Commercial: Priceless Moments, Reel 2

Gas: PhP 30/liter
Parking: PhP 40 for the first 2 hours
Milkshake: PhP 110 each

Kiddo saying, “Mommy, hold my hand uli.” on the drive home from our weekly dates: Priceless

Commercial: Priceless Moments, Reel 1

New suitcases: P 3,000
Plane tickets to Singapore: Half month’s salary
Pocket money: The other half month’s salary


Kiddo wide-eyed during take-off saying, “I’m like Buzz Lightyear, Mom. I’m riding a spaceship!”: Priceless

The Torn Identity

Single Mother.

Two words, two concepts. One is a concept of individuality, of an independent and carefree existence. The other is a concept of self - sacrifice and complete responsibility for another person.

In my everyday life, “single mom” isn’t just two words - it’s two identities.

There’s the Singleton who drives a hot red car at diabolical speeds (or so she’s been told). She grew up on Alanis, still identifies with Avril’s angst, rocks with Linkin Park, dances to hip-hop and has nothing but the deepest reverence for Madonna. After clocking in a full day at work, she works out at the gym. She hangs out with her other single girlfriends, and great looking guys with sculpted bodies (mostly gay, of course). Her skirts defy gravity and her heels can turn into lethal weapons, if needed.

Then there’s the Parent who comes home to her daughter, reads to her and puts her to sleep. She knows the words to popular nursery songs and their corresponding ‘moves’. She has lunch with the other mothers, trading recipes, recounting their children’s milestones, laughing at silly anecdotes. She talks about the Power Puff Girls, Dora and Barney like she knows them personally. She’s seen at children’s parties, dressed in toddler–proof jeans and sneakers.

Two identities, one person.

How displaced these two identities sometimes make me feel. Sure, I’m single. I’m not married. I don’t have a boyfriend. But I’m not exactly like my other single friends who are answerable to no one but themselves, who have the luxury to splurge on mundane things, and can afford to be self-absorbed.

How do I deal with the oxymoron of being single and at the same time being a mother?

I don’t. I just live it.

I embrace it, knowing that while the Singleton identity may (or may not!) be a temporary one, being Kiddo’s mother is not. It’s a lifetime of having a little piece of my heart living and breathing outside of me.

So I may change my car, along with the speed at which I drive it. My taste in music may become more sedate. And I may not always be welcome at the Teen’s section when shopping for a skirt, but I will always be Kiddo’s mom. I will always belong to her. Nothing in the world can ever change that.

It’s the comfort of this thought that keeps me together amidst the demands and chaos of living this double life of mine.

Now, if only my shoes could console me as much…