I Am Everything That’s Wrong In The World

And it may be true. For what my brothers and a few relatives think. Or maybe everyone around me see me as the biggest asshole they have ever met.

Could be true, you know. If you see me in my black tees, jeans and worn out shoes, closely cropped hair, earring on one ear, smoking a cigarette, then I guess I am the quintessential stereotype, up-to-no-good hooligan you see everyday on the street.

I gave up caring about it.

I had the made another mistake of helping out a brother who is clearly having some difficulties with rising up to the occasion, money wise. Mind you, I’m strapped for funds myself, but hey, blood is blood, and I think it’s a good idea at the time.

Or so, I thought.

Then came the time that all those funds and helping out really brought me low with the current economy. I just had to ask him to cover for one of my numerous dues. I believed he would keep true to his word. But he didn’t. And it made things worse. I was paying installment for a motorcycle I haven’t had the pleasure of riding. My wife has an affliction that eats up the nutrients on her bones that keeps on tugging at our meager monies. In order for me to maintain a good working relationship with my employer, I maintain an apartment close to my workplace. Amidst all that, I managed to deprive myself of earthly delights and let my brother use some of my hard-earned pay so he can do what he needs to do to provide for his family.

Noble deed, should someone need to label it.

I think of it as a normal, sensible thing to do.

But, he never paid for that single monthly due. Worse, my calls, texts and messages on facebook are left unanswered. Probikes, my agent for the Moto-R 155 I was paying for, reported that  the last time my ride was in for repairs was last December, when I had the keystarter replaced. When I tried to call, he doesn’t answer, or make up lies about being in a meeting.

And that was before one time, he and a nephew of ours arrived one early morning, and found a beautiful woman was with me in the apartment. Evidently, this beautiful woman spent the night  in the apartment.

Did we copulate? Did I commit adultery? Who knows?

Did my brother ask me about it? No.

Do I need to tell him about it? No.

If it was a matter of interest, and had he asked, I would have answered without hesitation. Though given my perceived bad reputation, I would surmise people think of me having orgies and late night prowling.

Before all these happened, we were reconnecting. Heck. I was glad we’re talking again. I could pour out my heart to someone I know will keep an open ear and an open heart. He would tell me things I coul swear I would keep and defend to keep. We were brothers again.   I gave him keys to the apartment, knowing it would be a convenience for him to have a place to sleep. He can rile me about the stuff we did when we were younger. We talked. We cursed.

We were brothers again.

And all of that was for naught.

And I don’t understand. really I haven’t the slightest idea.

A co-worker will ask to talk to me if something that bothers him about me will affect our relationship within the workplace. A superior will take me aside and talk me down if he feels my actions can hinder whatever projects is at hand. A friend will torture me with insults should he feel I had to open up and tell my side of the story. It was that simple.

But you had to let it drag longer than it should, little brother. 

And now his reasons for not answering my calls, on three, count them 3 mobile phone sims he has, or texts was, among others, because of that one morning of seemingly suspicious premise. Wow. Well I could be a lecherous fiend. Chasing skirts and taking women back to the apartment and doing all sorts of lurid acts with the female species. As a matter of fact I could be philandering here and there, spending copious hours of endless, sweaty couplings within the walls of my apartment.

Yeah.

I’m a bastard of a thousand bastard deeds.

Or so my reputation has preceeded me. Even during my high school days, even my friends see me as someone who always gets laid whenever or wherever.

Even so . . .

Does that change the fact that when I needed  my brother to step up for me, I was left wondering what the hell happenened? Does that change the fact that all this frustration and anger and irritation was born from the fact that he failed to tell me beforehand one single, small information that he will not be able to do what I begged him to do, to cover for then, the current state of my finances.

And when I was looking for answers – I got none.

I am pissed. I am fuming mad. Because someone whom I thought of before even sending money to my family ignores my calls. Someone I think about of allocating whatever extra money I earned freom my freelance jobs, ignores my text messages. A brother whom I freely let use my still being paid for motorcycle had the gall to tell me he won’t talk to me because I raise my voice whenever I get the chance to talk to him on mobile phone. I logged 81 dialled, unanswered calls, and that was just on his Globe sim,sent countless text messages on all three sims.

Wouldn’t you? Raise your voice from sheer frustration? For being left hanging? From being ignored? I resorted to asking his daughters and an uncle, because for months I can’t for the life of me, and given the available amount of  medium, seem to connect. Education dictates that when people ask, you try to answer. Good sense tells us to reply to queries.

Is that too much to ask?

He was behaving like that even before that one morning. All that education, prestige with iFern, his DeMolay Brotherhood, his affiliations, did not figure in the fact that he was hiding from me and his obligations to me. And I thought DeMolays, like Freemasons, have Honor in their creed.

I don’t need him to pay me for all the funds I shelled out for his ventures, for the gas, for anything I felt he needed at the time. All I want is for him to return my motorcycle, pay for that one installment due on the bike and that’s it. He can keep the rest for himself.

If he had responded and replied several months ago, this would have been done with and forgotten.

But it drags on. And on.

And right now, I am the villain in this story.  Check. I have always been the outsider. Even  then, and still is now. All because I am asserting for what is clearly mine, and due me.

But the worst has come.

Because after this, I am shutting up.

A dog who doesn’t bark can hurt you.

Badly.

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