Overshadowing Lavinia

“I don’t like her!” This was my 10-year old’s pronouncement thirty minutes into “Master Class”, a play based on the series of master classes given by legendary opera singer Maria Callas at the Julliard School of Music in New York City in 1971 and 1972.

I must say that I agree with my daughter’s observation. Arrogant, insulting, dismissive, condescending, haughty, difficult, impatient ... are but a few of the words that I could think of to describe this diva. She spoke her mind at will and with a wave of her aristocratic hand, trampled on people’s emotions as if they were dirt under her feet. Yes, she wasn’t likeable at all.

But likeable or not, Maria Callas must have been an awesome human being. And this very quality, this essence that was Maria Callas, was brought to us by Ms. Cherie Gil with such clarity and intensity that left us reeling. That was some emotional roller coaster ride Ms. Gil made us go through.

Ms. Cherie Gil was Cherie Gil when we first met her during the press conference. But the person who came to the stage was Maria Callas, a formidable woman who, with the slightest tilt of her chin, made it clear to us that we mere mortals being graced with the presence of a goddess. From that point on, we were not seeing Ms. Gil. We had Maria Callas before us.

At the beginning, we hated her with as much fervor as her “victims”, as she called them, must have hated La Divina herself. We laughed at her wicked humor and we sat in awe as we witnessed her live her art and delve into the passion of the characters she played in the opera.

But something unexpected happened towards the end. We stopped hating Maria Callas. And this was where Ms. Gil’s acting genius came to full force. She revealed to us a Maria Callas who was just as human as we all are ... she was lonely and she wanted to love and be loved just like any one of us. We cried for her as she gave up her unborn child for the love of a man who treated her with as much disdain as she treated those around her. And we held our breath as, letting go of every bit of pride she ever possessed, she begged and pleaded for him to marry her. She did not want to be alone. But it was all in vain. The love of her life chose another woman over her. We felt her pain. We felt her despair. Ms. Gil made us feel all that.

Ms. Gil as a consummate actress came to be as Maria Callas. The bratty Lavinia who hissed, “You’re nothing but a second-rate, trying hard, copy cat!!!” to a hapless Sharon Cuneta a long time ago is a far cry from the commanding figure we saw on stage, an aristocratic woman who could cower an entire auditorium into silence with a single look.

Admittedly, that line has achieved an almost-legendary status and continues to tickle our fancy through the years. Young children, including my 10-year old daughter, can deliver it with as much venom as Ms. Cherie Gil did in the movie Bituing Walang Ningning. This is a richly-deserved honor for Ms. Gil. But it’s time to move on.

Ms. Gil shouldn’t be known as Lavinia alone for she shone even brighter as Maria Callas. Her strength as an actress has never before been laid out to an audience with as much intensity as it was in Master Class.

Forget that copy cat line. Ms. Cherie Gil has outgrown Lavinia. She is now Maria Callas, a woman, who without any shred of doubt in her being, could dismissively declare to the world: “How can I have rivals when no one can do what I can do?”

And those very same words could very well apply to Ms. Gil herself. For who, indeed, can do what Cherie Gil can do? Kudos to our favorite villainess. Keep the passion.

MARRIAGE AND (IN)FIDELITY

A friend and I recently spotted a familiar face with a sweet young thing in tow. This was naturally very disturbing as we haven’t heard of his wife having passed on to the hereafter recently. Mind you, we were not just two nosy ladies putting one and one together and coming up with eleven. That sweet young thing with her nubile body kept resting her head on his shoulders. Now tell me, what were we supposed to think about that? Of course, they could be father and daughter bonding together. But at past 11pm in the company of drinking buddies? Right!

It was none of our business of course. But I am making mention of that incident because it led up to this topic and my admission that what I saw is forcing me to confront my own insecurities as a wife and has left me obsessing on thoughts of marriage and infidelity.

These “demons” – as I call them – are never far away from me. They are always present in the fringes of my mind. But I had always been able to keep them at a safe distance until this forced confrontation brought about by what I saw.

I would suppose that this is also the case with every woman of every status, age, color or creed the world over. Any woman reading this would probably understand when I say that no matter how happy and secure our marriages or relationships are, no matter how loving and caring our husbands or partners may be, and this is very important ... no matter how young and beautiful, or sexy and desirable, or intelligent and accomplished we may be ... those demons still come from time to time to tease and taunt us, to cast a dark shadow over our lives and upset that delicate balance we call marital happiness and contentment.

These taunting could come in different forms. It could be in the news about movie stars breaking up because of “third parties” or it could be what’s happening to people close to us – friends, relatives, or simply people we know from a distance. But in whatever form the taunting may come, it always gives us pause and makes us contemplate our own marriage or relationship ... because whether we are watching as a wife, a girlfriend, or a partner, and no matter how vehemently we may deny it to ourselves, deep inside, we cower in fear at the thought that what is happening to other women could also happen to us.

I am particularly vulnerable to these demons because my husband is a seaman. Not that he has given me reason to doubt his fidelity, but we are dealing with realities here, not the ideals, and it is a fact that seamen can commit countless acts of infidelity with impunity simply because they are too far away. The normal controls do not apply to them. The risk of getting “caught” is minimal to nil.

Of course, not all men do it. I am certain that we can still find men who take their marital vows to heart. And seamen’s wives, as probably ALL wives do, cling to that hope ... that our husbands are among those few men. Kind of naive, that’s true, but what else is there?

As I mentioned earlier, this prickly subject has been gnawing at my equilibrium lately. It is not only that encounter with that sweet young thing that triggered this. Somebody I know is going through the very same thing that we all fear. She is, like me, a seaman’s wife and she just recently discovered her husband’s infidelities and her life is falling apart right now. My heart goes out to her as I am painfully aware that, sharing parallel lives as we do, it can easily be me in her place right now.

In fairness to the male species though, I have to mention here that it is not only the men who can be unfaithful. We women are just as capable of cheating as men are on their wives. There is no question about that. It is simply a matter of letting go with our conventions and making the decision to do it.

But do all of us do it? Of course not! My personal opinion is that there are more faithful wives than there are husbands. We take our vows more seriously than men do. But then again, this is only my opinion.

So how am I coping now? First of all, I do not go into denial. I am perfectly aware that my husband, by the mere fact that he is a man whether seaman or not, is as capable of cheating on his wife as the man next to him. Again, this bears repeating: we are talking of realities and generalities here.

Has he been doing it? I have no idea and I hope and pray that he never has and never will.

But what if he has been doing it all these years? Let me share something with you. When the question as to whether or not he had been unfaithful to me and continues to be so came up in one of our discussions, I asked him to do three things for me: please do not ever let me know, please do not bring me any form of disease, and please do not ever fall in love.

Come to think of it, don’t we all women want the same things when it comes to our marriage? We dream of a perfect husband and a perfect marriage. But if we can’t have perfection in the area of fidelity, we might as well settle for the next best thing: we ask for ignorance ... for isn’t ignorance bliss?

Do I trust my husband? My heart does. My man is a good and decent person and a wonderful husband and father and I love him and I thank God for him every day. And most of all, my heart trusts him because I completely trust his love for me.

