Indicators - Part 2

This is a continuation of Indicators which I have posted last July 2008 in the hope that these practical hints on parenting will be put into good use and further improvement.

4. Take every opportunity for bonding and exploration

I’m lucky to have a hubby who exactly thinks like I do when it comes to parenting. We both believe that every moment with your child, no matter if you’re home with them or outside its confines; the possibilities for bonding and learning will always be available.

I refer to one stormy morning, when power lines were off and as usual, Manila perennially flooded, hubby and I were lazing around the house with the children after breakfast. Speed Racer (S Racer) and little Ysa Banana (YB), bored with their toys and baby trinkets respectively, begged to play outside in the garage area with their Dad. For amusement purposes, hubby asked me to make paper boats for the children. Under a big umbrella, my 2 boys, one a child at heart and the other truly a child, sent off their paper boats in a flowing puddle adjacent to the front gate while little YB and I cheered our hearts out.

Another favorite game of hubby with the kids is “connect my story”, an alternative to my traditional read a bedtime story. The game begins with Daddy, who introduces the basic elements of the story: setting; characters and plot. My little son is the eager one who provides a twist to the evolving plot with an additional character or by extremely varying the mood from happy to gloomy to scary and back. Often, the protagonist of these exchanges between Dad and S Racer feature Dory, Nemo, Bruce, Mr. Ray and an unnamed fisherman.

5. Believing in your child’s choices

As a parent, our child’s wellbeing is our primary interest. Both my children are still in the formative years and hubby and I are trying to be the best responsible adults in their eyes. Having impressed on our kids that not everything they want are obtainable, we encouraged them to make choices, starting with simple matters that affect them; i.e. choice of food; flavor of ice cream; piece of toy to play with or book to read; including their Halloween costume. This is not to spoil them but to teach them the power of choice. This practice, simple as it seem, is a good way for them to build their confidence as they are encouraged to express their preferences and see that adults respect it.

For Speed Racer’s b-day, we gave him two options on how to celebrate it: 1) have a school party or 2) have a birthday trip. He chose the latter and had a great time. Ever since we took S Racer and little YB to Manila Ocean Park (MOP), my children became fond of the creatures of the deep. Finding Nemo has been recovered from the shelves and once again highly patronized while Discovery Channel and Animal Planet gained 2 more avid viewers for its documentaries on the colorful marine life.

It was also reported by S Racer’s Teacher A that my son has become a walking endorser of the MOP as he often mentions in his nursery 1 class the fishes, corals and sharks at the MOP. Currently S Racer and little YB are sleeping with us on the same bed, along with their 3 fishes named (angelfish) Dory, (clownfish) Nemo and a blue dolphin named Kit which S Racer bought from a recent trip with his GrandMa at Subic’s Ocean Adventure.

6. Relax a bit as a parent

Little YB, though only 1 and a half year old, has two favorite words: “ayaw” and “again”. My little girl uses the word “ayaw’, with the proper firmness in her voice, every time she feels she is forced into something she is not comfortable with. The work “again” is often heard when she is amused with a song or an antic to make her laugh or a second helping of her favorite food or a re-reading of a section/page of her favorite story book. Aside from being outspoken, little YB is a daring child. I observed this the first time she dipped her hand in the containment to touch a spiky starfish. Obviously, she is not revolted with the features of this sea creature. I also sense her independence and creativity as she improvises toys out of used carton boxes that she rides on and takes the canned goods out of the kitchen cabinet one by one patiently to her play area, and once a heavy luncheon meat can fell on her toes and hurt her. Though this incident caused her tears and her Nanny to panic, I did not prevent her from pursuing her toy improvisation with the canned goods.

