All About You

Three

L ike all of our family gatherings, it’s the smell of the food that greets me first, before my relatives. As soon as we step through the entrance of Tita Lucillia’s house, the aroma of freshly cooked dishes tackles my nose violently and saliva begins to build ungracefully on my tongue. There’s never a shortage in food at my family gatherings.

Last time Tita Lucillia hosted a party, it was for New Year’s lunch. She’d cooked her signature palabok , my favourite Filipino dish of all time.

God, just thinking about palabok , of it’s rich shrimp sauce coating the noodles, of the pork cracklings scattered thoughtfully atop, has my knees buckling and stomach churning.

Maybe I should’ve had more than just a toast for breakfast.

“Ah, finally! ”

My Tita Bea’s voice bounces through the air as she scurries toward us from the end of the hallway. Mum manages to pull off her last sandal, before her little sister burrows herself against her in an affectionate embrace. When she pulls away, she gives Mum a small slap.

“ Hey !” Mum exclaims.

“Why are you always so late ?”

“We were waiting for this to finish baking,” Mum replies, gesturing toward the baked cassava in my Dad’s arms.

That isn’t true. The cassava was finished, and growing cold atop the kitchen bench way before they all came downstairs.

Dad leans in to embrace Tita Bea, saving Mum from her further wrath. She exclaims that he’s gained a lot of muscle since the last time she saw him, to which he proudly boasts of the new home gym in our garage that he’d set up for the New Year. I step forward, beaming as Tita Bea wraps her arms around me. We’re both the same height, so she doesn’t have to reach upward like she does with Mum or Ria.

“I love your dress today!” I compliment. Today, Tita Bea is dressed in a maroon dress that complements her deep complexion, and her shoulder-length hair is pinned up in a low bun. Everything about her is so picturesque, like a 50s starlet. Tita Bea always manages to pull it off so gracefully.

“Aw thank you Lene! I love your top, and your new hair, it’s so pretty” she coos, grazing her fingers against my hair. Pride blooms in my chest. There’s something about having your Titas compliment you that feels as though you’ve won the lottery.

I move to the side so she can greet Ria. I hear her pass the same sentiment about Ria’s dress - my dress - before we make our way through the archway that leads into the combined living room and kitchen space.

Most of the guests are already here, scattered across the space, occupying the couches and dining room chairs. My eyes jump toward the kitchen counter, where the untouched food lies. Immediately, my stomach writhes in protest.

Before we can think of eating, Ria and I begin our rounds to each of our Titas, Titos, Lola and Lolo and Kuyas, greeting all of them with mano po - the elderly sentiment that involves pressing their knuckles against our forehead as a sign of respect.

“You’re so big, Lene!” Lola Evangeline declares as she pulls me forward for a cheek kiss. I smile, trying to decipher whether she means I’m big because I’ve gained more weight, or because I’m getting older.

“Ang taba mo! [3] ” she adds, poking at my stomach. Nevermind then. I wasn’t petitely built like my cousin Stephanie, nor slender bodied like Ria, and apparently that’s evident to my relatives, but it doesn’t matter so much to me. When comments like that come my way, I just let it fly through my ear, and drain itself right out the other.

Sitting at the dining table is Marlon’s family - Tita Regina and Tito Daniel - yet the devil himself is nowhere to be seen. Relief washes over me.

Tita Regina’s brown eyes light up immediately when she spots me, and she is quick to pull me in for an affectionate embrace. The floral scent of her signature perfume fills my nostrils pleasantly.

“Ang ganda mo [4] !” she exclaims, her blue-manicured fingers brushing my hair gently. I smile kindly. While her son is my least favourite person in the world, his parents are among one of the loveliest. I’ve always gotten along easy with Tita Regina, with her youthful and feisty personality. If only her son was as tolerable as she is.

I go to hug Tito Daniel, who is a little more quiet but has a welcoming smile.

“Have you said hi to Marlon yet?” Tita Regina asks, a cheeky undertone springing from her words.

God no, if I can help it.

To her, I say nonchalantly, “Not yet, maybe later.”

Hopefully never.

Once Ria and I are certain we’ve greeted all our relatives and guests, we beeline toward the kitchen. The silver trays are splayed out invitingly, coaxing us toward them.

