A Longing Tune

I grabbed a handful of walnuts, stuffed them in the pocket of my hoodie before heading to my room. The house was quiet, save for the constant noises from the gardener outside. Slumping on the comforts of my bed, I stared dumbly at the ceiling, mind blank and wandering.

This emptiness that always kept me company, I have no idea whether to be thankful or not. In the premises of my room, these four walls are the only witnesses of my loneliness and longing.

Being the eldest in the house of five, most must have think that it's not an easy feat. Well, it certainly is not. With responsibilities piling on your shoulders, the moment you've graduated from school, a work with a decent pay is what they'll expect from you. And as someone who was depends on your parents' money, the thought of repaying them bounds your desires to be free.

Upon the 25 years of my mediocre life, the most happiness I could get was from granted material desires and reciprocated mutual relationships. We're not the richest of families living in this vibrant subdivision. We've got our own problems to face, but purchasing things by desire over need isn't hard for us. Or for them, my parents.

I've never lived my life with envy brought by things. They've given me things I wanted, things they thought I wanted, and even things I didn't know I wanted. Meals are always to our liking, and my siblings and I share a good and balanced relationship.

A perfect family, they say. With money not a problem and affection not something rare.

This somehow makes my emotions invalid.

They left earlier, saying they have to meet-up with my sister's dentist, and maybe stroll the mall while they were at it. The youngest couldn't stay still, obviously excited. The second eldest was still, feigning calmness and responsibility, but the smile on his face showed that he was just as looking forward to this trip as his little sister was.

And apparently, with much deliberation, they decided to leave me the 'responsibility' of taking care of the house while they were gone.

"The gardener will come here by 8, make sure to give him lunch and snacks." Mama had said, not even looking at me. My mother has always had this strict temperament, but deep down is kind; when needed.

I tried to approach, tried to even give a sign that I wanted to hug them goodbye. And when I did, she faced me suddenly, chin high and back straight. The hands that were not yet raised hang stiffly beside me.

"Make sure to lock the house when the gardener leaves."

I leisurely picked at the handful of walnuts I got earlier, munching on them while humming some random tune. This was not at all anything new, leaving me the 'responsibility' of taking care of the house while they do business outside, with my siblings in tow.

My roaming eyes gradually shifted to the hand clock that hang quietly on my gray wall. Noticing that it was already past 12, I munched down the remaining walnuts before walking towards my window.

I slid it open, stuck my head out and called for the gardener. "Manong (a word used in the Philippines to address an old man) why don't you take a break? Lunch's in the kitchen, please help yourself."

The gardener, ever so diligent, took off his bamboo hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead before giving me a radiant smile. "Thank you, sir."

I watched him gather the tools and place them orderly on the side before closing the window and slumping back again on my bed.

The clock was ticking, I heard subtle shufflings from the kitchen and out of nowhere, I heaved a sigh.

Always, every single moment that I'm left alone with nothing but quiet and darkness, these feelings always rose from the deepest of my heart. This feeling that never made me feel content, this feeling which accompanied me throughout my life of secrecy.

My parents —though they were indeed partial to my siblings, most especially to the youngest— never treated me with difference. When they bought gifts, there's always one for her, for him and for me. When we enjoy a meal, there's always enough meat for the three of us. Ice creams were always given equally, one to each of us and never one for the three of us.

They were not greedy, they didn't have their own favorite child, and neither did we have our own favorite parent.

That's exactly why I thought that these feelings —of envy, of discontent, of longing and of loneliness— are invalid.

There was never less for me, it was always enough for the three of us. I've got no reason to feel dissatisfied, let alone the right to feel that way when they've given me everything that I wanted, and needed.

But that's exactly because everything they gave me were just 'things'.

A memory flashed in my mind, one that occured a long time ago but had still left an impression to me. It was a friday night, we were enjoying our dinner and my sister was bragging about how she did at her exams.

"As expected of our little girl." Papa had dotingly said, making her giggle.

And since the topic was regarding grades, my brother and me were no doubt also questioned. He couldn't help but boast about his accomplishments at school, his voice confident yet not arrogant.

"How about you, Andy?" Mama turned to me, eyes peircing and brows strict.

"My grades are good. The activities are hard, but I can manage." I briefly said, with honesty.

She nodded, and hummed with satisfaction. "As you should."

That was it. 'As you should'. Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?

It was then that I gradually started to recognize these feelings as my own. Ones that I kept at bay as to not be seen by others, but at the same time kept bugging me when I'm alone like this.

I spent my day in bed, idle for the whole day while lazily scrolling through my phone. It was a vain attempt to distract my mind, until I noticed that the sun had already set and the gardener was knocking on my window.

"I've finished mostly the ones here in the backyard. I'll be coming again tomorrow to finish the rest at the front." He said, eyes tired but was still sporting a radiant smile.

