Where she is

WHILE trying to finish a cup of strawberry-mango flavored tea with black pearls swimming in it at Da Tsa, I received a text message from my mother. As usual, it was blunt: john, diri ra ka kaon

I struggled to decipher whether the sentence she has constructed sans a punctuation mark was declarative or interrogative. The weird concoction of a stick of probin, a saucer of kwik-kwik and siomai and a cup of froccino primo Oreo at Bo’s before the tea may have taken its toll on me ergo the delay of my reply.

But eventually, I settled for the assumption that it was an inquiry she made, the answer to which will help her decide of her last activity of that day: to cook a meal for me and to leave the door unlock or simply to fall into a deep sleep.

No was my curt reply.

And so when I arrived home, I was not surprised she has sounded intermittently a lot of ZZZzzzsss.

But what if it was a declarative text message and that I did not bother to confirm if it was? This I thought as I quietly sat in our dilapidated sofa and untie my shoelace. That could have caused more gap between me and my Mama. The gap I think exists even more evidently now as compared to those days when Papa has just started to become ill until the few weeks after his burial.

I have always feared that Mama and I will grow as strangers to each other under one roof given the circumstance we are in right now. We both work. She cooks for my aunt’s calenderia, which requires her to sleep early because she has to wake up a little before the break of dawn. While I wake up almost always between breakfast and lunch already and comes home late at night when she’s asleep already.

A couple of days ago, in a rare mother-and-son conversation, I told her of my plans next semester: continue with teaching but take up Professional Education and give up leading Campus Ministry at church or find another job that is still related to writing or to dealing with young people, either way, preferably with a non-government organization.

She conceded with the former. But upon sensing her reluctance caused by the uncertainty of how we can pay for my tuition fee, I suggested to affiliate with one more school to make ends meet.

She beamed with anticipation with the latter option, especially knowing that NGOs pay big time. But I burst her bubble when I mentioned of the possibility of working away from home, either in mega Manila or in metro Davao. She paused. Then she spoke softly, with affection, as she requested for me to come home as often, every week she meant unwittngly, if I work in Davao.

Little did she know that after she made that appeal, the child in me, one who struggles to strike on his own and yet wants to feel safe by a parent’s side (usually the mother), has resurged.

Not that I have completely trashed the idea of working away from home but it seems that for now, I would rather stay in my comfort zone.

I have resolved more strongly now than ever that:

(1) I’d find a way for me to take her out to a restaurant, once in a while, to a more fancy resto than the one we went to last year during her 49^th birthday.

(2) I’d be more caring especially now that she is in her menopausal period. These signs of menopause, particularly hotflash, are driving me paranoid.

(3) I’d be more responsible at home and not be bossy.

(4) We’d visit Camiguin Island, her province, if we have the means to do so to relax.

(5) I’d talk with her and be more open.

(6) And that I’d join her eat meals as much as possible.