Short Story

Tie

Live by the moment. We were told in one of our classes to live by the moment meaning taking every single detail of every single thing around you and holding them closer to you than you usually do. When you live by the moment you will make more memories and make every single detail around you significant.

All the things that I see around me is a product of my past. A past that I did not know. A past that I will never understand. My past that gives way to my present and my future. A piece of the puzzle that will be a blurred picture. Something that can be put into place but will never complete the picture.

I grew up in an urban area where people of different culture come to make a living. It is a melting pot, as they say. Yes it is a melting pot. Everything in here is hot. The noodles that Bai Ling sells in the corner lot near our house, the damp air that gives life to the moss that lives on every corner that gives them shade, the road directly under the scorching heat of the sun , the driver's head who keeps on honking, the sound of the motorcycle, the social issues, the politics, the election results, and everything else that you can see gives you a head ache. Here is a life where you must endure each day living with the loud mouth of a neighbor and the stench of the side walks. This is where we live. And this is where we will die.

"Mother, tell me that story." I asked my Mom one afternoon. I was young then, perhaps seven years old.
"What story?" She said.
"The story about the girl who lived a century. The one written in the book of grandpa."
"What are you talking about? Who told you grandpa has a book? You must not talk of that. It's not a child's business to ask about that story. Just forget it. There's no such story. Whoever told you that, it's just an imagination. And never ask anyone about that."
"But, Thio told me that I will find that out someday."
"You're still young. you don't have to believe everything your brother tells you. Now go to your room and stop bothering me."

I never asked anyone about the story again. But I believed Thio. He knows every secret of the family. He has to know, he's a boy. Every male in the family should know everything. I was once told that It is their privilege - and burden - to know the family secrets. I kept my curiosity inside me. I'm afraid of my Mom. She can do anything. And I only have an idea of what she can do to me if I ask anyone to tell me that story again.

One day we heard that grandpa is sick. After the last class I dropped by to visit him in his house near the village. He was sitting on his chair as usual with a half consumed coffee. With a slight smile on his lips he poured a cup of coffee and placed it on the table. "Come sit with me. It is time for you to know as well."

I was worried. This might be the time when a loved one senses death and decides to bid farewell to the people he loves. But he must have called for the others. With his golden age and with wisdom showing on his silver crown, he slowly reached for a book with satin cover. "This was written by my beloved mother. This is not meant for you. I love you as much as I have loved her." He takes a sip from his cup and closes his eyes to cover the tears on his black eyes. "If you need understanding just keep your silence. You will understand in time." I understood that I will have to spend the entire night in the old house. I looked at the book on his side table. It seemed cold like an ice staring back at me. It was something that I am not worthy of but grandpa handed it down to me. "This is your story. It will be your daughter's story, too. They must also know in time for they carry my blood - her blood. Always remember, love your daughter when she comes to you..." I reached for the book apprehensively with a feeling unclean for the act that I'm asked to do. This story is mine but I am not to know it. I am not to read this book. "Guard your heart. It is nobody's but your own." he said and stood up realizing that it was getting dark. "I will have to prepare our dinner." He keeps one maid inside that old house but keeps the cooking for himself - "not to spoil the food that we eat", he once said.

I came to my room and changed my clothes with what grandpa prepared for me. I locked the door behind me as if someone might come in and see me holding the old book. I hold the book on my hand, opened it and started reading.

Before my eyes unfold the story of my root. My beginning. How often mothers and daughters are taken out of consideration and being left out when it comes to making a step for the community, for the family, and, yes, even for themselves. From the book I learned the story of my great grandma who recorded her own accounts of what was that could and should not be.

She was committed into a marriage at the age when she doesn't even know what marriage is all about. Her parents owned the largest portion of the land in the province and decided to give her to marry the son of the haciendero of the neighboring province. She was the only daughter. By committing her to be the wife of the richest heir in the region, her parents could maintain their status in the society.

On her twelfth birthday the decision was revealed to my great grandma by her mother. She was told that the dressmaker will come and give the best designs for her wedding dress. It was meant to make her know that she has to be ready before the dressmaker arrives not to ask what she has to say about the wedding. She is of a young age so she has no right to say anything regarding the matter and another thing is that she is a daughter. Daughters are taught not to express their own ideas and even make others hear them speak when they are in a conversation unless they are asked to speak up.

After a month she was married to the man she had never seen before. She learned that he is ten years older than her and that he is the heir of the largest plantation in the region. Her mother told her to love her new family. They will be her family now and that she must commit all her life to serve her husband and make them happy. in that way she will bring pride to her biological family who brought her up and taught her to be a submissive wife and a caring mother. After that day she never saw her parents. She was brought into her new house and became daughter of the parents she never knew.

After two years she gave birth to a son - my grandpa, the first grandson - who became her joy and gave her the authority to be the youngest matriarch in the house. It is the family's belief that unless you mother a son you will never be heard inside the house. And by bringing the first name bearer of the family she was to take the place of her mother who never really showed her affection. When her mother died of an unknown illness she was forced to take the responsibilities upon her shoulders without any idea of what she has to do. She was only fifteen. She was expected to maintain their Villa and was never allowed to have their own house since she is the mother of the first grandson - the heir of whatever the family possesses. Living in the Villa becomes a curse than a privilege.

My grandpa becomes the only source of her life. She was dressed with all the best garments and they eat the best food but her husband never spoke to her after they were married.

There were so much pain in that book. I don't have the strength to read through all the pages but because of the will to go on and to learn more about my great grandma I continued reading. Stories of abuse and unspoken happiness were unfolding before my own eyes when I asked myself why my grandpa asked me to read the book.

That night I learned her life as a daughter, wife, mother - as a woman. And I learned how she lived under the shadow of silence and pain. After giving birth my grandpa, her husband never talked to her. They live within the same house, sleep on the same bed, but never spoke a single word to each other. It is her "way of respecting him." She gave her whole life to my grandpa and made him a man that everyone will look up to. She became a wife and a mother. But I don't think she ever had a husband who fathered my grandpa.

My great grandma became the "matriarch of the region" not because she was fond of people but because of her image as an old woman who earns respect from everyone.

She died on the eve of her 101st birthday. Her body was found sitting beside the window overlooking a lake. She was holding her husband's photograph with a note written on its back. It was dated the night before his own death and with his own reservations he said the single phrase my great grandma has been waiting for since the day they met each other. "I love you", he said. "This is the very first and the very last time I will tell you that and I am sorry..."

She was found with tears on her eyes. More than half a century since her husband died she was grieving. She bears the pain in her heart until the day she died. Pain caused by a meaningful life that cannot truly find its meaning.