The Home Series #2

My parents are complete opposites when it comes to cleaning up after themselves.

My dad is the most organized person I know. Everything is arranged systematically--from schedules of bill payments to the way the contact list on his cellphone is arranged. He makes a schedule, and unlike most of us in the real world, he is able to stick to it. When he tells the family that he wants to leave the house at 5:00PM--you better be ready at 5:00PM.

My mom, on the other hand, is... not like my dad at all.

My mom is a woman of many, many great talents and abilities--but being conscious of the time is not one of them. Rarely does it happen that my mom is ready and dressed before my already-outside-dad is honking the car horn, getting more and more impatient by the second. At this point, my mom probably wouldn't have an outfit or bag ready, and would still have rollers in her hair.

Of course, with mom always rushing to get dressed, there's no way that she can clean up after herself before leaving the house. There will always be a light still on or a drawer still open after she closes the bathroom door.

After going out one night, my dad went ahead to their room while my mom was still in the kitchen. My dad found the bathroom in disarray. This time though, he wanted to teach my mom a lesson.

My dad proceeded to turn on all the lights, open even more drawers and cabinets, scatter toiletries all over the dresser, throw clothes and shoe bags on the floor, and even turn the chair over. He winked at me, then went to bed.

When my mom finally got to the bathroom, she exclaimed, " Oh my God! Dad, what happened!?!"

My dad casually woke up and replied, " I don't know! You left it like that when we left!"

To which, my mother retorted, " Of course not!!! These are your shoes!!! "

The Start of Something New.

... unfortunately, this isn’t the case for us left behind.

My brother and his wife left the country this morning, ready to start a new life. As dramatic as it sounds, for the rest of the Icasas family, it feels more like an ending rather than a beginning.

When the two of them got married in January, we already knew that this trip was already part of their plans. Once they had their marriage certificate in hand, the papers for my brother’s citizenship began to be submitted for processing. All that was left to do was wait.

As the months went by, it didn’t really dawn on me that they were leaving. Since the first week of May, I've had the pleasure of being at home with them almost 24/7, as my brother had already resigned from work in order to focus on preparing for their big move.

Pretty much every day, my brother, his wife and I would get our laptops, gather in one room and do our own thing—but together—so that we could turn on the aircon. My Dad would sometimes join us in the same room on his laptop, and my parents liked to joke that we were all officemates, with my Dad as our employer. At lunch, the five of us (with occasional visits from the siblings and the babies) would eat, and make fun of one another. I was around (a little of the) family all day long, every single day. I loved it.

Eventually, my brother's visa got approved, and tickets were booked. The couple began to slowly pack their belongings in six suitcases. Two weeks ago, the family planned one last out-of-town trip together.

Since their plans to leave was finalized, everyone has been telling me that it will be okay, that we can always visit them, and that technology will make things so much easier. I know that it's all true. I know that it's a really great move for them, and that they're off to begin a new and exciting chapter in their lives. I'm happy for them. Really. But nothing could ever beat having them around.

Last night, we had one last family dinner together at the house—all ten billion of us. It was a usual night of Icasas banter and making performers out of the babies. But when it was time for the other siblings to go home, the goodbye hugs were lengthier. Then it hit me. They were really leaving. I had a difficult time falling asleep, because I knew that when I would wake up, it would be time to bring them to the airport.

This morning, the family was bustling with activity. After loading the bags into the car and eating a quick breakfast, the family gathered around to pray over the travelers. Of course, us sisters cried. Afterwards, the four cars full of people and luggage convoyed to the airport. It was my family’s first time to experience saying goodbye to a migrating family member, and we all wanted to be there.

As soon as everyone got down from the car, the hugging began. Us sisters hugged them and cried, then hugged them again and cried again. As we all went our separate ways, the remaining Icasas siblings sent text messages to one another with nothing but emoticons of sad faces.

What I wasn’t prepared for was the overwhelming surge of emotion that hit me. I knew that I was bound to shed tears (the Icasas sisters aren’t known for their ability to hold back tears), but I wasn't expecting the heartache—the amount of sadness that came along with it.

