I wish I were home

My younger brother Sean told me he’d get me new shoes as a present. “Just let me know when you’ve picked something. I’ll send you the money,” he said, laughing, over the rare telephone conversations we have—given his schedule.

Since working as a municipal dentist in a nearby town, Sean has taken on more serious roles in the household. According to my father, Sean buys the groceries, pays the bills, and has even contributed to my mother’s new project of bathroom renovation. He runs the errands which likely involve rearranging the plants in my mother’s small garden during the weekends.

My parents were on their way to the Leddas for a birthday party; they're never late. Sean decided to stay at home, waiting for Manong Ralph, who was coming from Davao for a speaking engagement. When they’re not about to sleep, my parents are in one of these places: (1) in church, for the Bible study, (2) at funerals, (3) at birthday parties. I realized I was the only one missing, as the case has been for so many New Years and Christmases and important occasions.

He is, according to him, quite single. (As far as I know, he used to have a girlfriend.) I don’t know how else to respond but to say, “Aw, that’s too bad,” then move on to other topics. I wish him well—he knows that—but I just don’t have the right words.

I wish I were home.