I never thought I'd hate my mom for leaving the Earth.

Or maybe it's not her dying that I hate, but the thought that she left me with nothing in the U.S.

Kung alam ko lang, sana sumama na lang talaga ako kay Papa dati pa.

She hated my dad to the core; that's why she left the country and stayed in Scottsdale with a few dollars in her pocket. She hated him, but not for the reason I usually heard from my friends na talagang ikagagalit ko habambuhay.

There was no divorce in the Philippines, so they stayed married until she died. And she hated him even on her deathbed.

She never missed a day calling my dad a manipulator, an obsessed man, a crazy-ass son of a bitch, anak ng puta, bobo, gago, baliw, hangal—any vile adjectives existing on Earth in the languages I've known, narinig ko kay Mom mula pa noong bata ako, but never did she call my dad a cheater. And I was waiting for that word since I was seven. I was telling her, "Ma, sabihin mo sa 'king may ibang babae si Papa, sasabayan kitang magalit sa kanya," but it never landed in my ear until her last breath.

He was anything but a cheater.

Papa was staying in Manila for the weekdays para sa work niya, and his weekends were spent here in Laguna to be with my lola—supposedly. I was expecting him to be home every week, but two weeks later, after I landed my feet in the Philippines, not a single presence nor shadow of him was in my lola's house. I was left alone here with nothing else to do.

It was October when Papa brought me back to the Philippines along with my mom's ashes. Since he was still my mom's legal husband, he got to decide what to do with her remains. Gusto ni Mama na sa U.S. na ilibing, but since there was no written testament about that, si Papa pa rin ang nasunod. Inuwi niya ako sa Laguna, and he had to go back to Manila to process legal papers since my mom was born and raised in Sampaloc.

The moment Papa told me that I had no other choice but to go home with him to the Philippines, I was anticipating a stepmother my age, because why not? They were literally separated for years! Married, yes? But physically? They were miles and miles apart. Maraming reason si Papa para maghanap ng kapalit ng mom ko.

Men fuck around when no one's watching.

But it had been two weeks since my mom died from colon cancer, and I've never heard a single gossip about my dad having another woman, even in Manila. Wala akong ibang naririnig sa kanila kundi mga frequent visit ni Papa sa family ni Mama. He was fixing all the papers. Running errands. Finalizing death certificates and stuff that needs to be approved in the Department of Foreign Affairs.

I was left in Laguna . . . alone with my grandmother.

The ancestral house of my father's family looked grand and creepy at the same time. Dark varnish from the floor to the ceiling. Old paintings everywhere. The ceilings looked like an artist in weed had recreated a painting of a weird angel party in heaven. The floor was wood, and so were the walls. The whole house smelled like smoke and sweet flowers.

Umiikot ako sa buong bahay para maghanap ng matatambayan na walang statue, because every corner of this huge house had statues of so many men with books, the Virgin Mary, and all the saints, I guess. Two weeks na ako rito, pero natatakot pa rin ako sa mga statue sa buong bahay.

I used to be here when I was a kid, and most of my nightmares involved these statues and how I scarily ran out of this house just to save myself.

On the ground floor, as I walked around, I heard a man singing, and the piano was accompanying the music.

"At kahit anong tindi ng unos, at kahit anong tindi ng dilim . . . may isang inang nagmamatiyag, nagmamahal sa 'tin . . ."

I walked toward the open door and peeked. I slightly backed out and peeked again after I saw a familiar man sitting in front of the piano, singing and playing the instrument. I saw my lola in her wheelchair, holding a rosary. There were like . . . five or six lolas wearing white veils and dresses, as well, sitting on dining chairs with tall wooden backrests.

"Ang rosaryo mong hawak namin at awit-awit ang Ave Maria . . . puspos ka ng diwang banal, dinggin ang aming payak na dasal . . ."

Oh my. That was the snooty guy in the rice field.

But, hell, his voice.

Damn. It was low and soothing.

" . . . ihatid mo kami sa langit ng Amang mapagmahal. . ."

The lolas were singing as well, but not as loud as that snooty guy. His voice was echoing in the whole room. Even the door I was holding was feeling the vibration.