I realized that little YB and S. Racer are just having a ball as children. They tear papers, sometimes even pages of my favorite magazines, they stain their shirts with watercolors, they scribble their colored pens and crayons on the walls; they hide toys under the pillows and under the sheets and even inside the underwear drawer; they play with old carton boxes and canned goods and whatever object that caught their fancy; they dip their hands on your drinking water; they drink your soda or juice; they mess up their new shirts; and they rescue a dirty but favorite toy under a dusty cabinet. They have a robust imagination and a yearning to explore and learn and have fun. My role is also to be flexible; I am Mommie for a minute and a playmate in the next. Let’s allow our kids to get dirty and let’s not forget to play with them and be kids again.

Begone!

Some people really think they own the world and all its contents. They act like some kind of a demigod who has the knack for making the lives of others miserable like their own. I see them in everyday life like in the following situations:

• a person, believing that her life is much more important and valuable, laughed at her friend who nearly drowned in a swimming pool
• a person, thinking he owns the monopoly of knowledge, made fun of a dear friend who took the extra mile to explore her creativity through blogging
• a person, confirming he is indeed superior, ridiculed others who found difficulty in organizing their thoughts and expressing themselves in large assemblies
• a person, assuming her significance among the herd, took the feelings of others for granted by issuing empty words
• a person, wise only with his conceit, uses his race and color to justify an offense against a co-worker

In pausing, we are all a speck in this infinite universe and that no one has the right to undermine others, regardless of color, education, age, wealth and beliefs. To this arrogant lot - I say begone!

I Stand on my Desk

I just can't let this pass. I agree that we as Filipinos must set the record straight. We must not tolerate others, particularly other racial groups to commit disgraceful actions that demean us as a people.

The BBC and Tiger Aspect Production (TAP) clearly have a role in perpetuating blatant inaccuracies on the Filipino. As media players, BBC as a global network and TAP as a producer of the Harry and Paul show, are duty-bound in the promotion of truthful information, in this case, the projection of proper image and impression on the Filipino migrant worker.

It is very clear that the Harry and Paul Show, episode 4 (aired on the 26th and 29th of September 2008) showing a gyrating Filipina maid in front of a demented Briton is a deliberate example of prejudice at two levels. First it discriminated the Filipinos through stereotyping; the use of a Filipina maid, and the producer's justification by saying it was an absurd show. Second it dicriminated the Filipina "women" by potraying her as a sex toy; the Filipina maid is commanded during the scene to present her rear for mounting.

Despite growing protest, both remained indifferent while the British government reasoned with our Philippine embassy in London that it did not share the same views with the network and producer.

While others think that we are just being onion-skinned, I think the opposite. As Filipinos, we are responsible in upholding and preserving our dignity as a people. We must be vigilant to reject discrimination and violence in any form. The economies of power-countries are crumbling down, an example that there is no immunity to imperfection and that there is no reigning superiority, only passing dominance.

Let our petitions be heard to correct this ignorance against us: http://www.gopetition.com/petitions/dignity-and-respect-for-the-filipino-worker.html

My Birthday with the Bloomfields

The BDC gave a birthday party for me ten days before my birthday. The ten-day advance will be explained later in this post. I just can’t help but jump to the cherry of this event, well what could be greater than a great party? For my BCD comrades, it’s making my current favorite local band be a part of it. And so it was done. After my/our other favorite, we feasted on heaps of seafoods at Dampa, we went off to Eastwood to check out the musical stylings of the Bloomfields.

At this point, I am compelled to reveal the persona- lities behind the BCD. It consists of Angela, Phillip, Aldrin, Van, Nathan, Joseph and me. This dynamic group of individuals is united by a single goal to overcome every foreign adversary while upholding principled and diligent work. I leave to your imagination the context of this statement.

Since I am still having a hard time putting my thoughts into words, considering the amount of caution I’ve thrown into the air while I was band-struck, let these photos speak for this post.



As the band members, JJ Lozano and Louie Poco were working the crowds, we had the chance to mingle and have photos taken with them. A humbling experience for me since throughout my conversation with JJ, all I could say was thank you.








the Bloomfields live

The YouTube clip I have posted here last November 2007 does not give justice to the talent of the Bloomfields. The band is steaming with energy and soul, watching them live is like watching a zestful life in action. They performed rock and roll music of the 60’s, mostly songs of the Beatles, the Beachboys and the Ventures.

