- Family and Parenting»
I was Adopted
I was raised in an urban area in a busy street in Manila, Philippines. My childhood was definetely a good one, a good education, nice friends, a good housing and the best sense of the country culture. I was the youngest in our family of 9 and was always the priority in an any given situation. My parents gave most of their attention to me than the rest of my brothers and sisters, being the youngest, I was the “pet” of everyone. Contented with what I had, I managed to continue experiencing a not so luxurious living but above average with the common.. Our family is somewhat intact until each one of us has to one or another live our own, settling down and raising a family of our own.
Dramatic changes occurred when both of my parents died unexpectedly by accidents. They were the biggest loss I ever had. The family gatherings were not complete without the old folks around. Some of my brothers and their family began to make alibis why they can’t attend (not unlike if our parents are still alive, it’s a must!) and eventually fed up with the idea. We started to see each others less frequent and ocassionally.
THE GRAND REUNIONWe decided to have a Grand Family Reunion marking the 5th year death anniversary of our parents. All the family members were there, both from our mother’s and father’s sides. The occasion ran smoothly until an aunt from my mother’s side asked how much and what we inherited from our parents. So one by one stood up and talked about it, and me being the youngest had the biggest share. She commented how come I got the largest share, since I’m not an original. And she was pulled from her arms by her husband out of the scene. I was so surprised hearing such phrases. And the scene keeps on bugging me so I decided to talk to her personally what she knows about me.
Weeks after the incident, went to her delapidated smelly apartment, (that used to be our property until mother gave it to them) and tried to seek answers to my question: What did she mean that evening? Before stating the conversation, she requested me if I can buy something to drink, a booze or whiskey in a nearby grocery store, which I did, just to get some answers. Taking some shots from the bottle, she told me how my mother loved me so much and would do anything for me. And I was so lucky to have her, couldn’t agree with her more. She looked at me from head to toe then straight into my eyes after dinking half way the bottle and told me: “My God! You really look like your Dad”. No, I don’t. I look like more of mom! “I mean your real Dad!” I started to get confusions and my voice was trembling in tones as I realize what this is all about. I sat down for a while, took some deep breaths looking at her enjoying her drink.
THE TRUTHShe was bomb with few less sips from the bottle when her husband came and took her in the bedroom. He apologized to me and told me that everything I heard that night was nothing but caused by the alcohol she had that night. From the room I can hear her shouting “ Tell him who he really is… tell him!” Such words are enough for me to conclude a shattering truth! He gasped, and pause for a minute and I felt my body shaking in tension. I grabbed the bottle and finished it off and asked the question…
Yes, I was adopted. My biological father happens to be my Uncle too… my father’s brother. He passed away several years before they died. I missed his funeral. What was I doing those times? Nearly 18, enjoying my youth with some good friends’ company! If I only knew he was my father, then I should pay some respect by showing in his funeral, but I didn’t. The fact could be more useful that time. At least I could have thanked him for bringing me into life, even in a closed casket. I could cry a tear or two having missed the chances of being with him in his last days. Maybe share some boy stuffs or talk about girls. I just don’t get it. Why hide all these? How about Mom, was she really my mom?
To be continued….