The door was slightly ajar. Just my luck. Ligaya never left her door unlocked. I tried to resist my snoopy instincts from invading her privacy. But of course, I lost to my urges. I was her mother dammit. If I wanted to see what my only child was up to, I was well within my rights. Woke mom be damned.
And so I took a deep breath and peeped. And there she was, with her earpods stuck in her ear, oblivious to her environment, dancing. My baby girl was dancing. Even though she knew it wasn’t allowed. Even though I expressly forbade her from dancing. But she moved, as gracefully as a swan. I curtailed my anger, holding the door knob so firm, my knuckles bulged and watched.
How could she?
How dare she.
And then, she did a pirouette. Spun the first time and then the second, and then she let out a gasp as she fell to the floor. I snapped. Barging in, I shook my sobbing child furiously.
“You rebellious child! I forbade you from dancing. How dare you?” I screeched.
She turned her red-rimmed eyes to me and just stared at me. I almost lost my nerve at the furious look in her eyes but I maintained my resolve.
“I’m not you, mother.” She muttered.
“What did you just say?” I blanched.
She sprung like a coil, “I said I’m not you!” Ligaya screamed in my face.
“I get that you’re angry,” she continued in a flush. “I get that you were once a dancer and Dad made money out of your dancing and when you got injured and couldn’t dance anymore, he left you. Pregnant and alone.”
I was livid. “You have no right-”
“I get that you don’t want me to turn out how you did.” Ligaya rambled on, not knowing that my heart was shredding to pieces with each word, each tear that dropped from her angelic face. “But I’m not you Mom. I’ll never be you. I love dancing. And I love ballet. And no matter what you say or what you think, I won’t stop.”
I paused for a beat. Her voice broke at that last statement and she started crying all over again. But I clenched my fist. I wouldn’t let the utter pain and heartbreak and dejection that almost killed me happen to her. She was my daughter and I knew what was best for her.
“Then you’re not welcome under my roof,” I said with finality.
Ligaya gasped. “What?”
I walked to the door. “You heard me, ” I said before turning the door and stepping out.
“I HATE YOU!!” I heard her scream from inside. And like that, what was left of my heart crumbled and was blown away like dust. I steeled my features and walked to my room. But when I laid on my bed, I succumbed and wept painful, bitter, silent tears till I was overcome.
I woke up with a start, already feeling like something was wrong. I kicked my feet from the bed and grabbed my bathrobe. Before sliding out of my room, I paused at my full-length mirror, almost giving myself a jumpscare. There were black streaks on my face, no doubt from my washed-down mascara mingled with my tears. I looked an absolute fright. But oh well, good thing I had no one to impress.
“Ligaya?” I called out, ambling to her door. I knocked. “Sweetie, can we talk? I’m so sorry for what I said. Can you hear me out?”
There was no response.
“Ligaya, sweetie?” I called again. Still, there wasn’t a response. Risking her rage for entering her room without permission, I opened the door. She wasn’t there. I checked the bathroom and God help me, even the closet, my eyes growing painfully wide. She wasn’t there. Had she taken me seriously? Had my baby run away?
I was beyond myself in panic as I scanned her room again. It didn’t look like she had taken anything but knowing Ligaya, she was the kind of person to leave with just the clothes on her back. I was beside myself in panic as I ran to my room to wash my face and wear clothes. What had I done?
Cursing myself eternally for my actions, I ran out of the house in search of her. I knew I would probably scare people with my messy hair and half-cleaned face. But how would they understand? I was nothing without my child. My first port of call was her school and sweeping through the doors, I just knew she was there.
I heard cheers and yells from a room and rushed in, unbidden. I found myself at the back of what looked like a theatre. And then my eyes ricocheted to the stage. There was my daughter, Ligaya, looking beautiful in an embroidered silver leotard and tutu. The song she was dancing to was the first song I danced to on my debut as a ballerina. I was transfixed as I watched her dance as gracefully as a swan. The tears flowed in torrents but I cleaned them hastily. I didn’t want to miss a single bit of her angelic performance.
She danced and danced and when she was done, the audience was deathly silent before erupting in ear-deafening cheers, complete with a standing ovation. I held my face and sobbed as she curtseyed, and ran backstage. I didn’t know how but I found my way there too, desperate to see her. Talk to her.
I almost bumped into her as I stepped backstage and her eyes widened in shock.
“Mom, what are you doing here?”
I was speechless and just hugged her tightly instead.
“I’ll make it Mom, I promise.” She broke down.
“I know, sweetie. You will. You will. ” And as we held each other, I silently made a vow. My bundle of joy was going to have all her dreams met. I would make sure of it.