CHILD OF A BIGGER GOD (a life on the fringes)

(Originally written a year ago, almost to the day)

Even my closest friends are sometimes surprised to know I had a brother.

I didn't flaunt him around.

He's our eldest, our Junior, our only brother.

My Kuya Boy. A special child.

We grew up being told he had cerebral palsy. But when I was old enough to ask around and read up on palsy, it didn't seem to jibe with how he looked and behaved. Up to now, I don't know exactly what afflicted him. All I know is that he had the innocence and limitations of a three-year-old.

I am told he didn't begin to walk until he was four, to talk until he was six. He had little control over his spittle but a good enough one over his bladder. He never learned to read and write. I understand he was sent to a special school for a while -- and there were very, very few such schools then. Special learning required very special resources -- and our family was poor.

He had good motor skills though. My mom used to say: "Boy cleans better than Aning (that's me) does" -- because I left grease on the dishes and he didn't. He also rode the bunot meanly -- our floors always shone brighter than anyone of our neighbors'.

My favorite image of him is with a tiny radio stuck to his ear, all smiles, dancing in perfect beat and complete abandon. Out of sheer overuse and misuse (such as carrying them with him while he bathed), he destroyed radios faster than we were able to buy them.

We girls in the family grew up taray because of him. If anyone as much as laughed at him, the offender wouldn't know what hit him -- para siyang pinutakte.

Even in later years, my sisters and I used to cajole him: "Sino ang maganda, si Celia, Ella, o Anna?" He always replied -- well, ahem, who else? (hahaha). Not dagger looks nor threats of "sasakalin kita" nor jabs on his arm would make him change his answer. Anna was his favorite.

At 50, he amazed his doctors. No one in his condition had business being alive at that age. He lived more years, defying medical expectations.

Last Christmas , I noticed he had been hardly eating. He survived with glasses of Ensure. At our family reunion in January, he was a ghost of himself -- hardly eating, emaciated. He couldn't be bullied to say who was maganda. I said a silent goodbye to him then.

I half-knew somehow he would soon go.

He was never fully of this world, was he? He merely skirted its edge. He was half in, half out.

In my most faithless moments, I called my Kuya a child of a lesser god and questioned the purpose of his half-life.

At my most hopeful, I regarded him as our private angel. When I saw him sometimes on his easy chair, with a small, knowing smile, I envied him the wonderful secrets only he seemed privy to.

"Angel, angel," we coaxed him at one family gathering: "Tell us the winning numbers of tomorrow's lotto." He obliged, confidently pointing to six numbers out of 40 on the list we shoved at him.

That evening I lay awake, certain I'd wake up a millionaire, making plans how to invest my winnings, counting people I have to make balato to.

Well, as it turned out, this angel didn't give out cash. But what he has given and taught us money can't buy -- patience (infinite), wisdom (otherworldly), love (fiercely protective), and a connection with the divine.

In his coffin, he looked like a distinguished lawyer. Serious.

Everybody remarked how pogi he was -- in fact, he had the stateliest of noses, the finest of features. Siya talaga ang maganda.

Wiser now, I believe believe believe that my Kuya Boy was a child of a bigger, more compassionate god.

Some translations for the non-Pinoy reader:
Kuya - respectful title for older brother
Bunot - floor scrub made from coconut husk
Taray - combative, hostile(slang)
Para siyang pinutakte -- (seemingly) attacked by a swarm of bees
Sino ang maganda? - Who is the pretty one?
Sasakalin kita - I will wring your neck.
Pogi - handsome (slang)
Balato - share of winnings
Siya talaga ang maganda - He is the truly beautiful one.