#SirBoy

61

/ iamsupercarla / Leave a comment

Last April 11, my father would have turned 61 years old.

The last (and most likely only) buffet he thoroughly enjoyed was Vikings, so most likely we would have celebrated there.  Or at Sizzling Pepper Steak.  He was always loyal to his favorites.

It was a Friday so I can imagine negotiating with him to just come to Makati or at least leave the premises of Las Pinas, and he would say, “Traffic is so bad there, let’s just meet at the Mall of Asia,” and by meet, he means “You better get there first because there is no way in hell I am going around that mall to look for you.”

He didn’t go out much.  He mostly just went out because my mother asked.  He often refused her, at the same time often joined her.  It was as simple and as complicated as that.

If we’re at a buffet, he would look for the dishes that he can copy.  Our clan has a penchant for meeting almost every week (and still has the gall to celebrate an annual “reunion”) and he was always thinking of new recipes.  I think that was the reason he liked Vikings; I would like to think he picked out a lot of dishes to cook from there.

Then, of course, after the meal, he would sneak out for a smoke.  Most people would say it was the cigarette that killed him and as much as I acknowledge my father’s efforts to trim it down, I have to agree.  But he would just smoke one, linger outside for a bit, and then whisper to my mother, “I need to poop.”  That’s the signal to go home.

But that was always a lie, I think.  Because even with the need to poop, we would stop by for dessert elsewhere — coffee for him and my mother to share — chat for a bit, and before we even noticed, all three — my father and my two brothers — start calling dibs as to who would be the first to use the bathroom.

He would have been 61, and he would have bragged about his glorious 20% discount on almost everything.

He would have given me some money to pick out perfume or a bag for my mother’s upcoming 60th birthday.  He would have said, “Make sure it’s something she likes ha.”  He would have suggestions, but he would trust my choices more.

He would have bugged my brother Ted to drive home, because he would have been too full to drive.  I think that was just an excuse to sit at the back with my mother.  He liked hanging out with my mother.

He loved hanging out with us.

He would have been 61.

Dad

Happy birthday, Tatay.

Getting inked

/ iamsupercarla / 3 Comments

I have always wanted to get a tattoo. The art embedded right under the skin entices me, with the body looking like a walking canvass.  Most of my family will not agree with me; they will always see these things as dirty and inappropriate.  But I’m happy to not agree with them.  I find tattooing painfully beautiful.

I didn’t think that my first one would be in memory of my father.  I never really thought I would ever admit to getting one, given that opinion my family has when it comes to skin art, so I got the tattoo in secret.  It wasn’t until three or four months in did I let my mother see it.  (Yes, it freaked her out.)

I am not here to change their opinion on things.  Some things don’t change and it’s easier to accept that instead of forcing your views.  But I do want a more factual approach to tattooing.  Thankfully, someone from the National Post already did that.

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For me, it will always be emotional.  I will always look for the next image or phrase to be on me and I’ll carry it all my life and I would be proud because to me, it will always mean something.  And that doesn’t necessarily have to mean the same thing to other people.

I’ve had looks thrown at me in the office when the swallow peeks slightly above my collar.  I get it; you don’t understand why.  And I respect that you don’t understand as much as I do.  But that is not a cue for you to expect that I need to explain myself to you.

Because, in my opinion, those who ask for an explanation do not deserve it and those who do won’t demand for it.

And I’m blessed because now, my family, though they staunchly disagree, no longer need any explaining from me.

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First of eternity

/ iamsupercarla / 3 Comments

I have avoided writing about that day like the plague.  I would like to think that in the year that has passed, I have mourned my father silently.  People who are very close to me have handled that topic with a certain kind of delicateness and to be honest, I am yet to decide whether I should be thankful for the sensitivity or scornful that I am treated with so much vulnerability.

I cannot blame them though.  Each time the topic of my father’s passing comes to mind, I am confronted with my inadequacies, every single one of which slapped across my face on that day — my disobedience as a daughter, my insufficiency as a sister, my lack of self-awareness.  And I say these not to demean my person; my father had taught me long and good to never do that.  I say these as a matter of fact because on the day he passed, I was all these.

There should be some sort of progress though.  It has been a year.  There has to be some form or semblance of forgiveness, for the instance, for the misfortune, for the people.  But I will not act as if I’ve reached that level of self-actualization.  Today, even after a year, I am still unforgiving.

But is that something bad though?  I don’t think so.  And I’ve said this a little too often, these things never get easier.  Every day is still hard.  Every day we are still fatherless.  Every day we are still lacking.  Every day we walk the floors and the walls of avenues and still have that nagging feeling of never being whole again.  These things never get easier.  You just get used to it.

I still sleep with the lights on.  In France, there was an attempt to be in the dark again, but it pulled me deeper than it should have.  The darkness never used to scare me, but now it does.  I wish I can say I’ll be over it soon, but I can’t.  I miss my father and in the dark, I am reminded of how little I gave to him on the days building up to his passing.

And that is one demon I can’t seem to outrun.

There will be no father-daughter dance at my wedding, and I will be attending so many more unions with the bride crying silently on her dad’s shoulder as he slowly lets her go.  I will never be able to reconcile with that fact.  But I will try.  That’s the best we can all do anyway.  

Try.

Sir Boy

Holiday engagements

/ iamsupercarla / 2 Comments

I have managed to keep a secret.  That has to be the ultimate goal I achieved this year.

For a little over a month, my brother Ted has been running around and scouring for the perfect engagement ring for the love of his life, Aidel.  They’ve only been dating for a little under a year and well, what can I say?  The heart wants what it wants and it wanted a good woman.

So we scoured at Etsy, at Instagram, our local jewelers, and finally, with the help of Brother 1 Paolo (who would’ve thought?!) we managed to find the perfect ring for her.

Le ring

I remember the night before he popped the question.  He said he was nervous, what if she says no.  My mother and I scoured for every single encouraging word that would lift his spirits but in the end, he only needed to hear one thing:

Tatay would want you to be brave.

And he was.

So atop the Prism Plaza beside the SM Mall of Asia, inside the House of Wagyu Smokeless Grill, he popped the question.

And she hasn’t stopped crying since.  Well, she has but you know what I mean. :)

Le cry

Let’s get ready for a December wedding, shall we? :)

Oh Sir Boy, we miss you oh so achingly.