Chapter 16

I did not tell Nana about the dream I had. She's far too superstitious for her own good. The last thing I wanted to hear from her would be lectures on how dreams were the language of god. When I was a kid, I told her the recurring dreams I had about mom and dad. It was dark and rainy night. It rained so hard the river was overflowing. Dad was in the opposite side of the river bank and mom was trying to get to him but there's a mile's worth of raging river between them. She swam across the river as hard as she could to get to the other side where dad was, but the harder she tried the farther she drifted away. And then the river turned into an ocean and swallowed them both. All I could do was watch them vanish. The dream repeated every night like a loop until I was in sixth grade when I lost both mom and dad. "I hate god…" I told Nana out of all my childhood anguish, "I hate him so much for taking mom and dad…" We both cried. I thought she hated god too but then she said, "God moves in mysterious ways, hijo. One day you'll understand." One day became ten years and then I turned sixteen and I still did not understand. The dreams no longer haunted the living hell out of me though.

Dad's 10th year death anniversary happened to be on my birthday. Yeah. Dad died on my birthday. Nice.

"Happy sixteenth birthday hijo!" Nana cheerfully greeted me as I sauntered towards the sala, still half-asleep. There were cakes of course. Two. One for me. One for dad. My aunts from nearby towns who have arrived a day ahead on a mini-van looked equally cheerful. They're fond of me you know. The boy who was not dead yet. The family's legacy. A generation's worth of responsibility lying on my shoulder to seed this side of the world with the gene-pool of a hopelessly endangered species of Ariza clan. My aunts had been torturing me about my mission to give them beautiful Ariza babies for as long as I could remember. The survival of our species was a national emergency. As if I had anything else important to offer to the world aside from my deep and grueling sadness.

"Look at you, hijo. Ang laki-laki mo na. Ke gwapo-gwapo mo pa. May girlfriend ka na siguro no?" Nope, I did not have a girlfriend. The closest I had to a girl-friend was Tina. Nana's godchild from the congregation. We were childhood friends but things happened and we grew up apart. We barely even talk at school now even though we see each other every day.

"Ke-gwapo-gwapong bata. Manang-mana kay Carding!" I looked more like my mom according to Nana but they would have none of it. They hated my mom's guts. How could she leave just like that after her husband died and start a family of her own while they remained sad widows knitting sweaters by the fire along with other women whose blossoms had all but withered into oblivion. Mom's name became a taboo during family gathering. I wish mom were dead. It's easier that way if she would have just died like dad. Lo' and behold she's alive and with another husband, another family, maybe mothering to kids whose blood did not have the Ariza curse of dying like Mayflies in it, kids who did not have to endure ghosts and blackholes and nightmares. The thing about birthdays is that they constantly remind you of how powerless you are to stop yourself from existing. So, here I was, making stupid birthday wishes that wouldn't come true. Yay!

"Make a wish! Make a wish!" Chanted my widowed aunts in unison. I wish you could all leave me the fuck alone. Of course, I did not say that. I wish I could see our family's album. I did not say that either. Will I ever have the courage to say the things that I want? What do I want? For starters, I would have wanted to walk the streets naked holding a huge-ass placard overhead with the words written "LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!"

Later that day, we visited dad's grave. Burned an incense. Lighted a candle. Uttered some prayers. Few tears here and there from my aunts, more of like ceremonial tears rather than sincere ones. It's been ten years, of course they'd long moved on. Nana was stoic. She just stood there at my dad's grave staring into the void the way she was staring into the flames. We left him food before we went home. His favorite adobo. In the early years following my dad's death, I used to bring adobo in the cemetery every month. I would have done it every day if I had enough money to buy a damn chicken to cook for the dead. I used to believe he ate them. His ghost at least. That was my only consolation. The only thing that kept me doing it every month for one whole year following his death. Until one day I saw the flock of crows feasted on the food I left. It dawned on me that when people die, they're just simply dead. Maggots galore would consume the skin and flesh until nothing was left but bones. And even bones would one day decompose and turn to dirt and from dirt to dust. No such thing as stupid adobo-eating ghost bullshit. I stopped bringing food or visiting dad's cemetery since then except on his death anniversary. Family tradition. That sort of crap. Why couldn't we just leave the dead alone?

When my aunts went home, I and nana were left alone again. She washed the dirty dishes in the kitchen. I cleaned up the birthday decors my aunts put up. The happy 16th birthday poster was pinned on the door frame. Colorful birthday balloons. Banderitas. Half-eaten cakes. Gifts. Phony traces of happiness. As if this house would ever know real happiness.

Later that night Larry phoned me up. His voice sounded funny. He was sorry he couldn't be around on my birthday.

"I catch a flu," said he.

"Must be the weather. You alright?" I asked.

"Couldn't be better. How's the party?"

"Vicious." I said.

"Aunts?" He asked.

"Mismo."

"Mismo?"

"Exactly." I explained.

"You should really teach me more about the language," he said.

"Why?"

"I'm too American. I want to be more Filipino." 

"Ha-ha-ha"

"What's funny?"

"Nothing. It's just that most Filipinos want to be more American." I replied.

"Why?"

"Hollywood."

"Hollywood?" He repeated.

"Yep, Hollywood: Mission Impossible. Terminator. Star Wars. Tom Cruise. Monroe. Demi Moore. Leonardo Dicaprio. They all wanna be someone from Hollywood." I said.

"How about you? Are you like most Filipinos?" He asked.

"I don't like Hollywood films or any other films other than Charlie Chaplin films."

"I never took you for a patriot."

"Don't. So, what's the big deal about becoming a Filipino?"

"Dunno. Sometimes I feel like I'm missing something," he said.

"I'm not a good teacher." I said.

"You'll do just fine."

"Okay."

"Great! When do we start?"

"Tomorrow."

"Should I read a book about the great Filipino culture as an assignment then?"

"Suit yourself."

"You sure you're, okay?"

"Yes, just a little tired."

"Okay. See you tomorrow then buddy, goodnight."

"Goodnight."