Everything Andie

She gave birth to me and named me Marah, but called me Andie. She brought me to America when I was a few months old.

She made sure my brother and I were always bathed and smelled good. She dressed us in cute outfits. She sang to us and softly stroked our noses with her finger to calm us or help us fall asleep.

She taught us how to make our beds as soon as we got up. And “never wear your pjs outside”. She always did my hair and made sure I had everything ready for school. She taught me how to practice my smile in the mirror and pose for picture days. She shopped for our school supplies when they were on sale after back to school week. She taught us how to clearance shop and never bought anything full price. She showed us that we don’t need much.

She picked us up from school either a couple blocks away or a few minutes later, to avoid the long school pick-up lines. She always had food ready for us when we got home. Our house was always clean. She made us text her every hour and always wanted to know who we were with. She kept everything age appropriate. She set boundaries and was a parent instead of a friend. She couldn’t sleep until she knew we were safe and okay.

She gave me advice and told me to always trust my instincts. Even if she didn’t understand, she would always try to see our points of view. She was there when I got my young heart broken and refrained from saying I told you so. She dropped everything and took care of me during a big medical scare. She held my hand, cried, and prayed.

She kissed us goodbye when we both moved to Hawaii. She hugged us, cried, and prayed. She never missed our graduations. She was excited to hear about our experiences when we came back home.

She annoys me when she nags, but she’s the best when she listens. She is overly organized and obnoxiously clean. She has a place for everything. She doesn’t waste food and holds on to things way longer than she should. She loves extra extra boba, anything chocolate, and ensaymada. She makes the best adobo, sinigang, and Filipino spaghetti.

She is smart, kind, and thoughtful. She’s selective in who she keeps in her circle. She’s brutally honest. She won’t leave the house in loungewear or without doing her hair. She loves her hand creams and red nail polish. She always plays it safe. She is naturally beautiful.

She has cool gray hair now and sometimes forgets what she already told me. She still tells me to lock the door when I leave and to be careful while driving. She makes me drive places because she can’t see and she’s too scared to drive. She hugs me and says she missed me when I visit and says “I love you, be safe” whenever I leave. She embodies unconditional love.

She properly prepared me to handle the world with kindness, grace, and instinct.

While I still have her, I will take advantage of our mother-daughter dates, no matter how small. I’ll call her when I get a chance, to catch up or to vent. I’ll let her remind me about things I already know. I’ll listen to her stories, even if she already told them to me.

She was my role model growing up and my best friend now.

She is my mom.