Sunday, September 24, 2006

FIRST LOVE (Fourth of a Series)

That fateful summer when E. discovered his true and uncertain origin was one of the most painful and confusing episodes not only in his, but in my life as well. He wanted to find his identity, but sought in the wrong places and company. I wanted to help him, but didn't know how to. I tried to be the friend who would cushion his pains, but with my own limiting circumstances, I could not possibly be with him to support him one hundred percent. The news that E. was on alcohol and drugs was enough for my parents to disallow any contact with him. I no longer recall how that summer ended, perhaps out of willful desire to forget that hurtful chapter in our lives.

We didn't get in touch after four long years (college years), not even during summers. The only updates I got was from a girl-cousin who had friends in E.'s circle. Afraid that he was no longer the same E. I knew in my younger years, I would find myself whispering a prayer for him, that he be in the best of health, and far from the dangers associated with his vices. I wondered how different things would have been, had he embraced the truth with optimism and complete acceptance, rather than wallow in destructive self-pity and helplessness.

I met him again the summer after I graduated from college, and the old mushy feeling of young love had been replaced with a calculated and discerning kind of affection. The feeling was still there, but such was tempered with constant rationalization on the possible outcomes - if I intend to pursue our relationship. What kind of married life will I have? How will I raise my children with a father like him? Is love enough to change a person? Although we were far from settlling down, I was already open to the possibility that I might end up with him if I continued to see him.

Afraid that rejection would further push him to the edge, I continued to be a friend to him, although I must admit the “unconditional” love I thought I once had for him has evolved into a different level, past the romantic plane. At this point, all I wanted was to help him become the best person he can be, and to make him understand life is what we make it. Being an adopted child is not the most unfortunate thing that can happen to a person. In fact, it has been a blessing in his case, with the love and support his adoptive family has showered him, among others. At that time I felt I was the only person who somehow gave him inspiration and encouragement to go on with his life, and leaving him at that point could have been a fatal, life-wrecking move.

I continued to see E., and occasionally he would fetch me from my board review classes. This I did in defiance to my parents’ (specifically my father) stern reprimand that I cut all ties with him. How could I let someone I loved, a friend, waste away, when I knew I could somehow make a difference in how he would live the rest of his life?

Then the inevitable happened. Fearful that my secret meetings with E. would somehow be found, I decided to let him come to the house. So one day, after one Wednesday novena at Baclaran Church, E. brought me home. My father was home, waiting for me. He saw E. standing by the door. As I took my father’s hand for his blessing (traditional “mano po” or taking of an elder’s hand to touch one’s forehead, as a request for blessing), my father forcefully set aside my hand it almost hurt, and turned his back on me. No words were said, but his action was enough to let me know he wouldn’t, and couldn’t accept E. in whatever capacity. I did not reason out with my father because I understood his fear. But pray tell, how could I turn away a lost soul, who was once a part of my life, and who desperately needed a crutch at the most critical point in his life?

(To be continued…..)

1 comment:

April Rain said...

dear sunriser,

thank you for being my constant guest. you are right, i guess i did not love him enough to risk my future with him. although i wanted so much to help become the best (not better, per your comment) person he can be, i can only do so much. nobody can help a person who does not want to help himself. please take note of the time frame. a man of character would have decided to take stock of his life and not forever wallow in self-pity.

how was i supposed to "make him the right man for me"? he was deep into his vices, and at that point the only proper solution was to put him in a rehab. but even his parents didn't want to pursue this option. the only way i knew was to keep him company, listen and comfort him when insecurity kicked in. perhaps my way of consoling him was not the kind he wanted. he needed that which would numb his senses, and forget who he was.

not to preempt the succeeding series, E. tried to redeem himself by entering college, albeit late. this he did to make him "worthy of me", to use his words. in this regard, i would say my efforts were not in vain, although at that time, the feelings i had for him was one of pity (as you commented), and no longer wrought with romantic love.

maybe you were right in saying i was a failure for not being able to help him completely, but what would you have done had you been in my place, with my own personal circumstances? would you gamble your future with a woman deep into drugs and alcohol?

hang around for the conclusion of these series, you might be able to get answers to the queries you posed.

AR