Breathing Lessons

Much sober dramatic moment in radio and TV talk shows are flooding us this weekend. There are cheerful and semi-sad tributes everywhere. From TV ads to shopping mall discount promos, their power is here to stay. After all, there’s no danger in romanticizing a week full of flowery phrases and endless thoughts of gratitude about the women we all talk about – our Mothers.

I could still remember the feature article I wrote eleven years ago in the Regional Secondary Schools Press Conference feature writing contest. The subject was indeed basic, popular and quite emotional. The main focus would be all about my MOTHER. Everybody said that it was the easiest topic given in years. Unfortunately, it wasn’t for me. I was partially shut do wn. My mind wasn’t working. I was expecting more challenging topics than of that. There was fear I might not be able to play with the right words. Romantic prose and nostalgia just can’t soak up on my mind. I still got ill feelings for her. She was not able to take me to the bus terminal to say “good luck,” for I’ll be lost for five days. I can’t write anything sweet about her. It’s just because frowns and stern faces of her are marked in my mind. I couldn’t compose strong words about her because I knew; she was always weak, afraid and fragile. All I could do was shake my head. I trembled. I refrained from breaking into tears.

I made several drafts. Words wouldn’t be enough to describe a real person. I thought that I must make mama, more human, less vulnerable. I was in a split decision on how to portray her in words. Strong or weak; happy or sad. I made my choice. I’ll make her a super hero. She can’t fly or become invisible but she had great powers. Just thinking of the great deeds she has done and sacrificed for us, I wrote faster. The words flowed. I was writing.

Luckily, I wrote at least two hundred words to qualify for the requirements. I was nervous. My feature article could just be one of the trashes the jurors dubbed. I hoped and waited. With much amusement, my name was called for the fifth place out of the top ten from nearly a hundred participants. I won. I conquered the positive mix of similes and hyperboles. I used direct possible words to describe my mother.

I went to national contests and seminars because of that great victory. Every day was colored. The rest of my high school days were spent on different parts of the country competing for the school. One day, my momma was there! She took me to the bus terminal and even made me some sandwiches for my next writing attack in South Cotabato. I loved her even more. She would be one of my muses. I’ll be eternally grateful to her.

I could write several character sketches of a woman named ANA. I won’t get tired of it.