My favorite twins
I LOVE twins. I've always wanted to have one: it's like seeing yourself every time without having to look at the mirror.
I've been called twins with other people, especially my brothers. People in church, for example, still mistake me for Manong; they ask me for legal advice, which I know nothing about. Years ago, my high school classmate Angeli yelled in excitement after seeing my brother Sean, whom she thought was me. I'm called a twin with another non-relative, my forever blockmate Casti, because we sport similar haircuts (semi-kal), and we bear prominent traumatic alopecic scars in our occiputs, which is a grander way of referring to a poknat.
But my favorite set of twins must be the Catangui brothers, who are dear to me and with whom I've worked closely these past five years of med school.
I was reminded of Franco and Miguel when, one afternoon, two overwhelmingly adorable six-month olds consulted at the Ambulatory Clinic for diarrhea and vomiting. Their mother carried them both, one in each arm. It was like reading a pictorial representation of the mitotic cell division—they had the same dresses, diapers, and haircuts. Their father was still out in the street, buying their diapers, but he was on his way.
My blockmate Bernie took the history of both twins at the same time. Not only did they look alike, they also had similar stories. They had the same temperatures. They poo-ed and vomited at the same time. But one twin was irritable—crying, refusing to be held. The other one was basking in nonchalance—drinking her milk, looking rather sleepy. It occurred to me that they could be Franco and Miguel in another life.
Better than twins who look alike are twins who love and care for each other—like Franco and Miguel. Awww. Pass me the Kleenex.
With "Miguel" and "Franco." (Thanks, Rich, for snapping this. Photo posted with permission.)
I've been called twins with other people, especially my brothers. People in church, for example, still mistake me for Manong; they ask me for legal advice, which I know nothing about. Years ago, my high school classmate Angeli yelled in excitement after seeing my brother Sean, whom she thought was me. I'm called a twin with another non-relative, my forever blockmate Casti, because we sport similar haircuts (semi-kal), and we bear prominent traumatic alopecic scars in our occiputs, which is a grander way of referring to a poknat.
But my favorite set of twins must be the Catangui brothers, who are dear to me and with whom I've worked closely these past five years of med school.
I was reminded of Franco and Miguel when, one afternoon, two overwhelmingly adorable six-month olds consulted at the Ambulatory Clinic for diarrhea and vomiting. Their mother carried them both, one in each arm. It was like reading a pictorial representation of the mitotic cell division—they had the same dresses, diapers, and haircuts. Their father was still out in the street, buying their diapers, but he was on his way.
My blockmate Bernie took the history of both twins at the same time. Not only did they look alike, they also had similar stories. They had the same temperatures. They poo-ed and vomited at the same time. But one twin was irritable—crying, refusing to be held. The other one was basking in nonchalance—drinking her milk, looking rather sleepy. It occurred to me that they could be Franco and Miguel in another life.
Better than twins who look alike are twins who love and care for each other—like Franco and Miguel. Awww. Pass me the Kleenex.
With "Miguel" and "Franco." (Thanks, Rich, for snapping this. Photo posted with permission.)
posted on January 11, 2014
1 Comments:
Poknat is a scar? Haven't seen one and I don't recall yours, Lance. Hope I'll remember to inspect your head next time I see you. What about the JOC/Gungor concert on April 13? :-)
aSha
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