My Mom, Ines Pulgar
Each of us has favorite stories to tell about our mothers and mine are no exceptions. When I was studying in college in a university town far from ours, my Mom, may she rest in peace, used to visit me especially during final examination time. When my Mom was with me, bless her soul, she didn’t let me do anything like cooking as she did it herself. She just wanted me to concentrate all my waking hours to study. One afternoon, she was bringing me snacks but stopped, as she saw me fast asleep with an open book on my lap. I got a good-natured ribbing from her afterwards.
One day coming home, I saw a live chicken tethered on the kitchen table. When I came in, she announced with a flair that we will have chicken stew and chicken adobo for dinner, a luxury treat. All of a sudden I remembered when I was a young kid during a fiesta celebration in the village. A group of men merrily watched the cook who, with exaggerated moves, chopped a chicken’s neck into two and let the lower body go zigzagging right and left with blood gushing out of it till it became still.
I quietly told my mother that I forgot something that I was supposed to buy and I was going back to the store about two to three miles away. I did not actually enter any store but walked there back and forth biding my time. After about an hour or so, I ventured back to the house and the smell of chicken dish made me hurry to get in. I loved her cooking but I did not want to be the killer of the poor chicken.
