"MOVE ON ... ASSHOLE!!!

January 23, 2007: I was called an ASSHOLE!!! A big hulking FOREIGNER with a very distinctive American accent riding his motorcycle shouted at me across the road as I was turning my car towards my daughter’s school. I have never felt so enraged in my entire life!

I would have taken that insult lightly coming from another Filipino, but from a GUEST of our OWN CITY? A foreigner residing in the Philippines, my very own COUNTRY???? Abusing me right in the presence of my own child????

Whatever did I do to him? I was not driving fast enough and got in his way, that's what!

I should not let that BRUTE affect me this way, as I’ve been telling myself. But as I now sit in front of my computer, I fume with indignation thinking of that BIG BULLY, who, as far as I am concerned, has overstayed his welcome in my very own Dumaguete!

That swine should be taught his lessons on manners and proper courtesy, but really, can a little worm-brained American who apparently has never set foot in any classroom, much less entered the era of the civilized world, and whose very existence is centered at elbowing his way around Filipinos whom he considers his inferiors, be taught anything above that? I bet that Neanderthal can’t even be taught how to use a deodorant!!! (My apologies to the pigs and the worms. I did you great injustice by naming you in the same breath as that tyrant. You’re too noble and dignified compared to “that”, actually!)

How I wished at that exact moment to go after him and pummel his face blue and black, and as finishing touch, stuff his mouth full of cat poo to deodorize it a bit!

Realistically though, I am barely five feet two inches tall. That pre-historic beast must be at least six feet three, with a bodybuilder’s physique! And to think that when I first caught a glimpse of him prior to our encounter, I thought of the Greek God, Adonis ….

All man by outward appearances, but inside … I wonder! His affinities as to gender seriously comes into question.

Oh well, I therefore conclude that his massive bulk is INVERSELY PROPORTIONAL to the size of his brain and manners!

My husband Nonoy had his own close encounter with another foul-mouthed American a few years back. Without any provocation from him whatsoever, this elderly “guest” sped past our vehicle and shouted MORON at him. (Actually, Nonoy was driving slowly. That must have been the provocation.) My husband went after him and a big argument ensued. When I asked why he had to stoop into that person’s level, he explained to me in this way:

“Whenever I’m in their country, I obey their laws, observe my manners, and take their insults and abusive behavior in silence, because it’s their turf and there is nothing that I could do about that.

But NO WAY will I go on taking that kind of treatment right here in my own country! They are in OUR LAND, let them accord to us the very same respect and courtesy we give to them when we are in theirs!”

I agree with my husband wholeheartedly!!!

Now that I have let my fury out of my system, may I say that not all of our foreign guests can be equated with those two non-entities. I am not judging all foreigners on the same level, nor do I see them in the same light with which I view those two. I judge people, foreign or Filipino brother, according to his own merits.

I am reserving my wrath and acerbic opinions only to “Asshole” and “Moron”. Those two are in a class of their own. I will form opinions as to the rest as I see them, one person at a time, and pending that, I give the benefit of the assumption that every one of them is as decent as any human being could ever be.

I don’t have foreigners within my immediate circle of friends but I do know Negros Chronicle columnist Kojak Hughs of whom I hold the highest respect. And then there is David Atwood, a British gentleman I regularly correspond by email with. I have not met him personally yet, but David and his beautiful wife Caye, I regard with warmest and most tender affection.

David and Kojak - compassionate and decent guests of our country – they see us Filipinos with all our frailties, follies and shortcomings. Yet, I know that they respect us and judge us the way we would want to be judged: not as a people, but one person at a time.

To our foreign lady guest whom columnist Cecilia Hoffman wrote about (Gender Bender, Metropost, Jan. 21 issue), may I apologize in behalf of all Dumagueteños for the lousy treatment you are receiving from SOME of our men. If it's any consolation, you will always find those primitive types every country you’d go to. But that’s no excuse.

As our guest, you deserve to be treated fairly and with utmost respect, just as we too, deserve to be treated with the same courtesy from those whom we welcome into our shores.

"Why do men look down when they pee?"

I chickened out when my 6-year old asked me that question. Caught off guard by this sudden query, my mind froze and for the life of me, I could not think of any acceptable answer!

(By the way, in case you are wondering how Abby got to witness this "phenomenon" - Filipino men have this disgusting habit of urinating the way dogs do - PRACTICALLY EVERYWHERE!!! Their favorite spots are against walls and fences, and it does not matter to them if that unfortunate fence happens to be at the roadside, easily visible to passing cars with impressionable and highly inquisitive children on board!

Don't they pity us parents who will have to fend off the relentless barrage of questions brought about by their thoughtlessness? Ha ha ha! Of course, THAT would be the last thing in their primitive and uncultured minds when nature would start calling!)

Why indeed do men look down when they pee? Panicked thoughts ran through my mind … why? … why? … think Olga … to admire their appendages? What??? I told myself, you CANNOT tell her that!! Besides, you’re not sure that it’s really it! What then? That they are ashamed? … hiding their faces? … after all, Abby already said that they were stinking up the place and harming the plants! But what if she follows up with “then why do they do it anyway?” If so, I’ll be seeing no end to this issue!

But I could not come up with any satisfactory answer guaranteed to put an end to this curiosity, so I took the coward’s way out and replied, “Hey, am I a boy? How would I know? Better ask Papa.”

Sure enough, Abby grabbed the phone from me when her father called a few days later. I could just imagine what went through her father’s mind when he heard THE QUESTION. Abby was quiet, simply nodding her head knowledgeably from time to time, and interrupting her father with occasional giggles and “oh yeahs!”

“What did Papa say?” “He said that they have to look down so they would know where to shoot their pee!” She burst out laughing as she added, “Papa said their pee might go to their pants if they don’t watch!” (Why didn’t I think of that?)

Our children make us groan and sigh and scratch our heads once they start bombarding us with those simple yet oh-so-difficult questions to answer. Moms and Dads could definitely identify with me when I’d write of those times when we struggled for suitable answers to questions, the truth of which, they were not quite ready yet!

Ever since Abby started talking, I’ve lost count of the times I’ve resorted to ingenious means of answering question without really answering them, or those moments when I squirmed as I got challenged for my inconsistent answers.

Take this question for instance: “how did the father’s sperm got inside the mother?” By the way, Abby already knows about the sperm and the egg from her collection of Grolier’s “Under the Microscope” and from watching National Geographic’s “In the Womb”.

I’ve been dreading that question for a long, long time. When it finally came, I was as unprepared as ever. I’ll never forget those knotted brows and that baffled look on her innocent face. I simply crossed my fingers and mumbled something about kissing. She accepted it – but for how long? - Oh God, I dread the answer to that!

The most recent challenge I got dropped out of nowhere. “Mama, didn’t you say that a girl has to marry first before she can have babies? How come Ate this and Ate that have babies but THEY DO NOT HAVE HUSBANDS YET?” (The last six words are capitalized to match Abby’s scandalized tone.)

Please humor me but I just have to give vent to my frustration at how difficult it is to instill values when our children are constantly being inundated with conflicting realities. How do we find the proper balance? Can we still mold their young minds toward the direction that we want them to take? We can only hope and pray.

Going back to Abby’s latest challenge, I know that I failed miserably in satisfying her curiosity with my evasive answers. How about you? How would you answer that question to a six-year old? I wish you all the luck!

Erma Bombeck

“Loving Erma more and more with each turn of the page!” This was the text message I sent to my editor Irma Faith Pal regarding the author of the book she surprised me with last Christmas.

I haven’t had the privilege of “knowing” Erma Bombeck before Irma “introduced” her to me. What an introduction!! I fell in love with her from the first page and could not put the book down until I reached the last!

It was truly a most wonderful gift. Irma’s Christmas present did not stop at the tangible object she brought over one early morning. It went on to introduce me to a world that is as alien as it is familiar to me. Why? This is the title of the book: Motherhood: The Second Oldest Profession. Do I need explain further?

