I had always been a daddy’s girl. And when people asked me whose genes I got, I’d automatically and proudly say, “From my dad!” And I would see my mom look away whenever she heard me say that remark. She had never conveyed to me how she felt about it. Although she’d sometimes have this matter-of-factly input over dinner-table convos: “90% of the child’s intelligence comes from the mom’s,” to which we never argued to as not to hurt her already-hurt feelings.
My attachment to my dad became more prominent when I started engaging in things that were obviously influenced by him. My mom supported me all the way and had even resorted to loaning money just to finance my extra-curricular activities.
Whenever my mom and dad had a fight, it was my dad who’d gather us all and threatened to leave. My mom–she’d just shake her head. When we gave a negative comment about our dad’s action, she’d tell us that we shouldn’t say anything negative about our dad… He was our dad, and he therefore earned the right to get our love and respect, despite his fuzziness.
My mom’s hands and feet are rough, full of calluses and dilated veins, showing the world how hard-working my mother was. She would make ice candy and stay up as late as 3:00 a.m. just so we could have three full meals the next day. She used to make garlands, wrap gifts for Christmas parties, take photos and deliver them from house to house. I remember joining her in going house to house to collect payments for those photos and in some houses. We would have to run fast because some cruel residents would let loose of their angry dogs.
While everyone else laughed at her for selling all her antique chinaware and some furniture just so my sister Cynthia could continue with her studies, she’d still carry that graceful smile on her lips and convinced everyone to buy her stuff. She shallowed any pride she had in her bloodstream. I never thought such frail shoulders could carry such burden…
She had shown me what great love a mother can give to her child. While in a meeting, she wouldn’t eat her share of snack or lunch because she’d bring it home for us to eat. I remember her bringing home a Jollibee chicken meal that has a bite on it. I told her to return it to Jollibee and ask for an untouched one. She smiled and said that it was supposed to be her lunch, given free at the event that she attended. She only took a bite and then put the packed lunch in her bag. She said that she found it hard to enjoy her meal knowing that we might have no decent viand at home.
One time, while my sister Leda was gravely sick and was confined in a hospital, we went to a drugstore to buy the prescribed medicines. We only had enough money to buy the meds needed for that day and Ate Lot needed to take her medicines at least for two weeks. She found a wallet full of bills–mostly Php1,000 and our estimate amounted to around Php 50,000. She wasn’t even tempted. She called the cashier and instructed her to wait for the owner to come back and give the wallet back to her. After a few minutes, the owner arrived to claim her wallet. She left without even thanking my mom. I was greatly disappointed and I was complaining to my mom about how rude and ungrateful the owner of the wallet was. She said that good deeds are counted in heaven, even though they weren’t appreciated here on Earth…
I have this funny story about her enormous gift whenever we have celebrations at home–birthdays, Christmases, graduations, recognition days… She’d always end up having “unconditional love” as our gifts. When we complained that those who have lower ranking in class than us received big gift boxes, she’d say that her gift was bigger, greater, and it’s unlimited. (Can you believe it? Now, I am actually crying while composing this note that I think I’ll be able to finish this thing by midnight–I started around 8pm.)
There was a time when we had to go to sleep on empty stomachs. She’d concoct a solution made from the mixture of water and sugar (and if there’s condensed milk left, we’re lucky!) and she’d tell us to drink some for us to feel full before we climb to bed. Despite the hardship, never did she discourage us from going to school and from joining any activity that could hone our skills and develop our talents.
She’s always been an optimist. I never met anyone who thinks as positively as she does. Even though she hadn’t eaten for days, she’d still find the energy to dress up, walk ten blocks or so, and attend a Sunday mass at the Cathedral. Whenever one of us had an exam to take, she’d light three vigil candles and offer novenas. During my board exams, she spent three whole nights in a parish near her place to offer a prayer vigil. As for those who wished us ill, she said that our prayers are our defense…
My mom only had one vice–orchids. And everyday, we would envy her precious orchids because she’d tend to them, spray them with vitamins, and sing them lullaby. One of her joys was to see them bloom.
I could go on and on telling you stories about how kind-hearted, gentle, and pure my mom is. And the space in this “note tab” will not be enough. So I’ll end my anecdote about my mom here.
Nanay, I hope that I am not a great disappointment to you. When I read the birthday card to recently sent me, I was moved when it said, “I am proud of you and I think I did a great job in raising you…” I hope I have lived up to your examples and that I have continued to make you proud of me despite the things that had happened in my life. I love you more than you’ll ever know… I hope that I could give back to you as you have given to us. I miss you and I love you. Thank you for raising us the way you did. I am so grateful for having you as my mother!
Hugs and kisses,
Bunsong Ella (Your Palangga)
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