Ka-Blog!

14 May 2006

Dear Mama:

One of my very first memories is
breastfeeding from you.

I was already four years old
then. My sister Jing and I were suckling
from your generous breasts, a nipple for each of us. I remember you talking to me in your most
soothing voice that I soon will have to stop feeding from you because you were
pregnant with Karen then. I also
remember I said yes. That was my very
first act as my sisters’ elder brother.

I will never forget that. I will forever be grateful.

Our life has been difficult. In a poor country such as ours, you and Papa
struggled hard to give us your best. You
were honest civil servants, never taking more than what the state pays its
workers. But you gave us your all. We never went without a roof over our
heads. We were fed with the best of what
you have to offer us. We went to the
better schools even when it meant that you have to go in debt.

Both you and Papa taught me how to
live. But it was you who sent me to the
hills above our village and the fields and to ford rivers to gather firewood. You sent me scouring the fields to find herbs
and weeds to feed the pigs. I learned
how to harvest and shell peanuts for a fee. I learned how to separate corn kernels from the cob when you showed me
how. It was your idea that I sell ice
candy around Auitan, Guminga, San Jose and Caralucud. I set up a table at the street corner to sell
snacks upon your prodding. You made me
wake up quite early so I can help clean the house to your satisfaction. At noontime, you made me wash the
dishes. During siesta, you asked me to
pull out your unending supply of white hair. In the afternoons, you made it my responsibility to fetch water and
water the plants. In school, I joined
various activities because you told me to. Frankly, I would have wanted just to play with friends. All these I did with enthusiasm.

But there were lots of things you
wanted me to do that I hated. What I
remember the most were the clothes and shoes you bought for me and forced me to
wear. Many of them were so different
from what my classmates wore to class and church. One thing is sure though: our clothes were
the cleanest and best pressed. Had I
known that being different was cool, I would have gladly donned them on then.

You believed in corporal punishment. Being the eldest, I got spanked the
most. I got spanked even when it was
Jing’s fault because I was her manong. You used belts, sticks and hands. I do not begrudge you about it now. You were raised that way yourself. But, should good fortune bless me with a
child this is one thing I would not be doing often.

At the time when I believed I
deserved to be punished, you did not. This was the time when all three of us were playing hide and seek and Jing fell from the roof and cut herself terribly. I
was the manong and I
thought I was responsible for what happened. But you just cried.

When I was your pupil in Grade
Three, you banished me to a lower section when you arrived to find the class in
uproar. We were nine year-olds having
fun while the teacher was out. That was
unfair, Mama.

I now know that much of things you
did to us was a reaction to Papa’s alcoholism and having had to live with Ande,
your mother, who was just as headstrong as you. She owned the house; we were mere tenants.

You are a hard woman, until
now. I suffered much as a child because
you are the kind of woman who does not back out from any slight. And you imposed your will on us. You even had your say on the girlfriends I
had and the girls I courted.

When I think of all those bad episodes
now, they hardly mean anything. What I
remember more was when I came to the brink of death with a rheumatic heart
disease and broncopneumonia. The
doctors told you I only had a short time to live. You cried all the way from the hospital to
Auntie Mila’s house where we were staying–unmindful of people who were staring
at you in the jeepney. That you refused
the doctors’ initial prognosis and did your best so I may recover and live, I
only have my love to repay you.

I see you now taking care of Papa,
they way you took care of us all our lives. Caring for the sick is never easy. You complain.  But nothing that
you say can deny the fact that you are a loving wife. I admire you so much for this. Papa had been a difficult husband and a
father.

Grandmotherhood has softened you
somewhat. I am amused no end when you
are with your grandchild. What would
have earned us hard stares and a good spanking when we were children you only have gentle reminders
followed by soothing words for Chloe. I
pray hard that you will have more grandchildren from the three of us.

I am also very grateful for
accepting and loving my wife Pom, even if “she’s an activist like me.” I am delighted that you enjoy shopping for
clothes, new and used ones, together. She is your third daughter.

            I know you still want me to stop my
political activities. You rushed to Manila to beg me to stop
when you first read my critical articles. You cried when I got jailed. You
still panic when you see me on television confronting the police. But I can not stop. This is who I am now—a worker for
change. I only console myself that
despite failing you on this I know you know deep in your heart what I fight for
is right.

Ma, you will never stop being my
mother. And I will never be anyone but
your son. We will have many more
disagreements because I am sure you will always say what you think about what I
do or do not do. But I am sure we will
never stop loving each other.

Happy Mothers’ Day!

 Raymund