My Mother

She lived like a spanish princess.
Fragile and delicate as expensive porcelein dolls.
She struck awe in men as the luxirious dolls did with young girls.
Her widow's peak, an arrow tip, stood out proudly against her porcelein skin.
The perfect heart-shaped frame for a most loving face.
Her hair black as deep sorrow, ended in lucious curls.
She grew amidst coos and sounds of delight of those around her.
And blossomed into the subject of every man's toast.
Señora Bebe Aurea Agbulos Aquino, as I would call her.
The prized possesion of her Father,the eldest daughter of a brood eleven children and the favorite at that.

A true lady of almost Hollwood glamour and grace.
Graceful in situations where it was easy for a lady to lose her bearing,
She made devouring a water melon in a water-melon eating contest look pedigreed.
She made it seem like there was a proper and improper way of spitting out a seed into the air.
(She won that eating contest by the way.)

She smelled expensive without her perfume and glamorous first thing in the morning.
She arrived like a rolls royce when she entered the doors to a hall, as if the whole point of throwing dinner parties was for everybody to watch her parade in and the pleasure of her company was for members only.


It all sounds unfair I know but God is fair. And I will prove that point. Let's just say that on a checklist of the perfect mate almost everything would be ticked-off. The operative word there being almost.

Bebe + kitchen = disaster

It was wiser to leave all the doors of your house unlocked while away on vacation rather than
to leave your abode with Bebe unsupervised in the kitchen.
*disclaimer:The woman could bake the best chocolate cake but not cook please do take note.

She did her best though and never complained when she had to scrub a spoon or dust the house. If you could consider throwing away a dirty but otherwise perfectly good spoon and using ridiculous amounts of facial tissue as acceptable methods. Grandmom's idea of the ultimate tool for cleaning was indeed 3-ply facial tissue with lavender prints. Talk about the ends justifying the means.

I think you get my point. Nonetheless she did it without much complaint nor reservation.
I could imagine my grandpa scratching his head and simply smiling it off. There was just this innocence to her not knowing how to do it. I guess that's why they got helper.(Thank you god for Nana!!!that's another story)

Yes we all have our share of stories of the near disaster of the house exploding but
we always found consolation in knowing that she did out of a great love for her family and friends.

In the end the results were the same clean spoon and dustless furniture. This is the woman who raised me. And although I have had to learn my domestic skills elsewhere she taught me things about life that have helped me survive life with a little bit more grace and dignity than others. For this I will be eternally grateful.