Missing my Folks

I was cleaning the apartment this week (scrubbing the floors, vacuuming, cleaning the toilet, etc) and I hurt my back.  I've been suffering from low back pain ever since I hit my 30s and I often get bouts of pain like this.  I can't tell whether it's a pinched nerve or a joint pain, and the pain radiates to my bum and my thighs.

It's times like this when I really wish my mom was here.   Back in the Philippines, whenever my back hurts, my mom would give me a hot compress, rub oil/ointment, massage my back and soothe the pain away.  Nobody can ever care for you like your mother.  Her touch is different.   She weaves magic in her hands.   

Being in a rough patch now makes me feel like a little girl who fell down, scraped her knee and whose first instinct is to cry out "Mommy".  Whenever my mom talks to me and tells me "Anak, I am praying for you.  Don't worry, everything will be fine", I can't help but just cry a bucket of tears.  This week she sent me a text message asking me if I need money to be wired to me so I need not worry about finances while unemployed.  My heart just melted and I sobbed.  I am that helpless little girl again and mommy has come to the rescue.   At my age, I should be looking after my parents.  I feel bad that I am stripped of my ability to care for them. 

When you are miles away from family, you begin to realize the weight of the little things that you took for granted.   Case in point: my dad's cooking.   

I never realized how lucky I was that my dad would whip up specialty food which in my mind then was ordinary fare.  My dad would cook paella and adobong alimango on any given day.   There would be no occasion but he would decide to cook whatever he fancies. Blue Marlin Steak.  Fresh Sushi. Spring rolls.  Chapchae.  Sukiyaki.  Pansit Malabon. Sisig.  Quesadilla. His food repertoire is almost endless.  If he tastes something good in a restaurant, he would try to recreate it at home.   Now that I am learning how to cook, I want my food to taste like how my dad makes them.  I asked him for his recipe for Hainanese Chicken Rice.  I recreated it, only mine tasted like Tinola.  Epic fail.  For the life of me, I can't recreate his adobo no matter how many times I tried to cook it here. 

There are things that only your parents can do.  They are irreplaceable.  I lived with them for over 37 years, and I thank them for giving me a very happy, sheltered life.  I guess I never truly felt like an adult until I was weaned away from them.  I've aged a lot emotionally ever since migrating here.  How nice would it to be a child again every now and then and be cradled by your parents?  

My Folks!