This morning, after I cracked a native chicken’s egg on a mug of newly-boiled water, then added milk and sugar, I suddenly thought of my lolo.

My lolo was a regular milk drinker, and his favorite brand was Nido. He also sometimes added a fresh egg to the milk, which gave the drink a creamier, distinct flavor.

I guess that was one of his health secrets. He lived to the age of 97, still agile until the day before his death, did not suffer from any debilitating condition, and just passed away peacefully in his sleep.

Those memories were swirling in my mind as I was having my light breakfast today.

That thought about my Lolo led to me thinking of my Lola, a petite woman with a lovely small face and kayumanggi skin, who was always up and about. Because of her, the house was spic and span. As a child, she’d instruct me to pick the clothes from the clothesline, fold them neatly, and put them in the cabinet. 

I was a good and obedient kid, so of course, I did the tasks, but a few times grudgingly, especially when I wanted to play outside, or water the plants and clean the windows instead, tasks I wanted to do more.

From that chore, I learned how fresh, how pleasant-smelling, and how crisp the clothes are and beddings that dried on a clothesline under the sun with occasional winds aiding in the process.

Now, I look for that scent. My apartment is equipped with a washing machine and a dryer. The soap smells good, but there’s something missing — the smell of sunshine, the fresh scent of nature. 

And then, there’s my dad. My late dad was a Civil Engineer. He designed and oversaw the construction of our house in Albay, so sturdy that it withstood all the strong typhoons in Bicol since the 80s. Except for the galvanized iron roof of the kitchen that had to be replaced twice after two (2) terrible typhoon several years ago, the rest remained intact. (Yes. Strong winds can roll metal like a cartolina.)

Through the years, in between his work abroad as an OFW, he would always find something to fix, and that’s why our house was maintained. That meant too that I observed several construction works, including how beams were placed, how posts are made sturdy by having a wooden structure first, etc. I have also observed closely how cabinets are made, how an artesian well in the backyard is dug, how the fence around the backyard is fixed, etc.

That’s why, when I hired a carpenter “highly-recommended” by someone from our place, to put a temporary net cover in our back kitchen to prevent any of our cats from accidentally going to another house in the compound, and to deter an akyat-bahay somehow, I cringed when I saw the output that he and his assistant made after a few hours. The rebar steels were not evenly placed! The net was not balanced! My gosh! Added to that, he quoted a high price for the proposed improvement of some areas of the house. Of course, I still paid properly, even gave a tip, but declined politely his offer to do further work in the house.

That is also why, when some workers were doing a street repair in our street, putting culvert at the entire stretch of the road, I noticed that some workers were putting the cement like one putting icing sloppily on a cake, but having no authority for that job, I just kept my mouth shut. I wouldn’t be surprised if in a few years, the cement, “fictionally” holding the culverts together would just give up.

And my mom–kind, cheerful, hardworking, observant. She’s never idle. She’s always busy around the house, as if an hour of rest would make the day incomplete. She likes to go out with us to walk around the mall, try new eating places, go on a nature trip, visit our relatives even when far, or even when it’s late.

My mom is observant about her surroundings, about the people we see around. It’s obvious in her facial expression, her eyes, which at times prompted us to say, “Ma!” with a certain accent and tone. Mind you, she’s not judgmental, just openly yet quietly expressive. ^_^ That really talkative woman speaking on the phone with a loud voice? That woman with a pleasant face but tried to fit her extra large body in a small revealing blouse, thinking it made her look sexy? Those overly sweet young couple? That entitled man berating a crew member in a fast-food chain? You will see my mom’s thoughts when you look at her face.

And then, there’s my former roommate in Kalayaan Residence Hall, Mei. She used to go home to her province every weekend, and without fail, she’d leave a Cream-O vanilla cream biscuit at my table.

This may be the reason why, every time I do my groceries in the Philippines, I almost always bought Cream-o vanilla, except in those few times that I wanted to vary the biscuits by getting Bravo, Rebisco, Hi-Ro, Frootees, Hansel mocha, or Skyflakes, or another brand.

I remembered Marcelyn too, that beautiful soul who was gone too soon. She was my former co-teacher in FEU. She was fashionable, beautiful, full of life. She was cheerful. If not for her sharing one solemn day in the faculty room, I never would have known that she had a kidney disease, and that she was taking a palmful of medications, and undergoing dialysis.

I remember her attention to fashion. I was once wearing polo and slacks and I thought they fitted me well. But she said, “Ms. Emi, tahian mo tong konti sa ilalim, para mas shapely ka” or “Bagay sayo ang kulay na yan” while complimenting me.

Where am I getting at? I think I need to wrap my thoughts up as it is getting late and sleepiness is slowly creeping. I realized that it is indeed true that people who are close to our heart and those who became special to us somehow stay within us. And I am not just talking about our DNA, the genes of our parents, our grandparents, and our ancestors that are part of us.

Special people in our lives become part of who we are — in my case, my lolo’s love for drinking milk (sometimes with egg), my dad’s construction sense, my lola’s insistence to finish chores and attention to the pleasant scent of fabric dried under the sun, my mom’s quiet but obvious attention to her surroundings, my roommate’s love for Cream-O, my co-teacher’s attention to fashion. These are just a few examples; there are many more.

So we may be alone; but we are not. We may be individuals but we carry with us many others. It runs in our genes. It shows in our habits. It may manifest in our preferences.