Joy Comes In The Morning

Spread your wings, let your spirit soar. – Anonymous

This morning, when all else had seemed dismal despite a lovely sunny day, a hummingbird flew into our life. 

Just hovering there.

Staring.

It seemed like its tiny heart was pattering so fast like its wings. I thought, what a thing to have to work that hard every day just to stay alive.

Then it flew closer, attracted to the sparkling red of the feeder.

Finally sipping.

Looking at its vibrant little body with such color and wings that beat faster than thought, I felt as if I could watch the whole of life if I could hold a hummingbird in my hand.

Hummingbird In The Morning. All photos: VEV, Columbus, 2022

A messenger of beauty and wonder.

A reminder for us to taste the sweet nectar of life.

A creature of pure joy.

 

Sampaguita and YIang-Ylang Garland

Flowers of Mum

Some people see sunshine and birds chirping and trees leafing out and think of May.

Some people see tiny green shoots pushing their way through the cold, hard ground and think of May.

Me?

The sign of May I always look for?

Mum's sampaguita and ylang-ylang garland.

Sampaguita, also known as the 'Philippine jasmine,' is often strung with ylang-ylang leaves into a necklace and worn by women.

I remember how Mum would buy a strand from an ambulant vendor in front of the Quiapo church after our Saturday market shopping.

It's usually hung over car rear-view mirrors or altars and religious icons, but since we didn't have any santos, Mum put her garland under her pillow instead.

At night, lying by her before moving to my designated spot on the woven mat, I'd get a whiff of her newly-washed hair smelling of extracted gugo tonic with hints of orange blossom and the wonderful, gentle, and sweet custard-apple and jasmine of the garland. Nestled in my Mum's embrace, I felt how she seemed to have been created to radiate warmth. 

I recall how she would remind me in a whisper, Deaconness Afrie would be picking you up for VBS tomorrow. And murmuring, would say a soft-spoken plea for me to not "accidentally" extend a leg when spoiled Youngest Brother passed by (she knew that I did it on purpose to trip him).

As she spoke, her words echoing in the next few minutes made me feel like everything was happening in slow motion. Looking at her half-closed eyes, I could see a light that often turned inward, as if thoughts were moving across them like passing clouds. Dreamily, she would then gently pull my hair off my face and say, Hala, go to bed already.

Time has slipped by like a leaf dropping from a tree since then, but my memory of Mum and her flowers will always hang like a fragrant necklace of sampaguita and ylang-ylang around the years to come.

Never to be forgotten like the blue florets on my ears.

Everlasting like her straw garland.

A precious gift of waling-waling love.

 

Forget-Me-Not

Flowers of Mum

I recently saw an Etsy-advertised pair of dangling, statement earrings featuring real wild forget-me-not flowers encased in resin.

Clever!

I closed my eyes at the thought and just like that, a sweet and warm memory began to gather in fragments, then came flooding my mind. 

Mum had pots full of forget-me-nots in the front window flower boxes of our house. 

In a country where either the sun shines or it rains, her flowers didn't use words to announce their arrival to the world. They just bloomed. 

Year-round, in fact.

I remember how dainty blue clusters, only about half an inch in diameter with five petals and a yellow center, would fill the entire front of our windowsill. Mum and I often took turns picking off yellowing leaves and spent blooms.

Cut that long stem over there, Chon, she would say. So it will grow fatter and stronger.

Always, she'd pick a couple of tiny clusters, being careful to include the hairy stem they are attached to. She'd then lean forward, part the hair that covered my ears, and carefully tack a cluster on my right pierced lobe, then the left. 

Afterward, she'd dip her glasses slightly, but only slightly, down her nose and study my face. And I'd keep still until she said, her mouth forming a tight grin, Ayan! There you go.

Thoughtfully, I'd locate with my finger where the two dangling forget-me-nots were hanging. I would laugh, ticklish, and stick my nose in the air, hoping to attract a butterfly or two to my ear ornamentation.

Already, I could smell the buds of the star apple tree ripening and tamarind blossoms appearing in their fragrance and loveliness.

And could feel all the amazing that was to come.

(To be continued)

Everlasting

Flowers of Mum

Wouldn't you consider it odd that a flower should be called 'everlasting'?

Even at a young age, I'd always known that flowers were not forever.

Well, Mum had one of those. In fact, it was an everlasting lei. 

Doesn't this bloom pique your curiosity? 

Look at these intriguing yellow and red garlands. 

They lasted months, even years, I think, after we brought them back as a souvenir from a vacation in Baguio.

I've learned since then that these are dried strawflowers of the daisy family.

If preserved properly, the flowers would keep their shape and color for a long, long time or until dust overpowers them - thus, the name 'everlasting'.

The garland was just too itchy to hang around the neck so Mum simply hung it as decoration on the dining room wall.

Slouching off toward my place at the end of the wood picnic-like bench at the dining table, I could smell the co-mingled scent of strawflowers above my head and the wafting spices of Mum's homecooked meal. 

Nothing is more memorable than a smell. The scent can be unexpected, momentary and fleeting, yet it can conjure up childhood memories. 

To this day, that is how I'll always remember Mum's everlasting garland.

Vibrant and peppery.

With a side of fried tilapia and pickled green mangoes. 

(To be continued)

Waling-Waling Orchid

Flowers of Mum

She sprouted love like flowers, grew a garden in her mind, and even on the darkest days, from her smile the sun still shined. – Erin Hanson

Sometimes stories are all I have, even if they don't always match memories. But when I close my eyes a moment, there's always something to drag the latter back to the surface.

Such as these snippets on Mum and her flowering plants.

I'm showcasing them in a Mother's Month-long series because I think Mothers don’t just need a day to be featured. They need a month.

Starting with her waling-waling orchid.

It looked scraggly.

I thought it was odd that a plant should be off the ground or a piece of pottery. The single stem was enclosed in coconut husk, strung and precariously hanging from our balkon. 

I remember seeing my Mum, her face luminous like the moon, tiptoeing to carefully arrange a stray branch sticking out from beneath bark chips and moss.

Then she would sprinkle water, just a bit, on what to me looked like dark and shriveled roots.

But then, it budded and flourished. And put forth lovely two-toned purple-petaled flowers with yellow centers. Again and again. Year after year. 

I recall that summery day when it bloomed, looking specially splendid and showy. 

It was my graduation day from elementary school. I wanted to look special - I was valedictorian, after all! -  taking an inordinate amount of time with my hair that morning, brushing it out, studying myself in the mirror.

I remember Mum watching vigilantly. As I emerged from out the boat neck of my white lace and organdy dress, she began to fluff my petticoat underneath. 

But just as I began to step out of mirror's range, she said, Chon, kulang pa (something's missing). 

She left, then came back with something in her hands. 

A waling-waling.

Carefully, she proceeded to pin the most beautiful lavender blossom on my dress. And she told me, This orchid is considered queen of Philippine flowers and worshiped as a 'diwata' goddess.

That was for me a defining moment of what was just bestowed on me.

It was a priceless gift  that had been nurtured through time.

A floral blessing that was a gift of love.

(To be continued)