An Open Letter

Dear K,

As of writing, you are still too young to read this. But I hope that, in your adolescence, when that time your doubts on me start to come, you will stumble upon this blog. I hope that this will give you answers and when this does not, I hope that this will give you faith.

Today, I watched you walk down a few short streets in Makati; all the time, never losing your grip on my hand. I wonder, twenty years from now – when you are about the same age as mine: will you ever remember this day we both looked forward to for about a year? Will you be walking on this street in your own pair of heels; fully in control and on top of things?

You were beautiful. I was elated, not because everyone thought you were my mirror image, rather because you possessed your own charm. I looked at you, on our way home, and beyond an old self-portrait that was your face was a look so innocent yet lost in a mix of perception and inquiry.

I know you will be a woman; one with her own style, strength and substance. I do not intend to make you live a comfortable life out of lies and partial truths. Maybe some truths will have to be sugar-coated while your understanding is limited by your experience. But, trust me, my way of protecting you is through exposing you to knowledge. I want you to learn how to stand on your own feet for this is what makes a woman out of a lady.

You can hate me. Though hate is such a strong word, it is normal. I felt that more than once with your grandparents. As a girl who was about your age, I thought of them in superlatives: the best-looking pair, the smartest and the greatest. They were perfect; they were invincible. However, as I grew up, I learned that they are human: flawed and vulnerable. This was where my frustration started. It furthered and deepened upon the realization that these two people, who both created me, are, in fact, very different from their offspring. In the end, though, hate will lead you nowhere. Your parents – and whether they are present or not in your life, are part of the reality that you have to deal with. You will be able to trust and understand others only when you start trusting and understanding the people whom you came from.

Sometimes, though, I feel the need to ask for your forgiveness. I am sorry I had you at a time when I did not know yet how to manage my emotions. I am sorry I lack the guts to take a leap to a different career or a second job, for me to be able to independently provide for the two of us. I am sorry I failed at giving you a good father. I am sorry I get lost in my own problems.

with my newborn

On our waking moments, I have to be two times strong to keep you secure. But at night, when you are asleep, I wrap my arms around you to gather all the strength I need for the next day. My life has been a mess ever since we started sleeping in separate rooms. You just do not know how lost I am without you. That is why having you sleep beside me last night was magical. This is how I renewed my strength: in the dark, with our arms around each other; your breathing slow and relaxed. My little one was lost in that place between sleep and awake; listening to the whispered tune of the lullabies I sang to my womb.

I love you, baby.

Mommy Joyce

29 October 2008

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Once, we were dreamers.

I once dreamed to live a first lady’s life. I dreamed with my heart’s fullness; my hand secured by another’s tight grip. For a while, we remained fixated on this dream. We did not want to let go.

But one day, sooner or later, dreamers have to wake up. Reality shook us up. We realized how utopian the phrase you and me against the world is, especially when you and me’s ties are weak. It extinguished the best of ourselves. We abandoned our dream.

Now, three years later, I think about the dream and of how it speaks of the old times and the person I was before. While I know in my heart that we will never be a part of each other’s dreams anymore, still, I choose to remember. I guess that at the onset of separation, bad memories usually dominate the thoughts. After a while, though, only the good ones matter.

I still dream of living a first lady’s life. I dream about charitable work without bundy clock deadlines and payslip expectations.I dream about flights that bridge the rich and the poor. I dream about a huge “live-in” closet and a thousand shoe pairs; a high-ceilinged home library and a hundred thousand books; and a sprawling garden and a terrace where coffee, art, writings and conversations take place. And most of all, I dream about not having to go through the tedious task of applying for a Solo Parent ID for an additional seven days of leave. I want to bring and fetch my child(ren) to school everyday.

I still dream with my heart’s fullness. But for now, only this, secures me.

04 March 2009

Photo Credit: http://www.stpete.org/HR_Photos/0277.jpg

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