when home became seven hours away
i am my mother’s only child
for seventeen years.
the child she raised by herself,
with inang, tatang, and tita.
i still remember that little a-ba-ka-da booklet ,
her finger under each syllable,
my little dramatic voice trying to follow hers while crying and throwing tantrums.
but she stayed.
she would repeat the sounds.
try again.
and again.
until i could finally read without her help.
then she hung the medals around my neck; medals earned because she taught me.
was there for my birthdays —
always there.
even when i didn’t ask.
even when i thought i did not need her.
gave me choices
to teach me how to choose for myself.
let’s me have my kaartehan sa buhay.
listened to my chikas.
forgave my immaturities.
when she goes somewhere,
i go with her.
because i wanted to.
and she’d let me.
wherever she was
always felt better
than wherever i was without her.
for seventeen years,
i never really had to learn what it meant to be alone.
then she had to leave.
had to go abroad
to work for our future.
my future.
and for the first time,
i had to stop following her.
she went ahead.
i stayed behind.
had to watch my mother leave
while pretending i knew how to let her go.
hid the tears.
distracted myself.
acted like i understood.
but i knew she was doing it for me.
and knowing why someone leaves
doesn’t teach you how to live without them.
so now,
i am walking the same paths i used to walk with her.
only now,
i have to walk them alone.
when something feels too heavy,
i cannot reach for her.
when i fail,
she is not in the next room.
she is seven hours away.
and lately,
everything seems to be falling apart at once.
the rspc qualifier results came out; my name was not there.
responsibilities keep piling up.
i look around for the people who are supposed to help me,
and still end up carrying things by myself.
papers are delayed.
my motivation to study is disappearing.
the burnout i thought would come later
came early instead.
sports,
a place where i used to escape from everything,
became another thing i feel pressured to prove.
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it is my last playing year and wants to reach something higher.
but i am tired.
everything came at once.
disappointment.
responsibilities.
expectations.
fear of failing.
fear of not becoming enough.
and somewhere between all of them,
i started becoming tired of being myself.
my mind that was once peaceful has become loud.
there are nights when the thoughts become darker,
when disappearing sounds easier than carrying everything i am carrying.
i am not myself anymore.
i need the person who used to be beside me
when i was learning my letters.
the person who hung my medals around my neck.
the person who prepared my birthdays.
the person who came when i called.
the person who was simply there.
my soul is attached to my mother
because she is my soulmate.
but she will no longer be able to be beside me.
i will have to hang my medals by myself
and graduate on my own.
i will have to blow my eighteenth candle
that was not prepared by her.
and i feel like i am losing.
she is a dreamer
who actually reaches her dreams.
and i am a dreamer too,
too high.
terrified that after everything she has done for me,
i’ll become the daughter who could not make any of it worth it.
so i hear words before anyone even says them.
disappointing.
a disgraceful student.
an unworthy child.
an undeserving leader.
the judgment lives inside my head now.
it follows me into classrooms.
training.
meetings.
the quiet nights before i sleep.
and suddenly,
i am no longer the girl who thought she could do anything.
i am now just a child
who thought she could.
thought she could keep going.
but i am still my mother’s baby.
and right now,
i am a daughter who does not know how to grow
without the person who taught her how.
afraid of staying where i am.
of moving forward.
of growing into someone
my mother won’t no longer recognize.
and maybe that is why i keep looking backward.
back then,
where i never had to wonder where home was.
home was wherever she was.
now she’s seven hours away.
i hate that seven hours.
i hate how far it sounds.
i hate that a phone call is now the closest thing i have
to the person i used to find in the next room.
so now i do not want another medal,
another title,
or another achievement
just to prove that i am worthy.
i just want to be with my mother again.
i want to be her daughter again.
not the leader.
not the athlete.
not the researcher.
just her little girl.
i miss my mama.
my home.
yours, across every distance
— rivvie
