Taking off from my previous entry, here’s my guest list for the dinner that I will host for everyday people in my life.
1. I don’t see much of her anymore in the entrance lobby, but this lady guard gives me special treatment every time I enter the building where my gym is. Unlike the others whose bags she would painstakingly scrutinize, she would accord me the most gracious welcome, much like the express check-in for first class passengers. She never checks my bag and, what’s more, she would engage me in brief happy talk all the time. And so, I will ask her to join me for dinner as my way of formally introducing myself. It’s funny, but we both don’t know each other’s name, however, that didn’t stop us from being nice and being friends. That’s exactly the statement I’d like to make with my invitation: That it doesn’t take so much effort to be friendly, but its rewards bountiful.
2. You will not miss Mang Andy when you go into the barbershop. Most of his hair is gray while some wait for a few more years to turn completely white. It is evident that all of his workmates there hold him in high regard. That’s probably why he’s stationed at the prime spot where it’s easy for him to be seen. Whenever I see him, I just park myself in the high chair and lull myself to sleep. He knows exactly how I like it done. But I won’t invite him for dinner to thank him for how he has managed to make me look human all this time, but for something more. I think Mang Andy deserves a tribute for a lifelong vocation of hardwork and selflessness. He has time and again narrated how he left Iloilo province when he was yet a minor to find work in Manila and establish his place in this world. Manila has seen him ripen to way past 60 years already. I will offer him a toast for a life meaningfully lived.
3. Lastly, I feel very strongly about inviting one saleslady from any of the many SM department store branches in Manila as a form of protest. For me, they represent the sad employment state in the country today. It’s not difficult to chance upon college graduates who, because of lack of job opportunities befitting their degrees as well as the need to stay alive, will swallow what’s left of their pride and work as salesladies or baggers. The harrowing experience doesn’t end there. Once they’re taken in, they suffer some more from lowly wages and depressing work conditions. For one, they are made to wear real short miniskirts as uniform not for aesthetics, but more as security precaution. It’d be difficult to shoplift and easier for the guard to do body search. And so, I will invite one of these ladies for dinner to provide a release for what otherwise would have been voiceless gripes that may build up inside her. So that the next day, when she reports to work, she feels a little better having been heard and appreciated and, more importantly, she will finally smile genuinely while attending to us.
10.20.2003
10.19.2003
Figures
That night was not pageant, but I was asked for three figures whom I would want to invite for dinner. I gamely answered Tom, Dick and Harry and that sent some people in the room snickering. Of course, I wasn't serious. I could have likewise readily uttered Ming-Fidel-Baby and, it would still be a joke.
I spent the next several hours pondering whom exactly merits my complete and undivided attention and interest, enough to send me into a frenzy of butterflies in the stomach and, if lucky, multiple orgasms without the slightest stimulation. I sort of caused myself stinging migraine trying to fit just three people in a cozy ambiance of good food and music. And so, I said, what the heck! Why don't I just have three dinners with different sets of people and theme, and topics of discussion.
Here's my list, as of today:
~ Historical people, Local version
1. I would like to find out from Kris Aquino's father how he would have played his role in the sickening and nauseating Kris-Joey affair. I'm sure he also has something to say to about the ugly and abysmal brand of broadcast journalism that ABS-CBN so wantonly displayed that time. But I will leave the KJ-Kris/Joey-Killjoy topic after a while and take on one that has given me the creeps for years already. I'll ask Ninoy, whatever happened to her sister Tessie, the senator? Was she born stupid or impeachment trials and senate sessions are special occasions?
2. With due respect to Lola Rosa, I'd also want her company over dinner. For those unfamiliar, Lola Rosa was the first Filipina who publicly rose and made known the atrocities done by Japanese soldiers to countless young Filipino women during the war who were made sex slaves servicing the Japanese army. I won't dwell on the gory details of those many nights they were numbed by hundreds of take-turning uncut men who would devour them like playthings. For the entire evening, Lola Rosa and I will have intelligent and animated discussion on parenting styles of Filipino couples. Specifically, we will try to come up with a list of those ways of parenting done during her time which need serious re-thinking today. Intelligent and brave that she is, I am sure she will agree with me that just because we were born into a certain parenting style doesn't mean that we should embrace that as the rightful way to raise children. I will find a way for her to evaluate and validate my theory that our parents do not have the monopoly of knowledge when it comes to parenting. I wonder what she has to say.
3. And in order to have an air of youth and adventure, I'll probably work hard to have infamous terrorist leader Abu Sabaya partake dinner with us. Is he really --- well, --- gay? Since there were a number of beauty products, mostly for the face, found in his bag at the time of his death, does that spill the beans on him? Or is it, by any chance, KFR (kidnap for ransom), his main job, has become unattractive money-wise so he does door-to-door selling of beauty products to supplement his income? Or is their group Abu Sayyaf an ultra-conservative "bevy" of discreet gay men who roam around the place masquerading as terrorists? I'll surely rib Abu Sabaya and find out the real score between him and Janjalani. I'm sure he has some juicy details to leave us all in locked jaws.