But my mind sometimes disagrees with my heart. Why? Maybe because it sees too much of what is actually happening in many marriages around us? That’s me. I am too realistic for my own good. So realistic in fact, that I can’t give my husband my unquestioning faith because I can’t ignore what I know about men and human nature and what happens in the real world. This is the reason why I am sometimes vulnerable to my demons – as they are always present, chipping ceaselessly at that wall of trust that I carefully built and is continuing to build around my marriage.

I wonder. Is it just me or is this something that I share with every woman out there? Is there a constant battle being waged within you too? Are you also lost in the midst of this silent war that is raging between our hearts and our minds? Have you also been told to just trust? And like me, did you answer: “Yes, I’d like that ... to trust fully ... if only I could stop thinking!” I would really like that. If only it were that simple.

I wonder. Is there any woman out there who can truly and honestly say that she completely trusts her husband without any shred of doubt whatsoever? I envy her. I wish I could be that kind of wife.

So going back to that question I asked earlier: how do I cope? I hold on tightly to that trust and I pray and pray and pray ...

Elsie's Smile

The first time I saw Elsie, Sister Celina was showing her an outgrown dress of my daughter’s, and telling her that it was going to be hers. Right there and then, I witnessed and was captivated by one of the most beautiful smiles I have ever seen. That was Elsie’s smile. It was hardly a smile that would qualify for a toothpaste commercial. All you could see were her gums and a few front teeth that have been eaten up and blackened by decay. But boy! was it beautiful!! It brightened up her entire face and shone with all the innocence that only children could muster. But it was more than that. Elsie’s smile that day radiated her joy and excitement at the thought that she was going to have another dress.

You see, Elsie just recently arrived at Casa Cittadini – Home for Girls. She only had one set of clothes that day she came in ... the very ones on her back. She had to borrow from the other girls during her first few days at Casa. When Sister Celina was finally able to buy her one dress, she asked a question that was of utmost importance to her: did she still have to return that dress?

That day when Sister handed her my daughter’s old dress, Elsie’s smile showed her joy as she finally understood – that dress was going to be hers alone. Nobody was going to take it back.

Today, Elsie continues to smile with that same contagious, joyous smile of hers. I would like to believe that it is a reflection of her inner joy and contentment. Having been taken in by the Ursuline Sisters at Casa Cittadini, she now lives a much better life.

Elsie’s life had not always been this good. At her tender age, Elsie already knows how it feels like to be abandoned by her own mother. Yes, tiny Elsie, who at age six looks no bigger than a four year old, has seen some of the worst that life has to offer. She still talks about her baby sister whom her father gave up for adoption due to poverty. And at that age, Elsie learned to cook rice by herself. Her case study reveals that their father often had to leave her and her brothers a week at a time because of his work. During these times, the children learned to survive on their own, sleep unaccompanied by any adult in a filthy shanty wearing the same unwashed clothes for days on end, and yes, cook rice when there was rice to be cooked.

But all that is behind her. Elsie now lives at Casa Cittadini along with 25 other girls under the care of Sister Celina and Sister Maria Fe. They all go to school and have a safe, secure, and loving home to return to each day where nutritious meals and clean, warm beds await.

Elsie is but one girl. But her life mirrors that of the 25 other girls whose life stories do not differ from Elsie’s. Fate brought them to Casa. Now they have a better shot at a future that is full of promise.

There are more institutions like Casa Cittadini that provide the same kind of service to disadvantaged children around Negros Oriental. Little Children of the Philippines, GWAVE, and GP Rehab are but a few of the non-governmental organizations that are actively working right now for these children’s welfare.

There was a time when these organizations worked individually and independent of each other and with little or no knowledge of the others’ existence. The idea to bring them together under an umbrella organization to maximize their effectiveness and to enable them to share their resources and expertise in their respective fields came up and thus, the Oriental Negros Children’s Advocacy Network (ONCAN) was formed. Under the Presidency of Baby Jambora of Chapel of the Doves, ONCAN is a fully functioning network made up of more than 30 member NGOs. It is actively working towards the advancement of its members’ capabilities and capacities with the end in view of maximizing their potential for the benefit of all the children under their care.

There are thousands more of little Elsies out there. And each of them is receiving the same kind of care and nurturing that Elsie of Casa Cittadini is getting. But the sad reality remains that there are probably hundreds of thousands more out there who have not been reached by the members of ONCAN yet. They have a daunting task ahead of them, but having seen their dedication and commitment, I am certain that they will get there.

If you wish to get involved, you may email me or visit the following websites:

http://www.oncan.org/CasaCittadini/CasaCittadini.htm

http://www.oncan.org/

(ONCAN is hiring a full-time psychologist to do counselling and evaluation of children who have been victimized, abused, or traumatized. Salary range is P10,000.00 to P30,000.00 depending on qualifications. If you are interested, please email me so I could give you more details. ONCAN will be accepting applications until August 5.)

The Never-Ending Battle with the Bulge

What is it that women of every age, race and creed continue to obsess on? What topic would we invariably talk about whenever we’d get together? What has caused and is continuing to cause us women endless frustration and dissatisfaction the world over? What have we been battling and kept losing to over and over again?

A woman reading this would have guessed already. Yes, it’s our figure or more specifically, our loss of figure. Yeah, I know – sad isn’t it? We continually lament over our bulges ... you know, that thingy that we’d see right away when we look down? Yes, that thingy – also the culprit behind those rolling undies. They really do stand out, do they? No amount of inhaling on our part could keep those tummies in. The bulges are not that bad though. They can be a source of great amusement, but only if you have an irreverent kid like mine. My brat loves to jiggle it and watch it move about like jelly. That never fails to bring out peals of laughter ... joyful laughter from her. Mine was more of the agonized kind. (sigh!)

And did you know that we also have the much sought-after, macho male must-have six- pack? Ahh! And you thought that it’s only Taylor Lautner (Jacob of the Twilight saga) and his kind who have those!!! How wrong could you be? Heavily endowed ladies like yours truly have those too and more! But ours got misplaced. Somewhere along the way to our abs, our six-pack changed course and found its way into our backs. If you are one of those who now looks at your image in the mirror with increasing dismay, do this at home – put on a tight brassiere and a close-fitting shirt – then look at your back. You won’t miss them.

But whether it’s the bulge or the six-pack, our battle boils down to one thing: weight gain. This is a curse that most of us are born with. We only get to enjoy our slimmer selves for a short while. After the babies start coming, off to heavyville most of us go.

Weight gain almost always comes with motherhood and age. It is as inevitable as the onset of wrinkles and the white hairs. But there are those of us who hasten this process because of our passion for all the sinful food out there!

Oh! If only there is fairness in this world, the vegetables and the fish would be the definite no-nos!!! Then we’d get to tell our children ... “no, you cannot eat vegetables ... they are baaaad for your health!!!” Wouldn’t that be great? Then children would joyfully eat “healthy” food.

