Longing for lola's love

Blogger's Note: Written before the Grandparent's Day celebration

Not having had the chance to live with my lolas for a significant period of time is not so much of a frustration but a parcel of my life lacking. My Lola Eluteria died few years even before I was born while my Lola Abeng died when I was only three years old.

Only pictures of Lola Eluteria was left for me to see how she looked like while I could hardly remember the face of Lola Abeng, because I was afraid of staring at her in the coffin. I feared seeing dead people when I was a kid. The only instance I could remember related to my Lola Abeng was during a conversation of her children at the night after her burial. I was playing amidst a circle of my aunts and uncles who were talking about their disposition following lola’s death. I didn’t know what the issue was about. I could only remember that one of my uncles was mad and he was looking for a piece of paper that he wanted to tear, so that according to him, would stop the arguments among the siblings.

When I was a kid, I would envy my playmates who have their grandmothers taking care of them and playing with them. Luckily I did convince myself that I could live without my grandmothers anyway.

Aside from pictures, stories about my grandmothers were passed on to me. My older brothers and sisters would share some memories of our grandmothers but little did they impart because just like me, they had also limited time of living with our lolas.

According to my mother, Lola Eluteria was such a devout catholic. She has served as their village’s hermana (religious leader). She was in-charged of the chapel. She set a good example to others most especially to her children. She would require them to go to the chapel every Sunday and pray together at 6:00 in the evening everyday. She taught her daughters the proper way of doing household chores and encouraged her sons to help their father in farming.

My mother recounted that Lola Eluteria required them not just to do the laundry but to soak all their clothes in gawgaw (cassava paste) after washing them. This method is called arnibal. The OC-ness doesn’t end here. Once the clothes are dried, everything will be pressed, even those ones they wear at home. That’s how strict and meticulous Lola Eluteria was. She was also a disciplinarian. She punishes whoever erring child. “When she looks at you in the eyes, that means you have to behave or else you’ll get what you want”, said my mother. “If you say a bad word, she will put pepper in your lips”, my mother added.

On the other side, my fathers account of Lola Abeng isn’t that interesting and inspiring. Lola Abeng nursed an unfair treatment to her children. She had favorites among the 11 children, said my father. While some of her children, including my father, were sent to the farm to help my Lolo, Lola Abeng would busy herself looking for gowns for her favorite daughters that will be worn in the santacruzan. No doubt, my father only finished high school when his other siblings went to college. Equally painful is her disregard among us--her grandchildren. According to papa, they used to live near the house of his parents, but Lola Abeng didn’t impart some of her time looking after my elder brothers. Mama given birth to a twin, the eldest among us. She had to do all the works while my father iwas away earning for a living.

These are just stories I couldn’t verify. I don’t know my grandmothers so maybe I must not judge them rashly. It could have been better if I lived with them so I could say who and what they were really.

I wish I felt the love of my lolas and loved them in return. But I could not simply because they passed away early on.

I am 26 now. All these years I have been fantasizing life with my grandmothers. Perhaps, for a moment I could get a piece of candy, then a fixed or braided hair next, a moment of laughter, a kiss or a hug. Or maybe, at the next second, they would reprimand me for behaving badly. At the next blink; I would be making fun of their white hairs and sagging breasts.

I am really curious about my life had I spent my childhood or teenage years with my grandmothers. Perhaps, I am a little smarter or maybe, a li’l haughty. I don’t know. Maybe, I had good times listening fairytale stories from them. Or perhaps, I would get infuriated by their being forgetful (ulyanin). :)