4 roles

With 32 years behind me, there are five four roles I am fondest of.

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I am mother, to two of the most beautiful creatures on earth.

Li, whom I used to call Eskimo Linus because he was handed to me from the nursery wrapped in a chunky bundle, is my eldest son. He is going to be 12 years old this year and is the handsomest boy I know. Being born at a time when a baby isn’t exactly part of the plan, it is amazing how my view of the universe, and of my fate, has changed because of him.

We struggled to make ends meet in his toddler years that when he turned two, we celebrated his birthday quite humbly—with supermarket gift certificates as salaries, we bought alongside our weekend groceries: cupcakes for his cake, two tiny birthday candles, a birthday banner, three birthday hats and instant noodles. A lot has changed in the way we celebrate our kids’ birthdays, but it’s that one occasion I distinctly remember.

G is my daughter, who will be eight in May. She is very decisive and a bit too well-mannered for her age. She is my shopping buddy, because from her I get an honest opinion on clothes, furniture, toiletries. However, depending on how big the moon is or perhaps how her shoes feel on that particular day, she can also be my worst enemy. I cannot force her to doing things she has decided to be against her liking. Cut from the same tree, I cannot expect less from my daughter. G has the prettiest eyes, the smoothest of cheeks, the toothiest smile, the happiest grin. For having the last one, I take credit because I’ve taught her the three kind of smiles: the small smile for ID pictures, a medium smile for mid-shots and a big, big smile for when she’s in a group photo and needs to look really happy. In this age of being digital, it is an invaluable lesson she never forgets.

Together, their typical day involves fighting over the remote control or the best space in the sofa or who forgot to turn off the faucet. Apart, they can’t wait to tell each other how their school day had gone by.

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I am sister to two girls, no, ladies who make me feel taller than 5’3″.

E is the best Ditche, as far as I am concerned. Sharing the same birthday, we often counted who got the most greetings and, having spent three more years on this earth than her, you’d think I’d prevail but she always won many times over. Her good friends probably outnumber the days in the year while I’d like to think I am just more selective of people I’d like to be close to.

I loved her the most when I learned days later that she, and her better half A who by virtue of extension can also call me sister, kept my ex-husband company while I was in the operating room for a D&C. I had thought it had been a lonely night for him and can imagine the waiting area must’ve gone a tad brighter when she emerged from the corner.

In the midst of the chaos which is our family, I sent E a message saying, “please let’s not fight about anything when we get old,” to which she said “we are different, it will never happen.” I found great comfort in those words.

Meimei is our baby sis. When I ran out on my mom during college, it was her whom I missed the most. Not being with her while she was growing up is one of the “what-ifs” of my life because I’d like to think I could’ve had a bigger influence in her rearing. She made up a funny story shortly after I left our house—a tale about this dusty little broom—which she wrote in very large scribbles on a torn out sheet from a notebook. I loved it so much until now I read it when I need to be amused.

Among us siblings, she is the one who is the most practical, the type who can squeeze in the few hundred pesos you hand her, by purchasing cloth all the way to Divisoria and making herself a funky, furry bag with a smaller version for her niece. Now on her third year in med school, I look at her with respect as she expounds about glumerolonephritis as I realize she is far more than how I’d hoped for her to be. She cruised, and is still cruising along, juuust fine. Never mind if I wasn’t around.

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I am daughter to somebody who blossoms from the countryside.

As I was growing up, I thought I hated my mom. Because I’ve always thought she hated my guts. Mothers have a knack of going through long conversations supported by rationale that border on insanity. I should know, because I take from her. I, however, will not say I finally understand where she was coming from, but will go as far as saying disagreements with your mother are part of the natural order of things.

Some days ago, we did a marathon phone conversation which lasted over several hours. We talked about so many little but important things. Remembering this college professor I had who said each story has a secret to tell and what’s exciting about reading is finding out what the secret is, well, she gave me story after story and secret after secret it was hard to put the phone down. I also cried during our conversation because I was so moved by a speech she wrote for Toastmasters.

Now, I’m not sure who’s more proud of who: she of me, or I of her? She loved Lola just as much so it’s also about me giving her some love back. That’s the way the cycle goes. And how the world thrives. Part of the natural order of things.

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I am friend to an x-number or so people I’d like to think far extend the digits of my hands and feet combined.

My best bud, My, I love the most. She is my version of “the only person you wouldn’t hesitate to ring up at two in the morning, gibberish from crying because even without words she’d understand.” If everyone in the world had someone to run to like that, then we’re all lucky indeed.

After My are so many other people who have created rings around the tree which is my life, while I could have just as easily been a fleeting moment in theirs.

Just some from the office, whom I love: Anne, who inspires me to be thankful for each day that comes; Bridge, whose daring I admire; Pammie, whose love for words I share; Tin, who works so hard she makes me look bad. Allen and Karen, the dynamic duo I ask to police my bad grammar; Sammy and Jeff, the other dynamic duo who will not mind if I use bad grammar; and, Tita Aan and Jun, the original duo R & I spent long, tragic hours with.

Maria, whom I really think might’ve been my evil twin sister in a previous life. Our repists friends, the reason why I love UP so much. And then my oldest friends: Abi, whom I haven’t seen in years and whom I had dreamt had converted to another religion; Ces, who I really think could’ve been a model if she had been any taller; Ciels, an enigma why she works for a telco when she can’t talk for more than five minutes on the phone; Lei, our only friend living abroad; Lizzie, who’s really my oldest friend because we were seatmates back in fourth grade; Michelle, my other best friend from high school; Nina, who’s never pikon; and, Den, the biggest fan of Sharon Cuneta ever.

Many more unnamed, but not forgotten because 32 years yield many friends.

∞

This is me, Dee, at 32. I am mother, sister, daughter, friend.

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Pictured: Sign at Bento-ya Japanese Restaurant, El Grande, BF Parañaque