Although our mother was leaving us so we could have a better life, the ties between us could ever be broken
___
Mama sat quietly in the corner of her bedroom, sewing a torn shirt. Her reading glasses flashed momentarily in the light when she looked up to see who had come in.
Across the room under an open window stood a large grey suitcase.
Although it was framed by bright, mint-green walls and a curtain fluttered merrily over it, it was a lonely sight for me. For the suitcase and all the things inside it would be the only things from home that Mama would have with her when she left for Canada in a week's time.
Mama barely earned enough for our family as a Department of Health inspector in a small town in the southern Philippines. In addition to paying the regular bills and expenses, she insisted ons ending her three children to a private Catholic school.
But Mama was admiringly hardworking. Each day she endured a 90-minute bus ride to her office and back again to our humble home in Davao City. Often, she travelled across rocky roads to faraway villages to do fieldwork, sometimes coming home sunburned and aching.
I was 11 years old. Mama decided to leave in 2001 for Toronto, where her brother lived, to take a job as a domestic helper. My brother Johannes, sister Jollibee, and I would have to stay with our uncle and aunt.
The tthree of us were counting down the days, wondering when we would see Mama again after she left.
"I just wish she didn't have to go," I said
"She wants to go. She wants to get away from you," Johannes would tease me. "You're so unbelieavably stinky when you get home from school that she wants nothing more than to move to another country."
I would stick my tongue out at him, but I knew he was kidding. Mama wanted to improve our lives by working abroad. She wanted to be a good provider, a role she has shouldered since her marriage to our father crumbled when I was seven. After that, we never saw him or received any support from him.
Raising three kids on her own was extremely difficult. Sometimes during examinations, my siblings and I had to stand before the severe-looking nuns and beg them to allow us to take the exams even though our school fees weren't paid up.
I often wondered why mama didn't send us to a public school instead. It would have spared her something like 3000 pesos ($64) every month. But I know exactly what she would have said if I had ever had the nerve to ask her: "Education is important. We may not be rich but at least I have given you that priceless gift."
Mama pulled me back from my thoughts as I stared at the suitcase in the corer. Holding out her needle and thread, she said, "Inday, could you please do it for me?"
I understood what she meant. She always asked me to put the thread through the needle hole when she was sewing. Sometimes it annoyed me.
"Why always me?" I once demanded, after she had interrupted me while I was playing jackstones with my cousins.
"Because you have clearer eyesight," Mama said.
"Well, Ate has clear eyesight," I said, referring to Jollibee. "Why won't you get her to do it?"
"Because you are the youngest," she simply replied
Today, as I took the needle and thread from Mama, I noticed that her nose glistened with sweat from the effort of trying to do it herself. It took some time for me to thread the needle, but I know that if I'd let Mama do it, she would have missed her flight to Canada before she actually succeeded.
I realized at that that moment threading the needle for Mama was a very small favor compared to what she had already done and will be doing for us. When I finished, I handed the needle back to her. I dare not look her in the eyes, because I knew what she would see in mine--sadness.
That feeling only grew worse as my gaze fell on the suitcase again, and then the needle in her hand. Without thinking, I said: "Who's gonna put the thread through the needle for you in Canada?"
I wanted her to know that I would put every thread through every needle in Davao City just to make her stay, even if it did annoy me.
Tears started rolling down Mama's cheeks. She reached out and pulled me into a tight embrace, I started crying too because at that moment, I knew what Mama's answer was--no-one.
I realized that everything that she needed from home, she could carry not in a suitcase, but inside of her. I understood that all those tiring days Mama spent climbing hills through remote villages were nothing compared to what she could still do. She would be willing to go through a thousand needle holes if it meant a better life for us. I knew at that moment that even though Mama would be far away from us for years to come, our hearts would forever be sewn together.
***
This is an excerpt from the April 2009 issue of Reader's Digest. I read this a few months ago and my heart was really touched by the story. I thought of sharing this thinking that it might touch yours as well.
I don't know. But I am really touched by the story. Perhaps because to some extent, the author and I had similar life situations.
1. The marriage of her mom and dad failed thereby giving her mom all the responsibilities parents should provide. | I am not a product of a failed marriage but my dad died when I was 8, my mom provided me everything since then.
2. She and her other siblings were sent to a private school despite the hardships. | My mom also did that to me. My mom even managed to send many other people (like relatives) to school--all to private school, that is.
3. Her mom is willing to do everything for her children as exemplified by her willingness to go abroad and work there as a domestic helper. | I am pretty sure that my mom is also willing to do that. There are already a number of times wherein she did that, I have lost my count.
I can go on and on but I'd rather not.
Let me just say,
I LOVE MY MOM.
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