this is why i cry

maybe, it's the black and blue semi-circle, the shape of a quarter moon, that traces the contour of her upper left face near the eye area;

maybe, it's the  naked wound with three stitches that drops vertically on her forehead like a line mark from a sharp thing that was deliberately, albeit covertly, itched by vagabond kids after their readily put-on pitiful pleadings were equally met by frigid empathy;

maybe, it's her luminescent skin affirms that despite the not-so-easy life that she led especially in her married life when kids were growing, like wine, she obviously aged with grace;

maybe, it's all the gray hairs crowning her head that bear as testaments to her uncompromising wisdom. true to being an ilongga, her soft spoken voice pierces through the conscience veiled by pride and arrogance;

maybe, despite her being relegated to bed, bruises and all caused by the fall; her welcoming, stretched wide-open arms is waiting to embrace me, her toto...the family's 'forever bunso';

maybe, she's my aunt, my second mom, and at 93 she never gets tired praying and routing for me;