This is a nightmare story for me. Yesterday my son was released from school to an “unconfirmed driver” without my consent and proper clearance. The thought that my son may have been released to an “unidentified” person caused me alarm and terrible panic. What could get worse, I was in the office in the middle of a killer project deadline and was left helpless on the phone when the teacher's assistant could not answer my basic question, “Why did you release my son to an unconfirmed driver?” I was really angry, I could feel the heat from my nape rising to my head, and literally my blood was boiling. I feared for the safety and security of my little boy. The school did not inform me of the full details of the incident like the absence of my son’s Yaya, the only official and legitimate fetcher registered in school. How could the staff conjure up this “brilliant” idea that the new “driver” was now the new fetcher?
My ultimate concern was my son, only 3 years old, left to his own defenses, traveling home from school with a stranger who told the school that he was picking up my kid without the Yaya. The authenticity of the stranger was in question. I wanted to cry but my infuriation has gained over. I collected myself and requested the teacher in charge to do all things possible to check if my son did made it home. I called my husband who was as exasperated as I was and he made calls to home to check on our kid’s arrival.
Thank God my son made it home. The ordeal made me realize a lot of things. You can never compromise the safety and security of your children even in a seemingly “good” environment. Schools must be compelled to implement responsive security and safety procedures for its students particularly on the releasing of young children to legitimate fetchers. The effectiveness of these procedures largely rests on the school staff who must be equipped with the proper frame of mind and ability to discern and prevent situations that may jeopardize a child’s welfare.
I went to my son’s school today and filed a formal complaint against the school and involved staff. I am doing this for my kid in recognition of his right to safety, security and protection as well as for his classmates and schoolmates who equally deserve the best service that will ensure their well-being while in school premises and in transit from school to home. This is not an imposition rather a reiteration of responsibility.
28 November 2007
17 November 2007
The Bloomfields
Call me a late bloomer but I’m really into this band right now. I was enthralled eversince I saw their video clip from YouTube. They remind me well of the Beatles but who cares, these guys got great talent. Their music keeps me company during late night overtime work at the office. They call their music a "happy" one and I attest to that.
Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, The Bloomfields...
http://
Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, The Bloomfields...
http://
30 October 2007
Not Really Goodbye
It’s really hard to say goodbye to friends and colleagues who have been with you through several years of struggle in the promotion of an “ideal” and a “process” that is both elusive and promising. These dedicated people who are first my friends rather than colleagues, served as mentors and co-adherents for a dream that have been muddled with "too much" human intervention.
I would like to thank them all: for the friendship, motivation, partnership, teamwork and lessons learned. Though conflict is inevitable due to our peculiarities, I shall treasure the best and trying times of our work together for the peace process.
Nonetheless this is not really goodbye. I may be in a different battlefield but it's still the same war. Good luck to all of us.
I would like to thank them all: for the friendship, motivation, partnership, teamwork and lessons learned. Though conflict is inevitable due to our peculiarities, I shall treasure the best and trying times of our work together for the peace process.
Nonetheless this is not really goodbye. I may be in a different battlefield but it's still the same war. Good luck to all of us.
08 October 2007
Horrific tales in the city
I have been suppressing this insistent voice within me and no amount of brooding could ever convince me otherwise. I’m beginning to lose my faith in the goodness of people. I used to believe on the inherent kindness of men towards his own kind. I look back and realize the stark difference: What have we become, have we evolved from a critical mass to an indifferent majority that we care less about the basic codes of a civilized society?
You may ride but…
My bottled-up frustration is taking the better of me. Yesterday my fiery temper was ignited as I reprimanded a taxi driver who refused to take me from Megamall to Greenhills. This is not an isolated case of discourtesy; I have been repeatedly refused to board taxis by these impolite drivers even as a pregnant woman.
One particular case took place last year as I boarded a taxi in the Ultra area after attending the office’s sportsfest. I got interviewed by this arrogant driver who halted his cab upon learning of my destination and began hollering on the (perceived) terrible traffic in Ortigas and Shaw. I did not budge that moment; I berated him for his rudeness for he seems oblivious of my protruding belly. The discussion was getting nowhere and having realized that I wasted my time, I got out of the cab. I have reported three incidents including this case to the DOTC through e-mail and text and I never heard any feedback on my complaints. The driver was never punished - he is one abusive, gender insensitive, scott free brute tolerated by our weak governance system.
You may enter but…
The other day, an inspection of my belongings nearly transformed me into Ms. Grumpy again. This lady guard in the mall readily shoves her hand inside my backpack even before I could fully open it. She begun squeezing and clutching the contents of my bag. It took great effort restraining myself to tell her, “Do I look like your regular terrorist? If I had a bomb I wouldn’t put it inside my accessory kit that’s too predictable. I’m going to stash it somewhere else,” instead I adamantly ordered her to stop touching my things for she was overdoing it. She only looked at me and replied, “Thank you Ma’am!” and did not apologize for the inconvenience she has caused.
You may have these free items but…
While waiting inside a mall, I saw this young couple being pursued by a man in black suit and tie. The Dad was carrying his squirming toddler while the Mom was hauling a giant baby bag. From a distant, it was clear that the young couple were now swayed into the agent’s ultimate agenda of selling insurance to them instead of being provided with the freebies indicated in the promotional ad handed earlier.
I do not really understand this marketing/ promotional strategy taking place in malls. Personally, I look at it as a deception scheme to unsuspecting mall-goers, to be lured into purchasing something you haven’t even planned for and using free give-away items as bait. What is wrong with honest and no-frills marketing? You offer a product and it advantages. The customer, without pressure or false claims from the seller, shall decide if he makes a sale or not.