Next list: ~ Everyday people
I spent the next several hours pondering whom exactly merits my complete and undivided attention and interest, enough to send me into a frenzy of butterflies in the stomach and, if lucky, multiple orgasms without the slightest stimulation. I sort of caused myself stinging migraine trying to fit just three people in a cozy ambiance of good food and music. And so, I said, what the heck! Why don't I just have three dinners with different sets of people and theme, and topics of discussion.
Here's my list, as of today:
~ Historical people, Local version
1. I would like to find out from Kris Aquino's father how he would have played his role in the sickening and nauseating Kris-Joey affair. I'm sure he also has something to say to about the ugly and abysmal brand of broadcast journalism that ABS-CBN so wantonly displayed that time. But I will leave the KJ-Kris/Joey-Killjoy topic after a while and take on one that has given me the creeps for years already. I'll ask Ninoy, whatever happened to her sister Tessie, the senator? Was she born stupid or impeachment trials and senate sessions are special occasions?
2. With due respect to Lola Rosa, I'd also want her company over dinner. For those unfamiliar, Lola Rosa was the first Filipina who publicly rose and made known the atrocities done by Japanese soldiers to countless young Filipino women during the war who were made sex slaves servicing the Japanese army. I won't dwell on the gory details of those many nights they were numbed by hundreds of take-turning uncut men who would devour them like playthings. For the entire evening, Lola Rosa and I will have intelligent and animated discussion on parenting styles of Filipino couples. Specifically, we will try to come up with a list of those ways of parenting done during her time which need serious re-thinking today. Intelligent and brave that she is, I am sure she will agree with me that just because we were born into a certain parenting style doesn't mean that we should embrace that as the rightful way to raise children. I will find a way for her to evaluate and validate my theory that our parents do not have the monopoly of knowledge when it comes to parenting. I wonder what she has to say.
3. And in order to have an air of youth and adventure, I'll probably work hard to have infamous terrorist leader Abu Sabaya partake dinner with us. Is he really --- well, --- gay? Since there were a number of beauty products, mostly for the face, found in his bag at the time of his death, does that spill the beans on him? Or is it, by any chance, KFR (kidnap for ransom), his main job, has become unattractive money-wise so he does door-to-door selling of beauty products to supplement his income? Or is their group Abu Sayyaf an ultra-conservative "bevy" of discreet gay men who roam around the place masquerading as terrorists? I'll surely rib Abu Sabaya and find out the real score between him and Janjalani. I'm sure he has some juicy details to leave us all in locked jaws.
Next list: ~ Everyday people
10.17.2003
Clingy couples
Whenever I see a girl cling to his boyfriend unashamedly in public, I smile. Sometimes, I actually say a little prayer for them wishing that all couples are like them. But those moments that I feel heavenly come far and scarce. There are more occasions now that the sight actually amuses me no end, sometimes even to the point where I wish that a toilet bowl suddenly falls from heaven so I can puke unashamedly to my heart's content and everyone gets thrown out of the room.
One of them happened earlier. The couple who sat beside me in the bar were just like all the other couples in the room -- young, employed, playful. If you look closer, however, you will witness that there's something awfully off. I started to play the eliminations game and tried to get rid off everything repulsive and hideous. That's when it became clear. I don't know if all girlfriends are like that, but she was so abnormally clingy to the boyfriend you'd mistake her for one of those vines you see in abandoned gardens trying so much to hold on to whatever it can otherwise it gets obliterated. From the face of the earth.
So while I was nursing my Diet Pepsi, I would smirk on and off while making sense of the clueless couple. I thought, if all couples in dear old Manila are like them, we'll probably embarrass Paris so much that they will meekly relinquish their title to us as the Romance Capital of the World. Or worse, we will hold the unnerving title as the Contortionists Capital of the World with women (mostly!) who have developed this extraordinary talent of disfiguring their forearms and fingers if only to flaunt they are not single (like everyone else I know) or to declare that they are beautiful and attractive since they now have men who appreciate their gift of cling-ing and contort-ing.
I hate myself, I should have asked if the guy was visually-impaired. That would have shut me up.
One of them happened earlier. The couple who sat beside me in the bar were just like all the other couples in the room -- young, employed, playful. If you look closer, however, you will witness that there's something awfully off. I started to play the eliminations game and tried to get rid off everything repulsive and hideous. That's when it became clear. I don't know if all girlfriends are like that, but she was so abnormally clingy to the boyfriend you'd mistake her for one of those vines you see in abandoned gardens trying so much to hold on to whatever it can otherwise it gets obliterated. From the face of the earth.
