Ana
Always, when you were a toddler, each time I would lift you up from bed and carry you, our faces were an inch apart, with your chinky eyes, you would look into mine. As if saying, 'so, you are my mom, I guess...'. You went through a tough childhood, what with Dad and Mom struggling to keep ends meet. There were days you did not have milk, and Mama Bella would give you water with sugar instead. When asked what you favorite food was, you would always say 'doodles!', which is actually 'noodles', and should be your favorite because that was what we could afford. You would stand by the stove, plate in hand, waiting for Dad to put fried rice on your bowl, rice from yesterday's meal. You always slept in the afternoons, with your baby bottle hanging from teeth biting into the nipple, your worn-out, smelly pillow in your hand, you would run to the bed at the prompting of Mama Bella and sleep on your own.
When I arrive from work, you would always say 'hiiiiii', with the wave of a beauty contestant. I remember coming home one time, finding you laying on our torn sofa, running a very high fever. Tita Beks was silently crying behind you in pity. And you mustered all the strength you had and said 'hiiiii' to me, still with the beauty-contestant wave. Tita Beks begged that we take you to the hospital, but I could not because I worried about where to get the money to pay the hospital bills. We used home remedy instead, and prayers, you got through the fever. Tita Beks has always been your second mom, really.
She would take you to work, when she was on radio, and you would play with all her stuff in her purse, write on the wall with her lipstick, or throw up all over her work area.
You learned to count while 'facing the wall', your punishment when you were a bad girl. You went to school first at this little private school which taught you a funny song about flowers, period. That was all you learned from that school. So, we decided to send you to another private school, but you were always distracted, the teacher would find you playing on the swing when you only asked permission to go to the restroom. The third school, finally, taught you to read. Thank God.
You had this fascination for restrooms, I recall. Each time we were somewhere out of the house, like in a restaurant, for example, you would pretend you want to pee, so I can take you to the restroom. But when we're there, no pee. Always, in hotels, along the road on a land trip, you always seemed interested with how toilets look like. On a passenger bus, once, you insisted I stop the bus so you can use the restroom along the expressway. I did, after an argument with the bus driver. Guess what? You did not pee.
Wherever we lived, renting apartments, all the neighbors would love you. They would 'borrow' you for a day, give you all that you ask for to eat, like barbeque from one neighbor who sold them, or pandesal from the bakery's owner nearby. One neighbor would simply want you in their house, playing, because they said you bring them so much joy. When we had visitors at home, you would offer coffee, like you knew what it was, and show off your pictures in dusty albums. You were always a happy, happy kid. Content, not asking for more than we could give.
You breezed through elementary and high school with the usual good and bad stuff, but always with good grades. Always with honors, maintained to be in science high. I think you first fell in love in high school? And also had your first heartbreak then. I left for an assignment far from you and your brother when you were in 2nd year high school, so you started to be more mature and responsible at an early age. Given the circumstances you had to deal with at home that time, I sometimes feel guilty I allowed you to be in those situations, alone. Then again, you were molded into the person you are now, armed with lessons no school can teach. You were given the chance to see what is good, and what is not. Yet, you, because of who you are, always choose to find that 'good' in people and situations, and filter the 'bad'. Those were the times we coined our own three P's. Always, when things got rough, we would say, 'pray, patience and protect (ading)'. So in the middle of all of our tears, we both were consoled by this 'code'.
I realized you were already independent, while in college, I saw you lift a five-gallon container of water, and I gasped. You told me you have been doing that for a while now, because living alone in Baguio, you had to do everything for yourself. You are also a better cook than Mom, now, and you always look for something productive to do. Like candles, and bath stuff, baking, whatever. However, sleeping is still one of your hobbies.
I got this terrible call from you one morning, you were wailing, another heartbreak. I felt like I was 'hit by a train' with pain. If only I could absorb all the raw hurt and ache you were feeling at that time, I would have. But I told myself, I should let you fight your own battles. So I did my best to su pport you nurse your broken heart, and helped you move on, 'in style'. In a hotel, alone, for a month. I am glad you found your way clear, balanced, head-over-heart, inspired, and loving again. That smile has another facet once more and when I see you flash that, I say a prayer of thanks.
You have a cute, adorable, funny, responsible set of friends. I have learned to treat them as my own kids, and I am always thankful that you have them in your life. But I am most grateful that you have a brother like your ading, who worships you. He loves you more than anyone, and I always take pride in the fact that you have this relationship, loving and respectful of each other. Proud, too, that you always make decisions in your life in consideration of how your brother would be affected by them. With that, my 'passing', when that time comes, will be easier for me to accept.
A family friend who knows you quite well once bumped into me in the grocery and told me, 'you raised your daughter well, napakabait na bata'. I said to myself, 'that's it, that's the reward God has given me, after years of pain, challenges, hurt, sacrifice, my daughter and my son are my rewards'.
A parent would always say,' my kids are my pride and joy'. To me, you and your brother are my gifts from God, the rewards for my sacrifices, my friends, my pillars of strength. Many would say, I am their pillar, but that is not the case with me. I draw inspiration and fortitude from you and your brother. You, anak, are my best friend, the one who loves me unconditionally, who keeps my feet on the ground when I am on my 'insanity attacks', who understands me (though difficult) in my 'swept-off-my-feet' chapters, who holds my hand and tells me all will be alright ('kumain ka na lang, mom).
