me and my mom
Not a lot of people know that I used to play the flute. Then, there are even fewer people who know that my mom used to play the clarinet. One vacation was all it took for me to learn, in which my mom was adamant that I sign up for the free workshop because she herself had experienced the benefits of being part of the city’s brigade band. Scholarship opportunities. A small salary for every outing. She said it would take me to places and that I’d get a chance to play at town fiestas like she did. She also promised me lunch money even if I could very well just take lunch at home, just so I showed up at the classes and then and there I was sold.
I still know how to read musical notes but I’m in no way a flute player. Not in any terms of skill. The guitar, a little, and okay, it’s a little cliche that I also have it rotting in my childhood home right now along with the flute. As for my mom, she now has a supervising role at a manufacturing plant. And in more than my 20 years of age, I’ve never heard her play any instrument at least once.
When it came to finding a passion for music, I guess at that time I felt that I was trying to gain a specific personality by learning an instrument. The passion is non-existent as I’d rather be on my laptop or watching a movie. I’ve naturally found interest in other things as I grew older. As for my mom, the reason why I’ve never heard her play is because she never owned a clarinet in the first place and the one she used back then was loaned to her by the city. I figured she never invested into buying her own because she treated her clarinet-playing for what it was and mostly for its benefits - it brought her a job and a scholarship at a good university with 75% of her school fees paid by her participation. That and her studying were all on top of shifts at the very first Mcdonald’s in our city and being an Avon dealer.
Playing an instrument was a lifeline for her and a choice for me.
Mom grew up in a big family with 8 other siblings. My mom’s mom, my Lola, washed the neighbors’ weekly laundry for money and manned a small store in front of the house. I don’t remember that much, but they told me I was my Lola’s favorite and my memories are enough for me to make sense of it and believe them. My mom wasn’t the eldest, but when my lolo died and my mom’s older siblings moved out to focus on their own families, my mom and one of my aunts became the breadwinners of their family.
It wasn’t easy for my Lola to hear the news of my mom being pregnant with me. She hated my dad and did not want her daughter to leave the nest that easily, especially as she relied on my mom for support. Eh, nothing would stop me from being born. So my Lola couldn’t do anything that much and I still grew up to be her favorite. That and my mom paid a huge chunk of money to repay one of my Lola’s loans on her behalf as her one final act of being a selfless daughter. It worked because the loan she paid for is actually for a pawned plot of land with a small house in which my Lola eventually let her inherit and start her new family in.
She definitely did not have it easy, hence the clarinet-playing and the side hustles, but she had the grit, worked hard and found a healthy support system with my dad. I’d say at that time they were in relatively similar economic standings and they both pushed each other to put in the work and earn money for their respective families. After finishing college, opportunities came for both of them; my mom applying to be a pioneer employee at the manufacturing plant that she would work at for 2 decades and a call for my dad from a manning agency, telling him he’d passed all evaluations and would be scheduled to board a European cruise ship as a part of the kitchen crew.
Mom never wanted to stay at home despite my dad’s pay that was already enough for us. She did want a family and to be a mother, but she wanted to work and keep earning. She wanted her own money, and damn, was she so good at handling money that long ago, my parents just decided that all of my dad’s salary would go to my mom and she’d be tasked to handle everything else - from bills being paid to groceries and insurance plans. She is practical and intelligent and she longed and dreamed for things to have like a big orange house and a car and travelling overseas, because that would mean she made it out.
I’ve witnessed both her and my dad’s dreams come to reality in childhood pictures and fragments of my memory. In my first pictures, I see our walls that were made of wood and the plastic furniture. Then me on an old wooden bedframe and walls that became unpainted cement. Pictures in a dark bathroom with only one faucet and me small enough to fit in a small pink basin under it. Of our house under construction and the bathroom eventually having the blue square tiles and a toilet with a flush. I remember these pictures and transitions until they coalesce with my memories, my life and my cornerstone belief that my parents had to work hard so that I do not experience the same hardships they’ve been in. I did not have to wish there were more hours in a day just so I can juggle multiple jobs at a time. They did it already, so my opportunities would multiply from the amount of what they had and now I am painstakingly aware that money has both everything and nothing to do with it.
I believe that having these sentiments has side effects that I experience until now. They’ve also kept me in charge of the house and my brother for the majority of my teenage years, so I guess that also counts for something. I’ve seen them work and sacrifice their time with us just so they could work and in turn convert their salary to rewarding things for the rest of our family. I’ve picked up on that early on and what stayed with me is that I have to put in the work to get what I want.
The effect is that I never got comfortable asking my parents for anything out of my needs or at least, without good grades or doing something impressive first. I got used to being relied on by my brother and making decisions in our house at an early age, which translates to something close to: I am not used to asking for help, in addition to always trying to fix things, my perfectionist tendencies and the unrealistic standards I’ve always subjected myself to.
I wonder if there would be any difference between me and the girl that played the clarinet for money all those years ago. I wonder if she sees herself in me right now, even if I’m a 2 hour drive away in my apartment and if my decisions would make her reminisce about ones she’d already made.
I wonder if I am unconsciously still trying to be a woman just like her, trying to prove myself and do what it takes to be successful.
Me and my mom - I think we are so much alike but we are posed in trying to lead very different lives and that alone I think warrants for a reason why there are times I feel we don’t like each other.
“I wish that you liked me.”
“Of course, I love you,”
“But do you like me?”
— Lady Bird (2017)
It’s just that we may be similar, but we have a different set of dreams and aspirations and I think that’s what has started this tension between us.
I wouldn’t have blamed her if she chose not to marry my father and decided to put her career first when she was younger. I guess there would be no blaming to do because I would not exist. But this isn’t about unlived lives. I’m about the same age as her when she had me and I know I’m never going to be a mother. I will never have a traditional family like the one she has. And maybe all the comparison had already ended and she stopped hoping I’d lead a life like hers when I told her I have a girlfriend. Despite tolerance never in a million years equating to acceptance, I took the privilege that was still in there and never actively tried to seek out more as I cope with the possibility that this may be all that she can give me. I grew up and realized adulthood can get lonely like this, when life becomes a different permutation than all the other adults you know and there are times that I don’t know what to do and no one to look up to.
Still, all is well between me and my mom and the distance works. I’m always hoping my mom would truly accept this life that I want to have. She had raised me, after all. I got my being good with money quality from her. I didn’t inherit any vices. I got opportunities and everything I ever needed when I was a child. I didn’t have to support them and I can live my own life. On top of that, I’ve learned a lot from her on what it takes to be a woman, to survive, be independent and not let anything come between you and your dreams.
I know you’ll never read this, but thanks, Mom. You are the strongest woman I know.