I could go on ranting about these cases of incivility, some may even sound trivial; the point is, it says a lot about the prevailing values that most of our countrymen have and it’s quite disappointing. Having said that, I still hope that I am wrong.
You may ride but…
My bottled-up frustration is taking the better of me. Yesterday my fiery temper was ignited as I reprimanded a taxi driver who refused to take me from Megamall to Greenhills. This is not an isolated case of discourtesy; I have been repeatedly refused to board taxis by these impolite drivers even as a pregnant woman.
One particular case took place last year as I boarded a taxi in the Ultra area after attending the office’s sportsfest. I got interviewed by this arrogant driver who halted his cab upon learning of my destination and began hollering on the (perceived) terrible traffic in Ortigas and Shaw. I did not budge that moment; I berated him for his rudeness for he seems oblivious of my protruding belly. The discussion was getting nowhere and having realized that I wasted my time, I got out of the cab. I have reported three incidents including this case to the DOTC through e-mail and text and I never heard any feedback on my complaints. The driver was never punished - he is one abusive, gender insensitive, scott free brute tolerated by our weak governance system.
You may enter but…
The other day, an inspection of my belongings nearly transformed me into Ms. Grumpy again. This lady guard in the mall readily shoves her hand inside my backpack even before I could fully open it. She begun squeezing and clutching the contents of my bag. It took great effort restraining myself to tell her, “Do I look like your regular terrorist? If I had a bomb I wouldn’t put it inside my accessory kit that’s too predictable. I’m going to stash it somewhere else,” instead I adamantly ordered her to stop touching my things for she was overdoing it. She only looked at me and replied, “Thank you Ma’am!” and did not apologize for the inconvenience she has caused.
You may have these free items but…
While waiting inside a mall, I saw this young couple being pursued by a man in black suit and tie. The Dad was carrying his squirming toddler while the Mom was hauling a giant baby bag. From a distant, it was clear that the young couple were now swayed into the agent’s ultimate agenda of selling insurance to them instead of being provided with the freebies indicated in the promotional ad handed earlier.
I do not really understand this marketing/ promotional strategy taking place in malls. Personally, I look at it as a deception scheme to unsuspecting mall-goers, to be lured into purchasing something you haven’t even planned for and using free give-away items as bait. What is wrong with honest and no-frills marketing? You offer a product and it advantages. The customer, without pressure or false claims from the seller, shall decide if he makes a sale or not.
I could go on ranting about these cases of incivility, some may even sound trivial; the point is, it says a lot about the prevailing values that most of our countrymen have and it’s quite disappointing. Having said that, I still hope that I am wrong.
01 October 2007
Toxic
At some point in our lives we experience some form of cruelty in the hands of the people that ought to care for us. Our circumstances or context may vary and degree of how we felt its fangs gnaw on our wounds, the common factor is pain.
On second thought, pain could be a good instrument because it causes one to pause, contemplate and change direction.
One important lesson I have reaped from my interaction with these abominable creatures, which included former friends and colleagues and even relatives, is to accept these people the way they are for it takes a village to raise a child, these people just can’t help it; they were wired that way by their own unique society.
I call them “toxic” people and ridding them off one’s system is the best coping mechanism I have acquired through years of dealing with them.
Toxic (tok-sik) adj. 1. of or caused by poison. 2. Poisonous.(Reference: Oxford American Dictionary)
In this context, toxic people are good at betraying people who trust them. They feed you with poison words and if you let them get through you, they may seep and contaminate your blood. Remember you are your own person. Other people’s words and their perception of you only matter when you cooperate with them. Never endorse it.
Toxic people bear the following qualities:
1. They think they are better than the rest of us.
2. They never owe an apology nor explanation for a mistake tha
t have caused hurt or that have compromise another person's integrity.
3. They tell you what you can and cannot do.
4. They are self-centered.
5. They need you only when they need you.
6. They are naturally vile.
Get rid of them and live light!
On second thought, pain could be a good instrument because it causes one to pause, contemplate and change direction.
One important lesson I have reaped from my interaction with these abominable creatures, which included former friends and colleagues and even relatives, is to accept these people the way they are for it takes a village to raise a child, these people just can’t help it; they were wired that way by their own unique society.
I call them “toxic” people and ridding them off one’s system is the best coping mechanism I have acquired through years of dealing with them.
Toxic (tok-sik) adj. 1. of or caused by poison. 2. Poisonous.(Reference: Oxford American Dictionary)
In this context, toxic people are good at betraying people who trust them. They feed you with poison words and if you let them get through you, they may seep and contaminate your blood. Remember you are your own person. Other people’s words and their perception of you only matter when you cooperate with them. Never endorse it.
Toxic people bear the following qualities:
1. They think they are better than the rest of us.
2. They never owe an apology nor explanation for a mistake tha
t have caused hurt or that have compromise another person's integrity.3. They tell you what you can and cannot do.
4. They are self-centered.
5. They need you only when they need you.
6. They are naturally vile.
Get rid of them and live light!
