The Brighter Side of Things

Chapter 11

During weekends, when there were no scheduled practices for the Voyagers, I'd help Mama out in the dirty kitchen. I'd be the designated peeler of fruits, cutter of vegetables, mincer of spices. Sometimes, Mama would challenge me to make the special sauce saying I only had to make sure to follow my taste buds. As someone who had never cooked her entire life, I always backed down on this.

"O, istu ne 'yan." Mama carefully took the knife from my hands. "If you keep at it, we'd have green chili sisig instead of pork sisig," she chuckled. She was preparing minced pork fried with onion, garlic and green chili and a dozen fresh and fried lumpia which will be delivered to her suki that afternoon.

"Oops, sorry." I hadn't realized I had sliced more green chili than I was told to, preoccupied by the upcoming club applications.

Mama just smiled at me and handed me a stack of lumpia wrapper that she wanted me to peel off each other. I willingly accepted it and set up camp on a chair in a corner so I wouldn't obscure her working space.

Though cooking was as alien as Calculus was to me, I loved hanging out in the dirty kitchen. The different aroma of the spices that swirled inside was almost hypnotic and calming and never failed to make me salivate. Mama would always notice and would always give me first taste of what she was cooking in her magic cauldron. Watching her move around the kitchen had always mesmerized me, too. Not because even without looking, her limbs knew where to find pots and pans and ladles and knives. But because she never used measuring spoons or cups. Mama just relied on her impeccable taste buds. The fact that she didn't take culinary courses for her business but still got enough customers that helped paid the bills when Papa was recovering from his injury was something that had always amazed me.

"You're tearing the wrapper, Felicity." Mama's voice was calm but the fact that she called me by my first name meant she was close to reprimanding me. "If your mind is somewhere else, you'll keep making mistakes."

Mama's fried lumpia was my favorite. Especially when dipped in vinegar with pepper and garlic. That's heaven! But separating the sheets was such a chore! "Why is it so hard to do this?" I whined. How could such a simple task take so much effort?

"You have to put your heart and mind into doing it. Do it half-heartedly and you'll have—Yes, that. Exactly half," she laughed because I tore the next sheet. "Give it to me." She motioned for the stack of food wrappers and I obliged.

"Mama, can I ask you something?"

"I've been waiting for you to talk. You look like there's a lot of things going on in your head," she chuckled. "Nanuy 'ta?"

"Have you been in that situation where you wanted to give up on your dream?" I felt her eyes on me and I picked on the edge of the table, flicking off invisible dirt with my fingers. "You know, because nobody wants to give you a chance or something?"

Mama poured tap water over a bowl. She dipped her fingers into it and very carefully plied off a sheet without tearing it. "Did I tell you I wanted to become a chef."

Seeing how she did it, I took back the wrappers and she passed me the bowl of water. "Not really," I lied, scrunching my nose. I wanted her to tell the story.

"Well, I applied as a cook in most restaurants here in Tarlac. It was ambitious, I know," Mama snorted. "But most of them needed college degree. Some even required background in culinary arts. I didn't have any of that. I barely even finished high school," she mused while she arranged the ingredients of the fresh lumpia, stacking them on top of each other on a sheet of wrapper.

I smiled with pride, remembering Mama's story. See, she was five years older than Papa. Due to financial problems, Mama stopped at third year high school and had to look for a job.

"I was so close to giving up and was about to take up whatever job I could find so I could put food on the table." She barked a laugh at that before continuing. "But a small part of me insisted that I should try one last time. I told myself that if it doesn't work, it means being a chef isn't my destiny or maybe it wasn't yet time for me to be one."

"So, selling home-cooked meals at Papa's university was your last hurrah?" I deduced, I recalled hearing that it was how she and Papa first met. He was her regular suki.

Mama let out a hearty laugh and the way her cheeks colored made me feel giddy too. "Then and there, I realized that maybe I didn't get the job as a cook in those restaurants because I was meant to have my own food business. In the long run, I'd be putting up a restaurant of my own and who knows? Maybe it will be one of the best in town," she declared with pride.

"I'm sure you'll be the best in town, Mama," I agreed without a moment of hesitation. With her natural talent in the kitchen, seeing her in cooking shows wouldn't be a farfetched idea. As if to approve, I successfully peeled off a wrapper without tearing it.

"Why do you ask?"

The next sheet I was trying to peel off easily tore in half and I clucked my tongue. "I'm thinking about giving up basketball. For the rest of high school."

"Why?"

I shrugged. "I don't think they have plans of ever putting up a basketball team for girls. I don't want to play volleyball anymore. I mean, I suck at volley!"

"They told you they don't intend to have a basketball team for girls?" she asked back.

"Well, no. I told Mrs. Alviejo that I wanted to play basketball but she didn't look like she was going to do something about it."

"What exactly did she tell you?"

I deliberately omitted the part where I felt discriminated against. "That she'd talk to the club moderator."

"And? Did you already meet the club moderator?"

I shook my head and picked at a new sheet of wrapper. "Nobody has met the new club moderator yet. I guess we'll meet him during tryouts."

"Did you sign up for basketball tryouts this year?" she pressed.

"What's the point?" I whined. I had looked at the sign-up sheets for basketball and all I saw were names of boys from all levels filling up the whole sheet. Year after year, I waited, hoped and prayed that a paper would have a header of 'Basketball tryouts for girls'. But nada. Year after year, I resorted to signing up for volley just because it was the closest I could be to basketball (they shared courts in the gym, so).

"The last hurrah, remember?" When I just stared at Mama with a frown, she took off her plastic gloves and cupped my face with her bare hands. "One thing I learned when I was close to giving up on my dream, if there are no open doors, climb the window, break the wall, carve out a hole for yourself to crawl into. Do anything and everything. Just don't get stuck on the other side."

"But what if even that doesn't work?" I challenged.

She gently patted my cheek before putting back the gloves and wrapping a spring roll ready for frying. "Then learn something new. Chances are, you haven't fully tapped your potential yet that's why you think you aren't given the opportunity to shine. The thing is, we are always surrounded with opportunities. You just have to recognize it."

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O, istu ne 'yan = "Hey, that's enough/ Enough of that."

Sisig = minced pork seasoned with salt, pepper, vinegar, then fried with chopped onions and chili

Lumpia = spring rolls

Suki = regular customer; patron

Nanuy 'ta? = what is it?