"Apo, bakla cu"

::Saturday, July 14, Brunch Time::

The morning was gloomy then and I had a long good night respite from my humble beddings. My mind was dry from all the past week's overwhelming encounters and thoughts - it's imperative to have a hefty break. My breakfast was my lunch and my lunch was my breakfast. I took quite a longer than usual bath to renew myself from the taxing remnants of a mind-boggling week. And then I went to my unprecedented revelation.

My "Apo" (that's what I call my grandparents) was playing cards on her usual siesta time. I approached her and jumpstarted a seemingly atypical conversation ('Twas my first time to have such a talk with her).

Our tête-à-tête went from talking about my parents, how they’d been, how they’d handled us, their children. I was surprised actually then, that my Apo was hiding some thoughts about me as a child of my parents, and how I got along pretty well with what had happened in the yore – that despite my parents’ emotional unattachment (especially with my mother) to us, their children, we were very accepting and considerate. (To tell you the truth, I have never opened up any problems to my parents [except maybe for some temporal ones]. They are not the expressive type. It’s just lately that I try to be the one who starts talking just to motivate them.) Several topics regarding me and my family went in, segueing from one to another; then I felt like crying for some sentimental reasons. I wasn’t nervous then as I was, surprisingly, very comfortable with my Apo, despite my prior wariness for her being a "sagrada Catolica" (conservative Catholic), thinking my revelation might set her aback in dismay, or something to that effect. She was very commiserating as I talked, rubbing her palm on my back. She felt that I was burdened and asked me to let out whatever it was that was bothering me. Hugging her once in a while helped me muster the courage to actually speak out. With extreme care and boldness, I averred, “Apo, bakla cu” (“Grandma, I’m gay”).

Then she hugged me, and hugged her in return. My Apo was so comforting and affectionate. Without a hint of abhorrence, I felt her sincere acceptance. She said, “Baka yan ing caburyan na ning Guinu queca” (“Maybe that’s what God planned for you”).

I have loved my Apo since I was a child. And now… now that I share my true self with her, I love her even more! Thanks Apu! Caluguran da cang tune!