Connection

Chapter 21

/HAEL/

There are mothers who miss their child’s birthdays because they need to work two jobs in order to afford them a simple gift. There are some who endure not being on their child’s graduation day or any of their other milestones because they’re hustling abroad. There are others who cancel their plans just to take care of their sick offspring.

And then there’s my mother.

It isn’t exactly a fever dream to come from someone like her.

As a kid, there were birthdays I spent sleeping on the couch waiting for her to come from work. She’d arrive a few hours before my supposed special day would end, papering over those hours of waiting with a brand new toy or clothes. It was not even the toy I wanted nor the color of the clothes that I really liked. Every award I got on stage was received by either Dad or Nanay. Most of the time, my achievements are not even enough to warrant recognition from her.

I was the kid who never went home with a bad grade yet somehow wasn’t still enough. I was the kid who was afraid of asking because I already knew the answer was always no.

I used to feel bad about all of that— cry even— because maybe, as a kid, I craved some attention I knew I needed, I knew I deserved. Then I grew up and it has become my normalcy. I stopped waiting for her to come whenever I needed her, stopped crying whenever she didn’t. I finally understood why our relationship was like that. I guess that’s normal for her too. Especially when you gave birth to someone you didn’t even want in the first place.

It wasn’t just a mere assumption from how horrible she was to me— how I wished, I really wished, I just made that shit up. But I didn’t.

It came from her herself. Her own words. I just borrowed them.

Eunice had a sour expression on her face after I had told her the whole story. I didn’t realize how high my emotions were until she came knocking at my door, worried about what was happening. So, here I am in her room, confiding everything that has been making my chest heavy.

“She really told you that? That she wanted to… you know,” Eunice didn’t say the word like the taboo that it is for everyone. As if I would bleed all over again if someone is to tell me that my mother wanted to abort me. I bled it all at age ten.

The booming noise of the thunder woke me up from my deep slumber. I looked outside and found my window fogged with non-stop rain water, the temperature in my room dropped. But it is for a different reason that I clutch onto my comforter and still shiver. I am not particularly a fan of the light traveling faster than sound because there’s something worrying about knowing what is coming but at the same time being unsure of when to expect it. What I am left with in those seconds of waiting is anxiety.

And so I jump out of bed, almost screaming, by the next roar of the heavens.

I head downstairs to go to Nanay’s room and sleep there instead. I just need someone by my side to get through this night. But I stop on my tracks when I hear cries and sobs that are somehow louder than the ones outside. I listen for a minute before I figure out it’s coming from Mom’s study.

Her study is Mom’s shrine— it’s where she gets her work done and somehow gets peace— and one thing about that is she should be left alone whenever she’s inside. It’s an unwritten rule that I should not go there unless she asks for me to come or unless it’s completely urgent.

So I step towards it with hesitation, worry, and a different kind of fear at my feet. The door is made of glass so even though it’s closed, I already have a vision of what’s happening inside: Mom is sitting on the floor beside a bottle of wine, her head low but her shoulders rise and fall at each cry.