We Were A Family

Sometimes there comes a moment in our lives when everything seem to be uncertain. It is as if nothing is going right and you are at the brink of losing hope. Then again we start to feel helpless and hopeless not knowing what to do, how and where to start and questions begin to cloak our being again. A sense of longing and emptiness slowly creeps in like there’s no sense of direction and dubious of what life and fate has to offer.

I have known that for myself. It has been my company for a long time – for years.

When I was little, I have always wished to grow older fast so I can do what I want without asking consent from the ones older than I. Now that I am almost nearing the age of thirty, I reminisce those times when I was a kid. Memories are still fresh, still vivid.

I remember that time, every Sundays, my siblings and I get up early in the morning to prepare for church. We were a family founded with a strong Roman Catholic tradition – with a father and mother on our side, silly brothers and a cute little sister – all in one roof amidst life’s storms and struggles. We laugh. We cry. We eat together. We share our dreams and ambitions and sometimes even mock each other. The smiles that were painted on my brothers and sister’s face were priceless. Neither money nor fame can ever replace the wonderful life we had.

The joy you see on a Sunday, every time we go to church, is something I can’t bring back. Lazy as we were to get up and prepare, there is a sense of excitement that awaits each of us. We were always looking forward to our little bonding time at the end of the mass, dining at fancy restaurants and riding the taxi while listening to old songs being played by the chauffeur – we were a FAMILY back then. We weren’t perfect but we used to be happy together.

My father is a police officer and is strong-willed and a person with high principles. My mom on the other hand is firm and authoritative but gets soft-heartened easily. Both personalities have honed me and my siblings with manners and a high regard in respecting the ones older than us. My brothers are talented and each one has a forte he can brag about. My little sister will always be adorable. She makes everyone smile and laugh without even trying to. And that what makes my family worth keeping.

Sometimes it not how tough you are or how weak you get. It is holding on to that promise that no one is left behind.  Trials and frustrations shouldn’t be the things that would break you. It should instead make you stronger. That feeling of rising after a big fall makes everything worthwhile. And seeing everyone surpass all those gives you a sigh of relief then everyone would just shrug it off their shoulders and move on as if nothing had happened. It is not the pain one got through not the sacrifices made. It is forgiving and accepting the realities of life – that nothing is and nothing will ever be perfect.

Years have passed and all those have gone with the winds of time. There will always be a moment in our lives when we say “This is enough” or “I can’t take this anymore.”Fight all you want, scream until you scream no more, and cry until your eyes run out of tears. It doesn’t really matter much to me now. It’s not what bothers me because it’s a part of being a family – of being one. Speak and you will be listened to, sob and you will be comforted. I missed that. I missed the sense of being in a complete family. But fate has turned its toll on us. It was years back then. It will only be a memory now. We were a family. We were happy. We were one. Not anymore. Never again.