Wishes

Note: I should have written about this a month ago but for significant reasons, I only write about it now.
December 11, Monday, 7 PM.
I was sitting under a huge, extremely bright streetlight somewhere inside the parking lot of the NAIA Centennial Airport. My textbook was cradled between my knees and my phone was in the pocket of my jacket. It was a windy evening and my hair was flying all over the place like the snakes on Medusa's head. I was aware I looked like a bum in one of those New York movies. As I sat on the sidewalk and read my book, I received a text message from my cousin, telling me that her delayed flight was finally accepting passengers for boarding.
I was hit by a sudden flashback of the opening scene in the movie "Love Actually," where Hugh Grant's character does a voice over while shots of people arriving in Heathrow Airport in England are shown. He says he loves observing the goings-on in the arrival area of that airport. Smiles are everywhere, people of all ages are running around and hugging is especially prevalent. Then the irony struck me. An airport and smiles. Among the throng of people to flood the arrival area of an overseas airport in two days, one face would stand out in the crowd.
I was in NAIA to fetch Manang Apple, the oldest among all my cousins. She was due to fly abroad by noon the following day to report back to work after more than a month of being home for vacation. She had been gone for more than a year and it was great to have her home, although she arrived the same week my sem break ended so we only spent a couple of days together before I flew back to Manila. The month sped past as if it were on swan's wings and now, she was going to say goodbye again. She left, among others, a father, a sister and, most significantly, three very young daughters with ages between ten to four.

Manang Apple is not just my cousin. She and her younger sister Manang Maya are almost like my older sisters. For about five years, I lived across the hall from the two of them on the second floor of my grandparents' home. Day in and day out, the two of them took turns in introducing me to "cool '80s teen icons" like New Kids on the Block, Brooke Shields, Phoebe Cates and Spandau Ballet. In other times, they would dress me up in tights, "tease" my hair with a comb until I got split ends, paint a Madonna mole on my face and if I didn't indulge their whims, scare me to my wits' end by telling me that a lady once electrocuted herself and died in our bathtub.
As a little girl, I looked up to Manang Apple for a lot of reasons. Long before "kakiyan" became the byword, she was already the ultimate fashionista and she always had the coolest and most outrageous outfits ever, not to mention her colorful hoop earrings. In fact, it has become much too easy to spot her in old family pictures.
She was also among my first music teachers. As far as I can remember, she was always singing somewhere - church, the bathroom, school, the car, music competitions, the garage. We used to sing together with Manang Maya in the children's choir although I think they detested having me around because they had to keep an eye out for me all the time. She later became part of the adult church choir and I vividly remember sneaking into the balcony during church services just so I could see her. I remember when I was 10, I joined this singing contest for the first time in my school and she taught me for several nights in a row, making me stand on her bed, hairbrush in one hand. I lost in that contest and later in the day, she told me "It's okay," in between mouthfuls of ice cream.
She was my saviour in every mealtime. I had a yaya when I was little and she would heap food on my plate too much for a four-year old to ingest. Manang Apple would ask her to get some water or something and when my yaya's back was turned, she would pull my plate towards her, stuff her mouth with as much of my food as she could then push my now less full plate back to my cover just in time.
I ruined her legs once. When I was 9, I used to ride a motorcycle. To show her how good I was, I asked her ride in the rear seat while I drove. I lost my balance and we both fell on the concrete pavement. I bruised and wounded my left knee while she tore her good pair of jeans.
I knew her more significant crushes from high school to college and the corresponding "theme songs" for each.
On her 18th birthday, my newest Barbie decked the cake I helped Manang Maya and their aunt bake.
During her 'pamanhikan,' I sat on the hallway of our house and played optical volleyball between her and her (now deceased) future in-laws.
I watched her sing her vows to her husband during her wedding.
I dashed straight from my high school to the hospital when she gave birth to her first daughter with whom I share part of my name.
For the next ten years, it broke my heart to see her struggle and cry as she juggled a full-time job in a city hospital with a full-time designation as mother and homemaker, to the point of travelling four hours each day to get to work and back home. I had always known she was made of tough stuff and I could not believe it when I saw her strength dwindle through the years.
For ten years, I found myself praying for her everyday and hoping she would get the life and the love she had not only desired but truly deserved.
It took ten years before she finally realized everything had to stop. She broke free of her cage. Her mettle had finally won out.
I know going away was not an easy decision to make for a hands-on mother like her, especially since her three beautiful girls love her unconditionally with every square inch of their hearts. She has missed graduations and plays, storytelling contests and chorale presentations, birthdays and games of hide-and-seek and patintero. By the time she comes home for another vacation, one of her girls might not be asking for Bratz anymore.
We had a late dinner on that Monday evening, the traffic along EDSA-Guadalupe being extremely horrible. We were both very sleepy but what kept us awake was a stream of texts from her oldest daughter. "Mama, we can't go on like this forever," she said with wisdom beyond her years which oftentimes makes me rethink why I still treat my eldest niece like a little girl in a pink dress. I don't recall everything Manang Apple texted back but I remember she said "No." And I remember being half asleep at around 5 AM, hearing the sound of a cellphone keypad punctuating the silence of a cold December morning.
I wish so many things for her I do not know where to start. For one thing, I wish that she would no longer miss anymore of her daughters' growing up years. I wish that everything she has longed for ever since she was a little girl would all be fulfilled. Most of all, this Christmas season, I wish her happiness, contentment and peace which come from loving and being loved by God, her family and herself.