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Pagpupugay Sa Aking Mahal Na Ama’t Ina
(Tribute to My Beloved Father and Mother)
Kung ano ako ngayon, kung ano man ang narating ko, ay ipinagpapasalamat ko ng malaki, una sa Maykapal, pangalawa sa aking mga magulang – sa aking ama at ina.
Walang sinomang makakahigit sa mga sakripisyong ginawa para sa akin ng aking mga magulang – lalong-lalo na ng aking ina na ang sinanapuna’y pinaglagakan ng mga semilyang binuklod ng Panginoon upang pagsimulan ng buhay kong pahiram Niya sa akin.
Sino ba ang pwedeng makahigit sa ginawa ng aking ina na siyam na buwang hinayaang ako’y maging bahagi ng kanyang katawan? Ang sinapupunan niya’y ang unang mundong aking ginalawan. At nang dumating ang panahon na kaylangan ko nang lumabas patungo sa isang bagong mundo ay ibinuwis niya ang kanyang buhay.
At sino rin ang pwede makahigit sa ginawa ng aking ama na nagbanat ng buto upang tiyakin na kaming mga mahal niya sa buhay ay may bubong na masisilungan at sa hapag-kainan ay may makakain?
Tiniis ng aking ina ang sakit upang ako’y mailuwal. Sinuong ni ama ang ulan at init upang ibigay ang aming mga pangangaylangan. Napakalaki ng ginawa nilang sakripisyo, magkatuwang ang aking ina at ama, sa pagpapalaki at pag-aruga sa akin at aking mga kapatid. Hindi ko pwedeng kalimutan iyon. At iyo’y hindi pagtanaw ng utang na loob. Iyon ay bunga ng itinanim nilang pagmamahal. Hindi ba’t nakatakda nating anihin ang alin mang ating itanim, mabuti man o masama.
Kaya nga nakakatawa nang sabihin ng isa kong tiyahin na ako raw ay maka-ina. Aba’y dapat lang. Ganoon naman ang natural na nagiging takbo ng mga relasyon sa pamilya. Madalas na ang mga anak ay nagiging maka-ina sa dahilang mas madalas nakikita ng mga anak ang kanilang ina sa bahay.
Subalit alam ko ang dahilan kung bakit madalas hindi namin kapiling ang ama sa bahay. Siya’y kaylangang maghanap-buhay upang kami’y suportahan. Maka-ina ako pero pantay ang pagmamahal ko sa aking mga magulang. Wala akong itutulak at kakabigin.
Nagtanim ang aking ina – ganoon din ang aking ama – ng pagmamahal na tumubo sa aking puso’t isip. Hindi ba matatawag na pagtatanim ng pagmamahal ang ginawa nilang pag-aalaga sa akin mula ako’y isang sanggol na walang kamalay-malay hanggang sa punto ng buhay ko na kinaya ko nang tumayo sa aking sariling mga paa. Inaani nila ngayon ang bunga ng pagmamahal na iyon at hindi nila ito kaylangang sungkitin, kusa itong lumalaglag patungo sa kanila.
Isang milyong beses mang magkamali ang aking ina ay hindi ko siya pwedeng talikuran. Katulad ng hindi ko pagtalikod sa aking ama noong siya’y nabubuhay pa kahit ako’y buhay na saksi sa mga pagkukulang niya. Tama o mali man ang aking mga magulang eh sila ang kakampihan ko. Simple lang ang dahilan – mahal ko sila. Hindi pwedeng burahin ng anomang depekto sa pagkatao ng aking ina at ama ang pagmamahal ko sa kanila.
Ang dalawang pinakamahahalagang aral sa buhay na natutuhan ko ay hindi galing sa mga guro ko sa eskwelahan. Ang mga aral na naturan na nagsilbi kong gabay upang mamuhay ng tama ay galing sa aking mga magulang.
Ang una – ang itinuro sa akin ng aking ama’y huwag akong umasa sa ibang tao. Dapat daw ay matuto akong tumayo sa aking sariling mga paa. Unang narinig ko sa aking ama ang mga konsepto na “magtiwala sa sarili” at “magbanat ka ng buto.” Simpleng tao lamang ang aking ama at pilit akong nagsikap at nagsusumikap pa dahil batid kong ang buhay na meron ako’t ang daang tinatahak ko ay ang katuparan ng kanyang pangarap.
