Josue Ben Carmen de la Peña
1953-2007No poetry today. Just reflections.
Your Uncle JB, your dad's eldest brother, died last week/
It was the second of September.
He was just fifty-four.
I am sad that he did not get to meet you, nor you meet him
(at least in this life).
He took care of me when I was your age.
I look at the pictures your grandfather took of his firstborn
and I can imagine him holding JB as I hold you.
Praying for him as I pray for you.
Your cousins, Jed, Nina and Trixie, asked me to write
a eulogy for your uncle -my
Kuya JB.
This is what I said:
Kuya*
My earliest recollection of Kuya was when I was about 3 or 4 years old. We were living in a small two-story apartment in Project 6. The family would spend evenings around our old black and white tv set - usually watching basketball.
Inevitably I would fall asleep on my mother's lap, and my Dad would ask Kuya JB, the "panganay" to take the "bunso" up to bed.
I knew if I was even slightly awake, my Dad would ask me to walk up to my bed myself. I wanted to be carried up so i often pretended to be asleep. Something that I couldn't get past Kuya, who would take me and stand me up on the stairs and gently walk me up each step, trying to get me to stand on my own two feet.
I would pretend, with all the success a three-year old could muster, to be unresponsive. Kuya found this funny and I remember his trademark chuckle. It was kind of a long giggle, that sounded like "hee hee hee." I'm sure all his friends would remember that chuckle.
And my earliest recollection circumscribes memories of Kuya. -A light sense of humour. Gentleness.
I'm sure Ate Ching and Kuya Verne would have more stories to tell about Kuya. I'm sure Ate Emma and Kuya Eric, would have more, too. He was in his teens by the time I came into the world.
The best stories would probably have come from Mom and Dad - who took great pride in their firstborn. I remember pictures of a very young JB - school medals pinned to his chest. Dad had kept a "file" for each of his children, where he kept our diplomas and certificates. Kuya's file was the thickest one. Overflowing with awards from his elementary and high school years.
Despite those medals, I hardly remember Kuya ever calling attention to himself. I remember him always at the sidelines. Ready with his giggle that would often grow into a laugh. Smiling -but always watching over younger siblings. Steady. Gentle.
Kuya was always Kuya. The eldest in the brood. Eldest among the six, eldest among the cousins on the de la Pena side, too.
I think the only time I remember Kuya purposely being the center of attention was one glorious summer in our hometown of Kayquit when Kuya was in his late teens.
Kuya became the big hometown basketball star. He was the star import of the Kayquit, Indang, Cavite basketball league and was, if I recall correctly, singularly responsible for the Kayquit team's winning streak.
Being so good at the sport, he of course attracted attention -wanted and unwanted. I remember Auntie Doy teasing my eldest brother about the local girls who had a crush on the star basketball player. I also remember Uncle Fil bristling at someone being too rough on the court with Kuya.
I think those were about the only times I could remember Kuya being the center of attention. I think he often preferred to be on the sidelines. Watching. He had a quiet confidence in him, and if he had any worries, he kept them to himself.
I remember Kuya as an artist -skilled. Gifted with insight. Never vain or spectacular. Always practical. Always responsible. His graphics were as he was - effective, steady but never calling attention to itself.
I remember Mom telling me the real reason why Kuya never got his degree in Fine Arts. He knew that our family couldn't afford the cost of the final exhibition and reception that was part of the requirements for the degree. (A pastor's income is small -and must be stretched when raising six kids.)
So, in his senior year, he dropped out. Doing what seemed to be an irresponsible act, for the most responsible reasons.
Then, as always, Kuya didn't feel the need to explain himself. I think he inherited Dad's introversion. But he definitely had Mom's sense of humour.
He was Kuya to all of us. But I know he was husband and best friend to his wife.
I remember meeting Ate Beth for the first time when Kuya brought her to sunday lunch at the parsonage in Citadel Church in Project 4.
They were in classmates in college, and I think they had just begun dating. I was about 7 years old. Kuya JB introduced Ate Beth to the family and I promptly stood up on my chair and cheered "Magkakapamangkin na ako!" ("I'll finally get a nephew!") -and this was years before they got married. Years before Jed was born. Maybe I was channeling my Mom's secret wishes.
I remember how he took me along on one of his dates with Ate Beth - to introduce me to Ate Beth's youngest brother (who was then about my age). He was still being Kuya even as he was courting the love of his life.
I remember their wedding. I remember Kuya JB's goofy smile at the altar -with a "nakaisa" ("scored one") expression on his face.
My clearest memories of Kuya are of him with his children. Kuya doted over and was openly affectionate to each of them.
He indulged Jed with toy cars. And proudly showed off the young man's artwork. I still remember Jed as a little boy sitting on Kuya's lap.
I remember Kuya doting over Nina. He loved Nina's long curls when she was a toddler. (I remember how one hot summer, Ate Beth had to secretly get Nina a haircut - because she knew Kuya would miss Nina's long locks.)
I remember him joking around with Nina. He used to ask Nina whether she preferred to be "magandang pangit or pangit na maganda."
And always that giggle.
I remember him doting over Trixie, who was, and always will be his baby.
As he was with me, his youngest sibling, he was with his kids: gentle, firm, loving. Watching on the side, quiet, dependable. In a word: faithful.
Having grown up in a pastor's household, we strangely never talked about faith. But we lived it. I could see it in Kuya and the way he conducted himself, the way he treated others. It was a stronger witness than any testimony I had heard in church. As he was, so he lived his faith, never vain -never calling attention to itself. Quiet, gentle and faithful.
I regret, as does Kuya Eric, to have missed Kuya JB's last days. I share my sadness with my siblings and their families. i share my sadness with Ate Beth and with Jed and Nina and Trixie -who must miss him even more.
I will miss his quiet presence. His ready giggle.
I will miss you, Kuya. But I look forward to seeing you again, soon.
*-"older brother"