Syndicated columnist Erma Bombeck wrote a humor column three times a week for 900 newspapers from her home in Arizona. She had been writing about mothers and motherhood for twenty years. In this book, Erma celebrates motherhood – the second older profession, and the biggest on-the-job training program ever. She told of the joys and pangs, the fulfillment and the frustration, the poignancy and the pathos of being a mother.

As I read, I was amazed at how easily I could identify with the mothers Erma Bombeck wrote about. Their sentiments were also mine!!! Although I knew that motherhood transcends everything, it was still surprising how I share so much with women in another part of the world whose lifestyles, culture, and even beliefs are so vastly different from mine.

My interest roused, I looked her up in the Internet and sadly learned that she was taken away by the Big C. When she learned that she had this disease, she wrote a poignant poem that touched me so deeply I decided to share it with everyone who reads this column. Her message was very simple: let’s live our lives to the fullest and SAVOR EACH MOMENT before it becomes too late.



IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER
By Erma Bombeck


I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner, even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television - and more while watching life.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil, or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was my only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."

There would have been more "I love yous".. more "I'm sorrys"... but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute...look at it and really see it... Live it... and never give it back.

Don't forget to stop and smell the roses today! Take time to tell a loved one how much you love them, do something nice for yourself, and stop to give God thanks for all of it.

Abby and Carla at the Peryahan!

Carla (in blue jacket) and Abby (in orange shirt) enjoying the ball-throwing game. Abby got so lucky that night she won three times! I don't know if this game is rigged, as most usually are in carnivals and peryahans ... you place a P1.00 bet on a certain number and throw a ball. If it lands on the same number ... lo and behold!!! You're the proud owner of funchum or some junk food!

This picture shows a truly excited Abby as she watched her ball inching closer and closer to her number!!!

HER FUN THAT NIGHT HAS NEVER BEEN EQUALLED BY HER GAMEBOY! and that's the truth!

Carla (foreground) and Abby (background) enjoying the rickety carousel that appears older than their grandmothers under the close supervision of two hawked-eyed stage mothers ... that's in addition to the Abby's beloved Tlyn standing guard in the background!

"BO ... RING!" Verdict of this beloved twosome. They finished the ride with perfectly contrived looks of boredom complete with faces cupped by their palms for maximum effect!

A STUDY OF CONTRAST!

Pensive Carla - This picture mirrors Carla's personality - a quiet and shy child who can manage to stay put in one place for a full five minutes!

Goofy Abby - my personal whirlwind, the complete opposite of Carla! Honestly, I am getting apprehensive she might be diagnosed with some kind of hyperactive disorder (God forbid!) - she's always moving even her lola (the most formidable and tight-fisted person I know) offered her money if she would sit still for 5 minutes! Needless to say ... she didn't last 30 seconds!

Looking at these pictures made me think how children, when they're not being the spoiled brats that they sometimes are, are soooo easy to please. Take them to a roadside peryahan and you will see unbridled joy and excitement that can be equal to any trip to Disneyland!

Is it still surprising why I want that innocence preserved for as long as possible?

Whoever would want our children to become as jaded as we are?

"Been there, done that ... (ho-huuum) ... what's next? do you have anything exciting/expensive/new there?"

Do we really want our children adapting this attitude?

True happiness cannot be measured by any amount. It sounds like a well-worn cliche, I know, but whether we like it or not ... it is true!

It is in the little details of our lives, like a child's laughter, a friend's hug, or a stranger's smile. I did not write this myself, but it is so meaningful to me I am quoting the rest: "They may be small, but when we look back in our lives, we will realize that these are the things that made our lives complete!"

Another truism that we can gather from those text messages that we receive from our friends goes this way: "The way to be happy is to be grateful even for the simple blessings that come our way." Isn't it so true?

And here's another gem: "Life is pretty simple. When you're asking for apples and life hands you lemons, made lemonade. If your on your way out and it starts to rain, at least you won't have to water the plants anymore! It's simply a matter of putting things into their proper perspective."

Again, it goes back to our attitude towards the events the come into our lives. We can either choose to be pulled down or we can choose to see them in a brighter light and turn them into our advantage.

I'm getting kind of deep here. And to think that when I started writing this, I merely wanted to celebrate the simple joys of childhood that we all try so hard to reach for but couldn't quite manage. Woe to us!

Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and Me

Abby with cousins Raffy, Gabby and Cody Cabrera during their Gameboy tournament on Christmas Day!

“It’s UNFAIR!” … whined my beloved brat last Christmas.

“Why did Santa give three to Raffy and I got only one? I asked for six!” … she continued with her heart-tugging oh-so-woeful expression complete with mouth that somehow managed to pout into unbelievable lengths!

Abby was referring to the single game cartridge for her Nintendo Gameboy that she “got” from Santa compared to her buddy Raffy Cabrera who got three.

Of course, Abby and Raffy agreed beforehand what they would ask for. Of course, one very cooperative mother encouraged Abby to write him letters so “Santa” would know what she wanted for Christmas.

Christmas came and that very cooperative mother wanted to kick herself in the head for perpetuating the Santa myth, or the Tooth Fairy for that matter!

I planted this seed and got so good at cultivating it Abby came to believe that she could ask for everything and anything under the sun.

One time, she even asked for a MICROSCOPE from the Tooth Fairy!!! For pete’s sake! That thing must cost ten grand! For a tooth? For a six-year old? Well, if it’s for education … and GRANTING that I had plenty of dough stashed somewhere … but I’m digressing.

So what could a poor mother who was neck deep in unpaid bills do to veer thoughts away from microscopes?

Resort to creative thinking, what else? I told her Tooth Fairy is as small as Tinkerbell!

“And how heavy is your school’s microscope?” Oh yeah! It was heavy alright!

“How then” I asked, “could a tiny creature such as the tooth fairy carry such a heavy present?”

“Oh yes!” she wholeheartedly agreed with me.

And while we were still at it, I went on improvising, like tell her to ask only for something that could be found in Dumaguete (so Tooth Fairy won’t have to travel far), or something that’s not expensive (or she’ll think you’re too greedy)!

How did I cope with the outburst last Christmas? I told her Santa must have made a mistake when he gave a box with only one cartridge instead of three … you see, he’s soooo busy … got gazillions of children to give presents to …and poor Santa, he’s soooo old already (thus forgetful!) … see his white beard?

I know … I know! Lying is bad and I’m setting a terrible example! Will she resent me when she finally learns the truth? I don’t know. What I know though is that my friend Chedette’s daughter, Ina, was terribly disappointed with her Mom when she caught her doing Tooth Fairy’s job!

What does this tell us? That children want their fairy tales and make-believe world? That we owe it to them to make them believe for as long as possible?

Despite my periodic head-kicking urges, I believe that this should be so. Every child deserves magic in his world.

When Abby was told by another child that Santa was not true ... that it’s the parents who actually give all those stuff ...

Abby is only 6 years old. She cannot lose her sense of wonder yet!!! I had to cook up another tale: “remember the song … Santa Claus is coming to town? That he’s making a list who’s naughty or nice? That’s because only nice children get presents from him. Maybe your friend ---- has been naughty and his parents knew that he won’t be getting any present from Santa. But they didn’t want him to be sad, so they had to get his present themselves and pretend it came from Santa … and got caught ... ”

I breathed a big sigh of relief when Abby swallowed the story hook, line and sinker.

Am I doing the right thing? I really don’t know. But I do know that Abby can only be a child once. She will get to enjoy the innocence of childhood only for so long. The realities of life will always be there, lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce at every chance.

So I’ll shield her while I still can and while she still believes everything I’d tell her.

As for her excessive expectations, I’ll just improvise along the way - like tell her Santa has gazillions of children to give presents to, and it would be unfair to the others if she’d ask for more than one!

And as for wanting to kick myself, I will always want to do that first, then think of a way to wriggle out of my predicament next!

Happy New Year everyone!

Life Goes On!

Sunday, December 24, 2006. I would have delivered my baby this day. This was supposed to be the due date of that oh-so-wanted-and-much-prayed-for baby that I lost last May. Those who know me well knew how badly I took my loss. I still ache for my little one and for all the might-have-beens had that precious life not been taken away from me.

