Painful Success

“What for you is the essence of being a woman?” asked the host to the crowned 1994 Miss Universe, Sushmita Sen from India.

“I think being a woman, by itself, the very fact of that you are a woman is a gift of God which all of us must appreciate,” she confidently answered. “The origin of a child is a mother, and is a woman. A woman is someone who shares love and shows the man what loving, sharing and caring are all about.” Miss India boldly ended the final question and smiled.

Nine years after I witnessed the show, I was in my own pageant. My stage was a steel bed with iron bars on both sides for grasping.  My audiences were the doctors, nurses, my husband and my mom. I was laying on a bed all swollen and weary ready to take my chance.

“Can you still push it harder?” I heard Doctor Mariz’s voice echoed in the back of my subconscious mind.  She was persuading me to exert much force. It had been eight hours since the show started. I was exhausted. I was bathing on my own sweat and my gown was all wet and a little bloody. I felt the pain of unexplained torment rushing all over my body.

“Mr. Tanchingco, Mrs. Cenidoza,” my doctor caught the attention of my judges. “We’re doing our best to give what your wife’s/daughter’s request. She is insisting to have a natural childbirth. She doesn’t even want to be anesthetized. She’s a little stubborn but I admire her for being brave. We’re giving her few more hours and if the baby will not come out the normal way, we’re sorry but we have to transfer her to caesarean section. The baby is too big for her. ” she explained politely.

My husband and my mom who were with me in the room couldn’t decide. I was being hard-headed. I wanted to experience the moment of life and death, the moment of my own pageant. Say I was being stubborn as a daughter, proving to my mom that I could bear all the pain. I believed that I could do it without the help of sedatives that my mom used to have when I was inside her. I knew I was being selfish too, as a lover, taking all those unexplainable aches and sores that I was agonizing right at that moment all by myself. Although from the very start, he wanted me to have painless delivery but I resisted.  What I solely knew then was I must be brave for my baby, as a becoming mother. I wanted to be with him and feel him on me. With every passing minute, the contractions became more often and painful, more revealing. I stood still with my decision.

Few hours later, it was time to my final ramp. Instead of a catwalk, I did a deafening cat cry. I felt the unbearable pain pinching all throughout my senses.

 “Now push, Ann, push” I clearly absorbed what my doctor said. For that very time, I exerted the last effort that I could and blew it hard. Then, I felt my baby, slowly slipping out on me. It seemed that a thin thread separated me from my being an ordinary woman to a mother; a no-ordinary lady had been unleashed. Suddenly, I heard his first cry, sounded like a thousand angels singing in my ears. I felt relieved. I felt complete.

“Your baby is a healthy boy. Congratulations!” Doctor Mariz declared on a sparkling beam before me and my husband.

“Thank you Lord!” I calmly prayed. Finally, it’s over. I sighed and suddenly felt heaviness on my eyelids. After long hours of battling through life and death, I surrendered myself to forty winks, teary-eyed but fulfilled. Now I can rest. I won. I couldn’t believe that I gave life to another human being to live. He is my crown. My little angel is my living proof of a painful success that made me whole and complete. After that night, it would be another me, another mission to fulfill, another reason to live—being a Mother.

The Longing

One morning, I woke up, feeling helpless and torn. I have been away from home roughly three years now. I miss my son, my husband and my family terribly. Definitely, I am terribly missing my life.

Two years ago, as I was staring outside through the window of a three-storey building where I lived, I saw myself as a reflection of a loving mother. I gazed up in the sky and saw dull and gloomy clouds, thinking: “Are those clouds the same clouds my son may probably be gazing at, right at this very moment?  I sighed. As tons of snow were about to fall, I took a sip of my hot chocolate and felt the warmth raging all over me. Certainly, I needed it. I needed warmth to stream through my body and rage in me all over.  More to the point, I needed the warmth of my son’s embrace. As I looked down and spotted a lonely pine tree standing in a cold white space, I dared to ask: “Is it a mirror of me?” The answer made me feel more lonely, like a goner queuing for its own burial. The emptiness simply enveloped the whole of me.  I needed warmth to stream through my body and rage in me all over, so the goner will be no more and will bring life back to me.  More to the point, I needed the warmth of my son’s simple glee that kicks in life and rage all over me. Others might see me smiling but deep inside I was shaking. The kind of shaking when weakening sickness sucks life out of you. I, myself, knew that I must be strong. If it were to combat a debilitating, life-sucking sickness, I ought to be strong. It was my decision to leave my home country in the first place. It was my American dream that I chased. I did sacrifice some “happiness”, in such different levels, in exchange for a better future. I knew then I could do it. I knew then and up to now my purpose. I left to give him the best future that I could give.

As in sync with such thoughts, soon enough, the snow started to drop. It seemed like the heaven was crying along. I felt down. I needed warmth to stream through my body and rage in me all over.  More to the point, I needed the warmth of a life full of love. And in a few moments, my phone rang; I heard my son’s voice on the other line, “Dear God, Thank you for having wonderful parents. I miss my Mama very much. Please let her be safe always. I hope we could be together soon. Amen.” I can’t utter any word from that point in time, I broke down and cried. When I needed warmth to stream through my body and rage in me all over, just like that, it hit to the point. I received the warmth of my son’s warm and all-embracing love. Until he said, “Goodnight Mama, I love you,” and a busy tone followed, I whispered gently, “Soon son, soon.”

Not long enough, the sun shone so brightly that day, melted the bitter snow out and gave warmth. I saw glimpses of hope in every ray of the sun. I just wished that someday, somehow, someway, my son will understand why.

This coming Christmas, I will be home. There will be no white Christmas again. It will be a fun-filled holiday vacation. I feel excited about it. I will make sure that it will be worthwhile for my family especially for my son. I believe that there’s no other way to describe the word “strong” than being a mother. It is absolutely the essence of being a woman. I have no choice but to be strong. For my son, who celebrated his 7^th birthday last Saturday, 18^th of September, I will see you soon, finally.

T.G.I.F

            It was Friday afternoon; the cool September breeze was inviting. As I walked downtown towards the corner of 16^th Street Mall and California, I was tempted by the aroma coming from my favorite café, The Starbucks Coffee.

            A few moments after, I ordered my favorite cup and tucked myself in one of its comfy couches. Soon, my senses were abruptly occupied by the sight of people rushing and dashing into different directions. As my lips tasted the first sip of Iced White Chocolate Mocha, my mind wandered over the busy and bustling scene outside. Everyone was in a hurry as office hours were over and indeed another Friday was quickly wrapping up. You could easily tell from the faces of each and everyone who passed me by that time, the sheer excitement of another day that has gone and another weekend seemingly long and readying itself to unfold. As I rolled my eyes on the other side of the street, a view of a large pile of people—different folks and from all walks of life—can be seen in synch and staring at the approaching Light Rail Transit. The caterpillar-like train stopped and momentarily hid them from my view. Till I heard the olden-time sounding recorded voice: “This is the 16^th and California Station, stand clear. The doors are closing.”

            With my already cold coffee almost half-empty the sun was finally on its way to set down—and I supposed rising up on the other side of the world, so to speak. Everything started to glisten; fancy night lights were turned on. I stood up and took the last sip of my drink and called it a day. I crossed the street and joined the bunch of people waiting for the next train. I was ready to head home. It is time to take pleasure of my own share of Friday night. Absolutely, like most of the people here would say as I whispered and smiled, Thank God, it’s Friday!