Pangalawa’t huli – tinuruan ako ng aking ina na magdasal at magkaroon ng matibay na pananampalataya sa Panginoon. Ang pananampalatayang iminulat niya sa akin ay panghahawakan ko upang huwag akong maligaw ng landas. Hindi man perpekto ang buhay na tinahak ng aking ina at ama ay tiniyak nilang maituro sa akin ang daan patungo sa aking tagumpay at kaligtasan.
Ang isang bagay naman na natutuhan ko pareho sa kanila ay ang kultura ng pagbabasa. Sobrang hilig ng ama kong magbasa – 2 diyaryo sa isang araw. Hindi man siya nakatungtong ng high school eh “Inglisero” ang ama ko. Ang nakakatuwa, kapag siya’y nalalasing, hindi siya nagsasalita ng Tagalog, puro English. Dumudugo noon ang ilong ko sa pakikinig sa kanya, lalo na kapag pinipilit niya akong sumagot sa mga sinasabi niya sa English.
Ang ina ko nama’y magasin at komiks. Madalas ko din siyang nakikitang nagbabasa ng libro dahil nagpatuloy siyang mag-aral sa kolehiyo noong kaming magkakapatid ay malalaki na’t hindi na alagain. At tuwing hapon noon, matapos kaming magdasal ng rosaryo, kasama ang aking lola, ay nsgsilbi naming tutor ang aking ina.
Salamat po ama… ina sa lahat-lahat. Diyan sa langit ay baunin ninyo ang pasasalamat at pagmamahal naming magkakapatid at mga apo ninyo.
Dakila kayong mga magulang. Lubos-lubos ang pasasalamat ko sa Panginoon na kayo ang mga itinalaga niya na naging ama’t ina ko.
—–
Who I am today and whatever I’ve achieved, I owe an outstanding debt of gratitude—first to the Almighty and second to my parents, father, and mother. No one can surpass the sacrifices they made for me, especially my mother, who carried within her the seeds that the Lord bound together to begin the life He has lent to me.
Who could ever surpass what my mother did, allowing me to be a part of her body for nine months? Her womb was the first world I ever knew. And when the time came for me to enter this new world, she risked her life to bring me into it. And who could outdo my father, who toiled tirelessly to ensure we had a roof over our heads and food on our table?
My mother endured the pain to bring me into this world, and my father braved the rain and heat to provide for our needs. Together, their sacrifices were immense, raising and nurturing me and my siblings. I can never forget that, and it’s not just about repaying a debt of gratitude; it’s the love they planted in me. After all, don’t we reap what we sow, good or bad?
It’s amusing when one of my aunts says I’m a “mama’s boy.” Of course I am! That’s the natural course of family relationships. Children often grow closer to their mothers because they’re more frequently at home. But I understand why we didn’t always have our father with us. He had to work to support us. I may be close to my mother, but my love for my parents is equal. I wouldn’t push one away or pull the other closer.
My mother planted love in me—so did my father—and that love grew in my heart and mind. Isn’t it fair to call it sowing love when they cared for me from when I was an innocent baby until I could finally stand on my own feet? They are now reaping the fruits of that love and don’t need to reach for it—it falls naturally into their hands.
Even if my mother made a million mistakes, I could never turn my back on her, just as I never turned away from my father when he was alive, despite witnessing his shortcomings. Right or wrong, my parents will always have my support. The reason is simple—I love them. No flaw in their character can erase my love for them.
The two most important lessons I’ve learned in life didn’t come from my teachers at school. The lessons that guided me to live rightly came from my parents.
The first was that my father taught me never to rely on others. He said I must learn to stand on my own feet. From him, I first heard the concepts of “self-reliance” and “hard work.” My father was a simple man, and I have strived and continue to strive because I know that my life and the path I walk fulfill his dreams.
The second is that my mother taught me to pray and have unwavering faith in the Lord. The faith she instilled in me will guide me so I don’t lose my way. Though my parents’ lives were imperfect, they showed me the path to success and salvation.
