My mother was born in a time of war. It was the 40's and the Japanese has already occupied manila. all she remembered of the war was how the american soldiers will give them candy when they call them joe and how her mother used to give them the food from her plate. these were also her only memory of her mother. her mother died before the war ended.
Maybe this is what made her become the mother she was. sacrificial but at hard at the same time.
i have never thought her as weak though i knew she had weaknesses. i grew up knowing her as the go-to mother in the neighborhood, one of the main-stayers in the school along with the other moms, organizing alternative PTA's (since we don't really have an official one), and the sane, matter of fact, voice of reason among her friends.
we never really had a perfect relationship. i know she felt i was the test that she had failed most of the time. she, for me was the one holding me back. but deep inside i always knew why we could not get along. we are so much alike. opinionated and colorful. hard and real. we wanted more from each other than what we both could really give.
when i became a mother in 20o7, a year before she passed, i have understood her better but at the same time, had more questions i wished she could have answered.
today is supposed to be her 72nd birthday. we would have brought her a cake. she would have like that. though she might act nonchalantly like she always would since she scarcely want attention.
She may have left us but she is within us, my sister and i, for she made us who we are. may we not forget.
photo credit:Gustav-Klimt: Three ages of Woman, Mother and Child
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