He got back in touch with me the way he usually does, unexpected. And because he comes back to me at the moments I least expect it I’ve grown wary of it when he does. Not that him being in my life has not made me grown observant, because I am observant by nature. But the fact that he does not get in touch with me unless he has a problem has kept me on my toes. And now that he has gotten back in touch with me after months of nonchalance towards my state of well being made me more than wonder what sort of trouble has he gotten himself into.

Rewind three years ago. Or was it two? I don’t really recall. All I remember was that he and his dirty little secret was revealed in a sensational way it was sort of like a scandal. After five years he finally admitted he was still in a relationship with his last girlfriend, they had an abortions (or was it abortions), and the girlfriend is currently pregnant with plans of suing him because he tried to break up with her. I got the phone call that had me without second thoughts buy a one way ticket to where he is and deal with a problem I didn’t create. And while he claims it’s over the mess he had created was way too much for him to clean up we had to step in and act like gangsters threatening and almost counter suing her family. Like a real sister, I took his side even if I didn’t want to. Like real sisters, me and Tanduay Girl had to step up for our brother even if I want him to own up to his own misconduct. And like real older sisters, we bashed the bully who tried to coerce my brother into unwanted marriage even if I want him to have the balls to be responsible and grow up. That’s how we’ve always been, the knights who saved our baby brother’s bad ass. That’s how we’ll always be, the disposable airbags that will save him at the point of painful impact.

I will lie if I say I don’t mind. In a small way I do. Or maybe a big way. I don’t know. All I know is that if he doesn’t talk to me then he is fine and dandy. And if he does talk to me he wants something like money, protection, a lie. And so forgive me if I dread talking to my brother, because as much he’s blood I seriously want to bang his head on granite just to make him feel how insensitive he is of his family. I don’t hate him, that’s the truth. But to say I love him, that is wishful thinking. But I do tell myself that... I love him. Because maybe I’ll eventually do. Because maybe I do, I just don’t feel it.

Jealousy was the only reason that came to my mind when I tried to analyze my aversion towards him. I was jealous of his gender. I was jealous that he had both our parents’ adoration. I was jealous that he had his life handed to him on a silver platter. Jealous that he had the best that my parents’ money can buy. Jealous that he can get away being bad so easily. Jealous that he can be stupid and my parents would be amused. All he had to do was be himself - mean, selfish, moody, arrogant - and he would still be accepted and loved. Then I ran away. I ran from all the negativity that I was plaguing me and tried to shape who I am and what I want to be. The next time I saw him the green eyed monster was no longer in me because I saw that despite his seemingly “blessed” life he will make humongous screw ups that will be hard to recover from. And without gloating I write now that I was right.

That was years ago. Now he says he’s in a better relationship, he says this woman is far far better than the crazy ex girlfriend who stabbed him with a pair of scissors, he says that he has introduced her to our father. And when he said the last part I knew why he is talking to me out of the blue. The Colonel is livid and my brother wants me to pick sides, he wants me to take his side again and protect him from the pain of my father’s wrath and the scathing words of my father’s pietistic judgmental belief. But it’s not going to happen. Not anymore.

It’s not that my brother deserves what is happening to him now neither is it because my father is right. But I do know that he has to be able to learn to fight for what he wants, for what he believes in, for what he thinks is right. And when he has fought for it and he ended up hurting because what he fought for is not good for him he still has to learn to clean up his own mess, stand up and move forward. Basically, he has to learn to grow up and be a man. In the real sense of the word.

Because he got away doing so many wrong things and he was given so many good things he is now paying the price, when he broke my parents’ hearts it doesn’t even seem possible to patch things up again. I should know well, I’ve been there and done that. He came to me for comfort and advice. I have no comfort to give. There is no easy way to take the brunt of pain once you broke someone’s trust. Once you break it you can only hope and pray that the person will trust you again. And winning that person or those people’s trust maybe be close to impossible, almost exasperating, and even if you deem yourself trustworthy again you may not still be or anymore to them. But if a person is worth it, if you tried, if you really cared about them then all the hardship of proving your worth, the discomfort of piecing the trust you’ve broken, and the shame of owning up to the heartache you’ve caused will be worth it again. I should know this well enough, because I’ve been there and done that too.

And a woman spoke, saying, "Tell us of Pain."

