The house was packed—full of flowers, formal shoes, and forced small talk.
They dressed him in white. Lolo Ramon. My Papá Lolo. My real parent. My one quiet constant.
I stood there, stiff in black, holding Sam against my hip while my ears filled with everything but the sound of mourning.
"Ang init."13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtsHEfNFsqc
"Bakit hindi aircon 'tong bahay?"13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡt2QJBHLsuA
"Bilis naman ng pari magsalita. Hindi ba p'wede i-cremate na lang?"
My mother muttered these under her breath while crossing her arms, looking around with a blend of judgment and exhaustion.
My father—yes, him—stood a little farther back. Polished. Polite. Pretending to be more present than he ever was in any of our lives.
They didn't speak to each other. Only sighed the same way.
As if grief was an inconvenience. As if the old man who raised me was just a calendar event they couldn't reschedule.
"Hindi mo ba puwedeng i-fast track 'to, Jaimie?" my mother whispered sharply at one point. "I still have a Zoom meeting by four."
I turned away.
Because if I opened my mouth, I might never stop screaming.
The Neighborhood Had Eyes, Always
Sam squirmed gently in my arms, his little hand resting on my shoulder. His toy dinosaur peeked out from my bag. He looked around the room with quiet curiosity.
And then I heard them.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAJv0KavL9Q
The voices. The whispers I had grown up learning how to survive.
"Si Jaimie ba 'yan?"13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV5tL9es1nh
"May anak na pala?"13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ98m10AMGju
"Eh nasaan 'yung ama?"13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTxAuDWsRaM
"Ang ganda pa naman ng edukasyon, tapos wala rin pala sa hulog."
I felt the words slice through the air like rusted blades.
My grip on Sam tightened.
He was too young to understand. Too innocent to be branded by the same poison that had chased me all my life.
And then, my mother snapped.
Not at them—but at me.
"Kung iniingatan mo lang 'yang sarili mo—"
Her voice trembled not with sadness but with shame.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡS2s8x2Dl4X
That delusional shame that my son—my joy, my miracle—existed outside a marriage certificate.
Her eyes flashed with fury not because I had done something wrong, but because the neighborhood had noticed.
Because the fruit hadn't fallen far from the tree.
Because in her mind, I was just another version of the women my father used and left.
But I didn't flinch. Not anymore.
I was done letting people dictate what kind of woman I was based on who loved me or didn't stay.
I shifted Sam's weight on my hip and met her glare with silence.
The kind of silence that speaks louder than any defense.
Because I would no longer apologize for existing in a way they didn't understand.
Because my son was not a stain.
He was the purest thing I've ever done right.
I stepped forward toward the casket.
Sam placed his small hand over Lolo's motionless one, and whispered, "Bye-bye, Papa Lo."
And in that moment, I didn't hear murmurs. Or shame. Or expectations.
I heard peace.
Because no matter what anyone said, the only man who ever truly knew me—the only one who never made me feel like a mistake—was resting with a smile on his face.
And I would carry that love like armor.
For me.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSkaJzcD6Yr
For Sam.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1aIbGXbROJ
For every daughter who grew up surviving the sins of their fathers.
13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLWuYA8z60k
