Tonight I Write About Tata

Tonight, I write about Tata.


Tata was my last living grandparent. A little over a year ago, Tata passed away quite unexpectedly. I was here at the Metro when it happened. But my mind, over that entire week was with him.


Tata has always been sort of like a sentinel for me. He, in my own humble opinion, was my old man who I thought would never grow old.

He did.

But back in the older days, I have fond memories of Tata riding his bicycle, going around the old town. He is quite well known in the old neighborhood, and I can only surmise that this is because he was once the owner of the only restaurant/grocery/store in the old neighborhood. Tata used to own an old carpentry shop too. He had, in his employ a number of people who were then my playmates as a kid. I had waitresses as my yayas then. His carpenters were at my beck and call whenever I needed anything built - from small wooden chairs to mini tables as my playthings. My sister and I shared a small nook at the corner of the shop where we would build our little own world of made of wood, tools scrap metals. These days, one of my favorite scents remain to be the smell of fresh wood shavings. Looking back now, this might have been because this scent remind me of my youth when nothing and no one can touch me. Who could ever? My Tata was my sentinel - he stood guard for me, from all the possible harms that could hurt, down to the little scratches I got from playing around in his shop.

As a kid, I was a handful. I was spoiled rotten by my late Nana and by all my titos and titas. Whenever I would have my share of spanking from Papa during my younger days, I run to Tata's bedroom, and that was the end of my punishment. I would stay there until the late hours, watching PPP (Piling Piling Pelikula) and Box Office Hits from the old, yellow telly.

On most mornings, it was Tata's task to buy pandesal for the entire family. Even after our family has moved to another house, Tata, would always drop by riding his bicycle to give our morning ration of pandesal. He had also taken upon himself to get the previous night's trash so he can throw it in the dump site. This has been his daily morning ritual for as long as I can remember.

During the later part of his life, Tata has slowly become thinner and more sickly. His once stocky built has shrunk to a frail old man, yet he remained handsome, strong jawline and all. Despite his rheumatic joints, he continued to tower above us all, wide shouldered and well-postured. Tata remained his quiet, dignified stance, never bullying nor oppressing. He was a loving grandfather who never got mad, never demanded, and never imposed any rules.

It's been a little bit over a year since Tata has passed away. It isnt true when they say that time heals. When we lose someone we love, we are never, ever the same. And yes, we will be scarred forever. Time, however, has a way of making us feel better. Yet, the scars, however thin and light they become, will always be here.

Tonight, I write about Tata. Tonight, I feel my scars. And yes, over time, I have felt better about all that has happened. But I remember. And I know I miss my old man.

Happy Birthday Mother

It's my mom's 52nd birthday today. For the longest time while I was growing up, mama and I didn't get along very well. We had an eternal love-hate relationship that trancends the closest of bonds between a mother and child to a crazy, spasmosdic argumentative interactions that only enemies can survive. 27 years after, and still counting, we have finally gotten over that. Whew.
My mom is the best person in my world. She has seen me through the worst. She has defended me even when friends and sadly, even family members judged and scorned me. She has fought for me.
And 27 years ago, she has decided to keep me. For that, I am most grateful.
While my father is the main provider and decision-maker in the family, my mama is the strength and the strong-hold. She holds this family together. She may be perceived as the weakest of us, for she is always the first one to shed tears in altercations but her tears give us strength. Sometime in the past, in one of the most trying times my family has ever had to undergo, when all hell seemed to break loose, she was the one who endured it all. My dad gave up physically and succumbed to a minor stroke. My brother and I gave in to our anger and did not speak for 6 whole months. Connie, uncharacteristically became apathetic to the situation. And Meng spent more time with friends outside than at home. My mama was the one who managed to patch everything up for all of us. She was the one who, amidst the tears in her eyes, gave us the reason to smile every once in a while. She took the effort to make sure that life goes on despite the problems. She had to make sure food was still on the table by 7PM every night. She made sure that the kids still did their homework every night. She made it a point that Connie and I received our allowances on time. She saw to it that papa took his medications seriously. My mama, she took charge. It has been 6 years since. She hasn't stopped taking charge still.
These days, my family has endured and survived, and still surviving. We have gone back to the old status quo. My dad is as healthy as a carabao these days. Mac and I patched up our differences. Meng and Con, of course, only had to see that the family has healed and they have come running home. And mama? She's all smiles these days. She divides her time visiting her kids here in the Metro and working as a nurse as she considers it her stress-reliever. During the weekends, when she has to stay in Ilocos, she lovingly tends to her Euphorbias in the garden and gives papa his weekly pedicure. Every now and then, mama complains of minor aches, headaches, athritis or whatnot, and all of us, papa included, give a half-hearted panic as we secretly believe it's just mama making lambing to us. Mama has turned to be somewhat of a health freak lately and she has been dieting. Ironically, all the family members, including moi, are the fattest these days. As ever, mama never forgets to call and text me to watch my diet. She even monitors my sleeping time because she is afraid that I might get a stroke while asleep. Every month, she sends a box of goodies from the province, including fruits and our favorite recipes that only she could cook. These days, life just doesn't get any better with mama continuing to love us.
So there, its May 15 today, and it has been 52 years since God has given us this wonderful person that I call mama.
For you ma, I wish you a more well, and longer-lived life, a continously good health, and hopefully, your children could make you prouder than you already are of them. Happy Birthday Mother!