Ninang

It was a Sunday morning that I last spoke to her. I even teased her I brought her lechon to help her recuperate immediately from her hypertension. She was lucid, alert from what is happening in the dampness of the ICU. She told me she was awaiting the doctor and she will be transferred to a regular room. She was waiting for an available room where she can rest. Her body gave in after some days off to Dumaguete where she took some vacation. After arriving in Bulacan from Dumaguete, she immediately hurried off to Baguio City. And a couple of days, the physical weary showed off. I had every reason to believe that it would not be our very last conversation – but I was wrong, as my Tuesday morning was shattered by a call from my wife informing me that somebody passed away. Again, it reminded me how mortal men are. Death and life, death being an unbearable lightness than living. She was our generation’s ninang, being the godmother of all the panganay na pamangkin. She was also my adviser in grade six, a teacher notoriously known for temperamental outburst. There was a time when flower vase in her table was being replaced on a weekly basis, as she kept it hurling outside every time her temper got on her way – a student who can’t comprehend simple grammar maybe, a cleaner who forgot to tidy the room maybe, a student who was not able to water the garden maybe, etc. Glad that she taught up to only the early 90’s (if my recollection is right), given the current society’s activist stance against physical punishment for children.