To Pick a Flower

It was back when I was in elementary school from grades one to three. I was as thin
as a stick, with not even a single muscle on me. I was tall for an elementary school
student and someone that I did not know would easily pass me as a grade or two higher
than my current grade was. I was a very timid child. I was always afraid to tell anyone
what I wanted. Throughout this phase in my life, due to my lack of courage and
confidence, I never had many friends but the few friends I have both in and out of school
were very close to me.
My acquaintances were of the most energetic and easily agitated. I did not need to
ask why these people befriended me though one can speculate. Everyone could say that
they were intrigued by my quiet and somber demeanor and decided that I could use some
of their help. I appreciate being intimately acquainted with these fellows but not seeing
them in the majority of the school days had kept me from spending time with them.
In regular elementary school days, I could barely attend classes in school because I
spent most of my time recovering from my asthma attacks in the hospital. Even if I could
not attend many of my classes, issues regarding my academics were the least of my
worries. My teachers and classmates would worry about me from time to time but my
grades were exceptional and my development as a student was on check. Our school had
an underpaid and untrained medical staff so when my asthma attacks were triggered, I
always had to cede.
In these painful times, I would often be rushed into hospitals for I was sickly and
frail. The next thing I knew, I was on intravenous drip, lying on a hospital bed in a dark
room. With nothing I could possibly do to escape my hospital bed, I always felt that time
spent lying in the hospital is time wasted in the real world outside. It was like being in
another realm. A realm that imprisoned me and kept me far away from my friends and my
life. Sure, I was not on the verge of dying, but it felt like I was not living either.
The rooms of the hospital would always be familiar to me... the initial looks and
smells... everything. Each room looked the same and felt the same as any other room I've
been in. Everything in the room seemed out of reach for me. It always reeked of that
infamous hospital smell of disinfectant and antiseptic. The air was dry and chilly, like
there were always ghosts in my wake. The lights were always dim and devoid of life, like
they were foreshadowing what is to become of me. Cold steel air tanks and drips chained
to my face and arm were always at my bedside, sapping of me dry of my will to stand up
and walk away. Shadowy figures who turned out to be nurses and doctors would come
inside once in a while to just stand around and watch me in agony.
Mother was most of the time there beside me when I would fall into illness and be
taken to the hospital. I would stay in the hospital for days or even weeks. She would visit
me every night and on a Saturday and she would bring with her a bunch of dandelions
that she would place in the all familiar vase atop the cupboard lying next to the hospital
bed opposite the oxygen tanks and intravenous drip. She would smile to me as if

everything was fine and that I should not worry about anything. She was like the sliver of
the sun's rays passing through the curtains and shining down my isolated darkness. It was
like she knew everything that would free my from my grief. The flowers themselves were
simply beautiful. There was beauty in the tenacity and frailty of these flowers that I saw
myself in. Smells of cut grass and creamy musk filled the putrid air, taking the place of
the dreary hospital disinfectant scent. The warming scent of mother's flowers peppered
my mind with thoughts of dandelions across a field like a fantasy of golden joy and
wonderful radiance. Her flowers became the subject of my dreams. Her flowers offered
me refuge from the realm that held me prisoner, refuge to an ideal world where there is
only happiness. The overpowering aroma that freed me for a moment... mysterious but
comforting as I would describe it.
Sometimes, mother would place something next to the vase as a little extra. In those
days where I was often hospitalized, pop-a-point pencils were all the rage in school.
These pop-a-points were non-sharpening pencils with stacked lead cartridges inside
specialized casings. They were often colorful and came in different designs and
appearances. One time, I saw a pop-a-point that looked like a stack of gummy bears on
top of each other's heads. The pop-a-point's lead cartridges also perfectly fills the five
centavo coin's hole in the middle, effectively making a makeshift minuscule top of sorts.
Pop-a-points were cool but expensive at the time, and simply possessing a small number
of these pencils would make you the subject of envy of other children since many cannot
afford such luxury that has the same use as an ordinary wooden pencil. Of course mother
would know all about the rage of pop-a-points from me and in the times when mother felt
like leaving a little something extra, she would choose buying pop-a-points as her go-to
gift strategy. She would buy two or three pencils of different colors and the pencils that
she brought never had any crazy designs on them or anything. I would have appreciated
mother's efforts in buying more of these pencils if I had the chance to use them in school
or even at home. Instead, these pencils were just piling up in my pencil case waiting for
their usage. Besides, I was never a pop-a-point kid myself. I mostly preferred stock
pencils because they had erasers attached to them and they give off a nice, indescribable
feeling when my hand touches the yellow pencil coating.
Mother, who would take her seat on the monobloc chair next to the cupboard, would
then pray the rosary after offering her flowers and, sometimes, pencils. Her warm, old
and wrinkled hand held mine as she recited the same prayers over and over again. Her
prayers would be slow and solemn, like it was inviting me to reflect on my inner state of
being. Her tone would be soft and gentle, imparting a sense of kindness in her words and
in knowing my pains and desires. Her face would be painted with happiness, a happiness
that I did not quite understand myself.
This was only time when mother would utter a word in her nightly visitations. My
mother would never show that she worried about my grades or ask if I had any problems
in school. She never asked if I was doing okay in my hospital room or if I needed
anything in particular. In a way, she too was very timid. I knew that she recognized me
and cared for me. She just knew that she didn't need to say what she wanted to say and
ask what I wanted. She knew how to make me share my burden with her to make my

