty.

Sounds damning right?  They don’t even belong in the same generation.

Oh, but the magic of video games and boy talks.  They sure love to laugh about the silliest jokes while Hannah and I looked at them with crazed expressions of pure naivete.

The funny thing is, I can watch them like this all day.  Them playing while I’m lounging on the hard-as-rock sofa and munching on whatever I can get my hands on, cheering them on while secretly wishing for Jacey to win.  Haha!

Finally!

Welcome home Jacey!

From left: Natnat, Moi, Jacey, and Hannah… we’re taking turns on the PS. 

Spoiled Brat

I have already lost count of the times people would call me a spoiled brat. In fact, most of the times, I quite agree with what they have to say. I am spoiled. I always get what I want in the way I want to get it. There are even times I get the things I do not even deserve.

But, there are a few things that differs me from the next little spoiled bratinella.

I never had (and will never have) the one thing we all want–a family.

I saw my father a grand total of two times in my 22 years of existence. The times I have talked to him, I can count with my fingers. There is no love lost between me and him. Sure, we talk, he sometimes even say the “L” word but, there was never a time in my life I actually feel that he gives a damn with what and how I’m feeling at the moment. My father has only one major contribution in my life–his sperm cells.

This abnormality that is my family life is much to be blamed for my inability to love fully. I realized this when Dro kindly told me in the plainest of words… “hindi ka marunong magmahal.” True, I never loved the way he did. There is always my pride to fight with, my fears of rejection to overcome. The only person I allowed myself to love without hesitations, without consequences, in short, unconditionally, is my mother. After her, I never allowed myself to love anyone more than necessary. It always came to a point for me to control my feelings, to put myself before my love. Then… I got my head bumped (figuratively, of course) or whatever you wanna call it.

Last year, I realized that maybe I just loved the wrong man… or at least, tried to love the wrong people in my life. That accounts for my inability to feel beyond a casual kind of love. I’m always asking for something in return and that cannot be the case at all times, right? Then, Dro came along. I never actually thought I’d learn anything from him but was I ever wrong. He taught me the most unselfish kind of love… and more. I learned that I need not be afraid of loving someone and of getting my heart broken (to million pieces, I dare say). I realized something more… something more profound than anything I ever learned about life and love and family: I don’t need anything or anyone (who I can never have) but the people who know me best and love me for who I was, who I am, and who I will be.

I even learned a new concept on love: selfless. When I pray now, I don’t ask for Him to protect me from the pain that love can cost. I pray now that I may not hurt the people who love me and care for me. I would rather watch my heart crumple into tiny pieces than ever see my mom, my aunt and my cousin, and my friends get hurt because of me. More (and this came as a surprise), I’d rather Dro break my heart than I break his. I can never bear the agony of seeing him in pain.

True, there are a lot of things in my life where I should be down on my knees and thanking heaven and earth but, I never felt more grateful in my life than I do today–for the things I have come to realize is as vital to my existence as to that long-ago dream of having a family. There are some things that are truly, truly not meant to be yours yet, in the end, we will meet someone who will make us realize why we never had it in the first place… and things will fall into place because you know that anything and everything that comes before and after that person is a complete anticlimax to what you have today.