I handed him the money that Mama left earlier, seeing him off by the gate and wishing him safety.

It was nighttime when I heard a honk from outside the gate, and they've entered the comforts of their home, several paper bags in hand. Their faces were tired, but their eyes held a glint of content.

"Kuya! (A word used in the Philippines to address an older brother)" My little sister pranced towards me, holding a long beige box. "Look! Dad bought you a sha- sha- what's it called again?"

"A 'xiao' (a Chinese vertical flute)" My brother said, slumping on the couch with a lazy grin.

"Right! A xiao! Play it, play it!"

Smiling, I took the box from her and pulled out the flute. It was slender and light, I blew a random tune with it. Hmm, what a good xiao.

"I've brought dinner, heat them if you haven't eaten." I heard mama say, she was grabbing one of the bags and ripping it open to see the dresses she'd bought.

I raised my cheeks, an attempt to give of a small smile but instead showed a forced one. "I'm not hungry."

Which is obviously a lie. She gave me a questioning look, but didn't ask further.

"Is that so? Place them on the fridge, it'll be our breakfast."

And that I did.

Closing the fridge and throwing the rest of the plastic wrappers, I noticed the living room was quiet. I saw that it was already dim, and thought maybe they've rested for the night. It obviously was a tiring day for them, but not for me. With the xiao in hand, I went out the back door.

The cold winds blew, causing me to shiver. The gardener did indeed a wonderful job. The grass was trimmed short, unlike before where it reached the ankle making the skin itch. It was pliant against the wind and soft beneath my feet.

I sat there, the cold air surrounding me as I raised my head to the vast darkness. I brought the xiao to my lips and blew a familiar tune. One that's beautiful to the ears and hurtful to the heart.

"Why are you still out?"

I jolted and turned. Papa was standing by the door and was already dressed for bed.

"J-just admiring the sky." Chuckling, I waved my newly bought xiao. "And trying this baby out."

His eyes raised to take a peek at the sky before squinting them at me. "It's cold, get inside soon." Was all he said before he closed the door.

I sighed, why did I even expect him to sit with me. Chewing the side of my cheek, I thought, if it was my brother sitting here, would he have joined him?

A sudden ache in the chest was enough for me to shake these thoughts away.

I looked up to the sky and scoffed. "Who am I kidding, there's not a single star to admire."

Bringing up the xiao once again, I continued to play the tune earlier. When alone, having these kinds of thoughts was inevitable yet convenient at the same time. No one could see your face, and you won't be concerned with having others stare at you.

Earlier, they've brought several bags, few of which were sure bought for my siblings. Mine was just that one long beige box, holding a precious xiao inside. I wasn't discontent with this, but I knew what I was feeling. Seven parts genuine happiness, and three parts genuine envy.

Truthfully, curing this envy is quite easy. A single hug from Mama, and even a simple pat from Papa. It was indeed an easy thing to do, but was awfully hard to come by. I tried the most sublte ways to get this cure, but even then it was still out of my reach.

Maybe they're thinking that I'm too old for such childish ways of showing affection. But really, it's these childish ways that I always wanted to have. It might be true that I'm old enough, but even when I'm 68, I'm still their son and they're still my parents. Is it so wrong for me to crave such affection from them? It's not being greedy, is it?

A tear was threatening to leave my eyes, and I had to raise my head for it to stop. The tune was forgotten in the back of my mind as I stared at the darkness of the sky. If it's not being greedy, then why am I robbed of this affection? Am I still not allowed to feel envious of them?

I heard a creak from behind, I exhaled sharphy before turning back. Mama had just walked out, barefooted and covered with a warm cloth.

"Papa told me you were still out." She was rubbing her sides, obviously cold. "Still not sleeping?"

"After a while." My gaze shifted lower, staring at the hand that was playing with the xiao.

I heard her sigh. "It's fine and all, but I'm sure you don't want yourself getting a cold." Her voice was strict and stern.

I knew she was out to scold me, tell me I have to sleep instead of freezing myself. But what was I to do when this is the only way I could comfort myself? I thought of saying that I'll enter right now and when the words were almost out, I had to swallow it all back.

She wrapped the warm cloth around me, squeezed my shoulders before walking to the door. "Make sure to lock the doors when you enter."

I was left dumbfounded, the cloth hanging by my shoulder. All the envy that once shrouded my chest suddenly vanished, and right now guilt was rising. It was surging, drowning all jealousy and eating me up. I crouched down, gripping the cloth that now warmed me up from the cold.

There was a lump on my throat and the tears that I held earlier now continued to stream down. It was this exact feeling that's made me seal off these emotions, only letting it out when I'm alone. Feeding myself with envy one moment, and then getting eaten up by guilt the next. It was torturous, painfully so.

"It's not fair." I sobbed, gripping tightly on the warm cloth, with nothing but this darkness and a tear stained xiao. "It's not fair at all."