Love.
My Inay is dying. The 20th will mark a month from when she had refused and stopped eating-no food, not even water. My mother has told me that ants have started to crawl on her skin, and that she resembles nothing but a skeleton. I haven’t seen her for about two months. College life has been demanding, and my father didn’t want to take us to Batangas-baka makagulo lang kayo doon, was his reason. (Although at the back of my mind there was always that thought that perhaps, he simply doesn’t want his children to see his mother die.)
However, circumstances have changed. No longer (as I’ve noticed) do the adults exclude us from the matter. I hear the phrase “one last time” more and more from my mother everyday, and I quite understand. So on the 21st-on my very first day of the semestral break-I will take the road to Batangas. To be honest, I am afraid to go. I know that when I get there, I will try hard not to cry; only, I will not succeed. I am afraid that when I finally see my Inay (who they say looked so much like me when she was young) I will recognize her no more that she will recognize who I am. But what scares me the most, is the possibility that days (or God forbid, hours) after our reunion, she will lay on her bed and close her eyes, never to wake up again.
I have seen death; in movies, on the internet, in dreams. I’ve read about it a thousand times as well. I’ve always said-even boldly-that I wasn’t frightened of it, that God can take me anytime. Now, I realize that I haven't seen death at all. The one I’ve come to know was merely a fictitious, bleak attempt at depicting the doom of reality. In fact, I have no idea what death is, nor do I understand what it must mean, to the one leaving and to those who must stay behind.
I have imagined this particular scene in my head: I am sitting alone with God in a cold, dark place and although I don’t see his face, I feel that it is him beside me. I tell him, I’m not ready for anyone to leave. Please, not yet.
He asks: When?
I am speechless. I do not have any answer to that question. But instead of explaining to me what life is or why certain things must come to an end, He simply takes me in His arms, and I cry, and cry, and cry.
When Inay leaves it will be painful. The family will mourn with an agony that will last for days, weeks, months (will there be a Christmas this year? a voice inside me asks; I hear the immediate answer, I doubt.) Then the years will pass, and we will move on because life requires that we do so, and we cannot refuse. Even so, I am certain that one thing will stay. It is the one thing that started it all, and it is the reason why we’re here.
However, circumstances have changed. No longer (as I’ve noticed) do the adults exclude us from the matter. I hear the phrase “one last time” more and more from my mother everyday, and I quite understand. So on the 21st-on my very first day of the semestral break-I will take the road to Batangas. To be honest, I am afraid to go. I know that when I get there, I will try hard not to cry; only, I will not succeed. I am afraid that when I finally see my Inay (who they say looked so much like me when she was young) I will recognize her no more that she will recognize who I am. But what scares me the most, is the possibility that days (or God forbid, hours) after our reunion, she will lay on her bed and close her eyes, never to wake up again.
I have seen death; in movies, on the internet, in dreams. I’ve read about it a thousand times as well. I’ve always said-even boldly-that I wasn’t frightened of it, that God can take me anytime. Now, I realize that I haven't seen death at all. The one I’ve come to know was merely a fictitious, bleak attempt at depicting the doom of reality. In fact, I have no idea what death is, nor do I understand what it must mean, to the one leaving and to those who must stay behind.
I have imagined this particular scene in my head: I am sitting alone with God in a cold, dark place and although I don’t see his face, I feel that it is him beside me. I tell him, I’m not ready for anyone to leave. Please, not yet.
He asks: When?
I am speechless. I do not have any answer to that question. But instead of explaining to me what life is or why certain things must come to an end, He simply takes me in His arms, and I cry, and cry, and cry.
When Inay leaves it will be painful. The family will mourn with an agony that will last for days, weeks, months (will there be a Christmas this year? a voice inside me asks; I hear the immediate answer, I doubt.) Then the years will pass, and we will move on because life requires that we do so, and we cannot refuse. Even so, I am certain that one thing will stay. It is the one thing that started it all, and it is the reason why we’re here.