Literary: An Apology to My Mother

2/21/2019 08:41:00 PM Media Center 0 Comments

It has been a while since we talked without fighting. After all those debates, silent treatments, and other misgivings where we thought we would no longer bury the hatchet, I found the courage to say something. Something I felt because I realized that I have disrespected and treated you like dirt. Something I felt because I realized that I have not savored the heartwarming meals you cook. Something I felt because I realized that we would be happier, more peaceful had we not argued. Three words: I am sorry.

I am sorry for calling you by your name, without the titles “Mom”, “Mamá”, “Nanay”, and other words that convey politeness. You, Mom, showed me the value of being respectful to everyone, even to my enemies who would provoke me with their dagger-like curses and ironfisted punches. You, Mom, repeatedly advised me, “less talk, less mistake” - that saying resonated in my mind and kring! Like a church bell, it told my conscience to keep my composure and to avoid going against it.

I might have moved to a new school where those “non-gratas” are gone for good, but I have worn the hideous mask of bad manners wherever I go. I have learned to ruin someone’s day with just the F-word and badmouth against my professors in front of them, to you as well, even at the pettiest things – the dress needed for this day’s celebration, the to-buy things for school – and to the gravest ones as well – sarcastically making bad jokes to granny and yelling at daddy whenever he would video-call us. Whenever I would talk to him on Skype, I would treat him like someone who has forsaken his family. As if I’d forgotten that he dared to go abroad and sacrificed his safety, all so that I could go to school. I admit that I have forgotten your counsel, the counsel that has given me self-dignity and good character up to now.

I am also sorry, Mom, for refusing to eat the food you cook every day for my breakfast, school “baon,” and dinner. Instead of going home to rest and to take a few sips of your “plain-looking” tinola, I would seek refuge in fine-dining restaurants. Just because they had a more refreshing ambience and expensive baked salmon dishes. Just because they served my favorite dishes, which I presumed you could not emulate.

I remembered the time you even saved a thousand pesos in a span of months just to buy the ingredients for the cheesy à-la-Conti’s salmon I would constantly crave. On that day, I saw the pink belly of the fish, the slices of mozzarella cheese, the mint green oregano leaves, and the flavory garlic cloves on the dining table. Upon recognizing that you would be baking the salmon, I thought that I would taste trash and eventually vomit. So while you were putting the tray inside the preheated oven, I seized it from you, like a parent confiscating a child’s phone, and let it go from my hand. The poor, garnished fish and its condiments fell on the floor. When you saw the mess made and realized your failure of granting your son’s wish, you burst into tears. While I walked out of the kitchen, giving a nonchalant shrug, pretending that nothing happened.

I did not realize that not only had I squandered the money Dad worked hard for. But I had also underestimated your attempts in cooking those meals. I was blinded by the whim of dining outside just so that I could escape from dinner time and spare myself from the “disgustingly prepared” food. I failed to appreciate the essence of love spread on every viand, and the time it took for you to prepare even the bowl of sinigang I used to dread. The labor dedicated by Dad in the factory is similar to the effort you have given to every dish you cook. Now I see that even if what I eat is not exactly my favorite, I will still be given enough energy needed for the demands of school. And that is a sign that you still love me, despite the insolent attitude I show to you.

I am also sorry for not offering anything to you throughout those years of misunderstanding. The floral blouse you would search for in the annual ukay-ukay. The ruby, heart-shaped necklace you would see in the jewelry shop - oh, I forgot its name, at SM. Or even a small but heartfelt gift for your birthday. I think I have not paid my indebted gratitude to you. After all the unpaid, indispensable words of wisdom you have said and the countless number of dishes you have cooked for me, I think I do not deserve them anymore!

Even if I have already wasted most of the money dad remitted to us last month, I think there’s still a few pesos enough to buy a heart-shaped envelope. With that, I can put the letter I wrote inside. Yeah, you may say it may not satisfy your clothing wants. You may say it is just a cheap, ordinarily carved piece of paper. But I’m sure that its value is a lot more than the envelope itself, more than the most expensive set meal of a fine-dining restaurant. I can’t exactly describe it exactly, but it is enough to show you my true feelings and repair the damages of our relationship. After all, it is not too late to apologize and change for the better, right?

Mom, I wish you would not simply throw this in the trash can. May you please read every paragraph, every sentence, every word, with the respect you have taught and the love you have devoted to my meals.

Happy Valentines Day, Mama. I love you.

Sincerely,

Your son who promises to show courtesy to others

and appreciate the food you prepare