(I wrote this article way back in 2007 in my website mumbakkiblades.com, but unfortunately the website expired and I lost all the articles I’ve written. I tried to rewrite some of my compositions but I couldn’t bring back the original words)
Dia los muertos. The day of the dead.
I had a different view about this day when I was a kid. It could mean candies, costume parties, fun fun fun. Although I was aware that it’s a special time for visiting relatives and close family members who passed away, the fact that it’s a holiday and no one’s going to school, my friends and I were busier preparing our costumes and getting ready for the witching hour. It didn’t matter to me who died and who needs visiting, cemeteries are always full of people and going through the crowd isn’t something I would enjoy. For me, the day of the dead was a special day for Halloween fun time. Until my mom passed away.
My mom was a very practical woman who wishes only for things that she needed. Very seldom that she aims to get what she wanted. Table manners are very important; clean hands, clean clothes, and no one is allowed to be greedy. Take only the food that you can finish, and when your plate is full, you cannot leave the table until you finish everything. Not even a spoon of rice must be left out.
Both my parents work 6 days a week, and mom comes home earlier than father so she can attend to me and my siblings. You better be reading your books or doing your school assignments when she arrives home, or else have your ears ready to get pulled as payment for the consequences… ah yes, this rule applies only to me. My three siblings have no problem following the house rules. I don’t know why I am cursed with over flowing energy that I can’t keep myself in one place. I have to ride my bicycle as soon as I get home.
Mom is tough. She can afford to forget that I came from her and she can whack my buttocks all day long until I promise not to repeat the not so good things that I keep on repeating every single day since the day I learned to speak. And well, she has her sweet mommy ways of ending every punishment with lessons to learn. And because of this special mommy sweetness, I forget why I got punished.
Both parents are good in cooking, so we all grew up knowing our way in the kitchen, making great dishes. Mom was a travel agent and she was the reason why I got hooked in travelling and discovering new places. As young children, we already saw different cultures and seasons, and she inspired me to find ways to see the world.
I regret never telling mom my personal issues. It’s something I cannot open up to her. She was so conservative that I’m afraid of receiving a long uncomfortable lectures instead of a solution. My growing up years are full of adventures and happy moments, but when it comes to discussing my personal problems, I couldn’t say any word about it. This explains my daily dose of bicycle rides. I needed to get out, get tired, so I can calm down and think and solve my problems. Feeling the wind in my face was always relaxing. And when it was time to go back home, mom was at the door with the familiar look of disappointment and asking the same questions.
I guess I was born a leader. As a kid, my close friends will always follow my decision. It doesn’t matter if it’s for the bad or good, whatever I say will be followed. I was the small godfather telling everyone what kinda kid games to play, which house to watch TV, what to buy in the sari sari store for everyone to share. I lead the bicycle rides which is actually just around the village, and we terrorise imaginary enemies. And when it’s time to go home for dinner, I have to make sure that all the kids are gone before I go home coz mom’s gonna be by the door. I don’t want my friends to see the godfather’s ears getting pulled going inside the house. I was the toughest of them all, at least until I come home for dinner.
I remembered my first puppy love. I tried so hard to get her attention. But I got ignored for being a pint-sized kid. I was always the smallest kid in the group and the girls are not impressed with small boys.
I remember my first heart break. I wasn’t told by the girl to simply go away, but rather I was bullied with terrible words and got physically pushed by the girl as she tells me to leave and disappear. A mixed feelings of embarrassment, self pity, and getting stepped on. I went home broken into pieces.
Inside my room, I cried alone.
Then after a minute, mommy came in and sat beside me. She put her hand on my forehead sweetly told me “You are a very tough kid. Respected by your peers. And yet a girl sent you home in tears”. There was silence.
I remained quiet for the next minutes, and then mom said this: “The day your heart gets hurt is the day you’ll know that the person matters to you”. “Your heart finally learned how to love”.
I lost my mom to ALS. Nobody knows how it happened, but it happened too fast, and too late for the medicines to intervene. Her sweetness are my last memories of her. It’s been decades now but I never failed to offer a mass on Mother’s Day.
I always wished for her to witness my success, but I guess she can see me from heaven.
Dia los muertos. The day of the dead. It’s the second Mothers Day of the year.
How I miss my mom.
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MUMBAKKI
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