So while I was nursing my Diet Pepsi, I would smirk on and off while making sense of the clueless couple. I thought, if all couples in dear old Manila are like them, we'll probably embarrass Paris so much that they will meekly relinquish their title to us as the Romance Capital of the World. Or worse, we will hold the unnerving title as the Contortionists Capital of the World with women (mostly!) who have developed this extraordinary talent of disfiguring their forearms and fingers if only to flaunt they are not single (like everyone else I know) or to declare that they are beautiful and attractive since they now have men who appreciate their gift of cling-ing and contort-ing.
I hate myself, I should have asked if the guy was visually-impaired. That would have shut me up.
10.15.2003
Which one?
At this moment, I personally know of two mothers who are in deep anguish. Both have only one son. One lost his youngest child in an ugly car accident a few days ago; the other lost his eldest son, this time in a tragic misfortune of narrowness and bias. The younger son died instantly; the elder one continues to live but in constant fright and distress.
Who's living a better life now?
Who's living a better life now?
10.13.2003
Within reach
I was alone over lunch today and felt differently. Lunch by my lonesome is not supposed to intimidate me since this is something I have done over the years since college. But this was going to be my first lunch alone after so many weeks of always having somebody with me. My three lunch buddies are all unavailable: one is terribly sick, the two others are keeping vigil in the wake of close relatives who died last week.
I sat by the window and was ready for some quiet time. I savored every bite of the usual dimsum I would order, immediately finishing almost half of the tofu I generously drenched with ginger sauce. I wound my way to my favorite part, the chorizo, when, all of a sudden, it just fell off the siopao and rolled a few meters away from me on the floor. I didn't look again since I was kind of feeling bad about it.
On my way back to the office, I joined two ladies in the elevator who were conversing animatedly. The shorter girl, half-smilingly said, she finds it funny sometimes when the best part of our favorite food manages to slip through our fingers, almost all the time on the last bite.
I chuckled and thought, that just happened to me. And what's funnier, I've been thinking about that the whole time I was walking back to my building. But I was more thinking about how it has happened in our lives so often, sometimes even more frequently, than when we eat.
How many times have we come across a person whom we thought was going to be a great love partner when, all of a sudden, something happens and you just part ways. How many of us have lost their boyfriends and girlfriends without the slightest clue after spending years of their our lives with them. How many possible romances have been nipped in the bud just because of rigid and oftentimes impractical standards. How many happy marriages and couples have gone sour and died because love walked out and they didn't sense it.
I now wonder, do we have to lose love and special people to appreciate them?
I sat by the window and was ready for some quiet time. I savored every bite of the usual dimsum I would order, immediately finishing almost half of the tofu I generously drenched with ginger sauce. I wound my way to my favorite part, the chorizo, when, all of a sudden, it just fell off the siopao and rolled a few meters away from me on the floor. I didn't look again since I was kind of feeling bad about it.
On my way back to the office, I joined two ladies in the elevator who were conversing animatedly. The shorter girl, half-smilingly said, she finds it funny sometimes when the best part of our favorite food manages to slip through our fingers, almost all the time on the last bite.
I chuckled and thought, that just happened to me. And what's funnier, I've been thinking about that the whole time I was walking back to my building. But I was more thinking about how it has happened in our lives so often, sometimes even more frequently, than when we eat.
How many times have we come across a person whom we thought was going to be a great love partner when, all of a sudden, something happens and you just part ways. How many of us have lost their boyfriends and girlfriends without the slightest clue after spending years of their our lives with them. How many possible romances have been nipped in the bud just because of rigid and oftentimes impractical standards. How many happy marriages and couples have gone sour and died because love walked out and they didn't sense it.
I now wonder, do we have to lose love and special people to appreciate them?
