I have been writing things about me that doesn’t really matter and yet I haven’t shared anything about you— a very important person, in this little wonderland of mine. You deserve a bigger space than my chronic ranting and occasional emotional distress.
It would be cliché to say that you are the best mom in the world, everyone else thinks that his/her mother is the greatest for sure. But no one can argue with a son or a daughter when he or she makes that claim because every mother truly is the champion in everything. I believe that every mom in this planet is worthy to be honored for signing up to such eternal contract of a demanding full time job called motherhood.
What makes you more special than the other mothers out there is that you are the one who brought me to existence— the one responsible for 50 percent of my genetic blue print. You are the only sane person I know of who actually wanted to be my mother and the only person who was able to keep her sanity after all these 20 years of having me as her child [aside from papa of course].
I know that it is difficult to raise an annoyingly headstrong daughter who thinks she can take on the world on her own. Let’s admit it; I am far from the—statuesque— nice and kind child people believe I am.
You were the only one who took her time to sit with me and taught me how to pronounce each letter of the alphabet until I could produce the right sounds. You were the one who helped me make perfect sense in the words that juggled before my eyes. You were the one who held my right hand to trace the a-b-c’s when I was starting to learn how to write.
I can’t really imagine how you were able to stand my juvenile antics, which although dwindled (a little) is still persistent. There were times when everything was sailing smoothly and all of a sudden I would pull one of my childish acts just to test the waters. I can’t believe that after all of it you never thought of disowning me.
You were the only one who was able to patiently discipline the mischievous little girl who made more enemies than friends back in kindergarten. You were the only one who never got tired of answering the what, how, and why I never stopped throwing at adults back in the days. Usually people would tell me to quit it because they would get tired of my endless queries while you answered them seriously.
Others would have gone mental trying to deal with a consistent short tempered brat— none other than yours truly. But you dealt with such behavior of mine with tenderness as if it wasn’t really huge of a problem. You handled my arrogant conducts with love instead of hatred and punishment.
Surely, there were times you would nag at me to point out my mismanaged demeanor. You perfectly know I hated your relentless scolding yet secretly I am thankful that you never get tired of reminding me what is good and what is not. As much as I want to deny that you care too much for me I can’t because at the end of your long lectures it is your affection for me that always gets emphasized.
You are the only one who never gets weary of understanding my mental circus as well as my rapid mood swings. You are the only one who listens to my repetitive drama without judging me when I cry ugly. You are the only one who appreciates my terrible singing which can actually cause a downpour. You are the only one who can endure my talkative insensitive tongue.
I am not quite sure what makes you proud and happy to be my mother given that I am always this uncompromising daughter who opposes your conservative and traditional opinions. I perfectly know that my liberal views, bordering rebellious, actually make you cringe.
I would like to thank you for raising my brother and I well. Thank you for believing in me when I have lost faith in myself. Thank you for picking me up whenever I get broken and for helping me glue the pieces of myself together. Thank you for bearing my shrieks and tolerating my boring crush stories [papa hates it when I talk about boys]. But most importantly thank you for showing me what constitutes genuine love.
Thank you for loving me, for accepting all of me— both the good and the bad.
With utmost love,