I have yet to meet a parent who doesn’t have the tiniest bit of the worrywart in him or her. There seems to be this constant vigilance over the welfare of his or her child inherent in the position.

Take my parents, for example.

I can never part with my dad even for just a few hours without him asking me if I have enough money on me. The answer, of course, is never ever “No.” Not that my dad is overly generous with his money, because he’s not, but at the very least he will contribute a hundred pesos to my taxi fare, or some coins for the MRT. This kind of worrying for my welfare, I appreciate.

My mother, on the other hand, is the sort of mother who is worried about the practical yet outlandish things. Her suggestions make sense, but sometimes they border on the extreme. She’s the worst-case scenario thinker, my mother.

One issue we are always at odds with has to do with bringing an umbrella with me wherever I go, rain or shine. For one thing, I hate umbrellas. They’re bulky (even the foldable ones), and I always end up losing them. Besides, they cramp my style. There is just no way that the standard issue 100-peso flower-printed things from SM Department Store will ever go with the rest of my outfit. No way. She doesn’t understand why I absolutely refuse to bring an umbrella with me to a bar. I always have to sneak out of the house at the slightest drizzle so that my mom won’t chase me with umbrella in hand.

She doesn’t even need rain as an excuse to badger me into bringing an umbrella. It’s the threat of rain that matters. “It always rain in the evenings,” she’ll say sagely. I don’t know if she has a psychic link with the PAG-ASA (Philippine Atmospheric, Geophysical and Astronomical Services Administration) or something.

Another issue that we usually argue about is food. The Tagalog word for something one brings from the home to work, school or wherever one is going is “baon,” and most of the time it refers to food. My mother is a firm believer that one must always be prepared in case one goes hungry. I’m usually forced to bring a whole box of Skyflakes (a local brand of crackers) to work “so I won’t get appendicitis,” she says. Skyflakes is her answer to most of the world’s problems. She thinks anyone can survive a month trapped under earthquake debris as long as there’s a box of Skyflakes at hand. But Skyflakes is just for regular days when she doesn’t have anything else in the pantry. Sometimes there’s hamburger, mamon (a local bread), donuts, spaghetti, chicken and rice, and fruit. Baon could mean anything at all to her. People will be amazed to see her peeling green mangoes for us as we wait in line to get our passports renewed.

Whatever they come up with to see to my comfort, I know the bottom line is always, “It’s for my own good.” I really do understand that, though I may seem an ungrateful wretch at times when I complain about what I sometimes perceive as unnecessary meddling on their part when all I really want to do is peacefully leave the house for a few hours.

I guess, in the mean time, my parents and I will just have to agree to disagree on certain issues. Bringing an umbrella to a bar, for starters. Who knows, either they will eventually learn to accept that I can take care of myself when I’m away from them, or I will finally give in to their well-meaning demands out of sheer exhaustion. But no matter how much I try to avoid bringing a trusty umbrella or my mom’s homemade fruit salad in Tupperware as I exit the house, I hope they realize that I appreciate the fact that they give me the ultimate baon: their love.

Mela is a Halfway Staff Writer

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