A Sisters Soul.

The day my parents left me for the second time on the other side of the world, i was crammed into the back of a Jeepny with about twenty people to whom i owe my life. My brothers and sisters in soul. My parents got out at the petrol station, we rolled away back down the Quezon city highway to my small humble home in Payatas. The following was an emotional scribble in my notebook. I thought a lot about leaving it at that, But now i have decided these are the rawest emotions i have felt and they should be shared.

Soul; The immaterial entity that is identified with consciousness, mind and personality.

I was meant to have an older sister. Ella would of been her name, She would of been there to fight my battles, until I grew big enough to wrestle her to the ground and strike fear into the boys she brought home. With time i naturally would of grown protective over her. Worrying when she wouldn't return home, not yet able to understand the tears shed over her early heartbreaks.

My sister, if she had been given the chance, would of been beautiful. A fact Which undoubtedly would of driven me wild. The unbearable thought of her being gawped over, as the the intellectual rebellious heroin my father would of made her. Still With the soft caring and understanding of my mother. I do not regret the way life has been given to me. Although there are times, when i cant help but wonder what life would of been like with Ella around. Always there to warn me of the traps and pitfalls of girls i should of just avoided all along. My parents always eager for me to learn from my own mistakes but always there to pick up the pieces without so much as an 'I told you so.' Which if Ella had grown the way I imagine her too she would of been more than happy to give me that coined phrase.

Ella had always been told to me simply as the name i would of been given if i was a girl, it wasn't until i was 15 and going through similar situations only much too young, That i learnt more of the story. The thought of being the only One had settled in long before then and i knew no different. Although sometimes I could see the glint in my mothers eye, knowing we would never have the same bond they would of had. I often felt guilty growing up in my "awkward" years. I could never speak to my mother about the things that sunk me to my lowest. She gave me no reason to ever feel this way beyond my own subconscious presumptions and reservations of guilt. Always so caring and warm, she would start to cry if i got even so much as a well in my eye. When I was smaller she would kiss my tear stained cheeks and spit out exclaiming "they have gotten so salty!" This would receive a giggle of approval from me and with it the problem would float away. I often feel selfish to Have been the only one of that felt that love and share those tenderest of moments. I'm sure now If my mother had her eldest daughter, they would cry and wail, cleansing their souls until they sparkled again. Something I could never do, I saw too much hurt behind her tears.

My Father was always hard on me, though he had a soft touch, he would never lay a finger on me. I, like most other boys though sadly not all, viewed my father as a kind of hero, as if he knew no wrong words to say and he could never be broken. Never showing fear or distress, it wasn't until he had to say goodbye to me for a year and he was to leave his son on the other side of the world that i saw him cry. A dawning realization and relief that he was still human, not only that but that he was proud. He had always wanted the best for me. I knew that. Although somewhere along the line hormones made it difficult to believe at times i still always knew it to be the truth. He put ideas into my head, that he wanted me to make my own. To create my own opinions and believe in them wholeheartedly. Whenever I was lost I would find my way to the 7th step of our staircase, where he would be waiting for me through the banisters in his big leather chair. we would talk for hours about everything. It was rare for me to admit that i had allowed myself to get lost. But, on these rare occasions when i was totally out of my depth, he would always know everything i needed. I would always think then why it had taken me so long. With Ella i know he would of done the same, only with a slight air of protectiveness but always wanting her to learn her own lessons. To be free and wild but always at home in heart, ready to come back and spill all. In return be rewarded with those those perfectly worded home truths of our Pops. That is of course if i wasn't already filling our space on the stair.

They both would of taught her how to care, the way they did me. To never want to hurt and always understand. To give hope and make a difference no matter how big or how small we would of been looked over with pride from the two people i owe all things. I know now they are proud because i took all the training we both would of got and used every part of it. Gave away myself for a year of selflessness on the other side of the world for something I really cared about. Spending my time with people Who need it and most importantly cherish it. Now half way through they come to visit. They meet the people who have taken me as their family. My brothers and sisters with whom i share that same willing to care and understand for people even when they themselves have so little. Now my parents look to them as their children. I don't feel jealous, it fills me with a warmth. The guilt has slipped away, because i know now That Ellas soul lives on within all of them. I have the kin i had long lived without, and my parents all their children.If only in soul but then no other way would be so perfectly complete.