Blog #28: Mama Journal Musings

I’ve been in somewhat of a writers block recently. The longer I take to return to the keyboard, the more I gaslight myself into thinking that I have nothing worthwhile to say. Deep down, I know that’s not true. Even if I’m not sharing my words publicly, I am still processing all the time. Instead of writing blogs, these past few months I’ve been leaning into what I call my “Mama Journal.” It’s a little blue journal, with the golden words “master plan” embossed on the front. I started it shortly after my mom passed away, with the intention of processing my most complex and painstaking emotions. Grief, pain, anxiety, emptiness, longing, anger, depression -- you name it, I was experiencing it.

10.20.2017 On September 27, 2017, I lost my mom due to complications while giving birth to my baby sister. I am only 17 years old. I have to live with the pain of losing my mom for the rest of my life. The love I have for her is something so deep in my heart that trying to verbalize it doesn’t do it justice. She is mine and I am hers. My master plan is to figure out how I can start living with this pain and make my mom proud at the same time…

Most experts say there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. People who have actually experienced a significant loss know that this is not a linear journey -- an unexpected trigger can drop you off from acceptance back to “step one.” And by no means do each of the steps fall sequentially. I used to float between the five all the time, but as time goes on, I find myself moving between them less often. At the beginning though? It felt like everything, everywhere, all at once. 

11.10.2017 Only 14 more days until you miss the first of many milestones in my life - my 18th birthday. A couple months ago, you told me that money was tight, but you considered throwing me a big debut anyways (like all the lucky Filipina girls get to have). I’m dreading the moment when I wake up that day, when I realize that I won’t have the simple joy of hearing you sing me “Happy Birthday.” Every day when I wake up, I feel like I’m resuming a living nightmare because I’m forced to live in a world where you no longer exist. I always sit at the dining table, facing the front door, waiting for you to walk through. Why won’t you just come back home? I am not okay, Mama. I don’t care about anyone else right now. I would give anything to just have you back.

In the light of day I used to close my eyes, duck under my covers, and force myself to dream. I would imagine myself sitting across from my mom, telling her everything on my mind. I would try to fabricate her response in the most realistic way possible. My mind painted every detail, from the tone of her voice, to the expression on her face. Everything felt a little blurry, but her words were clear. The phrase “Everything is going to be okay” would play over and over again. It took too much brain power to set that scene each time, so I eventually turned to writing. My Mama Journal became the only place where I would speak to my mom, but she could only listen. Sometimes her lack of response would trigger me. It felt like I was left alone to speak to a wall.

12.15.2017 I can’t fucking believe that you left me alone here. You promised me that you’d put me first, you’d never abandon me, you’d travel the world with me. You broke that promise, so how can I forgive you? All my friends have mothers, you have one too. How come I don’t get to have you? We made plans, Mama. Why did you have to fall through?

It became so painful to write in the journal that I actually put it down for what I thought was the last time, and didn’t revisit it until three years later. That coincided with me starting college -- no surprise there. It was hard enough to fit in as a young woman exploring a new environment and identity, far from family and home. It was even harder to navigate my intense grief, not knowing anyone well enough to trust them with my life’s story. There were too many instances of peers not knowing what the fuck to do with that information. Telling my story to those people became embarrassing and unbearable, so I stopped taking my chances. I was a more pleasant and relatable person when I was trauma-free. It only took a global pandemic for me to start validating my emotions again, in the form of writing in my Mama Journal.

05.17.2020 It has taken me 3 years to find the courage to pick this journal up again. To be honest, the thought of it pained me. Since I’ve gone to college, the way I grieve is silently and briefly. SO MUCH has changed since you’ve been gone. We’re surviving through a FUCKING PANDEMIC with no clear end in sight. To take my mind off one of the scariest times of my life, I’m going to make a list of all the things you loved…

The COVID pandemic triggered an emotional response in me that resulted in unadulterated expression. I finally stopped caring what people thought about everything I had to say and feel. That release allowed me to bring more honesty to my self reflections. If our death is inevitable, and there are compounding forces that are trying to shorten our lifespan in every way possible, then why give a fuck about expressing myself? Especially in private? Throughout 2020, I found comfort (and even joy) from just writing it all down.

