there is lipstick for (a) mother
to pass on was hereditary:
I rummage through my amassed collection of lipsticks given to be my mother; Yves Saint Laurent Rouge Pur Couture Shade # 70, Bobbi Brown Bare Punch, Peripera Rosy Pink, she said these were the ones she had that fit my skin tone. Morena ka kasi, katulad ni lola mo. My mother and ninang would sometimes jokingly call me Mama, my mother pinching my nose to mimic the pointed shape of lola’s nose.
It was a constant conversation at the dinner table, my lola being seen through my eyes. Parang tigre siya tumingin, ninang recalls her menacing gaze whenever she wasn’t able to cook her caldereta correctly, or when my mom comes home with a barely passing mark from her exams. Lola was said to have the same stare whenever any of them were wronged, Sinusugod talaga sila ng lola mo mismo sa bahay nila, my ninang explains regarding my parents separation.
My mother and ninang also shared some fair traits from my lola too. They got her sungit and diskarte, being able to take her place when lola got her stroke, looking after each other as the only two daughters from six siblings. Besides that, they also shared lola’s kikay, my mom and her range of various dresses, blouses, and shoes to mix and match, coupled with her vanity filled with makeup, she had to be the best dressed in her corporate job. Ninang, on the other hand, had an affinity for bags and shoes, seeking to be presentable amongst the people in her church. But they said I was much closer to who lola really was, matapang ka katulad niya.
My mom was at a loss that I didn’t get her kikay. I was often forced to wear lipstick, wear long skirts, and dangle hoop earrings. Once I was out of the house, I would then take off these things, going to the nearest public restroom I can find to change into my go-to shirts and jeans. Erasing every bit my mother has placed on me. She responds to people who point out our differences, Di nagmana sakin eh.
Our parents validated our identity as children, as kin. Lola and lolo’s passing meant that my relatives lost that vital connection. This meant they had to fill in the gaps through each other. From overseas, my uncles show their faces we haven’t seen in 2 years, greeting my ninang, mother, and ninong with tears. Putting together a portrait through the tiny rectangles in the Zoom call as they remember each other. My family, coming together through grief.
I never got to know my grandmother. Only from the stories everyone else tells me about her, but it was strange that I also felt her absence lingering inside of me. I too, lost the identity of an apo, the same vein my mom and ninang have lost their mama. Maybe this is why wearing her gold studded earrings felt like a perfect fit when we visited her tomb.
But it didn’t end with the earrings. I began to gain interest in the same things I used to wipe away: I got tired of jeans and wore long skirts; I got tired of my ear holes being empty and dangled any shaped earring I could find; I got tired of my dry cracked lips and put on lipstick. I smiled at myself in the mirror, my mother finding delight, I looked just like mama. I was unsure if she was referring to herself or to lola. I just began to see myself, embodying and embracing the many parts of each other.
Her memory lives on through me, putting on my recently purchased lipstick. Giving my pale lips the same shade of red lola’s lips had on her 60th birthday, framed in our living room. Her portrait, serving as my mirror.