BCD thank you for this birthday event and for pulling out all the stops, i.e. moving personal schedules to accommodate the gig and hunting the band's manager just to get my name on stage - I choose not to elaborate on this. Let's just say, t'was a blast, a fun memory for me to keep. Long live BCD!

For more information on the Bloomfields, please check their website at The Bloomfields Band. They have a Christmas Album coming up, you might want to check it out.
Photo Sources: Ian Rica Roxas - The Bloomfields Band Website - ; Joseph's BCD photos (Nikon D80)

Life like a Glass House

This is my birthday entry , I am turning 32 this Sept. I don’t know what to label this post though it sort of resembles an assessment report. Whatever it’s worth…I exercise the liberty of posting it. Cheers!

I am a Freethinker who works in a glass office, in one of the most surprising nook and well kept secrets of Makati. Our building though not a skyscraper, is one with sophistication and artistic innovation that friends and visitors used to comment, “Hey your office looks like an Art Museum”. I don’t mind since I love it the way it is. More than just an office, this edifice quite reminds me a lot about life.

I consider my circumstances growing up in the province, was quite a sheltered existence. Thanks to father’s random lectures, despite my cloister, it has been impressed in my mind that there is a big world outside my home and my school. The realities of life, both beauty and harshness, I further gleaned through the pages of the books and magazines I’ve read.

I have been educated through the public school system from grade school to college, except for a brief stint in Chinese kinder school and a private school in the 4th grade. When I turned 10, I’ve given up the outdoor play since there were only 2 girls in the neighborhood where I grew up; Heart, who is busy with her stamp collection and shitsu puppies, and me, who found seclusion a wonderful place, I did have a stamp collection too though not as extensive as Heart’s.

I breeze through high school while undergoing the perfect summation of identity crisis. Like any other teen, I wanted to fit in. I’ve tried taking school seriously which turned out to my advantage. I got excellent grades and great friends, all went well until I succumbed to a nerve disease that almost claimed my life in the summer before junior year. I became a vegetable at the mercy of my neurologist which gave my parents the ultimate fright of their lives. I called this episode in my life – the falling into the dark pit- until I found brilliance and comfort in W.E. Henley’s ”Invictus.”

The recovery period from such a nearly-fatal blow was an arduous process. Not only did I sought refuge in my seclusion castle, which is like a glass house where the only thing that protects it from intrusion is a deadbolt, I also buried myself into reading until further solace came in the form of writing. Once again I retrieved my pen and restarted a journal. Writing is therapeutic. It paved the way for me to find the missing portion of myself after the ordeal.

Through the years, I realized that I have become my own person. As a child, I always wanted to be like my father, a very strong force to contend with. My mother on the other hand is the sensitive soul and that, I can never be a gentle creature like her. Though not a lot like my parents, I carried their values, their strong faith in being a “family” as well as their belief on taking on social responsibility. And for these, I thank them.

Murmurs

I feel a different kind of sadness today. The sort that won’t leave no matter how hard I’ve diverted my thoughts into work. And now I resort to writing about it. Recognition is a sweet surrender to this “thing” as it finally gets thrown into the air and earns an identity somehow for now I am forced to name it.

Triggering pt

It started when I read an e-mail from a dear friend. Many times, our exchanges were limited to family, best practices on motherhood and parenting and our respective work. Our closeness started way back in 1999, we were both involve with agricultural research and development at the prestigious SEARCA.

She sent me a forwarded message about the Philippines, on why it has now became a not-so-hot country. I believe that the not-so-hot list has generated the same breed of feelings from the both of us since we’re used to thinking the same.

