this story originally appeared in the philippine daily inquirer on August 5, 1999.
I once read in a book that we are entirely responsible for everything that happens to us. We even choose the families we are born into. I’ve been wondering ever since if this is true. If it is, how come I was born into my family? If I had a choice, I would have chosen a better one.
I used to joke that ours was the perfect example of a dysfunctional family. I even thought of labels for each of us. My father was indifferent. My mother was paranoid. My sister was driven. My brother had no drive at all. And I was plain crazy. I told a friend about this over dinner, and we had a good laugh about it. It seemed so funny at that time. But there are times, like now, when I think about it and do not feel like laughing. These are the times when I wonder where my life is going, when I feel scared that I am going nowhere. I don’t want to end up like my brother Paul, who ended up nowhere.
One of my teachers said that people are like seeds–some grow into huge solid trees, some shrivel up and die. Of course, he added, these seeds had no say about where they would be thrown. The lucky ones are thrown on fertile soil. I want to believe this instead of thinking people are responsible for where they got thrown into.
A friend said I was just looking for somebody to blame for things that did not work out. I pointed out that I was just 23, and therefore still too young to blame myself. She asked me if there was anyone else who lived my life for me. I told her to shut up. She did, but not before she told me that at the rate I was going, I was bound to become the saddest person on earth. I wondered if Paul was the saddest person on earth. My earliest memory of Paul was sleeping next to him when he was home from college. My mom says I am special to him, like most youngest sisters are to their older brothers. When I was younger, I really felt closer to Paul.
I had more in common with him than with my sister Ruth, who was always neat, obedient, prim and proper and diligent as a student. My brother and I were both stubborn, careless and lazy. But over the years, he drifted further and farther away–not only from me or from our family, but from himself until he got lost and could not find his way back. The truth is, I don’t think I really know Paul. We are 16 years apart. My memories of the time when he was still living in our house are disjointed and vague. I was very young then. Of course, I knew what had been happening in his life.
But knowing the facts about him is different from knowing his thoughts and feelings. Besides, in our family, feelings are the hardest to express. That’s why I can’t tell him that I am beginning to hate him. I did love him; maybe I still do, and that’s why hating him is so hard. Among the three of us siblings, Paul was the most beautiful child. As a boy, he was one of the handsomest among our cousins and among his classmates. As a young man, he was the heartthrob of our neighborhood. Some girls in the neighborhood were nice to me because they liked my brother. Paul was not only good-looking, he was also intelligent. People expected him to be a brilliant success. I’m not sure, but maybe he couldn’t deal with the pressure. He has his good traits, and he also has a bad one. He is weak. He isn’t strong enough to keep his star bright. I believe that eldest children, especially sons, have a special place in the hearts of mothers because they are the first to capture their hearts.
That, I suppose, is the case with mom. I often tease her about it, but she protests that she loves us all equally. But what one says is not always what one feels, right? However, I don’t hold it against my mom if she loves Paul the most. Sometimes, you just can’t help feeling what you feel. But what angers me is that Paul does not deserve it. One of my early memories was of Paul coming home occasionally from college. Every time he was home, he got a scolding from our dad. At that time, I didn’t understand what it was all about. Later I learned that it was because he kept asking for a bigger allowance. And he was doing it long after he should have earned his college degree. I also learned that my parents sold a piece of land to support his education. But Paul never finished his course.
When I was 9, he came home and became a bum. My brother did not stay home for long, though. Dad put him to work at the farm and he hated it. He wasn’t used to hard work. I don’t think he ever envisioned himself earning a living as a farmer. Many times, he came home drunk. My mom would feel so bad, and rant and rage. So would my dad. I didn’t understand much of it and I was left to wonder what was happening to our family. And when you don’t understand what’s happening and nobody bothers to explain, you just feel scared. It was a good thing one of my cousins found a job for Paul. So he was away from home again. And there was peace in our house. Then Paul got married and had a daughter. When I was 15, he went abroad to work. And things looked good for him. We were hoping that he had finally found his place under the sun. Then he came home.
But not before being involved in a mess that got him beaten up and jailed for a couple of days. He was lucky to have been able to come home. Immediately, he resumed his life as a bum. He began to drink heavily again and smoke too much. The most beautiful child of my mother disappeared. In its place stood a man with thinning hair, bloodshot eyes and a middle-age paunch. I felt sorry for him. We all did. Most mothers can never stand seeing their children leading miserable lives. All my mom wants is for my brother to be able to get on his feet and live a worthy life. My mom would give everything she has for her children, especially my brother. She sold her last piece of property–the farmland she inherited from her father and loved so much–so that Paul could set up his own business. But Paul has an unusual touch, we used to joke in the family. Whatever he touches goes up in smoke. When the business failed and my mother’s money was gone, nobody laughed. Mom was anguished. Dad was angry. My sister was resentful. Paul’s wife had more than enough and just couldn’t react anymore. I almost felt sorry for Paul, but it’s hard to feel sorry for a person who does not feel sorry enough to help himself. He got all the help he needed, but he did not learn how to help himself.
Sometimes I wish I were the eldest in the family, or at least that I wasn’t much younger than Paul. Maybe I could’ve done something to make things different for him. Paul is a bum again. He is jobless. He’s penniless. And he is almost 40. I hate to say it but he has the makings of a loser. Despite everything, his daughter loves him and is loyal to him. His wife sticks by him. Maybe he isn’t a loser after all. Still, I’m hoping that someday Paul will mend his wings and fly again. I hope someday he will soar. I hope that my mother’s most beautiful child will come back to us again.
