16 October 2024
Wednesday, 110P
Dearest Nanay,
Thank you for waking me up. It is too early yet. But like you used to tell me, if I wanted my dreams to come true, I must not sleep. It made sense. What did not was, it was you who gave up so soon and are now in a deep sleep.
You used to tell us about your dreams. Like, you wished you would live up to a hundred. You wished for a house with a rooftop that did not leak. You wished you would pass the Teacher's Civil Service Examination.
But most of the time, things do not happen as we expect they would. You knew that.
You never lived to be one hundred years old. In fact, you were a few days short of your 41st birthday when God took you away from us. You never did pass the Teacher's examination, Nay, but who cared? You were one best teacher that we, your children, know and are proud to have.
Yesterday, I ran through your diaries. (For the ninth time!) Boy, did not I cry as I turned every page! I liked most, your December 23, 1961 entry, when you wished me more years and happiness on my second birthday. An early marriage made you a much better woman as you and Tatay went through almost all kinds of difficulties in your journey through life. What did you do when we all got sick one at a time and there was barely any money left in your pockets? I know your answer would be, "God provided." He did. He always does. I wonder, how did you cope with being in college while mothering us at the same time? What a trial it must have been, no? Especially when we had to take turns to go with you to school since there was no one with whom you could entrust us to except a goodly neighbor, Nang Auring. Yet you marched up the stage and was graduated by the university in a borrowed dress concealed beneath your black toga! Another hurdle came into your life when you were called to teach your first formal school lesson in a faraway barrio in the lovely island of Guimaras. I remember we all cried in chorus, seeing you with your bags full of clothes and a week's provision as you prepared to leave on Sunday mornings. It was a
terribly empty feeling for me, Nay, that I could only bury my head in my pillow and sob until I got tired
in the evenings. Your co-teachers told us that halfway through the week, you would ask them, "I wonder
how my children are doing?" Then you were already seen packing your bags or humming a song as you
looked forward to being with us again. I cannot forget the Friday afternoons when Tatay would take us
with him to Ortiz wharf, and while we watched the sun go down, you would sail back home in one of
those dingy, small pump boats across big waves or violent thunderstorms.
Then rings of laughter would fill the house once more.
You were a funny woman, Nay. You laughed a lot and had a healthy way of solving problems through
your songs and writings. Whenever I hear your favorite tunes being played, I get misty-eyed.
You had the hands that knew hard work, and a heart filled with compassion and love. Sometimes you
would reprimand us for our misdeeds. If you pinched us hard on our thighs for swimming or playing for
too long in the nearby river, we could only cry. You said we deserved it. Usually, the older children got
pinched much harder.
One summer day, you allowed us to go to the farm to gather firewood for fuel provided that we should
be home before lunch. Along the way, we saw a large camachile tree ladened with red, ripe fruits. Just
how we loved to eat camachile fruits! So, we looked for thin bamboo poles called 'bagat', hooked and
gathered as many fruits as we could. Not one of us remembered about the firewood. It was not until
past noon when we were sent scampering away upon seeing you walking towards the hill with a
bamboo rod in our hand. As usual, the older ones got more and heavier beatings. You would always
emphasize that you were ready to keep your word as long as we kept ours.
How I truly miss you, Nay. Words are not enough to say what I feel within me. No other mother in this
world can take your place here in my heart. You have been away from us for exactly forty-six years now,
but my memory of you is still as fresh as the morning dew. I miss your smiles. I miss talking to you about
anything and everything as we walked along Rotary Park. I miss sitting next to you on Fort San Pedro's
wooden benches while you braided my hair, (and while my younger sisters took a swim) on Saturday
mornings, or watching last full show movies as a family. I enjoyed seeing you haggle over a pair of shoes
in Calle Real, or with a market vendor over a heapful of fish. I enjoyed pretending I was in a fitful sleep
while you crept inside our mosquito nets in the middle of the night, snapping the mosquitoes dead as you
mumbled a curse or two. I also enjoyed being sick as long as you were around to take care of me. Just
feeling you beside me was the greatest panacea that I knew of! I miss you waking us up early during
our school exams while you reviewed with us, over fried, salted peanuts (because you said that peanuts
were good for the brain.). I remember you standing by the door with a worried look on your face, when,
at 12:30 a.m., I arrived late from the first prom I ever attended (with Germie as my chaperone.) I also
remember you waiting in life for a promissory note at the Registrar's Office since we could not pay
my and my sisters' tuition fees in High School. Then you would laugh because you said you did so
many times when you were in college!