We share a similar bond and a passion to build our lives and future around and for this country. We remind ourselves of this, more than a responsibility but a commitment, as my History 1 Professor puts it - we are UP students, a privilege made possible by the Filipino taxpayers. I believed him and so does my friend and we take it seriously that our talents and knowledge would always be utilized properly and appropriately for the country. Of course, I am not talking about world peace and total eradication of poverty but at least something close to it, something to contribute.

“Not-so-hot” list

I’ve read the not-so-hot list and felt a stab of pain. I wanted to agree with some, I also felt strongly against the other points. However I was taken aback by the last point which went like this - the Philippines is a country where everybody wants to get the hell out of it.

Cruel and true

It’s a cruel statement but it‘s partly true. Statistics indicate that we are one of the highest in the world as source of immigrants for popular countries in the OECD*. Personally, I have plenty of friends and relatives who found better jobs and lives in a foreign land. And now this “thing” is disturbing me.

Honestly, I am beginning to entertain the possibility of exploring the horizon on the basis of a desire for a sound environment – social, political and natural- not only for myself but also for my family. I am hesitant with this idea of pursuing long-term security for it makes me feel like I am turning my back on my country. My husband has a different perspective on this; he says that being a Filipino is not confined to the geographical boundaries of the Philippines. More than our birthright, we become Filipinos from our personal and genuine decision to be one.

I may feel like packing my bags too and its tough and its breaking my heart into pieces.

*Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development

A Fix of Nostalgia

Mamma Mia! I never do this but today I am. I am endorsing Mamma Mia here in my blog. Surely anybody in our BD circle would go on commenting like, “What’s gotten into her brain?” Aha! To quash any of your skeptic bits, this piece was borne out of sheer rave and honesty.

Last Friday, hubby surprised me with a call, telling me that he was driving near my office to pick me up for dinner. At exactly 6:45 pm, it was timing that our BD meeting has ended, I bid goodbye to these fantastic people, the BD team, my comrades, and rush to my uncomplaining date.

Five minutes later, hubby and I were discussing which movie would be perfect for the unplanned date. We were torn between Dark Knight (DK) and Mamma Mia (MM). My reason for wanting to watch DK is buoyed by the good feedback I’ve gathered on Heath Ledger’s re-invention of his Joker character in contrast to the mix reviews I’ve read on MM. A minute more, the ABBA music-pumped movie got our vote and we finally purchased tickets and marched toward Cinema 1 with our food and iced tea supply.

The Verdict…

It was a well done choice. MM truly bring memories of nostalgia, it’s a movie on great love, well Donna (character played by Meryl Streep) had 3, tough mother-daughter bonding, finding true love and pursuing independence which had an effect on me. Well speaking from experience, I couldn’t help but reminisce my own heartfelt dialogue with Mother the early morning I woke up on my wedding day five years ago, as Meryl Streep rendered her version of “Slipping through my Fingers.” I also asked myself, “What if it would be my turn to see my Ysa through …”, I shall pray hard that a true gentleman, as awesome as hubby, would be the Man and only then would I feel confident to do so.

The Abba songs were adorably delivered and its music genre perfect for this movie shot in the picturesque Skopelos Greek Island. There is a sentimental force that ABBA binds its followers with, listening to their songs seem to turn back time and make me recall with fondness the 80’s when Dad and Mom were a young couple with 3 little children in tow.

Mamma Mia the movie is good. See it yourself and get ready to be humming ABBA songs for a week or two.

Indicators

There’s nothing like the experience of becoming a parent to your child. When I was single, I was totally clueless of the roller-coaster of emotions and challenges involved in parenting even though I heard a lot from DEWKS (dually-employed-with-kids) friends. I now share the old words of my Mom- “You will never understand until you became a parent yourself.”

What is with this life-transforming vocation that can really seep through you in time? I am amazed at how parenthood contributed a lot to my maturity, having newly-found the virtue called patience and the capacity to love and care spontaneously and selflessly. As Mommie to two precocious children aged 3 and 1, I’ve transformed from a “cool Mom wannabe” to someone who sincerely loves the job. The idea of changing my baby’s diaper in a public washroom used to intimidate me as a 1st time Mom, now I can only smile while looking back how far I’ve improved.

