how deep is your cup?

One night, I had ruckus for dinner.

Two of my sisters back home took turns at my air time after my 15-year old nephew has gone ‘istokwa’ for a few hours after his mother’s (my sister) scolding. That week, he has broken his cellphone, spent all his allowance despite the 4-day holiday and bought ‘expensive’ drum sticks which were beyond his mother’s budget (in my household, money is serious issue – easy to spend, hard to come by). That lunch, he failed to cook viand which was final straw to a hot head and hungry stomach.

It was already past 8pm - my nephew scampered after lunch, so two aunts (more like big sisters actually) are dead worried. ‘He ain’t there yet? Where did he go? And without a cell phone?!’  I snapped, ‘He knows where to go.’ I know he will be coming to my place. ‘I’ll let you know if he’ll be here.’

At roughly nine PM came knocks at my door.

After dinner, came the tribunal. He decanted how bad he felt about his mother’s blown-up scolding. ‘I did not cook lunch because Mamang told me not to. They might grab lunch in the city. And we still had enough left overs.’  But I imagined him on the sofa in front of a blaring TV, slouching, legs spread apart. That typical sight of a ‘tapulan’ could bring the fury out of anyone hungry with the clutter and heat and all.  

I told him about this coined parable of an overflowing cup:  We all hold cups for everyone. Whenever we do wrong, something is put in the cup. So imagine how the contents increase every time we do badly. If we truly say ‘sorry’, maybe a little content is spilled off.  But still the cup is ever ready to be filled in.

‘Maybe when you broke your phone, it was not a drop but a spring. Maybe when you spent all your allowance despite being told to save it, was not a drop but a spring. Maybe when you bought an expensive pair of drum sticks (more than 200 pesos) was not a drop but a spring. When you thought not cooking viand is not spring but just a drop, maybe it was, but when the cup is already on the brim, no matter how few drops you put in, it is still bound to overflow.’

His silence told me he understood it.

Although the story of the cup is now used to tease on my brother’s (or anyone in the household’s) lethargy, somehow, I got the point across. I guess, if I’ll run true to form to being a case in point, I’ll switch to a deeper cup.  Sometimes, what I keep is only a shot glass.