Chad De Guzman is a 17-year-old Filipino guy living in the Philippines with his mother. He's the captain of a volleyball team in his school, and is a traveler. Though he's funny, quirky, go-with-the-flow guy, he's pretty emotional when it comes to h...
Author's Note: Hello, guys! Here's the 12th chapter of My American Stepbrother. I'm also going to do a shameless plug here. I'm planning on doing vlog where I can talk about a lot of things - mainly about my Spanish and writing journey. There's a lot of things I want to say, and I want to do in a way where everyone can see my expression. Unfortunately, I'm still preparing for some materials. So if you want to ask me things, you can comment down below and I'll address it one day once I start doing it.
Youtube Link: youtube.com/channel/UCHlYcw5xSvX0-uQjD0TD2qQ Youtube Name: JM Señar
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By the time we get home on a Sunday afternoon, my head still hurts like a son of a bitch. My body feels like it has been stomped on several times, and I swear my eyes keep tearing up even though there's nothing that makes me sad.
Another surprising moment is when Dylan let Isaiah drive his car. Dylan and I weren't in the right state of mind, and Isaiah made a point about that; that it's much safer if he would drive, or we could all have a meetup in heaven.
This morning, before we left the place, I made sure I don't reek of alcohol. But my eyes were red due to lack of sleep. Dylan and I were seated at the back, slumped down, and snoring our asses off while Isaiah was forced to bear us. Surprisingly, he didn't throw us off the road while we were sleeping. Even though it was a short ride, it was all we needed to get our energy back before we reached home.
Mom invites Dylan for lunch, which she always does with my friends. Dylan looks like he's ready to bolt out – you can see that he's really tired; his shoulders are slumped down, and his eyes are tired. But I don't think my mom can see that. That, or we're really better hiding that we got drunk and we feel like shit.
Nonetheless, Dylan agrees without saying anything. Our eyes meet, and there's a shared understanding that this needs to end as soon as possible. My mom can be really scary, and I guess that's what made Dylan agree to this. It's just two in the afternoon, and Bill and mom have not eaten yet, which is unusual. Isaiah takes a seat beside me, and Dylan beside him. My mom has prepared sinigang na baboy, which is one of my all-time favorite Filipino food.
"It might taste different, Chad." My mom says as she prepares plates for all of us, smiling as she does so as if she's so proud of herself that she made this. "I tried to look for any store that sells local products, but I couldn't, so I had to settle for what I could find in the local market."
Without further ado, I get two cups of rice and pour a stew all over the rice – a very Filipino thing to do. Scooping a little, I taste the sinigang my mom made, and then break into a smile, nodding my head. It indeed does not taste like the local sinigang, but it's still sinigang – just a little bit different, I guess. I mean, I guess it's not sour enough, or the soup is not quick as thick as I always like it to be, but hey, it's still delicious. I won't complain anymore. All the five of us start digging; no one is talking to anyone. In the Philippines, we call this galit-galit. The literal translation mad-mad, but it just means you're busy eating that you can't even converse with someone you're eating with.
