The way of mothers
Mum is leaving for Seattle (for good) the day after tomorrow, so I’ve been home for the past two days to spend some time with her until her flight. She’ll be back in December, at the very earliest. The dramatic half of me is disconsolate, since December seems so very far away, while the pragmatic half is serene, as it knows perfectly well how quickly nine months really pass. Nine months, though - that’s almost a whole school year! That’s an entire human gestation!
(I’m not as adult, independent and sophisticated as I think I am, if I still go into panic attacks thinking about how I’m going to survive without my mother.)
After Mum picked me up from my flat last Sunday, we drove down South Super Highway to Laguna to pick up the pasalubong she’s planning to bring. “It feels like I’m not really leaving for good,” she confessed, as we passed one of the hundreds of derelict Splash Island-type resorts in Laguna. “It just feels like I’m going on vacation and I’ll be back soon.”
“That means you will be,” I said.
After getting off at the wrong exit, taking a left turn and discovering that we were inadvertently headed back toward Mutinlupa, Mum got her bearings by spotting a diner called the Hungry Hippo and we were finally headed in the right direction. We drove over the warm roads and sand-salted asphalt, finally pulling over in front of an auto repair shop. The way Mum and I sprinted for cover under the awning reminded me of that Peanuts strip where Lucy and Charlie Brown hop barefoot across the parking lot to the beach going “Ow! Ow! Ow!” the whole time.
Once I pushed the door open (one of those heavy ones that swing shut hard and fast, threatening to mash your head against the doorframe if you don’t get a hand out quickly enough), I was swamped by the smell of chocolate and biscuit dough. Inside are shelves upon shelves of everything you remember nagging your lola to buy for you during trips to the province: Tiny red Haw Flakes in green paper rolls. Tins of taba ng talangka, gleaming orange and gold (labeled “He-Crab”, “She-Crab”, and “He- & She-Crab”. Corniks powdered in garlic and chili. Clear bags of watermelon seeds, pumpkin seeds, chocolate-covered sunflower seeds, peanuts (shelled and unshelled), cashews, macadamia nuts, and raisins in heaps on the floor. Unmarked, plastic jars of peanut butter, barquillos, Lengua de Gato, chocolate flakes, garbanzo beans, nata de coco, and ube jam. Frozen packets of meringue. Mango tarts, langka tarts, yema balls, wrapped in Christmas coloured cellophane. Blocks of Choc Nut wrapped in red and gold foil, stacked like library books. Mahogany jars of honeycomb in cobwebby corners. It was the Pinoy probinsyano version of Willie Wonka’s factory.
After an hour of picking and choosing, calling her (diabetic!) boyfriend long distance to ask what else he wanted her to bring, sampling circles of polvoron ("are you sure you want to bring that on the plane, mum? They might think you're smuggling shabu") and sticks of shingaling, Mum finally picked out an entire suitcase's worth of Pinoy sweets to bring with her.
Her big traveling trunk is filled with food. All her real worldly belongings are packed into a duffel bag.
Today we went out for lunch at The Dome, ran errands, and took my brother out for the afternoon. We had pizza. I'm doing my very best to be as sweet to her as possible. We're complete opposites, we've had incredibly rough times, and occasionally, she still drives me crazier than a barrel of monkeys in ultramarine tutus with pogo sticks. But she's my Mum. My Mum. I'll miss her so much.
(I’m not as adult, independent and sophisticated as I think I am, if I still go into panic attacks thinking about how I’m going to survive without my mother.)
After Mum picked me up from my flat last Sunday, we drove down South Super Highway to Laguna to pick up the pasalubong she’s planning to bring. “It feels like I’m not really leaving for good,” she confessed, as we passed one of the hundreds of derelict Splash Island-type resorts in Laguna. “It just feels like I’m going on vacation and I’ll be back soon.”
“That means you will be,” I said.
After getting off at the wrong exit, taking a left turn and discovering that we were inadvertently headed back toward Mutinlupa, Mum got her bearings by spotting a diner called the Hungry Hippo and we were finally headed in the right direction. We drove over the warm roads and sand-salted asphalt, finally pulling over in front of an auto repair shop. The way Mum and I sprinted for cover under the awning reminded me of that Peanuts strip where Lucy and Charlie Brown hop barefoot across the parking lot to the beach going “Ow! Ow! Ow!” the whole time.
Once I pushed the door open (one of those heavy ones that swing shut hard and fast, threatening to mash your head against the doorframe if you don’t get a hand out quickly enough), I was swamped by the smell of chocolate and biscuit dough. Inside are shelves upon shelves of everything you remember nagging your lola to buy for you during trips to the province: Tiny red Haw Flakes in green paper rolls. Tins of taba ng talangka, gleaming orange and gold (labeled “He-Crab”, “She-Crab”, and “He- & She-Crab”. Corniks powdered in garlic and chili. Clear bags of watermelon seeds, pumpkin seeds, chocolate-covered sunflower seeds, peanuts (shelled and unshelled), cashews, macadamia nuts, and raisins in heaps on the floor. Unmarked, plastic jars of peanut butter, barquillos, Lengua de Gato, chocolate flakes, garbanzo beans, nata de coco, and ube jam. Frozen packets of meringue. Mango tarts, langka tarts, yema balls, wrapped in Christmas coloured cellophane. Blocks of Choc Nut wrapped in red and gold foil, stacked like library books. Mahogany jars of honeycomb in cobwebby corners. It was the Pinoy probinsyano version of Willie Wonka’s factory.
After an hour of picking and choosing, calling her (diabetic!) boyfriend long distance to ask what else he wanted her to bring, sampling circles of polvoron ("are you sure you want to bring that on the plane, mum? They might think you're smuggling shabu") and sticks of shingaling, Mum finally picked out an entire suitcase's worth of Pinoy sweets to bring with her.
Her big traveling trunk is filled with food. All her real worldly belongings are packed into a duffel bag.
Today we went out for lunch at The Dome, ran errands, and took my brother out for the afternoon. We had pizza. I'm doing my very best to be as sweet to her as possible. We're complete opposites, we've had incredibly rough times, and occasionally, she still drives me crazier than a barrel of monkeys in ultramarine tutus with pogo sticks. But she's my Mum. My Mum. I'll miss her so much.