Sweet and sour, that’s the nature of my relationship with my mother. She said that being her eldest, I’m both her comrade and her enemy since she was the sole breadwinner back then and I was left to manage the house. It seems we never saw eye to eye in almost everything from the way I budget the expenses, to my leniency in dealing with my younger siblings. I guess it’s due to age disparity and difference of generations on how we were brought up.

She came from a large family. Her dad, whom she admired and adored so much because of his love of work, observance of work ethics and fairness in his dealings and the capacity to provide for nine children, passed away when she was just seven years old and the responsibility as the head of the family was shouldered by her eldest brother. Their generation was unaffectionate and more of authoritarian in ruling the household. They were to follow orders without complaining. For them, elders know what’s best for their future.

Her generation also had fixed marriages. Her eldest sister was married to a guy she wasn’t in love with. But my mother, out of stubbornness, broke conventions. She left the homestead instead of waiting for her mother and eldest brother to decide whether she’ll be sent to school or be engaged to marry someone she doesn’t know. I guess that’s where I got my own brand of stubbornness. And she still keeps wondering where.

My mother is fortunate when it comes to friendships, career and money; bragging aside, even with her kids, including me of course. We never gave her any headaches, unwanted pregnancies or drug abuse problems even though she spent most of her time at work and traveling for her trainings. But the universe has to strike some balance. It gave her an alcoholic for a husband. If it was not for her determination to feed, clothe and send us to school, my younger siblings and I might have been just another statistics of homeless and illiterate denizens of a Third World country.

The thing is, in every sacrifice, there are also downsides. In her want to provide us decent living and proper education she missed out on most of the joys of motherhood--rearing her kids. When her doctors advised her to cut travelling and slow down at work after her mild heart attack, it was only then that she was able to spend time with us. Only, we were already grown-up. When it happened, I was at work on my first job, my younger brother was undergoing his own on-the-job training while my sister, the youngest, was at school her first year in college. Her heart attack sent us all back home.

It was then we realized we were facing a stranger, not our mother. We had trouble communicating with her. She seems shocked that we would rather talk among ourselves or banter with our aunt, her younger sister (the one who attended PTA meetings, school activities and graduations). In fact, in the so many years that they have been close it was the first time she felt jealousy towards her sister. But my mother’s showing annoyance didn’t win us, instead it made us more protective of her sister.

My mother cannot believe and accept that her babies no longer talk about toys but hanging-out with friends and of course their studies. We no longer drink milk, instead tons of colas and alcohols. But only as a social drink. We are now conscious of what we eat because of our figures and what to wear. My younger sister and I consult each other about dresses and swapping stories in whispers and giggles but refused to answer our mother’s curiosity about the boy next door eyeing one of us.

Whenever my younger brother would come home from his mountain hiking and travelling, my sister and I would eagerly troop to his room and listen to his escapades but whenever our mother tried to join us, every one in the room would fall silent.

It’s just that, whenever we talk about doing things unconventional to the traditional way of upbringing my mother had, she would immediately admonish us and dismiss our pleas to explain why we want to do it. For her, as a figure of authority, she would talk and we were only to listen. When we seek her advice, instead of giving it she would insist her belief and in doing it her way. For her, mother knows best.

Sadly, in our case she doesn’t have any idea; even the simple details like who has the allergies to sea foods, who doesn’t eat the purple yam dessert, whose favourite colour is red or blue or who’s Joan and Michael’s friend.

She also found it unladylike to laugh out loud and exchange jokes or sit side-by-side with the boys. The majority of our friends, both my sister and I, happened to be males. And she doesn’t approve of us befriending another religion, separated persons and those of different gender orientation. For her, gays are loud and lesbians are a corruption of womanhood. For someone who go to mass every first day of the entire week of every month, every feast day of the saints, read novenas and say rosaries twice a day; our friendships with gays, lesbians, single parents, playboys and liberated people are the signs that Sodom and Gomorrah is not far.

Which is a complete opposite of my own belief: friendships should not be measured on how they look and how they wish to live their lives so long they’re not hurting anyone.

 My mother countered, “Show me who your friends are and I’ll tell you who you are.” The wisdom of her words were true, I know that. I have tested its veracity. Still, I hold on to that belief that friendships should not know any gender, race, age, culture or social status.

That’s why we have these clashes. For her first impressions lasts, for me it does not apply all the time. Our debacle also has to with my tendency to tolerate my younger siblings’ want for adventure. To me, it’s okay to satisfy curiosity so long they’re aware of the consequences. I’m counting on their capacity to know the difference between right and wrong and not to indulge on whatever will harm them. My mother said, it’s better to prevent that from happening by not letting them to run like that, instead badger them to let go the idea. I can’t blame her; it’s the maternal instinct crying out.

After years of trying to bond as a mother to her children, she still complains that she was left out. She didn’t realize, she’s beginning to adopt our ways even when she greatly disapproves of it.

Nonetheless after all said and done, we appreciate everything about her; from nagging and calling our phones many times a day to check on us. It is sometimes annoying but amusing as well. Still without her, we are nothing. I wouldn’t even be here writing this piece.