PHASE TWENTY-TWO

THE REMNANTS OF A NAME

They say being a prodigy was nice—you have all the creative freedom to exhaust and be marveled at. When you're lucky and recognized enough, the government would support you so your skills could be sharpened. Being known internationally was a plus, and rewards were incentives.

But for a forced prodigy and art wanderer, what prizes and rights awaited them?

Of course, aside from the bragging rights, they would receive one common thing: pressure.

Pressure to be continuously good at what they were doing. Pressure to always come up with new ideas. Pressure to be presentable. Pressure to be always inspired. Pressure to be an inspirational model for everyone who aspired to be good at their discipline.

Whatever angle it was, the persistence of pressure was always present. If one was devoured by it, the prideful title and the honorary badge would be a cage rather than a path. The rewards that used to be inspirational would be a hindrance to any improvements.

You're not the current prodigy anymore. You're an abandoned toy left to accumulate dust.

In short, useless.

In my case, it was like that, but also don't.

I was—still—an art prodigy but I do not bother declaring it by myself. I only declare it when it's needed and whenever my parents asked me to brag about it. Because in this generation, being an art prodigy would raise the influence and the power a family could have.

The country was all about art and its impact, after all, and the citizens were in it, too. Attention was one of the powerful keys to success that's why those who were good at what's prevailing could easily raise their status.

Who was the biggest art prodigy and how should we brag about it?

Who was the best in this discipline and how was the family name living up for it?

Most people seemed to forget that having clean records was better than being good at something. However, there would always be a hidden path to every mastery and innocence.

He was good at this because his family was good at this—an excuse for his skills because of their lineage.

She was innocent and she did not commit it, but she was caught in the act and the evidence was directed to her—she won't be put on trial nor behind bars because they were rich and influential.

Of course, every family would want to be influential that's why they exhaust their resources to be what they wanted to be. The best example was exhausting their children—their resources—so their family could be powerful.

They say that 'It's the best for our family.' but what they were doing was the exact opposite.

They force the children to continue the path that they failed to accomplish. They put their burden on their children which subsequently forces them to be good at the path that they didn't choose. They pressure them into thinking that this would benefit our family in the long run, but did they even consider how would it benefit themselves? And if would it really benefit them?

Finding the appropriate path was tiring, especially when the obstacles—your family's own ideals—would persist.

As an art wanderer—a result of being a forced prodigy—the journey would always seem endless.

If I hadn't known better, I would treat my parent's words as guidance. At one point, it was. Eventually, it misled me which brought me to where I was.

We were supporting you, I could hear them say.

They did—financially.

Because in our lineage, supporting the children through materials without any morality was immedicable.

They wanted their children to be the best. What's the best way to support them but money, wasn't it? It would always compensate for the lack of moral support because money was the key to success and without it, what's left for a forced prodigy to be?

And that's what they had been doing ever since.

"We won't attend any of your contests, exhibitions, or any gatherings related to sculpture!" they said, and they had always made it clear the first time that I talked about it.

I was fine with that because it was much better than having that pressured moral support. Because if they were there to see what I was doing, aside from their prideful gazes, they'd pressure me by comparing me to someone who was on par with this discipline.

Ayoko no'n. Nakabibinging marinig ang sasabhin nila.

At kung sasabihan nila ako ng mga bagay na 'yon, wala akong gagawin kun'di magpakabingi.

Naririndi ako sa sinasabi niyo.

To be deaf to shun the painful words.

Maybe it was one of the countless reasons why I chose to be a subjective deaf—so I could protect myself from being hurt even more.

I sighed and silently stood beside Michelangelo who was looking at the tomb.

The rain had already poured over the mausoleum. The wind was cold, yet the heat that radiated from his body was warm. The person before me was unmoving like the bodies that were buried underneath.

Zoren's words—which unconsciously lingered at the back of my mind, now resurfaced because of the clarity of the name that was etched on the marble.

Here lies

Donato Martino de Angelis

"Ibig sabihin, mahalaga ka sa kan'ya."

"At... pwede ka nang pumasok."

The melancholy that was present on his face before we could ever meet was still there. His silence was overshadowed by the trickling sound of the rain, and I was unsure if I preferred the former over the latter.

I waited for him to speak. I listened to his breathing, instead.

It was labored breaths—sometimes restrained, and sometimes heavy. Instances where it could be in between then disappeared into nothingness.

"Gusto ko lang makaramdam..." he murmured, voice low and raspy. "Sorry, ayoko lang talaga dalhin sina Gio rito ngayon."

