Red. Blue. Yellow. Green.

I have long maintained that people shouldn’t use up all their fireworks before New Year. Yet, again here they are, popping and blasting at irregular intervals, treating everyone to a shower of colors spraying in all directions. From above the cliff, I see the people’s faces light up in awe, especially the children, before turning away, still carrying the happy smiles as the sparks come to an end. I have to admit, the brief display was marvelous. But I can’t bring myself to smile.

It’s already 11:00. He should be here by now.

I have never been good at waiting. Time was always of the essence, and waiting was the greatest waste of time to ever exist. Time spent fiddling thumbs could have been used studying. Time spent lounging on the sofa could have been better used to fix my room.

I snorted. Was it any wonder that I was only ever sick twice my whole life? Everyone said it was a miracle, I knew it was because I hated the inevitable long wait in the doctor’s office.I remember being so irritated that I almost threw a giant tantrum. It was my brother that always made it more bearable.

The smile making its way up my lips immediately dimmed. My brother.

He’s the dreamy sort - the one who’s face always has a faraway look, fantasizing an ideal world where magic exists, mermaids wave at you from the Atlantic and people can do no wrong. Our parents often joke that one of us had to be adopted - it’s just too impossible for two brothers to be that different. I would’ve thought so too, but we look too much alike for it to be true. I was the ambitious brother who led a life of facts and statistics; he was the dreamer whose ideas and boisterous charm led crowds to see his point of view, no matter what any numbers tell otherwise. Like most brothers, we fought constantly but always made up before the day was over.

It was him that started this tradition 30 years ago. I was 9 and quite small for my age, brooding over a new book my aunt gave me, when my 8-year old brother threw open the bedroom door, bounding over me with excitement. I yelped loudly before glaring at him. He didn’t look the least bit repentant.

“What is it now?” I grumbled at him. I looked at the clock on my bedside table. 11:00. Huh, I didn’t even realize I was up that late.

“Awww, don’t be like that, kuya. You know I don’t mean it.” He gave me a cheeky grin.

“Uh huh. Sure you don’t. So, is there any reason you’re here annoying me and not in your bedroom?” His insolent look turned into an excited grin. I groaned. I know that look.

“Whatever it is, no.” I stopped the idea before it could turn into something else. The last time I saw that look, it took months for my arm to heal.

“Come on, pleaseee? It’s not dangerous I swear.” He continued despite my doubtful look.

“Honestly. It's New Year! Can’t you hear the fireworks outside, kuya? I can’t see it well from the window.”

I opened my mouth to shut the idea down again but stopped at his pleading expression. I know my brother. When he gets an idea, he’ll stop at nothing to get it done. He’ll probably sneak out by himself even if I disagree. It’s best that I come with him. Even if it is a waste of time.

I sighed.

Ten minutes later, we were sitting companionably near the cliff’s edge with a view of the many fireworks lighting the sky before the New Year’s countdown. We pointed at different things in the distance that caught our minds’ interests: the children running around with sparklers, the short woman in incredibly high stilettos parading an odd polka dotted arrangement, or the street-performer blowing fire from his palms, surrounded by a gaggle of children. As the countdown to a new year diminishes, a loud voice carried by a microphone carries its way to our ears.

“Ten, nine, eight…,” the voice starts.

“Seven, six, five, four…,” the crowd starts to chant in the distance.

“Three, two, ONE!” Fireworks as large and vast as the sky itself exploded across the evening sky. Flashes of blue, red, orange, pink and green were greeted with oohs and aahs from the entranced and ecstatic crowd. The two of us shouted and screamed in excitement until our voices went hoarse with the unrestrained effort. And then we just lay there savoring the sight. From then on, every year we would continue our tradition on New Year’s Eve.

We never failed to do so. Even when I was drowning in my college thesis or the sky was pouring, he would always be there: waiting. And the moment his face lights up with the fireworks once he sees me, the excuse I spent hours on dissipates. Many years later, I ask myself why I still keep coming to the cliff. Why I can’t let go of this tradition we came up with ourselves. Now, I know. It was never because of the fireworks. It was never for the new year. It was…is, for my brother.

Tonight, I know he won’t come. I know he won’t. Hell, I wouldn’t. And yet, why am I still here?

I rubbed my palms on my face harshly, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt. 2020 was a terrible year for us. I was on my computer finishing a report for the insurance company I was working for when I got a message from my mother. It was a message informing me that both her and my father were in the hospital being treated for the dreaded COVID-19. They didn't tell us earlier because it would only have made us panic. Her tone expressed her fear that they may not make it given their old age.

I remember sitting there stupefied, completely forgetting my surroundings. It can't be. The pandemic had everyone in the world panicking - streets completely void of passerby, small enterprises closing, hundreds of people dying every day - I just didn't think it would happen to someone I cared about. My brother and I called them daily giving them constant encouragement and telling them to hold on, but even we can't deny that their conditions were getting worse by the hour. Sure enough, only days later, the physician called to inform us that our mother didn't make it. After three days, our father went to join her.

My brother and I were devastated. Both our parents lost in a short amount of time and we couldn’t even go to pay our respects. For weeks we both wallowed in shared grief, having only each other as support.

But it didn’t stop there. A month later, a mass layoff was made by tens of companies in all sectors whether technology, construction, entertainment and more. Thousands of workers were sacked as all countries started to rebuild itself from the pandemic’s effects. Those workers were only regretfully informed of the changes before being promptly dropped, leaving them to live on their own without a source of income. One of those workers was my brother.

The construction company he had been working for for decades decided that it was time to make room for younger workers that were livelier and stronger than him. The job offered small pay but it was at least paying the bills. His termination delivered a direct blow to his already meager finances.The moment I heard the news I immediately offered him residence to my home.

