When my brother and I were small, we'd do what most kids do: fight like cats and dogs. And, like how it is with small children, we'd make up after a teeny short while and go back to playing as if nothing happened. Before that, though, I'd be my usual sumbungera self and tell on my brother to our Dad with a bratty "Daddy, si Earl!"
Earl, though, would do nothing of the sort--a sure sign of guy-ness, even at a young age. I would always be the one crying when we fought. And he would give in once he sees the tears streaming down.
Earl had really nice hair when he was a kid. It was fine and straight and done in a bunot cut, which made him look like a cute little pixie. Add the round eyes, small nose and heart-shaped lips, and the pixie look is complete. He was a cute child, period. Yup, cuter then me. Plus, he was sociable, friendly and diligent, while I was sulky, withdrawn and a señorita.
Portents of things to come, you might say.
Fast forward to today:
Earl (who's two years younger than me) has become my Kuya. He plays the role to the hilt especially with our youngest brother, Otom, and he's doing a wonderful job. He's very mature for his age and has proven himself dependable and level-headed, a complete contrast to my fickle-minded, idealistic self. His scolding (done with lambing, of course), I realize, is just what I need whenever I find myself in the dumps and choose to wallow in my tears instead of dusting myself up and facing whatever it is I have to face. He would talk some sense into my head and then I'd feel better, stronger.
The last time we talked, I found myself feeling immensely better, and laughing at the fact that my brother and I have had a reversal of roles.
The respect would always be there, of course, and the love. The presence of these two have kept us bonded over the years and over the distances. Our parents brought us up in a way that family ties would always come first, not because it is an obligation, but because it is something that is second nature to us. Love each other, our Mom would always say. And don't ever fight over such a shallow thing as money, she would add.
Today is my brother's birthday. He is twenty-six years old (gosh, can you believe that?). I can hardly believe it myself. He used to be six, even sixteen, for goodness' sake.
Time flies awfully fast.
Earl, though, would do nothing of the sort--a sure sign of guy-ness, even at a young age. I would always be the one crying when we fought. And he would give in once he sees the tears streaming down.
Earl had really nice hair when he was a kid. It was fine and straight and done in a bunot cut, which made him look like a cute little pixie. Add the round eyes, small nose and heart-shaped lips, and the pixie look is complete. He was a cute child, period. Yup, cuter then me. Plus, he was sociable, friendly and diligent, while I was sulky, withdrawn and a señorita.
Portents of things to come, you might say.
Fast forward to today:
Earl (who's two years younger than me) has become my Kuya. He plays the role to the hilt especially with our youngest brother, Otom, and he's doing a wonderful job. He's very mature for his age and has proven himself dependable and level-headed, a complete contrast to my fickle-minded, idealistic self. His scolding (done with lambing, of course), I realize, is just what I need whenever I find myself in the dumps and choose to wallow in my tears instead of dusting myself up and facing whatever it is I have to face. He would talk some sense into my head and then I'd feel better, stronger.
The last time we talked, I found myself feeling immensely better, and laughing at the fact that my brother and I have had a reversal of roles.
The respect would always be there, of course, and the love. The presence of these two have kept us bonded over the years and over the distances. Our parents brought us up in a way that family ties would always come first, not because it is an obligation, but because it is something that is second nature to us. Love each other, our Mom would always say. And don't ever fight over such a shallow thing as money, she would add.
Today is my brother's birthday. He is twenty-six years old (gosh, can you believe that?). I can hardly believe it myself. He used to be six, even sixteen, for goodness' sake.
Time flies awfully fast.
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