' That Katy Perry Song'
Ana was driving and we were on our way to our usual weekend food binge, coffee and 'adult conversations'. On the cd player was Katy Perry, her latest album, because Ana is a fan. Track number 13, as I glanced at it, was this song with Katy singing, '...I thank my sister for keeping my head above the water, I could not tell her I was swallowing sand...'. Our youngest sister, Kring, was with us at that time, well, almost all the time because she has this intention to steal my daughter away from me and call Ana her own (but that's another story altogether). Kring said, 'that's my song for you and Beks'(our other sister). Aaawww. She has just been through a rough time and was recovering from it. It was her way of saying thank you.
And it got me thinking, deeply. I think only that way, I overanalyze things to my own detriment. I have always been perceived by my family as the pillar, the strong one, the one with the wisdom to get through anything after having gone through so much in life, the one whose thoughts and insights they listen to, the one they feel is always right. I am the eldest in the family, eldest among us siblings, eldest granddaughter on both my mother's side and my father's side. Perceptions. It is amazing how perceptions navigate our lives.
I was taught early on by Mama to do mommy stuff, as she was a career woman and she perhaps did not have the time to do these things at that time. I did the groceries when I was in my elementary years, in my shorts and sneakers, with a list in hand complete with brands and prices. I had a driver with me, pushing the cart behind me. I did my best not to buy the wrong stuff, otherwise Mama would kill me. Other responsibilities followed, like rationing the snacks our househelp stuck away in the kitchen cabinets. I would sit my brother Allan and my sister down, and give their shares, including mine. In a round circle like a meeting, I would give out those juices in triangle tetra packs, and chips, and cookies, by pack. Then I would open one of the packs of chips, and again divide the chips, yes, the chips, one by one, into three. There were only three of us at that time, Kring was born much later. Then we would go on our own ways and eat. Cute stuff like that. At first.
We had a normal, happy childhood, of course there would be concerns here and there but nothing really major which would have affected our psyche. Or I would like to think so (again, that's another story). We had pet dogs which we loved dearly. We were always taking a bath, I remember, as our househelp, Stella, was like a nanny straight from the horror movies. We were scrubbed, and dressed up properly with shoes and socks even when playing. Each night, our folks would be home after we had our dinner (so most dinners are without Papa and Mama), and they would reply to our 'goodnight pa, goodnight ma!', then we all sleep. We went through the early mornings to go to school, come home, play, study, etc. We all had good grades, but I was always the honor student. My grandmother, Lola Corazon, would be the one attending the honor ceremonies in school because Mama was always busy. Everytime I told her I was an honor student, she would say, 'you should be'.
We had everything we wanted, we had toys all over the place, the kinds which only our neighbors would have in their dreams. Papa would have a department store somewhere closed at night so we can choose and buy the toys we wanted. Christmas time was my favorite, because Papa would take us to this puppet show (actually they were mannequins, I remember) and carry Beks on his shoulders so she can see. Allan and I would stand atop the Impala, this large car Papa had, so we can peek at the show. Beks was always the one holding on to Papa, gripping his pants when someone tries to talk to her. Even under familiar situations. She was odd even then. She still is now, but, that's another story, yet again. Hindsight, I could safely say, we were born rich. Not old, old rich, but our grandfather, Lolo Panieng, worked very hard to give us all a good life.
I did not know then that we were rich, though, and only believed that we were when I was in Lolo Panieng's sleek Mercedes Benz and saw three of my classmates in jeepneys. They were waving at me excitedly from the jeepney. So I said to myself, 'oh, not everyone had a car like ours'. And then, Papa became Mayor of our little hometown in La Union. I say, 'became' because he ran unopposed. Told you, we were rich, the operative being 'were'.
Anyway, we became poor. Another story altogether. Again. (you will have to follow my blog if you are interested to know the other stories) Slowly, we slid to this terrible state of being poor. Papa and Mama had no more friends. Mama's jewelry ended up in auction houses. The cars were sold one by one. The television sets, sold. The only house left was foreclosed. We had to move to another town to keep our heads straight. I started working. I supported by two siblings' education through teaching. Our relatives in the States, especially one Uncle I so love dearly, all gave their share of help, to put a roof over our heads and food on the table.
