For Mama

A year ago today I was on a plane back to Manila, the entire time, praying I'd still make it, I'd still see her. Despite not having gotten any sleep the night before, the quiet 8-hour flight offered my worries no reprieve. Two nights back i awoke from a terrible dream of my papa(grandfather) dying, and not the gentle rolling of the waves outside nor the comforting creaks our ship made at the caress of the ocean could put me back to sleep. In my heart I knew something had gone terribly wrong. When we finally hit land I reluctantly checked my phone messages - Mama was very sick, call home as soon as I can. I did just that and knew from the forced calm in my Dad's voice that she hadn't much time to live.

If you've lost a loved one, or... even if you haven't, you'd still have some idea of how it feels like to be struggling against time to make it to their side before they leave. I literally felt sick, queasy, and on the whole unsure whether rushing to the plane's exit hatch at full speed, yanking it open and jumping straight out would get me home that instant or not. But logic is sometimes merciful and the saner bits left of me told me that probably wasn't the best idea. "Hang on, Mama. I'll be home", became a mantra... consciously, subconsciously screaming out of my soul. I tried to remember how she was, tried to dig up old memories and dust them up like grade school books and uniforms you'd keep in boxes in the spare room. I tried... but I was afraid to stop praying for her soul to hold on... for even a few more hours. I remember I'd read from this paranormal book my dad used to have, of one being able to astrally project the soul to loved ones...or other people... if one concentrates enough. I've tried it on numerous occasions, and have always failed. The book said you (the project-or) should be able to communicate with the projectee... be able to see them; but I guess spirits don't do overseas communications. All I could really do was hope...that on some deeper unknown spiritual plane her soul got the message.

I finally reached Manila at about 2100 h; the moment I landed I whispered I'm home. I'd felt... relieved, in some way, for having already arrived at the same soil, but also... overwhelmingly sad. I would have to wait the night to catch the next plane back to the province. And although my luggage and my heart were heavy I couldn't sleep. I tried to pass the night around the city, drinking in its darkness and depravity; but even its most scandalous scenes could not shake my numbness.

I'd been calling home every now and then, hoping her condition would somehow miraculously improve with my arrival, as it sometimes does in sad-happy movies. Nothing has changed, they told me. I wasn't happy, but fair enough, miracles are hard to come by these days. I had to take another 4-hour bus ride to my hometown, happy (under the given circumstances) that I was nearing my objective. For a moment I thought to head straight to the hospital, but I was filthy, and I didn't want to greet mama in that state, so home I headed.

The tricycle neared the house... my heart was hammering like mad at my chest. The place was slowly...carefully shaping itself into a scene I'd always dreaded imagining in the past. I could see the grotesque blue canvas customarily marking a filipino home in mourning, decorate the outside of our house where once Mama's orchid garden colored. I was feeling then lightheaded, cold and clammy. My head said maybe it just meant they were having some form of party. But The tricycle stopped and from outside our gate I could see candles... lighted candles in the daytime, horribly unnatural in the glow's intensity. My aunt...or my grandpa...took me. I could barely remember who it was, because the candlelight blazed ever strongly... ever more prominently in front of me, and everything else was white noise. I knew I'd been too late. I could feel my heart cave in, just collapse under the sheer weight of absence of the person I'd flown home to see. I was angry... I was furious, that she hadn't waited... that she hadn't held on long enough for me to get home. I'd thought my will was strong enough to make her spirit stay... And for a while there I wondered if she loved me enough, or if she loved me at all.

They said her heart gave several times the past few days, but always, she'd struggle to come back. They told me that when they told her I was coming she smiled. They told me she died the night before.. at around 2100 h - the same time our plane touched Philippine soil, the same time I'd said I'm home. The anger drained from me like caffeine after a coffee high, and I felt weary. She did wait for me. I know that. And although logic is merciful, it still fails to explain why the soul holds on to a promise made from a million miles away. It's been a year ago today, and while the rest of the living world turns, I remember Mama. I too will be home someday.