Memories thought forgotten: Roslyn Ann T. Corpuz (March 8, 1984- June 4,1997)

For the first seven years of my life, I had always been the youngest of 3 siblings. I had an older brother was six years older than I while my sister by five. From what I remember, they got along well together due to the proximity of their age. Many thought of them as twins. Being the youngest of the lot, I was often made the "go-getter" of random needs and wants ("ui 'Sa, kunin mo nga notebook ko.. nasa desk ko") Well I was more than welcome to help. I really envied the bond between my brother and sister. They saw each other more as ka-barkada than as siblings, while I was always the little girl peeping through keyholes or door gaps while they would have their friends over.

I greatly admired and envied my sister Roslyn. She was the friend for anyone in need. It amazed me to see the number of friends she would just invite over. I had often tried to memorize the names of all the guests that would visit the house, but there would always be new names. My sister had always been artistically-inclined. She would spend hours in her room sketching or painting. She would always have time to go out with friends and yet still be there for my parents. She easily socialized with everyone and anyone. At parties she, would just find and invite a tita or lola to dance the tango with, which would always be a highlight. My parents greatly loved her. Personally, it was no secret to my brother and me that my parents, most especially my mother, favored her over us. She had the legs and figure of a model. At the age of 13, she could pass for a seventeen year old, due to her height. She was a model student, who was active in academic and extra-curricular activities. She was well-rounded and well-loved.

For all the reasons aforementioned, the news of of what happened on June 4, 1997, exactly 10 years ago, came as a shock to everyone.

I will never forget the events that occured on the night of June 2,1997. I was 8 years old. At 3am, I awoke to the sound of a woman's shriek, my mother's. I looked over at my sister's bed - for I shared a room with her - to ask her what was happening, only to notice that she wasnt occupying it. I groggily got up from my bed, rubbed my eyes on the sleeve mof my flanel pyjama, and tried to orient myself towards the living room. The image that will forever be engraved in my memory is that of my mother sitting on the living room couch, head in her hands, rocking uncontrollably back and forth while repeating the words "Oh God, why? Please, no" constantly to herself. My brother, who was just 14 at that time, just stood over her feverishly rubbing her back and trying to soothe her; my father was nowhere in sight. Weirdly, there was a stranger in the room as well. A woman in a sweater was also in the living room talking to my brother in French. I really didnt know what was happening. Where was my dad? Why was my mom crying? Why wasn't Ate there either? I went up to my mom and tugged at her sleeve... I doubt she saw or even felt my touch... After what seemed like an eternity, my father returned and beckoned the rest of the family to follow him. I vaguely recall someone telling me that I shouldn't follow, but fearing that I was going to be left alone, I kept up. My father led us to the driveway in front of our building. The adults crowded around something that seemed to be in the middle of the parking lot. I could see my mom on her knees, covering something that I couldnt see with her arms. I tried to go nearer but I could feel my brother trying to hold me back. I fought against his restraint and somehow got to squeeze my head through the gap in between the legs of the adults.

On June 2, 1997, at around 3 o'clock in the morning, the body of a young teenage girl sprawled on her back was found at the foot of a seven story apartment building. This girl was my 13 year-old sister.

No one ever told me the truth about this matter. I had so many questions in my head. Why was Ate on the floor? Why wasn't she wearing the pyjamas that she wore when I wished her a good night barely six hours beforehand. Why were her clothes stained with red spots? Was she sleeping on the ground? I was 7 at that time. For as long as I can remember, the story that was fed to me was that my sister was sleepwalking and was just unlucky and somehow fell from our apartment on the seventh floor. When I asked how she got to change into day clothes, they would just say that it might have been a magic trick. Due to my innocence and naivety, I easily swallowed the lie. As the years went by, I realized that things just don't or can't happen like that. You just don't sleepwalk off a building!
At the age of 13, as I was going through the old school files of my brother, I saw an essay he wrote about the same incident. According to his story, he found himself being shaken awake at around 3am, by my father "Ronald! wake up! She- I can't believe it. She- she- she jumped! She jumped anak!". My father had woken up to the sound of a crash or loud thump, that came from the outside. He looked out the window and down the driveway 'til he saw the body of a teenager. He ran to the room that I shared with my sister and saw the absence. He then made to wake my brother up. This story clarified and even confirmed my speculations: my sister Roslyn had commited suicide at the age of 13.
She was brought to the hospital where doctors tried their best to save her from what was easily foreseeable. She remained unconscious til on June 4th, she was declared dead, most of the bones in her body broken.

Today (June 4th) marks the 10th Death Anniversary of my sister, Roslyn. Everything just seemed so surreal. During that day, I kept on thinking: "At this time last year, I was in the hospital waiting lounge, playing with my activity book while my sister was preparing herself for that one great adventure".

So many things have happened since that faithful day. And honestly, I am still not certain of my feelings towards my sister at present. Of course I will always love her and miss the times we spent teasing each other. I regret not having been able to spend more time with her. How I would have appreciated the presence of an older sister when I was going through my own teenage years. Yet, sometimes, I wonder if I do feel anger or frustration towards her. Sometimes I do feel that her act was somehow selfish. I am at a loss and can't for the life of me understand why she needed to resort to such an extreme situation. I am frustrated because of all the lost opportunities this event cost our family, how it eventually caused the severe depression that my father is still currently going through and much more. I just hope and trust my sister's reasons, whatever they may be, for having done this. I just would have wanted a good bye or a hinted reason.

I am sorry if the recounting of my stroy became confused and jumbled towards the end... Extreme emotions are playing with my capacity to write... which is why I will stop here. I just wished to write down the events that took place some 10 years ago.

Ate, wherever you may be right now, I hope that you are happy and somehow found the peace of mind that you have been looking for. I wish that the problems or conflicts in our world that caused you to make your choice 10 years ago are now solved, so that you may be at ease now. Remember that you will always have a family here that will continuously pray for you and wish for your happiness with the Lord. I am sorry for any wrong I may have caused you back then and up to now. I love and miss you so much. May God watch over you for all the days to come...