Absence in my presence
The last time my family was complete at my graduation was when I was in preschool.
It’s a harsh reality. When I graduated from high school, just when I had fulfilled my parents’ wish that I study hard and get recognition, they were not able to receive it along with me. Now that I’m finally graduating from college, it’s sad not to see their reactions, although I know they are both happy for me. It’s sad to know I cannot offer my diploma to them personally.
I wonder: From what angle should this situation be perceived? Is this for the better? I am an only child. When I finally find work, I won’t have mouths to feed or parents to take care of, just a future to invest in. I can enjoy my future salary in whatever way I wish. No one’s going to dictate to me how I should spend it.
But I miss obeying and getting advice from someone. I miss someone guiding my life full time. And that someone isn’t just anyone. I wish for no other than my parents—but that’s impossible now.
I have proven that humans are truly insatiable. I have friends who are guided, sometimes even dictated to, by their parents. They tell me I’m lucky. I tell them, “No, you’re luckier.” And the argument starts.
That argument only leads me to adjusting my perception. I should make do with what I have. I now exist to give a greater meaning to my parents’ deaths.
Before they died, I never cared. I was insensitive, selfish and hedonistic. My life had no direction and no meaning. I never knew that God would take a 7-year-old’s words seriously: “I don’t need other people to live.” I proved that those words were not true when I lost my parents. Now I know: I need other people.
My parents’ deaths also proved that, except God, no one else—not even those people they had entrusted me to, not even my own relatives—can be there for me 24/7, except them. That makes me wish that they were still here for me. That makes me miss them even more.
If they were still here, I might be influenced by their preferences. I can finally learn to play the guitar. I can finally love and understand math. I can share with them my love stories; they can laugh with me and advise me on what to do with my love problems.
In their absence, I shall find my presence. Yet it’s sad. God might have taken them away from me so I can search for life’s meaning on my own. But if they were still here, maybe I will finally understand their love and make them feel that they are also loved.
But quit those sad thoughts. I still have a diploma to receive and two souls to please on April 21.
Ma. Anna Katrina C. Manapat, 22, is a journalism student at Lyceum of the Philippines University-Manila.