10.12.2003
120 things about me
1. I like visiting houseware section in the department store.
2. I was born through the caesarian section.
3. I like and I follow the Buddhist teachings.
4. I need to smile more often.
5. I love discounts and discount stores.
6. But I hate buying items during sale.
7. I sometimes ask myself, “Am I complicated?”
8. I only order boneless chicken barbecue at Aristocrat’s.
9. Romantic dinners make me sigh.
10. I recycle gifts.
11. I am seasick sometimes.
12. I once was asleep for 16 continuous hours.
13. I drive motorcycles.
14. I smile in front of the mirror.
15. I have dimples on both cheeks.
16. I once received two-dozen roses.
17. I cry at happy endings.
18. I have stitched wound on my forehead.
19. I love classical music and the Latino beat.
20. The farthest I got to tattooing was henna.
21. I made a wooden ironing board as a high school practical arts project.
22. I know how to ride to bicycles.
23. I was once in a children’s choir.
24. I make good turbo chicken.
25. I know my parent’s love story.
26. I once sang in a wedding.
27. I was born on the 9th day of the 9th month.
28. I love re-arranging the furniture.
29. I am a wet-kisser.
30. I love hugging.
31. I get pedicures once a month.
32. I’m really shy.
33. I’m embarrassed to say no sometimes.
34. I listen to standards.
35. I once walked naked on the beach.
36. I’m a demanding customer.
37. I’m not afraid to show my affection in public.
38. I know how to do massage.
39. I love pasta.
40. I love the relaxing feeling of a cruise.
41. I read several books at a time.
42. I prefer doing lunch on first dates.
43. I grew up on Childcraft.
44. I’m a hopeless romantic.
45. I wear white ankle socks with rubber shoes.
46. I have never held a gun.
47. I still keep letters written to me as far as back as 13 years ago.
48. I taught Sunday school in college.
49. I like the sound of violin and cello.
50. I consider myself as an advocate.
51. I’m not into pop music.
52. I love watching weddings.
53. I’m a rightie.
54. I love cold weather.
55. I make a wish every time I see a shooting star.
56. I know how to play the guitar.
57. I wrote poetry in college.
58. I give people the benefit of the doubt.
59. I’m always hopeful.
60. I can’t draw.
61. I like doing grocery.
62. I think I kiss really well.
63. I still believe in love at first sight.
64. I live listening to all-male choirs.
65. I like Pepsi more than Coke.
66. I love earth colors.
67. I get rashes easily.
68. Banana’s my favorite fruit.
69. I love Wonder Woman.
70. I can sleep in the nude.
71. I can be very secretive about personal details.
72. I like to wet my lips.
73. I love promenades.
74. I watched myself cry before the mirror once.
75. I love dark chocolates.
76. I’m not a coffee person.
77. I like to describe myself as insightful.
78. I try to read the newspaper everyday.
79. I can start a conversation with a complete stranger.
80. I’m a good events organizer.
81. I like surprising people.
82. I can’t pee in the streets.
83. I don’t believe in fortune telling.
84. I love reading.
85. I only eat Katsudon from Komoro Soba.
86. I don’t watch horror movies.
87. I sleep with the table lamp on.
88. I love McDo’s McMuffin.
89. I haven’t read a novel in ages.
90. I still have wet dreams.
91. I like blowing bubbles.
92. I usually prefer to be behind-the-scenes.
93. I let others shine.
94. I enjoy inviting friends over at home for lunch or dinner.
95. I have once finished 11 pizza slices in one sitting.
96. I have never undergone any surgery.
97. I know a good singer when I hear one.
98. I am very competitive.
99. I prefer deserted to commercial areas.
100. I don’t have a naked photo as an adult.
101. I think I’ll make a very good detective.
102. I sometimes think I should be Supreme Court justice.
103. I type fast.
104. I don’t get eight-hour sleep anymore.
105. I have a huge heart.
106. I am always hopeful.
107. I have foot fetish.
108. I like to look at people’s lips.
109. I enjoy observing people from afar.
110. I like traveling alone.
111. I have read “The Little Prince.”
112. I like to make people feel loved and special.
113. I hope to become a triathlete.
114. I should improve my swimming.
115. I need two alarm clocks to wake me up.
116. I have been complimented once for a nice butt.
117. I sleep on the right side of the bed.
118. I am thankful for answering machines and cordless phones.
119. I am blood type B.
120. I'm more of a listener.
2. I was born through the caesarian section.
3. I like and I follow the Buddhist teachings.
4. I need to smile more often.
5. I love discounts and discount stores.
6. But I hate buying items during sale.
7. I sometimes ask myself, “Am I complicated?”
8. I only order boneless chicken barbecue at Aristocrat’s.
9. Romantic dinners make me sigh.
10. I recycle gifts.
11. I am seasick sometimes.
12. I once was asleep for 16 continuous hours.
13. I drive motorcycles.
14. I smile in front of the mirror.
15. I have dimples on both cheeks.
16. I once received two-dozen roses.
17. I cry at happy endings.
18. I have stitched wound on my forehead.
19. I love classical music and the Latino beat.
20. The farthest I got to tattooing was henna.
21. I made a wooden ironing board as a high school practical arts project.
22. I know how to ride to bicycles.
23. I was once in a children’s choir.
24. I make good turbo chicken.
25. I know my parent’s love story.
26. I once sang in a wedding.
27. I was born on the 9th day of the 9th month.
28. I love re-arranging the furniture.
29. I am a wet-kisser.
30. I love hugging.
31. I get pedicures once a month.
32. I’m really shy.
33. I’m embarrassed to say no sometimes.