heavy load of illness more bearable. She knew how to make me forget about my sorrows
so she stuck to what she knew best. I was not one to talk either so I very much appreciate
what she has done. There were nothing awkward, no real talks or conversations between
the two of us, just sincere action.
When my mother had finished her routine prayers late at night, the room was
engulfed once again in silence. It was deafening so to speak. The silence was like sharp
pain in the ears. It felt like I longed for something more from my mother. It felt like I
needed more than just a handful of flowers and a measly prayer. It felt like the walls were
closing in on me ever so slowly, like I could anticipate the incoming harsher pain abound
yet in my thoughts, I had to say to myself that there was nothing to do but to bask in the
ambiance and surrender myself to sleep.
I would wake up the next day early in the morning with my mother watching me
while she was clearly still half-asleep. Early morning was the time when she had to take
her leave. I did not understand why she had to leave, only to come back in the night when
I was only half-awake. Every single day she would break my heart as she walked out
through the doorway and I snapped back to reality. I did not know what she did outside
the hospital room nor what she felt while stepping outside the room and leaving.
When I get better after tons of medical treatments and a long stay in the hospital,
mother would fetch me with her worn-out blue Tamaraw FX. I absolutely loved riding in
one of those things. Mother's FX was the best of out all of them. The exterior was superb,
and proved that the owner of the vehicle took special care of it. The vehicle had a cobalt
blue paint job much like the color of Sonic the Hedgehog. Its windshield was tinted dark
and had a load of stickers like the ones that the government issue on the sides of it. Its
chassis had no dents or scratches on it and was washed almost everyday by my father,
making sure that the exterior looked neat, clean, and tip-top shape. The interior was just
as amazing. The front seats were super comfy and easy to sleep in. The back seats were
covered in leather and they worked great as beds too. There were also a lot of windows
that can be opened on the Tamaraw, allowing air to circulate inside it.
I was also always impressed by not just vehicles, but drivers too. I thought that
drivers were awesome because they got to drive so many cool cars just like my mother's
car. I wanted to drive cars too like everyone else. Sometimes I wanted to become a driver
so badly, that I helped my mother drive the car by moving the shift stick around on her
command.
When mother drove with me on the way home, I loved feeling the cool air breeze
that seeped from the opened windows on the sides of the car. The road was rugged and
bumpy and mother drove really fast. I would be tumbling all over in the place in the car.
It felt great, even if at times I got hurt here and there. The hospital was still far from my
reach, but this time it was a good thing. I felt like the moment I would reach home, I
could run and scamper away like nothing ever happened. It felt like I left my hospital bed
in a blaze of glory. I had finally escaped my prison to return home. It would always turn
out to be a short drive for me, even though it took at least an hour and two hours on a

