Chapter 5
You can hide all the pictures, avoid talking about them, but you know what you can’t do? Delete someone’s digital footprint.
I’m very, very grateful that my dad had a few glimmers of internet fame.
If you search happy piano man philippines mall, the top result is a video of my pa playing Mariah Carey’s “We Belong Together.” Seeing an unplayed piano was Pa’s weakness.
When we went to the mall in our area on Sundays, he couldn’t resist playing at least one song on the piano down on the first level.
At the start of the video, my dad asks the crowd around the piano for song requests, then he points to the person who shouts out, “‘We Belong Together’!”
“Of course I’m going with Mariah Carey,” Pa says as he takes a seat on the piano bench.
Pa loved Mariah Carey. Even though his voice could never reach her high notes, he always belted out her songs during our drives to school. Achi once teased Pa that listening to Mariah Carey was a “girlie” thing.
“If appreciating talent is girlie, then I’ll be girlie,” Pa replied. He then continued playing Mariah on repeat while educating us about which scales she’s able to hit and how she writes all her songs.
Singing was something Pa and I bonded over.
Achi called me the “queen of unsolicited singing” since I used to sing everywhere—in the shower, while doing homework, during car rides.
My sister gave me time-outs and placed her hand over my mouth when she needed moments of peace and quiet.
But Pa was the one person who always wanted to hear my voice.
I make a mental note that there have been twenty more views on the video in the past week. Even if I watch the video every day, it still doesn’t explain the rising view count. I like thinking that there’s some aspiring piano player out there who gets inspired by watching Pa.
My dad was always the happiest when he was playing the piano.
And it’s not the classy, cool smile singers have once they finish a mind-blowing performance and grin to the crowd implicitly communicating, Yeah, I did THAT.
No, even in this video, Antonio Ilagan looks like some happy-go-lucky dorky dude who got high from playing the piano.
Pa always embraced whatever made me happy, no matter how ridiculous. It’s the reason why I still have snowflake stickers glued to my ceiling. I had this Frozen phase when I was younger and kept telling my family that I wanted to see snow.
Achi and Ma were on the same page and tried educating me about geography and climate conditions.
“Nika, we live very close to the equator. See?” Achi said, pointing to the Philippines on the map.
“That means we have a tropical climate and if we do have snow, it’d be a nightmare for agriculture, livelihood, infrastructure. ”
But that night, Pa went into my room, knelt before my bed, and said he had a surprise. “Guess what?” he whispered to me. “I found you snow.”
I remember I was confused and said, “But it doesn’t snow in the Philippines.”
“Dinala ko dito. Special delivery for my bunso.”
“But Ma and Achi said it was impossible.”
“Superstar.” Pa used to call me that all the time. “That’s why we dream bigger.”
So Pa took out these snowflake stickers and spent the night decorating the ceiling on my part of the bedroom. Achi asked me once if I wanted to have our ceiling repainted since cracks began to form, but I hated the idea of not having those faded, tattered snowflakes looking down on me.
I count the patterns on each snowflake while I wait for the moment some higher being finally grants me the gift of slumber.
If I fall asleep right now, I’ll get a respectable seven hours of sleep.
Every time I get bouts of insomnia, my sister always suggests that I try some guided meditation videos that make false promises like: Fall asleep instantly, fall into deep sleep in FIVE minutes!
Fun fact about me: Meditating makes me want to stab my eyes out.
I usually end up spending an hour, still wide awake, feeling even more frustrated after a voice instructs me with bullshit like “find your center of gravity and become aware of your pinkie toes.”
How can I find peace when my brain is suddenly confused about what my toes are supposed to feel like?!
Sleeping is already hard enough on most days, but it’s basically impossible after the whole pancit canton debacle with Ma. Not to mention Pa’s impending anniversary.
In the middle of the lady’s meditation video offering more vague instructions, I pull out the other phone hidden in a carved-out book tucked in my drawer. It’s a miracle that my sister hasn’t found Pa’s phone yet.
When my sister was cleaning out everything Pa owned in the condo, I found his phone in one of his bags.
I open his messages and type out Miss you, Superstar.
Moments later, my phone lights up with an alert that I got a message from Pa.
Ugh. My family would so judge me if they knew about this. For the record, I’m fully aware that I’m using two phones to continue a conversation with myself—but … I like seeing Pa’s name on my phone. For some moments, I think I trick my brain into believing that he’s the one messaging.
I put back Pa’s phone and give this dumb meditation another shot.
Okay, Nika. Calming thoughts. If you knock out right now, that gives you six full hours of restful sleep. Find your center of gravity. Be aware of your ankles or whatever the meditation lady is going on about.
Although my attempts at peace and deep breathing get rudely interrupted when Achi intrudes into my room.
“My eyes, my eyes!” I cry out when Achi flips on the lights. “I was sleeping!”
She scoffs. “You seem awake.”
Achi dismisses my very valid sleep problems and rudely pulls the blanket off my body.
“I hate you,” I grumble, and wrap my arms around my pillow before Achi takes that too.
Even though my sister already got her own apartment when she started working, she sleeps over so much that it feels like we still share a bedroom. I remove my earphones and try rolling to the other side when she taps my head.
“Were you going to sleep with your hair wet?”
I groan. “I’m not going to go blind.”
In my mom’s eyes, one of the most dangerous things you could ever do is sleep without drying your hair.
According to her belief system, sleeping with wet hair equals waking up blind.
The threat used to terrify me as a kid until I fell asleep after a shower—and ended up with eyesight on both sides still intact.
I’m pretty sure my sister doesn’t buy into all of Ma’s beliefs either. She just can’t help switching to de facto parent mode with me—and that includes implementing our mother’s superstitions.