19 September 2007
Five Lessons
1. You are one tiny fish swimming in a vast and filthy pond.
2. You are always a potential meal to a bigger fish.
3. Aside from bigger fishes, there also lurk small and harmless looking creatures that sting as bad.
4. Adaptation is optional but resilience is a must.
5. You maybe tiny but your uncanny ability to endure and overcome catastrophic events will save you. Use it well.
13 September 2007
Rain-sealed Memories
Whenever it rains, good memories leak out of my head as follows:
The Nest
Sounds mundane but sleeping in my parent’s bedroom on cold and stormy nights is a well-cherished family moment for me. Whenever a strong typhoon comes to town, my mother gathers her children to sleep in the master’s bedroom. I did not mind sleeping on a mat on the floor while the youngest got the extra bed as long as I have the whole family with me. Mama might just be responding to her nesting instinct but it sure left a mark on me. Now I have a family of my own and live miles away from them, nevertheless the binding assurance produced by a strong parental presence remains.
The Rain Shower
Whenever it rains, I remember my grandmother assume her playful side contrary to the disciplinarian mode she is known for. She allows me and my cousins to go out and play in the rain. Thank God for this process called precipitation! Fresh water droplets falling from the clouds like there was no tomorrow. I consider it the best child-recreational experience for all time.
The Bobbsey Twins
Here’s a geeky confession: I and my grade school best fri
end once shared a little crime in school when we discovered and hoarded a box of Laura Lee Hope’s children’s novel series “The Bobbsey Twins.” The sight of a big dusty box containing hardbound Bobbsey twins books, abandoned in the bowels of our school’s antiquated library made us feel like millionaires. With great excitement, we inspected our loot like we never held or seen a book before. I remember the dusty smell and yellowing pages yearning to be read. We felt sorry for Bert, Nan, Freddie and Flossie since the borrower’s card of most indicated only 1 or 2 readers while the rest were never opened. We speculated the unpopularity of the series lead to its lonely state in the dark little corner where we found it.
We kept those books until we read each and every piece of it and even re-read our favorites to our heart’s content. While we were in the thick of the “Bobbsey Twins reading marathon,” we both sported large eyebags in school and had a contented grin plastered on our faces. I fondly recall reading most of these detective series during cold rainy evenings. Sad though, these books were only for reading and not for keeping.
The Second Home
I stayed with my grandmother for 6 years, thus, it never occurred to me to get homesick when I entered college. I felt so sure I could handle it, from the long travel to "claiming my space" in the dormitory alone- I got it done. After a month of parentless bliss, the sense that you are indeed alone in a strange place begun to manifest into sullenness. Tired of sulking, I embraced my independence which opened my eyes to the beautiful possibilities that my second home has to offer. I love UPLB. It is sprawling home to majestic trees, endemic plants and flowers, impressive architecture and freethinkers. It is most beautiful after the rain. It has done more than just clothe me with knowledge and ideals, it contributed a lot to what a person I am today.
The Friendliest Office
I never had great set of friends as the ones I’ve met and kept during my first job stint for a lady senator. These wonderful friends (who need not be named) are the “bestest”. We all together went through the pains, freshly-pluck-from-college idealists, have to endure as soon as we set foot into the jungle. It was much easier experiencing life’s biting realities when you’ve got company. I’m glad I had them. Most unforgettable deed was touring all floors of the building, we were headquartered at the 5th floor, during an extended power interruption with the hard rain sloshing outside and inside. With the carpets soaked in water and the building in the dark, we felt trapped but happy. We even wished for the massive structure to be swallowed by the sea since it stood by Manila Bay so there would be - No more papers! No more work! No more bosses and dirty looks!
The Sign
I am not superstitious but I have my way of reading hints. This happened during my first semester at graduate school. It was a bad case of a sudden rainy afternoon. My class ended and I waited for some time and still the rain has forgotten to stop. My boyfriend called me up, informing me that he will get me home because Manila was getting flooded. The rain was unbelievable, it got stronger as it poured more. I called my boyfriend back so we could meet someplace else outside the campus. I made my way to our meeting place where I waited again. It was already late in the evening, I was becoming impatient, worried and hungry. I couldn’t touch the food I ordered, normally it would take 45 minutes to get from his office to our meeting place during traffic. I prayed for the rain to calm down and for him to arrive safely. After a minute of deep thought I unconsciously turned my head to the right and saw him in a corner frantically waving at me in the crowd. I saw him drenched all over. I went out of the store to meet him and he recounted his series of unfortunate events just to get to me. I married him 3 years later.
The Nest
Sounds mundane but sleeping in my parent’s bedroom on cold and stormy nights is a well-cherished family moment for me. Whenever a strong typhoon comes to town, my mother gathers her children to sleep in the master’s bedroom. I did not mind sleeping on a mat on the floor while the youngest got the extra bed as long as I have the whole family with me. Mama might just be responding to her nesting instinct but it sure left a mark on me. Now I have a family of my own and live miles away from them, nevertheless the binding assurance produced by a strong parental presence remains.
The Rain Shower
Whenever it rains, I remember my grandmother assume her playful side contrary to the disciplinarian mode she is known for. She allows me and my cousins to go out and play in the rain. Thank God for this process called precipitation! Fresh water droplets falling from the clouds like there was no tomorrow. I consider it the best child-recreational experience for all time.