slow day to make it back home from the hospital, and when I finally reached home, I
always refused to step out of the car and kept on begging for mother to drive me around
the town for hours more. Of course my mother would give in and drive me around the
subdivision for a few minutes more so that I could be satisfied. When she drove around
the subdivision, it was like she was announcing to our neighbors that I had returned and
that I was fine and healthy again. I could tell that silently cheering from all directions,
happy that the child from Cacao Street was still alive and kicking. Mother drove slowly
this time and the road was bumpier than it was on the way from the hospital. It always
lulled me to sleep and I would know because mother said that she always carried me into
the house and onto my bed after one round of driving around our town.
When I would wake up, I knew I was home by immediately smelling the sweet
hibiscus and freshly cut grass right outside the giant windows of my little room that only
had a bed, shelves attached to the dry wall, and a small wardrobe.These scents that
brought me home and gave me fantasies of unimaginable colors were really what made
my home the happiest place on the planet. When I would finally bring myself to get up, I
would take my time in breathing in the fresh air and lovely emanating from the windows.
Finally returning home meant one day off. I had nothing to worry about but the comforts
of home. I would only need to go to school the next day if I had a school day that day.
Meanwhile, mother and father would have already prepared a hero's welcome for me
and my day off in order to celebrate my return in good health. Mother would prepare a
lean and mean breakfast for us. Mother said that she usually woke up at 6:00 in the
morning so that by the time I wake up everything was cooked and ready to eat. There
were waffles, bacon, eggs, and anything you could possibly imagine. A couple of times
we had chocolate pancakes for breakfast which was my absolute favorite. Everything was
yummy of course, and there would always be leftovers for later since we only had a small
family. Father would mow the lawn and prepare an inflatable pool outside in our front
yard. He would usually start at 6:00 in the morning, just as mother starts cooking up some
delights, so that when everybody's awake and has eaten breakfast at 9:00, the pool would
be completely filled and ready to go. After breakfast and a tiring swim in the inflatable
pool, my parents would take me and drive me to the mall where they would buy me lots
of new stuff. They would buy me some new clothes to wear. They would me my favorite
chocolates. They would even buy me toys like matchbox cars. When we were done in the
mall, we were also done with my day off. My parents would then drive me back home,
hand me over my new things, and let me rest for the next day.
In the summer break days, the times pass by normally and I rarely have trips to the
hospital, probably because nothing in this time would stress me so much that I would fall
ill. I always spent the majority of my time in the summer staying at home and immersing
myself with the scent of the more abundant hibiscus flowers growing right outside our
windows. Even in times when my parents had to leave the house to run some errands and
they ask me to come along with me and if I could choose to stay in the house alone, I
would gladly stay without hesitation. Being alone in the house did not bother me for I
was too distracted in the alluring scents that enveloped the air around me.

Time goes on and on for me. Not a moment did I give up on my parents or my
studies or even myself. On the day when I finished grade three, I finally began to take my
prescription medicines and maintenance drugs given by my pediatrician and since then, I
never had any asthma attacks ever again. I was starting to became a healthy normal boy
who did not have to go to the hospital every other week just because he accidentally
sniffed a tiny spec of dust. My life in the miserable pile of isolated darkness called the
hospital was done for and I was really relieved and thankful.
Then I realized something on the fly. I was getting everything that I wanted without
even asking for it thanks to my mother and father. It had me curious on what would
happen if I this time, I would ask somebody to get what I wanted. My timidness had to go
outside and jump through the window. This one first time, I would ask my mother. I took
the courage to stand in front of my mother and raised the first question that would come
into my mind.
"Mommy... Can I ask you ask a question?" I muttered as mother was clearly holding
back her laughter.
"Well, you did just ask me a question right there didn't you? Sure fire me up let's see
what you've got." said mother in the smuggest way possible.
It surprised me that mother could be so upfront. I never talked to mother about
anything serious before. As I said, we were never really the people to hold a conversation.
Before I lost sight of what I was about to ask, I asked in a rather loud voice "Where does
mommy usually get those dandelions that mommy always gave me when mommy visits
me in the hospital?".
"Want me to show you? It'll be our secret." mother quickly replied, as if she was
waiting for this question to be asked in a long time.
I nod in agreement excitedly. Mother then told me to hop on to the FX so we could
drive all the way to her secret dandelion spot. After an hour we stopped by at the hospital
that I was always confined in and when we got out of the car, mother said we'll walk to
the spot. We walked until we reached the back of the hospital. At the back of the hospital,
there was a shoddy concrete wall with a crawl space with dirt flooring in the middle of it.
Mother called this the bakod. The moment that mother and I crouched near the opening of
the bakod, I could already smell the fragrance of dandelions permeating through the little
hole. I knew we were nearing mother's secret spot. Mother and I crawled through the
bakod and into a wide and beautiful field of grass and dandelions just waiting to be
picked.
"It's beautiful, isn't it." mother said softly.
Mother's words and the sight of the view left me in nothing but tears.