One thing I learned from both of them is the culture of reading. My father loved to read—two newspapers a day. Even though he never finished high school, my father was fluent in English. It was amusing; he spoke only in English whenever he got drunk. I used to get nosebleeds just listening to him, especially when he insisted I respond in English.
As for my mother, she loved magazines and comics. I often saw her reading books, especially since she continued her studies in college after we, her children, were grown. And every afternoon, after we prayed the rosary with my grandmother, my mother would serve as our tutor.
Thank you, Father… thank you, Mother, for everything. In heaven, may you carry with you the gratitude and love of your children and grandchildren.
You were extraordinary parents. I am deeply thankful to the Lord for choosing you to be my mother and father.
REMEMBERING MY DAD
I sorely miss the best dad in the world. My pop.
My dad was a clever, good-looking Batangueño with great humor. That’s the best way to describe him.
He was a merchant. He would buy different products (clothes, kitchen utensils, blankets, mosquito nets, etc.) from Divisoria and sell them in far-flung barrios (villages) in the provinces of Central and Northern Luzon. He would bring me along occasionally, especially during summertime. His capability to interact with people, make them laugh, and convince them to buy fascinated me. There were times when my father challenged me to initiate and close deals. I tried so hard to copy his excellent business acumen.
Aside from teaching me how to communicate with customers, my dad also impressed upon me when I accompanied him in his business sorties the values of hard work and patience. We sweated, huffed, and puffed as we carried the products he was selling and walked together through muddy rice paddies to reach the homes of potential customers in places that the vehicle he hired could not reach. This was how I realized that whatever we want in life will not be served on a silver platter.
My dad was the reason why I developed a fondness for reading. He was a voracious reader. He would read three newspapers daily – Bulletin Today (now Manila Bulletin), Tempo, and Balita. He did not spend a day in high school but was so good at English. He was my first English teacher.
He was also why I included “teaching overseas” among my career options. In the late 1990s, when I informed my dad that I was about to complete my Master’s, he asked, “How much would your additional degree add to your monthly salary?” I gave him a rough estimate of my monthly pay should I get that graduate degree. He shook his head and told me that my cousins (and the husband of a cousin) who have no Master’s but are working as seamen are receiving salaries three (3) to five (5) times higher than mine.
My dad, due to circumstances beyond his control when he was young, could not get a college diploma. But he valued education. He was the one who pushed (and helped) me to get a college diploma.
He was also why I included “teaching overseas” among my career options. One night in the late 1990s, when my dad visited me in my flat, I informed him that I was about to complete my Master’s; he asked, “How much would your additional degree add to your monthly salary?” I gave him a rough estimate of my monthly pay should I get that graduate degree. He shook his head and told me that my cousins (and the husband of a cousin) who have no Master’s but are working as seamen are receiving salaries three (3) to five (5) times higher than mine.
My dad did not underestimate the degree I was about to earn. He merely challenged me to maximize the returns of whatever degrees I earned. That night, I revisited my career path and included ESL teaching abroad as an option.
My coming here to South Korea to teach was not an overnight decision; it was part of a plan that my dad influenced.
I love you, Dad!
Having and Losing Mark Andrei
(THIS IS A TRUE STORY)
“Life is like a roller coaster ride.” I couldn’t agree more to whoever said that.
Yesterday, you saw people beaming with so much happiness laughing so contagiously and shaking hands or exchanging high fives with everybody around them. Today, the same people maybe crying a river in a desolate room smarting from the pains inflicted by something or someone. Tomorrow, what will it be? Nobody knows! They would have licked their emotional wounds and will emerge from that desolate room, learn to smile again and gradually laugh their way out of whatever bad experiences they had. If not, then we could surmise that they may have decided to stay in the shell of their grief and to plummet deeper in the unfathomable depths of despair.
Perhaps everything may depend on whatever twists and turns that were laid down by the grand designer of the tracks where our personal roller coasters run. We may desire all that we want to alter the course of our roller coasters and wriggle out of the undesirable whirls in the switchbacking tracks. But that’s impossible.