The Bobbsey Twins
Here’s a geeky confession: I and my grade school best fri
end once shared a little crime in school when we discovered and hoarded a box of Laura Lee Hope’s children’s novel series “The Bobbsey Twins.” The sight of a big dusty box containing hardbound Bobbsey twins books, abandoned in the bowels of our school’s antiquated library made us feel like millionaires. With great excitement, we inspected our loot like we never held or seen a book before. I remember the dusty smell and yellowing pages yearning to be read. We felt sorry for Bert, Nan, Freddie and Flossie since the borrower’s card of most indicated only 1 or 2 readers while the rest were never opened. We speculated the unpopularity of the series lead to its lonely state in the dark little corner where we found it.We kept those books until we read each and every piece of it and even re-read our favorites to our heart’s content. While we were in the thick of the “Bobbsey Twins reading marathon,” we both sported large eyebags in school and had a contented grin plastered on our faces. I fondly recall reading most of these detective series during cold rainy evenings. Sad though, these books were only for reading and not for keeping.
The Second Home
I stayed with my grandmother for 6 years, thus, it never occurred to me to get homesick when I entered college. I felt so sure I could handle it, from the long travel to "claiming my space" in the dormitory alone- I got it done. After a month of parentless bliss, the sense that you are indeed alone in a strange place begun to manifest into sullenness. Tired of sulking, I embraced my independence which opened my eyes to the beautiful possibilities that my second home has to offer. I love UPLB. It is sprawling home to majestic trees, endemic plants and flowers, impressive architecture and freethinkers. It is most beautiful after the rain. It has done more than just clothe me with knowledge and ideals, it contributed a lot to what a person I am today.
The Friendliest Office
I never had great set of friends as the ones I’ve met and kept during my first job stint for a lady senator. These wonderful friends (who need not be named) are the “bestest”. We all together went through the pains, freshly-pluck-from-college idealists, have to endure as soon as we set foot into the jungle. It was much easier experiencing life’s biting realities when you’ve got company. I’m glad I had them. Most unforgettable deed was touring all floors of the building, we were headquartered at the 5th floor, during an extended power interruption with the hard rain sloshing outside and inside. With the carpets soaked in water and the building in the dark, we felt trapped but happy. We even wished for the massive structure to be swallowed by the sea since it stood by Manila Bay so there would be - No more papers! No more work! No more bosses and dirty looks!
The Sign
I am not superstitious but I have my way of reading hints. This happened during my first semester at graduate school. It was a bad case of a sudden rainy afternoon. My class ended and I waited for some time and still the rain has forgotten to stop. My boyfriend called me up, informing me that he will get me home because Manila was getting flooded. The rain was unbelievable, it got stronger as it poured more. I called my boyfriend back so we could meet someplace else outside the campus. I made my way to our meeting place where I waited again. It was already late in the evening, I was becoming impatient, worried and hungry. I couldn’t touch the food I ordered, normally it would take 45 minutes to get from his office to our meeting place during traffic. I prayed for the rain to calm down and for him to arrive safely. After a minute of deep thought I unconsciously turned my head to the right and saw him in a corner frantically waving at me in the crowd. I saw him drenched all over. I went out of the store to meet him and he recounted his series of unfortunate events just to get to me. I married him 3 years later.
Acknowledgements:
University of the Philippines Los Banos (UPLB) Photo, compliments of Mr. Gino T. Manalastas; www.manalastas.net
The Bobbsey Twins’ The Secret at the Seashore, http://the-forum.com
12 July 2007
The Rain and my Dinosaur Umbrella
A man who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself." John Stuart Mill
As I stepped out of the building, rain was pouring hard from the dark sky and emerald avenue was barely visible to my poor eyesight. I breathe out a deep sigh of retreat. I calmly kept myself from turning back inside the building despite the strong impulse to ride its elevator and punch the 7th button -- run back to my office--to my cluttered desk and hug my PC. I wish I have stayed longer with “Bumble-bee” and accepted her invitation to grab a snack and exchange office blues but I wanted to get home early.
My hubby called in sick today so I lost my privilege of being picked-up for a free ride home on a rainy Tuesday. He is a workaholic. I smiled at recalling his quip about working hard to keep me and our 2 kids chubbily-healthy. At that instant I visualized him with our 2 babies huddled in bed watching Cars or Nemo or Shrek. I felt envious that I wished to be teleported home immediately.
Perfect! I had my new flats on. It’s not that pricey but I just don’t want them soaking wet this early. Poor thing for now they will have to endure both my weight and the rain and my foolishness as well.
Standing in the building’s entrance, I was caught between the cold rain and the temporary shade provided by the facade. I needed to make a quick decision and I resolved to walk through the heavy downpour with only a dinosaur umbrella. I felt the chilly wind biting my skin piercing through my clothes. Much price to pay for rushing in the morning to get to the office, I have forgotten my coat again. I wanted to scold myself but too late I was halfway to the sidewalk with hasty strides.
I look back and saw this lonely young woman sitting under this big cafe umbrella waiting for the rain to stop. She had this sad and tired expression on her face. She also looked very impatient. On the nearby building, people were crowding its entrance, waiting, cursing and smoking under their big umbrellas. “Hey no takers, only me and my dinosaur umbrella!” I struggled to keep balance with my mailbag wrapped on me, I run the risk of looking like a fool with a twisted umbrella as a sword against the strong wind and rain.
Before I could even begin my silent prayer for a taxi to drop from the heavens, a cab appeared on my side. It was no-Optimus Prime but it looked just as grand. I got inside the cab without much ado (not even a query on my destination from the driver.) I saw the young woman under the big umbrella crane her neck in disbelief that I boarded a cab without much effort.
If I turned back inside the building, I will be one rotting soul sitting in front of my computer monitor, busy with killing time and waiting for the stubborn rain to end. If I stayed behind I would have miss coming home to my excited and still awake children. If I procrastinated getting home due to the rains then I would not have this happy disposition at the moment. Too happy that I got to write about it and had it posted here.
