THERE is something strange about the gravitational and magnetic forces that attract a child towards his mother than how intensely it is with the father. The reason could obviously be due to the biological relationship and literally from the umbilical connection that gives them that sort of direct “line” for instantaneous link.
And why is it so that the first ever sound a child learns to recognize and speaks, after the babbling or cooing stages, is the world’s sweetest combination of two-syllable word that remarkably resonates like ma-ma? The answer is pretty much obvious since the mother has painstakingly carried her child for nine months and continuously sacrifices and tackles her significantly demanding and complex roles as nurse, caregiver, provider, teacher, and a lot more. Aside from doing household chores such as cleaning, cooking and taking care of the rest of her children, being a dutiful wife, she still has to attend to the needs of her husband.
Beside the traditional role of a mother to bear and raise children and do housework some mothers still have r plans of seeking other roles in order to create a home conducive to raising a family or a work scheme to help augment the family income. Most moms, especially those in a hand-to-mouth situation, have made motherhood a lifetime career completely submitting to its 24/7demand. A mother is someone who loves her children unconditionally and places their needs above her own even to the extent of having nothing left for herself.
I was the eldest in a huge brood of nine children of a struggling slightly-below middle class family. I’ve known my father as a bus driver plying between the eastern end-point of Rizal province and Manila with at least six round trips to be able to meet a quota while my mother was a stay-home mom all her life.
She, with gracious manner and caring ways, had the fairest face my eyes have laid upon. Having been constantly exposed under the sun washing clothes by the river, her skin had crudely grown more melanin that made her complexion looked earthly while her tender hands uncomplainingly handled tough jobs. My mother, who we called Inang, possessed a thick crowning glory of long ebony tresses that hadn’t seen a cutting edge since birth. Her daily maintenance and hair care, I could still remember, were home-made coconut oil and natural gugu shampoo.
Inang, despite being unschooled, (she only finished grade 1 according to her), was practically smart and witty and could withstand the discriminating intensity of the social crowd. One thing distinctly outstanding about her was her approachable and amiable nature that she could mingle and interact with people from all walks of life with neither hesitation nor shame. Inang was equipped with a demurely timid personality but with arresting demeanor.
Growing up sans any house help, Inang taught us, boys and girls alike, to wash, apply starch and iron clothes the correct way or everything will end up soaked or thrown out when the process failed to meet her standard. Our wooden floors, stairs, and window ledges were being scrubbed to bone-white with isis leaves every weekend while the cemented ones were waxed and polished. That was how clean she wanted the house be kept.
My first sight of Inang in tears was one summer when I was barely 8 and saw me aboard a jeepney bound to a nearby town to peddle bicho-bicho (Filipino elongated doughnut) and pandesal (Pinoy dinner roll). She was drying clothes when I waved at her as the jeep passed by our house. I saw her waved back in tears. That was disheartening for me. She merely reasoned out that she pitied me so much that I had to work hard at a tender age instead of playing.
Cooking was always regarded as a bonding moment for everyone since Inang wanted us to watch and learn how to cook everything her way. There’s something magical about her culinary concept and expertise which we unfortunately failed to achieve or even atleast to be at par to this date. Innovative and creative, Inang could amazingly turn every single left over stuff available into one or two unknown dishes out of her own self-concocted recipes. Her dinuguan (pork blood stew), sinuam na mais sa hipon (corn soup with shrimp), and achara (pickeled grated papaya) were just three among her numerous unrivaled cuisine items. I just couldn’t decipher what Midas power she had that she could make every recipe taste distinctly delicious and different.
Inang would always pamper her grandchildren with her sumptuous cooking. I, together with my wife and kids, would visit her every weekend for our regular Saturday or Sunday lunch. Along the way, my three sons were already guessing what their Lola would serve them. Inang’s cooking was really something to reckon with. Up to now, Brian, my eldest son, always compares Filipino cooked food around with her Lola’s. For him nobody beats her Lola’s kitchen recipes.