34. I listen to standards.
35. I once walked naked on the beach.
36. I’m a demanding customer.
37. I’m not afraid to show my affection in public.
38. I know how to do massage.
39. I love pasta.
40. I love the relaxing feeling of a cruise.
41. I read several books at a time.
42. I prefer doing lunch on first dates.
43. I grew up on Childcraft.
44. I’m a hopeless romantic.
45. I wear white ankle socks with rubber shoes.
46. I have never held a gun.
47. I still keep letters written to me as far as back as 13 years ago.
48. I taught Sunday school in college.
49. I like the sound of violin and cello.
50. I consider myself as an advocate.
51. I’m not into pop music.
52. I love watching weddings.
53. I’m a rightie.
54. I love cold weather.
55. I make a wish every time I see a shooting star.
56. I know how to play the guitar.
57. I wrote poetry in college.
58. I give people the benefit of the doubt.
59. I’m always hopeful.
60. I can’t draw.
61. I like doing grocery.
62. I think I kiss really well.
63. I still believe in love at first sight.
64. I live listening to all-male choirs.
65. I like Pepsi more than Coke.
66. I love earth colors.
67. I get rashes easily.
68. Banana’s my favorite fruit.
69. I love Wonder Woman.
70. I can sleep in the nude.
71. I can be very secretive about personal details.
72. I like to wet my lips.
73. I love promenades.
74. I watched myself cry before the mirror once.
75. I love dark chocolates.
76. I’m not a coffee person.
77. I like to describe myself as insightful.
78. I try to read the newspaper everyday.
79. I can start a conversation with a complete stranger.
80. I’m a good events organizer.
81. I like surprising people.
82. I can’t pee in the streets.
83. I don’t believe in fortune telling.
84. I love reading.
85. I only eat Katsudon from Komoro Soba.
86. I don’t watch horror movies.
87. I sleep with the table lamp on.
88. I love McDo’s McMuffin.
89. I haven’t read a novel in ages.
90. I still have wet dreams.
91. I like blowing bubbles.
92. I usually prefer to be behind-the-scenes.
93. I let others shine.
94. I enjoy inviting friends over at home for lunch or dinner.
95. I have once finished 11 pizza slices in one sitting.
96. I have never undergone any surgery.
97. I know a good singer when I hear one.
98. I am very competitive.
99. I prefer deserted to commercial areas.
100. I don’t have a naked photo as an adult.
101. I think I’ll make a very good detective.
102. I sometimes think I should be Supreme Court justice.
103. I type fast.
104. I don’t get eight-hour sleep anymore.
105. I have a huge heart.
106. I am always hopeful.
107. I have foot fetish.
108. I like to look at people’s lips.
109. I enjoy observing people from afar.
110. I like traveling alone.
111. I have read “The Little Prince.”
112. I like to make people feel loved and special.
113. I hope to become a triathlete.
114. I should improve my swimming.
115. I need two alarm clocks to wake me up.
116. I have been complimented once for a nice butt.
117. I sleep on the right side of the bed.
118. I am thankful for answering machines and cordless phones.
119. I am blood type B.
120. I'm more of a listener.
10.09.2003
Boyfriend test
Some friends have been on the road lately. The daring dating road, that is. I thought I should be kind today and do something to help them.
It's easy to be in a relationship. You dress up and go out Saturday night and it's likely you'll end the night with several prospects to choose from the next day when you want to have coffee. But if you're thinking of something worth your while, being in a relationship is never easy. It's work, it's being patient, it's opening up yourself, and it's more work. So before any of my friends reach the moment of truth and decision, I hope they'll find this helpful.
Do the boyfriend test to see if he's truly boyfriend material:
Credit: Ken Hanes
ï‚· If he has growth potential, +3
ï‚· If he listens to you, +5
ï‚· If he communicates with you, +5
ï‚· How many exes does he have? One or less per year, +1; Two or more per year, -2; Zero and he's been out more than three years, -2
ï‚· How many exes is he friends with? +1 per ex
ï‚· If an inordinate number of his exes seem to be in prison, -3
ï‚· If he seems genuinely bewildered as to why his last partner took out a restraining order against him, -5
ï‚· If he has values and morals similar to yours, +3
ï‚· If he puts handcuffs on you without asking, -3
ï‚· If he asks if you love him after one date, -2
ï‚· If he says he loves you during the first date, -2
ï‚· If he scratches his pubes in public, -2
ï‚· If he has Dianetics in a prominent place in his home, -2
ï‚· If he owns any of Paul Monette's book, +1 per book
ï‚· If he shows up for your date already sloshed, -2
ï‚· If he passes out on your first date, -2
ï‚· If he tries to talk you out of safer sex, -10
ï‚· If he's uncomfortable holding your hand in public, -1
ï‚· If he has to take a shower the second you finish having sex, -1
Scoring:
Zero or under Forget him; keep looking
1-5 Date him if you want, but keep your eyes open
6-11 Possible compatibility. Give the guy a chance
12-18 Super potential
19 and above Forget him. He's lying
Above all, go with your instincts
It's easy to be in a relationship. You dress up and go out Saturday night and it's likely you'll end the night with several prospects to choose from the next day when you want to have coffee. But if you're thinking of something worth your while, being in a relationship is never easy. It's work, it's being patient, it's opening up yourself, and it's more work. So before any of my friends reach the moment of truth and decision, I hope they'll find this helpful.
