Imelda

 

Mommy

Where do I begin? How do I tell the story of a woman who was a dutiful mother to five, devoted wife to one, cocksure boss to all? How do I pay tribute to mommy who gave so much in life, be so many things to so many  people yet received such meagerness in return? It won't be easy, that's for sure. I loved her with with all my heart but just like with daddy, there was this gnawing gap underneath all the outward closeness...and we were very close, maybe a little too much.

My parents were affectionate parents as much as they could have been, given their own dump in love. I hate to use the word accomodating because although they most likely were, people can take this for naïveté and when she was alive, people most certainly did, including her eldest and only sister Doctor Estrella and his oldest brother Doctor Manuel de Leon. She was the only lawyer among her siblings even if she was the most maligned and as a lawyer ironically couldn’t defend herself from them. She was the youngest just like me and I was definitely empathetic to her cause more than my two older sisters Alexis and Sandra who probably don't think of her as much as I do. Now.

She grew up in the northernmost regions of Luzon, born in the coastal village of  Aparri, Cagayan and spent her early years in the Spanish Colonial town Vigan, a lovely cobblestoned Capital of Ilocos Sur. The family later moved to Manila where she, Auntie Ninang (Estrel) and Uncle Titong finished their Colleges at The University of Santo Tomas. I got the rare chance of visiting Vigan only once, with a distant niece of her, a Chinese merchant and interior decorator named Trinette King. Although it was such a rare visit and not without incident, I remember it thoughtfully as a nice place.

Unfortunately, we as a family never had the chance of vacationing up North together. We all visited Daddy's Naga in the South when we were very young but really seldom go out as a family except for manageable trips within city limits. Our beach outings were remarkably limited and it's a little too late to feel resentful now. What was ingrained in our collective upbringing was that we stayed together as a close family unit regardless of whether we had vacation breaks or not, parties, debuts, celebrations, contacts with other relatives, etcetera... And since we really didn't grow up rich and lived in a small but always busy and chatty house, that wasn't hard to do.

Going back to mommy, she loved both her parents and told us stories of how his father, Lolo Jose, a local Ilocano politician, full of swag and was a ladies’ man (poor Lola), was also an owner of a duck pin bowling alley up North and was proud of how comfortably they lived before the war broke out, that they had a lovely well-furnished home in Ilocos but then was eventually destroyed during the war. She had a penchant for the finer things in life as she herself was so fine and delicate and in this respect at least, we completely agreed.

She had many female first cousins all sisters, survived by one, Auntie Teresing Chiu now 90, whom I still have to get in touch with. During mommy's wake in 2004 and I remember being so distraught because her death came so unexpected and sudden and everything came crashing down not the least bit daddy's spirits, I remember daddy cracking a joke in front of all her cousins who were huddled there and for the first time in days I truly felt I couldn't breathe anymore (because I was under medication but still very depressed), I laughed for the first time in a long time. Oh boy I thought, thank God for daddy's natural sense of humour and adrenaline rush-inducing presence as was characteristic of him, I was able to breathe  again.

As earlier mentioned, she loved telling stories herself and I was very intent on listening to them sometimes with a documenting mind, but not when they were told repeatedly; then that would secretly annoy me. There was no need telling me stuff I've heard a hundred times when what I truly cared about was how they themselves have been enriched by them or how they've grown as people. In other words, what about sharing new stuff? What about telling stories of each other, like how have you been, what was your day like, how was your life in school and do you have a boyfriend; not that I care about any of that right now. But she told many stories mostly about her genealogy and I actually started journaling them in a notebook somewhere that she told me was a good idea as she herself kept a notebook, a diary to handle daily tasks even jot inconsequential things about me that she probably felt was very important. I forgot about where I put my notebook and I actually reprimanded her for writing all the time instead of engaging in actual conversation with me which was easier to do. Anyway, since I try to keep a photographic memory, I have better ideas.

She was a very dutiful individual. She handled the household finances, she had a 9-5 office job in several offices for as long as I can remember including in downtown Manila where we used to frequent and considered like a casual visit or quick City getaway. Aly and I loved it when we snuck in her office "nap or rest room" where she had a lounge chair and took afternoon naps. Small moments like these are all we had of her as she wasn't the household fixture like most mothers were and she was never the plain  or typical housewife. Never. Although she loved doing textile re-works at home, she hardly ever cooked. Being Ilocano, all she knew was how to make the quick vegetable dish "Pakbet" and occasional "chopsuey" and it wasn't even memorable as daddy preferred meat over vegetable and although food tended to be spicier, he was a better, more vibrant Bicolano chef. She relied heavily on maids which we had plenty of and despite the frequent changes and turnovers, they were mostly my verbal companions at home. 

I wanted to talk to her like a real grown-up, not like the youngest child or baby they considered me to be which in fact I was. That was the case when I was younger and had confidence in myself but things grew increasingly obtuse when I was growing up, quite a turnaround. I never "baby-talked" until I was in College. One of the reasons she never really "emotionally supported" me in my teens, she says was because she thought among all her children, I had it "all together", and was basically "problem-free" both with myself and with her. And although some of my grade school friends still remember her as the "sweet genial mother" I had, probably in stark contrast to my more rowdy? persona, she hardly went to my school to attend PTA Meetings. Apparently to her, parenting was not a lifetime endeavor. With so many things on her plate and five children to look after, I felt I was not really a priority.