I have been working out in the gym these past 5 weeks because I finally admitted that dieting alone wouldn’t get me where I want to be. I recently ballooned to almost 180 lbs after I’ve had another pregnancy. In an effort to keep our baby from being lost, I had to take prednisone among other medications. The steroids, plus my mandatory bedrest and all the yummylicious food I could demand from my very attentive and compliant husband, all contributed into making me the female version of the sumo wrestler.

My yo-yo dieting actually helped me lose around 10 lbs at a time but I gained back about half of them in a matter of weeks because I didn’t do any exercise. So raised the white flag I did. I dragged myself into the gym and with a heavy heart, I joined in.

And so, as I agonized over the aches and the pains that come along with the gym scene, and as I counted off the repetitions for the weights that got heavier by the second, my mind would wonder off somewhere and dream about a parallel universe where chewing is the only exercise that we needed to do. And if we wanted to go the extra mile, we could actually add to our exercise routine using only our thumbs as we press the buttons in the remote control. Yes my like-minded sisters, in my parallel world, the best exercise there is, is lying on the bed comfortably propped up by pillows as we face the TV while munching on fat-burning lechon skin.

Yes, if only the world were fair. But back to reality I must return. My fantasies made me lose count. How many leg raises have I done already, by the way?

Falling into the Love Trap

I remember reading about a man who was watching a butterfly struggle out of its cocoon. He pitied the straining creature so he did what every Good Samaritan would do ... he helped it out to ease its passage from the dark confines of the cocoon into the bright new world that awaits it. I guess that we all know what happened next. The butterfly’s wings became crippled because of the man’s kindly efforts. Unbeknownst to him, the poor creature had to go through that painful process. The butterfly needed to struggle out of the cocoon so it could emerge whole and capable of flight.

The article went on to explain how this story is an analogy of every parent’s primordial instinct to shield their children from every hardship that would come their way. There is no argument against that. As a matter of fact, this very instinct is what guarantees the survival of our race. But as we all know, too much of anything is not always a good thing. As in the case of the man and the butterfly, a loving parent wanting to show his love through every means possible, including easing the way for his child and doing everything he could to spare his little one from going through the same struggles and difficulties he grew up with, might be doing his own child a great disservice. For he may not know it yet, but he might be raising a spineless individual, one who, not so unlike the flightless butterfly, is incapable of standing on his own two feet.

I read this article from the Readers’ Digest when I was in college, a time in my life when it felt as if things could not get any worse. To put it simply, life was very, very hard. From a relatively privileged childhood where everything got done for me by other people, I suddenly found myself living in Manila in a cramped rented room and sharing a dilapidated house with three other families. Money was very scarce. Every food on the table was a result of my father’s mighty struggle for survival. And on those times when there were none, we would walk over to a nearby used clothing store and sell off our own clothes. Then we’d have rice to cook for that day.

The circumstances surrounding my life may have been the reason why I never forgot the butterfly’s story and why I made the resolve to learn its lesson: don’t fall into the parental love trap. The word “trap” is always bad, and so it is when, loving parents as we are, we want to do everything for and give everything to our children to make their lives as easy and as struggle-free as we could make it.

And how does this translate into my being a mother? Of course, like every doting parent out there, I would never wish the life I had on my only child. But I keep reminding myself that that very life that I pray she would never get a taste of, was the very same life that moulded me into the kind of person I am now. I am a survivor. I came out of it a much stronger person. Circumstances forced me to learn early on that our parents cannot provide for all our needs all the time ... that we cannot and should not expect other people to take care of the same for us ... that later in life, when we grow up, we will have to work hard for all our needs and wants.

And so my daughter began her training on independence and self-reliance as a baby who was still learning how to walk. I was always beside her, ready to help whenever she needed me. But oftentimes when she would fall, and I knew that she could get up on her own, her mama just stood by and watched her proudly as she struggled back to her feet. Lesson: “Rely on yourself. You can do it.”

Abby’s training continues until now. She has to work hard if she were to get what she wanted. With God’s grace, hers will be a different form of struggle. I pray that she will never have to experience hunger or deprivation, but learn the value of hard work ... she must! Lesson: “Things do not come for free. You have to work hard for them.” Of course there are things that I provide to her freely – but these are things that are intended to equip her for life ahead – her needs.

Staying true to this course is also a struggle because as a mother, the desire to shower my only child with all the pampering and material comforts I could muster is understandably strong. But I try to stay on course by looking around and seeing the children who have been crippled by their parents’ great love. I see grown-up sons, married and with children, still living with their parents and relying on them to see to their own children’s every need. I see young men whose needs have always been provided for by doting parents, too lazy to fend for themselves, and resorting to theft and drug peddling for its easy money when the parents were no longer there to provide for them.

I believe that it is the little things that matter. In Abby’s school (Catherina Cittadini St. Louis School) for example, Sr. Marissa, the Principal, has always encouraged the children to take their bags to their classrooms by themselves and not to rely on their parents to do the same for them. I am certain that there are parents who oppose this policy under the mindset “why let my child do it when I can do it for him?” I could only hope that they would see how this little act can go a long way into forming their children’s character.

We can’t love our children enough. Or to put it in another way, there is no such thing as too much love. Our love has no bounds, but I also believe that too much pampering does not always translate into loving the child. This mother believes that letting a child taste a little hardship or inconvenience to prepare him for what lies ahead is a form of loving no child should go without.

Unlike that man with the butterfly, we should not make life too easy for our precious ones, lest we cripple their wings and miss the chance of seeing them take flight and soar.

A Taste of Broadway

Not all of us have the means to set foot on the US and have the chance to enjoy the musical and visual delights of Broadway musicals. In the 80’s where Madonna and Cindy Lauper ruled, I was the odd one who spent nights listening to the recordings of Les Miserables, Miss Saigon, Cats, Phantom of the Opera, West Side Story, and so many other popular musicals. I could only imagine how it must be like to be actually there, watching the musical unfold before me on the stage, and soak in all the drama and the heights and depths of a truly passionate performance by professional stage actors and actresses. I have read of the elaborate sets, the moving and revolving stages, the lights, the full orchestra with their music that could fill one’s soul ... and I could but sigh and dream and imagine! Alas! Not everyone have the good fortune.

Music continues to move me. Even with marriage and motherhood, and all the seemingly endless concerns that life brings to us daily, I still take every opportunity I could get to indulge this one interest that has persisted through the years. Fortunately, the hub of Dumaguete’s cultural soul, the one we simply refer to as “Luce”, is but a stone’s throw away.

Thursday, July 1 saw me and my daughter headed towards Luce to watch Hinilawod, an epic tale of love and heroism, of vanquishing monsters, and adventurous princes whose exploits paved the way for the rising of Panay Island from the sea. I went there expecting an enjoyable night of music of which I was not disappointed. But what I did not expect was the texture and the detail that went into everything! Simply put, the richness of the production left my mouth hanging wide open. It was simply amazing!

I guess that I had gotten used to the usual productions that we see here in Dumaguete, rich in performances but kind of minimalist in terms of settings. We focus on the performance or the story but everything else that goes around is left pretty much to the imagination.

