The Next Time You Decide to Ask “How Are You?”

My brother died last June. We’ve never been so vocal about our feelings. If you’ve seen him, you’ll just know by the way he moves, his slow dragging steps—how he lifts his feet as he walks to his motorcycle or treads through life—that he was depressed.

I can smell the indifference in the bittersweet fragrance of alcohol in his breath. What our father used to smell like as he smothered us with kisses when we were kids was then a lingering smell that reminds me of my brother. It was a signature perfume that fits my brother’s upbeat voice and slow-batting eyes.

That voice I could no longer hear.

I don’t remember ever failing to ask him every time, in a call or Messenger chat, how he’s doing.

We always get the same answer. He says he’s doing well. Same old, same old.

Like the sometimes mindless “I love you’s” and polite greetings, “How are you?” doesn’t do justice as a question to the amount of care we want to express but so afraid to show. We stop at the how-are-you’s. We don’t dig deeper. We assume that they’re feeling what they say they feel at that given moment.

And sometimes it feels like they really don’t want to expand on their answer. To open up, to vent out.

We live in a world where we fear people think we’re being nosy. We fear asking better questions. Questions that really make a difference.

“How Are You Doing?”

I wish I’d asked a better question. We always get the usual “same old” from the same old question that really just feels like an opener for a small talk.

Whenever someone asks us how we’re doing, we’d instinctively answer “I’m good”, even when we’re not…

Even if the income is almost equal to the bills, the pile of dirty laundry is filling our home and making me sick, that expensive dental jacket has to be postponed again this month. I’d still say I’m fine, thank you… The same old canned response they taught us at kindergarten.

I wish I had asked him how he felt about specific things.

How do you really feel about our mother’s death? Did it hit you somehow when you weren’t there during the toughest days? How do you feel about the scarce opportunities during the pandemic? Does it make you feel like you’re too old to compete? I feel all of those things too.

I wish before my mother died I asked her how she felt 12 years after my father’s death. Was she happy? Were the late-night trips to the casino her way of masking the pain?

I shouldn’t have considered small talks equal to honest and truthful conversations.

I shouldn’t have assumed that they just “gave up” on life or that they don’t care because they don’t fuss about it. I should have been more sensitive to the fact that they’re just in pain and they want to be asked—and triggered—by very specific questions. I shouldn’t have feared that they’d take me the wrong way if I dug deeper.

“Ali diri, istorya-an ta na.”

One new year’s eve, intoxicated yet in good spirits, my brother asked me if there’s anything I wanted to tell him. He invited me to sit beside him so we can talk about my problems. I was taken over by the nerves, the fear of being reprimanded for my immature take on life. I smiled and said I’m fine. In return, I didn’t even bother asking him if there’s anything he wanted to tell me.

We are often too afraid to confront our own demons… especially in front of other people.

We need a bit of assurance that we’re in the safe space of friendship before we let out of fears and weaknesses. Opening up takes time, there’s no harm in digging deeper.

The next time you want to genuinely ask people how they are to show you care, ask “How do you feel about…” instead of “How are you?”