I have been writing non-stop for almost 10 years. This is my first on my mom.

My mother, Elena Catbagan Bonilla, is not the typical reassuring figure who evokes peace and calmness on days of struggles, nor the calming voice that could put you to sleep on a tranquil night.

She has a temper, especially when stoked by bad behavior of a child or relative, and would mince no words if one deserves such treatment. At times she swings from a wrecking ball, to a punisher to the stubborn and unjust, to a disciplinarian of the highest degree.

My mother is simply unique in her ways that some would not understand or appreciate her intentions. But in the manner of parenting, she and my dad take the prestigious champion award, raising three children with care and compassion, guiding us with words of wisdom, and teaching us to be morally upright. In all tight situations, they were our lifeboat on turbulent waters.

They call my mother’s way as “tough love.” I call her my heroine.

Hardened by trials and deprived of conveniences since her youthful days in San Fernando, La Union, my mom tested her luck in Manila where she jumped from one work to another to make ends meet. Once, as a sales lady at Rustan's; then as a server in a famous restaurant; and for many years she was a domestic helper in Hong Kong, leaving me and my older sister under the care of my father.

In 1998, disaster struck us hard when a huge fire engulfed everything we had in a rented apartment, save for some clothes and valuables. We relocated to Quezon City, where, after some hits and misses, we learned the trade of running a small business in a public market in Novaliches.

We sold piles of Cavendish bananas — shipped from plantations in Bukidnon and Davao Region — coconut milk, and even baby diapers. Hard work and a strong family bond helped the business to prosper. My parents saved enough money to build our house, send us to private schools, and to the paths of our chosen careers.

It was one bumpy ride and my mother held us together, showing an aura of invincibility.

My mother seldom showed her true emotions, or stated her intentions. To me even today, she is like a maze, a riddle, or a question wrapped in a package of intimidation. Like a school "bully" you fear but also love and respect.

Yet I realize now that all that was to hide her points of weakness. She needed to put on a layer to conceal her fears so as to maintain an image of strength and resilience — qualities that she wants us to emulate.

Beyond the semblance of courage she portrayed, I always find a soft and kind soul that provided us, her children, a comfortable life – from our food, education, to having our material desires which she did not experience in her childhood. Despite her disciplinarian character, she also indulged in spoiling us.

Yet, between indulging us, she never failed to remind us to work hard as she and my dad did, to reach our dreams with much fulfilment.

"Work for it, earn it," she always tells us.

My mom turns 61 years old next month. I can’t help but marvel at her life, how she survived the challenges thrown her way, and how she always carried an undying love for each member of her family.

Mothers, like mine, are irreplaceable.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!