But this time around, we walked through dark scary forests and fought horrible monsters. We entered caves and shot down a monstrous flying bat. And we survived a catastrophe which saw people drowning in gigantic waves. We witnessed everything in vivid color and vibrant sounds. We were entranced by the energy of the entire production as the story was told in songs and dances amid music and sounds made by traditional instruments.

Hinilawod was a wonderful experience and should not be missed especially by children who have always wondered how a tikbalang looks like. Too bad the tickets are all sold out. But despair not. Hinilawod will be coming our way again on April 22 and 29, 2011 as announced in its website http://www.hinilawod.com/.

That is something to watch out for, for Hinilawod is not merely a production wonder. The epic itself should be introduced to our children as a source of national pride. It is a testament of our people’s creative genius and an integral part of our culture. Furthermore, the epic is a testament that the Filipinos were a far cry from the depiction of an unenlightened race that the Spaniards “discovered” and had introduced to “civilization”.

On a more personal level, this Broadway dreamer took great delight at having watched Hinilawod as it showed a little glimpse of what a Broadway musical could be like. Simply wonderful.

Three Beloved Angels

Three beloved angels
Gone too soon,
To you I had to say goodbye
Before I could even say hi,
Mama’s heart fills with sorrow
Your sweet love I'll never know.

All my life I’ll wonder
How each of you would have been ...
Are you like your papa?
Loving and tender,
He makes my heart sing.
Or maybe like your Ate?
Love of my life,
Happiness she bring.

The sound of your pealing laughter
I will never hear.
The warm sweetness of your kiss
I'll forever miss.

I take comfort knowing
In heaven you’re in God’s holy grace
I will smile at you thinking
In Mama Mary’s sweet embrace.

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
My sweet angels I’ll always do.
And when Mama’s time on earth is over,
In heaven’s gate I know you’ll wait.

Then at last I'll see you my babies!
And hold you ...
I will never let go.

May 9, 2006
May 4, 2008
January 19, 2010

DO DOGS CRY?

She was a frightened little puppy, barely a month old, a sorry little creature made up of nothing but skin and bones. For days, she cried pitiably for the family from whom she was separated far too soon.

I never paid this puppy any particular attention. Our houseboy brought her home so technically she was his puppy.

I quickly forgot all about her as soon as she quieted down. I am used to having dogs and cats of all ages around our home. Abby and I have a habit of picking up abandoned kittens and puppies that we’d pass along the streets. We do not have the heart to leave them to their inevitable fate … a slow, agonizing death by starvation or a quick, gruesome one brought on by the crushing wheels of uncaring drivers.

We have had our share of deaths over the years. Most of the kittens we picked up were far too gone to be saved. But we also have our successes. Just a few days ago, one cat I rescued as a kitten brought down her two adorable bundles of fur from our roof.

Like most of our cats, she has remained unnamed. I have long since given up naming each and every one of them. But they are all loved and cared for. My wish for them to have a home where they are safe and well fed has been fulfilled.

We also have our share of adopted cats and dogs like Kitty Girl, a pretty white cat that could no longer be kept but its previous owner, or Creepy who, despite his name, is the most lovable imp there is. He almost drove his former owners and their neighbors crazy with his nightly pleas to be allowed inside their home. Then there’s friendly Brownie, abandoned by our neighbors, and fearsome Takoy, an all-black mongrel whom my husband Nonoy rescued from a certain death. Takoy, along with gentle Cutie, another adoptee, added three more dogs to our zoo, as Nonoy would call our home.

And a virtual zoo, our home is! Our houseboy had also picked up our habit and started bringing back his own collection of animals starting with a black cat and ending with several fighting cocks along with hens that have since given us a periodic supply of eggs. Add to that the flock of bantam chicken that have so fascinated me and lo and behold! A home, zoo and farm all rolled into one! Our little piece of heaven.

And then there was that scrawny brown mongrel pup that kept to herself. I barely noticed her and only came to know so much later that our houseboy had named her Dayang. Abby got to know her first. They quickly built a friendship and often played their favorite game together - fetching stones.

Without my knowing it, this little askal slowly wormed her way into my heart with her sweet and gentle nature. What a joy she was! She was always the first to greet me when I’d arrive home. My fondest memory of Dayang is of her coming towards me with tail wagging shyly, eyes half-closed, ears pulled back with glee and a face that exuded nothing but pure goodwill.

Dayang left us today. She started ailing a few days ago. I was supposed to take her to the vet today. Instead, I found her lying flat on the ground, her entire body convulsing wildly. I have never seen a more horrible sight. And I have never felt more helpless. But what broke my heart was to see this tormented little dog managing a weak wag for me when I came to her. I cried when I saw what looked like tears welling up from her eyes as her whole body shook and convulsed. Do dogs cry? I stayed with her until the end, telling her that I loved her, and praying for God to end her agony.

I really loved that little dog. But I remember how I used to shoo her away as I gave food scraps to our 11-year old Nono and 10-year old Chacha, geriatrics in the canine world … often telling Dayang that the food were only for the lolo and lola. I used to tell her, when you’re old, you’re turn will come. But Dayang never grew old.

Dayang’s death today taught me a very valuable lesson about relationships. It’s something that I have always known with my mind but have never felt with my heart. It’s all about love and letting our loved ones know today that they are loved. We should never reserve that expression of our love for later. Today is what matters. For we never know what will happen tomorrow.

OUST WILLIE REVILLAME!

I AM JOINING THE CALL OF THOUSANDS OF FILIPINOS FOR THE OUSTER OF WILLIE REVILLAME FROM NATIONAL TV!

I AM JOINING THE CALL FOR HARSHEST FORM OF DISCIPLINE THAT COULD BE METED ON WILLIE REVILLAME!

I AM JOINING THE FILIPINO PEOPLE IN CONDEMNING WILLIE REVILLAME FOR THE EXTREME DISRESPECT THAT HE SHOWED TO OUR BELOVED PRESIDENT CORY!



Those who wish to sign the petition, please follow the link below:

http://www.petitiononline.com/badwilly/petition.html


* I am reproducing here a copy of the petition.



To: ABS CBN Management, MTRCB and PANA
To Whom It May Concern:


I am an avid viewer of ABS CBN and I am very well up-to-date regarding their shows. Without any doubt, I am a Kapamilya. However, last August 03, 2009, an incident happened when Wowowee Host Willie Revillame blurted out comments when a video of Pres. Cory's cortege appeared on the screen.

While a contestant was dancing for the talent portion, a snippet of Pres. Cory Aquino's cortege was shown on the screen. But Willie did not cut short the dancing portion. Instead, he let the contestant finish her routine. After that, he blurted out comments regarding the video of Pre. Cory's cortege. He said:


"Kung ganyan, pakita na lang natin 'yan. Kasi nagsasaya kami dito, tapos... Masakit sa akin 'yan, e. Nagsasalita ako dito... 'yan, please. Sana maintindihan n'yo. Nagsasaya kami dito, papakita n'yo sa amin yun ang... di ba? Hindi tama, e. Okey? Hindi ba?"

