baby butatot.

I miss my mom.

The woman who sat beside me in the bus on my way home last night strangely reminded me of my mom. She didn’t look like my mom at all, save the teacher’s uniform and maybe if my mom is still alive, they’ll be about the same age. The only things that connected us were that we were both getting off at the same stop and that we were both equally spaced out.

And the way she smiled. It was the creases near the corner of her eyes that caught me for a few seconds before I was able to answer her question. She could have been my mom. She had a warm, sensitive smile that I would guess only mothers can give their daughters.

If my mom was here, she’ll let me cry the whole day. She’ll stroke my back and let me cry until i fall asleep. And when I wake up, she’ll be there, her eyes, just as puffy as mine. She wouldn’t tell me that things will be better soon enough… just that she’ll always be there. And I wouldn’t have any doubt that she will be. And it would have been enough.

She wouldn’t tell me that I was stupid to have let things happen the way they did, she’ll understand. And she’ll tell me stories of how I loved writing letters to her. How I always messed up her garden, but it was okay because she loves waking up with the cut flowers beside her bed. She’ll tell me how I drove her and my grandma crazy because I loved playing under the sun until my skin gets burned. And how I always come home with a collection of bugs, dragon flies, butterflies and spiders…. And how that drove my brother crazy.

She’ll tell me of that summer when I got myself so fat from eating dilis and Indian mango every afternoon under the mango tree, until I fall asleep on the “papag”. She’ll tell me how I loved to laugh and sing and write letters to everyone… how I hated playing patintero because I was too darn slow… how I almost never cried… and how I snore like a pig. We’ll laugh about them, then I’ll cry again, and she’ll hold me close and she’ll tell me to rest my heart... and i'll know that everything will be fine.