A MOTHER’S HOPE
[Excerpted and slightly edited for brevity from my ATABAY article My Life-Changing Year In UP, circa 1967, UPIC High School]
It was our Christmas party. While the whole class was getting our room ready for the night, putting up the Christmas tree and decorations, I was in the principal’s office asking for her permission for me to attend the party -- I was unable to pay my contribution. Saying it was no big deal, she projected a tender countenance on her face, reflecting how pitiful I was, and seemingly conveying how she wished she could hug me.
Being poor and, by a twist of fate, having gotten into the world of relatively well-to-do people, engendered a daily grinding routine for me throughout the year affecting my psyche, including my academic performance. The best I could make in one grading period -- ranked Number 11 [in the class of 40].
Sensing my traumatic year in UP through my first meal [after coming back] home – devouring a braised pork belly [nalipasan ng gutom for a year] -- my mother, a dressmaker, sewing a neighbor’s dress in her old Singer sewing machine, watching me with moist eyes. Right then and there, she decided to enroll me in the Notre Dame of Lagao the following school year.
During my first and second grading periods, I wore a gold plate on my breast every day for being at the top of the class. On my third grading period exam, the principal refused me to take the exam -- I was unable to pay my tuition fee. [A sort of a déjà vu of my pitiful time in the principal’s office in UP; but the eventual outcome then was heartbreaking].
While the exam was going on, my mother was pleading for consideration – it was turned down [Ouch! Sorry kid, no permit, no exam].
Resigned and crushed, my mother and I went to MSU Prep High and pleaded with the Principal, Mr. Jacobino Java Sr., to accept me as a transferee and late enrollee. He told my mother that policies were no hindrance, but frankly said I could face a big problem -- the next periodical exam would come in 3 days. Teary-eyed, my mother looked at me -- I nodded.
For the next 3 days, I worked like a horse in preparing for the exam, waking up at dawn, while my mother was holding a lukewarm towel to wipe my face when I fell asleep. When the results came out, the whole school was stunned -- I topped it.
Neither am I a genius nor exceptional in achieving such a feat. I felt something inside me had bottled up since my UP stint. In one moment in time, it burst and cried, “Enough!” and powered me to pull off the tough job.
Not far from being a miracle, such a feat hinted at God’s presence. At that time, the only fragment of my memory that dealt with divineness was my Theology subject at Notre Dame of Lagao under Marist Brother Leonard who was fond of giving essay writing tests. In one essay, titled “Loving God,” I topped it.
I couldn't help thinking about such a tiny fleck of hosanna in my essay catching His eye. No wonder His kindred people are the last, the lost, and the least -- that was me then.
“There is a time for everything,
And a time for every happening under heaven…
A time to weep and a time to laugh…”
(Ecclesiastes 3:1,4)
A DAUGHTER’S CHOICE
Magda stood in the dimly lit room her breath visible in the cold evening air. The aroma of fried chicken and freshly baked bread atop the small table spread throughout the cramped space. Her heart swelled with a mix of excitement and unease.
She was the eldest of four siblings in a family that knew poverty inside out. Their father had abandoned them years ago, leaving behind a void that no amount of struggle could fill. Frail and coughing, her mother had been battling against a persistent illness. Magda had become the pillar that held their fragile world together.
Tonight was different. Tonight was her birthday, and she had scraped together every last coin to buy food for a celebration. Her younger siblings, eyes wide with wonder, scrambled to their seats. They tore open the food packages, their laughter animating the room. Magda watched them, her heart both heavy and light, knowing her mother’s smile would be worth it.
“Jeric looked for you,” one sibling said. Jeric, her neighbor-classmate, had been falling all over her, but she cold-shouldered him because of the family that leaned on her.
The small cake, a modest token with a single candle, sat at the center of the table. As she lit the candle, the room fell silent, as its flickering flame danced like a beacon of hope.
The harsh coughing from her mother’s bedroom popped the bubble of festivity. Magda looked at the closed door. She knew what awaited her there -- the doctor’s prescription -- an expensive antibiotic, the only hope for her mother’s ailing lungs.
She stepped into the bedroom, the wavering candle casting shadows on the walls. Her mother’s eyes, once vibrant, now held a quiet plea. The prescription lay on the nightstand, its pricey cost etched in ink. Magda’s resolve wavered. She kissed her mother’s forehead, her love and anguish mingling.
Magda’s wallet held the money she had saved for her final school exam – the culmination of years of hard work. She counted the bills, her fingers trembling. The numbers didn’t add up. The choice loomed before her like a cruel riddle: her mother’s health or her future?
Back in the main room, she blew out the candle. Her siblings chattered, unaware of the storm raging within her. She whispered to them, urging them to care for their mother. Then, heavy with grief, she stepped outside.
The night puff of wind bit at her skin as she closed the door behind her. Magda’s cell phone felt like a lifeline. She dialed the number, her voice steady despite the inner strife.
“Tell Mr. Wang, I’m available tonight for three hours.”
The streets swallowed her as she walked away from home. The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and crimson. Magda’s footsteps echoed her choices – each one a sacrifice, each one a promise. She would bear this burden silently, like the candle she had blown out.
Never judge a book by its cover, they said. But who would guess that the girl with the flickering candle had just made a choice that would alter her destiny? Magda carried her secret into the night, her tears lost among the stars.
In the quiet of her steps, she vowed to be both the heroine and the sacrificial lamb. For love, for survival, and a chance at a different ending – one that defied poverty’s cruel script.
And so, Magda walked on, her footsteps fading into the city’s heartbeat, leaving behind a room filled with laughter, a mother’s cough, and a candle blown out too soon.
A Daughter’s Choice flash fiction short story put together in collaboration with Bing Microsoft AI-powered Co-pilot
Head photo courtesy of Abante Tonite
Video clips courtesy of YouTube
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