MEET THE PARENTS 2

Have you seen those marching soldiers flashing black and white on our TV screens to give us a further depiction of the Martial Law period? Well, if Ahmad’s dad represents those soldiers, his mom would be the leader.

My husband knows how his mom makes my stomach clutch its intestines in an uncomfortable grip. Definitely a not-so-Djai state of condition that I can associate with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Free-Floating Anxiety or maybe Acute Post-Traumatic Disorder (was I studying Abnormal Psychology while writing this?). Almost all of the Tanji children have this perturbed and ill at ease feeling toward their mother that might have rooted from how they
were raised as kids. I am not trying to psychologize them or something because Ahmad is way more capable than I am to solve his family issues on his own. Ahmad and I have long analyzed his mom’s issues and laid out her patterns of behavior but I am not planning to consume this whole article with my psychological assessment of her.

It was in August 2004 when Ahmad brought home the news that I was finally to meet his mom. I thought of just saying No Thanks but found myself accepting her invitation for me and Dylan to come over her house, her territory.

The moment I entered their gate with my mom beside me and Dylan in my arms, The Mother-in-Law wasn’t even smiling. Maybe to Dylan and mama she was but definitely not to me. But oh well, I still managed to snatch her hand clumsily to make mano while she gave me a semi-annoyed quick half-smile in return. I also caught her disapproving look as she gazed at me from head to foot, stopping especially in the butt and boobs area for a checkpoint. (If she only knew, the outfit I had that day was the least oppressive, most wholesome I could find in my closet just for me to meet her idea of the decent, mayuming Filipina she thought her son deserved.)
I couldn’t wait for the moment to be over.

To make things worse, our tension of the opposites (I told you I was reading a Psych book while writing this) was so apparent that I was sure she could see me crumbling to pieces while sitting in front of her. I must admit she has a really beautiful and aristokrata face (that probably explains why she loathes me) akin to that of Imelda Marcos, the lunatic. Plus, she exudes the confidence and poise of a true heiress while I was trying so hard to calm myself down I felt like one of those haggard little guinea pigs being manipulated in a laboratory cage. Not even those sweet almonds she topped on the maja blanca she had served for our snacks could add taste to my mouth.

So I have heard a lot about her juicy comments of me, like my being too childish for Ahmad and Dylan. And snide ones like my being too ugly or not good enough to be her son’s wife. All the stuff we see in biyenan vs. asawa movies, I’ve been there. It would’ve have been
a complete and utterly painful disaster had my sisters-in-law (who are on the same level of kabalahuraan as I am) not been there. Had it not been for them, I would’ve ended up counting all those little pebbles on their mansion’s steps. As the old saying goes, birds of the same feather flock together. We spent the whole day playing with Dylan and making chismis (synonym to making libak) about the people we know in common (like their mom? Hehe).During the whole weekend, everybody was like cramming for nothing (nothing for me are household chores like doing the laundry, mapping their marmol floor, sweeping the dust off their Arabian decorative, etc). And luckily, I’ve been so good in excusing myself. It was good that I had Dylan as a reason to get away from the chores being screamed in command by ever dearest mommy.

But in all fairness to my mother-in-law, she was really very maasikaso in a motherly, so-Filipina way which is exactly the opposite of me. Hmmm, come to think of it, maybe Ahmad’s mom could be right in some aspects, I am still too immature and so not ready to face the life I have right now (but at least I’m trying di ba?). I was not exactly trained to be the typical housewife-mom and neither do I want to be one anyway. I am the exact opposite of her. I guess the only thing I have in common with her was her love for shorts when she was younger which was quite evident in her old photo albums. But somehow, I saw her efforts to accept me as her daughter-in-law although I knew that meant eating up her huge pride. And surprisingly on my part, I had exerted all efforts to be as courteous as possible and maybe, it worked in a way because the next thing I knew, she was handing me some pasalubong. Especially bought for me. And I must admit, for all its worth, I kinda like the silver lady’s watch she gave me. And the Kikay strapless bra.

I may not be as comfortable with her as I am with Dadi Abu but at least I knew we’re both working on the liking-each-other part. It’s a long process (that includes some stabbing behind our backs here and there) and I know, considering that she’s worse than the typical mom-in-law we see on Filipino movies who hates her cutest son’s girl but at least I have stories like this to tell. That’s one of the perks I guess.

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The author could only hope that that her mother-in-law does not have the computer skills and does not harbor any interest in browsing web magazines like this. Else, she is so dead.

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