our house.

currently listening to: tears and rain/james blunt.

it's the end of an era.

brother andrew gonzales, FSC, passed away last sunday at age 65.

i have never had the opportunity to work with brother andrew, and the only words i have ever exchanged with him are probably "hello" and "good afternoon, brother." but i don't think it's possible to study in DLSU and not feel the grief of the entire community, or not see what a great person he was to those who did know him.

his wake is being held at the chapel, here in school. to walk by corridor after corridor after corridor crammed with mass cards and flowers of condolences is an extremely saddening and humbling experience.

may his soul rest in peace.

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my mom and her siblings have recently decided to sell my lola's house, since she's now sick, and cannot live alone anymore. my lola has moved in with one of my aunts, where she also has a caretaker to be with her 24/7.

before going to school today, i dropped my mom off at my lola's house. as i was about to leave, she told me to pop in and say hello to her sisters and brothers, who were also inside.

as i went in the house, my aunts, uncles, and the buyer were all around the dining table, quietly signing the contracts of sale. i asked one of my tita's how she felt about selling the house, and she admitted that she cried the first time she heard the news. it had been her home for the past 44 years. when the buyer asked the question "how old is the house, by the way?", my tita tessie, the eldest of the siblings, turned to her husband and said, "well, when centee was courting me, we had just built the house. that makes it about 40 years old."

when i think of the many, many, many sundays my family and i visited my lolo and lola in that house, i am overwhelmed at the loss of my family. when lolo was still alive and healthy, he would give us 5 pesos if we were the first to find the country or state on his giant world map. when my lolo suffered from his stroke, we would visit him so that my dad could give him communion. when he died, we went to that house to keep my lola company.

i will miss going to my lola's bathroom and seeing the lifelong supply of deodorant, toilet paper and love's baby soft cologne. i will miss the piles and piles of crossword puzzles and word search books. i will miss the cases and cases of coke that they have under the table--the cases that never seem to go empty.

it's the end of an era, indeed.