They were a young couple for a little over 8 years before I came into this world. They were each other's first loves and it was their first relationship. I used to believe that this was the standard of a love that might last forever.
My mother, Rose, was the fifth child in seven siblings. She grew up with an average middle-class family and as the apple of the eye of her father. Caring and obedient, she could never say no to her family. She cared for her youngest brother who had Down syndrome since the day he was born until the day he died. My mother was a docile lamb who was content to be told what to do and she never questioned her father's authority. It was obvious that she regarded him as higher than her husband.
When I was very young, I found her beautiful and vivacious. She glowed like a summer day when she put on her makeup and perfume. Her friends always loved her because she was always so jolly and fun to be with. Even after becoming a mother of four children, she could always pass off as a younger woman. We always get mistaken for sisters. Her secret was simple. Always be grateful and live by the day. She doesn't stress out and she's always chill so the years simply slide off her face.
I am my mother's best friend before her daughter. I'm her confidant, her secret-keeper. We get along so well in so many things because our tastes are so similar. I am pretty proud to say that we often smoke cigarettes and drink beers together whenever I come home like it's a sorority night. She is the first person I contact when I have good news and the last person I tell whenever I'm going through a rough patch. I never forget that she is my mom, even when she forgets that I'm her kid.
What I admire most about her is her lifelong contentment in being a housewife and mother. It is so rare and beautiful to find a woman who is happy to be mother, aunt and caretaker. She is always great with children and she loves babies. Growing up, she managed 12 kids under the same roof with finesse that it's amazing that by the end of the summer, we were all still in one piece. Even when her kids, nieces and nephews had grown up and flown out of the nest, they still regard her with the highest respect and love because she'd cared for them whole-heartedly.
It is my mother who taught me to endure and to be resilient. She is like the bamboo that bends and sways with the winds of adversity yet she never breaks. Not even when she and my father separated.
My father on the other hand failed on a lot of things, including fatherhood. I'm sure that he did his best but it still wasn't enough to compensate for the issues that I had. Anyway, I don't mean that he was a bad father. He's just not the best one out there.
But my father had a hard life unlike my mom. He was the eldest of five sons and he was already helping out in the family business, a butcher's shop, as a kid. His mother suffered from cancer in his teens until her death in 1989 so the burden of raising 4 boisterous boys was left to him. My grandfather was a World War II veteran who smoked, drank and never showed any affection to his sons so I'm guessing that's the parenting model that he adopted.
When I was growing up, my father was rarely home. He worked as an enlisted soldier in the Philippine Air Force (PAF) so he was often away for work. I didn't miss him that much and I was often afraid of him because he would hit us whenever we acted like kids.
My father instilled a firm sense of duty into us as we grew up. He always emphasized the importance of family, your duty to family and your honor. He made sure that we woke up very early on weekends to clean the house, learn to cook and to wash the clothes all before lunchtime. He always cooked for us and he is an awesome cook. I honed my cooking skills under his eye and I admit that I still miss his pancit bihon sometimes. He wanted us to be ready for real life.
But he was still the big man of the house who wouldn't quit smoking, drinking and gambling like any military man. Those things were more important to him than raising children and saving money so they would have comfortable lives. He always thought that since I'm such an obedient daughter, I could step up as the pillar of the household. I could take up his responsibility and smile while doing it. No wonder I started acting out so early.
Unfortunately, my father picked up a disgusting drug habit that led him to leave our family in 2016. Our family was torn up into pieces when they formally separated in 2016. We're still trying to recover. I used to hate him so much.
Now, I've already forgiven him and I've moved past it. I'm trying to recover our relationship. I'm trying to mend his relationship with my own siblings. It's like holding jagged mirror pieces and trying to piece it back together but I'm oblivious to the fact that I'm getting hurt and my palms are bleeding.
In spite of all this, I am still grateful for my parents for loving me regardless of my bad decisions and my crazy notions. I understand that they just want the best for me and my siblings. I will always love them no matter what.
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