Murmurs of the Wind

The reason I didn’t like to be a lawyer was my poor memory. I was always overwhelmed by a lot of rules and a lot of do’s and don’ts at home and in school. Sometimes I thought it was alright to soil my white blouse because then mother would wash and bleach it to regain its pure whiteness. But then when I went home my mother would stop me by the door and let me face her with hands at my sides and my eyes directly looking at her distorted face.

“Now, now, now, what are you up to little lass? And to think that I have much, much work to do and looking at that white blouse of yours all smudged with mud; I think you are going to go to bed with some spanking on the buttocks.”

I didn’t mind the spanking but what touched my inner self was why on earth schools require white uniforms for children when it will be a cause of reprimanding, scolding and spankings. I myself couldn’t understand what all these white uniforms are all about. The only thing that comes to mind whenever I see girls wearing white blouse are the sharp words that came from my mother’s mouth. Mother often acted like Miss X who taught algebra to scared students in high school.

And yet when I grew older I was so thankful that my mother was strict and often scolded me; because then, I wouldn’t have become a teacher and a writer just like now writing about my childhood experiences with my dear mother. Mother always managed to touch the deepest chamber of my heart. Even at a young age, I always looked up to my mother as some model of everything good on this earth.

Alas, it was such an unfortunate world I had been through because when I was only fourteen and just starting to see the real world with my own eyes; my dear mother got seriously sick. It was a hard blow that came to me one Monday morning when I was just preparing with my elder sister to go to school and my Aunt Sally came in announcing that my poor mother was very sick and that she was seriously sick. I almost choked on the news and I stood not knowing what to do and not thinking anymore of going to school that day. But my elder sister nudged me at the side and held my cold hand. She said very, very softly, “Come, let’s go to school.”

I could still feel my tears welling up the corners of my eyes and my sister holding my hands and forcing me to step forward so that we can go out of the door and leave my Aunt Sally there.

My sister later told me that she didn’t like how my Aunt Sally broke the news to us. Perhaps my sister saw how badly hurt I was with the bad news and she was trying to pacify my hurt feelings. What’s wrong with my aunt telling us straight on our face that our mother is seriously sick?

Now I know why my sister said those words against my Aunt Sally. If I were her I would have said, “Look children, do not worry but I have to tell you that your mother is sick but is now recovering from the illness. You kids must not worry too much. Instead study hard and make good grades so that your mother will be very happy.”

Alas, to my saddest memories, it was as bad as that. And worst still when after a few days, the same Aunt Sally came barging to our door and announcing loudly that my mother is dead. Poor mother and poor me as well because when I heard the word “DEAD”, my heart almost collapsed and I ran outside the door and ran like a mad dog not thinking where I was going and just crying and running.

Are you wondering why I was running and I was alone? Of course I forgot to tell you that my sister was still in school and my whole family, except me and one elder sister, moved to another province to find a greener pasture as they say in those old, old days.

What could a fourteen year-old girl do when she is alone and the news came as a shocking eruption in her ears; not only in her ears but worse in her very tender heart?

I needed someone to embrace me that moment yet when I looked back I just saw my Aunt Sally looking at me. I wanted to get out and pour my sadness elsewhere or else I’d get insane. So I did, on my own, and when I reached the house of my grandmother- my mother’s mother- my grandmother was there sitting outside their house as if she knew that something untoward was going to happen that day.

She caught me and squeezed me tightly then cried with me. I was surprised yet my surprise was answered only with the sobs I heard from my grandmother.

After a few minutes and she stopped crying, she held my hands and led me inside the house. She knew all the way that my mother would be gone one of those days. She told me by saying, “I know that this will happen. I heard the news and I prayed to our Anitos (the spirits adored by the Igorots- a group of cultural minorities in the Philippines). “Sadly,” she continued, “We do not have control over a lot of things except our God.”

I nodded but I refused to accept the situation.

For a year, I haven’t seen my mother nor talked to her because in those early days of 1976, there were no telephones in most houses in the Philippines. News was spread through telegraphic transfer that was not easy to access. Letters took weeks even months before they were delivered to the recipient.

My grandmother, very understanding, caring and loving as she was kept me sane for a few minutes until I heard my sister’s voice and I felt alive again.

We went home with hands clutched together. We felt cold. We both were because it was November. We opened the door to our house and found no one inside; not even a single relative came to ease us with the burden. But then, perhaps later or perhaps tomorrow?

I slept at night with tears in my eyes. The sobs from my sister became a lullaby that lulled me to sleep in the wee hours in the morning.

I woke up to see the masked face of a woman I didn't know. Perhaps it was better then not to remember her face to ease the pain in me. I was like a caged animal that kept moving around and not knowing what to do and where to go out.

The light of day brought to us another day and it was not like any day in our lives. It was a different day. It was a motherless day and it was a day of a drastic change in our young life. But then again, a strong gust of breeze swept my face and I knew then that there was still hope for tomorrow.