Just a while ago, one of my closest friends commented while we were talking about you, said, 'mas responsable pa yung anak mo kesa sa yo'. I wanted to laugh, not because I found it funny, but because I found that to be true. I write this now because in a month, you will be done with college. You said you want to teach special children, you want to take education units, you want to take a masteral degree, you want to be a doctor, maybe. Anything you want to do, anak, I will do my best to support. Because I know, definitely, that whatever choices you make, you do with your heart. You will never go wrong with that.
I love you anak. I wish you happiness.
When I arrive from work, you would always say 'hiiiiii', with the wave of a beauty contestant. I remember coming home one time, finding you laying on our torn sofa, running a very high fever. Tita Beks was silently crying behind you in pity. And you mustered all the strength you had and said 'hiiiii' to me, still with the beauty-contestant wave. Tita Beks begged that we take you to the hospital, but I could not because I worried about where to get the money to pay the hospital bills. We used home remedy instead, and prayers, you got through the fever. Tita Beks has always been your second mom, really.
She would take you to work, when she was on radio, and you would play with all her stuff in her purse, write on the wall with her lipstick, or throw up all over her work area.
You learned to count while 'facing the wall', your punishment when you were a bad girl. You went to school first at this little private school which taught you a funny song about flowers, period. That was all you learned from that school. So, we decided to send you to another private school, but you were always distracted, the teacher would find you playing on the swing when you only asked permission to go to the restroom. The third school, finally, taught you to read. Thank God.
You had this fascination for restrooms, I recall. Each time we were somewhere out of the house, like in a restaurant, for example, you would pretend you want to pee, so I can take you to the restroom. But when we're there, no pee. Always, in hotels, along the road on a land trip, you always seemed interested with how toilets look like. On a passenger bus, once, you insisted I stop the bus so you can use the restroom along the expressway. I did, after an argument with the bus driver. Guess what? You did not pee.
Wherever we lived, renting apartments, all the neighbors would love you. They would 'borrow' you for a day, give you all that you ask for to eat, like barbeque from one neighbor who sold them, or pandesal from the bakery's owner nearby. One neighbor would simply want you in their house, playing, because they said you bring them so much joy. When we had visitors at home, you would offer coffee, like you knew what it was, and show off your pictures in dusty albums. You were always a happy, happy kid. Content, not asking for more than we could give.
You breezed through elementary and high school with the usual good and bad stuff, but always with good grades. Always with honors, maintained to be in science high. I think you first fell in love in high school? And also had your first heartbreak then. I left for an assignment far from you and your brother when you were in 2nd year high school, so you started to be more mature and responsible at an early age. Given the circumstances you had to deal with at home that time, I sometimes feel guilty I allowed you to be in those situations, alone. Then again, you were molded into the person you are now, armed with lessons no school can teach. You were given the chance to see what is good, and what is not. Yet, you, because of who you are, always choose to find that 'good' in people and situations, and filter the 'bad'. Those were the times we coined our own three P's. Always, when things got rough, we would say, 'pray, patience and protect (ading)'. So in the middle of all of our tears, we both were consoled by this 'code'.
I realized you were already independent, while in college, I saw you lift a five-gallon container of water, and I gasped. You told me you have been doing that for a while now, because living alone in Baguio, you had to do everything for yourself. You are also a better cook than Mom, now, and you always look for something productive to do. Like candles, and bath stuff, baking, whatever. However, sleeping is still one of your hobbies.
I got this terrible call from you one morning, you were wailing, another heartbreak. I felt like I was 'hit by a train' with pain. If only I could absorb all the raw hurt and ache you were feeling at that time, I would have. But I told myself, I should let you fight your own battles. So I did my best to su pport you nurse your broken heart, and helped you move on, 'in style'. In a hotel, alone, for a month. I am glad you found your way clear, balanced, head-over-heart, inspired, and loving again. That smile has another facet once more and when I see you flash that, I say a prayer of thanks.
You have a cute, adorable, funny, responsible set of friends. I have learned to treat them as my own kids, and I am always thankful that you have them in your life. But I am most grateful that you have a brother like your ading, who worships you. He loves you more than anyone, and I always take pride in the fact that you have this relationship, loving and respectful of each other. Proud, too, that you always make decisions in your life in consideration of how your brother would be affected by them. With that, my 'passing', when that time comes, will be easier for me to accept.
A family friend who knows you quite well once bumped into me in the grocery and told me, 'you raised your daughter well, napakabait na bata'. I said to myself, 'that's it, that's the reward God has given me, after years of pain, challenges, hurt, sacrifice, my daughter and my son are my rewards'.
A parent would always say,' my kids are my pride and joy'. To me, you and your brother are my gifts from God, the rewards for my sacrifices, my friends, my pillars of strength. Many would say, I am their pillar, but that is not the case with me. I draw inspiration and fortitude from you and your brother. You, anak, are my best friend, the one who loves me unconditionally, who keeps my feet on the ground when I am on my 'insanity attacks', who understands me (though difficult) in my 'swept-off-my-feet' chapters, who holds my hand and tells me all will be alright ('kumain ka na lang, mom).
Just a while ago, one of my closest friends commented while we were talking about you, said, 'mas responsable pa yung anak mo kesa sa yo'. I wanted to laugh, not because I found it funny, but because I found that to be true. I write this now because in a month, you will be done with college. You said you want to teach special children, you want to take education units, you want to take a masteral degree, you want to be a doctor, maybe. Anything you want to do, anak, I will do my best to support. Because I know, definitely, that whatever choices you make, you do with your heart. You will never go wrong with that.
I love you anak. I wish you happiness.
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