I am still in Asia. Yes, nitpicking this woman's brain. There is more to her poverty, er uhm, her angst. She started to write. This is long overdue. When too much emotions and questions mingle I just cannot form it into words. There was much contemplation, but the adulation is undoubtedly in my heart. I just cannot weave it from start to finish. I will try today. We love our mother so much. We call her Nanay. It's a sort of an extra credit that I got her major looks. Her deep set eyes, her tall nose, wide forehead. A classic beauty they say. It made me feel like a first class citizen with relatives' hushed tones of "there's Maria's carbon copy..." I can feel adoring looks in my surroundings it almost made me levitate. It's because of this I grew up knowing and feeling I do have the looks. However, it was my mother's legacy that I tried my best to keep her face, to take care of myself. We were poor then but Nanay treated us like princesses. She never made us do any housework, she just wanted us to study the whole day. No, there's no compulsory discipline in any way, she just wanted us to grow up loving the whole business of learning, and be successful individuals – each one of us, no one left behind. She got criticized for not ordering us around -- to do laundry, to wash clothes, to clean the house -- she had four girls and she's not raising them the proper way she ought to. Well she had her reasons, or maybe pains for doing so, she was actually rebelling the way she was confined to the kitchen and not allowed to go schooling during her younger days. It had hurt her too much she made sure it's not going to happen to her children. Nobody knew that, of course, the way nobody knew one's inner pains. It's going to be difficult for me, to concretize the things that have lodged in my heart. It had to be because sooner or later I'm going to die with it. And once in one's life there will come a phase one gets everything figured all out. And I owe it to myself and to her. She sent me – my words show that what happened to my life I feel it is her causing it to – she sent me to relatives when I was in my elementary years because of poverty, that ugly word. We had to be helped out, and since I'm one of the elder siblings I had to be the one to go. My young mind then didn't grasp it that way. She sent me. And I slept every night of my young life with that thought. I did go home to her every weekends, my father picks me up Fridays to spend Saturdays and Sundays with them – but for a duckling, that is never enough. When I had to go back Sundays, I saw her toughness as indifference. I was leaving and she wouldn't budge. Her back is always at me, I almost clung to our door. She was washing dishes or what have you and I am drowning in tears. I was walking wounded. My father would snap, stop it Irene, what is the problem, you go home weekends. I now have my son and it took years for me to realize Nanay herself is choking in her own tears back then. She just wouldn't want to add to my burden. She always had her back at me, but not her heart. I had to be a mother to know. It was in college that I finally got to be reunited with her. I was finally allowed to live with the family because UP – my university, is nearer in our own house. Unfortunately the past experience ruined me emotionally. My ignorant heart accusses disloyalty. I questioned my self-worth. I clung to anyone who would show some form of attention. I distrust anyone who at the slightest shuns me. I do not want to forgive. I should be loved. Nevertheless, my tears went on endlessly. Big Brother would have thought I am indeed the Drama Queen. I cry myself to sleep. I had a lot of questions (which actually boils down to one) and scenes. I was in Grade 3 when I was nominated to be Ms. Holland in the school's United Nation's Day. I had the costume alright, thanks to my aunt's money, but for some reason or another no one was there to attend to me. I saw my classmates all made up and I thought I could put on my own lipstick, which I did. It was an experience that shattered my soul. They were laughing at me and other moms helped me out, fixed my face. It stuck in my heart several, several years after. I used to hate my mother for not being there. Now I hate poverty. It wasn't her fault. I will never ever let lack of money hurt me again. My mother died of breast cancer when I was eighteen. In the midst of our clashes and emotional fights. I was a teenager and troubled and hurt. She didn't seem to understand. I myself was amazed at who I was. At the anger. It was all love lost. Or rather love restrained. I love Nanay and I miss her just too much. I know everything she has it all figured out too. I know she knows, because I came from her womb. My eyes got welled in tears. I mean my male eyes. I think I can make a movie.