Caught Off Guard On Goodbye

My uncle died last Wednesday. He was 50 years old.

A massive heart attack – that’s what the doctors said finally got him. It was a big shock for the family. We all knew Tito Boy wasn’t doing so well these past few months (In fact, he was released from the hospital just  last Sunday). But I don’t think any of us counted on him to say his goodbyes early. My dad’s taking it like a man, but I think he feels much worse than he’s letting on.

I was never as close to my Dad’s younger brother as compared to his other siblings. My titas were an ecstatic bunch, and I was drawn more to them and their jolly (and - may I add - generous) habits. Tito Boy usually kept to himself. He said very little, and so I never really got to know him. He used to remind me of Eddie in The Five People You Meet in Heaven. Now, I wonder if he ever felt the same way Eddie did – insignificant and unimportant.

Death always reminds me of how fleeting everything is. The great equalizer. You can’t buy your way out of it, that’s for sure. I guess the lesson here is to live while you can and love while you have a reason to. We’ll miss the people who have taken an earlier flight than us, but we can appease ourselves with the thought that they’re having one hell of a vacation – and a permanent one, at that. And if some of us are still terrified out of our wits of the inevitable, think of the reunions we’ll be having. It’s the next great adventure.

I’d like to think Tito Boy is in a better place. No, scratch that. I know he’s quite happy where he is now. If there was one thing my tito loved, it was chickens and cock-fighting. So, my idea of heaven for me is in some manokan up in the clouds.

We’ll miss you, Tito. We’re praying for you. Most of all, we loved you, still do, and will continue doing so.

Why I Should Have Failed Junior Year When I Had The Chance

I think this more often than not: I am graduating in less than two months. Most people (meaning every adult I or my parents may know) get all wound up and animated at the mention of that fact. I, on the other hand, cringe to the pits of Hades. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the sentiment people extend (although somewhat forced) to my life, but the conversations I have with these people are quite exhausting. And frankly, they’re all terribly awkward and embarrassing.

This is how every (friggin’) dialogue goes:

Random Adult (RA): Ano ka na nga year, Day?
Me: Ahh. Fourth year na, Tita/Tito.
RA: Teh, ano na nga course kwaon mo?
Me: Ha? Wala pa ‘ko kabalo.
RA: Diin ka ma-school haw?
Me: Sa Manila na siguro.
RA: Diin ‘to nga school?
Me: Wala pa man gid ko kabalo. Depende pa.
RA: But, ano gid plano mo maging mag-dako ka haw?
Me: Ha? Uhh. Hindi pa ‘ko sure.

By the end of our little tête-à-tête, I’d be desperately wishing for God to strike me with a really strong blast of lightning. I’m not the blushing type, but I swear my face turns into a pitiful shade of scarlet. That’s why I try to steer clear of adults whenever I attend social gatherings. I think it’s the bright thing to do, sparing people from unwanted uncomfortable situations. Of course, it would be so much easier if they’d just butt out of my existence.

Okaaaay. That was mean.

The more accurate thing would be to wish for wisdom and insight. You see, I passed all my college entrance exams (which, God knows, I’m profusely thankful for). Now I’m at a dead end. Or an impasse, I should say. I don’t know what to take up. Hell, I don’t even know what I want to be when I grow up. This wasn’t such a big problem a year ago. This is exactly why you shouldn’t put things off (Even as I’m saying this, I know I won’t change).

The worse thing is that people expect me to know what I want – which, as I said, I don’t. I’m not going to rant about how other people’s expectations are weighing me down and all that psychological drama, because I don’t really care about what they think. If I’m being honest, it isn’t as much as it is their fault as it is mine. I’ve never been passionate about anything (unless you count the more shallow levels of my being). I do stuff because it is expected of me. There may have been a time when I wanted to reach spectacular heights, but I think I’ve been running on this mode a tad bit too long to care for anything else.

What is wrong with me? — Don’t answer that.

I can’t believe it. I’m operating on fear after all.

But then again, that shouldn’t surprise me one bit.

P.S. We have a soiree (pre-prom activity) in three weeks time and I still have no inkling of a partner. I go to an all-girls institution (if it helps you understand why this is such a dire drawback). I’m not socially incapacitated that I don’t know enough boys. It’s just that I don’t really know who to ask. And FYI, I’m not being picky. Okay. So, I am being picky. Dammit (Excuse me).