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BY PETER SOLIS NERY
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Friday. September 22, 2017
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Being a Filipino, a creative writer, an artist, and working as a nurse in the USA. What gives?
I knew I cannot be JK Rowlings or Shakespeare; so if my art cannot feed me, I have to be practical, and earn a living some other way. Luckily, I’m smart, and can afford Nursing, so I became a nurse, and got lucky to come to America (when it was so difficult for other nurses to go). So that’s the deal: I work my ass off as a nurse so I can support my artistic and literary dreams. Also, that gives me an edge not to consider anybody a serious competition in writing, because unlike most writers who are academe-based, or movie industry-based, I am healthcare-based, and I can be forgiven if I cannot be brilliant as them because I actually save lives! Bwahaha.
How did you take your father’s death? As a person. As an artist.
I was pretty cool when my father died. He didn’t have much ambition, and he has achieved a lot, considering. I have also “made his day” by touring him in the US in an extravagant way. For example, his cousin who was living in New Jersey for 20 years said that he has never yet been to the Statue of Liberty, and that’s the first place I took my father to when we went to the East Coast. My father took pride in things like that.
As a gay person, I’ve also made peace with my dad before he died. He has accepted me and Randy, and was pretty proud of my life choices. I’m pretty sure my dad died proud of me (as his colleagues would attest that he was ever so proud of me even when I was in college); but especially because the week before he died, he accepted on my behalf the honor as a Distinguished Son of Dumangas in the field of Literature.
As an artist, well, I wrote a ten-elegy sequence called “At My Father’s Wake” after my father died. It was not all about my dad, but hey…
How did you take Randy’s death? As a person. As an artist.
Because I am in the medical field, I took Randy’s death in strides. I mean, I understood his death process. Unlike my dad’s death which was pretty sudden, I kinda anticipated Randy’s death. Remember, he was sick before we moved to Maryland, and he died eight months after we moved. Also, being an alcoholic who hardly gets good nutrition, I kinda saw things coming. I just wasn’t expecting it so soon.
So, Randy’s death was okay by me. What pissed me off was that he left his big monies to his sister. $230,000 to his sister is a big amount if his estate wasn’t even $500,000. I mean, sure I got the house, but it is old. If the house is $180,000, I would rather he gave the house to his sister and gave me the money. That way, I can go home to the Philippines P11 million richer.
So, I cannot forgive Randy for what he did to me. He promised to take care of me after he died, and he didn’t. Don’t get me wrong, we were good together. When he was alive we had fun, and were genuinely happy. But he left me angry. I’m less angry now, but I’m still mad every time I remember that he didn’t take care of his young husband, whose youth he “stole”.
To process Randy’s death, I wrote a story, some column pieces, and a 30-poem sequence about losing him, and coping with the anger. I guess, his death’s contribution to my growth as a writer, and as a person, is the fact that I always underline that “Life is short, and we should live it with happiness and doing the things we love.”
I don’t know if this is important, but after Randy died, I had a sex binge and f*cked boys 20 or even 30 years my junior (I’m 48 now) for about two years. Randy was 22 years my senior. I felt it’s a way of reclaiming my youth (from age 37 to 45) spent with an older man.
Of course, I also feel a little more confident now that I have “extra money” from Randy’s death, as compared to just money that I earned while working as a nurse. Look, the average Filipino nurse spends a lifetime buying a house in the US. I got mine just being with a man for eight years!
Tell me I’m not lucky. Tell me I’m not smart. (500tinaga@gmail.com/PN)
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