Truth Untold

8

Ways to Say

Korean dramas have always played a huge role on their viewers' imagination. It left quite an impression of shy, stolen kisses at the crossroads. It created an addiction to binge—watch for the poor girl who just dumped his current ex. It built high expectations for the hopeless romantics as the guy tied the woman's shoelaces. In short, watching Korean dramas have always put us in perspective of sweet gestures, little acts of how a man should behave. The harsh truth is, not every guy—even the Korean ones—acts the way they were portrayed. They were made to put such a high standard for women's mind to compare, while in fact, there wouldn't be as close to even compare.

However, being born as the little sister of two sweet, sweet brothers actually put me into perspective. It was not all I-love-you said clear in the morning, glazed with morning kiss on the forehead; heck, no. More often than not, it came in the form of "could you please shut your pretty mouth and get me a plate of french fries?" Non-stop banter that turned into real fights actually happened. But just because we fought, didn't make us any less than siblings we were.

Brothers, as if they were born a tease to their sisters, of course picked on you to no end. They just happened to be furious knowing everyone else had the nerve to do half as what they did. I think it's just the way they are though. Because at the end of the day, they proved to be the last man standing.

In this household, we do not say I love you. I do not, nor they do. They buy me chocolate—white chocolate—on days mother nature being a bitch. They provide me with shelters, shade me from the blinding sunlight and heavy pouring. They tuck me into their arms at nights finals are fast approaching, complete with cherry on top (or in my case it was potato chips and McFlurry). They pick on me, tease me to the brink of an edge but tackle the man who has the nerve to do half as bad as they do. They never really had to say they loved me; they did show me in the subtlest way and I had caught onto everything they did. I never had to question if I was loved. If they loved you, you'd know. If they didn't, they left you wondering.

"Why did you treat me so nicely, show me that you love me?" I had asked them one day.

He looked at me sideways, probably finding their baby sister of middle school asked such a ridiculous question on broad of the day. He smiled halfway, "So you know that you are loved, of course. You know how love works. You know how being loved feels like. You never have to wonder what it feels like to be loved." He answered. I didn't fully get the meaning at that time. I was an eighth grader, what did I know about love?

I was 21 then when I finally saw Efrain in the different light. I thought from all the experiences my brothers had put me in, then I would knew what love felt like when he finally confessed that he liked me—more than what friends should've felt for. "I kinda like you, more than what friends are supposed to feel and I'm not gonna deny the simplest happiness to have you mine." He told me that at 1am as we spoke through the call.

Flashback of things happened in the past would finally give permission to play itself on my mind. I was having cold, coughing like crazy; Efrain just being an overly protective Efrain. I was eating wafer to stay awake in that seminar on the last day of the initiation training. Had it been not for the box of wafer, I had been fast asleep on my seat then.

As I was munching on my wafer, I would cough for a solid couple of minutes. He had warned me multiple times to stop eating them. It hurt my throat, he said. Being a hot headed me though, I didn't hear his words. "For the love of God, could you please stop eat those? It must be starting to hurt your throat." He said.

I rolled my eyes, had enough of his warnings for the day. "Relax, Ef, it's not some chips that I love. It's just wafers. Mom said I still can have these." I retorted tiredly. Coughing all day long actually wore you out.

He narrowed his eyes, quickly snatching the box away from my hands. "Keep this attitude with me and see where this leads you. This hurts your throat. You haven't stopped coughing for the past half an hour. Fucking stop it." His voice was stern, tone was deadly serious.

Something in his eyes though said otherwise. More than the anger or hurt that I didn't listen to what he said, there was concern, worry and something else I couldn't put my finger into that lacing over his eyes. Something that proved he truly cared for my health rather than to fulfill his ego of being heard of. Care. A caring act. He cared about me more than he could put it to words.

I stopped munching on my snack then, letting him have them. "Right, sorry. I should've listened to you. I am sorry." I sincerely apologized. No, it was not for the sake of his ego. It was for despising his caring act. I should've listened to him, really.

His eyes softened in mere seconds. "Eat your lunch. It'll keep you full until you don't feel like having your snacks." He said.

I shook my head slowly, "I'm full."

He exhaled heavily, "Just a little, Love. You haven't had anything other than your snacks since this morning, saying your throat hurts. Just have a little of this so it doesn't hurt worse." He pleaded and I gave in.

The other time; "Put your phone away." He said once as we were riding his bike from the last open class for our initiation training we had that day.

I hummed, quickly typing a text to my girl best friend. He had stopped his motorbike then. My brows raised in curiosity, "Is there something wrong with your bike, Ef?"

He shook his head, staying still as he folded both hands in front of his chest. "Tell me when you're done. I'm not gonna put you in danger for texting on top of running bike." He said.

Efrain is one sweet man many could dream of, but at times he had dropped his ultimatum, no one would dare to despise him. I nodded quickly. Ignoring the unsent text on my phone and slid it into my tote bag. "Let's go." I said with a tight smile, knowing fully that I was the one stepping on the wrong foot.

He glanced at me through the rear-view mirror on his right, a smile came next.

His sweet smile was so contagious, it put one on my face. "You sound a lot like my brother." I had said.

He pouted, quite cutely might I add. "I am not your brother." He sneered.

I rolled my eyes, "I didn't say you were. I just said—"

"That I sound a lot like your brother. But no, Love, I'm not your brother. I don't like being called so similar of him either." He finished my sentence.

Little did he know, those words had meant a little deeper than it should have sounded like. It didn't mean that I wanted him to be my brother or that I thought he were my brother. But I only knew shelter, comfort zone, home in guys in the form of my brothers. So when I told him that he sounds like my brother, he had been more than my comfort zone; I found home in him.

"You sound a lot like my brother" is just a mere excuse for me to hide. Beyond those words, there is this twisted truth that goes something like "I kind of like you, a little bit too much than I should've and it starts to get hella awkward from the span of time we happened to know each other". It is just another phrase to say, "I think I'm falling for you and that silly, stupid, sweet smile of yours does not help me at all."

"Glad to hear that. I like you, too." I replied, I pictured he was grinning; a grin I would love to kiss over and over again.