Romana Angeles Lacaba

My mother.

Eighteen years ago, I was just a little baby the size of one litre of coke(i’m not kidding). I was a first born to my mom and dad, a first grandchild too. One day, my grandmother looked at me and said, “That baby looks terrible!”

My mom looked at her straight in the eye and said, “However insults my daughter will have to go through me!”

I always laughed at the story, knowing how protective my mother was from the very start. She’d always try to help me with my bullies, although as I grew up I didn’t tell her about them, ashamed of being a tattletale. She always gave me warnings about what to expect from the world, and if she could stretch her arms around us four, she’d likely do so to protect us.

My mother.

She raised four kids with my dad miles away on a boat, trying to work a better job than he could find if he was in the country. He would come home every four months, stayed for two, then left again. Though he did lend a hand or two in raising us, especially financially, my mom is my greatest hero.

My mother.

As the eldest, I was always mom’s right hand. I’d be the one she’d count on for errands and such, doing what I could to help. Though sometimes I’ve failed, I always try to do better the next time. I was naturally a perfectionist, trying to impress my mom by doing well in school. She never fails to show how proud she is of me, from buying me a beautiful dress when I got into the Honor Roll, to giving me a huge dictionary when I decided to be a writer. She always did her best for us, so I always tried to do my best for her.

My mother.

Soon enough, I got a lot of traits from her. She’s a writer herself, and I was always in awe with what she could conjure. As an English teacher and taking Masters in English back in her twenties, she was someone who was harnessed with words and developed her way of thinking. She also has this presence that I’m slowly following. Whenever she goes into a room, people always notice her, always in a good way. She had a way on how she carried herself, and I always wanted to do what she did.

We have the same taste with music, movies and ultimately celebrity crushes. Both of us could easily get what the other would think when a song from Michael Buble is being played, or when the movie “The Notebook” is on. We’re both sappy romantics in the end, crying with the characters of the movie.

My mother.

She’s always there to motivate the four of us. From my writing, to my brother’s musical inclinations, to my middle sister’s speaking talents and to my youngest sister’s dancing. She’s always flexible, always having a piece an advice for us to work on and improve on. She’s a writer, a singer, a speaker and a dancer after all. Where else would we get our talents?

My mother.

On her birthday I don’t have much to give, but this blog post dedicated to her. I have a lot more to say, but these are the important parts. She’s someone who showed me to stand up for myself and to believe in myself. She’s someone who wordlessly smiles at me and I’d feel it, I’d feel that she’s proud of me and loves me unconditionally.


You’re the best, and always will be. Happy birthday!
Words would never be enough to describe how thankful I am to have you.

I love you,
Ate Yani.

Who else would I name as the editor of my book?

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