When my mother turned 80 last December, I was struck by the extraordinary nature of her journey. Not in a loud, headline-making way, but in a quiet, enduring manner that reflects her resilience, grace, and a profound understanding of living life on her own terms.

We weren't particularly close when I was younger. Our relationship was defined more by structure and discipline than by warmth and intimacy. A dedicated banker, she began her career as a cashier in the 1960s and steadily climbed the ranks at Equitable Bank, ultimately retiring as the branch manager of its Ortigas location in the late '90s or early 2000s. She carried herself with professionalism and polish, exemplifying a mother who led through example and discipline rather than emotion. However, when I experienced my first heartbreak in college, she enveloped me in the unconditional love and comfort that only a mother can provide. That was when our relationship began to shift; I started to see not just the mother, but the woman; soft yet strong, distant yet always dependable.

Her strength became especially evident in 1985, after the death of my younger sister, and once more in 2012, when my father, her husband of almost five decades, passed away. At that time, my only other sibling was living in Singapore, leaving Mama, then 67, to navigate life in a large house on her own. I naturally invited her to live with my family, but she was resolute: “I have to learn to live alone,” she said. It wasn’t sadness or bitterness that drove her decision, but rather it was her clear-eyed promise to herself to be self-reliant. And she meant it. She kept her independence, driving herself to visit friends, run errands, and even undertake solo five-hour drives to our family rest house in Dingalan, Aurora. To this day, she drives with the same caution and alertness she's always had. At 80 years old, that’s no small feat. It’s not bravado either, but her way of reminding the world, and perhaps herself, that she’s still very much capable.

And while she was never into cars the way I am, there was a time she unknowingly made her mark in car culture. In 1999, she became one of the first to own a Passion Orange Honda Civic SiR, now a cult classic in the Philippine motoring scene. Imagine a woman in her 50s driving a 160-horsepower, tintless sport sedan in a screaming shade of orange, the same car every teenager and motorhead coveted back then. She even got it featured in an issue of Top Gear Philippines in the mid-2000s. She took immaculate care of that car, and when she finally sold it in 2023, it fetched a price far above what she had paid for it more than two decades earlier. There’s also a lightness to her spirit that often surprises people. Blessed with good genes and a timeless sense of style, she carries herself with the poise of someone a decade younger. I remember her telling the story, with pride sneaking into her voice, about how airport staff in Hong Kong once redirected her to the regular immigration lane, not believing she was old enough to be in the senior citizens’ queue. She was about 68 at the time and had to point out her birthdate on her passport. I've always loved that story and how she’d sheepishly smile while telling it.

Perhaps my most enduring memory of her is tied not to milestones or possessions, but to food. Her pork adobo remains the best I’ve ever had; true soul food from my childhood, along with her creamy "pininyahang manok" and unforgettable Russian salad. These dishes bring me back to our family home in Marikina, to birthdays and holidays, to laughter over long tables and the steady, comforting presence of my mother in the kitchen.

Today, my children look at her with the same awe and affection I eventually grew to feel. They check on her constantly, mindful of her needs, protective in a way that mirrors how she cared for me in my lowest moments. It’s a full-circle kind of love, demonstrating that her quiet strength has left a mark on yet another generation.

As I reflect on all of this, I realize that what I admire most about my mother isn’t just her resilience, but her determination to live life fully, to find joy where it can be found, and to keep going with grace. At 80, she continues to write her story, and I’m just grateful I get to be part of it.