The Capacity to Love

If I had a dollar for each time one of my late Mother's students said "I was her favorite", I would be a rich person.  I knew she had her favorites because some names came up in conversations at home more frequently than others.  Growing up, we had some of her students hanging around the house after school hours.   She would always say that the ones who stood out among her hundreds of students were the smart ones and the badlongon (naughty) ones. I used to wonder why they often said that she was "the best teacher they ever had", but looking back, I realized that what she really did was to "mother" them.  She had a huge heart and was not afraid to show love.  She had the ability to make you feel that you were, in fact, her favorite one.

I do not know if this was the case for all of my sisters, but for a while, I certainly felt that way.  She told me I was her fighter, her right-hand person who accompanied her through thick and thin.  Her words, not mine.  Then came the day I left to join an airline based in another country.  She wrote frequently and made me feel love across the miles.  However, my absence left a void and I knew that she had come to depend on my younger sister more and more as time passed by.  I did not mind because she never made me feel that she loved me any less.  The ties that bound us were impossible to break even though we pulled on them roughly from time to time. 

She would, of course, protest vehemently that she did not have a favorite child, that she loved her five children equally.  I have an only son whom I love with all of my heart and am unsure if I have the capacity to love another one the way I love him.  I don't know how she did it, but she had enough love to go around, so I did not begrudge the fact that someone else became the favored one.  They say that we love people based on how they make us feel and I felt that it was also true in her case.  

My older sister recently received a packet from a former student. Aside from a compilation of her writing, it included a letter that touchingly said that he is who he is today because my mother saw the potential in him.  She had that ability to look at a person with love and make them believe in themselves.  I will always be grateful for that.  

Dearest Children

We used to receive emails that started off with this heading.  When that happened, I knew immediately that one of us (her five children) had done something that was not to her liking.  Sometimes, I knew right away that  I was the intended recipient.  Sometimes, it took a couple of phone calls to determine who was the culprit.  The reasons were varied, ranging from the deep-seated hurt of one of her children not adhering to certain values she felt were important, to imagined slights to which she became more sensitive as the years went by.

The problem with her putting them in writing was that they could be read over and over again and bring back all of the emotions and resentments that came with them.  I used to think of it as an act wherein the writer felt the need to unload her sentiments by burdening the recipients with unnecessary negative feelings.   I used to wonder what these accomplished that could not have been handled by some other form of communication.  The other problem with the written word is that they are subject to interpretation based on who the reader is.  Sometimes, the reader has baggage that comes into play and things get blown out of proportion.

Having left the Philippines at a young age, I was shielded from a lot of the daily drama that occurs when different personalities come into play.  However, with the onset of technology, it managed to cross the shores and into my otherwise peaceful existence.  While I do not go out of my way to meet it, I am also the type who does not run away from a fight, so I guess that does not help matters any.

It was very rare that any of us wrote back. We knew better.  More often than not, the favored child would call her and soothe her hurt feelings. I have been known to call her and say the words she wanted to hear.  It was rare, I admit, especially if I felt it was unwarranted, but I did it anyway, because I loved her. Sometimes, we would just let time take care of things and proceed with life as if that bump never existed.  That is family.  A sister once said "What is the point of quarreling when we know we are just going to get back with each other?"  

When Mommy passed away, I was glad I kept some of her correspondence.  I hear her voice and it keeps me grounded when I feel the need to respond to a "Dear Sister" message.

My Love Affair with K-Drama

I don't remember who recommended that I watch the Korean drama "Crash Landing on You" on Netflix but it was during the last week of February and restrictions were starting to be implemented due to COVID-19.  The premise was that of a rich South Korean businesswoman who accidentally paraglides into North Korea, and promptly falls in love with an army officer manning the demilitarized zone. Between the love against-all-odds situation, the military tension between the two sides,  the family infighting, I was hooked and it was the beginning of my love affair with K-drama. 

K-Drama is obviously not based on reality which is part of the charm, and the lead actors are almost always so ridiculously attractive that most fans end up "shipping" them (the act of wanting two or more fictional characters or celebrities to end up in a romantic relationship). I was late to jump on the bandwagon and asked around as to what I should watch next. I was deluged with suggestions and realized that there was a whole world out there full of mystery, romance, happy endings, and lots of fun. I continued my viewing by simply looking for other dramas that featured an actor or actress that I liked.  Let's be honest, there were more actors than actresses on my list 😉

Jump forward to almost 8 months of quarantine and I have watched almost forty of these dramas.  They are not all good or remarkable but I am always amazed at the production quality and the fact that they incorporate Korean values into the storyline.  They put a strong emphasis on respect for elders and social hierarchy and although I may not always agree with some of the dialogue, I accept that we come from different cultures.  

