Artist, Filmmaker, Writer, Martial Arts Fighter, Son, Brother, Him.
I
can't recall a day when my only son, DUANE, pestered me with annoying wails of
brattiness. He's always been a peaceful, quiet, fun-loving kid. A
Deep Purple rocker would rock him to sleep (turn the volume low, he'd
wake up), a crumpled piece of bond paper was his little canvas where
he'd scrawl his little investigations of life, a mere kick of an MC
Hammer hip hop would send him bouncing all over wherever, whenever.
When I come home from work, I'd bring my kids anything—toys or
candies or books... Duane would first offer his to his sisters and if
they prefer his, he'd gladly offer what was supposedly his. He was
the child who'd nicely ask his aunt or uncle whenever they buy them
something in a mall: “Tita, you don't have to buy me anything, you
already bought a lot for my sisters.” After all these years, I ask
myself, “What have I given my son?” I've given him his life. When
that tiny hand of life clutched mine as he wailed out to the world
when he was born, I knew it was the greatest gift that was. I can
lose anything, anywhere, anytime—but I'd never break and crumble
and crush if it's not about my son and my children...
NOTE:
It is June 6, his birthday, in the Philippines at this moment. The
Pacific Islands side of Asia is 12 hours ahead of US East Coast time.
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