Joey Villarama…Who?

I’m back!!!!

It took a side comment from my colleague, "the" Adrian Ayalin, for me to realize that I have neglected my blog.  With the change in my work schedule,  I found it a bit difficult to log on to the computer regularly. (Mas gusto kasing matulog!) Anyway, here I am!

                                                                –o0o–

The month of May brings back many fond memories of past summers.  It is a month dedicated by the Church in the Philippines to the Blessed Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus.  Similarly, people all over the world honor their mothers on the second Sunday of May, Mother’s Day.  For me and my siblings, May becomes especially important because it marks the month when our own mother passed away.  Three years ago, on May 10th, Mama passed on to join our Creator.

As we celebrate Mother’s Day, let me pay tribute to the person responsible for giving me life and for teaching me how to live, love and be the best I can be.

                                                                –o0o–

My mother was unexpectedly taken from me three years ago by the little known disease called  hyperthyroidism.   Ironically, she succumbed to complications of the disease a day before people in many parts of the world celebrated the day dedicated to mothers.  Sometimes, I still question the wisdom behind taking her away so suddenly, at a still young age of 55. But then again, Wisdom itself is unfathomable, at times leaving us in the dark.  Nevertheless, I still believe that Mama has gone on to fulfill a higher purpose, a motherhood that can neither be seen nor touched but which can still be felt, experienced and appreciated.

The last time I saw Mama was at the international airport five years ago, specifically on 22 April 2001.  It was a time when the nation was slowly recovering from a political crisis and a period when youthful hope was blooming elsewhere. Young and fresh out of college, I decided that the Philippines was not the place for me to build a future.    

Among the family members who saw me off that day, only Mama did not cry.  Having been the bunso, the attached one, for a considerably long time before the birth of my youngest sister, I thought it was something unusual.   Although I could not see her eyes behind those dark glasses, I could feel that she was trying to hold back her tears, telling me to meet the challenges of my journey head-on.  Like the young  Anakin Skywalker in Star Wars Episode I, I tried not to look back, thinking only of what lay ahead.  Like the mother Skywalker, Mama tried to be strong, not for herself, but for me, as I embarked on life on my own.

I survived the first three months of living in a foreign country with the help of e-mail, text messages and phone cards.  I couldn’t say that I ever became homesick, not with the constant barrage of messages coming from Mama, especially about “how not to get sick” and “not forgetting to drink multivitamins.” Despite the distance, Mama was keen on keeping her role as a doting, caring and nurturing mother.

My first shot at a legitimate job abroad was as a Dietary Assistant, preparing drinks and desserts in a convalescent hospital for the elderly.  Outside my kitchen duties, I was made to wash the trash bins daily and to mop the kitchen floor when the cooking was done.  It was not the best of jobs, but it was a job nonetheless.  I wasn’t exactly proud of it but Mama convinced me that it was a start, and that it was for the best. True enough, I soon found a better, higher-paying job, just as Mama predicted. 

For almost two years, I worked as a teacher and assistant program manager in a school for the developmentally-challenged.  None of my training at home or in school would ever have prepared me for the trials and risks that this kind of work posed.  I was spat at, hit, choked and verbally-abused by the students, but miraculously, I managed to stay on and become fond of the job.  Through it all, Mama was behind me to make me stronger, more patient and more tolerant to go on.

I would have loved for Mama, Papa and my siblings to see me at my former workplace.  I would have been proud to show Mama how much more mature and successful I have become because of her, despite the loneliness and difficulty of my situation. In fact, my parents and my younger sister were supposed to have visited me in May 2003 but the SARS outbreak and the US-led war on Iraq put their travel plans on hold.  Then, as if things could not get any worse, Mama suddenly passed away.  Two years after youthful hope ushered me to greener pastures, I would come home defeated at the sight of a white casket containing the lifeless body of the one who was my life.

I dreamt of Mama two months after her demise.  I have dreams of her every now and then.  Although I still lack the will to resume a regular routine and continually struggle to live a normal life, I feel that she is telling me to get my life, our family’s life, back on track.  The reality of Mama’s absence is something I have to live with, someday, somehow.  But the truth of her still watching over me, continuously caring for me and perpetually guiding me through life’s difficult path is something I would like to believe is constant and real.

Thank you, Mama, for still being a mother to me.

I love you and I miss you.

Happy Mother’s Day!