Mom the sentimental junkie. When I was young, I’d call her our treasure chest. Costumes, stationeries and pendants, you name it she has it. Now I classify her collection as vintage. ☺ She keeps EVERYTHING. Even the Tooth Fairy couldn’t trick her into giving up my precious milk teeth.
Mom the pack-rat. Despite the amount of dust collected through years of keeping, you never know when you’ll need that ink-less fountain pen which coincidentally doubles up as a knife used to slash open an envelope.
Mommy Irony. A neat freak when it comes to personal hygiene yet orderliness doesn’t show in our house. She claims it’s easier this way. True enough, we run to her when we can’t find what we’re looking for. Mommy knows every nook and every cockroach there is in the house.
Growing up, mom made it clear to me that she trusts I can make my own decisions. She’s there to guide, not to interfere. Mom never failed to maintain that sense of familiarity, comfort and belonging in our home. She loves people I love and dislikes people I dislike. She listens to me when I rant about anything but is always careful not to pry on things she feels I don’t want to share. She respects my individuality.
Lastly, mom rocks because she knows quite well that I can’t write for a living, yet when she gets to read this, I know that this will still make her heart melt. That’s my mommy Fely ☺
(Trina Ong)
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