It has been three weeks since Ma was buried. Here we are now facing a new chapter in our life. The kind that wasn't so different, yet, still so different after all. Home I know wasn't a warm kind where people are confident or friendly or happy. Ours was never perfect. The only thing that keep it from falling apart is that very faint light which to now had finally come to its end. A candle that finally burned out.
I don't have high hopes for our peace, though I really hope that after Ma left us that we would learn to be closer... to be a family; still it was all wishful thinking. I've learned to face such life since a long time ago. I will learn to do it some more... It's just sad to think that life's never perfect or tolerable at least. I guess not every one have hopes for a peaceful life.
I love travelling. Every time I ride jeepneys I always watch the houses we passed by. I always wonder what kind of life it has to offer or what kind of people lives there. It is interesting to know. I would love to take a peek inside those house. I like wooden houses the best. Wood to me is comfort and warm.
I wonder if they love their Ma in those houses like we do or is she the kind of mother I always visualized- a good cook, loving, understanding and warm. When I was younger I always thought houses smells of good food and clean laundry; then mother's would smell like freshly bake breads. Breads are such homey things and mothers deserve to be the queen of every homes.
Tonight I can't help but wonder when Ma will come back. After all my aunt told us to think that she had only gone to the market. I thought what could she have been buying to come home so late?
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