I stood there watching him. He wore a white long-sleeved shirt and black pants. For times like this—times when my mind was forgetting how condescending he was on day one—I was surely underestimating my leniency for someone like him. My brain was annoyed at that man, but my ears and my whole system were betraying me by staying just to hear him sing and play that fucking piano.

In Scottsdale, singing was a privilege only those with blessed vocal cords could practice. If you sounded like a dying cat, shut that fucking mouth; no one wanted to hear how you wrestle the tones in desperation.

"O, Inang mahal, narito kami't awit-awit ang Ave Maria . . . sa anak mong si Jesus, buhay namin ay iaalay . . ."

"Esther! Huwag ka diyan! Masita ka diyan!"

Ate Mabel caught my attention, waving her hand, calling me. My feet had a different opinion, but it was Ate Mabel, so I left that place where I was hiding at lumapit na kay Ate.

"Ate, who's the guy again? The one playing the piano?" I asked.

"Piano?" Ate Mabel peeked behind me. Huminto na ang kanta sa loob. "Baka si Gimo."

Gimo.

"Pinapapunta ba siya ng church dito sa house ni Inang?" tanong ko.

Ate Mabel held my arm and gently pulled me out of the hallway papunta sa garden sa labas. Guess she didn't want to make a noise near that room.

"A, hindi," Ate Mabel answered as we walked. "Kumakanta talaga siya rito para sa lola mo. Kumare kasi 'yan sila ng lola niya. Si Doña Ning. Doon sa kabila ang mansiyon nila. Kita mo naman sa second floor 'yon. Basta 'yong bahay sa malayo."

Bahay sa malayo? I only knew one huge house from afar na sure akong nag-iisa lang na makikita sa second floor.

"Did Inang ask for him to sing dito sa house?"

"Hindi!" Ate Mabel opposed. "Nagpresinta na si tita niya Daisy na papuntahin na lang dito si Gimo para kumanta sa lola mo kasi hindi na 'yan nakakapunta ng simbahan. Hindi na nga makatagal sa pagtayo ang matanda. Nakakalakad pa naman ang lola mo, pero malayo talaga rito ang simbahan. Napapagod 'yan sa biyahe. Pumayag naman si Gimo kasi mabait din naman 'yan sa lola mo."

Ate Mabel was speaking with her whole face moving. She used a lot of facial muscles, like my mom. They couldn't speak with a straight face. They always scowl, cringe, and open their mouth wider than usual.

"Nagsisibak din 'yan dito ng kahoy. Minsan tumutulong 'yan magbuhat-buhat dito," Ate Mabel added.

"Is he an orphan or something?" I asked with a scrunched face.

"Orphan? Hindi, a! Abogado ang daddy niyan! Nasa munisipyo naman ang nanay. Nandito lang 'yan kasi . . ." Ate Mabel covered her left cheek with a palm to whisper. "Ayaw mautusan sa kanila. Pero masipag naman 'yan kahit dito. Hindi nga lang namin inuutusan kaya napipili niya kung ano lang ang gagawin, kaysa doon sa kanila na oras-oras ang utos."

Oh, so he was only here to avoid household chores. Interesting.

"Don't they have maids?" I sarcastically asked.

"Maids? Aba'y marami! Diyos ko, puro nga maid doon sa kanila!"

"Then, bakit siya nagwo-work pa?"

"E, siyempre, ayaw ng mga tita nila na pasenyo-senyorito lang sila sa bahay. Pero masipag 'yan. Saka magaling 'yang magluto. Nagluluto 'yan sila ng mga kapatid niya tuwing may fiesta."

"Oh, so he has brothers."

Ate Mabel sighed so loud, parang ang suspicious tuloy. "Oo, dami rin nilang magkakapatid. Anim."

"That's a lot."

Sabay pa kaming napalingon ni Ate Mabel nang tumugtog uli ang piano sa loob. Guess they weren't done with the gospels.

"Doon ka na muna sa duyan. Dadalhan kita ng buko."

Ate Mabel then guided me to the other side of the house—a quieter but not creepy place at last.