"Pangit! Hindi ho maganda sa atin. Nagsasalita, ipinapakita yung kabaong ni Tita Cory, hindi ba? Papano kami makapagsasaya, nahihirapan kami? I'm sorry ho, ha. Pero ako, totoo ako, e. 'Wag n'yo akong pagagalitan, kasi totoo ang gusto kong malaman...

"Pagkatapos ng show, ipakita n'yo ang gusto n'yong palabas. Kasi itong Wowowee, gusto ko... Hindi ba, at alam din ni Tita Cory 'yan dahil napasaya rin siya ng show na ito na laging masaya dito, ok?"



Some may argue that Willie's intention was good, but I rather find these statements rude and arrogant. Wowowee and Revillame is known by millions of Filipino viewers and the show is even watched across several countries through TFC. To react in such way is downright arrogant and disrespectful to the former President Corzaon Aquino. I know that it was a bad taste for ABS-CBN to show a snippet of the funeral on Wowowee, but it was worst for Revillame to react that way.

Willie have chosen to let the contestant dance instead of cutting short her act and give way to the coverage of the cortege. Willie have chosen to blurt out his rude comments ON-AIR instead of Off-cam. In short, Willie have chosen to have fun instead of giving way to the funeral of Pres. Corazon Aquino. So they'd rather have fun instead of pay our respects to our democracy icon? That was not a good example to our youth today.

Was it really hard for him to be humble and human? I believe that this is not the first time that he aired his views and rather arrogant comments On-air. He embarasses his staff, makes fun of the contestants, and arrogantly act on TV almost everyday. Pres. Aquino taught us humility, and Revillame is showing us the exact opposite: arrogance.


This time, Willie's statement should be condemed not only by the public, but by the management of ABS-CBN as well. It also creates a public outrage in the internet forums, chatting boards, and online-newspapers. Majority have negative reactions and have condemned Willie Revillame's brutal statements.

With this, I am calling the attention of the management of ABS-CBN to stop the “arrogant act†of Willie Revillame on National TV program and reprimand him because of his actions. Willie Revillame had been very disrespectful to the Pres. Cory Aquino's cortege, Filipinos icon of democracy. It was also worst for your company that your own employee criticize you on national television instead on off the air conversations.

I am calling the attention of the MTRCB to be more vigilant, so that this lowest form of personal attack by a tv showbiz talk show host, for her/his personal agenda, will not happen again

I am calling the PANA to stop supporting Wowowee until they axe or reprimand Willie Revillame due to his actions. With him as one of the hosts, your product does not project a positive image to the public.

The public and TFC subscribers deserve better programming, and we deserve better than the likes of Willie Revillame.

Sincerely,
The Undersigned

HOW DOES ONE SAY “THANK YOU”?

I am going and you can’t stop me!” I was 18 years old then. I stood in front of my Dad defiantly and repeated that I was going to EDSA with or without him. With that, I marched out of the house, with only one 5-peso bill tucked between the pages of a pocketbook I was reading at that time, a bottle of tap water, a towel and my school ID, just in case …

My mind was in turmoil, trying to figure out how I could get to Ortigas Avenue from Quezon City. I was halfway out of the gate when Daddy ran out after me and told me to wait for him. His concern for his headstrong daughter overcame whatever trepidation he may have had about going to EDSA on that day.

With public transport practically non-existent, we walked from our home all the way to Muñoz Market and hitched a ride to Cubao. Again we walked to Camp Aguinaldo and Camp Crame.

And glad that he went, Daddy was! Those days in EDSA proved to be the most triumphant days we’ve ever had. We survived on shared food and slept on the ground. We joined fellow Filipinos as we chanted the name of Cory until our voices became hoarse. We scampered for cover whenever helicopter gunships would come into view or when word about nearby loyalist troops would reach us. But stayed we did. In our minds at that time, if worse came to worst, we would stand our ground.

We were in EDSA when the first of those gunships landed in Camp Crame. Oh! The jubilation as we witnessed one land after another and we realized that they have come to “our” side. We shouted with joy and Daddy danced in the street! We laughed and hugged each other and together, we all prayed. Laban signs flashed all over.

We were in EDSA when news of the Marcoses’ flight reached the people. We were in EDSA when Corazon C. Aquino was sworn in as President of the Philippines.

Those were the heady days of EDSA, when after years of darkness, we finally saw the sun again.I have never been more proud of being a Filipino than in those days when we amazed the world … timid Filipinos finally rising up to topple a dictatorship in a way never before seen in history. I have never loved our country as much as I loved the Philippines then. All that love, that hope and optimism, all that pride of our accomplishment as a people, I directed them all to President Cory. How I loved and respected her. I hanged on to her every word, scanned the papers for the latest news about her, and had my heart almost bursting with pride each time she went abroad .. that little, bespectacled housewife in yellow, receiving the world’s accolade, standing shoulder to shoulder with its greatest leaders.

But reality soon caught up with us Filipinos. The President started getting criticized by people who expected too much, too soon. But I stayed by her side, my faith unwavering. I believed in her and knew that what the people had expected from her was too much for anybody to ever achieve. Twenty years of looting could not be undone in one or two years.

In the years that followed however, as President Cory faded from the national center stage, I became guilty of forgetting her. I became cynical again, weary of politics and blasphemous of anything nationalistic. To me, she eventually became simply the ever-supportive mother of Kris Aquino. I’d see her in the news occasionally, espousing one cause or another, and the most thought I’d spare her had been, “she’s too old to be doing that” or “she is better off staying home”.

News of her illness barely moved me as well. My reaction had been more of personal concern over the indiscriminate reach of cancer.

Then one day, as I was driving towards my daughter’s school, I caught a glimpse of a newspaper headline. It blared: “Cory fighting for her life!” I choked as if my entire heart just went up my throat and tears started falling. I could barely see the road. My beloved President Cory was dying! Everything that I ever felt for her came rushing back. I was beside myself with grief.

And now she is gone, that lone ray of hope that guided us Filipinos out of the darkness. She is gone, that shining example of how every Filipino, every person, every woman, every mother, and every leader should be. Bundled all together in her small frame was the purest form of integrity and humility, selfless service, strength of conviction, and indestructible faith in God. Now that she is gone, who else will show us how we should be?

And how do we say “Thank You” to President Cory for the person that she was? How do we say “Thank You” for giving herself so selflessly to us? How do we say “Thank You” for that hope that she inspired, for that fierce pride that she made us feel, for that intense love of country that she gave us?

How do we say thank you to a beloved? How do we say goodbye?

GOODBYE BELOVED PRESIDENT

CORAZON C. AQUINO
President
Republic of the Philippines
1933 - 2009

KIDS AND THE FLU

What I have in mind now might cost me some acquaintances and a lot of goodwill among some readers. I actually spent time debating with myself whether to take up this topic or not. But those who know me well enough are aware that I couldn’t let go once something starts eating at me. I just have to take that off my chest or I’ll explode!

I hope that we have broadminded readers who will understand that I am not deliberately targeting anybody. I may appear critical of some parents and I may be met by a lot of opposing ideas after this. But that’s a risk that I’m prepared to take. Bato-bato sa langit na lang …

It’s really very simple, nothing big and earth shattering. It’s about the flu and the issue of whether or not we should send our kids to school when they start exhibiting symptoms of the illness.