Much has been gained from being a parent and I can only say that I took the roller- coaster ride and enjoying it too. As an output of my reflection sessions, I’ve come up with some practical indicators related to parenting that tell if you are really into it:

1. You do crazy stuff just to give your kid an unforgettable experience
Keith is fascinated with toy trains. He loves his Thomas and Friends collection. He knows each and every character by color and body number. He scolds me when I mess up the identities of Gordon and Edward or Emily and Lady Thomas.

Inspired by the idea espouse by Bo Sanchez on nurturing a child’s passion, I’ve decided to take Keith to a train ride from Pedro Gil to Central Station and back via the LRT one busy afternoon. Keith enjoyed the ride and upon descending from the train, requested for another one. Without wasting a minute I bought another token and we took the Pedro Gil to EDSA route and I decided to transfer him to the MRT which is bigger and spacious. Cinders and ashes! (a Thomas expression), I was shocked to find EDSA station choking with passengers at 3 in the afternoon.

In spite of everything, my kid breeze through the throng, he was overwhelmed with the idea that he was actually in the middle a train station’s hustle and bustle. He looked up to me and said, “Mommie, it’s like Thomas’s Train Station!” We got off from the MRT at Shaw Blvd station and he has wearing his happy smile on.

2. You equip yourselves with knowledge to relate with your child

I and my husband always find time to watch our children’s brand of TV shows; I find Mr. Meaty amusing as I shared a good laugh with my kids on Parker and Josh’s outrageous ideas and behavior like the episode wherein they inventively transplanted a hotdog for a nose in a lady’s face. Mickey Mouse Clubhouse requires more interaction from its children viewers with my little Ysa performing the Hotdog Dance. Toy Story 1 & 2, Nemo, Shrek 1 & 2, and Monsters Inc have turned into my kid’s movie staples.

Keith & Ysa Banana's Top Picks

We read and re-read their big and little board books that include Peter Pan, Noah’s Ark, Tigger’s Bouncing Story, Toy Story (again), Baby Einstein books and Lampara bilingual books (English-Filipino). My kids never discriminate as long as stories are told animatedly and creatively; they even patronize the free story books that come with their milk.

Keith & Ysa Banana's Top Picks













Taking the extra mile, I even do internet research to gather relevant snippets on my children’s favorite characters, mall tours/live appearances, shows including lyrics of its TV theme series. Further, arming yourself with loads of information is essential especially when you buy toys for your kids. At least you could assert to Mr. Salesman that Racer X is different from Speed Racer. You could explain to a misinformed salesgirl that Elly in Pocoyo’s show is a girl and not a boy and that you are looking for a pink-colored elephant ballerina and not Lumpy, the violet colored elephant from Pooh’s tv series.


3. You do product testing on yourself as well as food tasting
How can you prove that a particular baby shampoo brand is really tear-free? There is no other way of finding out unless you try it on yourself. This sounds humorous but I really do. I try my kid’s shampoo, lotion, toothpaste and oil before I could actually convince myself of its worth. J&J though traditional is consistently good to my baby’s skin while I find Nivea and Huggies baby products too perfumey.

The same with food, both Keith & Ysa Banana are fond of eating fruit yoghurt. Thanks to my sister-in-law Leah, I got into the habit of giving my kids fruit yoghurt and cheese which not only taste good but are great sources of calcium. Moo and Yamoo are big favorites though I prefer the latter; not too sweet but with a milky flavor.



To be continued...



PS: Image sources will be properly cited.

Memoirs of a Bookworm Part 2

Being Belisa...

If I were to live a life out of a character from a book…I would be Belisa Crepusculario. I would make a living out of words and spinning stories. I would wander from one place to another, trudging the edge of the earth until I find a worthy place, and like her I would set up a tent, with no advertisement or promotion of whatsoever, only wits, a formidable spirit and a gift to make optimum and artistic use of words.