Life was never a happy proposition for her. Except for daddy's own friends' wives, I don't recall her having close female friends herself except for one. She had a very tall bilingual American childhood friend named Laura Becker visit her from the States with her all-American husband that was cool I thought and was great because they were each other's "sweethearts" as female friends are but then I also equally remember another UST classmate of her Chicha Prada snatching her only friend from her at that time. I don't know how this happened but when I saw a sign on a  Discovery Channel  program about drinking that said "Chicha is the Devil!" within the same time periphery that had probably nothing to do with any of it, that's what fueled my imagination like leaky gasoline that was lit by fire. Poor mommy I thought! All her life, everybody tried to steal from her. Literally, figuratively and physically. 

Although flanked by two doctors in the family, I can't remember a time she had no physical ailment. Growing up, she suffered from "kidney trouble" and although this was nothing to scoff about, it was a normal situation she had to deal with everyday and she would take her medicines almost without thought, drink plenty of water and various juices and go with her business as usual and that’s how we saw it too. When she was diagnosed with a malignant breast tumor when I was in First Year Highschool and needed to have it locally excised but underwent radical mastectomy instead for over-cautionary measures, that coincided  with us moving to a newly-built house and had overblown  expenses given the architect Urcia secretly siphoned our money to a different project resulting in our house being incompletely built; that's where all my sadness in life began. I'm not blaming her for the series of unfortunate events that happened in my own life following HS because I felt she had it worse. And although she considered daddy as her rock, in many instances I felt she was his emotional punching bag as well. She was so "trapped" in life. She literally had no outlet as I felt I didn't too, especially during my teenage years.

Much older, she confided in me that even if I was having troubles in life, sometimes, she had no one to turn to. She was a firm believer in prayer though and early mornings at 4:30 and at 3 o'clock in the afternoons, she went to church or prayed the rosary in the Sala while gathering the help plus me, daddy and Macoy. Daddy was never serious in praying (and even made fun of reciting the prayers) but went to church regularly as is his childhood tradition. Since I always felt they were opposite poles apart, one serious and the other one not and highly incompatible in my opinion in so many ways, I was confused about my own spirituality or even religion and ultimately self but who cares, right?

To restate, work was all she really embraced in life as she was an undeniable and certified unapologetic workaholic. Although she resented daddy's classmate or even enemy Joker Arroyo (because he hated daddy's guts) not giving her the BIR Commissioner position she coveted which he easily could have being in position, she loved being "the boss" even just as an Asst. Commissioner. Being ballsy as she was (ballsier than daddy even), she acted as boss to daddy and her entire family sometimes with her personal style of management and she managed everything from our schooling to various details about it to procuring government documents for us like licenses etc.  But even in the office, so many people were envious of her and she had more enemies than allies both upfront and behind her back. Back at home, all her children demanded so much of her, mostly about money matters and things I don’t care about. All I wanted was her undivided attention because I felt being emotionally-equipped was better than being financially-equipped. Again, this is beside the point but my God, with all these unreasonable demands being asked of her on all sides, how much more can she take?

To conclude only because I choose to right now, (I don't even want to expound on how she was extorted twice, first with a lessee who didn't pay her her rent money for our old house in Apo now being operated by us her children; and as a final blow, with her lifetime retirement money being swept under the rug by a Chinese Furniture Retailer and operator of "Aegean Sea" Joey Soliven she chose to invest in and there was probably more although mentioning them would be blog exposé overkill); I'd say I've never been witness to such resilience in a soul and since every (damn) thing happened to  my own mother, I feel I've seen the circumference of life itself and that I don't need to see or hear any more outstanding tragic narratives that would all pale in comparison next to hers, certainly not one that would personally involve me now or in the future. 

I just want to  commemorate her birthday coming up September 16, certainly a day I'll never forget, ever. And just as I'm not one to judge daddy, I'm surely not one to audit her.

As bonus content however, as I'm certainly not content with what happened to her life story now all but extinguished but mine not so, I couldn't pass up on the close proximity her name would register in many people's minds with the other more famous Imelda, her inversely proportional counterpart; the deranged, unrealistic and paranoid wife of the former head of state and current mother to the viciously corrupt and highly inept President of the Philippines with still so many ugly minions by their side. I only wish the worst for her and her family today, right now, forever and in the future (if all their ill-gotten wealth was ever compounded as time); not that I ever cared about her own story. Frankly, if Imelda Marcos can’t go to jail as the justice system is atrocious, the better more attractive option is for her to go to hell and stay there until further notice. Now's a good time as any. Scat!

There. 😀 Happy Birthday to me again!

Question: Bakit hindi pwede mag-asawa ang Ilocano at Bicolano?

Answer: Parehong lalake.