Kuya

There is this question that gets thrown around by the existentialists of the world regarding the person that you wish to meet in heaven once you had passed on to the after life. Not surprisingly, many would quickly answer their grandparents, their parents and loved ones who had died before them.

I sometimes have thoughts about this though I don’t really have anyone who had died before me who I wish to meet again in the afterlife. As I feel those who had left before me I would be glad to meet again anyway. But it won’t be out curiousity. They once had lived. I once had interacted with them. I am not eager at all.

My only answer to this heady kind of question would be someone who never really had a chance to become a person. When I was 13, my mother had a miscarriage. The kid would have been my parent’s third and I would have become officially a “kuya.” I am glad my mother survived the ordeal. Her life was more important than anything else, of course. But deep down, I wish I could have met the kid. I wish I could have actually become a kuya. And I wish he would have been a boy just like me.

I wonder how our relationship would have turned-out? I often find myself thinking about sibling relationships and I never could stop myself from being envious of people who have developed good relationships with their siblings. The only brother that I have I almost went as far as developing genuine hatred towards. And thus, my thoughts about my supposedly younger brother. My life would have been so different had the kid lived.

I honestly feel I would have been an awesome kuya. I feel he would have been drawn to me. I feel he would have idolized me. And If he were living today, he probably had chosen to be with me here in Canada. We probably would be having long, deep life talks over some cigarettes and beer. We probably would have the same complains about our parents and our older brother. And I am sure he would have been the awesomest brother, the one relative that I would have finally liked.

I look forward to meeting him one day. I’ll offer him my pack of Du Maurier and see how he reacts.

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