Webbed Beauty

“Perhaps even these things, one day will be pleasing to remember.”

-Virgil

 

There was a little crack in plaster of the ceiling in our house. As I was concentrating so hard on what to do with a pile of old books, I could not help but stare blankly at the old plastic bag on top of the cabinet. “Hay …” I sighed blankly. “Hay…” I sighed again until all I did was to sigh for the nth time. “Damn, what on earth am I here for?” I asked myself, though I badly knew the answer. Well, I just assumed that I did something great because for the past five hours, instead of obeying and performing Ate’s bidding to clean the entire house, all I did was to sigh. Little did I know that my eyes were already following a spider close to the old plastic bag. The tiny fellow was creating a web, building a new home. Weird to think but, but the mere presence of the spider revived the memory of the past years. It reminded me of my mother whom I was fond of calling Nornor and my twin sister, Twinie.

 

When I was younger, Nornor used to reprimand me whenever I misbehave and made a mess out of Papa’s office papers and pen. As a punishment for being a stubborn brat, she either ordered me and Twinie to kneel on the ground with hand widespread like the crucified Christ or spanked me to the depth of my bones with papa’s leather belt. Though it seldom happened, I did think of reporting her to Bantay Bata 163. But after each incident, she’d reach out to me and Twinie and explain why she did that saying “You two both know that you’re counted as one.” and then a warm hug will try to comfort the painful punishment. Because of my early age, I refused to accept her explanations. For her, obedience is a must no matter what. And that made me think that she’s a lot tougher than Papa.

 

I can still remember when she bought me and Twinie a pair of pink Sunday dresses with colorful laces accentuated with sequins and buttons. She forced us to wear those dresses during main events and family Gatherings. With a smile, she’ll tell us “You two looked awesome!” Well, we had no choice but to obey and act as if we love it too. That time, we had no individual identity because she labeled us as one. Inseparable. ^^

 

Socializing with different kinds of people for us back then was a bit hard. Because apart from being those shy or timid ones, were intimidated by the way people saw us. Human clones in everything. It was so irritating to be treated that way. They tried to pester us by asking obvious questions like “Are you twins?” or “Do you have the same names?” They treated us like robots, just like Nornor. Always the same. I didn’t know if they were just born stupid or sarcastic or what, but one thing’s for sure, it did irritate me even when I was just only nine years old.

 

Nornor’s dressing scheme lasted for almost six years after we entered high school. And I can still remember how I confronted and told her that I was struggling so hard dealing with people just because I have a twin.

 

“What are you going to do with the dress?” she asked, while watching me holding scissors and the pink dress.

 

“I’m trying to justify that I’m unique than anybody else in this world, including my twin.” I replied out of rage.

 

“What’s wrong with you? You should be thankful because you have a twin!”

 

“Thankful? Nor, can’t you understand that we’re different? I told her, while tears rolled down my eyes.

 

But I felt remorse when I saw her crying. While sobbing, she just said “You don’t know what it’s like to be a mother.”

 

As a reconciliation, I voluntarily did all of the house chores within two months without complaining. Upon seeing my effort, she forgave me. But her strict commands, punishment, and nagging stopped. And I refused to ask her why.

 

While I was cleaning her bed, I realized something, my mother aged along with her white hair. She was creating a web different from the past. Creating a new one for another phase in her life. But I missed the old one. I missed the way she trapped us in her web. Just like the spider, Nornor made us feel that in every phase of our lives, things changes.

 

Nornor had made a beautiful web to secure us comfort under her hands. While I was cleaning the mess, I was choosing whether to throw the old plastic bag with the pink Sunday dress inside.

 

I kept it.

Tags: creative nonfiction, diana, henry, identity, memoir, twin sister, webbed beauty