1991.

Kitchen.

I was animatedly telling her how things were that afternoon. She has propped her foot on a chair while I babbled  and  jumped  on my own chair, and described  how we were able to see the Coca Cola Bottling Plantation in Sta Rosa, Laguna; how I was able to see the biggest coke imitation cans in my life and wondered whether they were for giants; how I filled my Coleman water jug with free coke from this faucet connected to tanks. How my teacher’s blood shot up when she ordered everyone to stay in their places with hands behind our backs, but I was almost nowehere to be seen because a painting caught my attention and we were in a museum with items that cost more than my life. How my teachers commended me for bringing plastic bags and having them ready when I was just about to barf. How I liked the lunch she packed for me.

She was smiling all through out my stories. She was so proud of how brave I was. It was my on going second year at my education; the first in that school as a first grade primary. It was my first time to experience a school - organized field trip. And I was all by myself.

I can’t remember how it came that way. I think it was because there was an extra pay for chaperones then, and she didn’t want to pay more. But that wouldn’t match up, because my dad was already in Thailand then and we could afford extras. My primary school was a rather affluent school; a place where my dad put me in a silent competition with my other smart cousin when another affluent school in our place (which took in another of my cousins) denied me of entrance because of my young age. I was only 6, when most of my classmates were 8,  a  few, 7 years old. I think maybe it was because we were having renovations in our house then, and nobody would oversee. She was a very generous employer, ensuring she would be around when the carpenters needed extra stuff, and that they’d never experience hunger, ever.

There was this gift shop in the bottling plant that had these dancing bottles for sale. They had this sunflower which danced everytime someone claps. I told her about how I wanted to buy one, and badly at that. But all I got in my wallet was P70. It was enough to get her some treats as a pasalubong, but it would have been fun to show her that loot. I was euphoric moments ago and it was quickly wiped out by the pain of not having that sunflower.

She didn’t hug the poor me. She almost stifled a laugh, then pulled my wallet. It showed the remaining money for the day. She pulled at a flap, and voila. There was this P500 stuffed in the secret pocket. “I told you about this this morning,” She calmly said, almost consoling. “You kept on nodding your head. I suppose you were too excited you forgot about it.”

I remember thinking things would have been different if she were with me. She could have told me about  that if she were around. A sense of sadness came through, and a forgotten feeling was remembered.

I wish you were there, I told her. I felt alone that my classmates have their mummys with them, and you weren’t there to see everything.

She told me years later that she was wondering whether she made a wise decision that she let me go alone on that trip that day. Of course it made me self - sufficient, but she said I was so sad and envious of the idea that the other kids had their mothers, and I had nobody, really, to share the great experience with.

Tonight, I called her up as I sat in front of an empty table at dinner. She was already at the airport, waiting for her plane. She’ll be heading to Israel for only a two - week pilgrimage, but she’ll be out of the country by herself for the first time. She sounded giddy.

I was almost about to cry, but I remained firm. I told her she be safe.

Later on, I sent her an sms. I told her I felt like a mother sending off a daughter to her field trip for the first time. That she be careful, please.

I fought hard to stifle a cry. What if she gets moments that she need help?  W hat if something happens? What if she also forgets that her emergency money was placed in the secret pocket of her wallet?

She won’t have me there  to remind her.

I didn’t realize it’s hard to send off a daughter alone and hope she gets enough courage for herself as much as you would for yourself as well.