Pillars of strength

I look up to two people as my heroes. One is my brother-in-law Anthony (Pangilinan, my wife Angeli’s brother), the other, my eldest brother Robby, now based in Los Angeles.

Let’s start with Anthony. Ever since we were classmates in Grade 7 at La Salle, he already had his priorities straight. He was already a leader back then and also the class president.

Anthony would carry his leadership with him in college, when he was elected president of AIESEC International (a broadly-based student organization with affiliates abroad). Imagine talking with people from all nationalities!

I was especially touched at how he boosted my morale when Angeli got pregnant with my eldest son, Paolo. That thrust me right smack in the center of controversy. I was at the height of my career, and the public confession about impending fatherhood meant putting my popularity on the line.

Anthony made things a lot easier for me. He told me pointblank I was as good as part of the family. He even went on to tell me about a future he envisioned for me.

"I can see you in a nice house with a patio, your wife and kids with you," Anthony told me. That statement became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I never thought about it when we were building our house (in Antipolo). But true enough, we do have a patio where Angeli, the kids and I hang around.

That friendship has even become stronger through the years. Today, Anthony and I don’t hesitate texting each other, even at the ungodly hour of 2 a.m., whenever something is bothering us. We text each other, "Bro (brother), I have a problem," and we’re sure one will run to the other’s rescue, if needed.

* * *

My other hero is my full-blooded brother, Robby, the eldest in the family and 10 years my senior. I admire his ability to defend his family and stand up for them.

I can’t forget the time when we were at Fiesta Carnival (Araneta Center, Cubao). His pretty wife–they have since separated–was then pregnant. A group of young boys were teasing her and this made my brother furious. When they ran away, my brother–a track and field champion–gave them the surprise of their lives by easily catching up with them.

Then, burning with indignation, he told them off! My jaw dropped! When the authorities questioned him about it, my brother shot back, "I’m just defending my pregnant wife, see!" Was I mighty proud of my brother!

In excelling, my kuya surprised even himself. Once, the coach pitted him against a sprinter in the 400-meter dash. My brother was a champion in the 200-meter dash, but he has never tried running 400 meters.

But the coach was convinced he could make it. So run he did. And guess what? My brother won against the more experienced athlete!

No wonder when he left for the US when I was 16 and in junior high school, I was devastated. I repeated something I did when my parents separated and we moved out of the Greenhills home we lived in for the first 10 years of my life.

I looked at all my brother’s things, trying to memorize how they looked, and sniffed his cologne real hard. I wanted to remember every single detail about my brother, the way I recalled every nook and cranny in that Greenhills home I shared with my parents when they were still together.

Oh how I ached inside when I took one last lingering look at every crack, every spot in that house that bore so many cherished memories!

I hugged my brother hard that morning before he left for the US. I knew I won’t see him in a long, long time. Good thing I joined Kundirana and found brothers in spirit who cushioned the pain losing my Kuya brought. –As told to Maridol Rañoa-Bismark