I woke up one day to a soft dewy morning,
Looking up at a chestnut tree,
In a house on a hill.
This is my chestnut dream,
The house of my future,
The house of my dreams.
Whereas
I now sleep in a country house,
I used to come from a simple edifice,
A thatched hut
With uneven columns.
A basic house,
With pillars of strength,
Its foundation can support even a superstructure.
I used to live in a simple edifice
A primitive hut
With a gargoyled spout,
Its grotesquely carved figure
Attached to walls of dried mud,
It’s a simple house that does not stand out
Except when it rears its ugly head.
This is the house of my past, my family,
The house of my stories,
The house of my daydreams,
Where I used to wake up some days to a soft dewy morning
Looking up at a chestnut tree,
In a house on a hill.
Pillar of Strength IMy mama is a martyr
A strong independent woman
Borne out of the bosom of poverty
Embraced by love
Hardened by her trials
Caressed by God.
She is not the soft clay you pound on, hit, wedge or pug,
But the kiln from which formed clay is fired
Molded by years of experience.
Day in and out,
Relentlessly, without abate,
She is tousled, beaten, scoured
Only to come out with character
Well worth the effort that God put her through.
“Where is your brother,” she would wake up after dozing off
in front of the TV, her body spent from working from 5 AM,
toiling away at her canteen, doing the marketing, menu planning,
the PR, the accounting, so she can send us to school.
“What time is it?” startled, at other times she would say
as soon as she opened her eyes,
and closed her open-hanged mouth,
not really demanding an answer
Then she would transfer from the couch to her bed,
sleeping alone, with her languid thoughts,
her worries, about bills,bills, bills
and her special child.
It’s only now that I wonder
What a pillar of strength she is
Forgetting about her own self
She is a mother, a daughter, a friend, a boss, a neighbor,
A guidance counselor, a sister, a servant, a prayer warrior, a healer.
never the wife,until recently.
Bearing the family burden of raising the kids,
Managing the household, keeping a profitable coop.
She must have felt lonely,
With a queen bed all to herself, I realize now,
never the queen, always the servant.
She would feed us, clothe us, entertain us,
Educate us, hug us, kiss us.
She was seldom angry but always busy, always tired.
“When you don’t have anyone else to hold on to,
you learn to talk to God as you would to a friend.
Go ahead, talk to him,”She told me once when I began to hit some snags.
She prayed at dawn, prayed towards the sun, prayed for everyone.
She worshipped, she danced, she forgave a thousand times,
Then she would be off to work.
But not after fixing our breakfast,
our allowance on the dining table,
our tuition ready.
She is the pillar of our home--
She kept it together
In spite the distance from her husband
Who worked in a foreign land most throughout their marriage.
She never wavered in believing he did not cheat, or lie.
She never succumbed to temptation beguiling at her feet during her 30s, her 40s.
Her husband toiled away, sending money for school
While he waited for his naturalization,
she danced, she bowled, she prayed,
She was busy, she had her life.
She kept us together.
She kept the love alive within her family, within her marriage.
She was a buttress of the cause of love, of the cause of family.
“Mama, how often should we forgive? It’s too hurtful and I’m tired..,” I told her one night when the cloud of dread swept over our house
like a smoke in a fire.
The smoke started to engulf everyone,
and its smell permeated all the tiny corners of our simple house.
It reeked, it smelled, it destroyed.
It wreaked havoc in its way, and almost robbed us of sanity.
It chipped away at our foundation, shaking us to the core. Even her.
She lost weight and her eyes, they grew sad.
The vibrant young woman I knew, one day turned old.
A warrior in the midst of a battle,
She grew weary but she never gave up.
“We must forgive seventy seven times seven times, “And with that, almost everyone turned their backs on her,
Including me, for what she was asking was too much.
We are, after all, only human.
She forgave my father for retiring too early,
Leaving all responsibilities to her.
She forgave his outbursts,
his uncontrollable anger, coming in staccatos,
A hurricane in a path of destruction
Leaving the wind knocked out of everyone.
But in one instant she could forgive,
Knowing he was once a baby, left alone in his crib,
Crying his heart out in hunger and loneliness
While his mother eked out a living.
She loved him enough to put up with him,
A simple minded man who had simple dreams and means.
She easily forgave,
and told me, to learn to forget .
She often asked for signs, and she acted out her ways.
No one believed her when she uttered her prayers
“That all my kids will finish college, “ she swore she would, and she did.
Even our brother, who was a drug addict.
Dear God, please don’t take her yet.
I have so much to learn from her.
Let me love her; let me help her, let me serve her.
My mama is a martyr
A strong independent woman
Borne out of the bosom of poverty
Embraced by love
Hardened by her trials
Caressed by God.
Pillar of Strength IIMy father, the provider.
He always went away, to the Middle East, to colonized islands,
Chasing after the green dollar, a greener pasture, the American dream.
He was never at any of my graduations, from kinder to college.
But I remember his gifts, he would ask us what we wanted, and he would deliver.
He remembered and he would always send them in giant boxes,
enough for me and my sister to slip into.
He would send bars of chocolates thicker than my arms
A Barbie doll for my sister
A Samsonite attaché case for me
(Which was just what I wanted),
A baby piano for Christmas
A train set with tracks
My father, the provider
I never knew how to kiss him,
Relate to him or respect him.
I never had to.
Until he came home,
Bloated from a fishing incident, and
With rheumatism gnawing at his joints and tips,
My father, the provider
Ceased to be.
I remember the year, it was 1998.
And I overheard him say
“I can’t work anymore, I am sick.”To this day I recall how it made me feel,
Put a knot in my stomach, was unable to breathe,
Time stopped for a moment, before it hit me.
