Self-Exile, con't

My previous entry was cut short by my mom's unexpected early arrival home. As soon as I heard the garage open, I quickly pressed' publish', shut down the computer and scrambled to do the household chores I had forgotten. Actually, what I really was doing was amusing myself by being inflicting pain on myself: hair removal wax. I had leftover strips from the first time I ever used wax. I decided to try it on my arms being particularly bored and still upset with the family situation. It didn't hurt as much. In fact, it was rather cathartic. Then I heard my mom come home. She doesn't know I bought wax and to spare myself the embarassment I quickly hid the strips in my trashcan.

She looked as me suspiciously. I looked at her depressed, even though I was really anxious.

"What's wrong? You're still not talking to your brother?" Apparently, she knows I've been giving him the silent treatment. I shake my head. The first thing she does is go to my computer. Her sister introduced her to EBay as a resource to collect Capodimonti, which they are obsessed with.

I quickly scour the desk for any remaining strips. I'm panicking but she thinks I did something bad.

"What's wrong?? Tell me if there's something wrong."

"My brother. I don't like him," I say as I grab the trashcan which is full of evidence.

"Just stay away from him. Don't do anything bad... okay? You don't do anything bad. You better not do anything bad," she says a dozen more times in any other sentence forms you can think of.

"Like what?"

"Like - slicing your wrist. Don't do that please. Okay? Okay?" I scared my mom and my brother once by threatening to commit suicide. Of course I really wasn't going to. I just wanted everyone to stop fighting. I had tried everything from reasoning with them, yelling, screaming, crying. My last resort was to threaten to commit suicide and it had come to that. Strangely, they still fight.

"I know," I say somberly, surprised that she remembered or even believed my threat.

"Did you do something bad??" she stammers.

"No..." I was afraid she was going to check my wrists and instead of finding fresh wounds on my wrists, she was going to find my half-waxed forearms. Of course I would rather deal with the former. All I'd have to do is cry while she either yells at me or begs me to stop. For the latter, she would laugh and laugh and laugh.

7/26/2002 04:35:01 PM

Self-Exile

What a boring day. I've locked myself up in my room, finding little things to amuse myself. I've confined myself to my room because my brother usually lives in the family room, zoning out in front of that damned playstation 2 which is very quickly sucking hours from his life.

I read half of F. Sionil Jose's Dusk novel. To me, the first part can be described as Oregan Trail in the Ilokos. I still don't understand what's the big deal about this book but then again I'm only halfway through the book. I still think Noli Me Tangere is more interesting.

I set up an ant trap in my room. It attracted more ants than there already was scouting around in my room but at least they're focused on one target instead of wandering into various places such as my ear.

I've also eaten four or five pieces of Pan de Sal. Why? The family room is next to the kitchen. I don't want to spend too much time in the kitchen. That and there's really nothing else to eat. Seriously. There is nothing in the fridge. I should cook but there's nothing to cook.

Maybe I should go out but there's no one to go out with. Xab's helping his mom work. My friend that I usually nag is in Las Vegas and I don't feel like bugging my other friends. I don't like them much right now for some reason.

I've been wanting to go to my cousin's house where the grandmas are (the house where the incident with my brother happened) but I am too ashamed to return. I want food and company but I just don't want to show my face anymore. I don't want them asking me questions or them giving me advice about being patient and understanding. It's more easier said than done with it comes to being patient and understanding with my brother.

Leaving the Battlefield

I think I have unofficially given up on my brother. I'm tired of swallowing my pride, shedding my tears, keeping my silence, questioning my value as a sister and a human. I guess I failed a test. I've been tested for the last thirteen years with him and now I just don't know what to do. I feel like the last person on earth that had hope in him, that didn't give up on him, but I'm joining the rest. I look at my mom. She side-steps the problem. At least she knows he's a problem. My dad acts completely oblivious to my brother's behavior. I feel like I was the only who tried to attack the problem head-on even though some of the time everyone else was trying to hold me back, not wanting the emotional bloodshed, not wanting the screaming, the noise. Just a moment of peace of quiet even though we were all waiting to explode. Everyone outside the problem acts as if it's not their problem and maybe it's not, but for goodness sake, is this really a normal problem?? I feel like no one else cares. Not my mom, not my dad, not Xab, not the godfathers and godmothers who are suppose to be his guide in life.

I'm failing. I'm failing. You win some and you lose some, right? Why is that of the battle I lose, it's with my brother? Why is the person I'm trying to help treating me like their enemy? Should I even worry? I don't like to see him suffer. I don't like him accepting the dreary future that he'll arrive at if he's continues with all the shit he puts himself through.

I pity him. I'm disgusted by him. I'm angered by him. I'm very close to disowning him and simply refering to him as just some person who happened to come out of the same womb as me. I can't stand the maniacal look on his face when he's trying to hit me or even hitting me. I can't stand his ignorance. I can't that look in his eyes. I'm tired of hitting back. I am stronger. I'm wiser. Yet, why he is winning?

Family Gathering: Finally a Friendly Encounter

Two of my many grandmothers (technically grand-aunts) have been in town for the past few days. My mom has trying to get a hold of them and finally today I stopped by in the morning after taking my cousin to the dentist. When I walked into the room, all one of them said was "Oh, hello." Nanay, my real grandmother said "This is so-and-so's daughter." "Ayy, naku! I didn't recognize you. You were just four when I last saw you. Wow, you've grown!" And I don't think she meant that in a big way that my other relatives usually mean. As in fat. I personally don't find too much wrong with my weight. I want to be more in shape but I don't think I'm fat. I think they want me to be anorexic or something. The criticism is usually a trend from my mother's side. I've found that my dad's side is a little bit more.... humane.

