My Half-Brother

Tomorrow is my seventh birthday.
Papa will take me to Enchanted Kingdom.

Papa and Mama divorced before my first birthday.
Mama said Papa ran off and married a witch.

“Tomorrow your Papa has a surprise for you,” said Mama.
I asked her what kind of surprise will I get.
She said, “Tomorrow you shall meet your half-brother.”

I asked her what a half-brother looks like.
Is he all-left? Or purely right?
Is he like a manananggal, just waist-down? Or waist-up?

Mama laughed and explained to me that my half-brother was Papa’s son, but not hers.
“Who is his mama?” I asked.
She answered, “Why of course, it’s that witch your Papa married.”

I tried to imagine what a witch’s son looks like.
Probably a hunchback with one eye and a nose full of warts.

Today I met my half-brother.
He wasn’t a one-eyed hunchback.
He wasn’t all-left or purely right.
He wasn’t like a manananggal.
He looked like me.

Today I spent my birthday in Enchanted Kingdom with Papa and my half-brother.
At the Ice Cream Parlor, we bought the same flavor.
At the video arcade, we played the same game.
At the Haunted House, we screamed in fright at the same ghost.

We both had the same smile.
We both had the same laugh.
And we both had the same tear in our eye when our day ended.

“Good-bye, Kuya!” my half-brother said.
“I hope you come on my birthday.”

Tomorrow is my half-brother’s birthday.
His mama is not a witch.
His mama is rich.
Tomorrow we are going to Hong Kong Disneyland.

*circa 19 Jan 2007

Sting Lacson

A writer. By degree and by profession. Also strongly advocates ten-finger typing to all writers because that's what you do for a living, so be efficient at it.

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"The Words come from the Divine; from the Muse the Idea. The Poet merely transcribes." ┼Old Sumerian proverb

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