To Tita S

If there was ever a real life Donna Sheridan, I like to think it was Tita S.

She shares much of the same story as one of my favorite characters (in fact almost exactly the same, except there was just one guy and she didn’t run off to a Greek island), and at a very young age, I viewed it with the same kind of Abba-coloured glasses as the musical did. It was fun having my aunt and her son live in our house! The more cousins close to me, the better, I thought, as if there weren’t already a gaggle of children running up and down the cranky old Caloocan house.

Like Donna, my Tita S was bright and vibrant and had the best laugh. I keep picturing her in her early 2000s look, with her short, curly hair, a sleeveless red turtleneck and a matching red barrette. She was always ready with a cheery smile and seemingly endless patience.

It wasn’t until I was a little older that the implications of her story started to sink in. And I started to hear the horrible things the Others said about her situation. How they lived in our house because my parents stepped in to help when the person who had that obligation didn’t (and somehow created a landmark SC case that’s changed so many lives EXCEPT THEIRS).

I noticed how people could never quite separate Tita S from her actions thirty years ago. How people still brought it up. And even in her short battle with cancer, it was still there, floating like a spectre in the background.

She didn’t deserve that. Nobody does.

She deserves to be remembered with all the light she gave us, that little bit of sparkle, the toss of her head and her almost Benjamin Button like reverse aging. She deserves to be remembered for how she raised her son, how she loved without reservation, how she laughed.

Rest in peace, Tita. You fought well. Enjoy the great disco in the sky! I’m fully imagining you dancing.