Daughter

It was late and I could not sleep. I had been thinking for awhile now if I should proceed with my plan. I stared out the window looking for the moon like I always did back home in my room. The moon had a way of calming me down and I had hoped that it would give sense to what I was about to do. But to my dismay, there was nothing up there but the series of windows of the adjacent building. So I look down at the palm of my hands and started to count them – that thing that will help me. "One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… Is this enough?" and I counted them again, "One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight…Is this enough?"

I counted the pills so many times and always ended in wonder – how many should I take? How much would be enough to stop the pain?

I paused from counting. I closed my eyes and suddenly tears dropped from my eyes. I knew that what I was about to do was wrong but I felt that it was the only choice I had to stop the pain. As the tears fell from my eyes, it reminded me every great memory I had – every happy moment that made me who I am.

I remembered how Mama used to call me Rhodania in the morning with a loud angry voice to wake me up to go to school and how I would open my eyes only to find that Papa's arms were wrapped around me, calling me Dangkikay so gently and asking me to get up. I remembered how Mama always scolded me in the morning because I moved so slowly and was thus, always late for my class. I remembered how they both cheered for me when I went up to the stage to receive awards and how Mama helped me to get them by teaching me through the summer and every night after school and by constantly encouraging me. In many ways, my mother was my strength – she was the voice who woke me up, taught me and drove me on to be what I can be.

But I also remember how I held her almost lifeless body in my arms as I called to her to wake up. She was in a coma. The cancer cells had gone up to her brain and there was nothing I could do. She was dying.

I remember feeling useless and angry for not knowing that her life was about to end. I hated knowing that I was not there when she needed me most. I kept thinking that she had sacrificed so much for me but I could not even be there by her side as she went in and out of the hospital. How stupid I was not to realize the severity of her illness earlier on! How could I not see how much pain she was suffering!

I remember how her body felt when they opened the casket so that we, her family would be able to touch her for the very last time. But as I touched Mama's corpse, all logic had escaped me. I was almost driven mad by the feel of her hand. It was not my mother. I refused to believe that my mother's body could feel so cold and hard because I remember every touch, pat, embrace and kiss that Mama ever gave me.

I do not know how to accurately explain how deeply damaged I was when she died. It was like there is something in me that died with my mother, like my heart had become hallow and a precious dream had suddenly diminished. How I wish I could get it back but I do not think I ever will.

And there is a lot that I can say about my life – how I was able to get 19 medals when I graduated from grade school; how I was constantly an honor student until senior year in high school; how I won various contest during interschool competitions like the Regional Intel Science Investigatory Project and the Regional Schools Press Conference; and how actively I participated in school politics being the president of the school when I was in grade school and high school. But none of it can be said without mentioning the person who had loved me more than anything else in this world – the guiding force who was behind all of my achievements and right now, in spite of all the excruciating pain I cannot imagine my life without having been her daughter.