A never-ending warmth.

A never-ending warmth.

(an original essay by Debbie Tingzon)

Original artwork by GeoRamzes on Deviantart

The sun was bright up as I was walked down the stairs leading to the main hall of the school. It was nearly four in the afternoon and in less than half an hour, all classes will be dismissed. Madam Claire, our homeroom teacher, said her son had a high fever and that she needed to go home earlier than the usual time. I fixed my things, placed my books in the locker at the end of the classroom and went to the school cafeteria.

There was Manong Henry, the school keeper, asking me why I was out early. "Madam Claire said Joshua had a fever", I answered as I grabbed two muffins at the bread counter. Manang Cecil was there, smiling brightly at the counter as I approached her and handed the food I chose. "Hi Gina. Dito mo kakainin?" (Hi Gina. You'll eat here?), she asked grinning at me. "Hindi po, take-out nalang. Padagdag na din po ng dalawang soda." (Nope, for take-out. And two sodas please.) I told her and handed my payment.

These two elder had been working in the school for ten years. They're married with a twin, Julie and Coco who just then started running at the counter asking for candies from their mother. Julie grabbed her mother’s apron and sniffed it as if her mother’s scent was the most wonderful thing she could smell in this world. Coco grabbed her mother’s skirt as he received his candy. Manang Cecil then carried the two kids and cuddled them, pressing her cheeks for the two angels to kiss.

I smiled and uttered a silent ‘thank you’ to her and took the paper bag with the food I ordered. The school garden looked beautiful as the amber colored ambience from the sun lit the whole place. I walked to one of the benches and sat, fixing my things before grabbing my mobile phone. After a few minutes, there came a figure of a girl running down the huge hallway heading to the garden where I sat.

“Ate!” (Older Sister) the fifteen-year-old girl shouted, with a big smile on her face. Cathy ran through the pathway and kissed me on the cheek. “How’s class?” I asked, pinching her cheeks as she sat beside me. “It was okay. Except I had to do the song piece I’ve worked on since last month” she frowned, tapping her shoes on the floor. “Cheer up! Here” I handed her the paper bag and she laughed shouting ‘Muffins!’

It was almost dinner time when both of us made it home. There was the sound of knife and cutting board pouncing on each other and the smell of roasted garlic sizzling on the pan. I plopped my sack on the bed and hurried out of the room with my socks still on “Mom, we’re home!” I knocked on my sister’s bedroom door, asking her to hurry up.

I tied my hair up and rolled my uniform sleeves as I walked to the kitchen door. There was my mother chopping carrots and potatoes, probably planning on making Afritada for dinner. I kissed her cheek and took plates and utensils from the cupboard. Cathy then took the glasses and placed them neatly near the spoon. She sat on the chair opposite of where our mother was sitting and settled her arms on the marble counter. Mother laughed at the cute gesture Cathy pulled as if seeking attention jokingly.

The chime attached to the main door of our small apartment rang as a figure of a man in a polo shirt walked through, it was my father. Cathy rushed to the living room and took dad’s brief case, placing it gently on the couch. Our father then sat on the other end of the long couch as Cathy massaged his feet before removing the socks. She kissed him on the cheek telling him, “We’ll call you when dinner is done.”

She went back to the kitchen just a few steps away from the living room. By then, mother placed the lid on the simmering pot. The smell of chicken cooking in tangy tomato sauce was all over the house. She took a sip from the ladle and asked me to taste the sauce too. She placed the ladle next to my lips as I sipped and tasted her cooking. It was ‘that taste’, I thought as memories of my six-year-old self flashed back. It was the very same taste, my palette told me, as if saying, this is mom. I smiled and told her, it’s this. The taste– the smell– everything.

My father’s arms were on Cathy’s shoulders as he entered the dining area. There was my mom sitting down, murmuring melodies only she can understand. I saw my father smile, as if recognizing the vague song my mother was singing. He grabbed her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

Dinner, as most families see it, was the most important time for my family. Cathy told us what happened in school as she munched the meat of my mom’s Afritada. The steam of white rice, the smell of the chicken Afritada, the sweet scent of ripe mangoes and the laughter of each member filled the house with warmth. It was this. The best part of my day, a time with my family.#

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