The letter you never had

       May is known as a season of bloom in the Philippines. Flowers are much more highlighted during this month. In fact, there religious celebrations held like santa cruzan. Along with this, the annual Mother’s Day is celebrated. Pretty coincidental right? Women in general likes flowers, and it somehow became a symbol of womanhood. Just like how a flower blooms, radiant and patient, a mother does too. She, like the flower we always admire is destined to outshine, to provide light to her family, ang ilaw ng tahanan indeed.       Mother’s Day means so much to me. As thoughtful as I could be, I never skipped this celebration without giving something to my mother. I only figured it out after her death that she collected it. Considering that a child cannot earn money or if able, cannot spend it independently, it was hard for me to spend a hundreds to buy an extravagant gift. Sometimes I gave here a piece of flower I picked up from a garden somewhere or a mini cake because she is not that into expensive bouquets. I can still remember how shy I was whenever I asked her to close her eyes while I reach the letter I hid from my back. Upon receiving it, I ran after seeing her smile. Ah, that brilliant smile I wish I could actually see once more. “Ma, basahin mo ‘pag wala ako sa tabi mo,” then I ran swiftly as I can like how I would probably do if I confess to someone I like personally.      I am certain that she was able to get what I was trying to pertain in my messages. It includes what the usual letter contains: my act of gratitude and contrition, and wishes like how I used to pray at night. It was an annual tradition of mine. Among the letters I gave there was one left unread. The letter she never had was placed to the glass of her coffin as it went down to the cold earth enabling the invertebrates ate it. It was the letter for Mother’s Day 2016. She was already sick and bedridden. What got into me was a total disaster of shyness and distance. We were inseparable, but I still lack the courage to show my vulnerability to her. Unlike my younger self who willingly showed her most genuine emotions, the 16-year old me on the other hand was trying her best to conceal her anxiety because she needed to be stronger for her mother. So the letter written in a simple paper without any colorful inks or a touch of creativity was buried with her, but my regret and guilt remain in my heart, overpowering the love I have for her. How I wish I can also bury it.      Lessons learned indeed. The compliments of bravery that I usually receive from others are just abrasions now. If only I was brave enough to be genuine; if only I was brave enough to be transparent; if only I was brave enough to say what I feel, maybe I’ll be able to save her or if not her life, her soul and her peace. Maybe if she knew how I felt for her, she won’t lose her will to give up. Maybe, just maybe.        So believe me when I say that what I possess is false bravery. The person I was three years ago swore that I will never left words unsaid.      Now please, don’t hide in the shadows of what ifs and cowardice. Let the whispers of your heart turn into a voice loud enough to be heard. Your mom deserves to feel the love you’re concealing.