At first look, the answer seems pretty simple: child with fever = home.

But you would be surprised to know that there were actually some parents who still sent their kids to school despite elevated temperatures! I have seen this happen first hand. I have also heard of stories, uncorroborated of course, of parents who pressed ice cubes into their children’s foreheads so they could pass the temperature check at the school entrance. Others were said to have given their children paracetamol prior to going to make sure that their temperature would be down by the time they got to school.

I personally know of others who had to struggle with the idea of a slightly sick child having to stay home, thereby missing seatworks, quizzes and exams.

From what I have gathered, all these boil down to one concern: inconvenience. It is inconvenient for some to go after teachers to arrange for make-up quizzes and exams for the absent child. It is too much effort for some to borrow notebooks so their kids could copy the notes that they missed while they were sick.

I am perplexed. These stories, if true, are entirely against what I believe to be every mother’s primordial instinct when her child becomes sick! And that is to keep the child at home, well rested and fed and properly medicated to boot!

I had hoped that these stories were nothing but mere fabrications dreamed up by tongues that had nothing better to do. But the sad fact is that there are actually parents out there who do not consider a slight illness or an elevated temperature as enough justification for a missed day in school. They had to wait for 40-degree fevers perhaps?

And why is that? It seems that there is concern that their kids’ absence will affect their academic performance. I am thinking right now of what my daughter’s school principal, Sister Marissa Palomar, repeatedly says to the parents: let you children be children. Let them enjoy being such. Do not concern yourself too much over their academic performance. Their grades in elementary and high school will not show when they will apply for jobs in the future.

I completely agree. And if I may add … when they are sick, let them stay home even if they insist on going! Who are the parents anyway? I say, forget the missed quizzes and whatnot! Your children will not fail with two or even more missed seatworks.

And in addition to that, I enjoin parents to think of the other children who will be interacting with your sick ones. Spare them from contracting the same illness.

And this brings us to the crux of the matter … I can’t help but think that if the parents of sick children had only exercised the right discretion, maybe, just maybe, the reach of the flu would not have been as widespread as it is now. After all, if the sick ones had stayed home, who would infect the healthy children in school?

MORE!!!

This probably is one of the most popular clamors around Dumaguete nowadays, next only to the people’s collective shout of “ENOUGH!!!” as they struggle through the ongoing road construction projects that got our streets shrouded under a perpetual cloud of dust.

I can think of a few choiced words and phrases to express the sentiment of most, but I would rather keep them to myself. Instead, I’ll content myself with “FASTER!!!” and “NEXT TIME, COULD YOU DO THESE PROJECTS GRADUALLY?? MEANING NOT ALL ROADS AND HIGHWAYS AT THE SAME TIME??? or DID YOU HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL IT’S ALMOST ELECTION TIME???”

But here I go again, getting carried away, as in literally getting away from my intended topic. “More” is about the popular clamor for a repeat of the Cebu Exporters’ Furniture Sale that was held in Hypermart recently. For those who did not know about this, woe to you. You just missed what I would personally refer to as the buy of the lifetime.

This furniture sale came to us through the Department of Trade and Industry whose efforts facilitated the coming over of Cebu-based furniture exporters. Mind you, the furniture that were put on sale were not merely export-quality … these were the real deal, furniture made for an intended foreign market, but which were not shipped out to serve as showpieces for the manufacturers. This accounts for the fact that, for most of the furniture that were brought over, only one unit per design was put on sale.

The cream of Dumaguete’s society came in droves, the landed gentry, the professional circles and of course, the people who make up our City’s business community.

I would say that this sale came as a pleasant surprise to us who went over to Hypermart. Not only was the actual event unprecedented, but the furniture that greeted us as we entered the exhibit area left as gasping and incredulous! These were the kind of furniture that we see only in glossy foreign magazines!!! These were not the ran-of-the-mill China-made types that are practically the only ones that are available around here!!!

But what really got Dumaguete dizzy with delight (with the exception, of course, of the local manufacturers and furniture dealers) and got yours truly drooling with desire and at the same time sighing with regret … were the prices! OMG! The prices were to die for, believe me!

I am not saying that the furniture were cheap, but they came to us at almost 50% off … and that my friends, was what got Dumaguete’s elite scrambling over each other in their haste to snatch up the most beautiful pieces.

Even at 50% off, most of the pieces were still too steep for us unfortunate souls, but to the monied ones, they were too good to pass up. By the end of day one, I would say that almost 80% of the pieces that were brought over from Cebu have been marked “sold”.

This actually came as a relief to me. Imagine how it made me feel, wanting to own a beautiful and oh-so-comfortable sofa so much that I could cry, but helpless to do something about it because I could not afford it? Multiply that agony a dozen times over … and that my friends, was my emotional picture down there at Hypermart.

A piece of L-shaped sofa, originally priced at more than sixty thousand pesos, was offered for only thirty-five thousand and after much haggling, sold off at twenty-eight! That was actually cheap considering the quality, but really “cheap” only for those who could afford.

That was why the sight of that hated word “SOLD” actually came as a relief to poor me. At least, I could stop thinking of what I could pawn off to raise the amount I would need to buy off everything there, ha ha ha! With the exception, of course, of that headless naked figure of a reclining male! I would gladly have somebody else walk away with it!

Incidentally, I had the hardest time with my brat when it came to that figure. She saw it first! Poor doberdog mama was too late! Abby had already seen it. And the reaction? … “ewwww! Who would want to buy something like that?!?!” It was too anatomically accurate for words. I could only order, with all the authority that I could muster … “stop looking at it!!!” But that was like closing the gate after the flock had ran off …

Looking back though, now that I could view that incident with some sort of objectivity … me, Abby and that figure were kind of funny in the sort of praning-mom way. Preventing my daughter from wising up to the world is like trying to stop the tides from turning. I can but sigh!

And I veered from the main topic again! Well, that’s me! Your impoverished housewife, recently tormented by that figure and all the cheap furniture and accessories that were not really “cheap”!!!

So I’m now joining the clamor for “MORE” of that sale. More!, More!, More! … as if, granting that there would be a next time … I won’t be left tormented again. But who knows? I could start betting in the lotto … who knows?

I Love You Dumaguete!

My love affair with Dumaguete started the moment I set foot on its shores. I love her, love her, love her!

But this love affair is nothing to the fire and passion between this City and Prof. David Padilla, a professor in the College of Law of Silliman University.

Let me share with you what he had written about our beloved ...

"I suppose it’s a bit odd to be sitting and proctoring a three-hour final examination on the law of corporations in a classroom in Kigali, Rwanda while musing about Dumagete on Negros Oriental in the Philippines. But my life has sort of gone that way since retiring as a lawyer and becoming an itinerant college professor.

But Dumaguete is special. Not to take anything away from Kigali or Pretoria or Miami, where I also teach each year. Dumaguete, a city of maybe 100,000 people, an hour’s flight south of Manila, is the home of Silliman University where I first taught two years ago on a Fulbright. Now I go back each year as long as they’ll have me.