As I stepped out of the building, rain was pouring hard from the dark sky and emerald avenue was barely visible to my poor eyesight. I breathe out a deep sigh of retreat. I calmly kept myself from turning back inside the building despite the strong impulse to ride its elevator and punch the 7th button -- run back to my office--to my cluttered desk and hug my PC. I wish I have stayed longer with “Bumble-bee” and accepted her invitation to grab a snack and exchange office blues but I wanted to get home early.
My hubby called in sick today so I lost my privilege of being picked-up for a free ride home on a rainy Tuesday. He is a workaholic. I smiled at recalling his quip about working hard to keep me and our 2 kids chubbily-healthy. At that instant I visualized him with our 2 babies huddled in bed watching Cars or Nemo or Shrek. I felt envious that I wished to be teleported home immediately.
Perfect! I had my new flats on. It’s not that pricey but I just don’t want them soaking wet this early. Poor thing for now they will have to endure both my weight and the rain and my foolishness as well.
Standing in the building’s entrance, I was caught between the cold rain and the temporary shade provided by the facade. I needed to make a quick decision and I resolved to walk through the heavy downpour with only a dinosaur umbrella. I felt the chilly wind biting my skin piercing through my clothes. Much price to pay for rushing in the morning to get to the office, I have forgotten my coat again. I wanted to scold myself but too late I was halfway to the sidewalk with hasty strides.
I look back and saw this lonely young woman sitting under this big cafe umbrella waiting for the rain to stop. She had this sad and tired expression on her face. She also looked very impatient. On the nearby building, people were crowding its entrance, waiting, cursing and smoking under their big umbrellas. “Hey no takers, only me and my dinosaur umbrella!” I struggled to keep balance with my mailbag wrapped on me, I run the risk of looking like a fool with a twisted umbrella as a sword against the strong wind and rain.
Before I could even begin my silent prayer for a taxi to drop from the heavens, a cab appeared on my side. It was no-Optimus Prime but it looked just as grand. I got inside the cab without much ado (not even a query on my destination from the driver.) I saw the young woman under the big umbrella crane her neck in disbelief that I boarded a cab without much effort.
If I turned back inside the building, I will be one rotting soul sitting in front of my computer monitor, busy with killing time and waiting for the stubborn rain to end. If I stayed behind I would have miss coming home to my excited and still awake children. If I procrastinated getting home due to the rains then I would not have this happy disposition at the moment. Too happy that I got to write about it and had it posted here.
03 July 2007
Isis bella
January 2007 - You arrived in this world in a hurry. Unlike your brother where the waiting seems no end, you came in a dash. For 39 weeks, you were nestled in my womb and only in an hour you were tossed into this world that is all foreign to your senses.
You are beautiful. You have your father’s countenance especially his sovereign nose. The amazing part is that you are mine. And what’s more amazing than that… - I am taking you home!
You are beautiful. You have your father’s countenance especially his sovereign nose. The amazing part is that you are mine. And what’s more amazing than that… - I am taking you home!
19 June 2007
The Old House (s1.)
Once, at first glance, it seems to float in a sea of Philodendrons. On closer look, the yellow steel gate opens to a spacious frontyard that displayed an oldish garden swing and an assortment of blooming and leafy potted plants and Santan hedges, the cemented pathway leads you to the main feature – my grandmother’s Spanish old house along Calye Callejon. It was smack right in the town’s hub and was a stone’s throw away from the plaza and a short walk to the church and a prominent Catholic School run by nuns.
The old house is a big structure that quietly loomed on the block and perfectly blended with its surroundings of motley structures ranging from a conspicuous hotel building to mediocre houses nearby. It had 6 big rooms, an azotea, a sala that converts into tv room, a dinning room with a long table and a quaint kitchen. It was built on proud and sturdy posts and boast of well polished and shiny Tindalo wooden floorings. Like most houses built during the olden times, its walls were made of Sawali and its heavy slide windows of Narra.
I love that house dearly. For me, the old house is the most beautiful house I ever laid my eyes on. It brings memories of my early life, it meant comfort and refuge and most importantly it reminded me of Nanay.
Nanay is my mother’s Nanay, a remarkable woman of strength and
kindness who became my surrogate mother for the first 6 years of my life. My Nanay tells me that the old house used to be the first hotel in our town. It accommodated a number of prominent political figures including the late President Quirino. Its glory days however were cut short when fire partly ravaged it and a remodeling and reconstruction of affected parts resulted to an oddly shaped kitchen.
Adding flavor to the historical character of my grandmother’s old house is the atmosphere of mysticism it exudes that I categorize as almost magical. My theory identifies the miracle of fresh life springing from a mother’s womb to have blessed the old house. With reference to our clan’s history, the old house had been the birthing place of a series of generations. My grandmother gave birth to all her 6 children in the old house. My mother and her sister and their cousin have followed such practice unconsciously. How many babies were brought forth into this world through the old house? I lost count because I have lots of cousins from the maternal side.
If only it could breathe and tell stories, the old house may have been a great weaver of tales. Only it stood as silent witness to every joy and tragedy my grandmother’s family stumbled into. And whatever it saw became a well-guarded secret locked away from the prying and judgmental world outside.
Sadly, I left the old house before turning 7 upon the bidding of my father who moved his family from the north to the central region of Luzon. My mother, armed with the determination to get the family together, came for me and so I said my farewell.