Lola Evangeline settles herself behind the counter to say grace. Then, once prayer is done, the literal hunger games begin. It’s a scuffle, getting to the cutlery, hands grabbing with no manners, and it’s forgotten that we’re family. An uneven line begins at the dishes. I end up at the back of the line, while Ria somehow finds herself at the front, and Mum and Dad in the middle.

After what feels like days and years of hunger, the line eventually dissipates and merges at the food. I reach the dishes in no time, and my brain malfunctions at all the variety.

Chicken adobo, pork asado, pancit canton….

Tita Lucillia has truly outdone herself this time, practically cooking up her own personal restaurant. While all dishes inevitably pull at my stomach, there’s one particular dish my body has been aching most for.

Palabok .

My gaze bounces across all the dishes, until it finally lands on the one. My body practically floats mindlessly toward it. I stretch my fingers out, hungrily reaching for the tongs, until another pair of hands swiftly grab it first from the other side of the kitchen counter, leaving my own suspended mid air.

What?

My neck shoots up, eyes searching for the culprit.

Of. Course.

Tousled brown curls greet me first before my gaze skitters down toward the twisted smile that’s been the subject of all my nightmares since the first time I laid eyes on it.

Marlon. The little devil .

I clear my throat with a loud ahem . He doesn’t even bother to look up.

“ AHEM ,” I practically growl.

Still, he doesn’t acknowledge me. With the tongs I was reaching for first, he scoops up a large serving of palabok onto his own plate.

“I was reaching for that first,” I state, but my voice comes out sounding more childish than threatening. Only then does Marlon address me, his brown eyes meeting my own, and his expression morphs into one that’s just unadulterated evil.

“Sorry,” he drawls, mockingly.

I hold my hand out, gesturing that he hand the tongs over to me. He doesn’t.

Instead, he collects the smallest portion, and plops it clumsily onto my plate, causing it to wobble a little. Then, he turns to my Lolo Marcus, who’d been standing patiently beside me this entire time.

“Here you go, Lolo ,” Marlon urges sweetly, pressing the tongs against his fingers, before walking off. I hiss an exhale through my gritted teeth.

“Ang cute nyong dalawa [5] !” Lolo exclaims, gesturing the tons toward me and Marlon like a conductor. The toast I’d eaten this morning threatens to make a reappearance. I swallow down my queasiness, and just laugh away his statement.

“Oh Lolo ,” I respond through a pained smile.

Before he can continue rambling about how perfect Marlon and I are together, I leave.

I’ve heard it all before, different renditions of the same chorus. Of how perfect Marlon and I would be together. Of how both of our families have been planning our wedding since birth. The same old tale, same old nightmare.

I spot Ria on the living room couch, balancing her plate atop her thighs. She quirks a questioning brow, as I lower myself beside her with a thump.

“Oh my gosh ,” I sigh dramatically.

“What’s wrong now?”

“Marlon,” I say, stabbing my fork into my small portion of palabok.

“What did he do this time?”

Everything , I want to say.

“He didn’t let me get palabok .”

Ria glances at the portion I was twirling around my fork. I roll my eyes, placing it down.

“I mean, he took the tongs from me. I couldn’t get the serving I wanted.”

“Okay, then just go back again. The line is clear at the moment.”

Ria is being much too reasonable right now. I shoot her a glare, and say, “That’s not the point. Fume with me, will you?”

“You’re right. Marlon sucks, I can’t believe he would do that, how despicable , he is the absolute worst,” she recites through a mouthful of food, and a spit of rice sprays onto my chin. I wipe it away hastily.

“Lolo also made a comment about us again,” I continue, gruffly, fueled by Ria’s mock anger.

“So? Just laugh it off, you should be used to it by now anyway. If you finally get a boyfriend, it’ll all stop, don’t worry.”

I narrow my eyes.

“ If ? A little faith would be nice.”

Ria waves her hand dismissively, “Sorry, sorry, when .”

Regardless, my cheeks heat involuntarily at the mere thought of having a boyfriend, having a someone . Would it change? Was Ria right?

The brief moment of delusional euphoria crumples as soon as I remember something, a detail that quickly negates Ria’s theory.

A year ago, Marlon was actually dating someone, Christine, who he brought to two or three, maybe four family gatherings overall. She was this sweet Chinese-French girl who I’d only spoken to a few times. When Marlon first brought her around and introduced Christine to the family, the relief was tangible.

A weight lifted off my shoulders. I truly believed that this ridiculous ‘Marlon & Jaslene’ delusion of theirs was over. How wrong I was.