I will never know if that baby that I had so briefly was going to be a boy or a girl. Had a baby girl been born to me, I planned to name her Maria after our Blessed Mother. Her nickname would have been Maia.

The ache has dulled over the months and I believed that I was largely over this painful chapter of my life. But I realized that I have not moved on when I constantly found myself casting longing glances towards the SUMC nursery as I climbed up and down the stairs during my father’s hospitalization there.

One time, I chanced upon the nursery while the curtains were drawn open. I hurried over intending to enjoy the sweet sight of innocent infants, but burst into tears instead, as it occurred to me that my baby would have looked just like them.

It was doubly painful as I thought that I should have been eagerly anticipating the coming of a new life this December instead of dreading an impending death.

This lingering pain perplexes my husband and I guess all my friends as well. I suppose that only women who have infertility problems and who also long for babies with the same intensity as I have can empathize with me. To the rest, I may seem like a nutcase. Sometimes I question my sanity. I have friends who’ve also had miscarriages but have moved on while I’m stuck in this emotional no man’s land and I see no end in sight.

But I draw comfort from the assurance given me by the Compassionate Friends. They are a group of mothers who’ve also lost their own children and who now offer friendship and support to newly bereaved parents. They give the assurance that we will move on, eventually. Though the pain will remain, the heart won’t bleed as much as time goes on.

Through this group, I met a friend named Arlene. She lost her precious Daniel a few days after he was born. I found kindred spirits in the person of Arlene and other mothers like her. With them, I found complete understanding, never bewilderment.

A few days ago, Arlene emailed me with news that lighted up my bleak Christmas. She is pregnant! I cannot find the words to express how happy I am for her.

Yes, I am happy for all of us. So you see, I am not ending this article today with a sad note after all. Instead, I am ending this with a shout of joy, a celebration of the life that goes on and on!

A cycle has been completed. I should have been awaiting life but instead found death towards the end of 2006. I thought that was that! But no! God came in and told me not to despair. This year will still end happily for me, for I shall again be awaiting the coming of a new life – my friend Arlene’s baby. Life does go on. God is great!

A Chance for Goodbyes

This was written by my friend Muffet Dolar-Villegas in her column in the Negros Chronicle. Ma'am Muff has breast cancer and she is fighting it with the most powerful weapon that could ever be had in one's arsenal - her formidable faith in God.

I decided to post her article here because I was inspired and comforted by her story of the water beetle. Whoever may be reading this now, may you be inspired as well.

Ma'am Muff is a very beautiful person. May God continually touch her with His healing hands that she may continue to touch others with her kindness and inspiration.


A Chance for Goodbyes
by Muffet Dolar-Villegas (Blue_bell57@yahoo.com)

When I opened my email, I learned that my friend Olga lost her dad recently because of cancer. I cannot find the right words to say to tell her how much I feel for her. I lost my father three years ago because of cancer. I know how it feels to see your love one suffer and eventually die. Olga Lucia Uy is a columnist with the Metropost. Like most of us, she loves her dad and she admired his courage in facing his life sentence, when he was told that he had cancer.

She praises God that He had released her father from pain and unspeakable agony, and a chance to say goodbye . Once more death comes and we grapple for answers to some questions, why did he die so soon? Why should we die?

Yet in one instance, the issue of death was witnessed by Cecil de Mille in one of his searching moments. One day, he was on board a canoe gliding slowly on the river. His attention was caught by a small water beetle climbing the wooden vessel so slowly and gingerly. When it reached the top, it just died. But he was mesmerized when out of the parched and ugly dead water beetle came out a beautiful dragonfly with all the colors of a rainbow. The dragonfly flew as fast as it could, mingling with the colors of the wind.

The dried remains of the water beetle fell, and all the other water beetles gathered and dispersed immediately, seeing that it was dead.

Most of us view death as morbid, but on the contrary, if we are ready to meet our Creator, there is rejoicing and celebration on the other side. This poignant story tells us of an amazing Creator. As Christians, we believe that there is eternal life after death to those who have a personal relationship with Christ. A life that is more beautiful and stable than that of a dragonfly.

Flawed Man ... Great Father!

A little boy was asked what forgiveness is …

He gave a beautiful answer:

It is the fragrance that flowers give when they are crushed.

Reflections ... in these trying times! (Final Part)

We were encouraged to talk to Daddy as he lay dying, told that he could still hear us. The sense of hearing is supposed to be the last to leave. We were also told to make our peace with him, as the dying could linger on with still unresolved issues waiting for closure.

I’ve been told countless times that I was a good daughter. In my heart, I knew that I was not. I failed Daddy in so many ways.

I hadn’t asked for forgiveness while he was still conscious. Finally, I leaned over to him and whispered how much I loved him and how sorry I was for everything. Daddy breathed his last a few seconds after that.

I would like to believe that I was forgiven then, but my heart still lies heavy.

* * *

The passing of a loved one filled us with sorrow but it was also a time for rejoicing. We praised the Lord for His goodness and mercy. Watching him struggle with every breath pained us more than letting him go. We were grateful to God for releasing him from his final agony.

* * *

Tears would fall from his eyes every time I would whisper my promise to him that I’d do what I could to help my sisters. Every mention of his three younger daughters would make Daddy cry. Only then did I start believing that we could still talk to them as they lay dying.

* * *

Daddy told me that he was not afraid to die. I believed him. But he became terrified when he learned that it was going to happen so soon. He pleaded for God to give him more time.

As fluid was being drained from his lung, he sobbed as he felt his breathing becoming easier.

He cried out that he wanted his last days to be merry ... that he did not want to die suffering that way, and not so soon …

Don’t we all cry for the same?

* * *

I, too, am not afraid of death. But if I could plead with God, I’d asked to be given just enough time to see my only child though as she grows, to be there for her as her heart gets broken for the first time, and guide her as she learns to her stand with her own two feet. When she doesn’t need Mama anymore, I can go.

* * *

There seems to be a quota as to how much fun we could have. Consume that quota early on and we’d start paying for the excesses. Take them in moderation and we might just be able to continue enjoying them through our old age.

Cigarettes, alcohol, fatty foods, sweets … the list can go on and on. The rule stays the same.

* * *

Daddy had a soul mate. Her name is Merle. They never exchanged marriage vows. But watching how she sacrificed for him, took care of his every need, made him feel loved until his last moment … was a humbling experience for me and a lesson on the true meaning of love and devotion … in sickness and in health …

I'll be eternally grateful to her, for in her sturdy arms, Daddy was really and truly loved.

* * *

I was overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support coming from our beloved relatives and my dear friends. Thank you so much.

To Alex and Irma, for your kindness and generosity, my thanks. To Ma’am Muff Villegas who offered me her friendship and showered me with encouragement and support, I am blessed having found you. To Nicel Avellana, thank you for your prayers. Pau, thank you!

* * *

Tradition dictates that we should not speak ill of the dead … that we should speak of them only in glowing terms.

I chose not to. I talked of Daddy as he really was: an imperfect man. He was just like every one of us, as flawed as every human could ever be.

As a father, he also had his shortcomings. Again, he was just like every other father out there.

For who could ever truly claim to be perfect anyway?

Having said that, I now say that I loved Daddy anyway. We may have had bitter moments together as I lashed at him for his weakness against his vices. But I loved him unconditionally. And he loved us in return.

Flawed as he was, he redeemed himself by being a great father to us. He was the kind of father who would do anything for his family.

Even as he lay gasping for breath in his hospital bed, he still talked about going to Bacolod and Cebu to earn money for his young family.

I remember him telling me, after he was told of his cancer, that just because he had that tumor did not mean that he would stop selling his Noritake chinawares ... that he would go on trying to provide for his family while he still could.

Flawed man, great father. For loving us with all your heart … Thank you, Daddy.

Thank you, Daddy!

I wrote the article below in the morning of December 7, 2006. Daddy passed away at 7:25 pm the same day.

When he breathed his last, we thanked the Lord for releasing him from his final agony. Seeing him suffer that way brought us more pain.

Just as we begged God to finally take Daddy home with Him, we urged our beloved Father to move on as our final act of love for him.