Eventually at a certain age, whether we like it or not, we begin to take control of our lives. That’s when the ride starts. Choose a car in the coaster train. There’s no turning back. All that we can do is to make sure that we’re buckled up. Expect the turns, ups and downs. Be ready to be twizzled and twined. Accept that you could not avoid the spirals and the slammers.
Generally, the way my roller coaster zipped through the tracks have both enthralled and frightened me. There were times, when I was younger, that I wished the joy I was experiencing wouldn’t end. There were moments also when I thought I would not be able to wiggle out of the depths of despair and sadness but my faith in God (that I believe exists) and my unwillingness to succumb to challenges kept me afloat.
One of the most difficult parts of my journey in the tracks happened a few days ago. (I wrote this in 2009, just two weeks after IT happened.) Those days in my life were both exciting and frightening. Perhaps that stage of my ongoing roller coaster ride – that chapter in my life – could have been the most emotionally draining and exhilaratingly suspenseful.
It happened when an angel dropped from the clouds and gave me the privilege of becoming his father (and my wife his mother) for seven days. That’s right – seven days only. I wanted it longer. But from up there in the roller coaster tracks where my car was (and up there I felt enormous joy). I was pulled down. That was a very steep slope. Then I felt passing through a twist and a turn and when my roller coaster made a sudden stop – the angel was gone.
What happened in those seven days?
Let me share what happened in each day.
Day 1: https://madligaya.com/2013/03/19/father-son-for-just-seven-days-1st-of-7-parts/
Day 2: https://madligaya.com/2013/03/22/father-son-for-just-seven-days-2nd-of-7-parts/
Day 3: https://madligaya.com/2013/03/23/father-son-for-seven-days-3rd-of-7-parts/
Day 4: https://madligaya.com/2013/03/28/father-son-for-seven-days-4th-of-7-parts/
Day 5: https://madligaya.com/2013/03/31/father-son-for-seven-days-5th-of-7-parts/
Day 6: https://madligaya.com/2013/04/03/father-son-for-seven-days-6th-of-7-parts/
Day 7: https://madligaya.com/2013/04/04/father-son-for-seven-days-last-of-7-parts/
Father, Mother & Son…for just seven days (6th of 7 parts)
DAY 6 (Sunday)
I attended mass by my lonesome. My wife had to stay home with Marc Andrei. The horizon looked gloomy, we were again facing uncertainties. My emotional rollercoaster have made a sudden stop at a certain angle in a spin not knowing if when its journey resumes I would be pulled up or rolled down.
I have discussed with my wife the previous night what might happen if it is true that Marc Andrei’s mom is that woman residing two houses away from us.
The family of that woman is known for their scheming ways. I should know, we live in the same neighborhood. With that, I could not afford to make it appear on paper that we are the real parents of Marc Andrei as suggested by the midwife in the lying-in clinic. I became afraid that in the future that may be used against us. How would Marc Andrei feel when finally we need to tell him of his being an adopted son and that his real mother lives only nearby? What emotional wound that would create in him. What about if seeing daily Marc Andrei just around the corner the real mother would develop fondness of the child then later on would demand that he be returned to her? Who would the court favor in case a case will be filed?
At the end of our conversation the previous night, my wife just said that not under any circumstances that she would surrender Marc Andrei to anyone – that she is comfortable coexisting with the real mother in the same neighborhood – that as Marc Andrei grows up she would constantly watch him and keep him out of the real mother’s reach.
As I waited for the mass to start, I recalled what transpired that Wednesday night when we went to the lying-in clinic. The midwife suggested that we would make it appear in the registration that we are the real parents of Marc Andrei. That she suggested because according to her, the real mother was apparently not willing to have herself appear on paper as Marc Andrei’s mother. Additionally, the real mother would not like to put her name on the dotted lines of any documents. The midwife said that even a simple deposition indicating that she was voluntarily giving us Marc Andrei could not be issued by the supposed “19-year old student” who gave birth to our son.
We consented with such a wrong scheme they perpetuated for we were so blinded with our longing for a baby, and for Marc Andrei’s sake.
Then I also recalled how vehemently she refused to help us in registering Marc Andrei because she did not intend to make it appear in the paper that it was in her lying-in clinic where the baby was born. It appeared to me that she did not like her name to appear in any document that will be created out of that scheme she herself was perpetuating.
