Dear Mom

May 04, 2013

My mom is my hero. She is fun, smart and just like me in so many ways. She took care of everyone in the family and served as my inspiration during my formative years.
Yes, she was that kind of woman who won’t interrogate me when a potential suitor knocks at our door hoping to catch a glimpse of me. She will go to the kitchen and give this guy a glass of lemonade, instead.
And no, she won’t even bother to question why am I dressed in that little black dress which comes with a promise of a wonderful night out with friends. She will instead walk me through that door and bid me good night. And well, hopefully meet one nice charming guy and maybe share a kiss or two. (Okay this last sentence, I just made up.)
But she won’t ask me why I love books and writing in exchange for a trip to the beach.  She won’t ask all of that because she believed that though I was young, I had that gift of decisiveness and confidence which earned her trust in no time.
My mom back in those days.
She’s the kind of mom who can take my nonsense rants about office politics and how I hated it, my used to be never-ending insecurities and even the boys I liked. She was the type of mom who would pick up the phone and demand an explanation why I forgot to call when I said so. She was the one who encouraged me to dream big and stop at nothing to get it without hurting others. She was the epitome of a pure heart, diplomatic and yet silly person rolled into one.
But go ask my friends what kind of conversation makes me cry the soonest and they will tell you it will be about my mother. 

Why am I writing this?
Simply because Mom is gone. Forever. The year was 2005.
Like I won’t hear her voice anymore. I won’t even have a taste of her sometimes bad cooking <sorry, Mom>. No more comforting words if ever I have my heart broken into pieces again. No more silly things together, smiles or tears. They are gone. She is gone.
This Mother’s Day, if there’s something that I want to give her, it will be my TIME.

I want to make up for the many days I forgot to call, for failing to ask how she was and what was cooking in her kitchen. Or just simply ask how her day went. I want to spend my time asking as many details about her life that I don’t know yet, her own struggles, fears or even silly rants. I want to spend my time listening to her many stories just like before I was a teenager. I want to remember many things about my mother now more than I did before.
Dear Mom,
I am here now, sorry for the lost time. I am much sure the heaven is so fabulous you wouldn’t want to come back and stay for a while with me in my crappy Makati apartment.
But you know what, Mom—I think I am successful and even more people say I am prettier now (ehem!).  I think you should also see how I can apply makeup without being sloppy. I hope my gift of time isn’t too late (well, I know it is).

You can still show up in my dream or whatever but I just want to be with you for while.
Much love,
PS: My boss still needs me so I have to go back and not come with you permanently. Errrmm... I hope that’s okay. Happy Mother's Day, Mom. 

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