Praise God for His mercy!


Reflections ... in these trying times! (First Part)


When I first started, I wanted this column to be light and cheery, easy reading for a leisurely Sunday. I believe I managed that most of the time.

Considering recent events in my family however, I cannot write that way, at least, for the moment. When one’s spirit is down and out, it is difficult to get off the ground, particularly when no one else is there to give that needed boost.

For today, I’d like to share some thoughts I’ve been having lately...

To tell or not to tell …?

This is the big question that inevitably confronts every relative of somebody who’s been diagnosed with a deadly illness. With the Big C rearing its ugly face almost everywhere we turn our heads to, more and more people are being forced to meet this dilemma head-on. So how do we decide?

When I learned that my Dad has lung cancer, I gently probed his readiness for the truth. His “so be it” summed up what seemingly was his attitude towards that possibility. Thus, despite my earlier trepidation that when faced with the truth, Daddy is the type who would just curl up and die before his time, I told him about his tumor without however elaborating about it’s advanced stage. I thought that it was his right to know, so should he want to, he could start putting his affairs into order, and most importantly, make his peace with God.

Daddy took it well at first and seeing him that way buoyed up my spirits! Here’s my FATHER, I proudly announced. His body may have been battered but the man inside remained whole and strong.

I was wrong! When the full import of his condition finally hit him, he wilted right before my eyes and from that day on, I’ve had nothing but fleeting glimpses of the man that he used to be.

Daddy became terrified when he was told in no uncertain terms what was happening, was going to happen and how he would be losing his life in the process. That day, he really started dying on us.

I am now regretting my decision to let him know the truth. But with so many considerations that had to be made then, I made the decision that I thought was best for him. Foremost in my mind was his need to prepare himself spiritually before he meets our Maker. Did I do right? I honestly don’t know.

So, should we tell or not tell?

I think it depends on the person concerned. There are those who knew right on that they couldn’t handle the truth, and we’d know this from their attitude towards death in general.

Then there are those people who think and believe they could. Of these, some would prove themselves right! But most, I believe, would fall short of their own estimation of themselves. Most would crumble upon staring death at its face.

For some people, a life-threatening illness is a challenge that arouses the fighter within. Present them with the truth and they will switch into fighting mode, summon up all their energies, and then lean on God for that much-needed strength.

But others, I think, would rather not know or are better off not knowing. The mind is all-powerful and what goes on up there affects everything in the body. Once the mind gives up, the body will soon follow. Convince it that there is still hope, and maybe, the body would have held up longer.

I’m not a doctor but I believe that Daddy’s psychological mind frame sped up his deterioration. Had we withheld the full truth and made him believe that there is still some hope, maybe, just maybe, he’d still be talking, laughing and praying with us. But just as I initially feared, he curled right up and now gazes at us with those lifeless eyes. Right now, not even his beloved Abby could rouse him up from his own private hell.

What have I done? I should have trusted my instinct when it told me Daddy couldn’t handle the truth. How could I have bungled this way? How I wish I could tell him how sorry I am but I’m too scared.

Olgatraz, Pigsties and Lotto

Whoever said that strong fences make good neighbors forgot to add “noise-proof” and “smell-proof” fences.

When my husband and I planned building our home, we agreed not to build in subdivisions or in those so-called “gated/guarded communities”. I envisioned a place where the houses are far apart and where I didn’t have to see any neighbor if I didn’t want to. I didn’t want my world to be confined within a narrow two-lane street where the farthest point I could see is my next-door neighbor’s gate, or be close enough to hear my neighbor’s every snore, or know at every instance what their meal’s going to be from the odors permeating from their kitchen to mine.

Ever heard of the warning: be careful of what you wish for? Oh boy! Did I get exactly what I wanted – and more! We found the perfect place (?) where the lands were still owned by its original owners or their heirs, and where we could still see wide expanses of undeveloped land almost evocative of rural living. It didn’t occur to us that people in this setting still live the rural way … like raise pigs, for instance?

But that’s getting ahead with the story. Let me start with the terrific duo: our friendly neighborhood shabu dealer and his brother, our friendly neighborhood thief. Thanks to these two (and their similarly-feathered friends), the barbed wires around our home can humble the city jail set up anytime! These two have since then been shipped to Bilibid Prison but not before my home got nicknamed “Olgatraz”. I bet I could make “Olgatraz, Dumaguete City” my address and every mail will still find its way to me!

I barely got settled in to the peace and quiet before another family moved in. I now wake up to the off-key singing of a videoke performer-wannabe belting out ballads for my exclusive torture, or to a blaring morning radio program, or to hard pounding music, depending on their fancy. But sometimes, I get lucky and wake up only to the wondrous sound of their squealing pigs!

Then I retire in the evenings to the nauseating smell from their pigsty, delivered directly into our windows by even the gentlest of breeze! And in between those … heart pounding moments as FIRECRACKERS! - the kind people use in the New Year - startle everyone with sudden explosive bangs at any time day or night!

The firecrackers take only seconds to break the silence, but the raucous they create when our dogs start a barking frenzy takes a good ten to fifteen minutes to end! Sometimes, it happens while I’m in the middle of my nap! Wouldn’t this make you want to wring somebody’s neck?

I’ve tried to be nice and civil through all these. I’ve visited them twice: first, to politely request that they clean their sty regularly, and second, to inform them that we could barely hear each other talk from all the singing that’s coming from their side! It took me supreme effort not to say exactly what I had in mind!

Am I regretting our choice of neighborhood then? It is rather too late to dwell on that at this point. All I can do now is dream of buying that lot just to rid us of these annoyances. Of course, that could only happen if we’d win the lotto so I’d better start betting now.

So, if you should see me queuing up near Bian Yek, you’ll know why.

Regrets As Goodbyes Draw Closer

When my father came to Dumaguete to visit, our battle of wills resumed with a vengeance. For this column today, I planned to grumble about the difficulties we encounter as our parents grow older and more sick, about how bullheaded they become and how they refuse to listen to reason and simply go about their obstinate ways.

From what I hear, this seems to be a common problem with aging parents – and we always hear the complaint: “ang hirap magpalaki ng mga magulang.”

But that changed because of a sudden turn of events. Let me explain.

My father has cirrhosis of the liver, diabetes, arthritis, stomach ulcers, and his latest shocker: he has liquid in his lungs causing him to have bouts of breathlessness. Watching this painful struggle for air tore my guts out, but I still resented him for having brought all these to himself.

You see, Daddy used to be a heavy smoker and drinker. When liver cirrhosis finally caught up with him, it didn’t come as a surprise. After trying in vain for years to make him stop drinking, I somehow expected this disease sooner or later.

He stopped drinking after that – but his smoking continued. In exasperation, I asked him what would make him stop? Lung cancer? Hurtful words said in anger and frustration … little did I know how true they would become.

I could not bear the sight of my father chasing his every breath so I took him to the doctor, wanting to know if a procedure could be performed on what he told me was liquid in his lungs.

X-ray and CT scan revealed a solid mass around seven inches long, 3 inches wide and 3 inches thick. It is so massive it practically covered the upper half of his left lung.

The sentence has been handed down: death in a matter of months. Past excesses finally caught up with him, and Daddy will be paying with his life. At 64 years, he is too young to be leaving us.

I am angry with him for wasting his life away. I want to thrash at him for refusing to listen to all the warnings. I want to shout at him: “Look! You’ll be leaving behind young daughters without a father. You had bartered your time away for a puff and a drink! Are they worth it now?”

Yes, I’m very angry with Daddy, but I am also filled with overwhelming sorrow. Daddy, how can you leave us this soon? Why were you so weak? Why didn’t you fight your addictions before … for your children’s sake? Now you will have to leave us and we’ll be left without our father.

I am pouring my heart out as I write not because I want any sympathy. But I do want to share the following thoughts:

1. Whether we like it or not, our excesses will eventually catch up with us; that for the sake of those we hold dear, it is high time we clean up our act.

How?

Go easy on alcohol;

Quit smoking (imagine your child’s face as you do);

Cut back on your sweets … forget coke with every meal – if you have to, reserve it as a well-deserved treat maybe twice a week?

