Am sharing a room with an eighty one year old lady since I transferred here in Paco a couple of weeks ago. I have been enjoying meals and sleeping time with all her sharing of intricate yet colorful stories from the time of Japanese occupation in the Philippines until she traveled and lived in Japan for a long time to be with her daughter who is married to a Japanese national (that would be more or less sixty years).
It could have been dull moments between law books and anxiety while preparing for the bar exams if not for her comic experiences.
She is fondly called Tia Meng. She does household chores for her nephew. She was expecting to do service for me too, as manifested by her actions (which she need not do) when I first dropped my traveling bar. She prepared the study table, arranged the room in accordance with what she perceived to be my taste as manifested by her decorations and provided enough space for my things and my sleeping area including the pillow case and the mattress (even she knows I have my own) which must have been finely selected and kept to be used only during special occasions.. During meal time she would knock at my door gently to tell me that the table is ready… so ready that there is already rice in my plate.
I felt so humbled and so loved in as much as I have always been an uncompromising person who dislikes attachment especially during difficult times. I yield to the ways of keeping.
She could have been one of those I leave behind to eat the dust when I feel uncomfortable with lousy and cheap stories about material things, fanaticism of doctrinal dogmas and make believe fantasies but I stuck on when she showed me her worldly possessions… all are gifts from the people she loves most… her daughters. She did not show me anything she bought for herself from her earnings. All she proudly displayed was an embroidered pillow case she painstakingly created herself bearing the names of her two daughters with the symbol of a heart in between. I asked her where they are now and why she is living and spending her energy with a different family. She calmly answered “they already have their own family”.
“Children are more properly seen as their mother’s creations, rather than their fathers. It is also because, more than anyone else, it is mothers who gaze at the faces of their young in total contemplation and prayerful hopefulness”, is an excerpt from Randy David’s essay on Mothers which could be the most intimate rationale I could find why Nanay Meng despite physical separation from her daughters sends a message of compassion that resonates even in the hardest heart of a stranger.
“I don’t want you to serve me nanay, I am stronger than you”, I told her many times with a powerful force in my voice. And so I did. I cooked my own recipes.. and she liked them. I wouldn’t allow her to wash the utensils I used except on certain circumstances. I wanted her to feel comfortable and free during my stay at least… and so she became.
I do not intend to fill some vacuum despite that it is what I feel with what she is doing with me, or to appease the conscience or be saved and go to heaven by doing some charitable work. I only do not succumb to the idea of replacing the strength and power of another being by making it appear that I can do it for them. Of course I can, but I will not because of my strong belief that each have his or her own way and purpose to accomplish that should not be subjugated in the form of more positive words—charity, kindness, piety.
But I could not stay long. My time is not mine to keep. I have to move on, and so she must too. But where? She is eighty one years old.
I write this line with a sad heart… I might not see her again… I have to convince myself … it is still eighty one fruitful years.
