My mother didn’t say I love you.
Instead she said
Do your homework
and, Don’t be late for dinner.
That’s how we knew she cared. 
 
Her hair was short like her temper
when our grades were bad,
her smile warm 
like the pancit she cooked on our birthdays. 
 
When we left home for college
she didn’t say I’m worried.
Instead she sent mail: 
care packages, they’re called.
Microwaveable rice and instant noodles,
because we didn’t know how to make pancit.
 
When she got sick she didn’t say I’m scared.
Instead she made jokes 
and refused to take her medicine.
She treated cancer like it was a cold. 
That’s how we knew she was okay. 
 
My mother didn’t say goodbye.
She didn’t have to.
But we said it: 
We said goodbye,
and I love you. 
 
Ang akong inahan, dili mu sugilon ug “Gihigugma ko ikaw.”
Kani hinuon, “Buhata na imung buhatunon para sa skwelahan" ug “Ayaw pagdugay sa pag-uli para sa panihapon.”
Dinha mi nakaamgo sa iyang ka mapanggaon.
 
Dyutay iyang buhok sama sa iyang pasenshya.
Hinglabi ug gagmay mi ug grado sa skwelahan.
Lami kaayo’g pahiyum, sama sa iyang pansit nga pagalutuon kada mag adlaw mi.
 
Pagpanglakaw namo para mag skwela ug kolehiyo, wa siya’y gisulting magul-anon.
Hinuon, magpada ug putos nga puros bugas ug pansit nga maluto ra sa “microwave”
Kay tungod dili gyud mi kamao mag mano-mano  sa pagluto niini.
 
Pagkasakit niya, wa gyu’y bisag unsang gisulti o nagpatigbabaw nga kahadlok.
Hinuon, nagsige kani ug pakatawa ug molimud sa iyang mga tambal.
Mura ra ug ordinaryong sip-on para niya ang iyang cancer.
Dinha mi nakaamgo nga mag maayo ra siya.
 
Akong inahan, wa manamilit.
Dili kinahanglan.
Apan nangamilit kami ug gipasundayag nga gihigugma namo siya.