Also, it wont hurt to put some distance between you and too much humba.


2. Anybody can get the same diseases that my father has. No one will be spared.


3. Don’t be like me. I am facing the eventuality of my father’s death with every kind of regret in my heart: regret for not having loved him enough; regret for not having had enough love to be patient and forgiving of his weakness. I regret all the angry words I uttered to him. I regret not having called him or spent time with him more often. I regret not having showed him my deep love and making him understand that it’s because of that love that I got so angry with him at times.

Our parents can make us feel the most tender of emotions and make us roll our eyes and shake our heads in exasperation at the same time.

They can also ran our patience dry with their obstinacy, or make us want to stump the ground with our feet in total frustration – especially when they start saying: “anak ra ka ….”

But whatever our relationship with them may be now, love and respect are always there. Let’s make the most of that while we still have them. Their time with us will not stretch forever. So let’s give that hug, or whisper I love you or a simple thank you, pick up the phone and talk about nothing, show that you care … don’t wait until the last minute … do what you can now, so you won’t have to look back with regrets later on.

As for me, I have a lot of catching up to do …

Are We Parents Ready for Sex Education?

“Sex education is a responsibility of the parents – not of the teachers.” Reading this statement by Vice-Mayor Ablong (Quotables, November 5, 2006) made me wonder: are we parents ready for sex education?

Assuming that we recognize the need for this, are we cool enough to talk the no-nonsense talk about sex with our teens?

We may be able to crack green jokes with our friends … but doing “the talk” with our kids? As far as one friend is concerned, it is an entirely different matter! I asked if she’s had this discussion with her grown daughter. Her look of utter horror was answer enough.

I know of another mother who freaked out when her first grader asked what the word “sex” meant. Although totally unprepared, she was at least quick enough to think of a suitable answer: it referred to male and female.

How about from the perspective of the teenagers? Would they be comfortable enough to listen and ask questions from a parent with full intention to learn? Try imagining yourself as the curious teenager in that situation: would you dare ask mom or dad as openly as you would probably ask another person?

Most Filipino parents are still uncomfortable discussing sex with their children. The mere suggestion can make even the most modern and/or educated parent cringe.

However, whether we like it or not, and whether we’d take an active role in their education or not, sooner or later, our children are bound to learn about sex. I personally believe that it would be best for my child to learn from me rather than from sources that leave much to be desired.

To illustrate, my friend’s 10-year old son recently announced that he would make love to a woman when he is 15 years old! Freaked reactions came gushing out at the thought of a 10-year old having these thoughts or having discussions of this sort with his classmates. One can only wonder at what grade four boys talk about nowadays!

Supposing then that we are able to overcome our anxieties and decide to bravely take on the job, shouldn’t we still ask ourselves: are we capable of handling our children’s sex education? Do we know enough?

A mere “been there, done that” in our resume will not, by any measure, make us qualified instructors. Sex education does not consist of the actual act alone. There are deeper and more important aspects to this subject.

Take for starters the process of conception. How many among us know exactly what goes on inside the body after the sexual act is culminated? Do we have a working knowledge on proper timing and the series of events that could lead to pregnancy?

If we parents have to handle our children’s sex education ourselves, we should at least have this information at hand. Knowing how today’s teenagers are, a mere warning that sex can lead to pregnancy is no longer enough. If we are to expect them to listen and heed our words of caution, we need to make them understand the hows and whys. And for this, each parent has to be prepared.

But how prepared are we?

It is my contention that we parents should get our sex education first before we even dare contemplate handling that of our children’s. What exactly do we know anyway? We have experience, sure. But how many among us actually took the time to pick up a book on this matter simply because we wanted to know or as preparation for “the talk”?

The sad reality is that parents, in general, no matter how educated they may be, are simply too unprepared for this job! Take me, for instance. I am fairly well educated in the sense that I have two degrees under my belt, but this did not in any way prepare me on this subject.

Until my late twenties, I didn’t have a clue about what goes on inside me. My menstruation came and went and that was it! The total extent of what I knew then was that I could get pregnant the moment I started having my period. Naturally, I assumed that I’d get right to having babies after I got married! I took an active interest only when I discovered my infertility problem.

And I’m not alone in this. People I know, most of whom are mothers, are clueless on such matters as fertile periods, ovulation, fertilization, etc. Most women take these for granted. Based on my own experience, only women with infertility problems and desperate to have babies make the effort to understand the reproductive process. Those who are not as unlucky take this miracle as a matter of course … it just happens, part of being alive, just like breathing.

Another aspect of sex education concerns sexually transmitted diseases. If we are to put the fear of God in their hearts, we should at least know what these are, how they could be contracted, and what exactly it could do to their bodies! Corollary to this comes the need to teach teens about protection. Do we know of any other method in addition to abstinence and condoms?

How about contraception? Do we know enough about this subject? Incidentally, are we willing to teach our daughters how to have sex safely and responsibly?

There are also moral, religious, spiritual, and social aspects that are equally, if not more important than basic knowledge of the birds and the bees. Can we carry on an informative discussion based merely on what we actually know?

How can we impress upon our sons and daughters the responsibility that comes along with sex? How do we warn them of the evils of unwanted pregnancy? Can we still instill the values of purity and abstinence amidst the sexual images that bombard them from all sides?

Shall we opt for the traditional “God-will-punish-you-if-you-have-sex” method? Realistically speaking, this strategy simply does not work anymore. Nor does it make sense to teens these days. In fact, many young adults simply cannot understand why they have to wait for marriage before engaging in sex. In this modern day setting, we’ll be hard put to find a virgin bride!

To the questions that I posed, the reader may answer: I can always learn. Indeed, if we believe that there is need for sex education, we can always scour the internet or devour every book on the subject.

But then, we cannot just assume that every parent out there is equipped with this capability. Lest we forget, there are more people, particularly in rural areas, who have had minimal education, and whose total knowledge can be summed up in these few words: doing it sometimes lead to pregnancy, sometimes not. Can we reasonably expect them to handle their own children’s sex education? Wouldn’t it result to one vicious cycle that goes on and on?

I believe that sex education should be introduced in the high school curriculum. I also believe that parents should become equally involved. There should be no more disagreement as to who should take this responsibility. After all, we are talking here of what is best for all of this country’s children – and this alone should be sufficient reason for everyone to start working together as one.

Loosening the Leash

Doing the Parental Balancing Act

We love our children. There is no question about that. We do our best to ensure their safety and to keep them away from all harm.

But this question is begging to be asked: when does care and caution become too much? and when is there too little?



I do not have the faintest idea.

I wish that there is a school for parents where quick answers could be had.

I wish that there are tried and tested formulae for raising our children.

The best we could do, I guess, is play everything by ear, seek the advise of those who have traveled the same road before, trust our instincts, and pray, pray, pray …


Just like any other parent, my life revolves around my child. I look after her welfare, plan for her future, keep her safe from danger. To do the latter, my instinct is to hold on tightly, keep her close, and steer her away from anything that is remotely threatening.

But then again, I have to ask: when does it become too much? At what point will my love start to smother my child and stifle her spirit and zest for life?





By wanting to keep her out of harm’s way, am I instead preventing her from living life as it should be lived? at whatever stage she may be at the moment?

But what if she wanted to try something risky? Will I let her do it simply because I want her to get a full taste of life? What if by doing so, I am instead allowing my precious child to be exposed to unnecessary risks?

I am constantly being confronted by this dilemma.

How can I strike a careful balance?

How far should I let go while still keeping her close?

During the Buglasan Festival, I allowed her some slack. Although feeling faint as I watched her climb up the ladder to try the Swing for Life, my heart swelled with pride. She showed me that she has courage. My beloved whirlwind is not scared of the unknown and is willing to take on anything new with complete self-assurance and confidence.

Never once did she looked back to her mother ... never did she showed any need for my encouragement. All that she needed to know was that it was ok with Mama ... and off she went!!!

This is kind of sad, but on the other hand, with the qualities that she displayed, I am confident that my baby can take on whatever life will throw at her with a stride.






