MOST people in their early adulthood dream of absolute freedom. The freedom to go outside at night and probably go home in the morning. The freedom of spending their money buying what they want without being held back by anyone.
Parents— they are often seen as hindrances to someone who desires freedom. I somehow thought, at some point, they were. Not until I lost my mother last year. Her passing forced me to live independently—which made me realize the smallest things that I have taken for granted.
The (De)cluttered Space
Coming home from work back then feels way different than it is right now. Back then I’d be welcomed by our spotless home with my bed waiting for me to lie down.
Currently, as I open my apartment’s door, I am welcomed by my cluttered bed, probably messed up by my three kittens. The act of opening the door alone with my keys felt empty than it was when I only had to knock and say, “ma, pabukas ng pinto.”
Those moments were warm and have indeed made me feel like home.
The Morning Cup
“Anong gusto mong inumin, Milo o kape?”
She used to ask everyday. As I comfortably lie down for a while, she would make me choose in between these two. Whenever we have pancit canton, she’d also ask, “May pancit canton pa dito, lutuan kita?”
Out of exhaustion, I’d accidentally fall asleep. Only to wake up hours later to see the cup of Milo waiting for me.
“Malamig na, ang tagal mo kasing inumin”
I didn’t realize those moments would come to an end. If life wasn’t too cruel, I probably wouldn’t be stirring my own cup in the morning for breakfast.
The 12 Noon Lunch
Mothers do get mad when we don’t eat on time, don’t they?
There was never a time we didn’t have lunch prepared before 12 noon. She had it prepared while I was asleep. When I wake up, she will invite me for lunch.
Now, it feels odd.
Now I wake up at 2 o’clock in the afternoon, realizing I haven’t prepared my lunch yet. Now, I rush to the nearby carinderias and eat there instead, sitting by myself.
I have spent my entire life sharing lunch and dinner with her. Enjoying a delicious meal alone made me miss all the foods she has cooked.
Unfolding Clothes She Once Fold
The other day, I was checking the pile of clothes I haven’t touched in my cabinet, which I haven’t worn for a while. As I had them messed up a bit, I froze for a moment while looking at the detail of how it was folded.
Those were folded by her.
The seamless folds, I am certain, weren’t mine. These folded clothes were definitely the last memory of how she had always made sure I would never have to worry about what I should wear. She had it organized. She ensured it was free from stains.
And even if I have learned how to fold on my own, hers will always be better. Sentimental. Her final act of love. A proof that until the end, she has ensured that my life is convenient.
Feeling Ill, Feeling Blue
Getting sick never scared me—before.
Until I lost her. The fear started to creep in. Living alone meant no one would look after me if I got sick. I will have to get better on my own.
There’s that unexplainable feeling of assurance her care gives. How she’s restless, how she would rush out of the house to buy me medicine and food.
In her absence, getting sick feels like dying.
It was the subtle things she did that I have overlooked. I just wish that people will not overlook the smallest things their loved ones are doing for them. I was so busy creating my life that I have failed to savor those moments. May people never believe what they currently have right now stays for good.
People always go. Even if they want to stay, when it’s their time to be called up there, they will have to leave even with a heavy heart. Perhaps, it wouldn’t hurt to treat each moment as if it is never going to happen again tomorrow—because that’s what exactly I would have done, only if this lifetime permits.
