As soon as the hour hand hit the number five on our clock, I raced to the kitchen (I almost slipped by the way coz I was wearing my new slippers) and looked for the rice dispenser. I put my rice-cooking skills into action and in a matter of 20 minutes or so, our rice was ready. I texted my Dad and asked what was to be cooked for dinner. He didn’t reply, so I assumed he’d be arriving early to cook dinner himself. I waited…and waited some more until I finally heard the “Beep! Beep!” of our van. I was in the middle of watching Martin Mystery on Disney, but I decided to turn the tv off anyway to see my Dad. He changed his clothes and went straight to the kitchen. He cooked some fish and “lomo” and brought out some vegetables. I, on the other hand, called my brother Niño and we set the table for dinner.
A whole hour passed and I realized that my mom wasn’t home yet. I assumed that she probably had some extra work in her office and so my Dad, together with me and my 3 brothers, went ahead and ate our dinner.
I then texted my mom: “Mommy, r u having rice 4 dinner?” and after a few seconds her reply was: “Yes, gutom na gutom na nga ako eh. Tel Dadi to cook d marinated chick...Ask Derrick to…You should…” It was a long message actually. Let me not expound on the utos she made, but well, you get the picture.
Earlier this afternoon, I borrowed my brother’s phone coz my phone’s battery was already empty. I inserted my SUN sim in his phone and used it to reply to those who texted me. Little did I know that what I did would cause me more hurt again…
My mom arrived at around 8:20 pm. She had a lot of bags with her. They contained wrapped presents which her officemates probably gave. And I was actually surprised to hear her say my name. I overheard the word “NikkI” so I thought “maybe we’re okay now…” But no…
The moment she entered our front door, my brother shouted, “Mommy, may pasalubong kayo?” (Niño never ceases to ask that question every afternoon. That’s one of his favorite lines, aside from “Gutom na ako!”, “Ate, help!”, “PS-2! PS-2! PS-2!”) But then, she started shouting. It’s her nature actually…to shout, that is. Her voice normally has this loud high pitch. She’s the typical “loud” mom. And no, don’t get me wrong here. That doesn’t make her less of a mom to me. I think that’s what actually makes her unique…in a twisted kind of way. She shouts a lot yes. And so does my Dad. So imagine the fiasco I witness every day of my life, add to that the sound of my brothers’ laughs, teasing, gadgets, and wrestling matches. I guess that’s why I’m the quiet and reserved type. My whole family’s loud…so why should I add to their noise? I mean, being “loud” isn’t bad, and I hope you get what my definition of “loud” is. But through the 16 years of my life, I have come to learn the art of just listening. I keep my mouth shut if my silly voice is not needed, and I open it and let some breath out once my ability to speak is needed.
Well, anyway, let me cut this short.
I was actually thinking of pouring out my grudge a while back. Something happened just a few minutes ago, and well…I was hurt…again…by my mom. Last night, I couldn’t help but cry after she blamed me again for something I didn’t do. I just kept my mouth shut. If it was in her nature to shout, it was in mine to shut up. Whenever I’m scolded, critized, or whenever we get into fights, I never ever answer back. I just let them say what they have to say, I then let it get to my head, then either I take a deep breath and keep silent for a while or I take an even deeper breath and head straight to my room (or the bathroom) and cry my heart out. The crying takes a minimum of 5 minutes and a maximum of…an hour? It depends on how much I was hurt, how much I wanted to pity myself during those moments, how much strength I had, how much willpower I possesed, how much tissue paper was available, the time and venue involved…well, you get the picture.
But now [time: 8:58 PM] the grudge I was feeling 20 minutes ago is all gone. Whatever happened did hurt me. And it’s still in me. But what else can I do? I love this woman. If there’s one person who I’d be willing to die for, it would be my mom. (Sht, what’s this tear doing in my right eye? Lol) It’s funny though, coz I as I am typing this, I am eating this brownie (that my Mom handed me a while ago) and she, by the way, is just a few meters away from me. (Oh correction. Time: 9:00 pm – My mom and I are on the SAME ROOM. Must be discreet..Ü) Oh goodness, I stand corrected. [Time: 9:02 pm] My mom is just right behind me! Reading a magazine! Oh wait…[Time: 9:03 pm] She just exited the door. Whew! Okay..I can type normally again now. :D
Anyway, my point is: the people you love the most are the ones who hurt you the most. For some people this may mean something like being dumped by the girl they love, or getting into a really big fight with your brother (complete with punches and pushes). It means a lot of things to many people, but the essence is still the same. We do get hurt, under different circumstances, and by different people. But no hurt could ever compare to the hurt you feel when it’s caused by the person you love the most. In my case, it would be my Mom. Though I am temporarily scarred by the things she say or do at times, my mature mind tells me that these are all mere instantaneous mother-daughter things. I know she loves me…I really, really do. And she does show and tell me that. But I do get hurt. I do cry. I do get mad. I do turn numb. But above all these, I do love. I may love a whole lot of people…God, my whole family, my friends, *someone*, but hey, I’m ready to jump off a cliff anytime for this person I call “Mommy”, and that to me, is one great love.