Abby loved the swing and could not get enough of it. Am I happy for her? Absolutely!

Am I still scared? I will always fear for her.

But all I could do really is place my complete faith in God and trust that He is always sending His angels to keep my baby safe.

After all, Abby does have a sister in heaven, doesn’t she? And with her own personal angel watching over her, what could go wrong?

Maia, please look after your Ate. Mama is loosening the leash ... a bit!

Dressing Up for Trick or Treat!

The children of Southdale look forward to Trick or Treat Day!

Abby was no exception, of course! Soon after trick or treat ended last year, she started planning what she wanted to be the following year - and spent the next 12 months jumping from one idea to another - princess, vampiress, doctor, she-devil, fairy, princess again, scientist, zombie, ballerina, witch, princess ... got the idea?

Most of the parents were as excited as their children and actually took the time to buy them fabulous (not to mention, expensive!) costumes. Almost all preschool parents dove head-first with enthusiasm, particularly the young or the first-time moms and dads.

But there were also those (including me) whose excitement was tempered with dread over the inevitable EXPENSES! But still excited, kind of!

It seems that the older their children got, or the more children they have, the less enthusiastic some parents became. Whatever . . .

Since Abby could not decide what she wanted to be ... and since I was unwilling to spend money on costume that would be discarded soon after anyway ... I just borrowed Carla's old costume from Chedette - a Greek Goddess' gown - and as you can see from Abby's pose, she's having a blast dressing up ... I told her she was Hera, the queen of the gods of Mt. Olympus! Another parent teased me that she was Aphrodite - Goddess of Love - I said no no no! My baby's still too young ... don't you give her those ideas!

Abby loved the idea of being the queen. She told everyone that she was a GODDESS QUEEN! and that as such, she was the most powerful of all, even more powerful than the vampires and witches!

At least I got through the day with only the euphorbia flowers on her head as biggest casualties. Thanks to Chedette, my wallet got spared!





That's Abby with Nicole (in black attire) and Dom (as pirate).

Dom is Abby's ex-best friend. They recently had an amicable agreement not to be best friends anymore! They've been classmates since they were three years old and have been together for almost four years now. Both girls have strong personalities and very assertive with their ideas. No wonder they've been arguing since Day 1 - although they still managed to call each other best friends, until now. I hope they'll fix their differences eventually. As I recall, their teacher used to call them best friends-worst enemies! At least, they are still calling each other on the phone!

The Wizardess is Carla. She won the Best Costume Award for Lower School children.

The entire Grade One class: Matt-Matt as Tomcat, Nicole, Dom, Abby, Count "Raffy" Dracula, and Gabby the Ninja!

This time with Jeina as the Corpse Bride. This girl knows how to project! She got the Best Costume award for Middle School.

I wonder who gets the most fun whenever parents would dress up their children?

The children themselves?

How about the parents who went around competing for the best positions while toting cameras and videocams - with hearts gushing pure pride and joy?

We were all winners, no doubt about that. But the real winners were the entrepreneurs who made money from events such as this one.

By the way, my wallet wasn't really totally spared. I still had to spend for the treats that we gave around.

But who cares? We all had fun. And that's what really matters.

For Pau

My joy, more precious than my life itself. The little one is Powpee. She makes my heart happy too!

Hi Pau,

Thank you so much for sharing "The Secret" with me. I will try to look it up, but I am not very optimistic. I'm only on dial-up. I tried viewing videos before but it kept becoming hanged (is that the right term?). Anyways, I will still have a look-see.

I've been to your blog and read about ML. Hey, I hope you won't mind my taking the liberty to comment that ML is a treacherous friend. You are better off without this "friend".

There is always that possibility that the benefits it brings will turn against you later on. I hope that you will never get to that point Pau, but whether you like it or not, the risks are always present.

Both my parents are bosom bodies of ML too and now, they are paying for that friendship:(

I wish that you won't allow yourself to despair too much, but I guess that you have too much of that artist's soul within you - you experience life at a certain pace and level and with an intensity that most of us boring individuals can only marvel at.

I am your typical goat - much too level-headed and pragmatic (in other words - boring) and too shallow to be ever capable of sinking to the depths or rising to the heights that I know you are accustomed to.

If the amusement park can be equated with how we live our lives, you take the crazy roller coaster ride while I can be found in the placid lake calmly rowing my sturdy little boat.

Of course I have my own depths that to me are already the deepest of the deep, but that won't compare to how you perceive your own depths!

What you said about the universe conspiring in our behalf? I believe that too.

For whatever it's worth, I'd like to share some of my thoughts and convictions with you - I believe that we have a God and that He has a grand scheme for each and all of us. We are like pieces of a puzzle and each of our lives are designed to fit into that puzzle to complete that grand plan.

In the same way, each little event in our lives lead to another - there is a reason for everything, a purpose that has to be fulfilled.

But this is where I become confused. Do we have a choice in all these? I hope so. After all, God did give us free will.

I'd like to believe that we have choices as to which paths we'd take, rather than traverse one that has already been laid for us, regardless of whether we like it or not.

So where does the grand plan fit in this? I am not sure but maybe, just maybe, that plan, purpose, or reason is just up ahead - but do we reach it or not? Maybe it would all depend on the choices we make - if we choose to take a path that leads us away from it, God will lay out more choices for us to make, hoping that in the end - we would make that choice that will finally lead us where He desires us to be.

I hope that you will finally find that one thing that will keep your life in track Pau.

For me, it is easy - but of course, we know that nothing ever applies to everyone - but my family, my husband and most especially my daughter Abby, keep me going and they give me great joy! :)

I hope that you will find yours too.

A Little of Me in Everyone

I am your archetypal housewife ... notably well fed... queen of my home, at my most element in my kitchen! Nothing much ever takes place in my life, where the same routine happens day after day.

But since I had a miscarriage, changes started coming. Among these was the opportunity to write a column from the perspective of a homemaker!

This was totally unexpected! This honor is usually open only to certified writers, celebrated achievers, or distinguished members of society. For an unknown homemaker to contemplate joining this rank, much less actually do it, was very daunting, and believe me, it took a lot of false bravado on my part.

I took courage from the confidence given by Alex and Irma Faith Pal, and from the support and encouragement of one very special lady, Muffet Villegas Dolar. She was with me from the beginning and through her, I finally believed that I could pull this off.

Until now, I still toy with the idea of this being part of God's grand plan for me. Maybe, He wants me to do something else with my life, something more than what I am now, a simple housewife and mother...

Trying to comprehend the ways of the Lord can be mind-boggling! Try looking at it from my perspective:

"Alright, Lord, so You sent trials to get me out of my little world. You opened doors for me. Maybe You want me to do something more? Like writing a column? Sure, no problem ... but a column about wives and mothers? ... what??? I thought I was supposed to do something bigger than what I am now? And that "bigger" thingy is writing about exactly who and what I am now...? This is really confusing.”

Those were my exact sentiments when I started this column! If not for the fact that I was already on the floor when Irma and I were talking, I would have fallen off my seat when she came up with this idea! “What??? What am I going to write about?” I told her the homemaker’s world is very small … children, school, groceries, bills … what else is there?

In fact, when I told my husband that I would not be writing anymore, and before I could explain that MetroPost was going to stop circulating, he interrupted by saying, “Why? Have you ran out of topics already?”

But I soon discovered that there’s so much to write about and it’s very gratifying having friends and acquaintances come up to me, and tell me that they follow my column or that they could identify with my sentiments.

I realized that it’s probably because I’m the essential woman, wife and mother. There is a little of me in every reader out there.

When I wrote about my failure to shed my fats, women empathized because most of us share this problem! When I wrote about my social naiveté, hey, we've all had embarrassing moments, right? Or when I lamented about how I missed my husband… well, people do miss their spouses every now and then, don't they?

But more than anything else, I write about what is closest and dearest to our hearts: family, and most especially, our children. I write about our fears for their safety, or our dreams and aspirations for their future. And what mother or father could not identify with that?

