My Brother Joseph

Tomorrow is the feast day of St Joseph.I knew this well because tomorrow is also the birthday of my brother Joseph, who obviously was named after him. Or Pepe, as we fondly call him. Although to this day I wonder what came to my mother when she chose that nickname. In our dialect pepe loosely translates to the female genitalia.

(Whoa. What a way to start this so called tribute: a saint and then a reproductive organ.)

Last year, I unearthed an old photograph of us in an old chest. It was taken when I was five, he was eight, in what supposed to be our veranda, and the only structure remained after it was blown away by the super typhoon Weling. To this day I never figured why mother chose the backdrop: We looked like Vietnamese orphans during the Vietnam War complete with all the rubble. Probably in one of her dramatic moments, mother would want to convey to father who was then working abroad that despite ruins left by the disaster our spirits remain unbroken…unscathed.

Where am I?

In the picture my brother was wearing a bright yellow polo shirt and shorts, posed proudly with both hands on his waist (whether he was doing an impression of chicken dance, I don’t recall). I was wearing brown shorts and faded green shirt and I looked like I was a kitten frightened by headlights. In the picture, he has overpowering presence that made me looked like his mere shadow.

If pictures tell a thousand words then that picture eloquently tells our opposite personalities. We were born few years apart. We practically grew together. We live on the same house, although sometimes we were shipped to our grandparents or aunts house which were actually very near our house, went to the same school until college (except that we came from different UP campus) , were subjected to same set of influences and, if social scientists are to be believed should end up veritable twins.

It did not happen.

Except our elephantine ears, which we both share, my brother and I looked nothing alike. He takes from my mothers Correo side and my father’s Macarilay side which translate into, thin hair prone to baldness, snub nose, short legs, and a Moreno sheen. I take from my mother’s Calimag gene pool: I am taller, at least, I have a nose bridge, slightly fairer. In a conventional way I am better looking (he would never concede of course); he is more on the exotic side. I submit however that he matured better. Only because has been conscious about his looks. Add the expensive trapping he put upon himself. Me? I blame law school, smoking and beer.

My brother is very likeable; he has a knack of getting along with people and he smiles a lot. In fact he is like a giant magnet; his presence draws everyone around him. I am on the other hand is obnoxious. I have an aptitude of alienating people. I rarely smile except when terrible things happen to stupid people. In our community, everyone knows him. I suspect whenever he comes home, our neighbors would alert everyone. When at home, he would receive dinner invitations. Mothers would love to talk to him. He would become the godfather of their children. They would urge their children to be like him. I don’t know how he does it, but when he starts to talk people would laugh their heads off with his witticisms. In school, teachers adored him. He was the first to be picked up in school play, to deliver speech, to host school programs. I am always the saling pusa. In school, when I reap awards I would always hear people saying: “He is the brother of Joseph”. Often my parents would say: Why can’t you be like your brother? I deeply resented that. I silently envied him. I wanted to be like him so that I copied virtually everything he does. Except that part where he braids the hair of our younger sisters with dexterity.

My brother is the happiest person on earth. He is always filled with sass! Chutzpah! Pizzazz! Razzmatazz! Joie d vivre! Yes, everything to him should end exclamation point.

I on the other hand, am always morose and brooding. His contagious personality extends to his fashion sense –he loves loud colors, screaming with attention- which of great advantage to me especially that I am always tasked to meet him in the airport when he goes home from India or whatever country he chose to visit every year: With his height he could easily be drowned by a crowd and his dark complexion could easily blend with environment, I could easily spot him. Rather, he presents himself to me like an early warning device, you can’t ignore.

In my bookshelf, are books about ramblings on the absurdity of life (Dostoyevsky, Turgenev, Camus, and Nietzsche.). I discovered only later the profoundly passionate and life affirming Latin-American novels (Gabriel Garcia- Marquez and Isabel Allende) and the alternate world of Philip K. Dick. My brother on the other hand read “corporate /business” books of Malcolm Gladwell and John Kotter and inspirational novels by Paulo Coelho. Those kinds of books I don’t even care to browse. He once gave me a book about some uber rich guy who one day had an epiphany, gave up all his hard-earned wealth to charity and became a monk. In told him it was inspiring, which was a lie because I did not finish reading it. I struggled to read the first five pages because it brought me to coma. Well, I abhor books that tell how one should live one’s life.

While I have taken great pains to highlight our sibling differences, I must point out that, for strange reason, we get along. When he comes home, we would spend time together. Sip coffee and talk about our family projects. We would watch movies together. Shop at Green Hills together. Or go malling. Although sometimes I may look like someone from the escort service. We may poles apart but we are a team. When we were young, we would do house chores together. He may not admit but we were young farmers, and shepherds: we cultivate the farm, sow and harvest corns, peanuts, mung beans, and tended our four carabaos (water buffaloes). Although sometimes he tends to be manipulative and domineering. I would end doing the more difficult part. Or he would pass on me errands assigned to him.

My brother for one thing has unbelievable passion and zeal in pursuing his obsession. This often translates to celebrity worship. For as long as I can remember, he had been following Sharon Cuneta’s career. It was his sacred vow to watch all her films, knew every salient details of her filmography, keep himself abreast on what’s going on in her life. His fanaticism extends to her children especially KC. He took upon himself to closely watch her grow as if he sired her. He would track KC every wherever she goes through the net- knows hers friends, shows, trips, new commercials, every engagement, latest beau etc. Last time he called and related how happy he was when KC was appointed as UN ambassador. I thought It was a firsthand account, be cause he sounded as if he had just coffee with KC in Starbucks.

*****

Long ago, there is this story about the first brothers of humankind in the book of genesis- Cain and Abel. One day, God asked Cain: “Where is thy brother Abel?” Cain answered: “Why, am I my brothers’ keeper?”

I’d be remiss if I wouldn’t say that he has been a brother’s keeper. I have encountered life threatening situations in my life most of the time by sheer stupidity and he has been behind me all that time to make sure I was okay. During my lamentable bad-boy phase- always angry, angsty, pa-existential, atheistic, he never confronted me, but dismissed it as a part of growing up. Today, I am confident that I would survive anything the world would lob at me with him around. I remember the first time he left home to work abroad. I hid my tears. I felt a part of me was gone as well.

My brother is the most influential person in my life. I realized that I reaped awards and honors because of him. As child I wanted to be like him. Unluckily for him, I surpassed his achievements in school. I became the editor of our school paper, won in quiz bees because he encouraged me to read. I made it to UP because of his continuous encouragement. I went to law school because of his financial support. I would even concede that if someday I get rich and fulfilled, it would be largely because of him.

I am a terrible brother; I have been undemonstrative of my affection towards him. I have become a brat lately. Probably because I take comfort to that fact that whether I earn enough or not there there will always be my brother who is willing to help me pay for the good life I have accustomed to. Probably when he goes home next month, I would give him a big fat brother’s chest bump (on the second thought, I would be difficult for him, he would need a spring board).I know I won’t way say it often, if at all, but he knows that I am proud of him.

Happy birthday! Always be HAPPY and GAY!