An innate lover of greens, foliages, and floras, Inang is a natural green thumb gardener. I remember when a neighbor uprooted her bromeliads and roses after looking infested with drying leaves and threw them in a pit between our fences. Inang diligently gathered the thrash and gently replanted them. Curious passers-by couldn’t help but appreciate the successfully propagated plants which were before discarded but now heavy with flowers. Gardening was Inang’s favorite therapy after a hard day’s work aside from listening to her favorite songs.
And speaking of music, Inang was a Pilita Corrales and Victor Wood fanatic. There could only be one way to make her smile or feel rewarded: buy her the latest vinyl records (45 RPM or LP) of her two favorite recording artists and expect the house to be deafening with the hit songs which tirelessly played all day. Inang also loved Anita Bryant songs especially “A Wonderland By Night” and “Paper Roses” although Ruben Tagalog, Armando Ramos, and Ric Manrique, Jr.’s kundiman songs came as equally favored.
Our eight-battery-operated Radiola transistor radio during the 60s was regarded as a heaven-sent permanent companion of Inang. From the minute she woke up to cook breakfast, to the time she was left alone doing household chores when we were all in school, and until the wee hours of the night, the poor radio was on non-stop. She was all ears to programs like Johhny De Leon’s Lundagin Mo Baby, Tiya Dely (Magpayo), Dear Kuya Eddie (Ilarde), Tawag Ng Tanghalan, and comedy radio serial Tang-Tarang-Tang. When the radio stopped and silence prevailed, only one thing was certain: the batteries were lined up along the window under the sun to be recharged.
When I was teaching in a parish high school which was my high school alma mater, Inang would consistently sent me my favorite snack or meal from her little sari-sari store cum restaurant I built for her infront of our house. The humble venue became the realization of a long time dream as an outlet for her penchant for cooking. Since we were situated along the national road and travelers made her restaurant a bus stop point, Inang’s meager income undoubtedly augmented my father’s earnings and sustained my siblings’ schooling.
By twist of fate when I successfully carved a name in the fashion business after resigning from my classroom activities, I made Inang resigned, too, from long domestic commitment. I wanted to set her free from the bondage of motherhood that kept her detached from the outside world and inevitably tied her down to domesticity.
In Manila, she would just loved to see exciting places and popular landmarks but shopping for her was definitely a no-no much more eating out especially in flashy restaurants. She would reason out:”That would be too expensive…you’re just paying for the place. Why not just food shop, cook at home, and that amount could definitely last for days feeding all of us?” It was not because she’s closefisted or parsimonious… she was merely a wise spender who knew the value of every cent. In order to convince her to dine out, I would tell her that we’re using a gift certificate or I wouldn’t allow her to see the prices on the menu or hid the receipt from her.
If there was one treat I really wanted to give Inang that would be to fly her to Hong-Kong to shop and unwind but her extreme aerophobia prevented me from convincing her. She’d just be contented with what we brought her, looked at our pictures, and listened attentively to the endless stories from our trip.
But even some good times have to end. Numerous exciting plans for Inang were put on hold when she untimely succumbed to diabetes and pulmonary complications. The disheartening news came as the most devastating blow I ever suffered. The world seemed at still while I was numbed, staggered, and thunderstruck. I couldn’t believe that the woman who gave me life and inspired me to no end was gone without me fully repaying everything I owed her. I thought it was but unfair… unjust… but after reality sunk in, I soon realized God had better plans for her.
My mother’s passing is likened to an “elephant in the room” those in the know would often say. Everyone sees and feels the situation but no one dares to openly talk about it. Since then, and surely for the rest of my life no matter how much time has passed, I would unrelentingly feel the empty space she left behind especially more so during celebrations of special family occasions. I always feel that painful loss despite having learned to cope with the situation and had readily accepted that she’s forever gone.
On May 11, 2014, a hallmark occasion especially earmarked for mothers, living or gone, all over the world, I wholeheartedly offer my prayers for them with unparalleled appreciation for everything they’ve done that everybody may live. To my dearest Inang, I’m guilty for not having given the best that you deserve but guide me to manage things the way you wished it done.
Happy Birthday & a Happy Mother’s Day, Mamerta “Mentang” Castañeda Tambongco or simply, Inang!
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