Kriska Castillejos Once Again
Quite happy now that she has found her balance. All of us siblings have struggled through many issues in our lives, but the first three of us among ‘Edgar’s children’ wade and deal with them, always her, our youngest, thought of. She has always been the baby, having been born twelve years after our youngest then, Maevic. The birth of Kriska was looked at by all of us as joyous, save for Maevic, who was used to being the youngest. Maevic tells us of this story of her not caring about Kriska when she was brought home from the hospital. In fact, I think now that the time when Maevic brushed Kriska’s hair with her new baby hairbrush and pulled out all of the hair from her tiny head, she probably was fighting the urge to put a pillow on her mouth.
But anyway. Kriska is Kriska. She swings from extreme happiness to desperate sadness within a minute. Her cackles would be overtaken by her sharp tongue in seconds, one would think ‘..what the?..’ She has the flair for the theatrics, (pinaganda ko lang, actually OA) and cries at small things, like when she hears a sad song. That would be enough to make tears appear suddenly. Her eyes speak of how she feels; if there is any yardstick for her ‘state of mind’, it would be those big, round eyes (literally described, as you can see). God copied Papa’s eyes and plastered it on her face. She can be sweet, mostly when she wants me to buy her something, and she can also be a witch when she is in one of her battles with her demons.
I see her as my daughter, really, more than my sister. But she reminds me that I am not her mother by calling me consistently ‘Manang’. She is more than thirty years old today (am not very sure about how old exactly) but she is still scolded by my 24-year-old daughter, for her ‘witch episodes’.
I wish for her to be exactly where she is now: a plateau, take in each moment of stability and quiet, and just be grateful.
You are loved, Kring. Know that. Happy Birthday.
Kring Castillejos
But anyway. Kriska is Kriska. She swings from extreme happiness to desperate sadness within a minute. Her cackles would be overtaken by her sharp tongue in seconds, one would think ‘..what the?..’ She has the flair for the theatrics, (pinaganda ko lang, actually OA) and cries at small things, like when she hears a sad song. That would be enough to make tears appear suddenly. Her eyes speak of how she feels; if there is any yardstick for her ‘state of mind’, it would be those big, round eyes (literally described, as you can see). God copied Papa’s eyes and plastered it on her face. She can be sweet, mostly when she wants me to buy her something, and she can also be a witch when she is in one of her battles with her demons.
I see her as my daughter, really, more than my sister. But she reminds me that I am not her mother by calling me consistently ‘Manang’. She is more than thirty years old today (am not very sure about how old exactly) but she is still scolded by my 24-year-old daughter, for her ‘witch episodes’.
I wish for her to be exactly where she is now: a plateau, take in each moment of stability and quiet, and just be grateful.
You are loved, Kring. Know that. Happy Birthday.
Kring Castillejos
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