Of guavas and cakes

 My parents’ 25th wedding anniversary was on April 23.

My father courted my mother for two years and, based on what she told me, he brought her three guavas that he picked from his neighbor’s backyard. She only received two. In his defense, he said a kid asked for one and he gave it to her.

My mother had a lot of suitors, but she chose my father. I think it was because she felt bad for him — thanks to the kid who asked for the guava. They got married in a small barangay in the province after some time. I still get amazed whenever I remember Mama saying she baked their three-tier wedding cake. The first time I heard the story, the only thing I said was, “That’s a lot of cake.”

Now that I’m 24 and have already witnessed the hassle and stress of planning events, I wish I said, “That’s a lot of cakes online. Why didn’t you hire someone to do it?”

My parents couldn’t be more opposite. They had different interests, backgrounds and personalities. When my father was angry, he wouldn’t shut up. My mother, on the other hand, wouldn’t talk. I couldn’t figure out which was worse back then—his thundering voice or her absolute silence. I just know that both were deafening.

I remember waking up to my mother’s nagging early in the morning while Tatay was in the backyard feeding his chickens. As the eldest, I was expected to go to my sisters’ rooms to wake them up. I’ve always loved it, because when a simple nudge wouldn’t do the trick, I had my mother’s blessing to bring a glass of cold water and splash it on their innocent sleeping faces. If we fought the previous night, I would dump the entire glass of water and the catfights would begin.

It was a simple life, and I used to wish it didn’t have to be like that because it was boring.

As a child, I couldn’t understand our setup. Unlike my classmates’ parents, my mother went to work and my father was at home and did household chores. When I was in grade school, I didn’t like it every time I had to write down my father’s occupation. My answers would vary. Sometimes, I wrote down “farmer,” and then after a few years, I changed it to “househusband.” I thought of every possible answer, because I didn’t want to write “none.” It was really frustrating, because I wanted a working father and that’s why when fights happened, I always sided with my mother.

Read more: https://opinion.inquirer.net/121516/of-guavas-and-cakes#ixzz6baeLmBVA