Anyway, my grandmother had her arm around me as she reintroduced me, very proud of her oldest grandchild or at least I hope so. "You know," said one grandmother, who is apparently the mother of my apparent overseas rival Grace, "when you and Grace was younger, your nanay used to pick you and Grace up at the same time and Grace would try to push you away because she was jealous." At first I was like, ugh, another Grace story, but I didn't feel so bad. I smiled at the childhood antics I barely remember.

My other grandmother was a high school Tagalog and English teacher in the Philippines. When she found out I was trying to learn Tagalog she was eager to hear me read in Tagalog and give me a crash lesson in Tagalog, Bible study and Philippine culture. It really wasn't too bad. Sure she was taking a lot out of my throat which wasn't accustomed to talking so long in another language. She made me read some passages from her Tagalog Bible and explained to me some of the passages. She asked if I read from the Bible frequently and of course my honest answer was 'no'. But she encouraged me to start reading. Not threateningly, just encouragingly. Not like CCD teachers. She also said that my Tagalog was good. I read pretty good for a beginner. I mess up some of the words but she said I'll learn it. She wants me to buy some Tagalog books and read so I can understand more. Afterwords, my two younger cousins started singing the Philippine national anthem after hearing me read in Tagalog. Probably for show-off points but my grandma encouraged them to sing it and gave them the English meaning to the lyrics.

I don't know if it was just a short attention span or Americanization but my two cousins would have come off as rude to my traditional grandma. They stared at the TV while she was trying to explain the song to them, or when she was just simply talking. When I was reading on the bed with her they would jump on the bed, block the light, totally forget to be respectful. When my grandmother wasn't looking I'd secretly elbow them or tug at their shirts to make them pay attention but as soon as they looked at me questioningly their attention went back to TV. Kill your TV.

Family Gathering: An Unhappy Ending

It was reaching midnight and we were still at my cousin's house. My mom, auntie and uncle were still chitchatting with the grandmothers while we "kids" just hung around waiting to either go home or go to sleep. I started playing those playground hand games with my two cousins when my brother comes over and tries to get me to play "bloody knuckles" with him like it's no big deal. "No," I tell him. "You're just trying to show off. Why would I wanna do something like that to my hand?" "It's part of the game," he replies like the brainwashed media monkey that he is. We argue quietly for a little bit trying to avoid any attention but finally he calls me a "pussy." And I hate that word. It's demeaning. I kick him lightly on the leg as one of those "get in check" things but he launches a full blown attack on him in front of everyone. I try to pin him down but before he tries to come after me again everyone notices and tells him to stop.

"Mom, can we go home?" I say annoyedly, as if I were accustomed to the abuse, and I am. He tries to hit me now and then and sometimes he gets me and sometimes he misses but I'm used to it. My mom and my brother get up to prepare to leave and everyone else is silent. I can feel the angry tears just welling up in my eyes but not enough for spill over or for anyone to notice, but when I stand, Nanay walks over to me and hugs and there were the tear dam. The tears came falling and I run off to get my shows and get the hell out of there. I felt bad, ashamed. I don't really know why. I guess it would be my fault since it my reproachful kick but he was the one that was trying to kill me. I guess I just didn't want them to see that. Especially my Nanay, whom I see at least once a week. She shouldn't have seen that. At her age, I don't think she should have to worry about things like this. No one should have saw. No one should have seen me cry.

My mom drives us home silently. Of course she never has anything to say anymore. She has said everything. I don't know what she's thinking. I go into my room and bawl my eyes out. Eventually I feel sick to stomach and run into the bathroom to puke out whatever was twisting in my stomach. And here I am. So much for a good day.

American Boy

I try to ignore my younger brother's patriotic shouts and self-praises for being "American". I have no idea what being "American" is except that I am. Geographically I am. I live here. I was raised here. I have citizenship here but who knows if I fit any other requirements for the definition American. If acting idiotic and ignorant is part of the picture then my brother is definitely American.

"Whoo-hoo! Yay! America!" etc... etc... etc. He's a victim of the media. He usually gets all riled up when the TV is playing some kinda patriotic proproganda. It's one reason why I don't watch TV as much. I find it a waste of time. But my brother, oh, it's his life.

"Why are you so proud of being American?" I finally asked him today.

"I don't know," he replies with a content smile.

"What makes America so great?"

"Freedom of speech," he says after a few moments of thought. He has a tendency to use the Bill of Rights on me. "Get out of my room," I would say after I get sick of hearing his all-American pride. "I don't have to," he would reply. "This is America. It's a free country." Ugh.

"You're stupid. You're falling for those dumb commercials. Remember the ones you read about that just want your money? Well TV just wants your brain."

"So?"

I wonder how his mind is so easy yet resistant to logic. It's one thing to watch TV and listen to patriotic BS but it's a totally different thing to hear it from your brother.

He also has this thing where he claims that he is "anti-Filipino," which is not to be confused with "anti-aZn" or "anti-FliP". He is anti-ate and kuya, anti-nanay and tatay, anti-everything beautiful that our culture has.

"But you're Filipino. How can you be anti-Filipino?"

"No, I'm not. I'm American."

"It's not a race, dummy. You can be Mexican, or Russian or Filipino and be American. Everyone here came from another country."

"I don't care."

Of course I stop right there. I didn't want another one of those "you're such a goody fucking two shoes know-it-all b*tch" comments. I don't know everything. I just want him to have an open mind. But it's hard to do.