I think the reason I got hooked is because I am able to either identify with one of the characters or get emotionally invested in the lead's journey regardless of whether that protagonist is from another star or from the Joseon Dynasty.  The series "It's Okay to Not be Okay", is one that I particularly liked because it shows all three main characters to be flawed and yet they overcame deep-seated fears to find happiness.  On the superficial side, I loved that the lead actress Seo Ye-Ji  had a wardrobe consisting of Givenchy, Jimmy Choo, Loewe, Burberry, Dior, and Chloe to name a few. That being said, what I would really like to have would be the Mang Tae doll, a nightmare catcher. Be forewarned, they promote so many franchises and products on these series that you may end up eating at a Korean chicken restaurant or buying a certain makeup brand to achieve that "glass" skin. 

I am currently watching Reply 1988 which had one of the highest television ratings in terms of popularity.  It has taken me months to get through episodes because aside from going down memory lane back to the time when there were no mobile phones and laptops, I just could not get what the charm was. I had persisted because it came highly recommended.  Then I reached the fifth episode which featured the unconditional love that mothers have for their children.   The narrator goes on to say these words:

"When one is at an age when one can console one's mother, it's when one has matured to say "Thank you" and "I love you." If one wishes to make one's mother happy, the words, "Mom, I need you" are more than enough.

I totally got it. I understand that this genre is not for everyone  but don't knock it until you have actually watched a good one.  To quote from a currently popular series, "don't be a snob masquerading as an intellectual."

My Mother, She Wrote ..... To Me

The title "My Mother, She Wrote" is something I plagiarized from my sister who has been working intermittently on a personal project.  I left the Philippines to live in Hongkong during the time when smart phones and email applications were non-existent.  As a result, I received a lot of letters and cards from my mother who wrote religiously during special occasions, and sometimes, just because.

She liked cute little cards, I remember her frequenting National Bookstore and buying them just in case she felt like sending one.  This one said:

I am thinking of you right now...

and hoping the day is beautiful where you are.

I'm thinking of you right now, with love, 

the whole day long.

But it was what she wrote on them that made it special. She added these words.  "Even if you are far away from me, a mother never stops thinking and praying for her child for those memories of yesteryears never fade away.  Thank you so much for being my pillar of strength even when you were still very young.  You made life so much easier for me.  I've never stopped thanking God for your gift to me.  Love you so much, Mommy."

These words of comfort came when she was sick. She was telling me it was alright that I was on the other side of the world.
"The hardest thing for a child to be is to be far away when the Mommy is sick.  I should know.  We were in Manila at the height of your Lola's (grandmother) ailment.  But you know what?  A mother always knows that if you could, you would also be over.  So take heart that a mother  knows how much you love me.  I love you too very much.  For always, Mommy."

The one with the dog on the front she handed to me when I was in Cebu and continues with:

I just felt like saying that.

You can go back to what 

you were doing now.

So when you are back home in the U.S., remember that Mommy says every now and then "I love you."  Love, Mommy.

She had the ability to make each and every one of her five daughters feel special. I always felt her love through distance and time. I wish I had kept more of her letters since reading her words keeps her alive in my heart.  I can hear her voice inside my head and I hope she can hear me when I say:

I am thinking of you right now...

and hoping the day is beautiful where you are.

I'm thinking of you right now, with love, the whole day long.

Happy Mother's Day.  I love you Mommy.

The Things I Can No Longer Say

This is the second year we remember my mother's birthday since she passed away last year.  I wish I could say celebrate but we have not reached that point yet, maybe in due time.  

I wish I can still pick up the phone and talk to her. It is not that we left things unsaid, we knew how much she loved us, and she in turn would say with a smile, "I know you love me," when she got us to do what she wanted unwillingly.  She was our center, the glue that kept us together. 

I want to be able to tell her to lower the volume when she sings off-key in church.  I want to ask her if we can try a certain new restaurant the next time I go home since she just loved to eat out.  I want to tease her that she cannot eat "ambiance."  I want to tell her of a book I just read or that I just watched "Hello, Love, Goodbye."  I want to share my worries, my silly concerns, how painful my bout with shingles was.

I want to tell her of the things happening in our lives.  I want to tell her that her grandson got engaged to a strong and beautiful woman, and how happy I am that they share the same faith.  I want her to be present at his wedding.  I want to tell her they both recently winged as Naval Aviators, not that she would fully grasp what that meant, but she would be proud.  

