November 2022
I have always called him Itom or black in our local language because among us, siblings, he had the darkest skin. But that dark skin came with the most radiant smile because he had the whitest teeth among us, like scrubbed ivory that glinted in the sun.
When we were small, we always fought. He hated that I 'borrowed' whatever little toys, shirts or shorts he had. He did not appreciate that I used his marbles, rolling them with my thumb into the little holes that I dug from the ground because they were part of his precious collection. Honestly, I craved for his hand-me-downs, which were his own hand-me-downs, from two older brothers.
As we only had one bathroom back then, and there at least give or us on queue for morning baths before school, I would sometimes try to sneak in ahead of him as he was rubbing his eyes before the entering the door, and did he get mad! He would yank me out of the door by the hair and shout, "Ma, si Lagat o..." before he either delivered a punch that usually landed either on my face or back or hit air, the latter making him even more furious.
In family gatherings or maybe when he is out with friends, he was always some who cracked jokes, thinking of ways to lighten up a serious or dark situation. Sometimes, we would laugh at the wit of the boy then the man,and sometimes roll our eyes and tell him how corn he was and he would giggle like he still lorded over the discussion simply because he managed to think up something. Even as a kid, he was quick to run stories in his head, at times adding drama to his role in the process. Lola used to describe him as 'bulatikero,' making you believe his version of an incident, always, yes always making something look funny.
Later on in life, he would send private messages on Facebook, call occassionally, mostly wanting video, and ending chats with "K, bye, love you.'
When he needed something, he would always have a nice introduction. There was a time that I thought he would have made a good lawyer or even politician, instead of a Certified Public Accountant (CPA).
There are a lot of things I remember about my beloved brother, close to 3 years older than me, the adventures and misadventures we've had as siblings, with cousinn even with life itself.
I remember Itom wanting to become a priest or take the entrance exams for the Philippine Military Academy (PMA) fresh out of high school. This was when our dreams were so lofty and limited only by the imagination.
But the reality is that in our brood, we are expected to help our younger siblings through school. The situation would have been different if my Papa's logging and repair shop businesses were doing good. The businesses had seen better days. Unfortunately, before Itom and even I could enter college, times started to get hard, further narrowing down our choices. We had to think of a course that will enable us to work right away and help the family out.
When I saw him lying in wake at Bollozos Funeral Parlor, garbed in barong, and looking like he was ready to preach, I kidded myself amid the tears,"Is this another joke because I did not see you in time, Itom? Kasakit ba! I did not call because I wanted a face to face. And I hoped that you would at least spend your 60th birthday with us."
When funeral guys opened his casket to 'retouch' his make up and fix his sleeve, I ran my hand on his cold, hard limbs to say sorry and 'I love you.'
Up to this moment, I honestly thought the joke was on me, for thinking he would bother to wait, for hoping that the heavens will let him wait for us, and we could take one final picture together as seven brothers and sisters.
But as the loving brother he was, we knew later on that among the last wishes he left with his children was -- in the final rites before burial, he wants his siblings in front of his casket. And yes, we were able to take that final picture with him in that white box. We were and we are Rosales 7, as the name of our chat group goes. We will always be Rosales 7, not minus 1.
How I miss you, Itom! Please whisper a joke straight to my heart, and no matter how corny, I promise to laugh and tell you how witty you are. Maski sa damgo, I want to embrace you one last time, my beloved frenemy. You are a part of me that I will never let go.
February 2023
This is the third month since Itom left. And finally, one early weekday morning before I woke up as usual to go to work, I dreamt of him.
He was in the pink of health, wearing his usual white shirt, and looking at his daughter Hannah and one other male person as they argued over the mounting of what seems to be a giant tarpaulin.
Itom was looking good. He was his usual self and just chatting about, but I could not remember anything he said. But the sight of him was enough to make me feel happy.
My dream ended with Hannah getting the better of the argument and finally able to mount the giant tarp on the wall. As it was being spread out, I thought it was empty-- no pictures, no photos-- nothing except the word "Papa" somewhere in the middle.
I immediately called Mama that morning and told some of my siblings about the dream--- my most requested and cherished dream so far, one that took 3 months for Itom to grant.
Now, all that I know in my heart is that we should take care of his family; especially his little (big) girl, Hannah who is so like him in temperament, and a bit of the color.
Thank you, Itom. Please come visit again anytime. I will always love you.
