#30ReasonsWhy | No. 28: Three sisters and a wedding
To die is gain, but to live is Christ, and to be celebrated by Family.

Sa aming magkakapatid, ako ang pinakapogi.
I always make sure I mention that every time I am asked ilan kaming magkakapatid. And it’s true. I really am.
My parents named their firstborn Maryjoice, joining their names Marichu and Jong. Until her 6th grade, we spelled her name Mary Joice, with the space, only to discover that it had no space in her birth certificate. Interestingly, Ate Joice and her husband Kuya Daren would adapt the same style when they named their children. Hence, Darius (Daren + Joice) and Marion (Maryjoice + Daren).
Apparently, it has been the trend since the 80s to marry lovers’ names. And it seems my father was also fond of doing that. Papa coined the name JuMar (Junior + Marichu) for them as a couple, their version of today’s KathNiel, JaDine, or DongYan. And what could be a better way for my father to have this love team’s name immortalized aside from having it tattooed on his right leg? Make it the name of his son. And yes, that was how I was supposed to have been named: Jumar.
My father would look at me and think to himself, “This is JuMar personified, a boy whose looks came from me, and whose personality, from his mother.”
Probably they were also thinking that it was sweet for their kids to be called names that carry the essence of their marriage, as they did in Ate.
“Jumar, kain na.” “Jumar, uwi na.” Every time they would call me, they would be reminded of their union.
Obviously, I was named Gian Erik instead, following the suggestion of Tito Emer, who originally wanted the name for his first firstborn. Their firstborn turned out to be a female and so the name was shelved, until the next male apo in the clan was born.
Ate would be the only one among us whose name would come from the marriage of our parents’ names.

Rizia’s name is from the Bible. Pentecostalism was beginning to have a hold in our church then, and it was spiritual to give babies Biblical names. It seemed to be the evangelical reformation of the Catholic practice of naming children after the saints. Unwittingly, Rizia’s name was just randomly picked from the genealogy in Chronicles. They went through the list of names on the book, and selected the one that sounded fit for the baby:
Ang mga anak naman ni Somer ay sina Ahi, Rohga, Jehuba at Aram. Ang mga anak ng kapatid niyang si Helem ay sina Zofa, Imna, Seles at Amal. Ang mga anak ni Zofa ay sina Suah, Harnefer, Sual, Beri, Imra, Bezer, Hod, Samna, Silsa, Itran at Beera. Ang mga anak ni Jeter ay sina Jefune, Pispa at Ara. Ang mga anak ni Ulla ay sina Ara, Haniel at Rizia.
“Ayun! Rizia!” End of story. And surely another concrete example of how not to use the Bible.
Since they refered to a Tagalog version of the Bible, the word used was anak. Later, we would read the English translation and discover it used the word son. Rizia, it turned out, was a head of family, a choice man, a brave warrior, and an outstanding leader.

Now, my youngest sister is named Jeremy, because we — or I in particular — anticipated that she would be the family’s second boy whom we would name Jeremiah, after the prophet. I was finally having a younger brother! The baby turned out to be a girl, and so we just called her Jeremy. Tita Gem suggested to add Lois, to make it sound more feminine, and because it also means woman of prayer, she said.
I can only imagine how my life would have been different if I had a brother. Would I have a cover photo of our backs while wearing jerseys of the same surname, only different numbers? Would he have looked up to me growing up and hug me tight on my wedding day? Would we have played the Super Mario together with Papa, or would Mama have made us wear matching clothes as Ate Joice is doing with Darius and Ardee?
I have accepted now that that having a biological brother is one of the things I’m sure I will never experience. I am lucky because I got the chance to get to know my brothers from other mothers.
But have I, in my longing for a brother, missed seeing the beauty of being surrounded with wonderful sisters?