One day, the news came like thunder on a summer, it was said that the old house was torn down to the ground. Piece by piece it was ripped, like a severely ailing person decaying to death, it succumbed to human fault called greed. Knowing my Nanay, she must have felt that she was about to die too. I picture her pain and agony as she was also torn limb by limb and devoured by an angry giant. She must have been killed softly that day.
At the age of 10, when my young discernment has not yet met its fortitude, I concluded that magic and history were not enough to protect the house that my grandmother built with her love and gentleness. And that human greed does not only take away physical possessions, it also caused terrible pain and bestowed violence on good people. It was greed that desecrated a blessed family dwelling.
Was greed more powerful than love? When I was young I thought the answer was yes. I was wrong then because now when I think of the old house, I am strongly reminde d of my Nanay for my grandmother signified all that is good in this world. Her memory alone brings me back to the old house I will always call Home.
The old house is a big structure that quietly loomed on the block and perfectly blended with its surroundings of motley structures ranging from a conspicuous hotel building to mediocre houses nearby. It had 6 big rooms, an azotea, a sala that converts into tv room, a dinning room with a long table and a quaint kitchen. It was built on proud and sturdy posts and boast of well polished and shiny Tindalo wooden floorings. Like most houses built during the olden times, its walls were made of Sawali and its heavy slide windows of Narra.
I love that house dearly. For me, the old house is the most beautiful house I ever laid my eyes on. It brings memories of my early life, it meant comfort and refuge and most importantly it reminded me of Nanay.
Nanay is my mother’s Nanay, a remarkable woman of strength and
kindness who became my surrogate mother for the first 6 years of my life. My Nanay tells me that the old house used to be the first hotel in our town. It accommodated a number of prominent political figures including the late President Quirino. Its glory days however were cut short when fire partly ravaged it and a remodeling and reconstruction of affected parts resulted to an oddly shaped kitchen.Adding flavor to the historical character of my grandmother’s old house is the atmosphere of mysticism it exudes that I categorize as almost magical. My theory identifies the miracle of fresh life springing from a mother’s womb to have blessed the old house. With reference to our clan’s history, the old house had been the birthing place of a series of generations. My grandmother gave birth to all her 6 children in the old house. My mother and her sister and their cousin have followed such practice unconsciously. How many babies were brought forth into this world through the old house? I lost count because I have lots of cousins from the maternal side.
If only it could breathe and tell stories, the old house may have been a great weaver of tales. Only it stood as silent witness to every joy and tragedy my grandmother’s family stumbled into. And whatever it saw became a well-guarded secret locked away from the prying and judgmental world outside.
Sadly, I left the old house before turning 7 upon the bidding of my father who moved his family from the north to the central region of Luzon. My mother, armed with the determination to get the family together, came for me and so I said my farewell.
One day, the news came like thunder on a summer, it was said that the old house was torn down to the ground. Piece by piece it was ripped, like a severely ailing person decaying to death, it succumbed to human fault called greed. Knowing my Nanay, she must have felt that she was about to die too. I picture her pain and agony as she was also torn limb by limb and devoured by an angry giant. She must have been killed softly that day.
At the age of 10, when my young discernment has not yet met its fortitude, I concluded that magic and history were not enough to protect the house that my grandmother built with her love and gentleness. And that human greed does not only take away physical possessions, it also caused terrible pain and bestowed violence on good people. It was greed that desecrated a blessed family dwelling.
Was greed more powerful than love? When I was young I thought the answer was yes. I was wrong then because now when I think of the old house, I am strongly reminde d of my Nanay for my grandmother signified all that is good in this world. Her memory alone brings me back to the old house I will always call Home.
Grumble
I am more than what meets the eye! I am more than my 5’1’’, 140 lb frame! If only I could blurt this out to the next person giving me a physical appraisal without my consent. What is wrong with people nowadays? Gone were the days when a simple hello was enough to start a genuine conversation. It seems like most people have turned out to be acerbic and rude. Sometimes I restrain myself from barking back “Why comment, you have metamorphosed into an ugly beast yourself!" … or curtly, “You’ve grown hideous!”…or more simply put, “You’re ugly!”
It really irks me when someone, an acquaintance for instance, takes full liberty to do an evaluation and run down on my weight gain. This is my body, no matter what size it is, it served me well. I’ve been up and healthy for the past 29 years and it has produced me a child and again is accommodating another one. Why does it matter to others that you are not as slender as you were 10 years ago? Don’t they know a thing about bone structure, metabolism and stress eating? What about the size of your gray matter and what you have done to improve your humanity for the past 10 years? Doesn’t it count anymore?
During the renaissance, plump women were in! Their bodies were adored. Look at the paintings, plumpness symbolized beauty, fertility and prosperity. I know we are not in the renaissance but I am no fool- I am blunt but candid at the same time. Any person must be taken for what they are and not for how they look or how heavy or light they tip on the scales. Afterall, when we die, the Lord asks not how much you have or how heavy you’ve become but how you made out of your life on earth. Good luck then!
It really irks me when someone, an acquaintance for instance, takes full liberty to do an evaluation and run down on my weight gain. This is my body, no matter what size it is, it served me well. I’ve been up and healthy for the past 29 years and it has produced me a child and again is accommodating another one. Why does it matter to others that you are not as slender as you were 10 years ago? Don’t they know a thing about bone structure, metabolism and stress eating? What about the size of your gray matter and what you have done to improve your humanity for the past 10 years? Doesn’t it count anymore?
