We are our own mothers.

Mar 1, 2012 by

I grew up without a yaya for most of my childhood. It was only when my mom felt she had to make use of her nursing degree when she asked a few of our very trusted aunts (by affinity) to take care of me while she went to work. But I was already in grade school so there was not much “looking after” necessary – except when I did crazy things like peeing in my pants.

Because it was my mom who took care of me when I was growing up, I am a certified mama’s boy. She filled my childhood with bed time stories, outdoor adventures with older cousins, afternoon naps that always started with spanking, took great photos of me almost every day, told me wonderful stories about the enchanted, and introduced me to a whole lot of dancing. My mom is an extremely funny woman. When she tells stories, she says it with so much spirit and energy and animation. Everyone would laugh when she cracks a joke. Each time I did something bad or anything that’s against her will (and it happened quite frequently because I always liked breaking rules intentionally), she would morph into a monster that would not stop at staring. She would pick up her slipper and chase me to my room until she gives me a good spanking. I loathed it by crying my heart out, but she never missed coming to me when I sobered down and explain why that had to be done. I always understood. And in fairness to me, I don’t usually make the same mistake twice. It’s just that I have grown to be innovative at times.

My birthdays were always celebrated in grand ways. My mom would prepare for a “salo-salo” (celebration) weeks prior to my birthday. She would often tell me that my birthday, which is on August, is a lean month. It’s a month when people are poor. I would ask why. She would tell me that it is the time when people don’t have harvest yet and so money doesn’t come easy. I never quite understood it because as far as I was concerned, I had big parties. I had cakes, and balloons, and singing and ice cream and all sorts of oily stuff and everyone went crazy about working for my birthday party.

What’s odd is I don’t remember my mom celebrating her own birthday. Once I asked her why doesn’t she throw a party for her birthday too. She said she’s fine with just being with us. I didn’t have a full appreciation of what she told me until the time I started maturing (which was, uhm, recently?).

My mom is selfless and beyond understanding. She is one of the strongest individuals I have ever known – both in this life and in books. I guess we all think of the same way with our moms. Who we are is 80% of how our mothers have made us to become. I guess it is safe to say (and I like saying this): we are our own mothers.

Tomorrow is my mom’s birthday. Of all the I LOVE YOU’s that I have said in my life time, it is for my mom when I LOVE YOU means the most.

I love you Mom. I thank God for giving you to me. Happy Birthday.

So I guess you can tell by now where I got my gorgeous features from, huh?

Lagawan Mom ko.

Related Posts

Share This

3 Comments

  1. RamirJM

    Happy Birthday, Tita! I am sure Bobby continuously makes you proud. All the best!

  2. Nona Logornio Manalac

    that’s really sweet Bob!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>