rip

i have the equivalent of a lump in my throat in my fingertips.
there is much to say, and as my friend, erica, wrote recently,
"it seems the things that I want to tend to exceed my capacity to do so..."

ain't that the truth.

my mother left this afternoon.
we parted ways in the driveway of the shangri-la makati.
mang domeng, her favorite driver, took her to the airport.
me, i cried all the way to marikina in a hotel taxi.
it was an odd place to say goodbye.
and it had a certain ripping off the band-aid feel to it.
aray ko.

this time spent with her was so precious.
and i sense it goes even deeper than i can understand in this moment.
(hence, the lump in my throat, in my fingertips.)

it's like i want to say these things.
and the ideas burst forth in my head like rapid-fire, old-fashioned camera flashes, complete with soundtrack.
i remember a moment, or series of moments.
then i wonder, how do i write that feeling?
that memory?

there was this moment when we were swimming in the ocean at boracay.
these fish were circling us.
we got uneasy in the same way, even though they were wittle, ittle.
and we laughed later when we realized how scared we both were and how we tried to pretend that we weren’t.

there was this moment when we were swimming, and she didn't want me to leave her 2 foot radius.
i know this space…
just like when i was little.

it was actually revolutionary that she was swimming at all.
she does not like to be around water.
as a child, she almost floated away and drowned when flash floods hit their village.
at it was high tide pa when we were swimming.

i was snorkeling near her (2 feet away actually), keeping an eye on those imaginary barracuda, and after maybe 2 minutes she poked me urgently in the middle of my back.
"just checking if you are still alive, neng. you weren't moving."
i tell you.
precious.

our room number at the boracay regency was 342.
i loved this.
i turned 34 the day we checked in.
and it was just the 2 of us.
and for some unknown reason, we were upgraded to a garden suite overlooking the pool.
and that’s how we found ourselves in room 342.
(thanks Universe.)

my mother talks to herself, especially in the shower.
and she cannot seem to sit still for 2 minutes together.

she seemed to genuinely enjoy touching me when i asked her to put lotion or vco on my back. i don’t remember allowing her to touch me in that way for years and years. when she did it, i felt her remembering when she used to do that for me when i was a baby...
when i didn’t tighten up or freeze.

and when we were swimming together and i was floating weightless so close to her in the ocean, i thought, i’m in another womb with my mother.

oh, sure, we had our awkward moments.
but, the harshness is no longer there.
the sting hardly stung.
methinks, we’ve moved to a quieter part of the maze.
i’ll write about those awkward moments, too.
just not now.

now, i want to really celebrate seeing my mother, maybe for the first time in my life, as a fellow human creature, as a fellow sojourner.
she is one of the most generous people i know.
i am just beginning to understand this.

so, this lump in my throat in my fingertips is threatening to dissolve.
it melts with forgiveness
and humility
and understanding.

who did i see before?
i'm pulling down the veils that hinder my clarity.
it’s an interesting feeling…
equal parts devastating heartbreak and boundless joy.
freedom here.

ito ba ang totoong kalayaan?
baka.