I am, now, the provider.
For years it took a lot of struggle to accept this.
I was young, I should enjoy life, have boyfriends, be normal.
But I am now, the provider.
It took me years, but the sooner I accepted my fate,
The easier it became.
I worked, I struggled, I enjoyed life, and I traveled.
I provided, but anger did not overcome me- I still loved our home.
Because my father was still the provider.
He cooked hearty meals and no one went hungry, or remained tired for long.
He showed his love and affection through a plateful of pasta,
He batted out I’m sorrys by whipping out adobo even if no one wanted to eat.
He knocked on our doors to call out breakfast, lunch, dinner, merienda.
He banged if you did not open at once.
When I worked in Japan, it was his recipes I asked for, not my mama’s.
And even when I moved to my own place,
He still managed to send his cooking, a package full of his love.
His food was warm, his love, sincere.
My father, a simple guy with simple dreams
His giant heart housed both his anger, and his love.
My father is still, our provider.
Little PillarLittle boy, innocent one,
You’re almost like my son,
Little boy, angel boy,
I guess you never grow up in my eyes.
Little boy? You’re 18 now.
It only seemed like yesterday
When you were born
When you took your first steps.
Little one, our beloved one,
Unlike us, you didn’t enjoy papa’s gifts,
And instead you’re left alone in the empty nest,
Left in his wrath, with tears in your eyes.
Our little one, now taller than the rest,
How can you be so happy
Without the same privileges as our childhood
Oh but little boy, you are the luckiest—
For you were the only one
Who grew up with both a father and a mother
And two elder sisters.
Oh little boy, innocent one,
You’re almost like my son.
Lost PillarMy brother, my life
How does one light a candle--
When the wick is short
And the wind continues to blow in its direction?
How does one love a lost soul--
Who lies, steals, and cheats
From the only ones left loving him?
He is vulnerable, weak; a misguided soul.
We prayed for him, talked to him, cajoled,
challenged, supported him, berated him.
We gave him jobs, sent him to interviews,
Gave him thousands of money
To learn to fish,
To become a productive member of society.
But his choices erred-
landed him once an overnight stay in jail,
Once again, to be rescued.
How does one rise up after many falls?
When the knee is bruised and the spirit is crushed?
How does one look forward to a day
When everything will be all right,
And the world will see you in a different light?
How does one start again?
My brother, life does not work out the way you see it,
It is full of struggle, full of strife,
But these shape your character,
We work to make our lives better
It does not just happen,
Every day is a chance, a do over.
Little by little, this is how we do it.
My brother, how does one teach
Someone who doesn’t want to learn?
Maybe it is time to let go
Of my brother, my life.
The Normal PillarMy sister, my only sister
Always just cruising along
With a childhood of normalcy,
She grew up steadfast and strong.
My sister, how I envy my sister
She is the sheep, I’m the tiger
She’s taller, and wiser
She’s leaner, and kinder.
My sister, my wise younger sister
She scrimped like an old woman
Borrowed my clothes but bought new shoes
We had the same dress size, but her feet were a size 8.
My sister is a generous sister
With nary a problem, she saved up
In times of need, she opens up her palm.
Always ready to give what she can.
My sister, how different you and I are
She’s a brand new car in this life
Ready to be taken off the road
To a runway, a life of bliss.
I am happy for her;
She grew up steadfast and strong
My sister, oh how I envy, my only sister.
The Elder PillarAnd so this is how I came to be
The elder sister, the single head of the family
The one who blows hot and cold
The one who loves with a passion.
And so face to face, I look at me
I see my mother, my pillar of strength
She’s the warrior in me-
The resilient, hardworking, give-it-all me.
She is the strong woman in me
The one who never gives up, especially with the ones we love.
She is the fighter in me,
When all the others have given up.
She is the man in me
The provider, the father, the exorbitant shopper
When there’s no one else to take care of us,
She taught me what to do, I take care of me.
Yet I see my reflection in my father’s face
It is the same shape; we have the same mole,
A little bit of his temperament, it sometimes surfaces
Yes, I am my father’s daughter.
That same face, that gargoyled head
Blood to blood, this too, was passed.
For I am intense, and sometimes, rather blunt,
I blow cold, and I blow hot.
That same face, that child-like gaze,
That is my father in me.
We laugh, we dance and we don’t care,
Little kids are quite taken by us.
He is the provider; he does what he can,
He tried his best, and expected more from his clan
There were no words of wisdom, no secret talks
That’s the entire package-take it good, better, worse or worst.
I have learned to accept, and forgive their shortcomings
After all, they tried to make this life better, they believed they could .
It is only in accepting them, I learned, that I can be a better woman.
True wisdom, yes, it too, came from them.
And so this is how it came to be
This is how I came to be me.
Flawed, but surviving,
Reaching out to explore my being,
A twig, out there in the sun, exposed, but thriving.
My pillars of strength,
Our gargoyled head
Our resilient spirit,
Our hope, our faith.
This is how I came to be, this is how I am me.
EpilogueThis is our story, this is our past
A pageful of saga, of journeys never before told
It leaps in my memories, some scenes jutting out in vivid clarity
This journey of creativity has unleashed emotional scars.
This is our story, our typical house
Our house with uneven columns
A resilient mother, a simple father
A broken brother, normal sister
This is our past, this is our history
Our house with uneven columns
Simple or small, or tall and strong
Pillars of strength, we all are to each other.
This is our story, this is our past
Who knows what lies ahead?
A brighter future, a bigger house?
Where one day, all of us together,
Can wake up to a soft dewy morning,
Looking up at a chestnut tree,
In a house on a hill.
