Dear Mom
Hey.
It's your eldest.
Right now, I'm crying behind my bedroom's closed door while you're talking with your friend about her kid who's earning 50 grand being a medical coder in a company somewhere near Mall of Asia. I'm not really sure why I'm crying right now. With my recent heartbreak and everything else that seems to all suck simultaneously at the moment, I really can't point out what upsets me.
I guess it's your most favorite way of ruining what's left of my self-esteem.
I know that you spent the last few years almost breaking all your bones sending me to a good school, and maybe I was an ungrateful little bitch along the way. I just want to let you know that I thank God everyday for giving me a mother like you. I even tell God that if He ever decide to take something away from me, He can do so. He can take anything He wants, just not you. Honestly, I wouldn't know what to do with my sorry little life without you. You mean the world to me, Mom, even if I don't tell you everyday. You know how your eldest is. I'm the most proud of your kids, and I stay like that because I don't want to be the weak, forgiving girl in the family. I want you to see me as the one who took Dad's mantle, the one who has to be brave and strong for everyone.
But you have to understand, Mom, that even already legally old and kind of required to be all-figured-out, I still feel lost. To be honest, I'm still not over the fact that I'm not in a hospital working as a medical intern, which what would've been if Dad wasn't such a hardass and took his health seriously. I just act like I don't give a shit anymore because I already have a job that I'm kicking ass in and my own money to burn. Sometimes, I still can't help bargaining with God. I still can't help asking Him to do something so I could be a doctor, so I could be where I wanted to be in the first fucking place. But things don't work that way. I've lived the past few years under that painful, unforgiving cloud of misery. I hate to say this but sometimes, you're not helping to make things better. Every time you talk about your friends' kids who work in this company and in that field and earning this amount of money, I can't help feeling like a total moron, and you know how that's a big deal to me. I grew up to be Daddy's little smart girl. I've lived the last two decades of my life believing in myself, sometimes even more than I believe in God. I regard myself highly and that's how I get things done. When I do stuff and accomplish them, it's not only to please myself but also to make you proud. Since Dad died, never once did I feel like you're proud of anything I did.
Do you remember what you told me when a classmate of mine approached me on graduation day to tell me that I was going to receive an award? You just said with a poker face, "Writing lang? Lagi namang ganyan kahit nung high school ka pa." Right then and there, I wanted to run somewhere and cry like a little bitch, but like the hardass that was your husband, I kept my composure and moved on like I'm not gonna let what you said bother me for the rest of my sorry excuse for a life. But I did, Mom. Every time I remember it with hurtful clarity, I can't help breaking down.
I get it. You have problems and money can solve almost all of them. I'm sorry if I'm not helping with the financial stuff. I'm sorry if I'm not a regular employee like my sister who earns way more than I do. I'm sorry for the very little help that I can pitch in for the bills and shit. I'm sorry if I'm too much a pussy go to Singapore or Dubai or wherever your friends' kids are working to earn more money. I just want you to know, Mom, that I'm trying every single day at work to earn more. I fight through being sleep-deprived and hungry just to earn extra, just so you can smile at me and tell me that my contribution will help a lot. God knows what I'm willing to give just to hear from you that you're proud of me, that you're with me all the way no matter how many times I mess up. I'm sorry if I haven't worked hard enough for that. I guess I'm not that intelligent after all.
If you want me to go out there and search for greener pastures, I will. If that's what it takes, roots here don't matter.
I love you, Mom. Just know that everything I do, I do to make you happy.
It's your eldest.
Right now, I'm crying behind my bedroom's closed door while you're talking with your friend about her kid who's earning 50 grand being a medical coder in a company somewhere near Mall of Asia. I'm not really sure why I'm crying right now. With my recent heartbreak and everything else that seems to all suck simultaneously at the moment, I really can't point out what upsets me.
I guess it's your most favorite way of ruining what's left of my self-esteem.
I know that you spent the last few years almost breaking all your bones sending me to a good school, and maybe I was an ungrateful little bitch along the way. I just want to let you know that I thank God everyday for giving me a mother like you. I even tell God that if He ever decide to take something away from me, He can do so. He can take anything He wants, just not you. Honestly, I wouldn't know what to do with my sorry little life without you. You mean the world to me, Mom, even if I don't tell you everyday. You know how your eldest is. I'm the most proud of your kids, and I stay like that because I don't want to be the weak, forgiving girl in the family. I want you to see me as the one who took Dad's mantle, the one who has to be brave and strong for everyone.
But you have to understand, Mom, that even already legally old and kind of required to be all-figured-out, I still feel lost. To be honest, I'm still not over the fact that I'm not in a hospital working as a medical intern, which what would've been if Dad wasn't such a hardass and took his health seriously. I just act like I don't give a shit anymore because I already have a job that I'm kicking ass in and my own money to burn. Sometimes, I still can't help bargaining with God. I still can't help asking Him to do something so I could be a doctor, so I could be where I wanted to be in the first fucking place. But things don't work that way. I've lived the past few years under that painful, unforgiving cloud of misery. I hate to say this but sometimes, you're not helping to make things better. Every time you talk about your friends' kids who work in this company and in that field and earning this amount of money, I can't help feeling like a total moron, and you know how that's a big deal to me. I grew up to be Daddy's little smart girl. I've lived the last two decades of my life believing in myself, sometimes even more than I believe in God. I regard myself highly and that's how I get things done. When I do stuff and accomplish them, it's not only to please myself but also to make you proud. Since Dad died, never once did I feel like you're proud of anything I did.
Do you remember what you told me when a classmate of mine approached me on graduation day to tell me that I was going to receive an award? You just said with a poker face, "Writing lang? Lagi namang ganyan kahit nung high school ka pa." Right then and there, I wanted to run somewhere and cry like a little bitch, but like the hardass that was your husband, I kept my composure and moved on like I'm not gonna let what you said bother me for the rest of my sorry excuse for a life. But I did, Mom. Every time I remember it with hurtful clarity, I can't help breaking down.
I get it. You have problems and money can solve almost all of them. I'm sorry if I'm not helping with the financial stuff. I'm sorry if I'm not a regular employee like my sister who earns way more than I do. I'm sorry for the very little help that I can pitch in for the bills and shit. I'm sorry if I'm too much a pussy go to Singapore or Dubai or wherever your friends' kids are working to earn more money. I just want you to know, Mom, that I'm trying every single day at work to earn more. I fight through being sleep-deprived and hungry just to earn extra, just so you can smile at me and tell me that my contribution will help a lot. God knows what I'm willing to give just to hear from you that you're proud of me, that you're with me all the way no matter how many times I mess up. I'm sorry if I haven't worked hard enough for that. I guess I'm not that intelligent after all.
If you want me to go out there and search for greener pastures, I will. If that's what it takes, roots here don't matter.
I love you, Mom. Just know that everything I do, I do to make you happy.
I suddenly remembered a fiction story I used to read in blogspot in 2011. I remembered "Crayon" and "Antipas" as keywords but I couldnt find the page so I checked my reading list and found this page. and this post. And giiiiiiirl I am in the same situation right now, so virtual huuuuuug. Im also a thomasian, single, eldest and fatherless twenty something. Let's just trust God's blueprint, everything works for the good. Cheers!
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