The Ballad of Son's Heart

This picture was taken less than a year of my mother's death. With me in this photo is my youngest son on his Elementary Graduation, April 2, 2007.
He is that son who never appreciates any single hug and kiss from me. He grew up with his Grandma and automated his heart to her. I never win his heart even after the death of his Grandmother.
The next paragraphs were the products of my memory which I wrote for him on the School's Literary and Musical Contest, February 8, 2008. He won the heart of the audience with a high applause. I supposed, his being the champion was not for his delivery and contents but for his mastery. He interpreted every lines with showers of tears. The audience believed that he understands what he was reading, but when they discover that his number is his true story, they ended their applause with tears.
I dedicate this writing to his Grand mother whose second death anniversary will be observed this coming June 23,2008.



Building our tomorrow as it develops in my heart is motivated by parents, especially mom. No sweetest word ever grew in my heart than the word “INA” for I grew without father. When I start having friends and get acquainted that a child should have a mother and a father to make them complete, I’m sure I lack the later. My eternal quest of having one is to carry me ho0me on his shoulder can never happen like my friends. When we’re going home from a long walk with my grandma, I ask her the same and carry me in her shoulder. My grandma explained that I must not ask her to carry me in she is too old to take the risk, though it happens early in my childhood. My rapid growing weight let her surrender for this purpose, so I utter silently, who shall be my father. I have not seen one, ever as I remember.

When I’m four years old, my grandma has tried much effort, pushing me back on my mother side. A query in my heart has an initial explanation. The way I understand myself as fatherless is not real. I was only adapted by my grandma when my mother undergoes an ovarian operation. I must be back to my mother in preparation for my pre-schooling. In a medium size plastic bag, I tried to load all my personal belongings. My grandma held me not to load everything for I’m hurting the plastic bag. This must be too small to carry everything, anyway. I’ll be seeing her frequently. Such is the promise that my grandma has to motivate me in going back to my mother’s custody. It really hurt me that I tried to recall my peculiarity. My unaccounted peculiarity might be the reason for my grandma’s withdrawal on me. My father has enough capacity to carry me out and so I start screaming to gain back my grandma’s sentiment. I have not observed any droplets of tears on my grandma’s face. I must be a naughty child that is why I am rejected.

On my first night stay with my mother, it seems a sleepless night for us family. I’m convenient with my grandma’s scent than my mother. Clinging to my grandma’s neck is the most scented rather than any perfume in the world. My expanding loneliness made me reject all the sweet that my mother have, when she comforted and hugged me forcibly. I am not inclined to be hug by a much younger person compared to my grandma who is already 67 at that time. My mother starts touring me on her business and my brother’s own business. I can have any of this if I stay. My grandma cannot provide me the same, considering her age. Her lenient explanation is meaningless to me. My grandma’s love is enough to provide me everything. I start to think of ways that may bring me back to grandma.

Considering my short stay in my new environment, I observed that mother is taking a nap after lunch. This might be a chance for me. The moment has done me a favor. While my brothers were gone for school, with only me and my only sister at home, together with my mother’s deep sleep, I initiate my plan. I try to trace every foot step we had with my father upon our way to my mother. Together with our most loyal dog, named Gardo, I start tracing where can I locate my grandma. Our only dog served as my tour guide, until I found my old home. I know that the tallest coconut tree near our house will do me a lot and serve as my marker. I serve the Salaam that my grandma has taught me upon entering once residence. She ran and hugged me. On the moment I did the same. I felt her tears pouring down my shoulders. She must have a hard time, like me, and I start sobbing too. Such is the scene that I cannot forget, similar to my last hugged at her dieing bed.

How ever, with my early adolescent, I understand the motives of my grandma. She pushed to build my tomorrow. Losing her with my acceptance of having a biological mother is different from losing her at dieing bed. It caused me more reservations and minimizes hindrances on my future. It turns me and likely losing mother at a different time with the same gravity of losing one. Though my grandma love me more than any woman in the world and likewise, but I believe, no one surpass the care of my biological mother. That is one of the reasons, of my being now. She guide me how to become one, she shows me the right path to success. I am convinced that our tomorrow depends on the guidance and motivation of a mother. Indeed, the fulfillment of every dream rely more on discipline, sincerity, and all those words that support our commitment in life. Undebatable, it is we ourselves building of tomorrow and our parents as a foundation in order for us to find a better place in the society