“Tita Bea, getting married,” Ria whispers, and I whisper back, “I know, right?”
Is this the day for relationships? First, the hard launches on social media. Now, with Tita Bea and her engagement.
Maybe this is some kind of premonition…no.I’ve got to stop believing every little coincidental thing is a sign from the universe.
Once, when I was 13-years-old, I prayed that God send me a sign to tell me whether I should confess to Owen Lawson, the bookworm with auburn hair who sat beside me in English, orforget about him. The morning after, I woke up to one of the sunniest days during a week that was otherwise gloomy. I took this as a sign to confess my love to Owen at the locker bay. He ended up just laughing in my face. He also asked to change seats away from me in English. For the rest of that term, my English class would whisper and laugh behind my back about Owen and I.
I shiver as the memory runs a replay in my head and quickly tuck it back into the ‘never-again’ archives.
“Don’t you think it’s scary, dedicating your life to someone?” Stephanie chimes in, “I could never imagine myself being married.”
I poke at her side, and she swats at my hands, grinning.
“You don’t have to worry about that for a long time,” I tell her.
Yet, she’s got a good point. Love, I’ve come to read about, and see in movies, is all consuming. My parents have dedicated their lives entirely to each other, Ria and I. To be bound to someone like that, it’s daunting. Confronting.
But it’s also beautiful, to choose your person time and time again, against all odds. I smile as I observe Tita Bea and Jonathan, their arms around each other, like two halves of one whole. I think I’m more afraid of not finding love, than experiencing it.
Soon after the thrill of the announcement, the day peels away to night, welcoming the infamous family karaoke session. Whenever my relatives are all gathered in one space, it’s an unspoken rule that we must all partake in karaoke, no matter what. Filipinos are incapable of breathing the same air without singing in it.
All of us have migrated into the living room space, squashing ourselves onto the couches and folded chairs.
Right now, Mum and Dad were locked in aSummer Nightsduet.
Balancing a plate of buko pandan pie atop my knees, I clap along, swaying to and fro to the infectious melody of the Grease tune. My parents have good voices too. I wish those were the genes they’d passed onto me. Instead, it got passed to Ria.
She sits beside me, recording them as they shimmy toward each other.
It’s moments like these I realise I’d never trade my family for anything else in the world, no matter how infuriating they may be.
Their duet ends, and we all erupt into applause. Dad leaves the stage, but Mum stays at the centre of the living room, holding onto the microphone. Her eyes scan the room, until it falls somewhere behind me. With her finger, she motionscome hitherto her victim.
“Come on Reggie!” she calls into the microphone, and all my relatives cheer.
I crane my neck behind me, and see Tita Regina turn a deep shade of red which juts out against the white wall she’s leaning against. With an overexaggerated roll of her eyes, she saunters toward Mum, who holds out the second microphone to her.
They type in the song code from the karaoke book, and the opening melody begins. Instantly, I recognise Beyonce and Shakira’sBeautiful Liar, one of their favourites.
Mum and Tita Regina have told Ria and I many times how they used to rush home together after school to catch the TV program replaying popular music videos.Beautiful Liarwas one of the first they’d watched together after they met.
Mum claims Shakira, while Tita Regina does her best rendition of Beyonce. They even have their own little choreography.
“Go Mum and Tita!” I exclaim with a whoop, chuckling as they do a hip twirl that they pull off quite well.
“Go Mum-yonce!” I hear Marlon’s voice holler from somewhere to the right of me.
Mum and Tita Regina complete the performance with the final line of the song, ending back to back with their hands on their hips, their heavy breaths heard through the microphone. My family cheers, clapping as the two give bows of satisfaction.
“Okay, who’s next!” Tita Regina calls.
I push my fork into my pie as Tita Regina waves the microphone around the room, searching for the next karaoke victim. As the portion pushes past my lips, Lola yells out, “Gusto ko si[8] Lene and Marlon!”.
Pie crumbs catch at my throat as I gasp from the shock of hearing my name, resulting in a coughing fit. The rest of the room doesn’t seem to take this as a sign that Idid notandcannotsing for the life of me, because they all erupt in a roar of cheers and whoops.
Tito Daniel claps Marlon’s black, pushing him forward. Mum and Tita Regina are looking ecstatic, and I hear them begin to cheer our names into the microphone.
“No, I really can’t sing,” I begin, but Lola waves away my excuse.