The place is a noisy, joyful, unvarnished tropical paradise, a mix of Asia and pop western culture where Catholics and Buddhists meet and marry, do business and play.

These jottings are not only a reflection of the pleasant nostalgia I feel for Dumaguete and Silliman University, but also the fulfillment of an overdue promise to my friend Ipe Remollo, the ex-Mayor, who one evening at his home while listening to the visiting Manila Symphony Orchestra, said to me in so many words – “If you’re so crazy about our town why don’t you write about it?” I said “OK”. And here it is, more than a year later.

Dumaguete, home to four universities, sits on the Sea of Tanon on the Pacific Ocean. It’s located in Negros, one of more than hundreds of islands in a cluster called the Visayas. The town is a port and its Boulevard runs the curve of the sea.

The streets are a controlled chaos of motorbike-propelled tricycles and thousands of mostly university students mounted on motor scooters weaving in and out of traffic. Despite the law, virtually no one wears a helmet. A two-kilometer ride in a colorful tricycle carriage will set you back 12 cents. There are no traffic lights and only one stop sign, a home made job a resident placed in front of his home.

Yet everything moves, the streets are teeming and, amazingly, there are very few mishaps. Nothing is more delightful than to sit at an open air cafe on the Boulevard to watch single-man bancas and large white pump boats with graceful outriggers bob on the water. From there one's eyes drift to the vehicular madness of the roadway, endless, joyous, confused but functional.

Dumaguetenos are so polite. I’ve yet to see an accident, and have never witnessed an argument. And while I’ve never seen a youth carded at a bar, I’ve also never seen drunken students causing a ruckus.

I’ve never heard bad language, at least in English which is widely spoken and along with Tagalog is one of the country’s official languages. I should hasten to add that in these parts people speak a Visaya dialect they refer to as Cebuano – named for Negros’closest sister island – Cebu.

Of course there is the natural beauty of the place. The palms, the flowering trees, the lianas and bougainvillea which soften and give charm to the architectural hodgepodge of new and old, modern and Spanish colonial buildings and homes. And the mountains and nearby waterfalls and the thermal energy taken from the earth which powers the island’s electrical system.

And if you stand in the sun at midday you will perspire. But step into the shade and the sea breeze will put things right.

But let me return to the people and the food and the music, and inevitably, the cost of living.

Men are called “Sir,” and ladies, “Maam.” Students rise to recite in class, and smile naturally. Please and thank you, good morning and “bless you” are the universal civilities, not just on campus, but on the street and in the shops of Dumaguete. A child on meeting an adult takes the back of the elder's hand and presses it to his forehead and bows out of respect. Across

the parking lot at the municipal airport there is a sign on a somewhat dilapidated eatery

that says, “Welcome to Dumaguete – Home of the Gentle People.” And it is true.

There may be corruption in Manila, but I’ve never encountered it in Dumaguete. And

while friends, and I’ve made some good ones, descry crime in Dumaguete, for a boy who

spent the first half of his life in Detroit, and the second in Washington, D.C. with stints in

Philadelphia and Boston, crime there is laughable. Once a month you’ll read about a

purse snatching near the market.

Do you like seafood? Blue marlin, sea bass, and varieties too numerous and

unpronounceable to mention abound at local restaurants. Oysters and swordfish. And

rice, of course, at every meal. I draw the line at breakfast rice. But you rarely see an

obese filipino. A friend recently told me about a new Italian restaurant in town but he cautioned, "it's kind of pricey." The most expensive item on the menu is $7.00.

Street life in the barrios is lively. Kids play basketball especially at night on

jerry rigged courts. The churches are full on Sundays and feast days.Ex pats from Australia, Scandinavia and a few Americans have begun to discover Negros. A considerable number have married attractive Philippine women and settled down. And why not? Cyber cafes, bookstores, four-dollar Thai massages, beach front

property - a buildable lot twenty minutes out of town is available through a legal loophole for a dirt-cheap price

Did you know that the Philippines is the cell phone and text messaging capital of the world? Did you know that Filipinos are extremely musical? Videoke and karaoke were supposedly invented there and are featured in many bars and restaurants that line the Boulevard in Dumaguete. Those without the machines often feature live singers and musicians who may only have a rudimentary command of English but close your eyes and you will think you're listening to a live performance by top international stars. As a matter of fact, Filipino entertainers are in demand throughout the middle and far east.

And a sense of humor? A couple of years ago some fifteen thousand people in Manila set a new Guiness book record for the most people brushing their teeth at the same time.

And nicknames given with affection among my friends include Raffy, Boy a/k/a Dad, Bong and Bimbo.

How about this? The yo yo was invented in the Philippines more than five hundred years

ago. On flights to and from Manila on Cebu Pacific Airlinesmostly adult passengers play "Show Me," for small prizes.The flight attendant says "Show me a rosary" and the first passenger to hold one up wins a baseball cap or a key chain.

Sports nuts? Besides basketball, cockfights, pool and boxing are big. Manny the 'Pacman" Paquiao is the current lightweight champion of the world and his following is huge and fanatical.And I have friends, including some ladies, who can relate the last three minutes of the final game of the NCAA tournament in 1997.And I almost forgot to mention world class scuba diving on Apu Island as well as spectacular reefs just off shoreAnd while not a player, I should mention that Dumaguete has a number of golf courses. Finally, let me mention that the Philippine wushu team took the gold in this exhibition martial arts sport at the recent Beijing Olympics.

Problems? By all means. Mostly economic. But life in Dumaguete is pretty laid back. Cheering contests among

students, municipal festivals, parades, student carnivals, and at the school where I teach, the pageantry and anxiety of Silliman graduates sitting for the bar exam along with thousands of others gives the place a special tone and spirit.

I have also found a serious side in Dumaguete, a pride and competitiveness in its best students known as "top

knotchers."The campus fences are draped in long streamers proudly listing graduates who have passed licencing exams or achieved special honors in law, medicine, nursing, business and other fields. Young people who earn distinction or go abroad on post graduate fellowships, and there are a considerable number of them, are particularly lionized.

In the final analysis what makes for a coherent community that welcomes the outsider is kindness in the form of hospitality and pride in its achievements. These I found in Dumaguete.

UPDATE:

It is now eight month later and I am back in Dumaguete once again teaching at Silliman University. Yesterday on my way to swim my small moptorbike came to a sudden and noisy halt. I thought I had blown the engine. A little old man happened by. He pointed out that my chain had come off and promptly put it back on. I gave him a little money and he was happy. A mile later the same thing happened. This time a tricycle driver stopped and got out his tools, shortened the chain, reinstalled it and oiled the whole thing as I stood by uselessly. I offered to compensate him. He smiled, refused politely and drove off."

His article came out in Metropost, July 19, 2009.

MISSING SOMETHING AND NOT EVEN KNOWING IT

Have you ever left something behind and never looked back? You move on convinced there was nothing to look back to. You live your life … past memories consigned to the farthermost parts of your mind … life is good now … it’s all that matters.

Then one day your past waves a hand at you. You stop in mid-stride … it looks familiar and it is beautiful! Your memories, long suppressed and denied, come back to you in trickles … then the tears come … the very ones you didn’t shed before, back at that time when you have convinced yourself that there was no reason to.