09.03.2020 I’m really glad it was your birthday today because it made me realize a lot of things. Like the fact that I’m not taking good enough care of myself, and I deserve better. I’ve endured a whole rollercoaster of emotions recently (with mostly downs) but right now, I understand the only thing that will keep me together is hope. Despite all the chaos and destruction of this past year, I know there’s more to live for.

I eventually got into a flow, where I would pick up the journal to share happy moments along with the bad. I was finally able to tell my mom about all the good things going on without feeling intense survivor’s guilt. Of course my mom wouldn’t want me to wade in that undue burden for the rest of my life. Once I accepted that, I felt a little more free to be me.

10.28.2020 I wish I could call you and tell you about every single thing going on in my life right now. How is it that we used to text every minute of the day, but in the past 3 years, you have gotten to know so very little? I’m a completely different person than I was in high school. I’m very secure and mature. I think about my future with Matthew. I think about my future career. I’m “Mama Maya” to my friends in the Filipino club. I wish you could see the woman I’ve become. And I learned it all from WHO? Oh that’s right - YOU.

Milestones like my birthday, my mom’s birthday, Mother’s Day and the holidays became prime time for me to pick up that little blue journal and reflect. Instead of hiding away my pain, I started to “talk it out” with my mom again. Writing became a better form of therapy than any therapist I had seen. Even though my mom couldn’t respond, the thought of my words reaching her in heaven gave me the comfort I needed. 

11.24.2020 Guess what, Ma?? I’m finally 21! Recently I’ve been trying to find every way to bring your spirit closer to me. I’m trying my best to soak up the good and bad moments in life. The BEAUTY in life. The painful reality of life. The things that bring me joy, anger me, make me laugh. Life and emotions are so complex - I get overwhelmed trying to make sense of it all. I try to center myself by thinking of you. For my birthday, I wish I could give you a really big hug. The kind of hug that you’re afraid to let go of because you don’t want to soon make that feeling a memory.

After some time, I knew I was starting to heal because I could recognize my own voice again. The Maya that had a sense of humor, an overflowing heart, and a strong will to live. Around this time, I had graduated from USC and had the most amazing grad trip to Hawaii. There were so many moments throughout the trip when I was fully bathing in gratitude and grounding myself in the island’s maternal energy. I felt my mom’s spirit within those sacred grounds, prayed for her love and protection, and released all guilt from my body. I was free.

07.13.2021 Mama, I want you to know that I love my life. I am so deeply thankful. I was gifted with an open heart. My life is perfect. Every day I wish I could experience this perfect life with you, and then I remember that I can connect with your spirit and my heart feels a little less heavy. I want you to know I’ve been spending more time with my dad lately, and it’s honestly been so fulfilling. He reminds me of my power and my groundedness. He reminds me of my magic ability to create my own reality, and that I should embrace all the parts of me that are uniquely ME (not just the qualities I mirror from you). I think that was a powerful reminder because without you, I often forget who I am. I’m starting to get back in touch with the true Maya. 

Of course my healing journey didn’t end there -- I just didn’t realize that it was only the beginning. My mom’s birthday came around once again, and I wondered how I could honor her in a big way. Each year, I run out of photos to post. Our physical memories together end at the young ages of 17 and 42 -- how could that possibly be the eternal representation of us? In celebration of my mom’s life, I wanted to make something that would last. Something that represented my evolving relationship with grief and identity. My identity as a motherless daughter is undoubtedly tied to my identity as an environmentalist. I just needed to find a way to bridge the two.

09.03.2021 Happy 47th Birthday, Mama <3 Today has been a day of celebration, self-expression, freedom of movement, spiritual growth, and honoring YOU. I harnessed your Virgo Queen energy and did something that scared the heavens out of me. I sang your favorite song “Yo no se mañana” and shared it on my IG. That is your power! I am also starting a blog in your honor very soon. I’m calling it “The Ethereal Environmentalist” and it’ll be about my spiritual journey and how it’s helping me become a better environmentalist. I was totally inspired by your blog that I discovered earlier this year.

