Today in May (To Ma)
By Pilar Toribio | May 12, 2024
I was told that leaving behind everything you knew was hard, but no one told me staring at a calendar number would be even harder. Moving miles away, and seeing old friends joining new friends without you — sure, these made me sad as well. Yet it was the faded photo in my wallet, one that I had not truly seen until tucked alone in my single frame mattress, showcasing the woman that dressed, fed, and clothed me, do I begin to shed true tears of regret.
The regret of being so far away from your Mom on Mother’s Day.
Before moving to Baguio, I could not even tell you when Mother’s Day was. Maybe a Facebook post would remind me, or perhaps a promo I lazily scrolled through. Nonetheless, a typical Mother’s Day for me would just be about flowers, dinner outside, and then another warm greeting before heading off to bed.
To my surprise, it is completely different when the person you are meant to celebrate it with is nowhere near. And you, a tired, overworked, underslept, burnt out university student-dormer are left alone on that single frame mattress. The realization stings you like a paper cut from that dreaded calendar. You are alone without your mother. And your mother is without you.
My relationship with my own Mom has never been quite easy. Like all mother-daughter relationships, it is never short of arguments, clashes, and the occasional silent treatment. But when she knocks at my room and sits at the foot of my bed, reaching out her hand towards me — I already know whatever petty fight has already been forgiven. All without a single word being said.
My Mom gave up everything to raise her two kids. She cut her career short for an even greater responsibility — raising a family. After having me, she committed to being a full-time stay-at-home parent. In every literal sense of the word, she was always there. Helping with homework. Pampering me when sick. Making sure my uniform was the best it could be before leaving for school. Always leaving behind a mother’s touch.
Back then, the weight of “stay-at-home parent” never struck a chord with me. It simply meant that I would see her more often compared to other kids whose parents were working in offices or different careers. Never did I see just how fortunate I was to be in a position where I had my mother 24/7, until I had to leave for home.
Studying in a distant city barely allows for these kinds of moments. With most of us traveling great lengths from our hometowns, juggling four to eight-hour rides, and on-campus commitments makes it that some of us only get to see our families once every few months. No matter how much we think we have gotten used to the distance, another goodbye leaves our hearts squeezing a little tighter as we slowly make our way back to the bus. Not knowing when the next face-to-face encounter will happen.
With Mother’s Day being today, it adds all the more pressure to just leave and never come back. To run back to the embrace of a protector that truly knows you.
The least I could offer her was this day, Mother’s Day, to show my own Ma just how grateful I was for everything. The sacrifices, the emotional, and physical labor she invested to raise me. For just one day, the least I could do was make it about her for once. To return what was unconditionally given. To acknowledge who she is, not only as a mother, but also as her own human being that also deserves a good break from it all.
Yet, as I write this piece, I look at my pending backlogs and mountains of to-do lists. Quizzes and papers I have not even begun to prepare for. I feel a heaviness in my shoulders knowing I fail, again, to be the daughter I should be as I once again cannot be there for her.
As expected, her reply is nothing but understanding. She consoles me, like she always does, with the fact that there will always be a next time. I tell her my frustrations over call, and she replies:
“Wherever you are, I’ll always know you love me. And wherever I am, you’ll always know I’m right here.”
She then tells me to eat dinner, reminds me to get enough rest, and eventually ends what feels like too short of a call. And again, she still manages to leave a mother’s touch.
At the very least, I can look to today as a reminder of why I do it. Who it is all for. And that the woman I see in the faded photo continues to support me no matter what — apart but never disconnected. She may not be beside me, but I know she will be when I return home — hopefully one day with a Sablay draped on my shoulders and a diploma in hand.
To all other Iskos and Iskas undergoing a similar experience, stuck in their dorms and reading this article on their side, know that you are not alone today. Your blood, sweat, and tears do not go unacknowledged. Today is still the day to remember the one who gave it all up for you. May it be your mother, father, lola, lolo, guardian, relative — this day is for them.
They will always be proud, and eagerly waiting for you to come home. Although a call or message may not quite be the same, the calendar you see are just the days you have left until you get to say those words in their arms.
