Characters In My Life

People are people and people matter to me. Such is my uncle. It is so sad though to learn that the thoughts we have for one person often comes after his demise. As we learn the zigzag road of living, we come to a point where different personalities affect our individuality, our extant struggle in this world.

Scared of ghosts? The first person that comes to my head is my uncle John. He was such a recreant knowing he was muscular and a big adult then. He certainly left an impression which I don't think would deduct the measure of my respect for him. On some instances, he didn’t have the nerve to make his way home after a few rounds of drinks with my dad and his friends. His house wasn’t that far but when the night catches up on him, he trembles worrying about how to make his way home. My older brother and I always had to be his body guards, and when he was in drunken stupor, we were his human canes. How shitty scared he was then.

He was a person I always looked up to in my younger days. He was a jeepney driver and a bachelor until he was 44.

Numerous early mornings in the past, he would send my family pandesal-Filipino traditional bread, enough to suffice up the measly breakfast my parents could afford us. On Christmas occasions, he would be our Santa Claus, giving away money to every kids in the compound.

His home was also my home, my resting place in my innocence, my comfort in my naïve world. He died and I was gloomy.