Indeed, the wife and mother’s world is small, but in its smallness, it encompasses the world, for it holds at its center the reason why mankind has progressed this far – and it's those invisible bonds that hold us and our families together.

Battle with the Bulge

That's Chedette - CAUGHT IN THE ACT! As crazy as I am over sweets! (I hope that she will forgive me for posting this picture!)

My friends Maru and Chedette with Gabby and Guia during our PLAY/EAT DATE where the children played and the mothers ate!


Eons ago, I had a 25-inch waistline and a head-turning coca-cola body!

Nowadays, I still managed to maintain that "coca-cola" body!

Sadly though, it’s now coke in cans!

I can always blame motherhood for that. After all, I was in full bedrest during my entire pregnancy. And what does one do if one has to stay in bed all the time for nine months? Eat, sleep, watch TV, eat, sleep … (and don't forget the time-worn, ever-effective excuse ... "I am eating for two now ...")

Or I can blame my having Polycystic Ovaries Syndrome. It is a condition of infertility and women with PCOS are typically “well-rounded”.

But the blame really lies on me alone and my enthusiasm for food and sweets! I tried to fight by sticking mostly to fish and vegetables and not keeping anything remotely palatable at home. Being on a seefood (when-I-see-food-I-eat) diet, I thought that keeping away the temptations would help. But I still ballooned to 160 pounds even with only occasional binging during parties and fiestas.

Funny how we never seem to notice how BIG we’ve really become! Of course, we know that we’ve gained weight or have gotten fat, but we never seem to realize how fat we have become until we see our pictures! It always comes as a shock to me – “am I really that big already?”

I did the South Beach Diet once and actually lost 15 pounds! But it’s a very difficult diet to stick to, particularly for somebody with an ongoing love affair with desserts!

I also tried the pastrami diet with my cake-eating soulmate, Chedette! It was absolutely crazy! We were supposed to eat nothing except one very thin slice of pastrami, sandwiched by two slices of cereal bread for lunch and dinner. I didn’t last long.

I will never forget becoming bathed in cold sweat as I trembled from hunger, or how I combated my hunger pangs by drowning myself with coffee! Oh! how we suffered! But we really suffered for nothing as we succumbed to almost every temptation that came our way. We were too weak to say no. It was hilarious how we used to text each other, starting with … “forgive me for I have sinned …”

I realized the more we deprived ourselves of the food we love, the more intense our cravings became. Whenever we’d go on a diet, we seem to think of nothing else except food!

Chedette and I often wondered at how Maru (who is a Muslim) could bear not to have any food or drink FROM SUNRISE UP TO SUNDOWN – FOR 30 DAYS during Ramadan! One time, we jokingly told Maru and we could never convert to Islam, not because we have anything against this faith – but simply because … yes, you guessed it!!! --- Ramadan.

We’d both make very miserable Muslim girls … and as our imagination got worked up, we thought of how we’d be discovered – caught in the act of cheating – while eating under the bed during Ramadan – and eating “humba” at that!

We also tried the Carbo Lovers' Diet. It is very simple and easy to stick to. We have 3 full meals each day, right? Well, we can choose any 2 meals where we eat according to the principles of the South Beach Diet. The third meal is to be our "reward meal", where, for one hour from the time we start the meal, we can eat absolutely anything and everything under the sun!

This is a great idea and another friend Maru swore that it really works! The beauty here is that we are not deprived of our favorites. We have that one meal each day to look forward to, where for instance, that ice cream that we have been craving for, could finally be had!

Another beauty is that the Carbo Lovers' Diet is very flexible! What if you were invited to this feast that you simply must go to - BUT, it's for dinner!! and your reward meal is lunch!!! No problem ... you can switch for that day ... do the South Beach during lunchtime, and reward yourself by binging at dinnertime! But remember -- one hour only. (There is an explanation for this but it is too technical and complicated for me to narrate here.)

I was happy with this diet and I think I can stick to this and actually make it my lifestyle. However, I realized that as far I was concerned, this is good only for maintaining my desired weight once I have reached it, but not while I still want to keep losing more.

So I decided to abandon it momentarily, aim for my goal, and once it is reached, resume the Carbo Lovers' (or is it Addicts') Diet.

Presently, Chedette and I are struggling with Phase 1 of the South Beach Diet (again!). We are actually doing the cha-cha, where we stayed good girls for one week and lose about 5 pounds, let go of all control the following week, then struggle back the next!

I suppose it is more difficult for working moms who have to contend with all the temptations in their workplaces, from vendors lugging goodies along to officemates bringing fiesta leftovers!

At least, stay-at-home moms like Chedette and I can choose to bar yummy food from our homes. The operative word though is “choose”, because weak-willed as we are, we easily yield to our cravings, throw our resolves into the wind, and actively seek our hearts’ desires.

Oh well … here’s to all of us who have not given up yet! Can we ask the powers that be to help us by banning fiestas all over Oriental Negros?

By the way, we did consider exercise! We will get to that, maybe after losing about 10 pounds … or maybe not … takes too much effort … bad lazy me!

STUPID, STUPID CHILDREN!

Arghhh!!!

If only I could throw you across my lap and spank your butts until they’re blue and black, I would!!! Oh stupid children, do you have to make you own mistakes before you will learn your lessons?

I am speaking to you Jimmy Jun, Jay, Japhet, John Robert, Akoi, and Gabriel – all of you who answered in the negative when asked whether we should be wearing helmets or not when riding our motorcycles. (Vox Populi, Metropost, October 1-7, 2006 issue)

Jimmy Jun, you said that you have been driving around Dumaguete for five years without a helmet, and have never encountered any problem, so why change the way things are?

My dear child, not having had any accident in the last five years does not mean that you have some sort of invisible shield around you, protecting you from all those “horrible” things that we older people seem to be scared of!

Jay, you said that we don’t have to wear a helmet because it makes us look ugly. Gabriel basically said the same thing, that helmets will lessen the beauty of fashion and style.

Oh, c’mon guys! Think how ugly you would really look if, God forbid, your faces would be scarred forever after a “minor” mishap. And I wonder how you could parade around in the latest fashion and style with a broken leg or two? Or how about if you would get your heads smashed and live to tell about it? But then, you would be confined in a wheelchair and tell your story in barely discernable speech, with saliva uncontrollably dripping down one side of your mouth. Now that’s a pretty sight!

John Robert, you made a valid observation about the helmet making it difficult for the driver to look on either side. It is difficult, yes, but not impossible. And you think that we do not really need helmets and that it is up for us to be more careful when driving.

Akoi, are you sure that accidents happen only when you drive fast?

Let me tell this to both of you. I am probably one of the most careful drivers there is. Why? Because I am painfully aware that I could lose my life anytime due to a million causes, including a vehicular accident. But I could not die yet. I must continue to live because I still have a six-year old daughter and I can’t have her growing up without her mother. That is why I am always careful.

But you know what? I still went down in my motorcycle while going at about 20 km/h. Preposterous? Not at all. The back of my motorcycle was nudged by a motorcab, and down I went! I escaped with just bruised knees and palms.

The point that I am trying to make is that no matter how careful you are, there will always be someone else out there who is not as careful as you are! And that somebody can crash into and maim or kill even the most careful driver in the world!

Do yourself a favor John and leave your youthful sense of invincibility behind. Face the scary reality that even the best driver is NOT SAFE from the really bad ones.

Akoi, take note of this: I was driving slow and so was the motorcab driver because we were both trying to inch our way out of a traffic jam at that time. But I still went down because of that slight bump.

I think most drivers still consider 40km/h slow. Can you imagine what would have happened if both of us had been going at 40km/h? I am not sure of this but wouldn’t that make the force of collision equivalent to 80 km/h? Can you imagine if I, or you, were thrown from the motorcycle at that speed?

If you had been following this column, you would know that a crash at 40km/h has the same impact as falling from a two-storey building into concrete.

Imagine, young Akoi, what it would be like to fall from a four-storey building into cemented ground. Ouch!

Finally, we get to Japhet whom I saved for last. Can I give you a hug? If I had a child when I was seventeen, he or she would be just your age by now. I prefer to hug you, as a mom would, rather than give vent to my strong urge to shake you until you are senseless!! Grrrr ...

