Accents
A daughter remembers…
(I yield my space to May Wan Dominado, daughter of Luisa Posa-Dominado who was abducted, along with Nilo Arado, on April 12, 2007 in Cabanbanan, Oton, Iloilo, by elements still unknown. Unedited, this piece speaks of shared joy, laughter, and tears, and idealism, too, that a mother had sown in a young mind. A daughter remembers them all…as we, friends and relatives of Luisa and Nilo, remember their unrealized hopes and uncompromising principles— even as we cling to the hope that they still have the breath of life in them and have survived the long list of Desaparecidos under the administration of one Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo.)
I love talking and hearing stories aboutNanay. She has such an exciting life full of adventuresthat seem to come straight out ofa fiction novel. The time she escaped through the roof of theirstockade cell, repeating the same feat a few years later with a different set of cellmates. The time she gave birth while a platoon of soldiers were looking forher and even burned the paltera's hair.The time she escaped, was caught, gave a false name and had to deny her own grandmother.But when I think of her, I usually remember boring stuff, times we spent talking and eating, watching movies, doing something together, memories that would mean nothing to anyone besides me. Before listening to what my sister has written, please allow me to share some of these memories, so that you may have an idea how she is asa Nanay and how much we miss her.
Nanay is a teacher. Besides her Education degree, she hassufficient training with my cousins who visitedher makeshift day care center in jail. When one of my cousins faileda subject in high school, she marched to the teacher and scolded her, saying that thered numberwas not a bad mark upon the studentbutspeaks instead of the teacher's inadequacy. When I myself get into trouble in school or get a failing grade, I had to hold her back and give her a stern lecture about how she should trust me tohandlemy own problems. Although of course, the first word I scream when in pain is her name.
My mother is not a skilled cook. All I remember of her culinaryrepertoireis burnt rice and one perfect lunch a long long time ago when she fried the chicken very well. But maybe I learned from her all the practical knowledge I really do need. She did taught me about the solar system, first aid, bank transactions, grocery shopping and marketing tips,water conservation, how to clean the sewers without dirtying your hands, how to collect candle wax in a ball and use it to polish the floor of the jail cell, how to mend a broken friendship with pinipig ice cream, how to crochet, how to wrap your hair with a towel so it won't fall off your head, how to be stubborn and righteous, how to know your self-worth andnotseek the constant approval of others...the list is endless.
In high school, my classmates refused torepresent our section attheLakan at Lakambini ng Hayskul contest. When asked, I said that I would be willing to "sacrifice my dignity"if my parents would allow me.Of course, I was confident that I already know their decision. And indeed,Nanay did not only refuse to give her permission, she also had the audacity to suggest to our class president the criteria of the ideal but non-existent contest she would have me join instead, a list that did not include beauty but onlyintelligence and hardwork. With that in mind,I sometimes could not help but think that my own mother thinks I look horrendous. She has jokingly told me and my sister that it's too bad one of her daughters is ugly, but she would not tell us which one.
When I was an only child and a brat spoiled by affluent relatives, my mother scolded me each and every day, or so I feel, due to my snobbish behavior and extravagant habits. She told me how people worked hard for each grain of rice I put in my mouth or negligentlyscatter on the floor or the table. Being unused to life in jail and to daily chores and to not doing everything one wants, I got mad at her for being mad at me. She thenexplained tome that people only scoldthose that they love and care for because they want their loved ones to be better persons and have better lives etc. etc.Now, years later, remembering this, I amentirely secure in the knowledge thatI am theperson that Nanay loves most in the whole wide world.
In my entire life,I only knowof 3 occasions when Nanay was reduced to tears. The first one was when a dangerous fire was raging a few houses away from ours and my sister who was a toddler at that time was left at our houseinthe care of her yaya. Nanay was crying with abandon in the jeepney and she ran the couple of blocks home. Then there wasthetime when I took my sister for a walk around our grandparents' subdivision and Nanay had no idea where we were for several hours. Shegave us an earful in Lola's bathroom and we were shocked when she suddenly sat on the toilet seat and burst into tears. The other time was when she lost our last baby sister or brother when Tamara was 3 years old. I cannot imagine how she cried when she miscarried the other 4 times before that.
Nanay was a mother not only to me and Tamara but also to my cousins and to all the people she has sheltered.Our home, our lives are filled with people who have felt abandoned and neglected, people suffering from nervous breakdown,youths who have run away from home, women who have been rapedor beaten or probably both, pregnant women approaching single motherhoodand even just imperfect people whoseem to irritate everybody else. I admit that Isometimes questionwhyit has to be my Nanay who needs to help everyone with their problems all of the time. But one time, she was telling me about a girl who has run away from home and was staying at our house, had a fight with her boyfriend outside the gate in full view and within hearing distance of all the neighbors,threatened to cut her hair and scared my aunt who thought she was trying to kill herself with the scissors. Nanay said that she only pitied the girl and wanted to hug her because all the girl really needed was a mother. When she told me this,I thoughthow lucky theworld is to have this woman who wants to help those who need it most. And lately I've been thinking how lucky I am to have the best Nanay in the whole world simply because she's mine.
It's been 2 years sinceNanay wasabducted and several times I have been sorely tempted to write down all these wonderful and not so wonderful memories with her, to list down all the movies we've seen together, to fill in pages of everything she has ever said to me, to us,every little thing, lest I forget any of it.Butwriting it all down gives it such permanence and carriesasense of finality.It seems tomanifestmy fear thatno more memories could be made, that we would never see her again, that I have given up hope...
However, I am hoping that in sharing this with you might make you see your ownmother clearly, all the small and seemingly insignificant things she does for you that you might not appreciate much now but would attain a degree of significance only when she is no longer there.
(Email: lagoc@hargray.com)