Originally Posted by
anniepetilla
The Kuya Curse
Kamusta po, kuya?” Such a sweet endearment.
Kuya. It is a filial courtesy, a social position of respectability of the male heir, a paternal contrivance of responsibility. A societal instrument by which parents instruct their offspring on the concepts of obedience, patience, reward and punishment. A power trap.
Oh, yes, being kuya has its perks. You are the man of the house, next to your father, of course. You are the prince of your household, the man in the making. Naturally, some things are expected of you. Take out the garbage, feed the dog, wash the car, trivial little chores for you to practice being responsible. Not bad for what you get in return. You get first dibs on the phone, the use of the family car, get to go out and stay out late… sometimes very late… after all, you are a man of the world. Of course you have to be a good role model to your younger siblings. Never mind the idol worship the younger ones give you or even the jealousy and envy it sometimes arouses. Being kuya can be good.
And as we venture out of our family circles we realize that the “Kuya Phenomenon” transcends immediate filial ties! Younger, unrelated people calling you kuya. Duh. Ok, fine, it gives you a wider sphere of influence. You adopt… rather get adopted by either an individual or a barkada. It is interesting how a filial social structure is recreated in unrelated individuals. The way hierarchies create themselves and develop seemingly through osmosis. Younger people deferring to your “age” and “experience”, listening to your stories, sometimes trying to infer advice or admonition from your tales and exploits. You become some sort of mentor directly, or indirectly. It’s a cool thing. It endows you with a measure of power.
But power is a funny thing. The funny kind of thing that doesn’t make you laugh. It is fickle. And as dangerous as a double edged sword.
You have become someone to look up to. Someone people emulate if not admire, openly or not. You have a wealth of experience, good and bad… it’s just that your stories are so “good.” Sometimes it can’t be helped that you are admired. A perk really, something that boosts the ego and reinforces your conceit. It is addictive. And you always seem to have something important to say, your wards hanging on every little syllable. Advice and direction are a constant commodity you peddle. A nod from your head brings about joy. And the shake of your head heralds displeasure and doom.
And the owner of your heart calls you kuya.
“Touché.” Mon ami. You are dead.
She calls you kuya. And as some ties bind, some strangle, chafe and bite. You are the elder brother to her in all respects but blood. She feels safe in your company, secure in your presence, her confidence bolstered by your faith… and love. Yet reciprocated… it is not. Not in the way and manner you desire. And as the ties that bind, strangle, chafe and bite… you choke on the very influence you weave… and you die. Or at least you feel you have.
You hold her dear and close to your heart. Constantly, ever on your mind, you wonder could she? Would she? Would she ever consider you more…?
She is just so very, very cute. You noticed this on the walks you take her on. She is smart, heck, intelligent. Yes she is younger than you are, yet you seem to connect on different levels. You have an admiration for her intellect and insight. She is still in the midst of formulating herself and you see so much beautiful potential in her. Plus she seems unaffected by the fact that she is so very, very cute.
You have begun to see her more often. Sometimes under the pretense of instruction. You have begun to crave her company. You are in constant communication. This is bordering on becoming an obsession. Because suddenly, she matters. She matters more than you thought she could. She affects you in such a way that you are no longer logical. That you cannot control the smile she brings to your face. Or the way she lights up the room for you. The way her voice echoes in the recesses of your being. Short, dark hair, cute little pouty smile, a boundless bundle of energy, you see her all the time in your minds eye. You are the icon, symbol of male authority and at her feet you crumble.
In her mind you are the father-figure, brother she never had, always wanted. She respects you too much. Or rather her feelings have transcended normalcy and you, to her, are like family and anything other than a filial relationship reeks incestuous.
She loves you like family.
Is it worth it? Let me work it…
It is a twisting, searing, goddamn awful stab in the gut, being in love like this. It makes you wonder how you ever painted yourself into this corner. Trapped by the very illusion you have woven. Trapped by the image you have created for yourself.
I guess death is the only release. Yours. Or the emotions in motion. Natural or emotional. Usually it’s emotional suicide, it’s less messy. The suppression of your expression. Giving it up and letting it go. I just hate being altruistic. Sometimes its all just bullshit.
But sometimes you can love that much.
*[size=9px]just a sweet little thing written by a guy[/size]
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