Ladies In Waiting

I am one of the lucky few who were raised in a household that included my maternal grandmother. She is quite an influential figure in my life and will always adore her for what she had taught me. My Lola is the embodiment of how it is to be a true lady.

As my mother never gave up a full-time job amid giving birth to three rowdy children, we were often left in my Lola's care whilst growing up. And with me being the youngest, I was favored the most — given the best part of the chicken, having the most sweets piled up on my bowl, minor gifts sneaked here and there, and I lapped it all up with no shame. I would often watch her daily regiment in amusement as she moved with womanly grace in everything she did. She would meticulously primp herself to beauty everyday even if she were just staying home. Her curls were always intact, carefully dyed of a natural brown color, and her lips sealed with a pink shade of lipstick and perfume daintily dabbled on her neck. As she was a skilled mistress, her clothes always fit her perfectly in styles that she knew only flattered her curves.

My Lola is also a very pious lady. She maintained a strict prayer scheduled scattered throughout the day, some of which she let me join. Every morning she would wake up at five and say her morning prayers, to be followed by the Angelus at noon, the three-o'clock habit in the afternoon, the Angelus again and then her evening prayers. When her health still permitted her, she also attended mass every morning at the crack of dawn. The way she held her rosary beads and prayer books were so fragile as if she were holding the Baby Jesus in her hands instead. The way she turned the pages so slowly and how her lips moved without sound as she read the litanies — somehow, I found it mesmerizing. She did everything in such grace and disposition that I thought, how could God possibly deny her of her prayers?

After my nanny left at seven years old (as I was deemed to old to have one), my Lola took over in caring for me. She taught me how to bathe myself thoroughly showing me how to prepare the sponge and the basin, and she meticulously helped me every morning to get into my school uniform (not to mention drag me out of bed with great difficulty), and always inspected my final outcome from my socks all the way up to my hair band. She taught me how to be a girl.

As my grandmother was born early into the first half of last century, it is just to be expected that she is a typically conservative one. I remember having a male friend over to the house a few years ago as I needed his help to sort out my ailing computer. And upon knowing that I let him up to my room, she raged in fury that we stay in the living room where we can be in plain site. My mother simply laughed at the gesture when I informed her of it that same night and begged me to understand that my Lola is indeed from a different time. During her time, women were to serve their husbands, to keep house and to maintain her feminine dignity and integrity. My Lola having worked as a secretary in the American Airbase back during the American rule in the Philippines was already deemed quite radical.

My mother, though not as hardcore as her mother, is still quite conservative I find. She would laboriously attempt to teach my sister and I a thing or two about the kitchen and cooking whilst growing up as she would constantly chide us “How will your future mother-in-law like you if you can't even cook a chicken stew properly?” My sister and I, of course, rolling our eyes until they were practically at the back of our skulls.

Here I am now, a quarter of a century old, and not entirely sure if I passed the tests of womanhood. Though I display traits of an independent coming-of-age girl, I know deep inside that I will be unable to shake off what I learned from two of the most remarkable women in my lives. Given how the world works nowadays, I still consider myself relatively conservative in my stances. I may shame my mother for never cooking (unless desperate) and wearing non-collared shirts to church, and my Lola for continuing to bicker with the opposite sex, but I'd like to show them one day that they didn't fail me. I still hold some dignity in being a woman and the need to be respected as one — just in my own subdued ways. I still hold in high regard the modesty and integrity, cleanliness in body and surroundings, and of course, grace in actions and movements (as much as I can, at least). As I need to be consistent with the times and the unfolding liberties presented to women, I must use my best judgment as to when it's okay to be bold and forthcoming without sacrificing my merits as a woman (and without being accused of being a feminist either!).

I may enjoy the independence that my Lola and mother didn't have when they were my age, but I would like to think that I am still bound by a moral code of ethics that come with being a lady. The term “conservative” seems to change every generation and its meaning gets lighter and lighter. I fear to know what my daughters will say of me when it's their time to whinge about their uptight mother that don't let them wear skirts with lengths within five inches of their thighs! And I do not look forward to going back to my mother to get advice as to keep said daughters from running out with the boys at age eleven wearing these skirts.