Good that my wife’s cousin, who was with us when we went to the lying-in clinic that Wednesday night is also a midwife. For Marc Andrei’s sake, she volunteered to help in the registration and make herself appear as the one who assisted in our son’s birth.
I entered the church’s chapel of the saints and prayed to the Divine Mercy as I would always do after a Sunday mass. I fervently prayed for whatever is best for Marc Andrei – that may the truth come out – that may He guide me in the decision that I’ll have to make in case it is true that the real mother of Marc Andrei is that woman in our neighborhood. I resolved that the next decision we make about Andrei would come from me.
Before heading home I visited ate Claire, the midwife-cousin of my wife who’s a colleague and relative of the midwife who owns the lying-in clinic where Marc Andrei was born. I told her about the rumor circulating – that the real mother of our son was our neighbor which she happens to know also. Ate Claire could not believe what she heard. She promised to talk to the midwife.
When I returned home, I carried Marc Andrei while feeding him. On the daybed, I sat beside my wife who was blankly staring at the figure of angels she cross-stitched which was mounted on the wall. She took away Marc Andrei from my arms and warned me about giving up our son.
At around 4:00 P.M., the lay ministers my mother-in-law invited for Marc Andrei’s prebaptismal rite came. With two in-laws serving as god parents, our son was dedicated to the Lord. We planned to have the official baptismal of our son on December 5th, my wife’s birthday.
We did everything that we planned for Marc Andrei. Notwithstanding the specter of losing him again perilously hanging overhead like Damocle’s sword, we continued to essay passionately the role of parents.
Then night came. ate Claire arrived and broke to us the bad news rather gently. The midwife divulged to her that the mother of Marc Andrei is not a 19-year old student from Manila but that woman in our neighborhood. The story was concocted in cahoots with ate Baby and the grandmother of Marc Andrei – that ate Baby was there when Marc Andrei was born – that Marc Andrei was intended not to be kept by the family because it would create some undesirable complications for the mother and the family in general – that indeed, I and my wife were victims of a grand deception.
My emotional rollercoaster started to move again, yes in a downward sharp spiral. My wife cried while clutching Marc Andrei. She kept kissing our son while saying repeatedly “It’s not true.” I cried too. I tried to console my wife by running gently my hand in her back.
Then I recalled the person who said I must TRUST her… ate BABY.
Father, Mother & Son…for just seven days (5th of 7 parts)
DAY 5 (Saturday)
My car was right on top rollercoaster track and I know that soon, after a twist, or a bend, or a spin then down again I’ll go. But while my emotional rollercoaster was traversing a plane at the pinnacle I tried to enjoy the ride.
In the wee hours of Saturday morning, I took care of Marc Andrei, I allowed my wife to have a well-deserved sleep. It was a crash course I took up that time – Babysitting 101. I put milk on a dispenser reading carefully the instructions in the can (from the original milk given by ate Baby we decided to buy a better infant formula – SIMILAC – that was prescribed by the Pediatrician who checked Marc Andrei that day). I happily attended to Mark Andrei’s need that night. I hummed softly to his ears songs to put him to sleep (I think he liked best the “hummed” version of “NOBODY”). I clutched him gently in my arms whenever he would not stop crying. But when I felt that Marc Andrei’s back was wet, I was forced to wake my wife up to change our son’s diaper. Well, I have not tried changing Marc Andrei’s diaper yet, so I paid attention to what my wife was doing at that time because I wanted to do the honor of changing Marc Andrei’s diaper the next time around.
My wife went back to sleep, she had not had a good one in the past days, I followed shortly thereafter when I was sure that Marc Andrei was safe, secured, and comfortable.
I didn’t get much sleep that day but I worked all day inspired. There were no classes but I went to school to finish paperwork that piled up in the past three days. With so much enthusiasm, I recounted to some colleagues who were also in school our experiences the past days.
