"Aalis na si kuya," my Mom said.
I had to get up. I walked from my bed towards the door- opening it, going through it, and releasing it to let it decide for itself whether it'll close or remain open.
The atmosphere was familiar. It was 8 halfway 9 in the morning and the sun was semi-up. I've just been semi-fired from my writing semi-jobs since it's the semi-scheduled editing period for the research write-ups. All I had were many writing part-time jobs which all added up to full-time writing job that ate up all my time. I had to notice all the details in the world, write about them in the most detailed manner, and expect that the reader got enough of the details. That was all over now. Now, the task was to right the written and all I had to do was wait. Since then, my body clock was downside up. I had to notice that it was actually morning and I was awake. Normally, if it weren't for my brother, it would be otherwise.
My brother was leaving.
It's not like my Father's daily leaving to go play tennis with his pals in his numerous tennis clubs all around the urban vicinity of Metro Manila. Every afternoon, to prevent it from getting lazy, my father dresses up in his athletic wear-- clad with cycling shorts to support the origins of my brothers' and my existence, a semi-dilapidated shirt and 70s type of short shorts to assure the passage of air through his body, and semi-updated rubber shoes to assure the possibility of letting agility or what's left of it come out in game play. It wasn't like that.
My brother's really leaving.
He wouldn't return like my dad for dinner or for TV and sleep which proved to be synonymous for people of semi-age- 50 something, more than halfway 60. Probably, the next time I'll see him is when one of us is already that age.
My mom was hustling and bustling about the house looking for things to do. Anxiously so. Her eyes were welling up, with salty dew that wasn't so subtly drooping.
I remember the time when my brothers were also about to leave.
I came with my parents then to the airport. My elder brother who was much eager to leave to pursue his American dream in Canada was already in the railed zigzags towards the dock while my younger older brother was still officially in the lobby, but about to get lost in the steel. My mom took hold of my brother and held on to more than half of her life. It was emotional, intense to say the least. I did the same. I wasn't one who was known to be sentimental, but I believe it is simply a part of having a soul to be. Mine was only capable of emotional procrastination. I never knew I had those feelings for my brothers. I flared up with them. I was young. I didn't know how to deal with them except through my body. I shook and cried almost the whole time from the arms of my younger older brother from the airport back home. I went well beyond my mom's weeping who was known to weep for the meekest of reasons. I was 15, I had the hormones as an excuse.
I was reminiscing the most salient of details of that part of my adolescence when I remembered that it was making a repeat in the now. Instead of my mom, it was the mommy dog. Instead of me, it was the 3 puppy dogs. Instead of tears, it was cusses of frustration because the dogs couldn't coordinate well with the camera. I don't know why my dad was so intent in achieving for my mom the perfect picture of my brother with the 4 dogs. Somehow I think he wished that he was on that picture. I couldn't blame him.
click!
The picture was taken: my brother, the mommy dog, and the 3 puppy dogs.
"Hindi kita si Mickey!" My mom shouted with her shrill, but forceful voice.
Mickey was the youngest of the dogs and his face wasn't seen in the picture.
My mom maximized her capacity for alertness. She paid attention to everything. She even remembered to give my brother a handkerchief. I don't know why though. My brother is coming from the Philippines and going to Canada. He wouldn't be sweating when he arrives there. My brother took it anyway.
"Ito nalang pala!" My mom interjected while stretching her arms to offer another handkerchief.
"Napunasan ko na ng uhog 'yan." Uttering such a coy remark with the apparent need to mention something about mucus in one of the final face-to-face conversations we'll probably have with him for the next years of our lives. My mother had a very odd way of distracting herself. I didn't see it, but I'm sure my mom brought her own handkerchief. She was probably sort of expecting to procrastinate her feelings again. I picture her again releasing her emotion in the same infantile manner we did before.
As for me, all I had left was a conversation.
"Aalis ka ba?" he asked.
"Mga 3 pa." I answered again in my well-measured manner.
He nodded.
He left so early then and yes, he will leave again. Again, it was too early. I didn't understand how I felt. All I can do was ponder why ask if I was leaving too. Somehow I believe he wanted me to come with him. My answer proved to be indicative of how little I saw into my future. I was one who typically knows exactly what he wanted. I didn't know if I wanted to follow him. What I was sure of is that for the meantime, from 8 halfway 9 until 3, I'll be at home. If this day was a microcosmic metaphor to my life, I didn't know when 3 will actually be.
He said goodbye to me: "Goodbye Timmy!" and I said likewise: "Byebye!"
The mommy dog went under the piano and put her chin on her soft and fluffy feet. My mom was about the house distracting herself with so many details while my dad was already out. I didn't even notice him leaving, but I'm sure he did. Somehow the men in our home simply let themselves out so easily.
My brother went out the door, turned around, and looked through the glass. On my right of the door and his left, he scratched the glass with his index finger muttering "Byebye" to the puppies.
He turned towards the open concrete swaggering away with his bag on his back walking slowly towards his future. To his wife in Canada. Back to the world he wishes to discover most of his life in.
My mom patted my back as she caught up to my brother.
As for me, I stayed home to sort things out.
:-h Kuya!