Soon enough, quarantine soon eased and I was needed to go to the office to deal with more paperwork. It was hard for me as well, having to divide my savings between the both of us, but neither of us complained.

However, I guess my brother felt guilty having to be a burden to me, and so swore to find a way to help. I was encouraging of course. It meant that despite some setbacks he hadn’t given up. I just didn’t expect to see him in the hallway, engaged in a shouting match with Mr. Ponce, my boss.

“My mother and father died and we didn’t even get to mourn them! The least you could do is give us what’s rightfully ours!” I stared in shock as my brother angrily tore into my boss, the latter looking like he was talking to some sort of filth.

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Mr. Reyes. But I already told you, their deaths were not covered in the contract that they signed beforehand. It’s all out of my hands.” Mr. Ponce said, pulling off a helpless look successfully.

It looked like my brother was about to continue when he caught sight of me and deflated a bit. “Kuya…,” he looked very relieved that I was there to back him up.

Mr. Ponce quickly took notice. “I assume this must be your brother, Mr. Reyes?” At my nod, he continued sneeringly, “He has been here since morning, demanding that our esteemed company provide for your parents’ deaths. Of course, you do understand Mr. Reyes that our company policy does not cater to these kinds of cases? Perhaps you could explain it to your brother?”

My brother glared at him but didn’t say anything. His dark eyes looked at me pleadingly.

I was momentarily shocked. Our company wasn’t spared from the devastating economical effects of the pandemic. I had to say goodbye to most of my coworkers as they were laid off since the company couldn’t support them any longer. I was lucky to still have the job I determinedly worked for for decades. Mr. Ponce is my direct superior. The moment I stepped a toe out of line, I would most likely have to say goodbye to my job as well.

But for my brother?

Both of them were waiting for my response. I shrunk back and looked at the floor.

“We regret to inform you that the company’s policies do not cover COVID-19 cases,” my voice monotonous and carefully devoid of emotion. “Since it is not part of the contract, there’s nothing we can do.”

Mr. Ponce looked positively smug. “Thank you for your...productive visit, Mr. Reyes. Please, Ms. Castro will show you out.”

I snuck a glance at my brother. His face was of pure shock then it changed into one of pain and anger over my betrayal. He shouldered past the curious onlookers towards the exit, never glancing back.

That was the last time I ever saw him.

When I returned, he already left. All his belongings were gone and the neighbors said he left hurriedly, looking like a condemned man. He wouldn’t answer any of my messages and calls no matter how much I pleaded, cried and begged for his forgiveness. None of his friends that I contacted knew his whereabouts. The only good thing was that it gave me time to think.

I knew I was wrong. I knew I could have found a sound loophole if I put my mind to it. But, at the time I was struck by a deep fear that it would unravel all that I worked for all those years. I worked so hard for the position I had in that company - sacrificing sleep and free time to be where I was. But still, I was wrong.

As soon as I understood that, I went off to hand in my resignation and fight for my brother’s cause. A week later, the company caved and released our money.

But even then, my brother didn’t come back. Months passed since then - holidays, Easter, Christmas and still, none of my calls were answered.

I hope I see him this New Year, even just to say how sorry I am.

11:53 pm.

I smiled wryly. He’s really not coming, is he? Who am I even kidding? Would he really come despite all I had done for some stupid tradition?

...and yet, I had hoped he would.

A few more minutes, then.

I know it is desperate thinking but I really want my brother back. Please. Dear god, would you hear me?

11:56 pm.

A loud cheer echoes from the village below and I remember when my brother and I would cheer with them every time a large firework would light the sky.

And then I hear it. A faint rustle of dried leaves against rubber soles.

I turn slowly and come face to face with a figure I thought was lost forever. A figure I hoped to see this New Year. My brother.

He’s there, only a few feet away from where I was sitting and I find myself desperately willing my body to run and tackle him to the ground. But the overwhelming guilt and despair over what I had done keeps me unnaturally still. For what feels like an agonizingly long period of time, we just stare at each other, the soft wind doing nothing to calm my erratic heartbeat.

He seems to be looking for something in my guilt-ridden expression. Whatever it was, it looks like he found it because he closed the remaining distance to sit next to me on the bench. He isn’t looking at me anymore, only staring forward in the distance. I continue to look at him, willing the words I practiced over and over again to come out. But they don’t. Finally, I settle for two.

“I’m sorry.” I know it’s not enough and I know he wouldn’t even think of accepting such a poor excuse of --

“I know.” I just sit there gobsmacked, thinking that I must have heard it wrong if not for the soft smile now resting on the corner of his lips. He reaches into his pocket and hands me a sparkler.

For a few more moments, we are again the two brothers on a cliff, sitting companionably enjoying New Year’s Eve with our sparklers.

The booming voice started to count, “ Ten, nine, eight…,”

“Seven, six, five, four…,” the voice of the villagers chime in.

“Three, two, ONE!” A magnificent barrage of colors fills the night sky as fireworks explode and fizzle, only to be replaced by new colors. Honks and clangs are heard as the villagers bring out pans and cars to join the overwhelmingly loud noises of celebration, characteristic of the New Year.

“Happy new year, kuya.” My brother’s voice brings me back to reality. His tone was curt but his eyes show acceptance, uncertainty and a hint of his childlike fondness.

It was this that had me giving him the first smile I allowed myself since the fight.

“Happy 2021, Kyle.”

For the eyes of the universe has looked upon him with favor, with a promise that everyone in the world shall know his name.

But the eyes of the sea looked upon him with jealousy, cursing his life to pain and misery.

And above the hill, under the caress of the sycamore tree, the boy with the golden eyes drifted soundly to sleep.