My patrons shall arrive in droves and patiently wait for me to attend to their requirements. I would write love letters for my love struck patients and weave believable stories to take away the sorrows of distraught families caught in war and cases of hopelessness. I would also look forward to writing high and mighty speeches fit for the top official of the land. Like Belisa whose prominent name and talent travels as fast as the wind, my words shall be sought after by both noble and peasant, honest and crook, sick and healthy etc.

Going back to reality, I cannot imagine myself traveling from one place to another like a nomad peddling my wares to strangers. Well maybe in a lifetime I shall have a share of solid clients composed of family and friends. In this age where internet technology spells the big difference in the way people communicate, I feel that Belisa Crepusculario may not be able to compete and will be forced to close shop.

Currently almost everybody exchanges information in a speed of lightning through the internet. We sent letters both personal and professional through email. We are provided with a luxury to share a bit of ourselves, both real and imagined, through blogs, public emails and forums. The postal service is nearly becoming obsolete as majority are getting in the loop and are convinced that the internet is indeed the best and fastest way to get the message across. Now traffic is not only a condition in our roads, it has also become a phenomenon in cyberspace.

Some people say that we have come far in developing our means of communication but we have left out a major component which is the interpersonal. We no longer have the patience to wait for our mails to arrive nor take time to scribble our sentiments on paper. Given the above scenario, I would still want to be like Belisa Crepusculario and writing is just one way of becoming her. Heck! I just want to write so give me a break.

Memoirs of a Bookworm Part 1

The first one was a brief read, yet it left me hanging on the air. At 10 years old, I wrestled over the analogy presented through the isolation and redemption of Jonathan Livingston Seagull. My father lend this book to me, the very day I took courage to finally ask him that I wanted to read the green book with Greek Doric column designs on the cover entitled “ Ideologue & Utopia.” Exerting an effort not to douse my curiosity and hurt my feelings, he gave me a blue book with a seagull printed on its cover instead. Not to be deterred, I further inquired why I was given the blue book when I wanted the green one with Greek designs on it. He just muttered something less than audible like…”You’ll appreciate why I gave you the blue one someday.”

As I leafed through the pages of the blue book, I realized that it was not a lesser alternative, the first page bore my father’s scribbling, a dedication line for my mother. I felt honored to be the first one among their children to read something that has played a part in their courtship period. For me, the book has transformed into a sacred document and so is the powerful story about a seagull’s life that has settled in my being.

During that period, my reading fare was quite limited to Youth magazine and children’s books from the school library. The Youth was a free subscription availed by Papa for me which I got through mail every month from the US staring 1985 to 1990. By my 1st year in high-school, the free subscription to this very informative magazine ended. I also got a book from its sister-subscription, which targeted a more mature audience, entitled “I am the Devil’s Egg.” It may sound daunting from the title alone but this book contributed a lot to my reading addiction. Its content included the author’s struggle over alcohol and drug abuse but it was the first readable book that I was able to digest in such a young age since the writing style was firm, straight and conversational.

However I do not have the absolute access to all the books in my parent’s house. I dare not touch my mother’s collection of Harold Robbins nor my father’s philosophical and ideological books. Being raised in a traditional household, my parents always practiced quality control on our reading materials. I got an hour of scolding from my mother when she caught me with a stack of english love story paperbacks compliments of our neighbor. Much as I want to discredit these books, I could not, for you need to be exposed to various types of reading to earn that distinct skill and taste that performs reasonable discrimination of a good read and a bad read. Of course with my young aggressive reasoning I lose that argument to my adamant mother.

My father is a great influence in my life when it comes to my love for reading. He bought me a Caroll Lewis book (Alice Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass) at 5th grade. He also granted me access to his parapsychology books that included “The Third Eye” and “Behind the Iron Curtain.” My dose of parapsychology was beginning to take shape as I kept a pyramid in my room to make pyramid water and to observe the growth of plants placed inside it.

