Martial Law In The House And My Evil Sister

Early this morning it was all gloomy and raining hard that I uttered "mama" multiple times until I cried. I used to call my mother multiple times whenever I felt sick, and it made me feel warm and comfortable just by saying it. I missed her more than ever. I was going through my files and found this article I wrote about my late mother when she was still alive. I want to share this article with you. Please enjoy reading it.

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I am the third child in our family.

The eldest is my Ate (how Filipinos called their older sister), who's three years older than my Kuya (how Filipinos called their older brother). I and my eldest brother are just a year apart. Another brother was born after me, and three more that made us a total of seven children.

Since my Ate is the eldest, she was the shrewdest when we were young. She would let us suffer the spankings because of her mischievous ideas. One of the troubles she had set us up were when she ate the whole llanera (molding tray) of leche flan (milk pudding) in the fridge and denied the activity. When my mother found out that the sweet delicacy was missing, we were asked to lie on our chest in a pile and received multiple spankings on our bottoms until the culprit was revealed. Alas, Ate earnestly pleaded us to confess! My mother was not able to find the rascal who did it during that time until it was very, very late. Decades after and my siblings have children of their own, my Ate candidly told us her mischief that would earn an Oscar award for her acting ability as a villain. And my mother? She was fooled. Her 13-year old daughter maneuvered her to hit us with her mighty broomstick with an infamous "Baguio City" label.

Baguio City became well known to us, not as a beautiful Philippine vacation spot, but as a tool to hit us on our bottoms. It is the place where the broom was made and they really make very sturdy handles for these brooms. Believe me, I know.

One of the strong old rules : DO NOT QUESTION THEIR AUTHORITY.

My parents were very strict in disciplining us. Don’t you ever dare mess up with my mother! She was so military-like when we were young. The spanking would go on until she finds the wrongdoer. Whenever someone opened his/her mouth to protest that he/she did not know anything of the alleged misbehavior, that someone would be painstakingly misunderstood that he/she was revolting against my parent. He/she would end up earning some bonus spankings and drive my mother a step angrier than before.

Do not try to curl up or stand up while she was hitting you. You might be misconstrued as fighting back rather than just reacting to the pain that Baguio City broomstick was bringing to your behind. She might hit you in the wrong area too. So, the little innocent me just suffered steadily. I cried my lungs out and pity myself. I would swear loudly that "I would not do it anymore!" Wait...I didn't do anything in the first place! But it did not matter.

My mother thought she was teaching us something.

My sister thought she was winning.

I didn’t think at all. I just endured all of these in silence.

However, I do not want you to get me wrong. My mother was just a victim from her Brother’s strictness. My mom’s brother brought them up after our grandfather passed away when they were young. According to my mom’s stories of my late uncle, he was 10 times stricter than her.  She was the same build, only milder.

Luckily, nobody ended up as a black sheep in our family (even my eldest sister, although honestly, she is still impish in some ways and I still suffer from her slyness). My parents instilled respect as our foundation character. It’s a general rule. Respect those who are older than us even if that person is just a year older. 

Another strict rule: MAKE UP YOUR BED!

My mother also lets us perform tasks at home. There was a particular lesson that is still vivid in my mind. Her rule to make up our beds when we wake up (before we do anything else) was so strict that one Saturday morning all our pillows, blankets, and mosquito nets were burned down when we returned from playing outside. My mother burned them all since we didn't mind our beds. I cried a lot and remembered that lesson very well until it became a habit. It was just one of those many stringent regulations that I cherished and benefitted from.

It seemed like a martial law was implemented in our house during that time, but it made us what we are today. We became responsible adults and we respect every individual whom we meet whether they are older or younger than us. We had some great times and bad times when we were growing up. I thank my mother for giving us an exciting childhood that we learned to love and respect one another.

I Feel Like Writing Again

Have you ever encounter an urge to write when something big happened to your life that you cannot contain it? That is exactly what I am feeling right now.

My mother died 3 weeks ago and I still feel the shock, longing, and sadness when I think about her. She was an epitome of a house mother who generally kept the house spic and span with an occasional nagging when she was upset over trivial matters.

I know that it is pretty generic that every time we lose someone important in our lives, it is already too late to realize the value of his/her presence. I thought about it when my mother became sickly. Yet I delayed on giving her hugs and showing my appreciation of her existence. I even nagged her for not listening to me. I was so concentrated on taking care of my father that I have neglected my mother. I have rejected her many times and was not keen on the gravity of her illness. I ignored her complaints about how she was suffering. Because I heard that word all the time from her. For me, it had no special meaning. Now I was repenting.

Every day when I give my father a bath, I silently cried. My mother deserved this kind of treatment from me. She was too proud to tell me that she can no longer give herself a bath and she might have thought that she would be an additional burden to me. It breaks my heart. She deserved it more that my father deserves a kingly treatment. She served our family and took care of us when my father stopped providing for us when I was in high school. My mother had flaws. I only saw those flaws when she was alive. I was too proud to acknowledge her because my parents were also the same. They do not say their approval, only their disapproval. Perhaps because we stayed together for so long that we had this kind of love-hate relationship. Yet, I  do not hate my mother but only those acts that irritated me.

And now that she was gone, I silently suffer. I missed her the most because our house will never be the same without her. I do not have someone to deflect and criticize anymore. What angers me the most was no one was not around when she passed away. She died alone in the hospital. It was cruel of my siblings to bring her far from home that I cannot run to her immediately when she needed me. They left her there and she died of heart attack after her second day of  dialysis sessions. I know that they probably mean well, but it was not right to leave her alone.

I loved my mother more than she ever knew. I wanted her to be always comfortable. I was happy just being in the background. I stayed with my parents because it was my choice to be around with them when they grow old. But I thought I was too reserved to say what I felt. And now it is too late. Even if I cried every night, she will not know how I cherished her anymore.

My mother deserved my hugs. I pray that God will take care of her soul and tell my mother what I have not told her when she was alive. I pray that God will hold her hands and give her hugs because she deserves them.

As I write this article, it suddenly rains hard just like how my tears are falling. I think God was giving me a sign that He is listening to my prayers. To God be the glory! He gives me comfort in times like these.

And this was why I felt like writing again.