Humakbang siya upang sindihan ang kandilang bitbit niya kanina pa. Pagkatapos ay naglagay ng bulaklak bago umatras muli.

I stood unmoving beside him, afraid to litter around in a territory that I wasn't a part of.

Michelangelo de Angelis allowed me to enter, but it doesn't mean that I should do as I pleased.

"Do you have any family traditions, Lael?" His eyes were trained on the flickering flame over the candle.

Was he interested to know what it was? Or was he interested to confirm it?

Resigning, I sighed. "We do have some. Meron din ba kayo?"

"Sadly."

I nodded and stared at the grave. "Was it hard?"

He shrugged. "Ginulo ako."

Tiningala ko siya. "Me too."

He gave me a small smile and looked down. "Dinala kita rito nang naulan, pasensiya na. Wala ka tuloy maupuan at basa."

"It's all right." There must be a reason why he brought me here. "May gusto ka bang sabihin sa 'kin?"

"Papayagan mo ba akong magkwento? Pakikinggan mo ba 'ko?" Nangungusap niya akong tiningnan.

I shrugged. "I don't know; it's your choice. And yes, I'll be listening to you."

"All ears on me," magalang niyang sabi.

Napahalakhak na lang ako at tumango.

Ibinalik niya ang tingin sa puntod.

"Named after a famous sculptor following the same path, wouldn't it be a given to be pressured to ensure that you performed in a way that they did when they were living?" panimula niya.

This was his guide question—we should start with etymology, a study that he was interested in.

A few days ago, he told me that aside from sculpting, he also liked to learn about etymology. He was particularly drawn to the history behind a person's name, probably his way to acknowledge his identity aside from being known as someone who was 'named after'.

And, maybe, this is where he wanted to start it.

"They named you Michelangelo..." I trailed off, unsure if I was reading the path he laid out correctly. "They're that sure that you'll be a sculptor?"

"Walang sinabi si lolo tungkol do'n." He glanced at me, a longing look in his eyes. "Wala siyang sinabi kung bakit hindi na lang niya ipinangalan kay Papa ang pangalan ko."

Kumurap ako upang bawasan ang nararamdamang bigat mula sa mata niya.

As always, I failed.

"I don't get it," I said breathlessly.

"My father's name is Ludovico, kapangalan ng tatay ni Michelangelo Buonarroti. It was my great, great grandfather, Donato Martino de Angelis, who gave the name to my father. My father told me that my nonno wanted to bring a piece of Italy in the Philippines that's why he decided to name his son after the father of the famous sculptor."

"Bring a piece of Italy in the Philippines? Nonno?"

"My grandfather. Nonno's Italian for grandfather."

"Oh..."

He nodded. "Nonno used to be a sculptor in Italy. He started with pottery first, then frescos. Nag-explore si nonno, until he loved sculpting. He went under apprenticeships like how Italy was before. Siya rin 'yung nagsimula ng sculpting lineage sa pamilya."

Tumango-tango ako. "What was your family's expertise before? Painting?"

"Yeah, it's the inspiration behind the brand, D'Angels. Mas marami lang ang painting products kaysa sa sculpting. We just started out with sculpting tools and we're still experimenting. We're also one of RCA's major suppliers."

Tumango-tango ako. "Did he initiate the processing of sculpting tools under your brand? Hearing from you, I think your grandfather likes sculpting so much."

"He does," he replied. "Kaya siguro 'Ludovico' ang ipinangalan niya kay Papa kasi gustong-gusto niyang dalhin ang Italy rito."

Itinagilid ko ang ulo. "Bakit hindi na lang Michelangelo ang ipangalan sa papa mo?"

Nanatili ang titig niya sa 'kin, ang mata ay lumamlam. "It's a mystery. He didn't give us any reason why."

"Even before he died?"

"Wala." Tumikhim siya. "Pero may hula ako. Napansin ko 'yon sa mata ni lolo... noong bata pa ako. May sinabi siya sa 'kin."

His strong hands touched the cold marble. "'When you can see a person's emotions by staring at their eyes, it means that you are meant to be a sculptor.' May pagkakapareho kayo ng sinabi ni nonno, hindi kaya't nawawala ka niyang apo?"

Natata akong umiling. "I'm a hundred percent sure that I'm not."

He chuckled shortly before he sighed. "Hanggang ngayon, naghahanap pa rin ako."

"Naghahanap ng?"

