Dear Jhi,

There was something I learned about you that day that I didn’t expect.

We were talking about your mom, and you told me that you were there with her in Gensan because you couldn’t bear to leave her alone.

You said that when you eventually went back to Manila, you were thinking of bringing her with you so you could keep an eye on her.

Then our conversation somehow turned to your family.

I asked about your siblings.

Because apparently, I had somehow remembered you telling me that you had four siblings.

So when I said something about your four siblings, you laughed.

“Ala san mo napulot yan..”

And then you had to explain again.

“sabi ko 5 magkakapatid sila mama.. tas may kanyang kanyang pamilya na sila..”

Oh.

Your mom had four siblings.

Not you. 😂

And that’s when I learned it.

You were an only child.

I honestly didn’t expect that.

Maybe because I had always imagined you having brothers or sisters around you, someone you could share the weight with when things became difficult.

But you didn’t.

It was just you and your mom.

You even told me that you sometimes wished you had a sibling to share your problems with.

That stayed with me.

Because suddenly, I understood a little more about why you were so worried about her.

Why you felt that responsibility so deeply.

Why leaving her alone wasn’t even something you could easily consider.

You weren’t just her son.

You were the person beside her.

And when you said that you didn’t know what you would do if you lost her, I understood that your fear wasn’t only about losing your mother.

It was also about losing the one person who had always been there with you.

I remember telling you that it must be difficult to be alone, especially in a situation like that.

And you simply said that was why you were putting in double the effort, working and trying to build your business.

You were carrying more than I realized.

That day, I didn’t just learn that you were an only child.

I learned another side of you.

The side that worries.

The side that carries responsibility quietly.

The side that wants to be strong because there isn’t another sibling beside you to share the burden.

And maybe that’s why, when you told me about your mom, I stopped thinking about what I wanted from you.

I just wanted you to have someone beside you too.

Even if, for that moment, all I could do was listen.

Love,
Nikka

Dear Jhi,

There are some conversations that start so casually that you don’t realize you’re slowly being let into someone’s life.

That morning, I simply sent you photos from my jog.

“Nagjogging uli. Sakit uli katawan.”

Nothing special. Just me sharing a little piece of my day.

Then the next morning, you greeted me.

“Good morning!”

You even looked at the photos and said, “nice ganda ng view sa inyo talaga..” ❤️

And somehow, from that simple conversation, we ended up talking about your mom.

I asked how she was because I knew she had been in the hospital. You told me she was already out, and that you were going back to Manila soon. You said you were relieved because your mom could finally stay with you there.

Then you started telling me about your family.

About how you didn’t want to leave your mom alone in Gensan.

About your business.

About the crops.

About developers.

And then, somewhere in the middle of all those stories, I realized something.

You were an only child.

And then I finally understood.

You really are an only child.

It was everything that came after.

And suddenly, being an only child sounded very different.

It’s not just being the only kid.

It’s being the one person your mom looks to.

The one who eventually has to make decisions.

The one who carries the business.

The one who has to think about what happens to the land.

The one who worries about his mother.

The one who feels like he can’t simply walk away because there’s no one else who can take his place.

And I think that’s why you were so emotional when you talked about it.

You told me how your mom said you’d be the one to make the decisions.

And then you told me you hugged her and cried.

That part stayed with me.

Because underneath all the jokes, the teasing, the “ulyanin ka na” and “kakakape mo yan,” I got to see a different side of you.

The son who worries about his mother.

The son who wants to take care of her.

The son who feels responsible for the things his parents built.

And maybe that’s something I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t asked that simple question about your mom.

Funny how that happens.

Sometimes, you think you’re just asking “Okay na ba mama mo?”

And suddenly, you learn about someone’s childhood, their parents, their family, their responsibilities, their future…

and even the fact that they’re an only child. 😂

Then, after all that serious conversation, you went right back to teasing me.

“Ulyanin ka na po.”

And eventually, we were talking about trucks again.

Because of course we were.

But I think I’ll remember that conversation.

Not because you finally corrected my very wrong “five siblings” memory.

But because that was the day I learned a little more about the life behind the person I’ve been talking to.

And maybe that’s what I liked about that conversation.

You didn’t just answer my question.

You let me in.

Even if it was just a little.

Always, Nikka

Dear Jhi,

That day, I was trying to help you with trucks.

I sent one over so you could loot it, thinking I was doing you a favor.

Except I wasn’t paying attention.

You had already reached your limit.

You even told me you were done, but somehow I still managed to send you another truck. 😂

Then the reset came.

Suddenly, you could attack my trucks instead.

And of course, I had to insist.

I kept pushing you to do it. I also needed to make sure you used my truck.

That’s when you said:

“Ok baby niks. Thank you sa trucks.” 🥰😘🥰

And somewhere in between all my demands and your patience, I realized how funny we were.

I wasn’t paying attention.

You were already done.

I still sent the truck.

Then after the reset, I was the one demanding that you attack it.

And you just went along with me.

Maybe that’s one of the things I like about us.

Even when I’m being makademand, you don’t make it a big deal.

You just laugh, play along, and call me baby niks.

Love,
Nikka