You catch a drop in your finger and you ask yourself what this is for? But you already know … deep inside you know what your tears are for … you are crying for that that is lost and you are crying for those that are missed.

My tears were for the childhood that I lost, for the young life that I missed out. I cried for my lost family, my lost home, my lost friends … and for the joys of childhood that I never again experienced.

This is what happens to children when parents decide that they have had enough. They become collateral damage, bemused onlookers to an event too incomprehensible for their young minds to grasp and beyond their power to stop. That’s when childhood ends. A child went to bed. A weary old man woke up.

But I survived. Oh yes! I survived and I did well. I didn’t travel that road where so many like myself have gotten lost in. People commended for me my strength, praised me for not letting my sorry past affect my present. “Of course!” answered confident me. “I couldn’t be affected by something that isn’t of my own doing!”

But did I really manage to escape unscathed? Could it be possible that the shards left by my broken family missed wounding me in any way?

I realize now that it couldn’t be possible. A blow like that couldn’t miss leaving a wound. I didn’t even know that the wound was there. The discovery of a scab was met by amazement. Like a child mesmerized by the newness of its discovery, I couldn’t stop looking and just like any child, I couldn’t stop peeling off a bit, just to see what wonders it might hide.

But I didn’t discover wonderful things. Instead I found a wound as raw and as fresh as the day when it was inflicted. Then the pain hit me. And I cried as I should have cried 28 years ago.

No. We can’t ever escape unscathed. We will always carry that baggage with us wherever we’d go. Some may be painfully aware of its burden, others carry on like I did, blissfully unaware of that extra weight.

Opening that wound left me wondering … has it belatedly crippled me? I hope not. Rather, I would like to believe that the pain that I have denied for so long is going to make me a better wife and mother. Pain at its most raw for the first time in 28 years strengthened my resolve to spare my own child from the same fate. I could do it. It’s within my own power this time. With God’s help I’ll spare her.

Life is good now. Happy with my present and surrounded by the warmth of my family’s love, I should stop looking back to that life of long ago. But there are times when I couldn’t help myself … I had to go back and remember that beautiful childhood that I so suddenly lost. My heart would then feel heavy with regret … and the tears would begin flowing again.

Abby and Myles: One's my baby .. the other's my dream baby ...

I Say -- this is taking "putting one's affairs in order" to a whole new level!!!

Man, I'll tell ya, women can be cold until the end!

The doctor, after an examination, sighed and said, 'I've got some bad news. You have cancer, and you'd best put your affairs in order.'

The woman was shocked, but managed to compose herself and walk into the waiting room where her daughter had been waiting.

'Well, daughter, we women celebrate when things are good, and we celebrate when th ings don't go so well. In this case, things aren't well. I have cancer. So, let's head to the club and have a martini.'

After 3 or 4 martinis, the two were feeling a little less somber. There were some laughs and more martinis. They were eventually approached by some of the woman's old friends, who were curious as to what the two were celebrating.

The woman told her friends they were drinking to her impending end, 'I've been diagnosed with AIDS.'

The friend s were aghast, gave the woman their condolences and beat a hasty retreat.

After the friends left, the woman's daughter leaned over and whispered, 'Momma, I thought you said you were dying of cancer, and you just told your friends you were dying of AIDS! Why did you do that??'

'Because I don't want any of them sleeping with your father after I'm gone.'

And THAT, my friends, is what is called, 'Putting Your Affairs In Order.'

DIVINE

Love and tenderness ...
Frail man ...
The image of God's love in my mind.

There was a time when I belonged ...

Immaculate Conception College
High School Batch 1984
Ozamis City

I've been away from Ozamis for so long. I have lost touch with friends whom I've had since since grade 1. Joining our batch's social network (at www.ning.com) sort of made me return to what I refer now as my Ozamis life.

Looking at the pictures of old friends ... I felt lost. I could not remember anybody. Had I not known that it was Michelle Buot in the picture, for instance, I would never have recognized that lady in the picture as the very first bestfriend I have ever had. I had difficulty remembering Rose, Carla and Christine. Jun Garcia I remembered but I felt awkward about it. Then it dawned to me. I used to call him Flor. There were others whose name I immediately recognized ... Noel Pombuena for their bakery in Annex, Julius Guangco because his sister was my jazz teacher ...

I kept going back to our site to jog my memory. Then they started to trickle in ... memories of Carla and Rose and Chris came back ... I recognized Julita's name ... I knew Ann Jalalon! Adonis just clicked into memory last night! I wouldn't recognize Roehl if I bumped into him today but I associate his name with fun and laughter and a little of "mischief"?

Thanks to Suzette (whom I'll always associate with her Sanrio collection back in our elementary days!) for posting our old pictures. I shed tears looking at them. I cried for the good memories and for the lost childhood, I guess. I cried even harder when looking at later pictures, when I was no longer there. I cried for the childhood friends I've lost, for the good times that I missed. Looking at your pictures in a beach outing, I kept thinking ... I should have been in those pictures too .. they were all there except me!

But where are the rest of our friends? Remedios, Lulu Bernad, Emilyn Ybañez, John Paul Manalastas, Celeste Lim, Rhea Abella ... how about classmates from our elementary days like Randolph Villamor, Robert Dimagiba, D'Marie Singson ... ?

The names and faces are coming back so much easier now, but they don't necessarily match. I see faces but can't remember names or remember names but couldn't match those with faces. I must have bumped my head some time after I left ICC but had also forgotten about it ... to account for my memory loss ...

Thanks to Noel for creating this site for us. Thanks to Michelle for leading me there. Thank you old friends, for warmly welcoming me back!

1st Year, with Michelle Buot and Suzette Salvosa

1980. Grade Six Graduation.
Held in secrecy. Not even our parents were allowed to attend due to the bombing of 2 moviehouses in Ozamis which happened before our scheduled graduation day.
Pretty much like what is happening in Mindanao nowadays!

1st year High School

Childhood friends. 1st Year Sampaguita.

Grade Six Class Picture. Miss Briones.

After my 2nd year in High School, I was uprooted, or more aptly put, violently yanked away from my home and friends. That's what happens to children when parents decide they've had enough.

That's when I became lost, living in the fringes, never again to belong ...

Until now ...

I'm in a new life now. A better, happier life ... warm in the love of my husband and child ... secure in the affection of my new friends ...

But sometimes, I look back to my lost childhood, and I shed tears of regret.

WE LOVE YOU PRESIDENT CORY!

I never loved our country as fiercely as I did, when as a young girl, I went out into the streets to fight for our freedom with you as our leader President Cory. I have not felt that love for country nor that pride of being a Filipino since then. You can't leave us yet. We still need you. We need you to be our moral leader. Help us find that love again. Help us regain that fierce pride. Help us see that there is still some decency left among the people who lead us today. I see nothing but gloom in our future. Please be our light once again. Don't leave us President Cory. Your people need you.

We can leave messages for President Cory Aquino in this Facebook account:
http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/cory.aquino?ref=nf