Don Ernando Arise Delegate Funeral Services

Chapter II

Amang Dakila

J.A. Kulas

After the funeral, there were still clothes in the closet. Three pairs of shoes, a baseball cap and eerily, even a dozen under wear just lay bare and crisp as a few belts hung behind the door. It's funny how much a person can leave behind, but then again, we know too well that he didn't just leave material things; I should know, I was never the same person ever again.

***

Truth be told, I never really liked my father. He was an overachiever, I was the "As-long-as-I-don't-need-it-I-don't-learn-it" type of person; imagine it took me up until college just to know how to cook. The only reason I did was because one of my subjects included nutrition, now I can cook better than my Yaya or you can even pit me against the best cooks in our family and I'd still kick their ass twice. I also remember that as a child, my dad had too many dreams for me. He and my mom would usually clash in the living room just because of that.

My dad was impulsive, I was reserved; he was boastful and I was you know, the counterpart. We were such complete opposites that I always wondered if he was really my father, then again, he was never really there when I looked for a role model, not even on the day of my birth.

When my mom went to Saudi for work, my dad went back to his other family, not that I hate him for that but then again, whenever he calls, it always felt like he was implying that he was the one who paid for every single cent my mom slaved for. I guess all parents were like that sometimes, however it's an awkward family thing, when you work hard for something, you always expect. He did nothing. I wonder why he expects more than we do. They say love should never expect, however, expecting is human, not expecting is just deluding yourself upon something you really want. Wouldn't you want something in return for your hard work? Hey, People who pay for the Charity Sweepstakes don't pay for Charity; they pay for the chance to win. Such is the cold truth in life sometimes.

It was a cold Sunday Morning, Christmas was about to ignite our trees and balcony. I somehow got confused and crapped up when buying the lights. Instead of decent ones I got some sleazy ones you'd see in places that only used them so that their faint light wouldn't let you see the people dancing inside. Yup, our house became a cabaret for a few days until I got some new ones that looked more "appropriate"; well, back to the drawing board. We were about to begin the preparations for the Noche' Buena sweets we make yearly, when a phone call bludgeoned my wishful thinking.

"Your dad got into an accident, come quickly"

The man on the other side of the phone was Tito Boy, a man whom we had a lot of gratitude to pay off. He was a close friend of my dad's and a high school friend of my mom. A guy you wouldn't even consider to be one of his groupies.

I came as soon as I could, I didn't even notice that my clothes weren't ironed; I even heard some nurses whispering to each other: "Hinahabol ng plantsa si kuya, oh" in glee chatter. I arrived at a rather dingy side of the hospital. In comparison to the room beside it, it was like placing old bread beside the freshly baked ones. It was funny that the Surname, Tapangdalisay was on the door. It was the surname of a friend of mine back in college. My suspicion proved to be correct as I saw the good man walk out of the room. What really shocked me was that it had a wide screen TV, a personal nurse and even a large table full of food. We exchanged some all-knowing glances that I was in a hurry to enter the room beside theirs; I guess I'll visit them a little later.

I entered the room and right then and there, all eyes were upon me. I honestly knew nothing about any of them aside from the fact that we share the same surname. Even when it only lasted a few seconds, the trauma was getting to me sooner than I expected. A dead man lay rested on the bed behind a woman that I'm assuming is Tita Angel and my other.... Err... siblings.

"Hoy! bastar..."

"Angel. will you please shut up! Anak, let's talk outside" said Tito Boy as he showed me out of the room.

Tito Boy was a tall lanky bald man who was around the same age as my father. It was a good thing that he pulled me out of the situation as Tita Angel, the first family mother, had a big grudge against us from the second.

"Anak, your dad is dead"

"I know, it sounded in your voice a while ago."

"It looks like the shock hasn't caught up to you, hasn't it?"

"Actually..." the door blasted open and Tita Angel began her barrage of snake talk.

"Anong ginagawa ng bastardong yan dito? Hihingi ka ba ng mana? Wala kang makukuha ni isang kusing, hindi mo magagalaw kahit pala-isdaan ni Ramon!"

"Angel, will you please shut the hell up!? Anak I think you should leave for the time being I'll call you again later" said Tito Boy as he held Tita Angel by the arm as she was about to slam me in the face. I left the hospital and went over the day like nothing happened.

It was odd but I didn't feel sad at all. I laughed with my girlfriend on the phone; I even threw a lit up watusi over my dog's cage just for the heck of it. In the evening, it was all the same, however my heart just sank when my Tito Francis bought some Siopao from the market. I guess it was the only fatherly thing my Dad did for me. It was the only thing I remember from the jolly old man. It felt like a large part of my life just dissipated into thin air...

"Tito Boy, saan ang burol?"

***

I just damn knew that I was an unwanted guest, as each and every one of those in the funeral speared their eyes towards me; each having a story to tell. I tread my way further into their abode as the bleak lines in my eyes seemed to sparkle. It was then that Tita Angel confronted me again. Even before she could utter a word, I just let out what I felt at that single moment:

"You can take the body, I won't beg for it. If you want his surname back, its fine by me, all I want is to see him off for the last time. I actually hated every piece of his body, that wrinkled old face on his balding head and even the sight of his fingers who... I remember how those hands were the ones that taught me how to draw a decent bahay-kubo in grade school. It craved more disgust than I could muster. All I want was to thank him. I'm not saying this for the hell he left us by leaving our household; the blank traces of his sermons during my college years still resonate in my ears. I didn't hear 'This is for your own sake' rather, 'Where the hell were you when we needed you? Where were you when I needed a father?' He was never there to provide me with anything I could touch. I hate to admit it but he was there when I needed him most. He was the one who gave me the chance at life. This is supposed to be stupid, but I never hated him because he was my father, I hated him because I wanted him to be one. These damn emotions keep getting crammed up my throat, I just wanted to say thank you!"

I didn't speak no more. I just wanted to say thanks, to say goodbye, even a bow was enough. I just wanted to be a son to the father I wanted so bad.

***

"Kuya Magkape ka muna" said Janina

"Thank you"

You know, cheap coffee doesn't taste half as bad at a funeral. Here in my Dad's room, I felt closer to him, a ton more compared to when he was alive. I guess when you forgive someone; you get to forgive yourself as well...

"Ahhh Ipis! Hisatsu ougi, Chinelas attack!"

*Splat*