Mama’s Boy

Margaux 11/04

Being a “Marian” is probably one thing no one knew about me.

I kept a rosary with me all the time whenever I go out to work or travel. I frequent chapels and visits Mama Mary’s image whenever possible. I would touch her, offer prayer and talk to her. She knew everything of me. Mama Mary calms me down, she gives me solace and promise.

I’ve always been a “mama’s boy”.

As far my memory serves me, I’d recall myself as a boy playing besides her. I would sit beside her while she does her lesson plan on our large dining table. I would play her pens, her eyeglasses and purse. I really like her rainbow colored purse. It was made of tiny plastic beads and I just loved plucking them with my teeth. Her jewelry box is a Tupperware, the one with layers of tiny compartments. I would ask her how come she has earrings and necklaces as much as her shoes. Perhaps it was my mom whom I got the impression women are so hard to understand.

I lost her when I was eight years old. She died of cancer.

Born catholic, I was attending a catechism class one Sunday afternoon. We were taught how to recite the rosary and liturgical prayers. My teacher introduced Mama Mary to me and told me she could be my mom’s replacement. “Mary is our blessed mother”, she added. Since then, I dotingly endeared Mama Mary in utmost same way I would recall my maternal mom – Adelina.

I would trace everything to my mom. It was only after graduation that I recall my mom taught me to draw figures when I was a kid. I never thought she’d wanted me to be in this profession because I never had the chance to ask her. Back in my grandfather’s house in barrio, I found a watercolor drawing signed by mom. Her co-teacher attested my penmanship is the same with her.

I miss my mom. My heart bleeds whenever I hear mothers crying for their sons and daughters. I got frustrated whenever I learned a friend or a classmate fought with their mom. I dunno but I noticed I’ve been affectionate to mothers all this years - my step-mom whom I call “mommy”, my teacher in English professor in the rural high school whom I call “ermats”, my landlady whom I call “nanay”.