The Art of Sutra Weblog

i was 7 years old, when my mother got pregnant with the last child, it’s a boy. we took turns of feeding him… being the youngest among the 3 brats, my elder brother and sister forced me to this boring job.. but for a creative girl like me, i never ran out of ideas to make myself happy, while feeding my baby brother, my other hand was holding another bottle, full of coca-cola. 

when the coke was finished and no money to buy it, i tried coffee… i didn’t like the taste and i almost puke… (once i thought the coffee grain was like milo, so i took a spoonful and put it on my mouth… it’s up to your imagination what happened next)

whenever the 2 brats asked me again to do my feeding job, or to substitute them, i’ll asked money from them and buy a coca-cola. my elder sister saw me sucking the bottle full of coca-cola. instead of scolding me, she took another bottle and fill it with coffe with milk and joined us. so there’re three of us drinking from my baby brother’s feeding bottle. (it remained a secret, without the knowledge of my mother)

—

my mothers’ bewilderment the baby milk formula never lasted as it should be… of course, i took some and mixed it with sugar, it tasted nice to me…

—

when my mother knew, she bought me condensed milk, i don’t drink milk, instead i sip right through the hole of the can and drink slowly, tasting it over my tongue, and after that i drink 1 glass of water and gargle, to wash-off the sticky liquid inside my mouth.

we grew up in the city, so when we visited grandmother’s (mother side) hometown in Pulilan, Bulacan we brought with us unripe banana, freshly chopped from its plant. my late father hanged it on the wall, positioned after the bed. i didn’t know that i’ve the same thoughts with my brother and sister. i’ll go to the room, lie on the bed, and keep staring at the banana. wondering if the yellow hint indicates its ripeness.

each day, one banana after the other was turning yellow. thinking it’s already ripe, plucking it and voraciouly eat it. of course, it wasn’t totally ripe at all. but was forced to finish it. so, i told myself to be patient, scanning the other fruit that would be ripe in few days, i counted how many days of waiting and sighed.

the next day, like a landowner inspecting his fruits, laid on the bed, and looked with joy. to my dismay, my waiting was in vain, my fruits were missing, the ones left were still green. so frustrated and angry, i rushed out from the room and yelled at my mother. ‘who ate my fruit?’, sobbing and shrieking at the same time. my father who was there, called all of us and so calmly asked, ‘how many did you eat?’, he asked my brother and the silent answer showed from the raised finger in ‘peace sign’. my father’s eyes turned to my sister, and her answer, was three, and the last, he looked at me, and i said, “five”. ‘did you know that the three of you have to wait until it ripens, so we can eat altogether’. we were in full silent, trying to look regretful, but my father laughed so hard that it became impossible to feel sorry. he was laughing because he knew that we’re not used to waiting, fruits bought in the city are readily available to eat, and the 3 of us were voracious eaters.

so, as solution, my mother always buy ripe mango, lanzones and other fruits in big baskets just to satisfy our hunger. and we’ll eat altogether after dinner or siesta time.

Welcome to WordPress.com. This is your first post. Edit or delete it and start blogging!