Dear Nuno

Dear Nuno,

It’s been a while now since you passed. I remember being in Thailand a few months before you passed, at the time, thinking that Christmases and holidays would never be the same again. This is a letter of gratitude, but somehow I’m also laying bare my shortcomings—things that, with hindsight, I now see differently. Maybe it’s just “character development,” as the cynic in me might say, so I could become a more reflective storyteller.

Eight months later, when I'm finally home, I remember a time when I heard a voice in my mind telling me to cherish the moments before they became memories. I was sixteen then, just back in the Philippines to take a qualifying exam for university since I couldn’t book a GED test early enough to graduate in Thailand.

In my heart of hearts, I’ve always felt guilty, wondering if you died because of me. I had a cold and unwittingly passed it to you. I was depressed that year, knowing I’d soon be leaving behind some of my favorite people, including you. And yet, once I was there, I became a cynic—short-tempered and often harsh. I could blame it on my youth, but I deeply regret it all the same.

Only hindsight taught me the depth of what you’d done for me. You were there when I was a baby, and when I was a toddler, you introduced me to telenovelas and coffee. You fed me with your hands and filled my imagination with fantastical stories that left me so articulate today. You cared for me through it all—washed me, cleaned up my messes. When I was seven, you let me sip your beer because I loved the bubbles.

You would give us pocket money for school even when others told you not to. You were the matriarch, strong but never cruel. When your husband passed away, you took on nearly everything yourself. Your children grew up independent and successful because of you, and when your grandchild—our mother—had us, you softened. We were your new favorites, the new babies.

We might have inherited a bit of a mean streak, but I wouldn’t blame that on you; maybe just a bit on the media you let us consume! I still miss you every day. You’d always been there, always looked the same, and I took your presence for granted, thinking you’d be with us forever. Though you only traveled as far as Malaysia, your children went to Canada, Nigeria, and beyond. I’m following in those footsteps now.

In our family, we never really said “I love you” aloud, but I know you loved me deeply, and I love you too.

It’s been almost nine years since 2016, that turbulent year when you left this world. I’m still unsure about spirits, but a few friends who have “the gift” say you watch over us from time to time. The thought brings me comfort because I know how powerful you were. At the time, when you were still warm, though I knew the light had left your eyes, I whispered in your ear that I loved you and wished to get into the university I was applying for. COVID may have delayed my graduation, but now, I’m finally completing that goal. I’m just a month away, and I know for sure that you’d be damn proud of me.

You always took care of us, and you always understood. Even when your memory faded and we grew impatient, you understood how hard caregiving could be, always forgiving, always blessing. I’ll miss you for the rest of my life, and I thank you for everything.

Your apo sa tuhod,

Nini / Kitty