The Keeper

“You should never regret the past. Accept it, but don’t dwell on it and move on.” He looks at me as I nod my head, my mouth pursing into a tight smile. Finally he exclaims “Iha, try to stop being too emotional. You are so young. You have what it takes to succeed. Move on.” And then he reaches out and musses my hair with fondness.

I imagine that if you see us walking down the street, you’d easily mistake us for family—the quintessential Chinoy father and his daughter. That was the first thing he told me when we met. “Why, you look Chinese! Di ka mapagkakamalang Pilipina ”. Perhaps it is this, my lot in the gene lottery, looking so utterly oriental and not the typically dusky Pinay, or maybe it was my demeanor, fresh from a series of losses, how he sensed my spirit floating with sadness. He was at once genial, concerned and totally presumptuous with his words/advice/admonitions. Or maybe it’s that small fatherly instinct, how I could have easily been his daughter had he chosen another path thirty years ago.

The next time I visited him, he took to showing me a boxful of pictures. Most were from their numerous travels to France, Barcelona, Rome, New York, Cali and Venice. The two of them in Baguio, Batangas, Quezon, Bacolod and Cebu. He was all smiles when I told him how travel is my one big luxury too. We talked about the countries we’ve been to. And I laughed at his comical retelling of that month-long pilgrimage to Europe. “Puro simbahan! Nakakatulog na nga ako minsan habang nagdadasal. Imagine-in mo you have to wake up at 6 AM everyday. Tapos matutulog ka na lang, magdadasal ka pa rin ng halos isang oras. Naisip ko nga, ano ba naman tong pinasok ko. Akala ko bakasyon ‘to.” He’s an altogether funny person when he weaves his stories, throwing in a comical punchline or two to spice up the tales. But yes, he tells me, travel while you're young, it builds character, and widens your view of life. It was a relief to find assurance that what I held to was shared by someone as experienced, as wizened by life as he is.

Before long pictures of him and the love of his life dwindled, until what surfaced were images of the lady alone. Snapshots of her in front of the Lincoln Memorial, in Hawaii, in London. I instinctively knew that this was the part when the distance began seeping in. When Manila and New York became two worlds. Somewhere in between these snapshots was the widening of an ocean. But maybe it is the years, or the wisdom gained only from having survived the cracks. Because when I asked him why, He just said that it was easier for both of them to live different lives than struggle until they have nothing but hate for each other, until nothing else could remain. To be honest, I hoped for something reassuring, something that could move me into believing that indeed we could cross to a bridge across forever. But he was there to tell me the story, without embellishment. Only the truth. So I finally blurted out my own heartache, the losses that came one after another. It was an unlikely thing to do, having kept the confusion and betrayal for months to myself, only to spit it out to someone I knew for not even a month. I was looking for guidance, and he was there, seemingly waiting for me, ready to be my father-of-sorts. To be the keeper of my sadness. I asked him if he was ever wistful. No, he tells me. We have to stick with our decisions. For all your goodness and bravery, you are young, emotional and childish. I am telling you this because it is what makes it difficult for you to cope. Rise above your emotions.
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She’s still in the US, and we are still the best of friends. And I am godfather to her only son. I ask him if he ever regrets the choice he made to stay single, now being 54 and still alone. Nasanay na ako, iha. I am happy. And then he pats my arms and remarks, Pero I do not advise you to follow my decision. You need someone to anchor you. And then when he sees that I am near tears he understands that is my fear finally overtaking me. You will find someone, believe me. You of all people should believe in your worth. That is all that’s missing in you, the confidence.

We always end the visits with a handshake and a promise for another talk as if we are two noblemen who have come under a solemn oath to be brothers. He pats me as I go into the car and makes a motion to his head and chest, Use this above this. Then proceeds to send me off with a thumbs-up and a toothy smile.

Last week before I went home to Davao, he finally left and made way for us. You will love it here, he tells me, and I could see that he was near tears. A month ago it was his home, and now it’s mine. As he gave me and my father the key to the house, I asked him that we continue the talks, that when he is not to busy with his stuffs and business and he can spare time, that he please visit me. That toothy smile. Of course, sige hanggang di ka pa umaalis we’ll have our talks, iha.

Yesterday, he dropped by as we were placing a new electrical line for my room. He comes, greets my mother and asks, Oh Nasan si J? I was happy to see him, my Jedi yoda of sorts. I ask about his new house, the one his mother left him. And then I showed him my newly repainted room. Wow bagets na bagets ang kulay. Dapat tawagin natin tong Studio 5. J’s Studio 5. Hanep! I laugh at his jokes while he goes around opening the cabinets we’ve installed, always highlighting how he kept the house as uncannibalized as possible, leaving behind the lights and old knobs because removing them would compromise the look of his former home. You look better now. Last time konting sabi ko lang iiyak ka na. I told him maybe it was the vacation I took in Davao. And that though emotions and memories still buoy me over to regrets, I am trying to follow his admonitions.

When the renovation’s over and I’ve moved in, I promised the kind stranger who’s become a blessing/cheerleader/love doctor and tatay-tatayan that I will cook dinner for him and bake him his request, a coconut-ube cake. It is a small act of gratefulness for all that he’s helped me with. This stranger-friend who shared with me his keys to surviving life’s little lessons.