Then night came. While Marc Andrei was deep in slumber in the daybed, I and my wife had dinner. She was obviously perturbed, she was seemingly not minding what I was telling her about my plans regarding Marc Andrei’s papers. I sensed trouble. I was afraid my rollercoaster would soon hit another spin, another twist, another treacherous dive. I just hoped that it would not be so trenchant a fall that could throw me off my car in the rollercoaster.
After dinner, we sat separately at both ends of the daybed, March Andrei was between us.
Then I asked my wife to drop whatever bomb she wished to explode.
What she told me left me dumbfounded.
My wife told me that the mother of Marc Andrei is not a 19-year old student from Manila but rather a woman from Bulacan. And of all places, the mother is from our own community, right in the neighborhood where we are residing, and living just two houses away from us.
Down went my car in my emotional rollercoaster. How I had wished I was just dreaming at that point.
My wife told me that it was whispered to her by very reliable sources – by well-meaning people who thought we deserve to know the truth. But ate Baby is a woman not capable of DECEPTION. I know I could TRUST her. Like my mom, who was born in Lal-lo, Cagayan, ate Baby is an Ilocana. We would normally speak in Ilocano when there were no other people with us who could not understand the said dialect. We are both officers of our homeowners’ association, I was the President and she was the Vice-President. I had to give her the benefit of the doubt. I believe that she perfectly understood what I told her that Tuesday night when we had a serious talk about Marc Andrei.
But just the same, I have to act on the matter divulged by my wife. After dinner, I started piecing together things said by my wife and the information I gathered clandestinely from our neighbors, especially those who were residing nearest to the reported real mother of Marc Andrei. Then I talked to ate Susie, my confidante in our neighborhood, who, like me, can speak both Ilocano and Ibanag.
Ate Susie could not believe what she heard. She doubted that ate Babe would deceive me and my wife in that manner. I asked ate Susie (and she agreed) to drop by ate Baby’s house and see how the latter would react if she would tell her that we are again thinking of returning to her Marc Andrei because we already know who the real mother is.
Notwithstanding the situation that emerged, our love for Marc Andrei remained. My wife and I talked about all possible eventualities. She made it so clear to me that even if the real mother lives just nearby, she wouldn’t mine. Marc Andrei is hers and nobody could take him away from her.
Then at almost midnight, I received a text message from ate Susie saying that ate Baby denied knowing who the mother of Marc Andrei is.
Father, Mother & Son…for just seven days (4th of 7 parts)
DAY 4 (Friday)
From the last hour of the previous day up to the first minutes of the following, my wife constantly bugged me about getting Marc Andrei back. She pleaded repeatedly but I did not budge. Then my rollercoaster hit another spin, the fickle-minded lady of my house asked me to accompany her to get Marc Andrei back from ate Baby. Then I looked at her and saw the sincerity of her intentions. I got excited at the prospect of getting my son back, I felt my emotional rollercoaster slowly climbing up. But again the tracks upon which my rollercoaster runs is so unpredictable, I may just pass through another twist then suddenly from up, I will again be brought down.
I wanted to make sure of how my wife was really feeling at that time. She probably was just conscience-stricken. She probably was thinking about what I said that things will never be the same between us after what happened. Or it could be a combination of both. Whatever were her reasons, I didn’t really care. What’s important for me was the prospect of Marc Andrei returning to us.
My few minutes of contemplation resulted to a plan. I thought of testing the resolve of my wife in getting our son back. Then I told her that if she really wanted to be a mother to Marc Andrei once again, she should go by herself to ate Baby and convince her to give the baby back to us.
It was actually a tall order for her to do that. I know my lady so well, she has a lot of good qualities but she would never swallow her pride. She would never undo things she has done.
Then I tricked her when I said that before I left ate Baby’s residence, there was a couple who came to take a look at Marc Andrei. It was a lie that I had to say to put pressure on my wife in case she was really intending to get Marc Andrei back.
She went out of our bedroom immediately after hearing that. I was not sure where she was going. I did not bother to check. I just heard the creaking sound of our front door downstairs. I presumed that she either went out, cast her pride aside and proceeded to ate Baby’s house and get Marc Andrei back. Or she’s just seated in our terrace getting a whiff of fresh air.
