A serious essay by Julius Esquivias
The Flight Home
As the song goes, "All my
bags are packed, I’m ready to go". And in a few hours, I actually would.
It will be back to the old grind of incessant studying. One, which I’ve tried
so hard to put off, knowing very well that it would be something I’d be stuck
with for the next four-plus months.
So I’m trying to convince myself that this is just another
flight back home; working under the presumption that this would be much like
all the others I have made from vacation spots the world over. But no matter
how often I try to tell myself that I am making a trip similar to the countless
ones before, deep down, I know I’m just deceiving myself. This flight home
represents who and what I am at this juncture of my life. It’s a tumultuous
journey, but one I am at least in control of.
Or so I wish to believe.
I’ve been staying in California for more than three weeks now. I made the trip here thinking that I’d be
helping a person acclimatize himself with the working environment of America,
while at the same time recharging myself for the inevitable toil of going
through numerous law books and codals for my bar review. But these past few
weeks have allowed me to get a glimpse at a more meaningful aspect of my
relationship with someone I’ve known for more than 23 years. Prior to this, I
thought I completely knew who my brother was. But I didn’t. The routine of our
past interactions was the same. It was the subtle nuances behind them that were
not. And as each day went by, I got to know more of who he was. At the same
time, I learned something valuable along the way.
Two weeks ago, our dad left us here in Petaluma, Ca. and went back to the Philippines.
It was immediately apparent that this was the first time that my brother and I
would be alone with each other for an extended period of time. I drove him
crazy with my penchant for leaving my things recklessly about. On the other
hand, he drove me nuts with his backseat (actually, passenger) driving and his
proclivity for having things done his way (both gotten from our Y chromosome).
But for all our quirks and our different dispositions, we got along well
enough.
On the outside,
it looked like a relatively good setup for both of us. He would be working from
9 to 6 at his office, while I will be studying in advance for my review. It
sounded like a good plan. But as Murphy’s Law dictates, if something could go
wrong, it would.
One week prior
to my scheduled departure and a mere hundred pages into my book, I lost my
drive to study. I thought to myself that I will have so many hours to study
back home, but only so many to spend with my brother. Unbeknownst to me then,
he was saying the same thing. We started hanging out with newly-found friends.
We drove aimlessly around town. We watched movies, grabbed dinner and checked
out the hottest nightspots together. But best of all, we talked.
We talked
about our growing up years. He recalled how at 8 yrs old, he was so angry (like
only a frustrated kid could think he is) one time that he started packing his
bags to move out of our house. He thought about where he was going to go. He
remembered thinking that he would first have something to eat so he wouldn’t
get hungry along the road. He put back his things in his closet and proceeded
to forget about his plan altogether. It was also around that time that my dad
casually mentioned to my mom (within my earshot, would you believe?) how he
wouldn’t accept back in his house, a family member who had the temerity “na
maglayas”. Of course, he chose the wrong kid to tease. It wasn’t that I was
always the obedient boy. It was more because I scare easily.
We talked
about his career and how my law school life is coming to an end. He brought up
his stories of how he studied for his CPA board exams. I shared my experiences
with my clients at our school office. He complained about how burdened he was
with being saddled by incalculable paperwork. I countered by mentioning how
harassed I am with the load I have to go through for my exams. We drank our
complaints throughout the night. We laughed at things we knew we could do
nothing about; basically crying over the proverbial spilled milk.
And we talked about
our prospective businesses. We talked of how we were going to partner up after
getting our respective degrees, then leaving the corporate scene behind. We
would be building an empire. A conglomeration of companies only we could
envision. A dream that started from inspiration, would lead to execution and
hopefully to fruition.
My bro and I
have come a long way in terms of our educational attainment. We have made our
parents proud with these minimum of achievements. We have lived our lives with
the type of character they have espoused in us. And most importantly, we have
always gotten each other’s back.
In a few
hours, my brother will be taking me to the airport to see me off. It is with
melancholy feeling that I write these lines of prose. He will be staying behind
to finish the work he has started on already. I will be going home to start on
the task that is already awaiting me. He is the optimist. I am the realist. We
are two different grownup men, leading two very different lives, coming from
the very same gene-pool.
Luis and I
will be separated by thousands of miles once more. But it will be of no
consequence to both of us. The sad parting will be there, yes. But underneath
the pining for the perpetual camaraderie that we share back home is the understanding
that this experience is a necessary evil we would simply have to overcome. Soon
enough we will both look back to this trip as the glue that solidified our bond
both as brothers and as friends.
All because of my last flight home.