Oh, I just remember a lot of sad things about you. I know that you never had very much in life which
made every tiny blessing appear so big to you. You simply were appreciative of them. With each
recounting, my heart gets heavy with sorrow.
Time did not change a bit, Nay, for any of us. We fondly remember you. It brings tears to our eyes knowing
that we can NOT see you. Touch you. Hear you. Relishing the old times is the closest we can get to feel you
around us once more. We are grateful for the diaries you left behind. They tell so much of you. And of
ourselves. One of the precious legacies you left us with is not any material blessing. It is the guts to carry on
and to stand firm despite life's oddities. Many times, just when I am about to give up, I would hear you whisper
your magic words to me, "God will provide." After which I feel much better. We are forever grateful for the golden values which we have learned from you. These will forever live in our hearts and in our minds. They are eternal.
I accompanied a friend, Gianna, to a store one day in May. I looked with envy at her as she scanned the shelves
for an appropriate card for her mom on Mother's Day. Picking up a large one, she said to me, "Too bad, you do not have a mother anymore to give one of these dainty ones to. Why can't your father get himself another woman?" That sent my blood to a boil, but instead of slapping her, I left the store - and wept.
Nay, I thank you for waking me up early today. Dreams of you stir me back to consciousness and painful reality.
We have no work today, it being a holiday. I can pay you a visit. How do you like that? I am sporting a new
hairstyle, but I know you will recognize me even from the distance by the way I walk. Please do not scold me,
but I have never really improved my poor posture!
I know that you didn't give up, Nay. Even in your deep slumber, I am sure that you are still dreaming.
I love you, Nay!
Your loving daughter,
Nene Evelyn.
© Maria Evelyn Quilla Soleta
Philippines
***
BIO:
Maria Evelyn Quilla Soleta, or, 'Eve', or (aka 'Hibiscus'), a nickname familiar to many, is a published author of three books, 'My Twenty Poems', 'Finding My Heart' and 'Chasing Sunsets With You.' Her poems and stories are spiritual, genuine, amiable and compassionate. People, things, living and non-living creatures, even events, occurrences and relevant conditions are subjects that inspire and give color to her rhythms and rhymes, stanzas and lines, offering vibrancy and emotion to the words she pens. These same feelings come to her in the stillness of her deep tranquil moments when she converses with God, her devotionals of inspiration and life.
Maria Evelyn's first love is writing, when at six, she wrote her first poem in a school paper. In college, her forte was writing feature articles, personality sketches and poetry. She was a freelance writer for local women's magazines before publishing her first book on poetry titled, 'My Twenty Poems.'
Her second book on poetry, 'Finding My Heart', illustrated by her daughter, was launched in January 2021, and was a success, placing Number One on Amazon's list, several hours after it was launched. People found their hearts in this beautiful and moving poetry collection. Maria's poetry is personal but relatable to everyone that has had the opportunity to read and experience her lovely verses. In all three of her books, yet especially her third book,
'Chasing Sunsets With You', her writing gift of heartwarming poetry is felt in every word and line. She believes that the ordinary and mundane things are the most beautiful.
All three of her books are a testimony of her deep love for writing, her gift from the Heavenly Father and reading compliments her life, but especially writing, completes it!
Many of Maria's poetry have appeared in different journals and anthologies: 'Sensibility', 'Mother's Embrace', 'Metamorphosis', 'Inked with Passion', 'Rainbows and Daydreams', 'Open Skies Poetry', 'Landscapes and Cityscapes', 'Filipino Poets' and 'Blossoms Journal', personal collection anthologies and several others.
Motherhood is a subject close to Maria's heart and inspires her to write. She has a good eye and ear for the peculiar details of everyday life - endearing in her lack of pretentiousness among the trivial and ordinary matters around her. Maria Evelyn's husband, Danny, her four girls, Andrea, Guia, Daniella and Laura, and three beautiful grandchildren , Tala, Mayla, and Lucas are her inspirations to pursue her first love, Writing!
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