Condolences to our “Arijuana” (big fish)

I MUST SNIVEL ALONE. This time, not for the sufferings of the lowly, but for the death of our arijuana, our big fish….

About 10 a.m. in the time of the laptop – which is only five to ten minutes advanced from the real world -- my father was shouting from outside our house. He said, “Mete ne ing asan!” (The fish already died!)

Of course, I should have presumed that the fish that died was a fish that will serve as their menu for lunch (well, I don’t eat fish). However, there was just a certain sentiment in me that was telling something else died. So I went outside to check what my father was conversing about. And then I saw our almost three-foot long arijuana, out of the aquarium – toiling to breathe.


My mother and I suggested that the fish should be housed back in the aquarium. We were hoping that the fish might still struggle to live if we avoid that it would be dried, or that its scale might wither. My father, however, did not concur. He said, “Mebunsul ne eh.” He was saying it already collapsed inside the aquarium; that it was already floating by its head while submerged in water.

Conversely, my sister Didit suggested that we should rush the fish to the veterinarian. Coycoy – my nephew who is my sister’s son – had his eyes turning watery as he was looking at the fish: struggling in the bright yellow container, which used to be the packaging of Sunflower Biscuits.

Of course, my father’s will was still conformed above all.

Forlornly speaking, though the fish was still breathing, my father brought it inside the plastic bag and hailed a wheeler-driver to take it home and cook it for his family or friends. The man was baffled if arijuanas are edible until my sister nattered that Imelda Marcos eats arijuanas, which she used to pay for Php35 000. (Candidly, I don’t know if my sister is telling the truth.) Meanwhile, my father said he used to eat arijuanas. But since the fish that died is his pet, he can’t tolerate to have it served on plate in front of him.

So the man, dumbfounded by what he heard, concurred and took the fish. When he did so and the fish was gone, Coycoy blubbered as if it was the death of someone who’s so cherished to him. In order to compliment his lamentation, my father said he will buy a new one.

But hey, no fish can replace the old one, I thought.

Things that are gone depart forever; it’s only our memories that will keep them alive. (I suppose that it would only be in my memory where departed people - or any living things - who are dear to me can linger.)

I remember that fish was almost nine years old. My grandfather was still alive during those days when it was delivered in our home for free with the aquarium, which we bought for Php3 000.

When my grandfather died, we used to leave the fish alone in our house with its supply of small fishes as his 24-hour available dish inside the aquarium. We used to traverse to Candaba because my mother’s family resides there. As well, it was the location of the funeral.

When we were to say good bye to my grandfather, my mother cried. I, being so young then, can’t remember that I blubbered. Though that doesn’t mean I don’t love my grandpa; it’s just that I was too young to understand what sorrow was all about.

However, Coycoy poles apart. He knows what sorrow is, I suppose.

I wish we just buried our arijuana in the grounds of our garden.

By that, its spirit will reside in our house incessantly....