I don’t know how long she was out, but I felt it was an eternity. But as always, I believe that people get rewarded for their patience. I didn’t mind waiting for long. I didn’t mind if it was a jiffy or an eon that passed by. What’s important was the next scene that I saw in the silver screen of my life was a MOTHER tenderly caressing a BABY.
After a few more minutes, my wife, her eyes like a well of tears, entered our bedroom, lovingly clutching Marc Andrei. She sat by my side, still embracing our son, and sobbed unabashedly and repeatedly asked him for forgiveness.
Another spin, another twist, my car in the rollercoaster then climbed up again reaching perhaps the top of the tracks. Never have I felt so ecstatic. But I did not let her notice it, I pretended to be indifferent. I really had my reservations, I know I have married and loved one fickle-minded soul. What I could be witnessing was just a flash in the pan. But it was not.
MOTHERHOOD became my wife in the first hours of that Friday. Marc Andrei kept crying that time, not unlike during his first night with us when he would only be waking us up when hungry. My wife didn’t put down Mark Andrei on the bed, she just let him stay in her loving lap from the wee hours of that Friday morning up to time that light slowly took over from the darkness of the previous night.
My wife didn’t know that each time Marc Andrei would cry I would be jolted from sleep but pretended to be asleep, I intentionally let her do everything for Marc Andrei that night, I made her feel how difficult it is to become a MOTHER and see if the following day she would give up our baby for good – keeping of course my fingers crossed that she would not.
Each time I would wake up during those wee hours of that Friday morning, what a sight I would behold – a mother lovingly taking care of her baby. My wife didn’t know that I heard her talk to Marc Andrei saying how sorry she was for her briefly giving him up. My wife also mentioned that she knew that the reason Marc Andrei was crying was because he felt unloved. She asked our baby for forgiveness and for a chance to prove that she could be a good MOTHER to him.
Then again at work, that day, I resumed on bragging that I have a son. Some were scratching their heads saying, “How is that? One day you have a son, the following day you lost him, then the day after you have him again.” One of them even naughtily quipped, “What about tomorrow?” That made me pause for a while and contemplate. What if tomorrow I lose my baby again?
When I went home that Friday night, there again was Marc Andrei, soundly asleep in the daybed. My wife, smiling, was seated nearby. It was a scene I thought I would no longer see again. I knelt and reached for Marc Andrei’s cheek and there planted a kiss. Lo and behold, his skin turned crimson again, he opened his eyes and let out a brief shriek as if acknowledging my presence.
My emotional rollercoaster stayed at the topmost portion of the track and brought me to the depths of ecstasy again. It was a wonderful night, I and my wife avoided talking about events of the previous day, we just laid out plans for Marc Andrei. Our son had a peaceful sleep waking us up only once for a milk.
At one point when I prepared his milk, I looked at him and whispered to myself, “Will my son be mine for good?”
Father, Mother & Son… for just seven days (3rd of 7 parts)
Day 3 (Thursday)
The joyful ride from Tuesday to most part of Wednesday abruptly ended when the lady of my house was ready to give up her one-day old motherhood. My heart bled for Marc Andrei.
He was born into this world that fateful Monday night (11:04 PM), but abandoned by the mother. Presented to me at around 8:00 AM that Tuesday, but I initially rejected him for I needed time to decide. Deprived of privacy and much-needed rest necessary for a newly-born infant when made like the object of a carnival-like spectacle. Scrutinized by the entire neighborhood whose desire for something to gossip about is unbelievably insatiable. Taken by the lady of my house. (I was not sure of her reason – she craved so much to be a mother or she was just afraid someone else would take away Marc Andrei). Briefly found a home and the warmth of loving parents but not yet totally shielded from the prying eyes of the people in the neighborhood. And when he was starting to settle down in an abode where he felt he was welcome, suddenly, one fickle-minded spirit would again thrust him back to the limbo of uncertainty.
Marc Andrei! What a beautiful and wonderful being. Truly an angel, but unwanted. Marc Andrei did nothing wrong to deserve the kind of treatment he was getting. But what can I do, I can’t be the mother and the father at the same time. I need to work, I can only take care of him at night. I thought of bringing him to my father’s hometown but it was not as simple as I initially thought it would be. I even thought of hiring a nanny and get for her and Mark Andrei a place to live.
