A bowl of my mother’s sweet spaghetti brings me back to my early childhood Christmases when life was much simpler and her sweet spaghetti was all I would look forward to on a Christmas Day. Today, life is much more complex, I look forward to bigger things, often (and guiltily) wanting more than what I deserve. Today, I am thankful for Christmas (and my mother’s sweet spaghetti) for reminding me that I can be a kid again and life can get simple at least once in a year.
There’s nothing very uncommon about the ingredients she uses – pork, a few bits of hotdog, banana ketchup, cheap cheddar and pasta (two packs you can buy for the price of one – every store has some kind of a promo), but mothers have this thing about their hands that everything they put together turns out to be something really special.
Not as hard, at least. The day before was a sunny one. I remembered myself taking photos of the clouds from the bus window, admiring their beauty and serenity.
“Here we go,” she said, rather excitedly. My thought was startled by her loud voice. It’s always been that loud ever since I could remember. Some found it angry-sounding; she’s always thought to be a cruel woman. But she wasn’t. that’s just how she naturally spoke. And people kept on judging her, and not only on the sound of her voice. We disembarked the bus we sat in for almost two hours and headed to her sister’s home where everyone was excitedly waiting for our arrival. It was no ordinary day after all. There were food (lots of them), happy people, and a promise of a good day.
The town was lively. People were everywhere, go to and fro places, busy greeting one another. The air around people celebrating fiestas was refreshing. And her eyes showed excitement she would always have over visiting people she loved. She brought a friend with us. They planned to take a tour to the famous perya and have a little bit of fun. That’s what she’d long for – fun, after long weeks of working in and out of the house in an urban, dirty place she called home.
The day progressed and all went as expected. She was smiling, showing the gaps on her teeth. here eyes had a glow different from what she’d have. She enjoyed her day very much. At night, we had to go home and say so long to the place that brought her joy even for just a day.
The next day, we woke up, at home, and the rain was pouring. The air was cold and was a relief from the humid air we’d normally have. I told her the good news – I got the job I’ve been wanting for so, so long. She put down her cup of coffee to cry tears of happiness. It’s been more of her dream than mine and whatever excitement I felt when my boss officially told me I got it was no match from the immeasurable joy I felt seeing her happy. She kissed me on both cheeks and right then I promised myself that I’d do all I could to keep the job and make her prouder.
No one knew though her cat would die minutes after. A car drove by the font of our house and hit the poor cat while hurried crossing. Scene was disgusting. I gagged when I say the animal’s head crushed and missing an eye ball.
She hurriedly ran to confront the driver who killed the cat. Her tears mixed with rain drops on her face.
“I loved her, didn’t you see she was pregnant?”
I had to pull her off of the driver’s face to have her come back into our house.
I flashed the driver an look that could have killed him. As we walked away I wished him death for what he did – making my mother cry.