Today is Feb. 19, and it's my big brother's anniversary.
I only told this to a few of my close friends. I'm supposed to have an elder brother. However, he succumbed to fetal death. That was 29 years ago. His remains were placed in this small container, and it was buried at the grotto of our garden.
Up to this day, I still wonder about how my life could have been with an older brother. It was tough growing up as an only son, with four sisters (3 elder & 1 younger). Maybe it could have been easier growing up with a kuya. We could have probably became the best of friends. We could have shared some stuff like toys and shirts and gadgets. We could have shared the same interests, like music and cars and basketball perhaps. We could have jammed together; he could probably be a guitar or bass player, and he'll play along to my drumming. We could have even made a good tag team when it comes to kalokohan. Or maybe we could have even fought one another during rough times. He could have been someone whom I can talk to about girls, and guy stuff. He could have even probably be a role model; a kuya that I can look up to in times of trouble. So many what could have been thoughts about it.
I always believe that things happen for a reason. There's a reason why God chose to call home my kuya before he was even born. I'm still wondering about it, and I would do so for as long as I live. I believe he's just there somewhere, watching over me and my family.
God bless kuya.