I want to tell her that her book finally got published and how happy I am that one of her dreams got realized.  I want to tell her how sad I am that she did not live long enough to see it. I want to be able to tell her I miss her constantly and I will see her on our next trip back to Cebu.  Today, most of all, I just want to wish her a very happy birthday.

Weeping Women and Men

I have found that as I have gotten older that I cry at the drop of a hat. Things that make me tear up include, but are not limited to:
• Military members deploying.
• Military families reuniting as their ship sails into port.
• Videos of children's evident joy as they are surprised with the return of their father/mother from deployment.
• Not seeing my active-duty only son for months as he goes through flight school.
• A good rendition of the National Anthem.
• A really good book or movie.
• Articles from my favorite magazine, "Reader's Digest."
• Weddings

Yes, I cry a lot. Women cry more often than men. We have more permission from society to do so. It is changing but there are still a lot of men who view crying as a weakness. I don't ever recall seeing my father cry. He often told us, his girls, to "man up" or that "it is far from the intestine" when we scraped our knees. His reaction to a house full of women was to make fun of the person crying so that they would get so annoyed at him and stop. I have to say it often worked.

I married a good man, someone who is supportive and steady as a rock; however, these past few months have tested his ability to deal with tears. Mine. When my mother died, he took it as natural that I would lose it right after the funeral and just hugged me tight until the tears subsided. I cried myself to sleep on many nights, and again, he would not say a word but just hold me in his arms. He made sure that there was a white handkerchief every Sunday when we went to church because that is where a lot of my tears fell. When I tear up in the car, he would take my hand and hold it or give me a soothing pat in the back. He knew better than to say platitudes like "I'm sure she is in a better place," unlike my unnamed brother-in-law whose head got bitten off.  He learned really quickly.

Fast forward to four months later. Like everything else, the pain and the tears subside but every now and then something brings it back. The most recent reaction I have received is "why are you crying?" which I take to mean as, "why are you still crying?" It annoys me and I promptly stop. I have since figured out that the question really just means:
Did I cause the crying? If yes, what did I do now? If the answer is no, go ahead and cry so you can get it out of your system without interrupting the basketball game I am watching. 

The other tactic when my eyes start to well up while we are watching the news is to act as if he has not seen the teardrop in the hope that he would not have to deal with it. After all, it is just the hormones raging and I will be fine after menopause. He is a smart man; he does not say that out loud. 

Different Terms of Endearment

My husband's first name is Henry James.  He is called Henry at work, James by his college and high school friends, Jimboy by close family friends, and Toto by a few relatives.  I call him Dong.  It is something I picked up after we got married and it is not a problem since we live in the United States but it can be when we travel back home to Cebu.  The term Dong refers to a younger male, normally a service worker so when I call out to my husband, the driver or the sales clerk within earshot normally is the one who responds.  I just say, "Not you, I am talking to my Dong", which often elicits a smile.

I am not sure if it is only Filipinos who have a tendency to give nicknames to their children.  My older sister is Maria Theresa (Tessa), I am Maria Lourdes (Ludette), next in line is Maria Fatima (Aimee), followed by Maria Cristina (Cristy or Tina nowadays), and lastly Maria Angeles (Mariles).  Our youngest was also known by the general population of Sacred Heart School for Boys where my late mother taught as Pangga (meaning to care or to love) when she was a child.  Take heed, only a very select few can still call her that since she absolutely dislikes it.  After all, she is a grown woman with three children.  We never did get into the habit of calling our elder siblings "Ate" which is something that Filipinos do to show respect.  

Leaving the Philippines at a young age gave me the privilege of getting to know a group of people who became like family and continue to provide support even when we see each other only every few years.  There are two in particular whom I both call Tuy.  The term is an abbreviation for a certain part of anatomy with which they are very well endowed.    Tuy One is also sometimes referred to as Queen.... just because she is.  Tuy Two was my flat mate for four years and we call each other "Pangit", meaning ugly.  Take note the adjective goes both ways.  We call her husband, who lived in Hongkong for a few years "Pangyao" which means friend in Cantonese because he is one to all.  Our other flat mate, answers to Haze, Tikya, or Gigi.  I cannot recall why she is called the last one.  Regardless of the name by which we are called, the most important thing is that we do respond.  The rest of my Induction 10 sisters are simply called "Sho" which is a slang term for friend  but the bonds are set in cement.  They come through in my moments of need.

There was a period of time when I would call my mother "Mamsa".  I don't know where I picked that up and she played along, signing the bottom of my birthday and Christmas cards with that word.  One of my sisters called her "Mommy Yeow"; I don't know where she picked that up either.

It seems to me that we like to give those for whom we care, special terms of endearment.  We may be the only ones who get the inside joke but "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."