To Try

It was a cool night as I was walking back home on the brightly-lit streets of Belisario Subdivision. I was wearing my new jacket, and I took the coldness of the night as an excuse to wear it although I've only been to Select (a few blocks away) to buy some snacks. I knew it will be another long and sleepless night for me because my sleeping pattern still has not adjusted to normality. I still sleep around 6 or 5 in the morning, and I wake up around 3pm.

My Mom wanted to come with me because she wanted to "protect" me from the thugs who make tambay on the street corners. It still feels weird but I've gotten used to being pampered when I'm at home. My parents probably still aren't used to my so-called independence. They still want to take care of me like how they used to, and at times, I feel like I'm royalty when I'm at home. When I say I want this, they buy it. When I want something done, they do it immediately. They fuss over me too much, anticipating my needs.

I was (and still am) a spoiled child. I never do chores at home. I spend my free time reading, listening to music, playing video games, doing useless stuff (like my countdown) while they fetch water (the water tank in our area got busted), run the store, wash the dishes, and clean the house.

I don't think I deserve their treatment though, but I let them because laziness is in my nature. They've always known that my strength doesn't lie in manual labor, so they consult me when dealing with stuff other than that. I help them in the store - how to properly put prices on items, or when they're asking advice about what organ ails when this or that part of their bodies ache. Sounds like a lot, right?

Anyway, I wasn't supposed to be talking about that. I was about to talk about that cold night I was walking home with my Mom. We were talking, and I told her about the gift I just bought for my boyfriend. I was trying to know how she feels after almost three months of knowing about him. Usually, when I put in his name in the conversation, she keeps quiet and puts on a hunted look on her. Her face becomes sharper, probably wondering if my dad or the neighbors can hear what I'm talking about, and her lips become thin, as though she is on the point of scolding me.

But I couldn't see her face right then as we were walking on the street. Chiyo's name came up (I can't remember how) and I went on about the changes that has come upon us. I told my Mom that Chiyo's planning to buy a car and is currently engrossed in her business, while I was being financially stagnant. At least, I told my Mom, I'm not sad either. She's found happiness in work while I've found it in my new love.

"You've got a long way to go," she began. And she went on talking about relationships. I've heard it all before in our drunken conversations but that night, the gist of what she was talking about finally got through my head - relationships do not last, but your career does. I wasn't sure if she was referring to Chiyo or Cookie though.

When we got home, she even went to seeing the gift properly wrapped up. She didn't say much on it though, even as she was pulling the price tags off the pair of jeans that was my gift. She was unusually quiet as she folded it and put it inside the paper bag. And as I was looking somewhere else to avoid seeing her blank expression, I knew that she was still uncomfortable about her son having a relationship with another guy.

But I also know that she is trying to accept it. She is trying to accept me for who I really am. My Mom is a tough one. If people tell me that I'm strong, I owe it all to her. She went on taking care of my brother despite his going crazy. She saved us from starvation when Dad's business started to fail. She never gave up when my Dad had a stroke and wasn't able to walk nor move properly for weeks.

Blow after blow she stayed strong and kept our family whole and happy. And she won't give up either on understanding that her eldest son, her only hope of having grandchildren, is turning gay after all.

I'll never forget that time when I visited my sick aunt at the hospital - when my aunt asked about my girlfriend, my love life in general. I told her that I've broken up with my girlfriend (which was true enough). The inquiry would have turned out to be okay since I was confident that I could handle it well, but I saw my Mom, who was sitting on the bed, sink slowly to herself as the interrogation went on. She bowed her head as if she was being humiliated right then...

That was probably one of my saddest moments ever. To realize that for the first time in my life, I failed to bring my Mom the honor she deserves.

But my Mom is trying. I am trying. And someday, she'll be as proud of who I turned out to be, as she was of who she wanted me to be.