Leaving A Trail

No matter how old we are, we will never outgrow our need for our own mothers especially when that need had not been met when we were kids.  As an adult, I still long for my mother’s touch, her hug, her warmth, her approval, and her love.  I long for her presence in my life.  I never wished to be like her though.  I don’t like her but I do love her.

As much as we try to avoid it, we tend to be like our parents.  We watch and absorb them — their attitude, behavior, job, habits, mannerisms, and even the tone of their voice.  Sometimes I catch myself talking and swearing like my mother.  I could be timid or aloof like her.  She’s independent, headstrong, and  heartstrong — so am I.  She’s a migrant-worker mom.  I’m a migrant-worker mom.  The similarity ends there, I guess.  We differ in more ways than one.  She’s in America.  I’m in Hong Kong.  She shies away from family battles.  I face every family battle.  She’s a wall-builder while I’m a bridge-builder.

There were points in my life when the need for my mother was too strong.  Those were the times I was at my lowest depths.  I’d think of her every waking hour and cry dreaming of her most nights.  She’s present in every older woman that I see.  Do you realize the helplessness and powerlessness one feels when she cannot do the things she strongly wants to do, no matter how hard she tries?  I want so much to be with my mother but I’m unable to make it happen.  The need for her gradually subsided as I moved on with my life.  I’m made of sturdier stuff now.

When you cannot rely even on your mother, you learn to rely on no one but yourself.  When you’re in trouble and your mother’s on the other end to open her mouth and not her arms, you run to other people’s arms for comfort — even to unreliable ones.  When you’re upset and you hear the stream of negative words instead of encouraging ones, you learn to rebel — even against yourself.  When you feel so high from doing something extra-ordinarily good and hear from her no words at all, you learn to doubt yourself.  When she has no faith in you, you learn to work your butt off, push yourself too hard, and prove her wrong — sometimes you make it, other times you don’t.  When your own mother rejects you, other people’s rejection would be much more tolerable.   When you’ve been sharpened, hardened and strengthened by your mother’s blows, you can endure any pain.  My mother’s tough love made me tough.

I don’t really know much about my mother (I wish I do).  She doesn’t know much about me (I wish she does).  Twenty-six years away from each other is hardly an ideal situation to know each other well.  There’s an emotional distance as far as the continent between us.  Our gap is as wide as the gap in years we haven’t been together, which stretches as high and thick as the wall she put between us.  I had to grope each day, each week, each month, and each year to see how far and wide it had grown.  I hope she would put as much effort as I do in trying to build bridges for her and myself to connect.  Nevertheless, I can do it on my own — reach her, some time soon.  I’m barely halfway but I’ll get there, for sure.

*Published in The Filipino Now International Magazine (December 2006 issue)

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