My Affair with Balloons

Who would never be attracted to their brillant colors, these fascinating baloons of our childhood? They come in different colors: blue, green, white, yellow, red, violet, orange. As a child,I was always caught under the spell of these wonderfulballoons.

After church, after kiddie parties or after some othe occasion, the reward of being able totake home splendid balloonswas my primary target.Consciously or not,I knew somehow that as a child I was among the cutest. I had smoothand tender skin,fluffy cheeks, and a pair of winning eyes.As I would flash a smile,there would always be two deepdimpleson both sides of my face. Call it vanity in its earliest incarnation,but for me this was power. i knew that through this power could I melt people's hearts to buy me the balloon of my dreams.

Charming my folks was my first step. This had always been so.I was also ready to take other steps, drastic ones in fact, should my charmfall short. I remember crying endlessly at the church patio when Mom refused to buy me the adorable blue balloon that caught my fancy.She said it was waste of money to keep on butying balloons for one moment they are nice objects of play, brilllant and ever bouncing. Soon after, they would be gone. But I nevercounted the cost that day.Momnever did purchase that balloon for me but somebody else-- out of pity of from having been captivated by my innocent looks-- did. If it wasn't dad or some stranger, it couldonly be grandma who endured my vanity.

Whenever I held possession of a balloon, which would normally span two days, i was in the brightest of spirits. Never mind the delicious food granda,or "Mawa" as I called her, prepared on the dining table. Nevermindher incessant summons,her constantinvitation to even take just a bite for supper. After all,I had a balloon to enjoy for the rest of the night.

How I loved my ballloons!To hold them and feel their smooth surfaces and knowing that air was trapped somehow within were always happy feelings. I would toss them and let them bounce form one wallto another in our apartment somewhere in flood-infested makati.

Of my manyaffairs with balloons, this one strikes me as vividly as ever: a fateful summer afternoon when I was seven, i was with my Auntie Remia. She took me to Shakey's, the branch that used to stand at the center of the old Greenbelt Park. I never finished my piece of chicken after taking notice of the many balloons in sight.A children's party was going onand i coveted to have just one of those balloons to take home and play with. both my aunt and the bedazzled waitress felt my heart's longing. Because I longed for a balloon,it was of no surprise for me to be given one as I steped out of the restaurant. Not more that three steps out of the exit, the baloon flew from my hands, away from me. Its end string wastoo high for me of for anybody to reach. The image of the white balloon floating above the trees of the park is still so vivid to me now even as I close my eyes.

It was a lingering image,a haunting episode of loss. Gazing up,I saw it fly higher an d higher to the skies.It never came back even when I cried and cried.Never.Motionless,I remained in that spot alternating between sobs and shouts because the balloon never came back. It was not a life-shattering tragedy but for the child that i was,it felt like one.

I was so used of having the balloons i wanted. That summer afternoon in Greenbelt Parkcaught me off-guard. Accumulationwas my childhoodexpertise and charm was my tool. Loss and tragedy were far from my mind. As children,do we ever think of big things like these?

That familiar feeling of loss struck me again with greater intensity not long after. I awoke with my mother's loud wail,hysterical and frightening. I was told that Mawa had died on the road home from Bicol. She had gone there for a short vacation. But it did not take long because she missed me terribly.Eager to get the early bus back to Makati, she was in search of a toy to bring home for me. When she finally found one,she rushed to the terminal. The bus she took turned upside down, mid-way along the journey, crushing her frail body. She died instantly. It was a shock for me to hear the news of her sudden death. Mawa who lovingly took me on long leisure walks. Mawa who lovingly taught me to pray.Mawa who lovingly combed my hair. Mawa who lovingly brought me balloons.

I went on with school and play after Mawa's death.I held my tears after her burial and tried to be strong.I knew lifewould be different without her around. The comforts I has as tokens of her love were now gone and I only took them for granted. As a child, I always knew she would always be at my side. I never told her how thankful I was for her love. In many ways as a brat, I failed to tell her how much I loved her in return.Like the balloon,she was now far from my reach.

I spent the remaining years of shildhood as happy as it could be.I had good and bad experiences in school. I was able togain good friends too,lost a few in the course of time and won new ones. I may not have gotten the highest honors at school, but I had a good timediscovering things on my own. I grew uphappy, but forever marked with mawa's loss and the guilt of not having told her how much I treasured moments with her.

I had balloons from time to time,but the thrillof having them lessened. I was thankful for the balloons that came intomy possession.I tried holding on them for the longest possible time I could.But balloons never stay long. I learned that balloons are delicate toys. Never hold them tightly, as pressure would let themburst. Never let sharp objects come near their smooth surfaces, else they get punctured. Never let loose their end strings,especially in open-air spaces, as they will fly away from you. I valued happy moments with my balloons and took great caution in keeping them. mBut even when things are in place, balloons really do not last long. Even in the most secure conditions, air will gradually seep out fromthem and change their lovable form. I am left with no choice but to resign to the fact that balloons do not stay as they are.

Going back to the summer episode at Greenbelt Park,my tears were put to a halt only when Aunt Remia came back and brought a new balloon to replace the one that flew away. This time, it was a blue balloon.She tied it to my wrist, explaining that by doing so, the balloon would not escape to the sky.

My childhood. If I were to sort out an emblem for it, it would have to be a balloon. With balloons, Ihad gradually learned how beautiful things could come into our liove, how we strive our best to keep them with us forever, and how these things pass away from us eventually.

There are many balloons in my childhood that is now far frommy reach.But al of them are remembered.

I am not yet in my twilight years nor amI in my childhood years anymore.My childhood, for all its joys and tragedies,is now a thing to rememeber. It is now air cut loose into space,no longer a balloon in its brillant form. I ceased to be a child when I finally learned to let go of balloons.

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Para kay Mawa, gawa ng pangungulila. Binuhay kong muli ang blog na ito sa iyong alaala. Sana makilala mo si M. Magugustuhan mo siya, Mawa. :)