My beloved Ima
May 14, 2006 | 12:00am
My beloved Ima, as she was fondly called by all, was the epitome of strength and courage, solid as a rock. She passed away last Feb. 17.
I never saw her complaining or regretting against all the trials life threw her way. Even when our father passed away a decade ago, I did not see her grieve. She always stood tall, always with a ready, radiant smile and roaring laughter. She was always a positive and forward-looking person, a truly, incurable optimist.
Ima was very vain. While I can go through life without getting a manicure – the last time I had one was for my son’s wedding – Ima would have one every week, complete with nail polish in the half moon design. While I happily and contentedly fix my hair by myself, even on important occasions, Ima would have hers done three to four times a month, even if there was no reason to have one.
Even to her last day on earth, Ima made sure everything was done according to her taste and liking. The mortuary makeup artist fixed her makeup twice on the first night of her wake.
On the morning before her funeral, we changed her gown to a terno she had specially commissioned for her funeral following her close friend’s advice. Everyone in our family, our relatives, and her friends all said she looked very radiant.
Ima loved to eat; she liked queso de bola, lechon, and other rich, fatty foods. She was a true-blue Kapampangan through and through. I always gave her two queso de bolas but at different times of the year: one for Christmas and another in the middle of the year. I was worried she might finish them both all too swiftly. Whenever she was admonished not to eat something, she would retort, "’Di bale nang mamatay, basta kinakain ko ang gusto ko." What can one say to that?
And that is exactly how fate would have it on the morning of Nov. 18, 2005. She ate two orders of lechon kawali and two salted eggs the night before. Another salted egg was found inside her handbag. Can you beat that?
On the night before her funeral, lying by the chapel door was a tall pile wrapped in bright cellophane where the big raisin breads that Ima simply loved. They were given away to relatives and friends present to partake and taste the made-to-order and freshly-baked bread Ima loved. It was only later did I find out from my brother that Ima would finish all the raisins in them, and when she was done gave whatever was left of the bread to him.
The child in Ima comes out whenever she receives something she likes. On what was to be her last Sunday visit to us, I gave her three dresses, which she immediately tried on one after another. She had the one she liked best pressed right there and then and immediately wore it, saying, with her eyes beaming with joy, "Isinuot ko na. Bagay na bagay sa akin." She then went straight home.
She was so beautiful that last night, and she seemed to be so peaceful. She must have been saying to herself, "This is OK now. I am wearing my terno. I look my best."
I never saw her complaining or regretting against all the trials life threw her way. Even when our father passed away a decade ago, I did not see her grieve. She always stood tall, always with a ready, radiant smile and roaring laughter. She was always a positive and forward-looking person, a truly, incurable optimist.
Ima was very vain. While I can go through life without getting a manicure – the last time I had one was for my son’s wedding – Ima would have one every week, complete with nail polish in the half moon design. While I happily and contentedly fix my hair by myself, even on important occasions, Ima would have hers done three to four times a month, even if there was no reason to have one.
Even to her last day on earth, Ima made sure everything was done according to her taste and liking. The mortuary makeup artist fixed her makeup twice on the first night of her wake.
On the morning before her funeral, we changed her gown to a terno she had specially commissioned for her funeral following her close friend’s advice. Everyone in our family, our relatives, and her friends all said she looked very radiant.
Ima loved to eat; she liked queso de bola, lechon, and other rich, fatty foods. She was a true-blue Kapampangan through and through. I always gave her two queso de bolas but at different times of the year: one for Christmas and another in the middle of the year. I was worried she might finish them both all too swiftly. Whenever she was admonished not to eat something, she would retort, "’Di bale nang mamatay, basta kinakain ko ang gusto ko." What can one say to that?
And that is exactly how fate would have it on the morning of Nov. 18, 2005. She ate two orders of lechon kawali and two salted eggs the night before. Another salted egg was found inside her handbag. Can you beat that?
On the night before her funeral, lying by the chapel door was a tall pile wrapped in bright cellophane where the big raisin breads that Ima simply loved. They were given away to relatives and friends present to partake and taste the made-to-order and freshly-baked bread Ima loved. It was only later did I find out from my brother that Ima would finish all the raisins in them, and when she was done gave whatever was left of the bread to him.
The child in Ima comes out whenever she receives something she likes. On what was to be her last Sunday visit to us, I gave her three dresses, which she immediately tried on one after another. She had the one she liked best pressed right there and then and immediately wore it, saying, with her eyes beaming with joy, "Isinuot ko na. Bagay na bagay sa akin." She then went straight home.
She was so beautiful that last night, and she seemed to be so peaceful. She must have been saying to herself, "This is OK now. I am wearing my terno. I look my best."
BrandSpace Articles
<
>