And he said:

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

Sometimes even the best of us makes reckless decisions. Bad decisions. Choices we pretty much know we’re going to regret the moment, the minute, the morning after, maybe even weeks later. Maybe not regret regret because at least we’ve put ourselves out there despite the risk of rejection. But still ... something inside us decides to do a crazy thing despite it turning around and biting us in the ass. There are some people there who are more altruistic and learn from other’s mistakes. But the rest live their lives the best they could but still end up making wrong turns. Like me.

It’s stupid really why despite my ability to foresee the probable consequences of choices I still opt to do the bad. Denial, avoidance, and overcompensation are the tools I’d used the past few months. And now look where I’ve gotten myself into, a damn black hole sucking all my joy rather than the bliss of heaven.

Thirty one days has passed now since I’ve told the truth and thirty five days has gone by since I’ve last seen him. And while emotionally I am tired of being miserable, I can’t stop myself from counting the days and it’s taking a lot of will power not to bash my head on the wall just to silence my mind. I mean come on! How long do I have to beat myself over and over for what I’ve done to him? It’s not that I want him back. Okay that’s not entirely true. I do want him back. I do want him to forgive me and take me back even if I have to earn his trust until I die. But that’s not the point. The point is that I haven’t entirely forgiven myself nor am I finished with the stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, depression because clearly with all the agony I am feeling I am nowhere near acceptance. Clearly the internal wrestling of my emotions is not over, yet. Please, somebody, crash into me so I can get amnesia or at least hand me the bleach so I can pour it in my brain.

I wanted to have the chance to say this to his face... “I’m sorry. I was trying to prove a point. I was trying to be right. I ended up putting you in a dangerous situation. I know you say that you get over pain easily. But you got hurt and it’s my fault. I’m sorry.” But then all those lines are just lines in my head. I have no intention of saying it aloud. Whatever for? I know myself well and I know him well enough to determine when is the most appropriate instance to shut my mouth, suck up all the gooey words, swallow the tears and let things be. Why bother saying I’m sorry when I’ve said it more than once already and the cold shoulder is enough to tell me I’m not forgiven, I’ll never be forgiven.

But my mind just won’t let up. The apology speech surface and resurface like those critters in the arcade game of Whack-A-Mole and sadly I’m not fast enough to clobber it and so it keeps on surfacing and resurfacing. Sometimes I hear it in my head so much it sounds already like a prayer. As if by mentally saying it over and over things will go back the way it was and we’ll be okay or I’ll wake up and be relieved to discover that it was just one long sad nightmare. So, yeah, I’m still bargaining and in denial. I know I could’ve set the balance more favorably for me, but then that’s just another form of deception. And what will the truth amount if it’s still covered in a lie? One way or another our karma will eventually make us face who we are and make us responsible for what we have done. There is no escaping.

I hope the regret would stop festering in my heart, I hope that the time will come when my mind would stop making a U-turn to his face or his name or even the anticipation that he will get back in touch, and I hope all these and more will happen soon. I’m not complaining. What goes around comes around. Everything that is happening to me now is not unexpected. Everything that I am going thru is not unfair. It just ...evens the score.

I meant to blog. I have four different topics all drafted in my iPhone but I can’t seem to finish it. I point my finger disapprovingly at my ADHD but the truth is not about me getting easily distracted, it’s me not knowing how to end it. Despite my lack of creative prose I have an eye for aesthetics. I love beautiful people, beautiful objects, beautiful places, beautiful music, beautiful anything. And for me beauty is not about perfection but the ability of a person, place, thing, event, composition to withstand time and season. Classic. Timeless. And so for me to type words just for me to finish a post is unacceptable. I can’t even bring myself to publish something I will not enjoy reading over and over much more reading it once. I ask myself why would I write words unworthy of my or other people’s time.

I do not dream to be a Pulitzer winner. But I dream of being able to write my thoughts coherently and despite other people not agreeing to it people will understand. I do not dream to be an accomplished writer signing autographs. But I dream of being able to grow in mind and my writing will reflect it. I do not dream of convincing people of what is right and wrong. But I dream of being able to stand by my conviction of right and have the courage to fight for it.

And so the four drafts sleep patiently in my iPhone. Maybe I’ll be able to finish it and publish it. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll write a whole different thing. One thing is certain though, I will write something worthwhile again. Something classic. Something timeless. Something I’ll stand for up to the last period.