I remember when I was seven years old and was so obsessed with Barbie dolls (it was the time that I vowed to have a pink colored Mercedes Benz), I would cry in the middle of the toystore if they didn't buy me a toy in Landmark. I was spoiled rotten when I was a kid. Still am, actually.
When I was ten, my dad bought my cousin who was in college this super cool trapper keeper because she needed it for school. I was ten and didn't really need one but I wanted one. So I bawled and bawled til Dad had to drive to National Bookstore at eight o'clock just so I'd stop.
I remember getting dressed for our monthly trip to Enchanted Kingdom when I was thirteen. I would tell Carlo to come with us and we would have the best time. Every now and then Dad would have an emergency appointment on weekends or something came up and he wouldn't be able to join us and I would not talk to him for a whole week.
When I was in Year 11 and everytime I would hang out at Dimples place after school, I would always catch a bus home. My mum forbade me to stay out too late, but since my hormones were going out of control and I was determined to piss my mum off, I always, always came home late.
Then, when my mum couldn't take it anymore, she went to Dad for help. Let's say it was an intervention, shall we. Dad called me up nonstop everyday for a month. Making sure that I wasn't doing drugs nor having sex. I laughed at them. For some twisted reason, I found them worrying about me quite amusing.
Dad asked me to just behave myself and that I'd come home to Manila by the end of the year. He just didn't want me to get back home pregnant. His exact words. I wasn't even having sex then. It scared them that I was a bit out of control and I didn't really listen to anything my mum said to at the time. I hated her just cause she's a mother.
I vaguely remember Dad telling Mum how they couldn't be there for me everytime I needed help or needed reassuring or just needed someone for me. Because there will come a time that no matter how much hovering they do or endless trips to Enchanted Kindom or boxes of now-outdated Trapper Keepers or dozens of Barbie dolls and her ex-boyfriend Ken dolls, I would have to sort some stuff out on my own.
The moment that they feared arrived. A few months back.
I had my heart broken. And they were right. I couldn't run to them for a reassuring hug with the hope that it would go away. It didn't go away even when Mum tucked me to bed. Not even Dad's "makakahanap ka rin ng iba" speeches were good enough.
I really thought I will never be okay.
But the one funny thing that helped me through it was still my parents.
My dad who cracked up jokes about his own lovelife.
My mum who told me to start praying again and commit my self to God in a more matured level.
My dad who brought me sansrival cake everytime he'd come to visit. My comfort food because I was recovering.
My mum who bashed my ex-boyfriend with me telling me that I could do so much better than stick with someone who commited himself with someone else four days after we ended our three-year relationship.
My dad who started setting me up with some of his corporate friends' sons.
My mum who dragged me along wherever she went just so I wouldn't be alone to think of stuff.
My dad who watched DVDs with me.
They became my full-time nannies, them two.
After a few months of unnecessary tears, deflated egos and self-doubts, I started to crack jokes about the situation again. I now find it hilarious how I was so dramatic and such a drama queen.
They were right. It was only a matter of time before I get back to my old self again.
My parents are a keeper. They're my best friends.
They made the situation more bearable for me. San ka pa, diba?
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