Renaissance woman
I do not know how to bond with my mother. Truth be told, I struggle to reconcile my enthusiasm with books, documentaries, and debates on political issues, with my mother’s delight toward cross-stitch embroidery, fancy carpets and curtains, and Victorian-inspired ceramics.
While I have been betrothed to minimalism since the day I saw it on Pinterest, my mother is a full-blooded maximalist. Like most Filipinos, my mother had a penchant for filling every space of the house with vases, framed artwork, earthen jars, and display cabinets.
She has filled our home with her cross-stitch works. Her proudest work yet was this large cross-stitch of The Last Supper where Jesus and his disciples share a last meal together before his crucifixion. It was at least six feet wide and four feet tall and was hung in our dining room. Her other works were mostly landscapes of flowers, panoramic views of the ocean, and large bowls of fruits.
When I was younger, she bought me a cross-stitching kit and taught me about the craft. I grudgingly finished a cross-stitch of the smiling sun and little blue clouds, along with the words “Mama and Papa, you are my sunshine.” My mother had it framed and displayed proudly but I simply do not have the patience nor do I find joy in colorful repeated x-patterns. From that moment on, I vowed to stay away from needles and thimbles forever.
Oftentimes, I try to engage with her by complimenting the fabrics she uses in sewing valance curtains, or joking that she made too many of her cross-stitches that we have run out of wall spaces to put them in. Then we both share a few laughs until I eventually run out of jokes to tell.
When we finally ran out of wall space to hang her framed works, my mother started a new project at home at the start of the pandemic: gardening and landscaping.
Those who came up with the “green thumb” phrase obviously haven’t met my mother who has a natural talent for growing plants from her thumb down to her pinky finger. What started as a small gardening hobby became a full-blown floriculture project. My mother filled every nook and cranny of our yard with ornamentals — kalachuchi, santan, bougainvillea, orchids, and many others that I absolutely have no idea what their proper names are.
She became a full-fledged “plantita” and turned our bland yard into a sanctuary of bougainvilleas and orchids. It started with a few garden boxes, potted flowers, sacks of black soil, and bags of fertilizers here and there. Every Sunday, she comes home with different varieties of bougainvilleas and orchids she bought from the plaza. She would smile while talking about how she got them for a low price; then she would spend the rest of the day cutting and propagating those plants.
Every time I go home to the province, I would wake up to the sound of the sprinkle of the garden hose, the trowel against the soil, or shears against the overgrown hedges. From my bay window, I would see my mother in her full gardening gear, the blooming bracts of a bougainvillea in pink, orange, and purple, and the early morning butterflies that have taken a liking to my mother’s garden.
I learned the names of her flowers — the white Cattleyas, the purple New Rivers, and the pink Temple Fires. Sometimes I would wander off into her garden and let her teach me about grafting plants. I was amazed that she can make her bougainvilleas produce two different colors of flowers, while I, on the other hand, can’t even grow tomatoes properly.
The last time I checked in at home, my mother was on her new project. She was busy on her sewing machine making a new set of drapery for the living room.
I have always known my mother like this — forever busy with her hands, building and creating something. In her own way, she is an artist. Anything blooms where her hands touch. Despite our differences in personal preferences, I am in awe of her talent and commitment to doing great in everything she does. Her creations have always been reflective of her ability to love faithfully and consistently. I can only wish to be like her.
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Odeza Gayl Urmatam, 24, is a student at San Beda University College of Law. She loves to write personal essays in-between reading assignments and case digests.