I moved from teaching to a job in government as a contractual employee, because it gave me extra to buy milk for Kring, who was still a baby. I could not buy my own clothes even on installment, so I had to wear Mama's old clothes, which were actually nice but did not become me as I was in my twenties. I always had nothing in my pay envelope, because I had already borrowed against my salaries even before they are due. Beks had to work part-time. There were days when we had nothing else to eat but boiled eggs and small fried fish we bought on credit from a nearby store. It was that dark.
And so, I had to be strong. For everyone. Papa and Mama depended on me emotionally to be that, their crutch. I was then. I am now, to my whole family. But I am not complaining. I have always done everything I did for others as a matter of choice, out of the goodness there is in my heart, because of the love I have in my soul for my family. I write this because the perception of me as the 'one in-charge', the one who is strong, their pillar, the one who had the wisdom, the one who had the right insights, the one they listen to, is distorted. I was molded to who I am because I was 'unloved' by some, and loved by others, too. I struggled to be the best I can be because I wanted to show those who did not 'love' me would see I deserve to be loved. I was the best person I could be for those who loved me, in reciprocity.
Things have changed in years. Time really is a gift. 'Misery takes time to come, and then leave.', I once read. Happiness is a day-to-day challenge now, a choice we have to make. My family is still experiencing difficulties. I am, too, but I am doing my damn best to help, well, because I can. I write this because I want to tell my brother, and my sisters, that I, too, would like to thank them for keeping my head above the water. That I have swallowed sand many times but chose not to tell them to keep us all collected. That I am not perfect, I have weaknesses, but never will I compromise the bond that has kept us whole for the years Papa and Mama passed on. That I have felt the warmth of their embrace in simple text messages and calls when they know my heart is breaking. That I have finally come to the acknowledgement that I am not the only one in this family who is needed, but I, too, need them. That they have never let me down when I did need them, despite their own issues. That it is not so much what I have done for them, but it is about what I have become because of them. That I draw the air I breathe each second from the little acts of care, concern and kindness that they show me. In the end, really, that is all I want. And that is all I keep my palms out always open for, what they can offer, and not what they are forced to give.
And it got me thinking, deeply. I think only that way, I overanalyze things to my own detriment. I have always been perceived by my family as the pillar, the strong one, the one with the wisdom to get through anything after having gone through so much in life, the one whose thoughts and insights they listen to, the one they feel is always right. I am the eldest in the family, eldest among us siblings, eldest granddaughter on both my mother's side and my father's side. Perceptions. It is amazing how perceptions navigate our lives.
I was taught early on by Mama to do mommy stuff, as she was a career woman and she perhaps did not have the time to do these things at that time. I did the groceries when I was in my elementary years, in my shorts and sneakers, with a list in hand complete with brands and prices. I had a driver with me, pushing the cart behind me. I did my best not to buy the wrong stuff, otherwise Mama would kill me. Other responsibilities followed, like rationing the snacks our househelp stuck away in the kitchen cabinets. I would sit my brother Allan and my sister down, and give their shares, including mine. In a round circle like a meeting, I would give out those juices in triangle tetra packs, and chips, and cookies, by pack. Then I would open one of the packs of chips, and again divide the chips, yes, the chips, one by one, into three. There were only three of us at that time, Kring was born much later. Then we would go on our own ways and eat. Cute stuff like that. At first.
We had a normal, happy childhood, of course there would be concerns here and there but nothing really major which would have affected our psyche. Or I would like to think so (again, that's another story). We had pet dogs which we loved dearly. We were always taking a bath, I remember, as our househelp, Stella, was like a nanny straight from the horror movies. We were scrubbed, and dressed up properly with shoes and socks even when playing. Each night, our folks would be home after we had our dinner (so most dinners are without Papa and Mama), and they would reply to our 'goodnight pa, goodnight ma!', then we all sleep. We went through the early mornings to go to school, come home, play, study, etc. We all had good grades, but I was always the honor student. My grandmother, Lola Corazon, would be the one attending the honor ceremonies in school because Mama was always busy. Everytime I told her I was an honor student, she would say, 'you should be'.