After my paranormal phase, I diverted my energies into something more sophisticated. My father introduced me to Ayn Rand in high-school. I was swept by her writing and philosophical system called objectivism. I was so into her that I wanted to be an architect like Howard Roark, the protagonist with an enduring individualism in her novel, “The Fountainhead.”
A significant book that I would credit my mother for would be “Flowers for Algernon” which I read and re-read in 6th grade. I guess in every re-reading that I made I only wanted to change the fate of Charlie and whenever it comes to the same ending, I only have tears and swelling eyes to offer. I found solace in this book when I got struck with a nerve disease in 1991 that forced me out of high school for a year. I felt like I have become Charlie. This episode in my life where everything seem to have stopped brought me closer to reading and so I became like all the women in the stories of Isabel Allende. These courageous women who fought for their love of country and self and others became my inspiration. This was also the year I met Khalil Gibran, the greatest poet that this world has ever produced.


Every now and then, I buy a book for my children in an attempt to foster their love for books. I wish my children to have this gift. When they are done with their purple dinosaur and talking trains, I would love to introduce them to Mark Twain, JK Rowling and CS Lewis for starters. I want them to appreciate the intricate art of weaving words and nothing more.

Acknowledgements for Photo Sources:

AvonBooks Publisher of Jonathan Livingston Seagull

HarcourtPublisher of Flowers for Algernon

Kidzworld.com for Alice in Wonderland

The Old House (s3. 8 oz Coke)

The health and wellness concept is getting on everyone in the office except me and as health enthusiasts are increasing like tenfold, I wonder, how come it hasn’t hit me yet? Not even when the doctor advised me to look after my weight since my cholesterol level is frying hot and my blood is getting sugary each day. I promised myself once more to eat healthy and exercise and get disappointed by myself all over again for not taking the extra effort to commit to it.

I have a penchant for deadly combinations, well aside from the public admission of being a caffeine addict, a foodie and a sweet tooth, I am a loyal client of the Coca Cola company since 1st grade. I am a Coke fan. I refer to the classic Coke, not the Light one or the Coke-zero. I find these variations hilarious, how can you have Coke without the sugar? It’s like eating pasta without the sauce. While some people recognize the intricate connection between wine and spirits, I can say that I share the same line of thinking and belief that sugar and Coke should not be separated at all. Thus, the sugar component must remain. It’s a non-negotiable. It is the price you have to pay for the great taste.

 

Put away all those marketing frills and fads, I have my loyalty tied to Coke original because I have one great memory of a person attached to it, my grandfather, Tatay Mateo. He is a Filipino Spanish mestizo from Tacloban and my mother inherited his lustrous skin and high bridged nose while all I got was his fondness for a dark sweet beverage called Coke.

 

I remember him as one silent man who used words sparingly and still had a powerful presence around people. I felt that power every time he arrives home from work to eat lunch with me and my cousins in the Old House. This is one of my earliest lessons in life; silence does not always mean timidity or coyness, for silence could outperform spoken words; it is a way of speaking soul to soul where communication is at its highest form and class. Grandfather must have mastered this art and found speaking through words a futile exercise.

 

He seldom smiles and during those times he did, I could see his eyes lit up a handsome face. Though I spent less time with him compared to my grandmother, I could still remember the stance he assumes while walking around the Old House with his cane. The pounding of the cane against the wooden floor was my indicator of his presence.

 

Every afternoon, coming home from school, I would proceed to the nearby hotel’s billiard center. I would play-pretend not to see Tatay Mat in his workplace to make it appear that I was sent to the same place by sheer luck. I would wait patiently in a corner and look towards his direction discreetly, like a decisive billiard player projecting her next move. At the instant he sees me in my quiet solitude, he suddenly disappears from my view and then I know our game is nearly done. My grandfather re-appears from the diner with an 8 oz Coke in one hand and a smile on his face. He waves at me and I walk towards him, taking all the time in the world to show that I wasn’t in a hurry at all to claim my prize. This was victory for a little girl and it tasted sweet.