Do the boyfriend test to see if he's truly boyfriend material:
Credit: Ken Hanes
ï‚· If he has growth potential, +3
ï‚· If he listens to you, +5
ï‚· If he communicates with you, +5
ï‚· How many exes does he have? One or less per year, +1; Two or more per year, -2; Zero and he's been out more than three years, -2
ï‚· How many exes is he friends with? +1 per ex
ï‚· If an inordinate number of his exes seem to be in prison, -3
ï‚· If he seems genuinely bewildered as to why his last partner took out a restraining order against him, -5
ï‚· If he has values and morals similar to yours, +3
ï‚· If he puts handcuffs on you without asking, -3
ï‚· If he asks if you love him after one date, -2
ï‚· If he says he loves you during the first date, -2
ï‚· If he scratches his pubes in public, -2
ï‚· If he has Dianetics in a prominent place in his home, -2
ï‚· If he owns any of Paul Monette's book, +1 per book
ï‚· If he shows up for your date already sloshed, -2
ï‚· If he passes out on your first date, -2
ï‚· If he tries to talk you out of safer sex, -10
ï‚· If he's uncomfortable holding your hand in public, -1
ï‚· If he has to take a shower the second you finish having sex, -1
Scoring:
Zero or under Forget him; keep looking
1-5 Date him if you want, but keep your eyes open
6-11 Possible compatibility. Give the guy a chance
12-18 Super potential
19 and above Forget him. He's lying
Above all, go with your instincts
Let me hear you
I've finally managed to put a comments link on my site.
Of course, with a little help from my compu-whiz friend Dindin.
Please feel free to share your thoughts. Next time, we'll talk about them over coffee or beer. Your choice.
Of course, with a little help from my compu-whiz friend Dindin.
Please feel free to share your thoughts. Next time, we'll talk about them over coffee or beer. Your choice.
10.08.2003
Metrosexuals
I remember that time when I was in grade school and I happened to be in my parent's room while my Dad was changing clothes. I turned to look at him and amusingly asked why he was wearing my Mom's panties. He tried to make an excuse and said something like he was rushing earlier and that was the first undergarment he picked in the closet. I started to wonder, why didn't he look harder enough for his briefs, or why didn't he ask our househelp, or if he asked permission from my Mom, or if that's what he really wears all the time and the white briefs in his closet are just props.
Several years after that day, I found out that a number of men or husbands or sons or boyfriends actually prefer panties to briefs, regardless of how skimpy they may be. They have varying reasons from funny ones to extremely strange. But most cite the thin and silky fabric used in making panties which make them more comfortable.
So looking back now, my Dad is not alone. He's just one of the increasingly growing number of straight men who have increasingly become more in-touch with their feminine side.
They are called metrosexuals, a term first used around ten years ago to refer to a particular segment in the male consumer market comprising of straight men who are so confident and secure about their sexuality and sexual preferences that it doesn't bother them to occasionally behave in a manner that may be considered feminine by most. These men largely live in urban areas, hence the word metro.
I'm sure you've chanced upon one at one time --- your dad, brother, nephew, current boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, parish priest, your boss. These particular type of men are oftentimes branded or misread as gays primarily because they prefer gym to outdoor sports (because they don't like excessive sun exposure? I don't know), classical music and arias to Eminem (because that makes them more cultured? I don't know), reading biographies and self-help books to Mills and Boons-type of novels (because they're thicker? I don't know), pink or peach polo to boring blacks for a Saturday night-out attire (because they catch more attention? I don't know).
I am particularly delighted and amused with this development, not because my Dad has long been a Renaissance man than most that we find today, but more because this concept of metrosexuals is redefining and challenging standards we have. Gone are the days when men who opt to explore their feminine sides are forsaken. The stupid equation that gay = feminine-acting, vain bahaviors doesn't hold water anymore. The myth that straight men only like rough and tough plays seem funny now.
Here's what I fear now: It would be doubly hard now for single women to spot these unique creations from the crowd and pursue them. The lines are blurred and overlapping. I wonder how my younger sister will do it. I think this time she'll read self-help books. And if that won't help, I think she'll just give up men and refuse to be confused by them. I have a feeling she'll convert our house into a mini-school for single women and put up a Metrosexuals 101 class, "How to correctly segregate the chaff Metrosexuals from the grain Metrosexuals."
And for sure, my sister will make millions.
Several years after that day, I found out that a number of men or husbands or sons or boyfriends actually prefer panties to briefs, regardless of how skimpy they may be. They have varying reasons from funny ones to extremely strange. But most cite the thin and silky fabric used in making panties which make them more comfortable.
So looking back now, my Dad is not alone. He's just one of the increasingly growing number of straight men who have increasingly become more in-touch with their feminine side.
They are called metrosexuals, a term first used around ten years ago to refer to a particular segment in the male consumer market comprising of straight men who are so confident and secure about their sexuality and sexual preferences that it doesn't bother them to occasionally behave in a manner that may be considered feminine by most. These men largely live in urban areas, hence the word metro.
