How to Celebrate Mother's Day Without a Mom

“There's a story behind everything, but behind all your stories is always your mother's story... because hers is where yours begins.”
-Mitch Albom

I praise Mitch Albom as a man of words, because he phrased my outlook in life much better than I ever could. Albom is the author of The Five People You Meet in Heaven, a novel I read in 8th grade, as well as a novel I could not personally relate to until a few days after my 8th grade graduation, when my mom became one of the five people I would hope to meet again in heaven. 

Six years have passed since I last celebrated Mother's Day with my mom. Whereas, for the last five years, I have spent that holiday hiding in my sheets hoping that by keeping my sheets hidden shut, it would in turn, keep my heavy heart hidden and shut as well.

Let's be honest- Hallmark created this holiday simply as a business tactic. And for the sake of Hallmark, they should feel beyond fortunate that in the past, I chose to spend this day by wasting it in hiding from a world that banished the one woman I look up to. Because if we lived in a world where my imagination was justified and acted upon (which to certain extents could and should never happen), I would riot against Hallmark and all the nonsense holidays they have created. However, right when I am ready to get out of bed and riot, I remember the one woman I look up to and realize that while I look up to her, she would hate to look down on me in these conditions. Indeed my mom lays under a tomb, yet she would never wish for me to spend a single day of my life as if I lay under a tomb with her.

With all the above said, the best Mother's Day gift I can give to a mother that cannot celebrate the holiday with her daughter is to get out from under the tomb I have created and not riot. 

Six years have passed since I last celebrated Mother's Day with my mom. Six years have passed since my little sister and I recorded a video, in which we took turns exchanging some of the various reasons why we love Miss Milagros DaCosta Cajayon, aka the woman we are fortunate enough to call Mom. I will never forget watching my mother cry as she watched us in the video. That was the first and only time I had ever seen her cry, which is why I will not riot against Hallmark. Their creation of made-up, nonsense holidays may be tearjerkers, but the tears relinquished on these holidays do not necessarily have to be tears for a tombstone.

This Mother's Day, my gift to her is that I will not let her see me cry, and instead, look forward to the day she will be one of the people I meet again in heaven.

Cooler Than a Wallflower

"Au rire on connaît le fou."
 -French Proverb

At a young age, I was taught to never eat with my elbows on the table and to walk as if my head and shoulders were attached to strings connected to the sky. From the moment I could talk, I was told to always think before I speak, annunciate the words "please" and "thank you", and count my blessings in moments of silence.

At 20 years old, I won four awards within the same week, and consequently all these awards seemed to reiterate on a common theme of positivity. Upon receiving these awards, I could not help but elude how proud I was of myself, since I have always portrayed myself as a wallflower. On top of that, I was almost positive that I had relinquished my title of a wallflower, after I won first place in the only real competition I have ever signed up for in my entire life. However my thoughts completely shifted when someone admitted that their favorite aspect about me was not when I am poised, which would credit to my awards, but rather when I am outspoken. 

This made me question whether or not I have truly exceeded past my days as a wallflower, and in fact made me ponder if maybe my infamous positivity and bubbly spirit have merely confined me even more so as a wallflower. As bizarre of a concept that may seem, it quickly translated into common sense that is as simple as my everyday decision on whether to buy coffee or not. Just like the coffee I drink that runs through my veins, eventually the caffeine I consume will wear off leaving me exactly where I started.

At a young age, I was introduced to coffee, too. Hence, full circle.

No matter how much cream and sugar I add to my coffee, my coffee will always start from coffee beans. Just like no matter how positive I am, or whether I eat with my elbows off the table, or walk as if my head and shoulders were attached to strings connected to the sky, or think before I speak while annunciating the words "please" and "thank you" as I count my blessings in moments of silence, who I am will always rely on where I started. 

I may be poised or I may be outspoken, and that is what makes me cooler than a wallflower.

Under Construction

"There is no art to find the mind's construction in the face."
-Shakespeare

I have never been a believer of coincidences. Yet when I woke up to white noise conducted by orange cones and construction work surrounding a place I call home, a change of heart rung like the alarm clock I needed, in order to grasp a long overdue wake-up call. 

It has almost been a year since I retired the occupation of "boyfriend girl", a career in which I consumed my heart into the arms of someone else's, because it felt safer there than in my own. I was 15 when I found someone who could hold the weight of my heart despite my monkey ears; I was 17 when I discovered that my heart could be safe in more than one person's arms; and I was 19 when I realized that I wanted my heart back. Do not get me wrong, the arms that held my heart were sturdy and secure, and I am beyond blessed that I was lucky enough to ever find a steady love, even more than one, to call my own. It is well apparent now how difficult that is to come by. But at the time, I wanted to challenge myself to become sturdy and secure enough to hold onto my heart without the arms of a steady love, and yet, still feel safe. However at 20, I am realizing that I am accomplishing quite the opposite.

Waking up to sudden construction work was the exact push I needed to realize that I do not need the sidewalks to feel safe. Tripping over the potholes on the street may be what is responsible for the orange cones that now surround my heart. But regardless of whether coincidences exist or not, those orange cones will not surround my house forever, nor will the need to protect my heart.