uncle rody

Once upon a time in a distant province of Luzon, there lived a drifter.  He was known as Eufemio Tesoro, a branded cavalier and gun runner.  His life was a complete and a disastrous adventure that his marriage to a teacher did not last long.  He was more on gallivanting until he got acquainted with a businesswoman.  They cohabited for years and bore several children.  One of them was Rodolfo.

While Rodolfo’s parents were never strict and always tolerant, his siblings pursued education as if it was a matter of immediate concern.  Rodolfo took the easier path.  He dropped off from school and made himself available to his friends who were likewise enjoying street life.  It could probably be due to sickness or plain exhaustion that Rodolfo’s gallivanting never merited parental attention.  It could also be a matter of pampering too since Rodolfo was the youngest.

And so Rodolfo went on his own, spoiled and coddled not only by his family but even by his peers.  He was being celebrated as a free spirit, artistic because he could easily pick up a tune, a piano wizard even if he has never been tutored on music.  He would only stay around the piano repair shop and tinker.  Thereafter, he would loaf around with friends, enjoying the mystical element of youthful time.  It was a grand occasion to savor life in its pristine form—spacious, light hearted, nothing to worry, no tension, no responsibilities.  Life for Rodolfo was like that in fairy tales.

Years went by.  The doting mother died.  The tolerant father faded, first his eyesight, then his means and eventually his mobility.  Rodolfo suffered in the process.  He could no longer demand his sustenance.  He must contain his adventures and certainly his fashion taste for contemporary style.  He felt he had an affinity with the famous Beatles, the fave at that time.  For a while, he looked like George Harrison and thereafter, settled to ape John Lennon with his iconic circular shape eyeglasses.

Unlike his idols who were making waves and money, Rodolfo was nowhere eking a living.  While John Lennon was composing one hit song after another, Rodolfo could not ascertain where to get his next meal.  Although both looked the same, Lennon was succeeding in his field; Rodolfo was on the drain, failing in every venture.

Yet Rodolfo must survive.  His siblings had careers made up for them by education and had gone abroad to compete.  In his case, he was left at the mercy of friends who were already one by one deserting him for a favorable employment.  He was left to fend at the shop of his deceased mother, a piano repair shop.  He could go back to check how he can restore some musical instruments since he was oriented sometime past on how it could be done.  It could very well be his means of livelihood.

In between labor, he would scour for relatives whom he could also serve to tune their piano.  And it gave him enough elbow room to earn his upkeep.  While he imagined before that he could be one of the best musicians in town, it never took off since his discipline did not correspond to the requirements of any career.  He wanted to be a free spirit and at the same time be known as a wizard.  Expertise is born out of hard work and humility and never from the vantage point of relaxation and braggadocio.

At times, he was well shaven and decently dressed but most of the time he was unkempt  and shabbily garbed.  When his piano tuning customers would be contented on his service, he would bath himself with his favorite beer.  But these incidents were seldom to come by.  Mostly, he would just repair in just one corner and munch for morsels in nearby food chains.

Rodolfo led a life of a gypsy and never for once entertained to have a family of his own.  He could not find stability of employment and therefore could not find enough resources to maintain a family.  And so, his life was dedicated to meandering far and wide.  He wandered and kept on embarking on scouring for friends and relatives.  Finding none, he settled as laborer in a piano manufacturing shop.  His skill was easily recognized but his attitude towards work was to be his downfall.

In a few months, he would be back on the street, unemployed, unwanted, unwelcome and completely ignored.  He had grown old already.  His flowing mane and smooth complexion had given way to graying hair and facial gout.   He looked years ahead of his biological age.  And he had no place to land on.

Once before he was the toast of his friends, a symbol of generosity and camaraderie, an icon of musical wizardry, a person given to contemporary manner but he eventually worn-out.

In his twilight years, not even his siblings could determine his whereabouts.  He got lost somewhere and no one seemed interested where he fell.

Rodolfo Tesoro started off and ended up  as if he never mattered at all.  I know.  I was a toddler then when I met him and he was introduced to me as my uncle Rody and I saw in the gleam of his eyes his excitement.  That excitement however was inconsequential on how he spent a precious time.

About vjtesoro

A perpetual student of Corrections

Posted on July 29, 2015, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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