The Empty Nest...

I was really busy for two days last week, spending my work hours (which for most people, including myself on certain days, would be between 8am and 5 pm) in front of a group of at least 100, babbling about urine. And salt. Urine and salt would be like my "bread-and-butter." Weird combo, I know. I'm a nephrologist. A kidney specialist. And when I'm not asking people how many times they urinated in a day, or if there's any weird-looking thing growing on their thingy, I'd be, like, talking to students about urine and male and female thingies. And kidneys, of course. So for two days, I talked myself hoarse, and downed several cups of "salabat", which I took with taisan loaf (an entire loaf!) when I got home. But I had to keep Friday free. I promised my nieces I'd be taking them out to lunch. That was last Friday. Today's Sunday. They left with my sister, their mom, yesterday evening, to live in jolly ol' England.

Writing has always been therapeutic for me. Long before weblogs, I'd put my thoughts down on a piece of paper. That's what I'm doing right now. And this is supposed to be therapeutic. My first niece, Nicole, has been with us ever since she was born. She was our baby. And I doted on her pretty much like a dad, although only 16 years and 11 months separated us. She was spoiled rotten by the constant affection and attention we showered on her. But she's an angel. Even when she acts all impish. Bianca, on the other hand, stayed with her dad, my sister's ex, for four years until she came to live with us. And for seven years, she slowly came out of the shell we found her to be cloistered in when she first came to our lives. I'd often tease her, and I wouldn't stop until she'd end up in tears - it really didn't take too much to make her cry. But she soon got used to living with an "insane" uncle. And they, Nicole and Bianca, are like my own kids. They ARE my kids, except that I didn't have to directly contribute any body fluid to make their existence in this world possible. Haha! Still, seeing them board the van that brought them to the airport last night left me with a searing pain I couldn't bear. It's like seeing a piece of your heart slowly being ripped off. Unlike mom and dad, I intentionally avoided accompanying them to NAIA. I hate long goodbyes. And the less-than-an-hour's drive from our house to the airport would seem like a lifetime of torture for me. Besides, I didn't want them to see me get misty-eyed. Men aren't supposed to cry. So, I just walked them to our gate and saw them off. I turned my back against them as soon as the van's door slammed shut. And going back inside our house, the silence that greeted me was deafening, I simply had to turn the TV on. Between ogling at Regine Velasquez's artifically enhanced ample bosom and listening to Heidi Klum say "auf wiedersehn" from my fave seat, I couldn't resist taking passing glances at the arm rest of the sofa where Ate Coie frequently left her tumbler, which never failed to irritate me, strict as I was with keeping the house clean. But the faint smell of baby powder on the couch still lingered long after Binky spilled some just that morning. On a normal day, I would have raised my voice and scolded the culprit. But last night, I was secretly hoping I'd see a "sweating" tumbler making moist circles on the wooden varnished arm rest of the sofa, or sneeze from the baby powder entering my nostrils. It's a good thing Manang Nora was there to keep me company while we watched the Pinoy pop superstars make fools of themselves, and Danny Tan, Jaya and Floy Quintos make even bigger fools of themselves. "Smile though your heart is aching... smile, even though it's breaking..." I miss my nieces. Darn, there goes a tear... Haaay...

Oh well. I've to sleep early for tomorrow's another day. And I've to save up for a roundtrip ticket to London. Imma go there this semestral break. Yeah, that's the plan. Goody! Something to look forward to, at least. :)