Grandmother Blues

The evening started well enough. My grandmother, aka Mamala, and I arrived home from the church and came upon my mother, recently arrived from her weekend with friends, sorting our dirty clothes to bring to the nearby laundry house. There were the usual greetings and conversation then suddenly without warning Mom and Mamala were snapping and sniping at each other. From what I can hear they were arguing about, of all things, the lights in the altar that quickly escalated to a shouting match about the electricity bill then Mamala was taking potshots at my youngest brother, who was out of the house that time, how he was the one wasting the electricity with his late night television and stuff. Mama has it in for my youngest brother, but that’s another story. Anyway, Mama climbed upstairs and suddenly became a little bit hysterical. She was crying and going on about how Mom was treating her, after all her (Mamala’s) sacrifice for her family, in short, her usual angst-laden spiel against Mom in particular and the world in general. I went down to get her a glass of water. Mom was downstairs muttering to herself. After giving Mama her glass of water I brought down the dirty clothes that Mom was sorting when we arrived. She went out as Mama was coming down the stairs ready for another round of confrontation. Mom hurriedly beat a retreat to avoid another shouting match. However, Mama was on the roll. She kept going on and on about her usual monologue on Mom’s shortcomings and how she (Mama) was being treated…to enumerate everything would take me the whole night to write. I heard her call my uncle in the Middle East with her cellular phone and she was crying and complaining. But from what I can hear from her side of the conversation, the line must have been choppy because she was calling out again and again my uncle’s name. I turned on the TV to tune her out but she came downstairs. She was shouting to my cousin, her acolyte, to bring down her bags because she was packing her things. She was still ranting and raving about everything and nothing. I was not feeling up to the task of listening or playing referee, for the nth time, once my mom came back from the laundry house. So I quickly went upstairs and changed into my Capri pants with the intent of escaping the house. My grandmother followed me upstairs, still not yet finished with her piece and was getting more emotional. My mother arrived and tried to dissuade me from going out on account of how it was already dark outside (we had just moved to the neighborhood) but I was not to be dissuaded. I got my shoulder bag ready to go out but before I could leave I heard my grandmother clattering down the stairs. On hearing this, my mother quickly went outside and closed the door. I hurried after her. It was only when I got outside that I realized I had no money and no way was I going back to the house where Mama was still shouting because now she was being deprived of her prey (Mom) and I her sounding board was also escaping. My mother was already outside the gate when I caught up with her. Since she had brought money, we decided to go the bookstore one ride away from the house. We left my poor cousin to soothe the ire of the tigress. In the bookstore we browsed through the books but we did not buy anything since it was not a secondhand bookstore and the books were very expensive. My smart aleck brother, the one I usually quote on this blog who lives in Cebu with my paternal grandmother, sent me a message asking to borrow something. I told him not to call home since mom and I escaped from the skirmish in the home front. And these are what he had to say (yes, these are more quotes from him. Maybe I should change the name from “looking for directions” to “my brother’s wisecracks” or something to that effect) These are direct quotes, text icons, wrong grammar, and everything.

First text: wats new. hihi 0ld f0lks r alwyz lyk dat. iv ex 8 a l0t of tym. at 1^st makalagot (makes you mad) . per0 (but) after i heard a preach I came 2 realize dey nid a few dash 0f luv. Ü

Next text: btw beware 0f m0m. she’s next. haha. tita she (our paternal aunt) has a sympt0ms of bec0min her m0m. shh. age gets in d way. (referring to our paternal grandmother)(she and tita are also like cats and dogs)

Another one: (he had a nice insight) a smal d0se 0f luv n undrstandn. mamala nids 8.c0z mama fils lyk a sec0nd clas citizen. haha ni puyo xa lugar n way ganhan. tv r an kast0rya (she lives in a house were she’s not quite liked. she only has the tv to talk to) (a somewhat brutal assessment with more than a grain of truth. bro hits the nail in the head.)

And another: d0nt w0ri u wil hav ur tym. next aftr m0m. Ü re 85% of 0ld f0lks dependin w/s0me0ne 0r n0 bank acc0unts hav d same personality lyk r lolas. (I haven’t the vaguest idea where he got his statistics)

I replied to brother with the realization that I dreaded growing old because I didn’t want to turn out like my grandmothers. I want to be a rich, independent old lady. I want to be an old lady who does not have to depend on her children or if I never marry, then on my relatives. I want to be an old woman who is easy to live with, lovable, and gracious. I know being rich will not guarantee that I will be any of these things but at least if I can’t stand to live with any of them, then I have the means to set up my own household. Both my grandmothers are as different as night and day temperamentally but what they have in common is that it is very difficult to live with either one.

When we went home after mom had finished her carrot-apple shake from the supermarket beside the bookstore, Mama was already upstairs having calmed down and was resting. Her earthly goods (seven bags of different sizes and shapes) were arranged beside the stairs all ready for transfer (temporarily, until she will realize again that our house is still the best place for her given her limited choice) to her son’s house in another town.

Hayy...until the next skirmish