ETHER DIARIES

I once picked up a single puzzle piece and wondered where it was supposed to fit. On its own, it looked ordinary, just a weird shape with a bit of color. But a puzzle never makes sense one piece at a time. You only see the beauty when everything comes together.

Life feels the same. Every moment, every joy, every hardship is its own little piece. When you look at one part in isolation, it can feel confusing or pointless. But when you step back, you start to see how each piece connects. And eventually, you realize that every piece matters, and every piece belongs.

Earlier today, my tita brought over a photo album she found among my mom’s things. As I flipped through it, I turned over one photograph and saw a caption written in her handwriting: “My 50th birthday. Aug. 29, 1996.” That photo was taken exactly thirty years ago today. She would have been eighty. The thought stayed with me.

As I write this, it is 1:30 in the morning. I have just finished inducing anesthesia for an emergency cesarean section, and the baby being born in these early hours happens to share my mom’s birthday. It felt like another puzzle piece falling quietly into place. The connection was too meaningful to ignore. If I could say something to this baby, it would be this:

Eighty years ago today, a great woman was born. Years later, she raised a silly-faced boy who would grow up to become an anesthesiologist, someone who would one day place epidurals and spinals and help bring babies safely into the world. And today, one of those babies is you.

I often think my life would have taken a very different path without my mother’s wisdom and foresight, especially in choosing where I would study. I remember one of the biggest misunderstandings between us: where I should go for high school. She insisted on a science high school. I wanted a private one. In the end, I followed her, half heartedly and reluctantly, convinced she did not understand what I wanted.

Years later, I found myself alone with her, sorting through old boxes and forgotten things. Tucked neatly away were all the medals I had earned in high school. I lifted them out one by one, then looped them around my neck, smiling as they clinked together softly. My mother watched me for a moment before asking, “Do you still hate me for sending you to that school?” I did not answer right away. I simply smiled.

Now, looking back, I see it clearly. Everything I am, everything I have achieved, traces its roots to the grit and discipline I learned in that science high school. The doors that opened, the opportunities I earned, the confidence I built, all of it began with her decision, the one I once resisted. It was a puzzle piece I did not understand at the time. It looked awkward, unwanted, out of place. But it fit perfectly into the larger picture that was quietly being shaped for my life.

Today, as I held that old photograph and welcomed a newborn who shares her birthday, I felt the pieces align again. My mother may be gone, but life keeps finding ways to remind me that she was here, and that a part of her still lives on in everything I do.

Happy eightieth birthday, Mom. The puzzle keeps coming together, and you are still at the center of the picture.