Joani Comes Home

When Joani and I first met nine years ago, it was apparent that we had a mutual dislike for each other. Barely 1 year old, she was this mass of chubby pink flesh with puffed up cheeks topped with a hair of dark bouncy curls and a voice so freaking loud, that it could easily put any firetruck siren to shame. 

If only she could talk, I would not have been the least bit surprised to hear her scream, "What the? Why in the world are you giving me to this mousy, fat lady?"

Well, I myself wasn't at all thrilled at the thought of attending to a bawling infant 24/7. I could not even be bothered to pick up after myself as I should. So what made them think I can look after a baby?!?! Understandably, if I were in Joani's shoes, I would have also thrown a fit upon knowing that I would be spending a good deal of my life with someone like me. A reclusive, obnoxious artist who would much rather bury herself in the comforting darkness of her world than see the light of day, living with myself was unthinkable enough, what more for Joani.

But as always, God always finds a way to surprise us and catch us off guard. At times, He does so even if it would mean breaking our hearts. 

Just a week after the shocking death of my one-and-only sister, Anita, and her hubby, Jonathan, in a car crash, my parents had decided that it was best that I become Joani's guardian. Estranged, with Mama in Barcelona and Papa in Acapulco, each of them had taken new, separate lives with their new spouses after leaving me and my sister to fend for ourselves. At that time, Anita was already on her third year in college whereas I was a freshman. 

It has been more than ten years before we were reunited again as a family--and it had to be at my sister's and her husband's funeral. Coming to grips with my own grief was already too much for me to take. Losing Anita was losing my best friend and worst enemy in the world at the same time. After our parents divorced, Anita and I lived together until she married Jonathan. Our life together can be described as forcing a snail and a tiger to coexist with one another. I was the snail, and Anita was the tiger. Miraculously, despite our very different personalities and constant squabbles, we had coexisted somewhat. Though my sister had that uncanny knack for always getting on my nerves, it can't be denied that I had loved her dearly. Anita, all beautiful and domineering and possessed with a larger-than-life personality, had done well in performing the roles of both mother and father to me during those awkward and difficult years. 

Looking at Joani then, whose wailing must have shattered the eardrums of everyone in the funeral room, all I could think of was Anita. Though her wide open bawling mouth and puffy cheeks had obliterated every other feature on her tiny pink face, she was still the prettiest cherubim in my eyes. Joani had two very good reasons to cry hard and loudly: she has just lost her Mom and Dad. Worse, she had no choice but to live with her snail of an aunt until God knows when.

As Mama held her out to me, looking so delicate and fragile and beautiful in her pink baby clothes, I could not help but cry too. Was it out of grief? Disappointment? Fear? 

Until now, I still could not tell the exact reason why I had to cry in unison with Joani on the day I was officially  appointed her guardian. Maybe, the thought of becoming "Joani's guardian" had overwhelmed me so that I could not help but be reduced to tears.