38

"Mom, I want to do this alone." you said, skipping your way through the stone path and shooing me off.

It might've been the strenuous day at the beach or the full stomach after that big dinner at Sutukil. But Oh boy, did it hit me hard on the guts.

Sigh. 

37

Kid,

I wish I did this earlier, transcribe things that you say. Profound things that leaves a mother teary-eyed and warm on the inside. Profound things that make you sound like the most mature adult, more adult than me even.

Today, you said this when you played Mommy and I, your Kid (For some reason you seem to like that game. It makes me question my quotient of responsibility):

You: Baby, I'm going to the office na.
Me: Okay, Mom. See you!
You: Mom, I'm back from the office na. Did you cry?
Me: Yup, I did. I missed you.
You: Aw, Don't cry anymore, Mom.
         I came back.
         I always come back.

It breaks and rebuilds my heart at the same time. Because, you see, this is what I say to you everytime I leave. The assurance that you seem to believe it, and even mimic it is making me giddy.

Thank you, Kid.

10 October 2012
You at 3

36

Dear Portia,

I’m starting to miss details, beautiful ones that should be kept in boxes or buried underneath the ground in a time capsule. I miss them because I no longer take the time to absorb them in. I move from one beautiful detail to another.

Like this morning for example, when the Police Officer returned my taxi driver’s license, instead of seeing the standard Red, I see a photo collage of the driver’s daughter, from when she was small up to the time when she graduated as a Nurse. He pockets it in as if keeping her. It is so beautiful, I tell myself, I should pause. But I don’t. Because I am off rushing to another meeting. I cannot even remember that meeting now, what we talked about, what anecdotes we laughed on, which ones had the awkward pauses, what conclusion we churned out. They are things I need to retain but don’t. Because I wish were pausing on that vignette instead, when the driver pockets his memories, to bring out when he needs it.

Please don’t be like this. Take a breather. Pause when you need to. Pause.

35

Dear Kid,

When I woke up next to you today, there was something in the air. And no, I don’t mean your pee, although you seem to be watering our sleeping space as if it were more of a flower bed than an actual one these past few weeks. And in the midst of doing our routine morning stretches, you carousing around our personal space as if you had the whole floor at your disposal and me closing my eyes, in hopes to catch a few seconds of aloneness, you suddenly ask me, ‘Mom, are you happy with me?’

I’m sure you must’ve found just reason in your mind to have had asked the question. But Oh Gawd. Oh no. Oh Dear. And just plain Oh. Please, kid, for the love of all things good, true and delectable, please don’t ask anyone that. Don’t give them the privilege of thinking your happiness is dependent on them. Don’t make them think for a second that happiness is something that is pegged on a thing, an ambition, an ideal or even a person.

You see, I don’ know if I’ve told you this already, but here’s a little secret, happiness? That concept that’s been so over sensationalized? Well, it’s pliant. It’s not pegged on anything.

What we want is never simple. Sometimes what we think we want doesn’t really exist. And what we think we didn’t want, does.  When we thought we wanted white picket fences, we’re given the world of flight instead. When we want poetry, we’re given prose. And when we thought we wanted admiration, we’re given respect instead. Happiness is never black and white. It’s all around. It’s a sensation. Not a currency. It shouldn’t rely on anyone or anything.

But it was my fault partially, I think. Once or twice I may have asked you if you were. Happy, I mean. With the good intentions of someone who wanted validation that yes, she’s going in the right direction. All is well. Bring in the sunshine and rainbows. But I realized, I should soap mouths, both yours and mine, for constantly looking for confirmation.

Let’s stop asking, okay? Let’s just be.