20041025
passing through
when i visited my cousin in houston last year, she mentioned all the toys, clothes, food, gym equipment and old computers she said accumulated in her house that she wants to give away.
"ya, we can send it back home to iloilo (philippines), but it's so expensive, so i think i'll just give it to the local charity here. over there you do have a set salary, but it's enough to just get you by. here, at least you have some left over. so kahit papa'no, it's better out here," she said. we were driving to a tia maria's in one of her two cars.
i was genuinely happy for her success - three years in the u.s. and already settled with two kids, two cars, a house and her husband's mother - but i worried that she's becoming like the rest of my mother and her friends: collecteur extraordinaire. ahaha. in that you collect everything and can't bear to throw anything away, because you really hadn't yet had time to sort through your things to see which ones are discardable and which ones are for posterity.
one of my siblings is fearless in that aspect - she has no qualms selling old textbooks for money, or throwing away old notes and junkmail, even ones that schedule her mother and elder sibling's medical schedules for flu shots.
but aren't they the same - one collects things thinking she'll have time to sort through them after she's done exploring. the other knows she doesn't have time to lug around all those things while she's passing through. two types of travellers.
while packing to prepare to fly back to chicago, my cousin-in-law's mother sat down to watch me. do you know how unnerving that is, especially if she has this strange smile on her face? so i asked her, "how are you?"
my cousin chose to live in a new subdivision in a far suburb of houston. it is full of young parents, their kids and their middle-aged parents. my aunt says that she's homesick. she wants to go back home to her maids and friends and activities to keep her from thinking about all the what-ifs in her life. "i cry, just remembering," she says.
here is a traveller to reckon with. her luggage and her collections are incalculable. she mentions a group of older parents she hangs out with at the local catholic church, but she's still homesick, she says. i haven't a clue what to say to her. "go on, tita, i'm listening," i assure her while shoving laundry into my duffle bag. she says she remembers her older brothers who always knew what to do, the other siblings who died and allowed her to return briefly for a visit.
ah. she'd been home recently, and compared to the chaos and laughter back home, it is deafeningly silent in her daughter-in-law's new neighborhood.
it was 4 a.m. and i really wanted to go back to chicago happy. thankfully, my cousin-in-law called us to the kitchen to eat. my nephew woke up especially that dawn to ask, eyes half open, "tita, can i play with your computer now?" so i lugged him back to the breakfast table and asked him something else. my aunt follows us with still her small smile. i hope soon she sees just how similar her smile is to her grandson's, with the permanent grin, who knows i'm distracting him. ¶ 10/25/2004 11:49:00 AM
"ya, we can send it back home to iloilo (philippines), but it's so expensive, so i think i'll just give it to the local charity here. over there you do have a set salary, but it's enough to just get you by. here, at least you have some left over. so kahit papa'no, it's better out here," she said. we were driving to a tia maria's in one of her two cars.
i was genuinely happy for her success - three years in the u.s. and already settled with two kids, two cars, a house and her husband's mother - but i worried that she's becoming like the rest of my mother and her friends: collecteur extraordinaire. ahaha. in that you collect everything and can't bear to throw anything away, because you really hadn't yet had time to sort through your things to see which ones are discardable and which ones are for posterity.
one of my siblings is fearless in that aspect - she has no qualms selling old textbooks for money, or throwing away old notes and junkmail, even ones that schedule her mother and elder sibling's medical schedules for flu shots.
but aren't they the same - one collects things thinking she'll have time to sort through them after she's done exploring. the other knows she doesn't have time to lug around all those things while she's passing through. two types of travellers.
while packing to prepare to fly back to chicago, my cousin-in-law's mother sat down to watch me. do you know how unnerving that is, especially if she has this strange smile on her face? so i asked her, "how are you?"
my cousin chose to live in a new subdivision in a far suburb of houston. it is full of young parents, their kids and their middle-aged parents. my aunt says that she's homesick. she wants to go back home to her maids and friends and activities to keep her from thinking about all the what-ifs in her life. "i cry, just remembering," she says.
here is a traveller to reckon with. her luggage and her collections are incalculable. she mentions a group of older parents she hangs out with at the local catholic church, but she's still homesick, she says. i haven't a clue what to say to her. "go on, tita, i'm listening," i assure her while shoving laundry into my duffle bag. she says she remembers her older brothers who always knew what to do, the other siblings who died and allowed her to return briefly for a visit.
ah. she'd been home recently, and compared to the chaos and laughter back home, it is deafeningly silent in her daughter-in-law's new neighborhood.
it was 4 a.m. and i really wanted to go back to chicago happy. thankfully, my cousin-in-law called us to the kitchen to eat. my nephew woke up especially that dawn to ask, eyes half open, "tita, can i play with your computer now?" so i lugged him back to the breakfast table and asked him something else. my aunt follows us with still her small smile. i hope soon she sees just how similar her smile is to her grandson's, with the permanent grin, who knows i'm distracting him. ¶ 10/25/2004 11:49:00 AM