Sure, our families weren’t as verbally obvious about it anymore. They were nice to Christine’s face, welcoming her in. Yet, there were still whispers. Hushed jokes that they thought I wouldn’t pick up on.

‘I wonder how Jaslene feels about this.’

‘Is Marlon very sure about this Christine?’

‘Who is this Christine anyway?’

Such whispers radiated like playground gossip. I actually felt bad for Christine. And for Marlon, a bit, too. They broke up sometime before the end of last year, because Marlon didn’t bring her around for Christmas.

So, no, I don’t think even having a boyfriend will stop the ridiculous matchmaking.

“You forget about Christine,” I remind Ria.

Her mouth opens, but no response comes out. She’s at a dead end for this one too. After a beat, she pops another spoonful of rice and chicken adobo into her mouth before declaring, “Okay, well, the only solution is to date and marry Marlon.”

It’s a joke, I know. Still, I choke on the noodles I’d just pushed into my mouth, causing me to cough violently.

Instead of helping me, Ria just bursts into laughter. I swallow the remnants of my food, narrowing my eyes at her.

“What’s so funny?”

The sound of my cousin Stephanie’s voice is an instant mood lifter. She strolls in, clad in denim overalls with her hair twisted into two space buns, and takes a seat beside me, so that I’m sandwiched between her and Ria. She places her plate of pork asado, rice and pancit canton atop her legs and I eye the steam that emanates from the dishes, stomach twitching. Maybe I should get more servings.

“Oh nothing,” Ria informs, “Just that Jaslene has a boyfriend.”

I pinch Ria’s elbow lightly and she yelps. It’s too late, the damage is done. Stephanie gasps, and her eyes brighten. She flicks my forearm and I flinch, jaw dropping.

“Hey!”

“Don’t tell me you got a boyfriend without consulting me,” she exclaims, jutting her bottom lip in a pout. I throw my hands in the air, exasperated. Where did this sudden ambush come from?

“I don’t have a boyfriend!”

In fact, I was very, very far from having a boyfriend. The last boy I had a crush on during my last year of high school, Ralph from history class, was an utter disaster to say the least. A bullet dodged, actually, as Ria puts it.

When I confessed my feelings for him in a letter, he actually told me he felt the same. At least, for three hours. That’s right. He told me he liked me back at the start of the school day, after I gave him the letter. Then, when the school bell rang to go home, he told me he realised he doesn’t actually like me. I’d never asked to move seats in class so fast.

“Well then, when are you going to get one Ate Lene?” Stephanie asks, as if I’m not constantly asking myself the same question, “You and Kuya Marlon would really be so cut-”

I hold my finger up against her lips, shushing her immediately.

“Do not finish that sentence. Not you Steph. You know that Marlon and I will never happen. E-v-er .”

I dig my teeth into my lips, emphasising the v .

“Besides, I don’t have time for one.”

That’s totally a lie. I’ve always got time for love.

“Bullshit,” Stephanie retorts. I raise a brow and lean in, lips twisting mischievously.

I hold my phone up, gracing my lock screen wallpaper. Or rather, the subjects of my wallpaper. The eight-member korean boy group ATEEZ pops up, all clad in suits, appearing suave, handsome, and entirely out of my league.

“Who needs a boyfriend when I already have eight husbands?” I tease, nudging Stephanie with my shoulder and she groans, amused by my delusions.

Better to be delusional about love than face the reality that I’m far, far from it.

The sound of utensils clanging against glass summons our attention to the centre of the house. We make our way toward the kitchen counter, where Tita Lucillia stands, beaming.

“Maraming, maraming salamat sa lahat [6] for coming today to celebrate my birthday! The big four-five!” she cheers, shaking her hips as we all whoop for her.

“I hope you enjoyed all the food today, too!”

To that I whistle, and all my relatives laugh.

“But now, I want to direct all your attention to my darling little sister. Didn’t you have something you all wanted to tell us, Bea-Bea?”

All our eyes flicker toward Tita Bea, who stands idly beside Tita Lucillia. Jonathan, her boyfriend, has his arms around her shoulder. A silence falls over the room, waiting. She holds the room for a few beats, her gaze dancing around, raising the anticipation. It’s only when Lola Evangeline exclaims, “ bilisan mo [7] !” that she slowly raises her left hand.

The light catches it first, before I do, casting a beam from her hand. My eyes adjust, before I realise what it is.

A large, silver ring.

“I’m engaged!”