Sunlight brushed softly against my cheek. I opened my eyes, smiled, and finally exhaled—for the first time in four years, I woke up without the weight of deadlines pressing on my chest.
I lay there for a while—staring at the ceiling, noticing cobwebs in the corners.
Letting myself sink into the bed, into the softness of the pillow, the warmth of the blanket—comforts I hadn’t truly felt in years.
It was already noon when I finally rose, and for once, I didn’t feel guilty about it.
I walked into the kitchen. There, my mother stood—her back slightly hunched, her hands quietly working.
Familiar…yet, in that moment, she felt like someone I hadn’t seen in a long time.
I looked at her closely…Maybe for the first time in years.
I noticed the quiet hardships etched into the lines of her face, the delicate white strands in her hair—little signs of time passing while I had been too busy chasing my future.
All those nights I came home in the dark. All those mornings I left before the sun could rise….No wonder I missed it all.
Before I could completely drift into my thoughts, she turned to me—with a radiant smile.
“Para sa engineer namin! Ang favorite mo,” she said.
She opened her arms. And I walked into them.
I felt myself melt like the fat from my favorite humba that she cooked. Breathing in the smell of it that clung to her skin—sweet, sticky, familiar—like the sauce itself.
But it wasn’t just food she served.
It was love.
Love that woke up early.
Love that saved the best cut of meat.
Love that prayed for me in silence.
Love that waited…not just for me to come home, but for me to return, fully, wholly.
I smiled at her, tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.
“So this is what food tastes like,” I joked, making us both laugh.
I took a bite.
It was nothing like the salt packets I boiled at midnight, desperate to quiet a hunger I couldn’t ignore.
Far from the bitterness that sat heavy in my chest through every coffee that I sip during sleepless nights.
This… was different.
This was deeper.
This was the warmth I forgot I needed.
I looked at her again and said, “Malapit na, Ma.”
She smiled—eyes crinkling, hands gently wiping her apron like always.
“Oo, anak,” she replied… softly. “Hindi ako nagduda sa’yo.”
I felt my throat tighten as I took another bite.
And for the first time in four years…
I felt full.