I'm sure you've chanced upon one at one time --- your dad, brother, nephew, current boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, parish priest, your boss. These particular type of men are oftentimes branded or misread as gays primarily because they prefer gym to outdoor sports (because they don't like excessive sun exposure? I don't know), classical music and arias to Eminem (because that makes them more cultured? I don't know), reading biographies and self-help books to Mills and Boons-type of novels (because they're thicker? I don't know), pink or peach polo to boring blacks for a Saturday night-out attire (because they catch more attention? I don't know).
I am particularly delighted and amused with this development, not because my Dad has long been a Renaissance man than most that we find today, but more because this concept of metrosexuals is redefining and challenging standards we have. Gone are the days when men who opt to explore their feminine sides are forsaken. The stupid equation that gay = feminine-acting, vain bahaviors doesn't hold water anymore. The myth that straight men only like rough and tough plays seem funny now.
Here's what I fear now: It would be doubly hard now for single women to spot these unique creations from the crowd and pursue them. The lines are blurred and overlapping. I wonder how my younger sister will do it. I think this time she'll read self-help books. And if that won't help, I think she'll just give up men and refuse to be confused by them. I have a feeling she'll convert our house into a mini-school for single women and put up a Metrosexuals 101 class, "How to correctly segregate the chaff Metrosexuals from the grain Metrosexuals."
And for sure, my sister will make millions.
10.06.2003
Reminiscing
Fourteen years ago,
1. I was a lanky sixteen-er who was just starting college.
2. I had a 27-inch waist and longer hair with bangs.
3. I only had two or three pants.
4. I can brush my teeth and wash my face with just one glass of water.
5. Most of my underwears were black bikinis.
6. I was shy.
7. I wouldn't smoke.
8. I didn't know Tequila can get you drunk.
9. I was just learning how to swim.
10. There was still Wordstar (Control + KQ, Control +KS, etc.)
11. I can finish three cups of rice in one meal.
12. I was enjoying eight hours of sleep everyday.
13. Jeepney fare was just 50 centavos.
14. I wasn't shaving yet.
15. DZMB was the radio station that lulled me to sleep.
16. I can wear a pair pants for four days, straight.
17. I was writing home via the snail mail.
18. One hundred pesos can go a long, long, long way.
19. A complete meal at UP was just fifteen pesos. Unlimited rice.
20. Life was simpler.
Today,
1. I have put on weight and attended graduate school.
2. My waist stretched a few inches more. I have cropped hair. Goodbye bangs.
3. I have at least ten pants, but would only regularly use three.
4. I still brush my teeth and wash my face. But I drink the glass of water.
5. Goodbye bikinis, hello boxer shorts.
6. I am still shy.
7. I still wouldn't smoke.
8. I now know Tequila can get you drunk and lead you to foreplay.
9. I have attended Basic Water Safety training.
10. It's Word.
11. I only finish half cup of rice in one day.
12. Eight hours of sleep is a miracle.
13. Jeepney fare increased 700%.
14. I am shaving --- up there and down there.
15. DZMB disturbs your sleep. Kelangan pa bang i-memorize iyan?
16. I can wear a pair pants for five days, straight.
17. Nobody's home to send snail mail to.
18. One hundred pesos is just enough for a value meal.
19. A complete meal at UP is a lot more pesos and a limited rice.
20. Simple life is a dream.
Indeed, in life, you win some, you lose some.
But life goes on. And it should go on.
1. I was a lanky sixteen-er who was just starting college.
2. I had a 27-inch waist and longer hair with bangs.
3. I only had two or three pants.
4. I can brush my teeth and wash my face with just one glass of water.
5. Most of my underwears were black bikinis.
6. I was shy.
7. I wouldn't smoke.
8. I didn't know Tequila can get you drunk.
9. I was just learning how to swim.
10. There was still Wordstar (Control + KQ, Control +KS, etc.)
11. I can finish three cups of rice in one meal.
12. I was enjoying eight hours of sleep everyday.
13. Jeepney fare was just 50 centavos.
14. I wasn't shaving yet.
15. DZMB was the radio station that lulled me to sleep.
16. I can wear a pair pants for four days, straight.
17. I was writing home via the snail mail.
18. One hundred pesos can go a long, long, long way.
19. A complete meal at UP was just fifteen pesos. Unlimited rice.
20. Life was simpler.
Today,
1. I have put on weight and attended graduate school.
2. My waist stretched a few inches more. I have cropped hair. Goodbye bangs.
3. I have at least ten pants, but would only regularly use three.
4. I still brush my teeth and wash my face. But I drink the glass of water.
5. Goodbye bikinis, hello boxer shorts.
6. I am still shy.
7. I still wouldn't smoke.
8. I now know Tequila can get you drunk and lead you to foreplay.
9. I have attended Basic Water Safety training.
10. It's Word.
11. I only finish half cup of rice in one day.
12. Eight hours of sleep is a miracle.
13. Jeepney fare increased 700%.
14. I am shaving --- up there and down there.
15. DZMB disturbs your sleep. Kelangan pa bang i-memorize iyan?
16. I can wear a pair pants for five days, straight.
17. Nobody's home to send snail mail to.
18. One hundred pesos is just enough for a value meal.
19. A complete meal at UP is a lot more pesos and a limited rice.
20. Simple life is a dream.
Indeed, in life, you win some, you lose some.
