Far From Neutral Notions - Philippine politics, culture and stuff

Image courtesy of PMJR’s Pugad Baboy, published daily on the Philippine Daily Inquirer.

It’s a source of great personal pride for me when I say that my brother, dad and I can make anybody feel out of place any time we want to. Our banter is composed of, almost without exception, inside jokes, and we can (and would) laugh at just about anything. As serious as dad can be most days, when we get that corny joke lunge-and-riposte thing going, he’s as jolly as, well, me.

Of course, it’s not all jokes when we’re together, the three of us. Though that’s what I remember the most, it doesn’t happen very often - that’s what makes it so memorable, really. The moments when we’d bond, or laugh, the moments when I’d actually feel like a child being told the stories of the days of their lives, those are the moments I hold dear. Because most of the time, we’d fight.

With my father, it’s a case of the parent not truly understanding where I’m coming from and never living up to expectations. I’ve never been one for math, and my interest in science only extends to science fiction, so I never grew up to be the doctor or engineer they always thought I’d be. So the point of contention was always my, to their eyes, direction, or lack thereof. Music is always a sore point, because I’m too old for a serious run at it, but I love doing it anyway. In my more lucid moments, I can see where they’re coming from: we’re not getting any younger, and I need to have a career that can support me past the time when they’re gone. Morbid I know, but we’ve always been that way.

But he means well, I know. He’s tried to reach out several times, even though he understands nothing about me or mine. That’s why I love basketball so much, I think. It gave us a neutral, mutual ground. Oh we’d have different teams most of the time; he’s a Spurs fan, I’ll always be a Sixer. I got interested in history because of him; he can go on for hours about Marcos and how much that former President and his cronies hurt our country. My personal favorite though is when dad and Tita Mimi come together and talk about old times, about Lolo Ñong and the old sugar central in Pilar.

With my brother, it’s a bit more complicated. He’s the older brother, and he’s lived with more expectations and responsibilities than I can even imagine. He’s carved a nice little niche for himself back home; he’s a lawyer, and that carries a certain amount of prestige. He’s an Altavas, so that too has its perks. But I think he feels he doesn’t get enough credit for his accomplishments. I think he feels that we only remember him the times we need his help. I remember last year when lola died; he was the only one with enough composure to get things done. He resented the fact that Manang Grace got away with doing practically nothing, and he was left with having to plan the funeral, follow up the insurance claim and all that. He resented the fact that we didn’t thank him enough, or acknowledge his contributions. He thinks we took him for granted.

And we did, I think. He’s a hard man to love, to say the least. He’s got an air about him that often comes across as arrogant, but I know better - not to say it doesn’t piss me off, though. He means well, but I know he resents me because I’m the one who got away with amounting to nothing. I’m the slacker, the artsy-fartsy one, and I got away with it when he never could.

But I think he appreciates those moments when we’re not fighting more than he lets on. Dad, too. When we’re actually a family bound together not just by the DNA we share. When we actually enjoy each other’s company. I miss them. It’s my birthday today, and it sucks not being with family.

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