Nanay

Nanay walked into her bedroom and her palm went straight to her forehead. Classic facepalm. It has become the scene of a crime, and she knew exactly who the culprits were: EJ, Aica (my childhood nickname), Erika, Inah, Eiane, Luis, Ken, Lia, and Li-Anne. The premise of the story took place in Talavera, Nueva Ecija, a small town in the Philippines. Snow was never an occurrence, but on that day, winter came to her room. Baby powder exploded all over the hardwood floors, getting in between the creases. Her favorite scarf was left unfolded, scattered on her trampled bed. She kept things tidy and organized, being the principal of an elementary school.

The culprits have left the scene and have moved on to better things: an afternoon snack that Nanay had prepared for us. Nanay means mother in Tagalog, but to my cousins and I, it meant “the most amazing grandmother in the world”. Once we gobbled up our merienda (afternoon snack), we knew better than to leave her room the way we left it. After all, she was a principal. She had conditioned us to be responsible for our actions. Without fail, we always turned her room into a jungle when the nine of us got together. One would think, “Does she get to a point where she would ban them from her room?” She got close a few times, but she enjoyed our chaos more than anything in the universe. She would let us go nuts, as long as we return her room to its former glory.

There used to be this painting in her room. It was of Nanay and one of her younger sisters, sitting on my great-grandmother’s lap. The background depicted a humble lifestyle, with hints of a house made of bamboo. Nobody was smiling in the photo, but I figured I couldn’t hold a smile either if I had to sit still for hours. I would catch myself staring at that painting, imagining what Nanay was like before she became our grandma. Did she always know how to be? Did the absence of a smile simply mean posing was tedious, or was she lonely once? How did she overcome every hurdle without leaving evidence of hardship? She seemed to laugh at everything when I knew her, including the times my cousins and I would wreck her room.

Was she ever lonely? Nanay never laid her problems or sadness on us. In our eyes, she was the happiest person in the world. My cousins and I knew that she was one of the most ticklish people in existence, so we always ganged up on her. She would let us do it for a while, too. She would start laughing so hard that a waterfall of tears would start flowing. Without even telling us to stop, she would reach for her handkerchief and wipe the tears from underneath her oversized specs.

We loved the way she laughed, letting out little crackles from the back of her throat. If you would have asked me then who the happiest person in the world is, without a shadow of a doubt I would say “Nanay”. I believed this for a long time until she graced me with a revelation one Christmas Day. My parents separated when I was 7 years old, and my life was never the same after that. I drowned myself in isolation, in the company of books and poems. I constantly lived in fear that someone would see through my pain. She did. She always gave us envelopes for Christmas with money inside, and there’s usually a “Love, Nanay” note in the back. One specific Christmas after my parents' separation, I received a different message: “Just like Ninoy, Nanay is lonely, too.” It was a 500-peso bill. Ninoy Aquino, one of our country’s heroes is displayed in front. That was the biggest Christmas gift I’ve received from her, but not just in monetary value. In that moment, I realized she was telling me two things: I know you’re lonely, and that’s okay because I’m lonely, too. She reminded me that I wasn’t alone. The image I had of my grandma changed in an instant. I was old enough to know that she was still going through some pain, and she was indeed lonely.

Nanay lost three important people in her life even before I was born. One of my uncles was born with a twin brother, but his twin didn’t make it. A few years later when her children were fully grown, she lost her oldest son to a car crash. He was barely in his 20’s, and I never got to meet Tito Larry (uncle). Shortly after, my grandfather passed away. The thought of missing out on them always elicited jolts of pain to my heart; so I couldn’t begin to fathom the kind of pain Nanay endured. Or the kind of loneliness constant grieving brings. She had lost three men in her family, but I never saw a shadow of pain in her. Nobody ever talked about them because it usually brought some darkness in the room, but she always handled it best. Maybe Nanay didn’t always know how to be, but she never let those losses define her. She decided to let these experiences teach her how to be.

How did Nanay overcome every hurdle without leaving evidence of hardship? She took care of us. Every single one of her grandchildren were personally raised by her. She poured out to us when she had barely anything to pour. My sister and I lived in Manila, which was a three hour drive from Talavera. The rest of our cousins lived close by to Nanay, but she never made us feel left out. She would take the bus with one companion and bring my sister and I food every so often. They would always be our favorite dishes, too. She lugged containers of fresh meals with her on public transportation, just to see us smile. When our parents separated and our mother moved to America, she came with even more company. And even more food. She always got my mom’s brother to drive a van, and hauled the rest of my cousins with her. She never wanted us to feel alone, and she wanted to teach us how to be there for each other. Ironically, those were the things she did to overcome her pain. She loved us unconditionally.

Nanay was a magnet that brought people together. That was her super power. Whenever my sister and I were in town to visit, my cousins and I would squeeze in her bed. Imagine a can of sardines. That’s what it felt like on her bed, but she loved it. We loved it. She didn’t kick any of us out. We refused to sleep anywhere else. She brought community to her elementary school and encouraged every person to be the best version of themselves. Every year on her birthday, the entire school would come together and perform for her. Her grandchildren always showed up. We had our own performances prepared for her. Sometimes it was a dance number. Sometimes I wrote a play for us to perform. As I write this right now, I can remember her smiling and laugh-crying as she watches everyone come together. Nothing made her happier than seeing the people she loves work together. She chose to see everything in a positive light, making fun of things that should cause her to be upset.

I realized that we never noticed her loneliness because we were her happiness. It’s like we cancelled out every bad thing that occurred in her life. We kept her going. It wasn’t rocket science. She is in heaven now, and it broke my heart the day it happened. It still breaks every now and then. When I needed somewhere to go to, I always ran to her. I remember constantly thinking, “Now where do I go?” It took me years to realize this; but, the only way she could ever watch over all of us at the same time is from a higher place. I chose to follow her example, and see painful things in a positive light. Her death never meant that she left us completely. Nanay left this earth to become our guardian angel, continuing to walk with us in every stage of our lives.