Ate Joice has always been a very reliable, responsible older sister. From our childhood to when she started working after graduation even up to now that she already has her children. If there’s one thing to describe her serving us, it’s that she always gives her best.
Growing up resisting a world that is ignorantly harsh to babaeng matataba at maiitim (she was both) is never easy. She is not perfect, I know, but she is also often unrecognized. She has actually done more good things than the world — even sometimes she herself — will ever know.
Sya ang nagturo sa akin maghimasa. Maybe out of disgust for having been asked by my parents to do it to me when we were young. If I also recall correctly, she and Ate Sheryl were the ones who taught me how to read, even before I enrolled in kindergarten. I do not remember any time when she failed to look after me, during the few times that we were together — mostly church and/or settings — and our parents were not around.
A natural giver like Papa, she has no greater joy than being able to give to others, and help those in need. I finished Development Communication and I studied concepts like efficiency, sustainability, the trickle down effect, and the culture of dependency. And so, often, my ways of helping people are filtered by these views. My sister does not need these. She will help anyone, when she can, to the best of her availability, as prompted by her heart. While I would still analyze how the matanda sa labas ng gate was actually a victim of social injustice and why the best way to help him would be to accompany him to the DSWD, my sister would have already given him a piece of bread. After the old man would have left, you would find her crying in one corner, remembering Lolo, and imagining it was Papa who was asking for alms.
My Ate loves our father and mother deeply, more than they will ever know.

Rizia is said to be the one whose mannerisms, world views, and behaviors, including weaknesses, are closest to mine. Whether she tries to imitate me or she naturally acquires these traits, either of it is possible only if she admires me.
Simply put, Rizia is to me as JP is to JR, imho.
Lois is the sweetest among us, the most expressive of her love and affection, the only one of us who kisses her siblings. In 2011, I wrote this about her and for her:
She is a princess, a beautiful princess. And she is discovering each day the beauty that she has. What I am very thankful for is she is already secure of her identity — that it’s never what the people say, or even what she does, that would define her, but what Christ has done for her and in her, and which alone is the basis of how God sees her.
She is a really admirable daughter. I’d say she’s the sweetest of us all. We all love our parents the same, I believe. But Lois expresses it the most and the best. Her texts always end in “Mwah! Mwah!” with all those icons. And, mind you! Before she leaves our house, she actually does that in person! And not only to my parents, but to all of us.
She perfectly expresses her love for us through her acts of service. She is never obliged to do things for us actually, but she joyfully does them for us. We, especially Ate Joice, appreciate everything, Lois. Thank you.
Six years has passed, and nothing has changed. Only this time, she has more confidently embraced her being a princess. Only this time, she knows that she can, and she is willing, to leave our household, for a Home that is bigger than our family.

I am aware that I am not the macho type of guy. This can partly be attributed to growing up with mostly women, among many other factors. I preferred Esperanza over Boxing. I played jack stone not basketball. I was fine staying at home, playing Barangay-barangayan, instead of manguha ng gagamba sa bundok. And I would rather cry in a corner, than pick a fight with someone.
Parang babae, said the world of me when I was young. Ignorantly, of course. Manliness should not be equated to rudeness, nor masculinity to violence.
More importantly, as I realize now, parang babae is not something men should be ashamed of. Parang babae kung maglingkod sa kapamilya. Parang babae kung magtiis ng problema eventually to emerge from it strong and victorious. Parang babae kung pagtagumpayan ang mga prejudice ng lipunan, including the prejudice against babaeng matataba at maiitim.
If parang babae is parang my sisters, parang babae is a complement.
My dear sisters, your love for me is one the #30ReasonsWhy I get to enjoy this life. Your every act of service, big or small, is very much appreciated. I do not like the Philippines’ patriarchal culture where men are served by women of what they eat, what they wear, of what they need. I believe that your every effort to support us, the men of the family, is not something that is forced by this culture, but something driven by your genuine love for us. We love you the same.
My dear sisters, I may not be able to fist-fight with those who would make you cry, but rest assured that your brother can help you analyze their behaviors through social science theories and plan a communication strategy to properly engage with them, or we can bring them to the court and have them undergo due process, or more justly, fight them with the Gospel.
My dear sisters, I love each of you and all of you. I never regret being born into this family. You have had an influence with my life, one way or another, including how to treat women. You only showed me love, and you deserve pretty much the same. Your future sister-in-law will enjoy your company.

