My Tatay

Tatay Berto…my Tatay has been the one constant in my life that I placed on a pedestal to measure everyone, including myself, against. Tatay is the dearest to my heart, even though I have been far apart from him since I left the Philippines at a young age.  Roberto Martin, my father, showed me how to give and receive unconditional love. That was the greatest gift that shaped me to who I am.

I am—because I remember…

…a banyan tree.  There was a banyan tree on a land that my family owned.  I remember happiness.  I remember my father and me in happiness.  I remember dogs.  I remember playing and laughing.  I remember the sun and the shade from the tree.  I remember falling asleep against and under the banyan tree.  I remember thinking my father was the banyan tree; my protector and provider of belonging.

…rain and thunderstorms.  I can close my eyes and still hear the hard rain pattering against the tin roof tops of the houses I lived in.  There were numerous occasions that I sat upon a window seat and watched the rain pour, behind wooden slatted windows.  At the age of 3, I remember feeling caged in and trapped by the rain.  At the same time, I remember feeling like the rain outside the glassless window seat felt like freedom.  Knowing nothing but the secluded life that I lived, I did not know what freedom meant.  My mom gave birth to my brother in the house and what I remember most of the situation was my pregnant mom getting carried away into another room, me sitting on the window nook, and the rain. That window belonged to my father’s family.  The cry of a baby being born pierced the air and I continued to sit by the window.  Most times, whenever it rains, I remember running and dancing in the rain…it reminds me of freedom.

…carpentry.  My Tatay, before he succumbed to a series of illnesses, was an expert carpenter.  Whenever his job didn’t have him making furniture, he was making these beautiful wooden flowers, detailed with petals, stems, and leaves. I had always thought he would make these flowers forever and gave away to my favorite teachers my own pieces.  Now, I have none and my father is too ill to ever work with wood again.  I remember visiting Tatay at work.  I was young, but I was inquisitive so I remember asking about the pipes throughout the warehouse and questioned their purpose.  With a white mask on his face, he explained that they were to vacuum the sawdust and wood particles in the room.  I remembered listening earnestly to hear the pipes working and my father shaking his head and saying that they have been broken for some time.  I remember hearing my father cough and remembered when he became too ill to work there.  At a later age, he had to switch careers.  I mourned the art that my father had to give up and the life he had to endure…I wish to take back all the wooden flowers that really belonged to me.

…puking. Yep, I ate so much fruit that I loved until I made myself sick.  .  There are times that I have flashbacks of fruit that can only grow in the Philippines and I torture myself with the memory of its uniqueness.  Yumm! Oddly, I also remember my father handing me a handkerchief to wipe the vomit off my lips.  Yep, I threw up on a ride of public transportation and then the handkerchief.  Actually, I remember many Filipinos with embroidered handkerchiefs and was shocked to find that disposable tissues and napkins really didn’t exist there.

…houses that danced.  Earthquakes and volcanic eruptions occur often.  The sound structures built in the Philippines provided me with entertainment.  In my fearful experiences of the earth shaking, I found humor in the swaying homes that family members tried to cover my eyes from.

…my father’s family, near the sea.  We lived in the country by the water and being kept sheltered from the city life…and the sun.  I remember looking beyond the farm fields and the endless sea, knowing that my Tatay was working in the city somewhere to bring back money that would feed and clothe me.  Every year, the trodden paths on the fields were lined with palms and religious reenactments for Easter.  Men, without shirts, would beat themselves as they marched and mimicked the punishments given to the Lord Jesus.  I also remember hardcore Catholics that volunteered themselves for the crucifix. Religion and passion seemed to be rooted in all Filipinos.

…transportation on wheeled railroad handcar.  The handcar was made of some sort of wood and a man pumped the crank to move it along the tracks.  I remember my father and I traveling on this handcar into the mountains to visit my brother, who stayed with my mother’s uncle’s family.  For the longest time, my brother didn’t know he had a sister.  I don’t know why I was with my Tatay and my mom took my brother but it forever made me love my father and strained the relationship with my mother. I discovered automobiles, boats, and planes when I traveled to the States. It was magic to me.

…Tagalog as my first language.  I think everyone can remember when their parents were teaching them how to write or read and to sing the alphabet.  I remember this for my language and I loved making my Tatay proud.  I do not speak my native tongue now, even though I can still understand most conversations.  Like my language, I have sort have faded from the original me.

…the heartbreak of separation.  My father never said goodbye to me.  The day I left the Philippines, I had waited and waited for my father to come and get me or say goodbye.  I was told that he would not be coming.  As a child, who absolutely saw her father as her world, I didn’t believe anyone.  I desperately waited for my goodbye but I walked unto the plane in silence.  I felt betrayal but I couldn’t blame him.  I loved him too much.  I later learned that my father could not handle saying goodbye to me and that giving me up was the hardest for him to do.  My father channeled his heartache as best as he could.  Tragically, he would visit my cousin, who looked very much like me, and was born in the same month.   

Now...I understand by what he felt. 

How can I say goodbye—after I say I love you? 

So I won’t.  

I will say goodbye when he is gone and all I want him to remember is my words of love.

 All I want to remember are the memories of his love.