about me, in my opinion, reblog

It Never Happens the Way We Think It Will Happen

Nothing ever does, I think.

Two years ago, in 2015, I was quick to declare it my year. We do that. And I learned my lesson the hard way because, 2015 wasn’t my year at all–it was far from it.


On the 22nd of February 2015, I saw my 2-yr old dog die in front of me. She was attacked by another dog and barely survived the travel back to the house. Eight months after, on the 29th of October the same year, I found myself driving through bumper-to-bumper EDSA traffic to rush to my dead father, before he’s taken to the morgue. 2015 wasn’t my year at all. And in July when we first took my father in for confinement, I should’ve known that.

But No One Expects These Things

Of course no one does. Actually, around the time when we were bringing my Papa in and out of the hospital, I remember thinking about fixing my Globe postpaid account. You see, I’ve maintained the same mobile number since College and as I was unemployed then, it was under my Papa’s name. All of our Globe accounts were under Papa’s name, but all my sisters changed account ownership a long time ago–I didn’t. Around August 2015, I remembered my Globe account and I thought to do it but I said, “What for? Are you afraid Papa’s going to be gone soon?”. So I never fixed it.

Last Christmas, a classmate of mine died if a heart attack. I remember seeing a random post on Facebook and I shook my head in disbelief, then decided to call his friend to get confirmation. He died that morning. And in the following days people from my class talked about being gone toon soon, suffering traitorous heart attacks, and the value of making healthy life choices. You see, he was always a hefty lad. After College, he lost some weight, but the autopsy revealed a blockage–so clearly some things were missed.

Regardless, no one really thought he would go that way. Not his parents, not his wife, and surely not his daughter.

I remember a few weeks before my father died, I was in the shower. I usually give him his morning meds along with breakfast and when I did that day, he looked so frail. The shower was loud enough to muffle the sound so I cried. In the next days, I would imagine scenarios of how he would leave us and many times I stopped myself. I dreaded every phonecall I got from my mom. During those days, I’d breathe a deep breath just before I say “Hello”, as if preparing for the worst.

Still, nothing could’ve prepared me for for that day. When I got THE call, I barely heard what my mom said. I screamed. I screamed so loud that nurses came rushing to me. I don’t remember putting the phone down or even telling my mom goodbye. I don’t remember even saying anything, but I remember the screaming. It is still loud today in my heart as it was that day.

21st Janunary, my Papa’s birthday

I have never reblogged another post before, but when I read Teri’s entry, I wanted to write about it, right away. Please take time to read it. It’s one of the most beautiful pieces I’ve read in a long time.

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Teri Carter's Library

imagesI am walking my dog when it happens. The woman does not see me. The woman does not see my dog. The woman points her car my way and guns it, and when I see she doesn’t see me—doesn’t see my bright blue shirt nor my arm waving ‘hello neighbor’ in the air nor my big yellow lab standing at the side of her driveway—I dive to my right and the bumper of her car clips my hip and I tumble down and over the newly-mowed grass of her lawn and the next thing I know I’m lying there, just lying there, pushing to get up and looking at my dog looking down at me with her tail wagging, wagging wagging wagging. The dog licks my hand. We are alive, the dog seems to say. We are okay.

For the last decade I’ve been walking my dogs in a downtown…

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