Bien Maria Tan Rodriguez

Bien Maria was a stranger to my world until she was three days old. We picked her up at an orphanage in Borongan, a small city in Eastern Samar that's 5 hours away from Ormoc. The nuns who run the place left her nameless for the first three days, so my mother unofficially christened her Bien Maria the moment she scooped her from a bed she shared with four other babies and arranged her in her arms.

It was quite a funnily memorable setting. My mother was expecting a light-skinned baby since she was told the baby would be, but in the room where all the baby orphans were, there was only one who fared lightly, and it was Francisco, a boy. The nuns instead pointed out to her a crying infant with Hershey's Symphony chocolate dark-colored skin. My mother laughed off the skin-reference mistake with the nuns, but it was too late to back out. She was already smitten. (Don't fault my mother for being skin-discriminating. While she was growing up, her dark color against her older sisters' lightness made her the butt of jokes.)

Our pick-up did not take long as we had another 5-hour ride ahead. For the long trip, Bien was dressed in a sleeveless shirt and a lampin secured around her bottom. The orphanage's budget does not afford them the convenience of diapers, and my mother completely forgot about that part (and the powdered milk, the bottles, etc etc). More than 20 years has passed since she last put a diaper on a baby and Bien forced her to an instant re-orientation to that motherly-at-an-infant-stage job.

Jackie, Bien's biological mother, was there the whole time we were readying Bien to a life. She stunned me with her seeming aloofness. She dressed up Bien at a half-hurried pace, with an expression on her face so blank you wouldn't be able to draw any emotion from it. If there was, then maybe I'm just bad at drawing.

Before we left, she handed my mother a letter that detailed her past affair with a 20 year old guy, her pregnancy, her intention to give away her baby, and her deep gratitude. This letter was all the authorization we needed to prove to the court that we did not kidnap Bien. I could not remember what my mother handed in return, if she did.

It was Jackie's mother who cried the tears of a woman who is to be separated from her child. As we were leaving, Jackie remained at a corner and looked elsewhere. You would think she was built for this kind of drama, and structured in her was a restraining order for any amount of tears to escape from her, no matter how hard-knock the circumstance is. That, or maybe her baby (Bien to us) was just another toy from a thrift shop that she no longer found a need for. Jackie was only 15, after all. Knowing that she's only at the prime of her teens allows her nonchalance a bit of integrity.

On the way home, we stopped by a convenience store and bought a bottle for the milk, a can of powdered milk, and diapers. Good thing we were convinced not to wait until the 5-hour travel was over, because just as we were nearing the exit of Borongan, we got stuck for almost an hour when up ahead a 2-lane dirt-road, an accident stalled the traffic. Well, actually, it was one-lane at that time since they blocked off the other one for pave-men at work. (I forgot what kind of accident it was.) It was a perfect time to be stuck in traffic. We had a stranger with us, and we were taking her, her three days so far in the world, and the rest of her days, home.

During those three days (the only days in Bien's life that we missed), we were half-excited and half-reeling at the prospect of a new member in the family. We only had three days to take in everything -- the announcement/invitation made by my grandmother who saw the baby on the day it was born, the discussion between my parents, the decisioning c/o mother (since she is always the one who decides on domestic matters). Thus, we forgot about the milk, diapers, etc, etc. The only crib Bien ever slept on was a basket my mother used to put fake fruits on. My mother paraded Bien to the family and to her friends on that basket.

The inevitable changes a new member (and a very young one at that) would bring to our family were left unlisted and unspoken. But even before Bien arrived, my siblings and I, my father, and my mother knew what they were. There will already be 7 plates on the dining table. There is a kid we will have to consider in every travel itinerary we prepare (amusement parks!). All of us -- except for pop and my brother Ting -- will have to be acquainted with baby bottles, diapers, cans of powdered milk, infant cries in the middle of the night, turns to clean up the baby or feed the baby in case yaya is not around, etc etc. (But I do remember that one time when Papa prepared a bottle of milk for Bien, as demanded by my mother... awww.)

Bien is now 6 years old. Through the years, we discovered how trivial the changes we expected were. Anybody could have easily guessed them; the psychologist could have easily pointed them out to us. The greatest gift that Bien gave us is happiness. Not to say we were living in gloom before she arrived, but there's a remarkable difference in happiness that a kid brings with her. Its face has more sheen, its laughter comfortably louder, its constancy more trustworthy. Even without her actually promising it, we are sure could always hook ourselves on this happiness. She's the sunshine that is always there, even if we want to sleep more.

We have come across a lot of strangers whom we now call friends, but only a few have made sisters of them. The most important stranger in my life laughs like it's the happiest day of her life, makes funny faces, has a comic dance, intervenes in conversations, has 20 sleeping positions, snores like my pop, obeys my mother like her lifeline, can shift from friendly to grumpy in a second, sees colors in all aspects of her life, and the most marvelous of all her blessings, she lights up our home. We adopted this stranger and now, she's among us.

Our Little Ballerina, who learned LOVE 3 days late

~~~

What She Learned at 2

Mother: How many mommies do you have, Bien?
Bien: Two, mommy Jackie and mommy Janet.
Mother: Why do you have two mommies?
Bien: Mommy Janet was praying to the Lord for a baby so mommy Jackie gave me to her.
Mother: Bien, what does adoption mean?
Bien: Love!