I Feel Nothing

I got word not too long ago that Tatay (my maternal grandfather) died a few days ago. Technically, he was my lolo but I have always called my lola (grandmother) and my lolo (grandfather) nanay and tatay respectively. Nanay is “mother” in tagalog and tatay is “father.” My cousins also refer to them that way as well.

I don’t want to speak ill of the dead but his passing has not affected me in the slightest. I don’t think there was ever a time where I loved him. Nanay, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. I love her as much as Grandma even though we live on opposite sides of the globe, go years between seeing each other, and hardly ever communicate. I really can’t explain why I had no relationship with my tatay. At least, I can’t come up with one that totally tells the whole story. I suppose it has a lot to do with the fact that he just wasn’t there for me.

In the late 80’s my dad was stationed in the Philippines where we lived close to my mother’s relatives. My mom died in a car accident not long after we arrived. So my sister and I were often left in the care of my mom’s family while my father worked. Nanay, Aunt Lolita, Uncle Art, Uncle Dave, Cousin Darrel, and a maid, Minda, came into my life. Occasionally, my tatay would make his appearance but I had little to do with him. He was hardly around and to this day my only real lasting memory of him was him whipping me for a reason long forgotten. I’m trying to look back through my hazy childhood memories but I honestly could not consider—even back then—that this guy was a family member. I could accept it on paper, but not in my heart.

My thoughts on him, though, center around how it affects other family member especially my Aunts Connie and Lolita. Were they close to him? Even with all the bad history, he was still their father. And what about Nanay? How can she mourn him when he went out, found other wives, and lived with them? What does my mom’s family owe him? But it is not my place to want them to feel as I do.

The last time I saw him was a couple years ago while I was visiting Nanay during my study abroad at UPLB. When I arrived there, I had made my self at home. In fact, I came and went as I pleased just like I did when I was little. I remember going out to explore the city—to see sights from my childhood. I spent most of the day out. I came bounding back into the house and there he was at the kitchen table. Nanay had provided some food for him. He looked up at me as I stood there momentarily shocked. He knew who I was and grunted something that to me sounded like, “Oh it’s you.” I could not deal with him. I really couldn’t. I did not want to talk to him and pretend he was something more to me than a stranger. I manage to blurt out a hello along with a wave before I ran upstairs. He didn’t follow and I didn’t come down for few hours. When I did, I breathed a sigh of relief when I found out that he had left and continued on with my nanay as if he was never there.

Guilt? I will admit to having good amount of it. He was my grandfather. Some part of him runs through my veins. I should feel something but I don’t. I feel nothing for him. I just feel guilty because I feel nothing for him. Does that make any sense?