"Naghahanap ng bagay para ipakilala na ako talaga 'to," saad niya. "Naglalakbay rin ako kagaya mo, pero hindi ko alam kung kailan ko nalaman 'yon. Gusto ko lang mahanap kung saan ba talaga ako makikilala. Should I live up to my name or make a name for myself?"

"I think you're doing great." Napunta ang tingin niya sa 'kin. "I saw your recent works. Michelangelo de Angelis ang nakalagay na pangalan noon pero ngayon, MDA na. It's a process and you're doing great."

He nodded as his eyes turned solemn as if he was recalling something important. "Yeah, I used to put that long name as a brand of ownership. Pero ayoko nang makilala bilang isang tao na 'kapangalan ni'. Gusto kong makilala bilang isang tao na may sariling kakayahan."

"Gusto mong makilala bilang si 'Mikhail'."

He froze before he nodded. "Gusto kong makilala bilang si 'Mikhail'," pahayag niya, ang tono ay determinado.

"Mikhail..."

"What?" alerto niyang tanong, ang mata ay nanlalaki, ang bibig ay napaawang.

I don't know why he looked flustered when I called him that. Gano'n din naman ang tawag sa kan'ya nina Giuseppe kaya bakit sya gulat na gulat?

Maybe I wasn't still in that position to call him 'Mikhail'? How dare her, wasn't it?

"I mean, the name, Mikhail, who gave you that?" I clarified, a little nervous, afraid that I offended him. I expected his eyes to be filled with hostility, but when I saw a hint of affection, I knew.

Napakurap-kurap siya bago tumango-tango. "Ah... Mikhail, yeah, all right..."

May binulong pa siya ngunit hindi ko naintindihan kung ano.

"Ako. Ako ang nagpangalan sa sarili ko no'n."

"When are you going to use it?"

Napaawang ang bibig niya bago humugot ng malalim na hininga.

He was lost for words; I could see how his eyes hastily moved.

"Use? Matagal na akong tinatawag nina Gio—" Natigilan siya bago napalunok. "H-Hindi ko sigurado. Masyadong... komplikado at..."

"Matatagalan pa?" I queried.

He looked flustered when he looked at me. Nagdadalawang-isip pa yata kaya paniguradong hindi pa ako makakukuha ng sagot.

Could I even wait for the right time to see you using 'Mikhail' as a brand of ownership?

I sighed and decided to shift to another topic.

I think I had to wait for a few years more.

"I think yours was better."

"What?" he breathlessly asked.

Why was he immediately on edge? May nagawa ba akong mali?

"Your family tradition, I mean." I sighed. "It was... well, it was directed. Directed in a way that you were guided on what you should do and where you should go."

Tumikhim siya, senyales na makikinig sa 'kin.

"You only had two disciplines to follow—painting or sculpting. But, of course, your grandfather wanted sculpting more than painting, so it was the only thing left to consider. For some people, it was a blessing, others—it wasn't. It didn't give you any creative liberty to choose, but was confusion better than having no options?"

Tinagpo ko ang tingin niya.

He sighed. "Mas okay 'yung meron."

I gave him a small smile. "Right?" I nodded and looked away. "I had a different type of confusion. I couldn't get out of it that's why I had no choice but to follow it."

Nanunuyo niya akong tiningnan, ang atensyon ay ibinibigay sa 'kin.

"What is it, Lael? I want to hear what it is." The sound of eagerness and interest lingered in his tone. It led me to believe that he was there to listen.

"Choosing where to stay." There was a pain in my heart when I said that. "I'm not sure how deep your family knew about this whole... prodigy thing that our family had—I was too unfocused to even care—but I hated how it affected me."

The sound of the rain lessened, so I was able to hear the concern in his tone more.

"It threw you off your path."

"It threw me off my path," pangungumpirma ko.

"At sinusubukan mong maghanap."

"At sinusubukan kong makabalik."

Tumikhim siya at inabot ang kamay ko. "What's this prodigy thing that you're talking about, Lael? I want to know..."

His tone was curious, honest, and affectionate—one that made me think that he was there to guide me. And I believed it because I wanted to.

The swelling emotion in my chest that led me to believe that I was heard and guided felt overwhelming, and for once, I appreciated it.

"Have you heard of forced prodigies?" I started out.

When I met his stare and he smiled at me, I knew that he was eager to listen.

"Magkukwento ka ba tungkol do'n?"

I nodded hesitatingly.

Lalong lumawak ang ngiti niya. "All right, Lael. I'll be all ears."

Michelangelo de Angelis, a statue who listens.