Parents raise their children in vast lakes, children raise their parents counting the days and months…

Late afternoon at the end of the amihan season in Quezon City, the sunlight is pale like a silk scarf draped across the corrugated iron roof. In the small kitchen, the clattering of knives and chopping boards mixed with the incoherent mumbling from the living room. Mrs. Lourdes – Emman’s mother – sits curled up on the chair, her eyes cloudy and dreamy. Sometimes she suddenly calls out a strange name, or giggles into the void.

Since the day the doctor diagnosed her with Alzheimer’s, the small house in the Barangay alley has never been quiet. Every night, she wanders around the house, opening every door, rummaging through every drawer. Sometimes she crawls out into the street in the middle of the night, and the tanods have to take her home.

Ana – Emman’s wife – initially showed sympathy, but gradually, her patience wore out. In the afternoons when she came home from work, seeing her mother-in-law sitting absent-mindedly, Ana felt a heavy weight pressing on her chest.

One night, when Mrs. Lourdes had just spilled a bowl of soup, the water spilled all over the tiled floor, Ana sighed:

– How long will we live like this?

Emman held a towel and did not answer. Ana continued:

– I know that my mother is old and weak, but this illness… you can see it. We are still young, we have work, we have children…

Emman looked up, his eyes slightly sad:

– Please be patient a little longer. My mother only has you…

Ana turned her face away, her lips pressed tightly together. From that day on, a thought began to grow in her that she herself did not expect…
Ana began to tell Emman “unpleasant” stories about her mother-in-law: one day she lost the house key, the next she burned the rice pot. Although it was true, Ana added some salt and pepper to it.

One time, when Emman was on a business trip to Calamba (Laguna), Ana called:

– I just came back from the market, saw my mother standing on the street, saying she was looking for your father. I asked where dad was, mom said… at the wedding.

Emman was silent for a long time. Ana knew, each of those words was like a drop of water eroding the stone called “filial piety” in her husband’s heart.

One night, Ana intentionally left the door open. When Mrs. Lourdes woke up and mumbled outside, Ana pretended to be fast asleep. The next morning, the neighbors called to report that she was lost in the Cubao market, almost hit by a tricycle. Emman panicked and took her mother home. Ana took the opportunity to say:

– Do you see? How dangerous it is. If we keep mom here, if something happens… who will be responsible?

Emman sat there, not answering. Ana knew, with just one more “push”, her husband would personally take her mother out of the house.

That day, Ana intentionally left the LPG gas stove on while Mrs. Lourdes was busy in the kitchen. The smell of gas spread, Ana pretended to panic:

– Are you trying to kill the whole family?!

Emman had just come home, heard that sentence, suddenly angry. For the first time, he shouted at his mother:

– Please, mother! I can’t look after you anymore!

Mrs. Lourdes trembled, her eyes bewildered, as if she didn’t understand what her son was saying.

The next day, Emman took his mother to a nursing home in Antipolo (Rizal), on the outskirts of the city. Ana pretended to have tears in her eyes, but felt relieved. The house was strangely quiet from that day on.

A few weeks later, Emman spoke less. He often sat alone, looking out at the porch where his mother often sunbathed. Ana thought that time would make him get used to it.

One morning, the nursing home called:

– Mrs. Lourdes left last night, we’re looking for her.

Emman ran away. Ana hesitated but followed.

They found her on the banks of the Marikina River, her bare feet covered in mud. She hugged a torn plastic bag, inside was Emman’s old sweater from when he was a child. Seeing her son, she smiled:

– Mom is home to cook for you…

That smile made Emman collapse, hug his mother, and cry like a child.

A month later, amid the humid wind and light rain, Mrs. Lourdes passed away from pneumonia. On the last night of the lamay, Emman said nothing to Ana. When everyone had gone home, he put the divorce papers on the table:

– I know everything you’ve done. The people at the nursing home said that my mother always muttered “my daughter-in-law doesn’t like me”… but she never blamed me.

Ana stiffened. Emman stood up and said softly:

– I can forgive you for anything… except that you forced me to be unfilial.

Out on the porch, the amihan wind whistled through the cracks of the door, freezing cold. Ana suddenly realized that this quiet house would never have anyone sitting on the porch sunbathing again – including her husband.