 

As a parting sign, I would take his hand and dab it to my forehead (mano) as a gesture of respect and my thanks. My grandfather looks at me smiling, his handsome face imprinted in my mind and his silence, powerful enough to last me a lifetime.

The Old House (s2. One Sad Lomi Story)

Do you remember one wounding incident in your young life? I do.

Some say that children are bound to forget both pleasant and unpleasant events that have transpired in their lives from age 1 to 5. However I got this memory lodged in the inner corners of my brain, reminisced unexpectedly with great fondness whenever I am into contemplation. A memory of an event that I never imagined would merit laughter as the story ages and the “owner of the memory” finally grows up.

It happened in 1981, I was 5 and living with my grandmother in her old house along Calye Callejon. Living away from my parents was easy because in the old house, there also live 5 of my cousins. My grandmother’s house sort of served as a repository/boarding house of her grandchildren ages 5 to 16. Nanay looked after all of us and managed the household with precision.

Among my cousins, I grew fondness for Kuya Jay and Ate Bing during my long stay in the old house. I stuck with them despite the 4 to 5 year age gap and we were a troupe.

Kuya Jay was tall, gangly and inventive. His imagination has often resulted to playtime innovations such as turning the mosquito net into a moviehouse. I will never forget the red Coca-Cola yoyo he gave me. It was the hippest toy in school then. Ate Bing on the other hand was my constant playmate. We were like Batman and Robin. Whatever she does I copy to her detriment. She had a gift with her hands and she drew really good images of flowers and houses. Not to be outdone, I remember racing ahead of her towards Nanay to show off my drawing of stick-like people. We would pester our grandmother to choose which drawing was better and to it she would only say, “parehong maganda.”

Dinner on a Sunday in the old house was special. Nanay would put extra effort in cooking the meals. To compliment the special meals, she buys a bowl of great tasting Lomi from the nearby Chinese restaurant.

In the long table I was seated most of the time next to Kuya Jay. A blessing or a curse, I do not know but in this case, being OC was a curse. I have this practice of eating my meals orderly. I would first sample the basic dish before savoring the centerpiece meal. The Lomi was to be eaten last for it was my centerpiece meal. The noodle soup was teeming with meat balls, squid balls and my favorite quail eggs. It’s save the best for last for me and I would set aside the quail eggs from my bowl to a saucer while eating the rest of the soup. All of a sudden Kuya Jay dove his fork to the helpless quail eggs and gobbled them all. I was stupefied for a moment with my eyes large in disbelief until I let out a loud cry in protest.

The adults were caught in surprise since they were busy conversing. The pleasant dinner turned into a commotion as I could not be stopped from my fit of temper. I could not be consoled nor bribed with a refilling of my soup bowl or a new serving of fried chicken leg. I wanted my cousin to produce the quail eggs he wolfed. Amidst desperation and tears, I wailed my lungs and heart out in searched for justice while Kuya Jay disappeared from the crime scene. The bawling did not stop as I recall it went for hours until sleep silently crept and rob me of consciousness.

The next day I did not talk to my cousin. And for the succeeding days I never went near him again for I still shiver at the memory of betrayal. I was young but vindictive I was obsessed with the idea of avenging myself.

Not until my mother took me to live with my immediate family did I see my behavior at the Lomi incident as ridiculous. When I was separated from my cousins for years, I realized that I missed them somehow. I saw Kuya Jay again when he was already in college while I was in high-school. We exchange a few words every now and then but we were never close again. It was more than the Lomi incident I guess. We already grew apart.

I found this bit of my life amusing but worth a pause. I have neatly stored it in my memory library for reference and reflection. There are times when I become the 5-year old girl again in the story who wanted revenge for the pain she suffered from an injustice. Now a grown-up I found it useful to look at pain as also a condition of existence.

Meltdown

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.

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...

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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.

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.

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 that 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!

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.

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 friend 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

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.