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Silence


I didn't know at the time the people he was with as he went underground against the dictator, as he spoke in street rallies and lived with the masa, as he sang "Kanlungan," "Ugat," "Karapatang Pantao" and "Tatsulok." If I had known the business of those suspicious looking men who came to our house in the dead of night forever whispering, I would have been ashamed of my professors, my classmates, and my school. .
             During my 18th birthday, he bought a 29-inch color TV and a VCD player. Of course it was for the family, but I knew it was first and foremost a gift for me. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, his face radiated pride and love as he rested medal after medal on my head every year. Despite his weak heart and physique, we scoured Makati to disseminate my résumé. And when I landed my first job, he was the first to smile. I can still remember when he placed his big, big palm on my back and stroked my agony away as I cried tears once in church. I cried more tears. I didn't quite figure out what were in those hands that made me feel everything will be okay. Or, what was in that big warm smile that, as my brother puts it, makes you believe there's peace on earth.
             I texted him one ordinary birthday greeting last year, and he told me that his officemates stared at him perplexed. They didn't know how an SMS could make him cry. I can imagine the irony of that scene: the big burly man of society crying while reading and re-reading the corniest message. They will ask him why -- and he will not tell. The memory is between him and me: my favorite guy, and his favorite girl.
             I unfortunately shouted strong words at him one time. For a while there I thought I was the one with high blood. That was the first time, and the last, I ever mustered strength to talk back -- and I'm not proud of it. I saw fear in his eyes that for some time nourished my pride, but made my love suffer. We became distant.


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