By MOLAIZA BASARTE
www.nordis.net

I have a stern mother and a doting father. There are days when I hear screams, and days when the kitchen is only filled with the air of silence. And as I grew older, I chose to say something bolder but not terrifying, “Naiiyak ako.”

I remember when my stomach growled while my mother would not speak to me; I tiptoed to fetch myself a glass of water, the urge to grab a handful of cold rice almost overwhelming. When my father was present in the heat of the moment, he would start cooking while I sat, deafened by the clang of the spatula in his favorite pan and that voiceless noise, waiting for his hearty, warm dish. During these times, I could feel my mother’s angry eyes, her threatening words, as I invited her to eat. She would not answer, and my father could only soothe my little body by gently patting my back. 

We walked on eggshells every day. But somehow, there were days when my mother would not be frowning and silent. During these times, she would ask me to sit down and brush my hair. She would tell me she regretted most of what she had done, and that she was proud of who I was becoming. I remembered how my mother’s voice would sound demanding when she asked me to be strong—that I should not cry; that I should keep uplifting them; and that I am the only one who can take us out of poverty.

Looking back, she tried to instill what she said about being strong. During my elementary graduation rites, my teacher urged us to hand our parents an envelope-filled letter. I attempted to give it to my mother, crying due to the intimate atmosphere. “Huwag ka ngang umiyak, punasan mo ‘yang luha mo at nagmumukha kang ewan,” scolding me for not being able to maintain my composure.

I did not understand what she meant by saying that years ago. But now, I kneel before the Lord to ask if He could erase that from my memory. Because after all these years, I have never felt content with what I have or who I am. I try to get good grades; I constantly look after the people I love while I’m studying far from home; and I still feel like I have not done enough. And the worst thing about all of that was not being able to cry after long, wearisome times.

So now, I have learned how to express myself as much as I tried to suppress it years ago. “Naiiyak ako” now holds a lot of weight. It’s not because my mother would not allow me to cry back then, but now that I am allowing myself to do so in front of other people, I feel for. Therefore, I can finally say that I am done being the person I was—straight-faced, composed, and repressed.

Hence, the phrase “Naiiyak ako” was not only about letting others know, but also about saying that the trust between the two of us is alive. And that’s what I feel is what matters most right now. Because I realized that being vulnerable and being strong have always been synonymous, after all, what would be joy if there were no tears shed? #nordis.net