During the renaissance, plump women were in! Their bodies were adored. Look at the paintings, plumpness symbolized beauty, fertility and prosperity. I know we are not in the renaissance but I am no fool- I am blunt but candid at the same time. Any person must be taken for what they are and not for how they look or how heavy or light they tip on the scales. Afterall, when we die, the Lord asks not how much you have or how heavy you’ve become but how you made out of your life on earth. Good luck then!
Why does my son love Buzz?
I have shelved this Toy Story 1 CD for quite some time in an old rack. If I recall it right, my husband bought this CD a long time ago, we were still dating then. I remember accompanying him to a CD store where he bought this movie for lack of any other interesting material. Little did we know that this CD had a purpose of its own and that is to serve a little master, our son.
My kid received a Buzz Lightyear bubble blower from his Godparents last Christmas. This toy became an instant hit to him the moment he saw Buzz blowing bubbles in the air. He was absolutely delighted as he chased the floating air packets around. The refill bottle did not last a week and so were the batteries.
Wanting to educate our son on the beginnings of Buzz Lightyear, my hubby decided to look for our good old CD and tried in on the player. Fifteen minutes later we get a first glimpse of Buzz when he is seen standing atop Andy’s bed as the poor Woody cowboy is flung from his prized spot. My little boy suddenly stands up, with glistening eyes and exclaims “Buzz!” The instant recognition earned Buzz our respect that he was to become Keith’s favourite toy and so begun our history of the toy-never-ending- story.
Who is Buzz Lightyear? According to the description inscribed in his spaceship, “he is a member of the elite Universe Protection Unit of Space Ranger Corp. protecting the galaxy from the threat of invasion from the Evil Emperor Zurg, sworn enemy of the Galactic Alliance.” I am writing this from memory, who couldn’t I watched the movie a hundred times already.
My son adored Buzz even though he is only a secondary character in that film where Woody is. He plays Buzz to the hilt – he jumps, crawls, runs, and raises his hands and even his right foot as copied onscreen. I am amazed at how this more than an hour movie holds the attention of my 1-year old.
I fear that constant exposure to the same movie may pose a health hazard to my son in the long run. Like all mothers, I did my homework and arrived at a conclusion that TV viewing is alright in regulated doses and should be quality controlled. This is quite obvious as “just enough” is always a better choice to less and more. The TV like any other device is a technological means that could be tapped for creative learning. I was a follower of Sesame Street and Batibot once and I guess my tolerance streams from this reason. This is our version of MTRCB at home, Toy Story 1 will be shown once a day then gradually reduced to thrice a week until it becomes occasional.
In response to the above query - why does my son love Buzz- well based from my almost a 100th time viewing, I am expected to offer highly analytical and profound answers but I can only say: Buzz is funny (my kid’s laughter is proof enough), creative and gutsy (Buzz refers to flying as falling with style) and sincere (he is a true friend to Woody whom he saves in the movie). My son deciphered these qualities the first time he watched Toy Story 1 that is why ….while it took me almost a hundred viewing times before I picked it up.
My kid received a Buzz Lightyear bubble blower from his Godparents last Christmas. This toy became an instant hit to him the moment he saw Buzz blowing bubbles in the air. He was absolutely delighted as he chased the floating air packets around. The refill bottle did not last a week and so were the batteries.
Wanting to educate our son on the beginnings of Buzz Lightyear, my hubby decided to look for our good old CD and tried in on the player. Fifteen minutes later we get a first glimpse of Buzz when he is seen standing atop Andy’s bed as the poor Woody cowboy is flung from his prized spot. My little boy suddenly stands up, with glistening eyes and exclaims “Buzz!” The instant recognition earned Buzz our respect that he was to become Keith’s favourite toy and so begun our history of the toy-never-ending- story.
Who is Buzz Lightyear? According to the description inscribed in his spaceship, “he is a member of the elite Universe Protection Unit of Space Ranger Corp. protecting the galaxy from the threat of invasion from the Evil Emperor Zurg, sworn enemy of the Galactic Alliance.” I am writing this from memory, who couldn’t I watched the movie a hundred times already.
My son adored Buzz even though he is only a secondary character in that film where Woody is. He plays Buzz to the hilt – he jumps, crawls, runs, and raises his hands and even his right foot as copied onscreen. I am amazed at how this more than an hour movie holds the attention of my 1-year old.
I fear that constant exposure to the same movie may pose a health hazard to my son in the long run. Like all mothers, I did my homework and arrived at a conclusion that TV viewing is alright in regulated doses and should be quality controlled. This is quite obvious as “just enough” is always a better choice to less and more. The TV like any other device is a technological means that could be tapped for creative learning. I was a follower of Sesame Street and Batibot once and I guess my tolerance streams from this reason. This is our version of MTRCB at home, Toy Story 1 will be shown once a day then gradually reduced to thrice a week until it becomes occasional.
In response to the above query - why does my son love Buzz- well based from my almost a 100th time viewing, I am expected to offer highly analytical and profound answers but I can only say: Buzz is funny (my kid’s laughter is proof enough), creative and gutsy (Buzz refers to flying as falling with style) and sincere (he is a true friend to Woody whom he saves in the movie). My son deciphered these qualities the first time he watched Toy Story 1 that is why ….while it took me almost a hundred viewing times before I picked it up.
05 June 2007
If the Boot Fits
If God sends us on stony paths, he provides strong shoes."— Corrie Ten Boom
Strong shoes - I used to have one. Mama bought a pair for me as a graduation present at Cardams in 1998. It was a dark brown, suede leather, and ankle-hi ladies lace up boots. And true to form and function, it served me for a total of four years before it finally departed the material world and for it – I bestow the title, “my favorite shoes for all time.”
