I just told my mom that I wont be able to finish college on time. I am having trouble with my thesis. My focus is on the masses and this calls for time. My methodology will take much time to be carried out. Couple it with the fact that my adviser is quite the lazy one. In addition, I am getting lazy these days…

            When I told her that I wont be able to finish on time, there was this huge disappointment and dismay that immediately cloaked her. I hastily assured her that all I need was just another month or so to finish my thesis. I am certainly not going to eat up a whole freaking semester!

            I know just how much she wants me to finish already and be on my way. Don’t get me wrong, she just wants to see me finish and be stable. It will certainly take a load off her chest.. what with my little bro’s trouble and the family issues.

            But you know what, I really don’t want to graduate yet. I want to stay in school more. I still want to study. There are a lot of subjects that I want to take up. My father is willing to give me more time at my studies and is willing to finance me. But at the same time I want to be independent of my father already. I want to be able to give my mom financial independence, get her to buy the things she wants and give my bro all the stuff that he needs.. Ah! The war of the wants and needs. To be selfless or to be not selfless.

            I have resolved that at this point, my mom needs me to finish and be independent so I’ll give it to her. I owe her that much. I can still take up those subjects later. After all, they’re not going anywhere and I can go back to UP anytime.

            But I cant help asking why I need to bow down to my mom’s unspoken command that I get a job first? Yes, I owe it to her but at the same time I feel so obligated. If truth be told, I don’t want to obey her. Filipino familial values are really strong, eh? Being the eldest, I have to not only be a model for my little bro but I also have to take over the family livelihood. Not that my father is leaving it all to me but there’s the unspoken command for me to help. Yes, even without the command I will help but what about my dream? Do I have to sacrifice it for my family?

            Here comes in the issue of the sacrifice of an individual for the family. My mom wanted to be a teacher. She loves kids. She also wanted to be a poultry business owner. But family cut this short and that my father didn’t her to work. To cut the story short, she bowed to her husband. Is this an act of wifely submissiveness worthy of praise or the imposition of ingrained cultural values unworthy of a great woman such as my mother? Her dreams wouldn’t have harmed our family in any way but instead have helped it…

            The question here is where is the line that separates family life and duty from the individual private life and dreams? Parents whom I used to think to have to devote their entire selves to their children are also private individuals. They have their own dreams and wants which may not be served or fulfilled by their family lives. They may want to take off in another direction but their familial obligation fetters them.

            There should be a line and distinction between the family and the private individual. A family is one unit, yes. But it is made up separate private individuals. The family’s aim may not be the private individual’s aims. A family’s purpose is to foster the private individuals within it and the private individuals have the duty of supporting and encouraging one another. Their bonds shouldn’t fetter them but instead serve as a booster for them to reach for their dreams and success.

            I had another dream. In it, I killed my brother.

            There was this Chinese family.

            There was Grandfather with his left hand paralyzed. There was me, his granddaughter, of course. And there were the other family members whom I don’t know but I know they were family.

            We lived in a house with a garage big enough to be a house. It opens to a desert. Inside the garage was a beat up Bentley. If you don’t know what a Bentley is, just imagine a large vehicle—large meaning more on the muscle side.

            This Chinese family—my family, wore olden Chinese ceremonial dresses. I was wearing one. The family fighting weapon was the paintbrush. These paintbrushes had very sharp ends. Very lethal.

            Now, in movies, every Chinese family had enemies. Mine wasn’t exempt. It even chose to attack the day I dreamt this dream.

            So there I was, behind the Bentley, hiding. I had in my hands my lethal paintbrushes. I had in each one two thin brushes and three thick ones. So I had ten all in all. I knew how to throw those brushes. I knew how to hold them. I knew how to use them—to kill with them.

            There were a lot of noises now. Firecrackers, shouting, fighting noises. Then an enemy breached our home. He came in from the open garage. He had a can of firecrackers with him and was lighting it up. He placed the can in front of the Bentley.

            I was still behind the Bentley with Grandfather. Then, there was a girl. She was a princess.  Then, the can of firecrackers went off. I immediately enveloped the princess in the voluminous folds of my ceremonial dress. When the firecrackers stopped, I knew the princess was safe because she was no longer beside me. Then, the next thing I knew Grandfather was fighting literally hand-to-hand because his left hand was paralyzed. I went to his side. I killed the one at his left side by burying the lethal tip of one of my thin brushes at the hollow of his throat.

            Grandfather was holding another one at bay. He was having difficulty, I could tell. He was old. But he managed to immobilize him using a pressure point just under the ear. The one he immobilized was my brother—Benito. For a moment, I looked down on Grandfather’s left hand to see if he could do the killing but it was paralyzed as I knew. So I took another paintbrush and slowly imbedded it at my brother’s throat. All the while feeling nothing. I looked into his eyes. There was no horror. Just a sadness. Then I heard it clearly, he said. “If we had meant under different circumstances, we would have loved each other.” He wasn’t angry at me for killing him.

            The moment, I fully imbedded the paintbrush in his throat, I wanted to take it back. To undo what I have done. But I knew that by taking it out would just cause him more pain.

The war raged on around us. But I couldn’t take the pain of killing my own brother. Deliberately killing him knowing that he was my brother. I couldn’t take the pain. It hurt so much that I woke up sobbing.