I was scrolling through Facebook today when your face showed up under “people you may know”. It made me laugh. How could you possibly have Facebook? You never even owned a phone, let alone a computer. Even if someone had tried to explain the internet to you, I doubt it would have made much sense. Not because you weren’t sharp, but because you’d probably just nod along without really hearing a word, the way you always did when your ears got stubborn.
There were a handful of photos uploaded by our relatives. You were smiling in every single one. I love that smile. It’s still my favorite. (Don’t tell my boyfriend. I swore his was. But since you’re gone, I guess he wins by default.)
But here’s the part that stings: we don’t have any photos together. Just the two of us. Before you died, I remember wanting to ask for one, but I never did. I hated how I looked, so I always put it off. That silly vanity cost me the chance. It’s my biggest regret. Because what I wouldn’t give now to have just one picture of us.
Instead, what I have are the memories. Like those nights when I stayed over at your place. Like clockwork, you’d wake up around midnight, prepare your midnight snacks, and switch on the TV. Without fail, you’d land on that Korean channel, Arirang. The shows were all in Korean, no subtitles, and I always wondered how on earth you understood anything.
And me, worried (but also a little mischievous), thought grandmas shouldn’t be up at midnight. You should’ve been in bed. So I came up with a plan: I’d turn the TV on before you woke up, pretend to be watching, and secretly set the sleep timer so it would turn itself off an hour later. Then I’d hand you the remote with my best innocent face and tiptoe off to bed.
One night you asked me if I was the one turning it off. I lied and said no. You just laughed and said you figured it wasn’t me anyway, because every time you looked over, I was sound asleep. You thought it must have been a ghost, so you’d shrug and go to bed instead.
I never told you the truth. I liked that you thought it was something magical instead of just me meddling. And maybe in a way, it was.
I eat fried chicken more often than I should these days. Three times a week at least. And every single time, I think of you. You always caught me eating it, shaking your head and saying, “Fried chicken na naman. Baka magkapakpak ka na nyan.” (Fried chicken again? You’ll grow wings if you keep that up.) You never missed a chance to tease me about it. The funny thing is, I didn’t even like it that much back then. It was just the easiest meal to grab. But now, it’s the one thing I turn to when I need comfort. You were right after all. It did stick to me.
I loved you so much. More than I ever said out loud. With you, I never had to explain myself or try to be anything else. You were the only place where I could breathe and just be me. No performance, no pretending. Just me. And somehow, you always made that enough.
When you died, it felt like someone had taken away my anchor. For years, I carried that emptiness everywhere I went. Rooms felt colder. Days felt heavier. I felt so alone, like I had lost the one person who could make the world quiet and safe again. I didn’t know where to put all the love I still had for you. It just sat there in my chest, heavy and restless, with nowhere to go.
But life has a strange way of surprising you. Somewhere along the way, I met someone. My boyfriend! And he’s the best. Truly. With him, I found that same kind of space I thought I’d never feel again. That sense of home, of safety, of being completely myself. He sees me in ways I can’t always see myself, and he loves me through it all. Sometimes, when I’m spending time with him, I think of you. because the way he makes me feel reminds me so much of what it felt like to be with you.
I wish so badly that you could have met him. I think you would’ve loved him instantly. And I know he would’ve loved you too. Sometimes I like to imagine the two of you in the same room. Maybe you teasing him the way you always teased me, and him laughing along, winning you over without even trying. It’s just a picture in my head, but it makes me feel like maybe you do know him somehow, in some way.
I miss you every day. Some days the ache is sharper than others, but it’s always there. I thought time would make it easier, but really, it just teaches me how to carry it. You live on in the little things—the food I eat, the way I laugh, the comfort I look for in people. You’re still here, stitched into everything I do. You’re part of me now.
So today, on your anniversary, I’m thinking of you. Thank you for being my safe place, for letting me be myself, for loving me in ways I didn’t even understand until you were gone. You were my home. And even now, you still are.
I don’t put much faith in magical things, but if anyone could be an angel, it’s you. You’ve always been that for me.
I love you, Nanay. Always.
