kakarroach

[kakarroach]

I was never the strongest writer in high school. I would join the school press conferences, win some awards-3rd or 4th, sometimes 2nd or 1st when luck strikes my pen and blesses its ink. I only formally joined the inter-school press con in 10th grade. It was for science writing. And I won. Seventh place, which was then the cut-off to qualify to a higher division.

The higher division meant more competition. Luck must have stricken too many times that day already and reached its cut-off. I didn't make it to regionals, unlike my some of my peers then who made it to even higher divisions.

I think right now, I am an okay writer. Words come out and I arrange them in a manner I see fit. Sometimes it hits, other times, it just tries. I thank my mom for this ability. I remember vividly when I was nine, I had a notebook where I would write my essay of the day about topics I thought were interesting.

Chinese garter, sinigang, my ulam, Kids next door, a new game show on TV. My mom would read my essays about these random topics and then give me praise or a simple critique. Just right for a nine-year-old brain to pick up, and just enough for a then nine-year-old to feel bad about too. My mom is an English teacher, so she had her own ways.

She is temperamental but smart. She is a bit strict but also cool. It is almost perplexing how mothers can be all these things at the same time. It seems to me that there is no strike of luck or chance and mothers aren't mutually exclusive. They just are.

Today is mother's day, and I dedicate this essay to the women in my life who have held me up and caressed me even when I was down. My lola Luz for being the headstrong and capable light (literally) and foothold of the family which I can attribute to her Capricorn sun and probably her rearing with her complicated family in a small barangay in Nueva Ecija. My tita Anne for being the second mom to me when things were a little hazy because being a mom at 23 is tough work. And to my mother, Pamela, whose name is drawn from the influences of American dream that swept the Philippines back in the 80s, who took the role of two people in raising me and my ading.

I know it is not late yet, and I am happy to have had these realizations at this age. Thank you for all that you have done. I understand you mama. But that doesn't mean that the crooked ways must continue. Ading and I have a long way to go, and hopefully you're still in it every step of the way.

Happy mother's day.

[kakarroach]

i waved

one afternoon my university friend asked me if i feel stuffed in my room. I would go out periodically in a day to heat my prepped meal in the common kitchen one floor below my dorm and to refill my now dented aluminum water flask which is the radiant color of peachy pink. it does not sound too ideal and it does look like im trapped. But my room has everything i need. i am a simple person. i have never had a room of my own growing up so having this space meant a lot to me. I never had the chance to be in quiet like this until two years ago when a tragedy struck me and i thought being in this room was the worst that could happen. i dont feel stuffed or stuck or trapped. i feel comforted even.

a day ago though, i went on a walk by the esplanade. i used to do this everyday, every afternoon or night before. but i was losing weight unintentionally from all the cardio so i had to stop. i still walk though. but not leisurely like the walks ive started to do recently.

that day i went out for a walk, there was a boat in the river carrying one elder man. he was gonna go fishing i suppose. other elderly men stood like posts on the esplanade, chatting with each other, looking at the fisherman who just lit a smoke. i paused and took a picture of the moment. it looked so poetic. the tiny boat, the smoking fisherman, the elder men clad in not so sporty outfits chatting by the rail, the Han bridge, the river that never stops moving. it was a moment worthy of being frozen in my digital rectangle i call an iphone 11.

when i used to walk last year almost every night, i always thought that the people i see on the esplanade will never know me or remember me. an occasional eye contact and then a quick shrug.

i took three pictures. i took two steps and leaned on the rail in front of the fisherman's boat. i raised one hand and waved it. i fear i would be ignored, but much to my surprise, the fisherman waved back. the childlike joy rushed all over my body but it manifested as tears.

i do not feel stuck or stuffed in my room, it's true. but that day was a reminder of how big the world is outside of it, in front of me.

[kakarroach]

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