Posted by: theboyfromsmallville | January 6, 2007

Dearest mom,

AFTER 14 long years, I finally got to spend the holidays with you. Except maybe for the part where you were still a slave to sleep and had to be in bed early to satisfy your craving for dreams, everything was quite as I imagined it would be.

Thanks, mom.

When I was seven, I asked for a Spiderman costume and got a much more expensive remote-controlled Pan-Am jet plane instead. Because I was financially ignorant then, the gift sucked to me. It turned out to be the worst Christmas in my life and I always felt like it would end up defining the way I look at Christmas.

And then this.

This will be the Christmas that will stick in my mind forever, even if all I got for presents during the traditional midnight gift-giving was a pair of boxer shorts from my beloved sister.

But like I said, you coming home would be the only Christmas gift I’d ever need. Of course, in the wake of the i-pods, the digital cameras, the calvin klein shirts, the branded colognes and jeans being unwrapped, a part of me wished someone did not take me too seriously when I said that.

But hey, I can’t complain.

How can I?

You left us when we were students trying to make our way out of college and high school under the most trying circumstances. Brian was pretty much secure. But Peach was struggling to find her identity. Boog was trying to temper the rebellious streak in him while I was pampering mine out, wondering how I’d ever get through college living alone in this Big Effing City with no concerned relative to turn to when in need of money for tuition, school projects and stuff.

You came back to find all your four kids married, three managing to keep their marriages intact and two giving you grandchildren so sweet and lovable you have to wonder which gene pool they were spliced from.

And yet, it was as if you were gone only a day.

So how can I complain if you had finally found the time to go videoke-ing with your kids, singing You and Me Against the World with one of them? How can I complain while you hurry to the kitchen every now and then to pop open a can of coke light every lunch and dinner for your kids? How can I complain when I’ve finally spent one Sunday mass with you after all these years?

There were so many stories to share, so many blank spaces to fill. But if we did that, we’d end up ruining the holidays, ayt? So you were right on target when you treated the Christmas season as nothing out of the ordinary.

Of course, it wasn’t all about you.

Tita Nana was as crazy as ever. Babam was her old lakwatsera self. Gramms and Gramps were around. The core of Cuzns Inc was there. This was probably the most complete Christmas we’ve had since you left for the States and job opportunities abroad broke up what was such a close-knit family that considered gatherings as this sacred.

A good friend also came out of the blue to send a heart-warming text message, to which I replied: Life’s a beach, but most of the times it’s also about the sand that gets caught in your singit.

Cheska and Bryzee were their darling selves, amusing the family with their adult-like renditions of Fra Lippo Lippi songs and hits culled from the soundtrack of High School Musical. And to think their ages, when combined, would amount to no more than eight years.

John was a blast. Whether it was drinking till 4 a.m., shooting pool till 2 a.m., playing patintero and dodgeball under the noontime sun in a patch of white sand in Portofino beach resort or sandlot basketball in the backyard, he was all game.

Still, the Yuletide season revolved around your return. At least in my corner of the world.

You are in the plane by now, as I hammer this out. Conked out probably in some cramped airline seat chasing dreams of what had just passed. Which is, of course, a whole lot better than chasing dreams of what could have been.

And I am here, trapped again in the monotony of office work.

You promised to come back, in that phone call right before you boarded the plane headed back for New York. And it sounded a lot more convincing than when you left 14 years ago and said over telephone conversations that you would return someday.

I will wait for that day. It won’t be long. I can sense it.

In the meantime, I’ll be missing you. Miss me a little, too, okay?

Happy New Year mom.



  1. awww…

    i miss my mom, too

    *sniff, sniff*

  2. and happy new year to your mom too. :) we all miss our moms don’t we. :)

  3. she’ll be back, me sure. :)

  4. :-) :-) :-)

    (yun lang. :-))

  5. Thanks people!
    And happy New Year to all of you!
    Raise a glass and a broken bottle and make a toast to a slam bang 2006 and an even more flamoyant 2007!


  6. You are in the plane by now, as I hammer this out. Conked out probably in some cramped airline seat chasing dreams of what had just passed. Which is, of course, a whole lot better than chasing dreams of what could have been.

    I love this, Kiko. (-:

  7. huhuhu:( miss you so bad cois:(

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