On Siblings and Being Raised To Love Each Other

Today, October 19th, marks Guijo's second month since he was born. It's a day of joyful hope. Yesterday, October 18th, we laid to rest Guijo's grand aunt, Tita Boots, sending her off on her journey into the after life, with a shower of flowers on her grave. It was a day of mourning. Between yesterday and today, I find myself thinking of the future, I look at my children and I have a speech forming in my head. I want to tell them: "One day, papa and I won't be around and you two will be the only family you've got.  Grow up leaning on each other, inspiring each other, and always loving each other well". 

The moment I found out I was pregnant with our second child, I had new hopes for Narra. I wanted her to be as good an ate to her brother, as my own sister Marion is to me.  Whenever my sis and I would fight when we were growing up, she'd always say how she was conditioned to give way to me, to protect me, and take care of me, from the moment I was born.  I was born prematurely at 7 months, and had to stay inside an incubator for 54 days. This image of me, so fragile and small, must have been imprinted in my sister's mind. I feel her protective instincts kick in when anyone tries to hurt me in any way. I remember her getting angry at people who crossed me, in grade school, in high school, all the way to graduate school, and even recently, when I had an issue at work, oh she was fuming mad at my colleagues, she was even more affected than I was. My sister is also very generous - whenever she'd go shopping for herself, she'd also buy for me. Shoes, clothes, bags, make-up, Ipod, plane ticket, theater tickets, Pilates class pass...name it, if she got herself one, in all likelihood, she got me one too (oh yes, I am very lucky).

I think this has to do with how my mom raised us: everything is shared. No one eats a chocolate bar or drinks a can of coke by herself.  Everything is partitioned so that each family member gets an equal share. When my sis was 5 years old, and I was 2, she received a small red box of Sun Maid Raisins. She wanted to eat it so badly, but I was sleeping so she couldn't share it with me. She kept taking a peek at me to see if I'd wake up. Growing impatient, she opened the box of raisins, sat next to me, and popped one into my partially opened mouth - I chewed on the raisin even while sleeping! So my sis happily got to eat her raisins while sharing it with me. This is how deeply internalized our family rule on sharing is, that even when no one is looking, and even if the intended recipient would neither feel the benefit of getting her share nor the deprivation in not getting it, my sister still felt compelled to honor the spirit of the rule.  

Another principle my family lived by was that of "maximum togetherness" (a coin phrased by my dad).  For instance, if we are at home, we wouldn't be locked up in our own rooms. Everyone would converge in one room and stay together. My sis and I each had our own rooms, but we would pull our mattress to another room, whether the master bedroom, or one of our rooms, so that we could sleep together. We must all eat together, all the time. Even a snack at an odd hour would attract other family members. When my sis became addicted with red-eye budget plane tickets, and bought them in abundance, one after the other, it meant many days of being brought to and from the airport at unholy hours. It also meant converging around the dining table for a pre-flight, or post-arrival snack. Even when there's a driver, or when taking a cab would be far more convenient, my dad and mom still bring my sister to and from the airport every time (this means every week), and if I'm around, I join in too.  On a normal day, we converge for meals at breakfast, morning merienda, lunch, afternoon merienda, and dinner. Growing up, we also used to pray a lot, noon Angelus, evening Angelus, then after dinner, we all kneel in front of the altar for our daily rosary.  Narra and Guijo are part of this "maximum togetherness" whenever Oliver is away on a business trip and we get to sleep in my parents' house. My old bedroom becomes the locus of activity when my kids are around. Everyone hangs out in the room - dad,  mom, and sis - they all come to my room to watch tv, to sleep, to pray!  Narra has been designated as the rosary distributor and collector before and after prayer, and she loves it.  And she is all too happy to sleep between her grandparents and Ninang Marion, allowing me to concentrate on caring for Guijo through the night. Packed like a can of sardines, we sleep side by side in one room, even if we live in a spacious home. Pinoy style upbringing, I say! Life is short, time is precious, "maximum togetherness" allows us to seize the opportunity to express our love for each other while we have the chance.

I want Narra and Guijo to grow up close. To think in terms of "we", instead of "me". I want to free my kids from the debilitating interpretive framework of sibling rivalry. My sis and I never felt the need to compete for our parent's attention, never. We were treated as a common unit, the sisters who got everything equally, and shared everything they received. I am in awe at my mother for how she did it, how she emphasized the importance of sharing - impressing it upon my dad, my sister and me. My dad supported my mom's efforts, but I think my mom is the source of this family ethos and my dad picked it up from her. My mom came from a family of 12 children, and everything was shared among them. My mom's relationship with her siblings is characterized by a lot of sharing and giving - no fighting or squabbles, no shouting at each other, just a lot of caring. According to legend, even a piece of hopia was sliced in 12 parts so everyone gets a taste.

I wanted Narra to learn to share with her brother even before he was born. We organized her bedroom and turned it into a nursery/playroom. I took out her old crib, and bouncer, her infant carrier, and blankets, her towels, bathing bed and tub, her old toys and books, we prepared them for Guijo and she repeatedly mentioned how she would share them with him. I already conditioned Narra to think in terms of "us four", instead of just "us three".  Her bathing companions became 4 rubber duckies: Papa Ducky, Mama Ducky, Ate Ducky, and baby ducky. Even her food was given to her in sets of 4. I would look for grapes of decreasing sizes - Papa grape, Mama grape, Ate grape and baby grape...and slice apples and oranges, and cheese and bread, all in the same manner.  It helped Narra internalize the new family configuration, and it also improved her appetite - she was more receptive to food if they came in the guise of a family of four.  She is now called "Ate" by everyone, all the time. It is her new identity and so far she owns up to it proudly. "Ate na ako" (I am an Ate now), she would say. It is an identity that hinges on the existence of Guijo. She cannot be an ate without him as her little brother. Today, Oct. 19, we celebrate not only Guijo's second month of existence, but also Narra's coming of age (at the tender age of 2!), of her becoming Ate Narra.

On the last night of the wake for his mother, my cousin Thunder muttered, "di ko alam ang gagawin, mag-isa lang ako" (I don't know what to do, I'm all alone). Of course he was surrounded by loved ones, his wife and kids, aunts and cousins...but I know his meaning.  He already lost his father, and now his mother...and he did not have a sibling. There is no one left of the nuclear family he was born into.

So I look at Narra and Guijo. They are hanging out, and seem to be getting accustomed to each other's presence. Guijo's eyes are just learning to focus, and he stares a lot at Narra - I think he is beginning to recognize her features, he is learning that she is his sister, I saw him reach for her to touch her face - and this got me so excited. I want to say to him: "One day Guijo, when you find yourself troubled, reach out to your sister for help, she's your Ate, she's got your back." And Narra too, often reaches for Guijo, grabbing his hand. "Hold onto your brother", I want to tell her... "he will be there to hold your hand when I am no longer around."