Who's Your Aunt?!

Like Kate Hudson's character Helen in Raising Helen, I far too often suffer from the Cool Aunt Syndrome, a condition that occurs when a young niece, nephew, or cousin looks up to me and then things go wrong. Yeah, I'm the cool "Aunt". They can hang out with me because I know a lot of things; they can talk to me about anything and I'd understand. I don't think their thoughts or convictions are immature, childish, or plain stupid. I'm like that because I went through the same thoughts not so long ago. I have a cool sense of humor. I have a problem with authority, just like they do. I don't discourage adolescent rebellion, like their old aunts do. They can smoke around me, with me, in fact. I have all these fascinating stories about my silly, daring adventures and how I got away with them. I give them the rules in a firm voice, and in the next instant, whisper about how I hate the rules. Rules, like propriety [whispering: oh, f*ck propriety, you shouldn't care what people think about you], or the straight path [sod it, you should take the road less travelled]. I'm fun like that. They can talk to me about pre-marital sex, marijuana, getting drunk, flirting, college, pick-up lines. Whatever. Plus, I'm such a cool aunt, I even have my own money, so when they're short on cash, they can come up to me and ask for a few bucks to buy a pack of cigarettes. I can even buy them a few drinks. So, who's your Aunt?!!

Say my name, bitch!

And then... They come to me with a fake ID. Crying, coz they flunked an exam. I would understand, they were out on a party late last night, on to the early morn ["Oh, Aunt Di, it was SO fun, the DJ flirted with me"]. Crying, coz they're having chest pains from all that smoking ["But that's normal, right, Aunt Di? You get chest pains, too, don't you?"]. Crying, coz their moms found a packet of cigarettes in their jean's pockets ["Aunt Di, I told Momma it was yours. Phew. Close one, eh?"]. Crying, coz everyone's talking about them being wild, loose women ["Aunt Di, it wasn't as if I was making out with him! We were just hanging out in his car!"]. Crying, coz shit, Aunt Di, I'm 5 weeks late... I think I'm pregnant. What do I do? Will you tell my Dad, Aunt Di? He'll kill me!

Dagnamit! Who's your Aunt, now?

Once the Cool-Aunt wheels start turning, there's no stopping it. I wish I could run to my own former Cool Aunt. Where do we cool Aunts toe the line?

Waxing Nostalgic

It's amazing the things we take for granted. Like the outdoors in the early morning. The sea breeze in your face. The beautiful sunrise and the blue, blue sky. The magnificence of all God's creatures and the harmony they exist in. Everything feels like a well-oiled machine.
















I am undone.





Simple things make me smile. The kid in nothing but swimming shorts shaking off the pool water from his ear, hopping on one leg. The young man on the other side enjoying the morning air, walking with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a cup of coffee. The bare-chested guy jogging along the stretch of sand. I wonder what lives they lead. I wonder what they're thinking.




The beach is lovely. I imagine spending time there in the company of the people I love. My brothers. Zen would be fussing about food. Waleed would be barking out orders. Adnan would be contemplative and melancholy, nursing a cigarette. Pollock would be monkeying around. And I, I would be flitting here and there, longing to be alone with my pen and paper. My friends. Jiehan would be in her best beach-wear, gazing out into the sea, hand holding her wide-rimmed hat against her head, thinking about God-knows-what. Marj would be preparing to do something worthwhile, jetskiing maybe, or surfing. My sister. She would be laughing, happy, carefree, trying her best to make it all fun for us. My boys. Da Boys would be doing all the dirty work, spoiling me senseless. They'd be making jokes and fronting, poking fun at my "good breeding" [what am I, a dog?].

Until I get a chance to travel elsewhere, I will continue to compare everything I encounter to Manila. It's jarring, to be suddenly removed from a city where I can be as daring as I dared to be and put in a place where the mere glimpse of an uncovered neck or a smooth ankle attracts attention. Young people here grasp at every little chance to have a semblance of social interaction. Like myself. I hold on to the very thought of him. He is my former bustling social life, my brothers, cousins, friends, acquaintances, college buddies, neighbors, boys and girls, all rolled into one. He represents all that I am missing. It's funny, because I don't even know him. I made him.