Two men...

June means a lot to me because this month reminds me how blessed I am to have some very special people in my life. Now, before this month ends, I'd like to write about two of the most important men, in my life, who make June such a special month. First, of course, is my father. June would always remind me of him because Father's Day is in June. Second, my Kuya Rashid. He was born on June 9, so June will always be his month.

Abi Kulay...*

I (we) call my (our) dad Abi. Abi is the Arabic term form "my father". Abi has been a huge figure in my life. Basically, everything that I am is influenced by Abi (and my mom, too), from the way I look at the world as a whole and my attitude towards people to the things I like. Abi is not your typical Meranao dad. Yes, he's strict and all, but he allows us to actually decide for ourselves and also leaves us to learn through experience. He gives us the freedom to try things that other Meranao kids can only dream of. He gives us the freedom to explore all possiblilities. But, of course, along with this freedom is responsibility to know our limitations.

"Whatever you do and wherever you go, never forget that you are Muslim," he would always tell me, "this way, you will never go wrong." When I was around 15 or 16 years old, he told me and my younger sister that if we ever fall in love we should never be afraid to talk to them (our parents) about it. He assured us that they won't get mad or anything. Hearing this, I knew how different my dad was from other Meranao dads. Not that I still didn't know by then. You see, traditional Meranaos actually do not really get the idea of love before marriage.

Abi is also not your typical dad, really. You can't just talk to him like that when you feel like it. He chooses when he wants to talk to you. When he's working, nobody is allowed to get near his work area. He doesn't really joke around with us as much as other fathers do, but when he does, we all die laughing. He loses his temper so easily that many people who know him actually fear him. He's never patient. He is very conscious about propriety, so when you're with him, you always have to be proper. No fooling around. When you're in front of him or when you're talking to him, you always have to be formal. And, because of all these, he is the pefect gentleman.

He makes a very interesting character. He holds some ideas so different from other people's. Even his Islamic views can sometimes be controversial to the conservatives. He is also knowledgeable in almost all fields. He knows his literature, his music, his science, his history, etc. He's good in mathematics, in languages, etc. He's often referred to by people as "the walking dictionary." You can ask him about places he's never been to and he'd sound like he grew up in these places. He's really very smart and intelligent that sometimes people don't understand him. I'm not saying this because he's my father. These are some of the things that other people say about him.

My mom always points out how I grew up a daddy's girl. Among all his children, I am actually the one closest to him and always the one asked to talk to him at certain situations or about some things. He and I share a very special bond. I love everything about him, even his shortcomings and weaknesses. I love him so much. True that he may not be the very best husband, but he definitely is the best father in the world! I can't thank God enough for being Abi's daughter. People often tell me, "Hay, you really are you father's daughter!" That's actually one of the best compliments I've ever received! :)

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Kuya Rashid...

Kuya Rashid is one of the most important male figures in my life. He was the male cousin I was closest to. I was much closer to him than even my own brothers. His advice was the one I sought when I had teenage problems and worries. His was the help I sought when I had school assignments that were too difficult for my young mind.

The last time I saw Kuya Rashid, he was driving one of the family cars. His smile was so wide he looked like the sun. He looked like he was having so much fun laughing with some girlfriends. Something was telling me to actually go to him and talk to him. But, among the girls he was talking to, there were some I didn't really like so I decided to just go without saying hi or anything.

The day went by pretty normally. That night, I was already asleep when my mom suddenly knocked at my door. She looked flustered. She told me that Kuya Rashid just accidentally shot himself. I was surprised to hear this. But, I thought that there was no need to worry because knowing Kuya Rashid, he would surely survive this. I, of course, didn't know then that he actually shot himself in the head... accidentally. Until this very moment, why he had that gun and why it was loaded is still beyond my comprehension. Why he was playing with it is still equally baffling for me!

The next day, I even went to school first as I was confident that Kuya Rashid will be all right. There really was no need to worry, I kept telling myself. Two days after the accident, I finally went with my family to Iligan to see Kuya Rashid. He was in a coma. The moment I saw my cousins crying, I knew it wasn't good. I proceeded to the ICU. We could only peek at his room from a window just above the headboard of his bed because only one person could enter the room at a time. I just stood there the whole day. I didn't feel the hours fly. I was just staring at him, talking to him in my thoughts.

Everyone in the family and all his friends who were there were allowed to go into the room and talk to him. I was the only one not allowed because they felt I might not be able to take it. They knew how close we were. No one really talked to me during those times. It was more like nobody talked to anybody. We were all just wrapped up in our own worlds.

My mom, seeing me, asked me if I wanted to go in. I said yes. She asked me if I was sure and, again, I said yes. As I was about to enter the room, one of my aunts said I shouldn't be allowed because I might faint or something. I couldn't do anything and besides I was still convinced that Kuya Rashid would come out of it so I'll have all the time I want with him.

When it became dark outside, we finally decided to go back to Marawi, but my mom promised we'd be back there first thing in the morning the next day. That was the only way I'd agree to go home with them. The next day came and we did go to Iligan. But, on our way, we saw all the family cars and two ambulances going the opposite way (back to Marawi). I broke down because I knew that he was gone. I begged my mom that we also turn around and go back, but my mom insisted we go on to Iligan as it was actually my cousin's wedding. This cousin (the one about to be married) is from my mother side. Kuya Rashid's from my father side. This was, of course, just a way to keep me away for a while because everybody really thought that I wouldn't be able to handle things. So, off to the wedding we went. I told my mom that I'd just stay in the car and wait for her. I wanted to fly back to Marawi that very moment.

It took some time before my mom could get away. If people could die of crying, I'd have died by then. We went directly to my uncle's place outside of Marawi. Sadly, when we got there, Kuya Rashid had already been buried. We were a few minutes late. When I heard this, I just dropped on the floor and sat in one corner. I just cried and cried until no more tears came. No one disturbed me in my corner. I wouldn't even touch the food that they put right next to me. I sat there staring at nothing, feeling nothing and oblivious to everything around me. I sat there not moving for almost 8 hours. Finally, my mom sat next to me and squeezed my hand. She could only say, "I'm so sorry, Anak. It's my fault that you didn't see him." I couldn't move. No words came. Just the tears came.

Later, they were able to get me up my feet and bring me to the sofa, where I fell asleep and dreamt of Kuya Rashid waving goodbye. I woke up crying and crying. My cousins who were walking around cried every time they saw me. It was the saddest day of my life and the lowest point of our family.

I couldn't stop thinking about the death for a looong time. My grades slid downhill faster than a high-speed skier. It felt like I was just afloat. It took around three months for me to actually recover from the tragedy. It was my mom who woke me up from my sleep-like existence. She only had to ask me how Kuya Rashid would feel if he saw what was happening to me and to my grades. I thought about it and then vowed to do better for Kuya Rashid. I did do well until the end of college.

It took almost three years before I could actually look at Kuya Rashid's pictures and listen to his favorite songs without crying like crazy. It took me around two years before I could actually talk about what happened.

Kuya Rashid, only 22, died on November 22, 1998. This is the first time I ever really wrote about it... and I'm still crying. :(


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* Kulay is a Meranao word that's roughly the equivalent of the English term "dearest" or "dear."