Glenda L Viola
I am a child but not cut from her navel. She’s my mother who did not give birth to me. She did not carry me in her womb. She did not even feed me meals and did not raise me at home. Nonetheless, I am her child. Those did not make me less of a child to her. She loved me as her own.
Yes, I am my teacher’s child not because she always called me “anak” but because she showed me love, care and understood me just like what a real mother does.
Yes, she did not carry me in her womb. Despite that, she has given birth to someone who can do sort of good things that surely enchants even myself, as surprisingly, she was able to give birth to someone like that out of me; out of me who only knows how to break plates; out of me who only knows how to break rules; and out of me who breaks my parents’ hearts.
She did not feed me meals and that’s for certain. However, she has fed me values and knowledge which she heartily taught me without me noticing how hard it was for her to always run after me just to share her learnings. I wasn’t able to notice her hardships on me whenever I skip classes. There were times I was not paying attention but she would always call my name as if I knew what to say…and she trusted me. She has always believed that I could do all things if only I would believe in myself as well.
I reached for her lending hand. I held onto her, trusting her, believing in myself. Yes, I was not fed meals because I was fed values.
She was not at home with us. Instead, she was always there, our home. She did not shelter us with roof. Instead, she sheltered us with love, so much love that even in our slightest pain, she could feel it and cried with us too.
She cried, but was not weak. She’s strong, so strong that she stood for us always; so strong that she would fight with her heart not to spoil us. And I was weak…so weak that I could not be able to fully reciprocate all the love and care when she was still here.