bliss

Our little boy turns 2 this 21st. It’s been 2 years since dad asked us if it’s okay to adopt a baby and look how time flies, he’s 2 years old, though a little speech delayed, the rest of his milestones are slightly fine, I still believe the rest of his milestones are still going to catch up to his age. But actually, I’m ok if he’d be stuck in that cute form, those small cute little limbs and his tiny movement as if he’s like a battery operated toy that says “mama” on cue, growls when we say “lion”, poops randomly and farts and smiles as if he’s so proud of it. Cute.

In mornings at home, he’d wake me up by shouting at me or pressing my nipples, and god, his smile? Getting to see that smile, first thing in the morning will let you forget you have upcoming exams the days after. He would giggle at me and pat me, and when he knows he got my attention, he runs away, knowing that I will chase him, and I will carry him and put him on my tummy and he’d try to balance himself, and of course he’ll fall, and I’m going to catch him. Sometimes, he plays with my iPad, watches the animated apps, play donut ninja, fruit ninja, and talking carl. And then he’d throw my iPad away. He would run around the house, laugh, hum a tune, get my phone and pretend he’s calling mom.

What he doesn’t know by that time is that he is helping me get through one of the worst emotional whirlwinds of my life. Each time he’d look at me, he brings me some of my sanity back. Sometimes, I talk to him, saying how I wanted to trade places with him for a while and feel the bliss of innocence, on having nothing to think about, and having Cerelac for breakfast every day. There are times that I would just hug him until his eyes pop out and his rib cage almost break, because for some reason. It makes me feel… Home. And secure. And in the rare times that he hugs back, it makes me feel… Loved. During these times, it was all that I need: a confirmation of being loved back. There was one time when our little boy fell asleep on my shoulder, and all I was hearing was his tiny little breaths, his limbs clasped on my clavicle, and I, at that time, was a total mess – an emotional wreck and unstable and hostile and just had a very, very bad birthday. Sylar was silently sleeping on my shoulder, while I was silently weeping deep inside, carrying him. His warmth. His innocence. His silence. His peaceful sleep. My rants. My contemplations. My questions. I really felt like God was trying to tell me something that moment: that maybe all I have to is to just close my eyes and let God fix my trials according to his will. That I don’t have to fight against his so-called ‘magnificent’ plan. That maybe this is for the best. That I just have to put my head on God’s shoulder and let him mute the world and let me breathe. Let me sleep. Let me escape. And when I open my eyes, I’ll be hoping for the best that hopefully God has made my world a better place while I sleep. If not, I’ll wake again on the next day, and on the next, and the next – I just have to keep my Faith in him that everything’s going to be alright, because it will… I was humming a familiar lullaby, as my eyes were slowly lacrimating and dropping to his tiny little arms, and in the next days when the little baby and I hug each other, I felt I was healing.

  Sylar’s actually the reason why whenever I get the chance, I go home to QC instead of sleeping in the dorm. He’d clear away the dark clouds above my head by merely clapping. He’d increase my endorphine levels by playing with me. And he peacefully walks me to my sleep as the last vision of my eyes that day is him, sleeping. I always hated kids. Specially tiyanaks (pero di sya mukhang tiyanak). But this kid, he saved me. And he still does, every time I needed saving. He saves me, without him even knowing.

  So if one day, you’d be reading this, my brother, Sylar. Thank You. I Love You. Happy Birthday!

Love,

Your Rockstar Kuya

who hopes he’d be sending you to a good school by the time you’ll be reading this,