And so, my emotional rollercoaster plummeted so fast in the tracks. On its way down it wriggled through treacherous dips and spins. From the lake of tremendous joy, I was submerged again in the quicksand of sadness and despair.
With a heavy heart, I dialed the number of ate Baby that Thursday and told her about the bad news. Still, I would like to shield the lady of my house from the harsh criticism she may be receiving should people know about her decision. Thus, I told sister Babe that just in case people in our neighborhood would ask, let it be known that it was me who made the decision.
As always, I prayed that may the best thing happen to Marc Andrei that day.
My wife called up when I was in my workplace and asked what time would ate Baby be coming to get Marc Andrei. I told her around noontime.
If in the previous day I was ecstatic telling everyone in the workplace that I have a new son, that time I just stayed glued in my seat in the office and contemplated. Then I got my phone and uploaded the pictures of Marc Andrei to my desktop computer. I had his first picture as my screen saver. It was a sight to behold but looking at it was a bad idea for it made me feel sadder.
I received several text messages from my wife that day. She tried so hard to explain her side. I decided to respond just once telling her that if indeed she was hell-bent on giving up on Marc Andrei, then she must make sure that I would no longer see our son when I arrive home. Then I turned my phone off after saying that.
I talked to a couple of trusted friends and told them about the situation. I really didn’t like to do that for it was like making my wife look bad. But I had no choice.
I was supposed to be home by 5:00 PM. But how would I feel in a “Marc Andrei-less home” and seeing there the fickle-minded spirit that caused his disappearance. At around 6:30 that afternoon, I walked towards the center of the town. Luckily, I chanced upon old friends in a food stall. I begged that they accompany me at least for an hour and listen to what I had to say. They did so.
They said it was time to drink. So, I ordered, not wine, but soft drinks and some finger foods.
They did nothing but listen. I recounted to them the events in my life the past days, as silent tears were rolling down my cheeks. Good, it was dark in the place where we were so they may have not noticed it. But my cracking voice could not hide my sadness and disappointment.
I thanked them for bearing with me. They wished me the best and after they delivered that oft-repeated phrase said too people burdened with problems – “We’ll pray for you!” – we parted ways.
I was home before 8:00 P.M. anticipating the worst that may come that night.
Marc Andrei was still there, sleeping soundly in the daybed, the same place where I saw him first when I arrived home Tuesday afternoon. My wife explained that ate Baby came that morning but she was out of the house and has not returned since then. Thus, our baby was still there. I did not say a word to her, I did not even kiss her as I usually would upon arrival from work.
I gave ate Baby a call and she arrived 10 minutes later. We had a brief chat. I set the “damage control scheme.” I told her to say whenever asked that we needed to return Marc Andrei because we have an obligation to take another baby who we were really eyeing for adoption, that it was I who decided to let go of Marc Andrei, not the lady of my house. Like a knight, I must protect my fickle-minded damsel in distress.
My wife cried profusely when ate Baby carried Marc Andrei out of our house. Was it love or guilt? I was not sure. I accompanied ate Baby back to their house. I stayed there for an hour. I told her that it was the most painful thing that my wife did to me, it was simply unforgivable. Ate Baby told me to understand my wife but I said I have forgiven her many times for the pains she caused me (the way she forgave me also in the past for all my wrongdoings) but this one is different, this one is hard to forget and that I may not be able to forgive her for it.
When I got back home, my wife was crying. She asked for forgiveness and understanding. I saw guilt written all over her face. I just nodded and told her that from that night onwards, a lot of changes might happen.
I went to our bedroom and contemplated about the things that I needed to do. The worst plan I cooked up was to leave the house the following day.
When she entered our bedroom, to my surprise and amazement she asked me to go back to ate Baby and get Marc Andrei back. What I heard did not make me happy but rather annoyed. Angrily that I told her that Marc Andrei is not a toy that you throw away then pick him back up when you realized you still want to use him.
Not five, not ten, but more than twenty times that she pleaded that we take Marc Andrei back. I did not say a word anymore, I just responded by shaking my head.
M.A.D. LIGAYA
M.A.D. L I G A Y A 