I was at a cozy little coffee shop in Trinoma trying to read through my Yield Rates notes when it occurred to me that my family is a level more intense than the usual, I think. I this realization came to me when I noticed the people in the next table: a family of about ten (including tito's and tita's) and they were talking about school. High school in particular. Shallow stuff about how hard it is at the beginning, et cetera. Something I don't recall my family ever talking about around the table. Our usual dinner conversations have something to do with ideas, something new about the fibonacci numbers that is so interesting, my father's insights on relationships, a philisopher mentioned in class, occasional stories of my parent's childhood.

This intensity, maybe it's because there are only three of us in the family. The smaller our number, the more time with have for each other. Or maybe it's just my father's own intensity radiating to the two others in the unit. See, my father is quite intense. Not strict-intense, nor cold-intense, nor is it the kind of intense people would characterize as mysterious. It's an intensity that comes from the mind. He has this unconventional insightfulness about life the roots back to his own experiences. I think that's one side of him that a lot of people don't see.

Sometimes I'm even disappointed at myself for not having lived up to it. More often these days, he's been telling me that when the time comes for him to die, everything that we have: the house, the cars, will all be used up for medical expenses, et cetera. And before that time comes, all there is that he can leave behind for me is his mind. Usually I can only understand up to the point where he says he'll die, because I get scared to death and feel like crying since I've never had a second of my life without him and my mother. But this morning, he asked me to spend more time with them, my family, because he said, the closer he gets to that time, the harder it becomes to pass on what wisdom he can to me. And the only way my parents can share their bundles of wisdom with me is when we're all together.

I admit I have been spending more time outside the house. I've been studying late into the night at McDonalds, and leaving early in the morning to get some more studying done before I go to class. He had described me as a boarder in the house, and not as a member of the family anymore. But you see, staying in the house scares me if it is a sort of anticipation of his death.

He tells me sometimes that in five or ten years they will be gone. And that there are so many things I haven't learned from them. Of course, I believe and I hope that that is an underestimation. But still, hearing your dad talk about his death is scary. And I'm almost not sure if I'd take this over a shallow conversation about school.