I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for the times that I would forget your memory, your legacy, the person you once were. I’m sorry that you do not cross my mind as often as you should, for guilt befalls me every time I realize that you are not here. I’m sorry I couldn’t distinguish the line between being busy at school or simply not caring, but I’d like to think that I cared; it’s just that it never occurred to me that things would happen so fast. This time last year, you were still alive, and I never bothered to even talk to you. I was embarrassed, thinking that we were relatives who were never really expressive of their feelings. But it saddens me to think that I only saw you once before you left.

I wish I had taken those jeepneys on their way to PGH so that I could at least tell myself now that I’ve seen you quite often, days before you perished, and I would be more grateful right now rather than feel this way.

I’m sorry, Tito. I’m sorry for not being a good niece or someone who looks like they cared. I wish I was able to show you how much I cared for you. I’m sorry for saying these things just now, because I couldn’t accept these things to myself before.