We had everything we wanted, we had toys all over the place, the kinds which only our neighbors would have in their dreams. Papa would have a department store somewhere closed at night so we can choose and buy the toys we wanted. Christmas time was my favorite, because Papa would take us to this puppet show (actually they were mannequins, I remember) and carry Beks on his shoulders so she can see. Allan and I would stand atop the Impala, this large car Papa had, so we can peek at the show. Beks was always the one holding on to Papa, gripping his pants when someone tries to talk to her. Even under familiar situations. She was odd even then. She still is now, but, that's another story, yet again. Hindsight, I could safely say, we were born rich. Not old, old rich, but our grandfather, Lolo Panieng, worked very hard to give us all a good life.
I did not know then that we were rich, though, and only believed that we were when I was in Lolo Panieng's sleek Mercedes Benz and saw three of my classmates in jeepneys. They were waving at me excitedly from the jeepney. So I said to myself, 'oh, not everyone had a car like ours'. And then, Papa became Mayor of our little hometown in La Union. I say, 'became' because he ran unopposed. Told you, we were rich, the operative being 'were'.
Anyway, we became poor. Another story altogether. Again. (you will have to follow my blog if you are interested to know the other stories) Slowly, we slid to this terrible state of being poor. Papa and Mama had no more friends. Mama's jewelry ended up in auction houses. The cars were sold one by one. The television sets, sold. The only house left was foreclosed. We had to move to another town to keep our heads straight. I started working. I supported by two siblings' education through teaching. Our relatives in the States, especially one Uncle I so love dearly, all gave their share of help, to put a roof over our heads and food on the table.
I moved from teaching to a job in government as a contractual employee, because it gave me extra to buy milk for Kring, who was still a baby. I could not buy my own clothes even on installment, so I had to wear Mama's old clothes, which were actually nice but did not become me as I was in my twenties. I always had nothing in my pay envelope, because I had already borrowed against my salaries even before they are due. Beks had to work part-time. There were days when we had nothing else to eat but boiled eggs and small fried fish we bought on credit from a nearby store. It was that dark.
And so, I had to be strong. For everyone. Papa and Mama depended on me emotionally to be that, their crutch. I was then. I am now, to my whole family. But I am not complaining. I have always done everything I did for others as a matter of choice, out of the goodness there is in my heart, because of the love I have in my soul for my family. I write this because the perception of me as the 'one in-charge', the one who is strong, their pillar, the one who had the wisdom, the one who had the right insights, the one they listen to, is distorted. I was molded to who I am because I was 'unloved' by some, and loved by others, too. I struggled to be the best I can be because I wanted to show those who did not 'love' me would see I deserve to be loved. I was the best person I could be for those who loved me, in reciprocity.
Things have changed in years. Time really is a gift. 'Misery takes time to come, and then leave.', I once read. Happiness is a day-to-day challenge now, a choice we have to make. My family is still experiencing difficulties. I am, too, but I am doing my damn best to help, well, because I can. I write this because I want to tell my brother, and my sisters, that I, too, would like to thank them for keeping my head above the water. That I have swallowed sand many times but chose not to tell them to keep us all collected. That I am not perfect, I have weaknesses, but never will I compromise the bond that has kept us whole for the years Papa and Mama passed on. That I have felt the warmth of their embrace in simple text messages and calls when they know my heart is breaking. That I have finally come to the acknowledgement that I am not the only one in this family who is needed, but I, too, need them. That they have never let me down when I did need them, despite their own issues. That it is not so much what I have done for them, but it is about what I have become because of them. That I draw the air I breathe each second from the little acts of care, concern and kindness that they show me. In the end, really, that is all I want. And that is all I keep my palms out always open for, what they can offer, and not what they are forced to give.
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