Achi doesn’t stop goading me until I groggily get up to blow-dry. By the time I get back, she’s already hogged most of the bed.
Before I can even settle under the covers, Achi asks, “Are you going to stop sneaking into my office now that Ma found out you’ve been skipping class?”
“How did you…”
Achi tilts her head at me—in Jackie-speak, this means, How do you not get that I’m incredibly smart?!
So I thump my head back on the pillow. “Can you please make the lecture short? Ma already told me how I’m a disappointment over dinner.”
She pauses and studies me. “You do know if you miss ten classes you wouldn’t be credited for the class.”
I nod.
“And that you need that chemistry course credit to graduate.”
I nod again.
“And just because I work at the school, that doesn’t mean I’m going to help you. Your actions have consequences, Nika.”
I’m about to nod when a realization hits me. “Why didn’t you tell Ma that I was skipping?”
“What?”
“You knew I was skipping and you didn’t rat me out.”
“This isn’t about you, Nika. I didn’t want to stress Ma.”
“You were protecting me.” I beam at her. “You were saving me from a consequence of my actions.”
Achi bristles with the accusation. “Well, don’t expect me to do it again. If you don’t get your act together, I’m not defending you in front of the faculty.” I keep teasing her that I’m her soft spot as she flips open her iPad and places it on top of the comforter.
I lean closer to her while she scrolls through Netflix. Once again, she ignores all my critically acclaimed suggestions. “The new K-drama I’ve been watching is pretty good.”
Achi makes a face. “Aren’t the episodes, like, three hours long?”
“Remember when you gave a talk at school about my generation’s short attention span?” I ask. “That’s you. You’re the problem.”
She ignores me and angles the iPad away from me so I can’t see. “Why is this Pagpag movie on my recently watched list?”
“I don’t know. You have weird taste, Ach.” I shrug, avoiding suspicion.
She still tilts her head at me, and pretty soon, I start hearing the film’s opening credits.
“This is what you’re watching?” I ask.
“I’ve never watched Seph’s movie before.”
My eyes roll to the top of my head. “This isn’t Seph’s movie.” Regardless, Achi still pressed play, so I ask her to turn up the volume.
Achi rewinds the movie to the beginning, and I pay more attention once we pick up where Kayla and I left off. After a group of teenagers break superstitions that should be observed during a wake, a ghost suddenly comes back to haunt and kill them.
When one of the girls sees a shadow lurking through her home, she assumes it’s her boyfriend surprising her instead of the actual ghost murderer on the loose. The girl proceeds to follow the ghost around the dark on her own.
“Stupid,” Achi and I mutter at the same time.
Eerie music builds until the ghost appears and gouges out the girl’s eyes.
“She wouldn’t die instantly from the ghost ripping out her eyes,” Achi says. “She would be blinded, but she would have to lose forty percent of her blood to die.”
“You know way too much about murder.”
Two more dead bodies (and two more death probability analyses from Jackie Ilagan) later, the movie reveals the truth about Roman the ghost. When Roman passed away in a fire, his wife made a pact with the devil to bring him back to life.
The devil’s condition for his resurrection: Ghost Roman has to murder nine people.
And that’s where Celebrity Moseph King comes into the picture. When ghost Roman tracks down Kathryn’s character and threatens to stab her heart, a little Seph shields her and cries in tears, “My heart is yours!”
Cue very extra-dramatic music when Seph’s heart gets pierced and Kathryn Bernardo sobs while cradling his body as the light in his eyes goes out.
For an eight-year-old, it’s pretty decent acting—but there’s no way in hell I’ll ever admit that to Seph’s face.
“Hey, what if you were Roman’s wife in the movie? Would you do the same thing?”
Achi side-eyes me. “Are you asking me if I’d make a deal with the devil?”
“Hypothetically,” I stress. “Would you exchange murder to bring your dead husband back to life?”
“I don’t even have a husband.”
I groan. “You’re the worst at this game.”
While more people die and Roman’s wife defends her actions by saying all she wanted was to bring her family back together, I ask Achi about Ma.
“… How is she?”
“Good,” she answers, eyes still glued to the screen. “She was thinking about going back to the bakery to sign off on some things, but I talked her out of it. The lights were off when I checked her room.”
I don’t know how my sister does it. Whenever I try talking to Ma, it’s like I’m incapable of finding the right words.
“And about Florida…”
Achi only mumbles a very vague, “Mm-hmm?”
My mind starts spiraling again at the thought of Achi being so far away.
“Did you know that Florida has lots of alligators?” I mention. “I saw this video where an alligator was running after a golf cart. If they can chase after a golf cart, you’d never make it. You’re so slow.”
My sister lets out a snort and meets my eye. “You’re going to miss me, ‘no?”
“No,” I quickly retort.
She chuckles and pokes me. “I’m your soft spot. Admit it. You’re so going to miss me.”
“This is me protecting you from getting eaten by an alligator.”
I’m about to give her statistics about alligator chases when Achi says, “I’m not leaving.”
“Oh.”
“I applied to those programs as a joke,” she explains. “I was never going to actually go.”
My body’s working overtime to stop my face from smiling. If you don’t act cool, Achi might change her mind and leave you for the alligators!
Then she starts poking my ticklish side again.
“Achi!” I squirm and hold in my laugh.
She continues tickling me until I grab her hands to stop. “I thought you moving out meant I could have my own bedroom,” I tell her when I catch my breath.
“But then you’d miss me too much,” she teases, and loops her arm through mine.
“Whatever.” I sigh and rest my head on hers.
The other thing I’m too stubborn to admit—the only time I get a good night’s sleep is when my sister is sleeping beside me.