I won’t classify this blog entry as a fashion rave because I have never been fashionable in my entire life to be credible enough to give one. I would just say, this is an honest-to-goodness recount of my good old boots. For the record, my brown boots or combat boots as for my jeering bros, are the most “wearable” pair of shoes I ever had. It passed the durability test with flying colors when I scaled mountains and trodden rocky terrains during my greenhorn years as a researcher. I refer to my brown boots as my survivor shoes since it went through a series of ultimate wear and tear challenges - I fed it with dust, mud, water, stones and even insects and subjected it to all weather conditions – and given little time to dust, dry and brush – Voila! lookin’ instant brand new again. Exaggeration is not my style but indeed with a few magical brush strokes, my boots seem to say, “Ok I’m good to go, next destination please.”
Literally my boots went where I went. Since I wore them the moment I am off to the next field assignment, it saved space for a backpacker like me. My boots were so adaptable. I wore them when I attended courtesy calls and meetings in some big-comfy-carpeted offices. I also wore them when hiking and crossing shallow waters.
Memorably, I wore my boots during my baptism of fire, my first and longest field assignment; it was 1999 and our team of 3 was to survey rubber-planted areas in Mindanao. As fates would have it, I wore my boots during a field visit to an area in Davao del Norte where vast tracts of land planted to rubber trees were converted into banana plantations. The experience was sending feelers relative to one aspect of my future which I failed to decipher. Who would think that the man I was destined to marry in 2003 spent a significant portion of his young life in this particular town before their family permanently resided in Davao City.
My good old boots was with me through my active years of field work. I never slipped nor faltered for it kept me steady on sloppy and stony pathways. It more than protected my feet from getting beaten and sore from the long treks, it helped me walk with confidence and courage to cross unfamiliar landscapes and step into unknown territories. After four year of service, ageing came in form of worn-out rubber soles, wash-out and dried leather, I wrapped my boots in onion paper and laid it to rest in a shoebox. I did not have to heart to discard it so I kept it behind my closet. Two months later I purchased a replacement that never measured up to my old boots, since then I never wore boots again.
Living in this tropical country I reverted to wearing sandals and rubber shoes. However when I got pregnant with my first born, flats and flip-flops became my greatest allies in the midst of stilettos and pumps in the jungle called the Office. Can’t relate with me? I can only say, to each its own.
I won’t classify this blog entry as a fashion rave because I have never been fashionable in my entire life to be credible enough to give one. I would just say, this is an honest-to-goodness recount of my good old boots. For the record, my brown boots or combat boots as for my jeering bros, are the most “wearable” pair of shoes I ever had. It passed the durability test with flying colors when I scaled mountains and trodden rocky terrains during my greenhorn years as a researcher. I refer to my brown boots as my survivor shoes since it went through a series of ultimate wear and tear challenges - I fed it with dust, mud, water, stones and even insects and subjected it to all weather conditions – and given little time to dust, dry and brush – Voila! lookin’ instant brand new again. Exaggeration is not my style but indeed with a few magical brush strokes, my boots seem to say, “Ok I’m good to go, next destination please.”
Literally my boots went where I went. Since I wore them the moment I am off to the next field assignment, it saved space for a backpacker like me. My boots were so adaptable. I wore them when I attended courtesy calls and meetings in some big-comfy-carpeted offices. I also wore them when hiking and crossing shallow waters.
Memorably, I wore my boots during my baptism of fire, my first and longest field assignment; it was 1999 and our team of 3 was to survey rubber-planted areas in Mindanao. As fates would have it, I wore my boots during a field visit to an area in Davao del Norte where vast tracts of land planted to rubber trees were converted into banana plantations. The experience was sending feelers relative to one aspect of my future which I failed to decipher. Who would think that the man I was destined to marry in 2003 spent a significant portion of his young life in this particular town before their family permanently resided in Davao City.
My good old boots was with me through my active years of field work. I never slipped nor faltered for it kept me steady on sloppy and stony pathways. It more than protected my feet from getting beaten and sore from the long treks, it helped me walk with confidence and courage to cross unfamiliar landscapes and step into unknown territories. After four year of service, ageing came in form of worn-out rubber soles, wash-out and dried leather, I wrapped my boots in onion paper and laid it to rest in a shoebox. I did not have to heart to discard it so I kept it behind my closet. Two months later I purchased a replacement that never measured up to my old boots, since then I never wore boots again.Living in this tropical country I reverted to wearing sandals and rubber shoes. However when I got pregnant with my first born, flats and flip-flops became my greatest allies in the midst of stilettos and pumps in the jungle called the Office. Can’t relate with me? I can only say, to each its own.
15 March 2007
What's your blogging personality?
| Your Blogging Type is Unique and Avant Garde |
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Keith - child of Gaea
August 2004 - I will never forget the day you came to me, etched in my memory permanently that I can even feel the way you stirred my heart, misted my eyes and almost stopping my breath…you are a perfect gift from heaven.
You were bundled round in blue, your eyes closed in serene slumber… your cheeks soft pink….you are so perfect. From that moment, I understood why life is so good and so beautiful. I am blessed for the Lord has chosen me to be your mother.
You were bundled round in blue, your eyes closed in serene slumber… your cheeks soft pink….you are so perfect. From that moment, I understood why life is so good and so beautiful. I am blessed for the Lord has chosen me to be your mother.
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