~ from OCTOBER 2004 ~
The world beyond the Philippines was a frightening place for my Uncle. It made him by turns bitter, angry, shy, embarrassed, boastful and despondent. There was pride and arrogance there too. In making his way to find a better life for his family, his children, he did not get the life he wanted for himself. He was fond of money, though he never had much, and saved even less. He often claimed that with money one could buy happiness and all the worries would disappear.
At the end, his life was mostly lived in regret. Cancer and emphysema removed the last vestiges of stubbornness from him, taking away whatever it was that made him my Uncle. It is hard to recognize the small, frail old man in the last family video he appears in.
It is strange to see him that way; in his apartment the day of his funeral, the video played on a fuzzy television set as we all watched in a mixture of laughter and tears. His eyes are distant, his breathing labored. He moves slowly, unsure of himself. The fiery drive, the temper that could be so cutting and so comical all at once, the caustic banter – they were gone. Everything had drained from him – blood, fluid, life.
The man on the green was a shell, a sad shell of regret and ache. He looks old and childish at the same time. Once or twice the fire returns, and I see my Uncle as I knew him, in a sly smile, in the crinkling of his eyes. And then he is gone.
Now he is gone.
He died in a country that was always foreign to him, though he was as American as most people will ever get. He always wanted to go back to the Philippines, back to his home. He used to say, “You can never understand the feeling” when trying to explain why he liked the Philippines better than anywhere else, emphasizing ‘feeling’ for his own inexplicable reasons.
In the minutes before we left for the funeral, my Aunt came up to me: “You know your Uncle loved you…” and I nod, folding her in my arms.
But I don’t know.
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