In Vino, Fraternitas

by Titan Amado Ona Tandoc III, M.D. Batch Viagra Brotherhood. Ever since I embraced the two-headed eagle, the word has steadily gained more weight and more meaning. Having grown up with practically no older brother to look up to, the fraternity has made that word concrete. With my frat brothers, I was able to finish medical school. Through my frat brothers, Iwas able to open doors of Experience that I would have otherwise never opened. But for the first time in eight years of being aTitan, I am tempted more than ever to ask how things would have turned out had I been born with an older brother in the first place. Would I still have sought brotherhood if I already had one in the family to emulate or talk to or seek advice from? Will my destiny to live and die as a Titan still be fulfilled if my need was met? I have been pondering this deeply over the past few weeks since a hopelessly inebriated “brod” threatened my loved ones and my career right at my own home. The sheer indignity of that fiasco has left a bitter taste in the mouth that would not go away. The wound is deep and the disillusionment it brought festers intermittently. No amount of reparation and repair can remove the “brotherly” scars incurred that night. My gentle and harmless temperament notwithstanding, I just can not forget it. Neither can I forgive the near-coronary event and sleepless night my mother endured afterward. Not even the torrent of anger I let loose after seeing how much my family had been disgraced. And it was not because I became part ofthe growing statistic of brothers who suffered from this drunken folly. It was precisely because it was done by my own blood, a person I considered an ally and a friend, my kinship to whom was forged and consecrated during my initiation into the fraternity. You see, despite the disagreeable context of the metaphor, one can never quite forget the taste of his own blood. It becomes stored in memory, the offensive nature of it easily remembered and learned by the mind, to be retrieved just as easily when circumstances become dangerously familiar. Avoidanceof those situations then becomes part of daily habitand further becomes inseparable from one’s very person. What Pavlov discovered by conditioning his dogs is applicable to the intricate make-up of the human psyche, which is after all still animal, still instinctive at its most basic. My dad, who upholds the belief that massive conscientious objection could have prevented World WarII, told me that desperate people use desperate measures especially when they are calling for help,that I should rise above it all, “be the better man”and walk away, in other words. But my peace-loving father failed to consider that the deception and manipulation that such desperation entails can blureven the simplest connections such as brotherhood. Especially if it threatens your life and your future. In the smirking face of assault, I was surprised by how passionate I really was for my new found career path and how willing I was to fight for the people I love. I will not let anyone ruin my future over abottle of San Mig Light. The morbid finale of The Boy Who Cried ‘Wolf’ should serve as fair warning. Once is enough. Twice is too much. But three or more times, that is simply abusive. As imperfect as I am human, I am not the first to declare that tolerance and tenacity have their limits,and, prudish as it sounds, the acceptable level of alcohol in the blood is still zero. The nobility of Titanship should never be reduced to drinking sprees and alcohol-laced brave talk. It makes me all the more itch to find that moron who equated brotherhood with massive alcohol intake. I wish to set his mind straight who thinks that the more intoxicated you are at parties, the better company you are, the better “brod” you are, that the less gatherings you attend, the less froth in your mouth, the less of a Titan you are, that your worth as a brother is measured by your always “being there.” After eight years, I was tempted to ask for my reasons for becoming and being a Titan, tempted to give in to my disillusionment over the brotherhood I am supposed to belong to over that singular incident. But I will not. I can not. Not while there are Titans scattered around the globe who still live the fraternity’s ideals through their dedication to their work and their family. Not while there are Titans who remain tolerant, intelligent,tenacious, assertive, and humble at heart even though they are far from home or lead busy lives. Not while there are Titans who do the fraternity proud with their achievements, big or small. Not while there are Titans who still love the fraternity in their own quiet, private ways. Not while there are Titans. Postscript: That is not to say, my three sisters deserve less tribute. In the absence of male siblings, they have certainly done their part in molding my life as it isnow. I could vividly remember my pained five year old expression while they were “dressing me up” in their girlie clothes and covering my face with bronchoconstricting “make-up.” It is a good thing I remained holandric throughout those “impressionable”years. Otherwise my parents would have had to raise three girls and a Klinefelter. Tags: essay, in vino fraternitas, amado tandoc, titans, doctormagnus