And so it was -- the Ethereal Environmentalist was born. In some ways, this blog is kind of the “graduated” version of the Mama Journal. I was often inspired by select phrases in the journal, which would prompt entire blog posts. I gave myself a voice. Spoke with authority. Processed my deepest emotions publicly. Even if it was just Matthew, my cousin, and a few other friends reading the blog on a regular basis, I was content with publishing a piece of my heart. The blog is my safe space for healing. But somehow it brought me to places I never imagined possible. 

07.28.2022 Hey Mama. I got back safe and sound from the writer’s retreat in Chamonix last Sunday. I’m making you proud, I know it. But I’m really struggling to get this last post written. It’s quite possibly the most important of the three because it’s about grief and healing. It’s also about racial trauma and environmental justice. It’s my utmost expression of love for people and the planet. How do I talk about grief when I’M grieving, Mama? I accept that I am in a constant state of grief. I accept that all life is temporary, even mine. That can either be the source of my power or my demise. 

I eventually completed the post, and was able to share the trilogy of essays that was “The Chamonix Collection.” At that point in time, it felt like my most prized work. And then months later, I was invited to give a guest lecture at Stanford University by my professor friend from the retreat. I was riding an all time high (even a little concerned that I had hit my peak) -- then a series of family emergencies happened, making me crash land back on Earth. I stopped blogging during this four-month-long period to tend to my wounds.

11.1.2022 Things are not okay at home, Mama. The family is divided. I am trying my best to be the healer and peacemaker, but I can’t change the future if I don’t confront the past. I am actively defying traditional Filipino hierarchical structures. I am healing generational trauma. I am setting an example for Baby Rosa to look up to. This work isn’t easy, Mama. But you would be proud. You are fully guiding me at this moment.

Healing generational trauma means standing up for myself and my siblings. Breaking toxic cultural norms that have caused harm for generations. Emphasizing the importance of mental health. Helping my family realize that mutual respect has been earned by younger generations. And protecting my own peace so that I have the energy to continue this effort. My Mama Journal is one of the few places where judgment does not exist, and I am allowed to have these “radical” ideas. Expressing myself loudly is no easy feat. It’s deeply uncomfortable, and yet intuitive at the same time. This work requires us to reassess what we value as a community -- do we want our children to grow up haunted by the same trauma and mistakes that have been repeated for centuries? Or do we want them to be more healed, liberated, and empowered than the last? I am constantly pushing for the latter, but I acknowledge that I must persevere in my own healing journey to see that transformation in myself and my loved ones. With my mom’s spirit by my side, anything is possible. 

01.31.2023 I can’t believe it - I finally made it to the end of this journal. My journey is far from over though, I have so much life to live. I’m learning to live in peace and accept the things I cannot change, like the fact that I don’t get to enjoy your presence on this earthly plane. I am tapped in with your spirit instead. This past weekend I had several reminders about the kind of person I am. Graceful, funny, extroverted, empathetic, down-to-earth, even magical. I learned these core traits from you. I never thought I could enjoy life this much again, but here I am. I am flowing with ease and accepting all the blessings coming my way. As long as I’m protected by your spirit, I am free to experience all this world has to offer. You gave me this gift, and I’m not gonna waste it. I love you so much Mama.

Completing my first Mama Journal was something I never imagined possible in the early stages of my grief. Expressing myself in the privacy of that little blue journal gave me the courage to process my emotions out loud and even create this blog. It’s very possible that The Ethereal Environmentalist may never have existed if it weren’t for the very unfortunate series of events, but this is my reality. The world needs more advocates fighting for environmental and social change -- and we must be mentally strong to do this work. As long as I still have breath in me, I will keep writing to heal myself and the collective. This is still only the beginning of my story.