There used to be two ways to get to our home’s
rooftop. One, you climb either of the two mango trees standing tall on both
sides of the house. Second, you climb through the stairway-like metal leading
to the water tank at the back of the kitchen. April (my second sister) and I
would always choose the first option, especially during summer, when the trees
are bursting with fruits. We’d climb the one on the right side of the house,
traversing from one branch to another as if God created each of those to accommodate
our little hands and feet. At 4 in the afternoon, or 5, depending if there are
still classes, we’d bring with us a knife, fish sauce, salt and water.
We would spend the first 15 minutes picking mango fruits. We’d watch people on
their bikes pass through the once rugged, dusty highway, while the sun slowly
dips over the horizon. We’d listen to our playmates looking for us. It’s time
to catch dragonflies, they would say. Or play rubber band or chinese garter or
patintero.
On other days, we would immediately join them, but there will be days when
sitting on the rooftop is way more appealing to us. Munching on the fruits, we
would talk about our dreams and plans when we grow up. I’d tell her that I
would support her when I get work. Then she would support our third sibling
when she finishes her studies. We’d talk about not having boyfriends 'til we
finish college so that the younger sisters will follow after us. I am not sure
how we started those conversations. I can only give the credit to our parents who
taught us to look after one another.
At 6, we’d hear our house help (who also became our second parent) call our
names. She would stand beside the mango tree, ready to catch whatever we
brought with us on the rooftop. It’s time to shower and do your assignments,
she would shout. By then, the sun has set. We could almost hear daddy in his
owner-type jeep, arriving from work. We would then oblige.
When we said our goodbyes after my 1-week vacation in Dubai last week, we had a
good cry, just because there is no getting used to doing that. I am proud of
the woman she’s become, the sister that our younger siblings can look up to.
Everything we talked about during those afternoons is slowly coming to past.
God has been faithful. There were plans that did not go according to our
timeline but He showed us that His timing is always perfect. The world has
become our rooftop, April and I.
There are so much more we could have talked about - her life as a nurse in the
desert of UAE, my latest deployment in Indonesia, our parents’ clamor for us to
settle down soon, our sisters’ pursuit of their own dreams, but, like in the
good old days, we heard the call. ‘It’s time to go down, you have assignments
to do.’
Again, we had to oblige. There are dreams and plans we need to work on. For
ourselves. For the family. So we hugged, said our I love yous, told each other
to take care and that we’ll see each other soon. Like how our younger selves
would anticipate the next afternoon, we took our separate ways looking forward
to that next reunion, the next rooftop conversation, wherever in the world it
may be.