Do you really believe that there is no need for helmets because we all drive slowly in Dumaguete anyway?

My child, where have you been lately? Haven’t you seen what’s REALLY happening in our streets? Haven’t you seen those crazy drivers zooming around as if racing in their own private racetracks, or zigzagging between the cars and motorcabs like seasoned stuntmen?
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Or ever notice how reckless even the most mature-looking drivers become as soon as the rain would start falling? I call it the “mad dash” to the nearest shelter. I always send a silent prayer every time I would see these people, especially when their children are with them. I pray that they find shelter and not disaster.

But I may be asking you the wrong questions Japhet. Should I be asking instead – how fast is fast for you? If you think that 50km/h is still slow and that 80km/h is what’s really fast, then we are in great trouble here.

But really, Japhet, you are seriously mistaken. Dumaguete drivers are not saints. They do drive fast, really fast. And it is not just the young adults like you who do that. I have seen older men and women, and that makes it even worse, because these people are supposed to know better.

But I guess, young or old, we can all be blamed for thinking that we are invincible or untouchable. A very basic understanding of human nature will tell us that anyone can fall prey to the mistaken belief that bad things can happen only to the next guy, but never to us or our loved ones. How stupid of us!

This line of thought brings to mind one episode of CSI Miami where recovering alcoholics or people who were apprehended for drunk driving, were taken to the morgue to view the battered corpses of drunk drivers or of their victims. This was intended to impress into their fogged minds how easily death could come to them or to others as a consequence of their drunken acts.

I will probably get stoned, not only for contemplating this thought but for writing about this, but I am wondering if seeing a bloody head, or brain spilling out of a cracked skull, or broken and dismembered limbs scattered about, would make our children think twice before rejecting helmets, or before speeding around in their motorcycles?

This is extreme but I think that this is a preferable option compared to the risk of seeing them learn their lessons the hard way.

But how I wish that there could be gentler ways of knocking some sense into their heads and that we don’t have to pound their young minds into realizing that what had happened to others could happen to them as well.

Suggestions, anyone? But no stones, please!

Capri Pants and the PPO

I watched the concert of the Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra at the Sofia Soller Sinco Hall in Foundation University last September 28, 2006.

Am I into classical music then? Yes and no. I am not that passionate over classical music but we do have a nodding acquaintance with each other.

By that, I mean that I can name a few of the biggest composers, just don’t make me match the geniuses’ names to that of their creations. Honestly, except for Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 and Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5, there is no telling for me who composed which masterpiece.

But I do enjoy classical music. I had a collection of the popular classics once and even used to listen to a station in Manila that played it. When Abby was an infant, we had a speaker right inside her crib playing Mozart. I read somewhere that early exposure to his music is supposed to make babies brighter.

But I am limited to the light classics. There are others that are simply too incomprehensible to me. This happens when all of the instruments seem to go off together and I am left wondering where the melody has gone.

I have always wanted to watch a live performance. I looked forward to the PPO concert and could hardly wait for the day to come. The evening started with high anticipation, but horror of horrors!!! The sight of ladies in their resplendent evening dresses greeted us when we entered Foundation University!!!

My friend LB and I turned to each other with looks of terror and with mouths agape, surveyed each other’s attire. Oh yes, us two barrio lasses came in shirts and Capri pants!

We met Ms. Lele Martinez on our way in and all I could do was whine… “but they didn’t say it was a gala performance …..”, as if it could actually excuse our ignorance! A friend told me later on, “ikaw naman, PPO na yan no?” what could I say to that? nothing, except admit, “paano kasi, wala akong culture!”

What was I thinking of? Where did my brains go that night? As shameful as it is to admit, but the thought of dressing up for the concert never occurred to me. But on the other hand, even if it had, what could I have worn? I am basically a pants-shorts-and-shirts person and have absolutely nothing that could even remotely pass for evening attire.

It is quite amusing actually, thinking back of how LB and I cringed our way into Sofia Soller Sinco Hall, literally hunching our shoulders and wishing we could will ourselves into invisibility!

But all that was forgotten once the concert started. I was transfixed as I listened to the music and watched Maestro Eugene Fredrick Castillo conduct with what could only be described as pure passion.

I admit the selections that were played were unknown to me. I would have enjoyed the concert more if I had been listening to familiar pieces. There were times when I felt lost in the cacophony of sounds and I strove to find my way back by listening closely for the beautiful melodies created by the violins.

I think that the general audience shared my sentiments. I drew this conclusion from the almost tentative and lukewarm response to Beethoven’s and Schubert's music.

Matud Nila was actually received more spiritedly and the audience really came alive during the encore performance with the Sound of Music medley.

I guess that most people in the audience are basically like me. We appreciate classical music but not to the exclusion of other forms of music. We tend to respond with greater enthusiasm to classical pieces which are already known to us, or which are more familiar to our ears. We are not ready for the “heavier” classics yet.

My wish is for PPO to keep coming to Dumaguete and to include light classics in their repertoire. As Maestro Castillo said, “give classical music a chance”.

Oh yes, I’m all for that, but please start me off with the not-so-overwhelming-ones first! We can tackle the heavier pieces later on. But then again, that is only my personal wish!

Lunches at Southdale

I don’t think there was ever any meal in the last six years where I have not barked at my daughter to “EAT QUICKLY!” Not only has she perfected the two-hour meal, she actually elevated it into an art form!

And not only that, she is an infuriatingly picky eater. Our household survives primarily on fish and vegetables. But my opinionated daughter has long declared that fish is stinky and vegetable is yucky, hence an absolute “ewwwww!”. Believe me, short of starving her for two days so she would gobble up whatever is given to her, I have tried every trick in the book to no avail.

She seemed hopeless until she started eating her lunch at school. I was pleasantly surprised when her eating pace improved considerably. Let me qualify though. While Abby is indeed eating faster now, she is still almost always the last one to finish.

I suspect that she is bent on winning the trophy in the slow eaters’ category. Her closest rival for this honor is her school friend, Carla. Together, these two adorable girls effortlessly dried up their mothers’ supposedly ever-flowing springs of patience almost on a daily basis.

Other than that, lunches at Southdale are quite fun actually. The children either bring their meals to school or get them at lunchtime. It is a busy, noisy hour where younger children interact with those in the upper grades. They often dig into each other’s food and Abby’s soup has become everybody’s favorite. One can almost see the other girls craning their necks to see what her soup would be for that day.

Parents who are pressed for time often bought from Jollibee. Here is where some of us got into trouble with Teacher Maru, the school directress. Soda is not allowed in Southdale. Watching her check if the children were given softdrinks is very amusing. I got caught once. What could I say? except exclaim, “oh my gosh, I forgot! Soriiii!!!”

One pleasing outcome from our lunches at Southdale is seeing my daughter get her first lesson about individual differences. I can never forget the wide-eyed look on her face when the realization hit her. “Ate Jeina does not eat pork?!” Her utter look of disbelief was a classic!

It started when Abby urged Jeina to try her food and we had to explain that Jeina is a Muslim and does not eat pork. When Jeina’s mom approached the table, Abby turned to her and in her most authoritative tone, offered serious advice, “you know what, Teacher Maru? You should pray at our church because you will be allowed to eat pork there!” She was absolutely adorable as her young mind struggled to comprehend how people could bear not to eat the oh-so-yummy pork!

But she learned a valuable lesson that day, one that I hope will help shape her into the kind of person who will be respectful and tolerant, rather than be critical, of those who do not share her own beliefs and convictions.

I am glad that I decided to let Abby eat her lunch at school. I hesitated at first, but the decision was made for me when I learned that there was going to be a naptime for all the children after lunch. This is one great practice in Southdale and I welcomed this as an opportunity for my baby to get rejuvenated after being bombarded with the morning’s lessons.

Altogether, the lunches at Southdale sometimes translated into a learning experience for each child, be it in observing fine manners, social interaction, sharing, or respecting individual differences and boundaries. It is very gratifying to see the lunch area doubling as a classroom that prepares young children for the real world that is waiting beyond their school gates.