My parents and I came home, and I seemed to be the only one miserable. My parents seemed nothing but strong these past few days, repeatedly saying that they were really happy for the couple, and that God really wanted this to happen in his grand scheme of things. For the past few weeks, my mom has been trying to figure out what to do with the sudden spare room in the house.

But when my mom went in my brother's, she went out with tears in her eyes. She sat down, put her hands in front of her face, and wept. My heart broke, and I wept again.

I was so emotionally drained today that I took a really long nap, and woke up pretty much in time for dinner. I didn’t realize that my parents had a meeting tonight, and that I would be eating alone at home. Once again, a wave of sadness hit me. My “officemates” don’t live here anymore.

I’ve cried about a billion times since I woke up, and I don’t know when I’m going to be able to stop crying. They've been living here for the past few months, and now, the house is quiet and in a way, the house is empty. Their room is empty. I feel empty.

I can no longer knock on my brother's door to have him kill a cockroach in my bathroom. I can no longer convince him to have food delivered because there's nothing meaty for dinner. I can no longer make fun of his hole-y, beaten up t-shirts. I can longer give them real, live hugs--which makes me sad, because I should've done this much, much more when they were living with us :( I've gotten so incredibly attached to them over the past few months, and I don't know what I'm going to do now that they aren't here :(

A letter to the makers of Marty's Cracklin'

Dear Marty’s Cracklin’ makers (aka Oishi),

As I sit here on this fine Friday night eating my midnight snack of your salt & vinegar flavored vegetarian chicharon and a can of SMB premium malt beer—I can’t help but ask questions.

How can something so salty—so vinegary—so delicious—be made of vegetables?

In the listed ingredients at the back of the package, only dehydrated green peas, vegetable oil, and garlic powder sound like anything remotely healthy. Are those three ingredients already the factors that make this chicharon “vegetarian”?

Just how many green peas do you need to make a recipe? How come our green peas at home don’t taste like your chicharon?

Are green peas your main ingredient? Because if so, a friend of mine would like to ask—if green peas are the main ingredient, how come the chicharon isn't green?

There’s another thing! How can it have 0 grams trans fat, and 0% cholesterol? How can something so sinful be… not so sinful? It’s impossible.

I hope you don't think I'm a philosopher (pilosopo in Filipino), I just really wanted to let all my questions out.

I don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re doing it right.

Sincerely,

KVI.

The Little Things.

My mom turned 61 years old today (and no, she doesn't look it at ALL), and we had a really yummy family dinner at Aquaknox in Makati. I don't know if it's the extremely unhealthy amount of seafood + Vietnamese coffee I consumed tonight, but I'm feeling hyper... and I really, really just wanted to blog about some random things.

* Yesterday, an almost two-year old Anda was eating a banana while running around the house. She suddenly stopped running and said, "Uh-oh. No more banana."

* I had lunch with PJ (my brother) and Kenelm at the ATC food court today. Afterwards, PJ and I went around the mall because we had to do some errands. It was nice being with him for the afternoon. I'm savoring it--because I know that he'll be leaving for Canada really soon with his wifey. Okay, okay, I will not get sad yet, I will not get sad yet...

* The funniest thing happened today. The waiters at Aquaknox brought out a cake from the kitchen and started singing "Happy Birthday" to my mom... only to realize that my mom had left the table because she went to the restroom. The family was laughing hysterically while motioning to the waiters to go back to the kitchen and do it again when she came back. Note to Aquaknox waiters: Look before you sing.

* I'm amazed at how long the family dinner table has gotten. We used to be a family of seven. Now, we eat out and we reserve a table for 12 (JV included, of course!)--a table of 14 if you count the two babies. The usual scenario now is that one side of the table laughs loudly, the other side gets curious, and you have to repeat the joke.

I love it.

*end of random post*

Rain.

I want to shower right now, but I'm honestly scared that the lightning will make its way into the water heater and scald me to death.