But life goes on. And it should go on.
10.05.2003
Manila weekend
Last weekend was tops!
It started Saturday afternoon with a restful stare of the Manila Bay sunset with its vast stretch orange skies spread all over as far as your eyes can see. I was seated in one of the benches along the promenade with a hundred other people looking out to the sea. Some are senior citizens with probably their children with them, others were young families and their playful kids, but most were loving and affectionate couples who didn't have the slightest discomfort on diplaying their affection. Not that it was bad. On the contrary, I thought it was uplifting. How nice it was to be surrounded by partners who were so dearly sweet and hopelessly romantic. It makes you think then, this could be heaven.
I left Manila Bay that night feeling inspired. I thought, Manila could very well be the world's most romantic city. Just before crossing the street, I made a vow. I said, I should drop by for a visit regularly and make it a habit. It will be good for me.
The following day, I met up with two friends and went to other equally famous Manila spots, Quiapo-Binondo/Chinatown areas. I didn't just sit and stare. This time, we had camera bags and backpacks slung over our shoulders, sweaty face and arms, and thousands of burned calories from visiting on foot the four beautiful churches of Quiapo, Sta. Cruz, Binondo, and the Manila Cathedral. Along the way, we took hundreds of pictures (Thank God for digital cameras!!) and made friends with some strangers.
When we got to our last destination at Intramuros, all of us either ran out of films or had discharged digicam batteries. We decided to rest over coffee and funny stories of the day. The three of us agreed, we should do it again.
In parting, I say, Manila's incomparable. Its smiles, smell, and sights are truly one of a kind. It's no wonder that some people, like my friend Adel, can't imagine themselves living anywhere else in the world than sweet old Manila.
It started Saturday afternoon with a restful stare of the Manila Bay sunset with its vast stretch orange skies spread all over as far as your eyes can see. I was seated in one of the benches along the promenade with a hundred other people looking out to the sea. Some are senior citizens with probably their children with them, others were young families and their playful kids, but most were loving and affectionate couples who didn't have the slightest discomfort on diplaying their affection. Not that it was bad. On the contrary, I thought it was uplifting. How nice it was to be surrounded by partners who were so dearly sweet and hopelessly romantic. It makes you think then, this could be heaven.
I left Manila Bay that night feeling inspired. I thought, Manila could very well be the world's most romantic city. Just before crossing the street, I made a vow. I said, I should drop by for a visit regularly and make it a habit. It will be good for me.
The following day, I met up with two friends and went to other equally famous Manila spots, Quiapo-Binondo/Chinatown areas. I didn't just sit and stare. This time, we had camera bags and backpacks slung over our shoulders, sweaty face and arms, and thousands of burned calories from visiting on foot the four beautiful churches of Quiapo, Sta. Cruz, Binondo, and the Manila Cathedral. Along the way, we took hundreds of pictures (Thank God for digital cameras!!) and made friends with some strangers.
When we got to our last destination at Intramuros, all of us either ran out of films or had discharged digicam batteries. We decided to rest over coffee and funny stories of the day. The three of us agreed, we should do it again.
In parting, I say, Manila's incomparable. Its smiles, smell, and sights are truly one of a kind. It's no wonder that some people, like my friend Adel, can't imagine themselves living anywhere else in the world than sweet old Manila.
10.02.2003
Faces and stories
I love watching people.
But not the kind that ogles over them trying to look through their dresses and making sense of what curves and shapes lie beneath. I specifically relish the experience of sitting in one of those crowded places like cafes or airport lounges and quietly fill your sight with faces and all possible mysteries that go with them.
Recently, I dropped by a coffeeshop near my gym and decided to while away time. I pulled out a book from my bag, but decided to put it back in no time after getting bored with long sentences and pathetic stories of men whose only reason for living is to stick in their sticks in all the holes they can find. I then sat back, relaxed, and opted to quietly feast my eyes with everyone there.
Lest I be accused of reckless imprudence resulting in manslaughter (if there's such a thing), I assure you, I only do friendly stares. I enjoy looking at the other customers but I specially delight in watching waiters, lady guards, receptionists, and the others who, by virtue of their work, are transformed instantly as our meek servants in between crisp curses and swears. I normally look for a certain twitch in their brows or pout on the lips or listen to the tone of their voices, sometimes even an infuriating mannerism. From there, I get drowned in a deluge of thoughtful questions.
: Could he be married? Was it shot-gun wedding?
: Is he the family's breadwinner?
: I wonder if he's happy.
: Why is she so clingy?
: Did he ever finish college?
: Are they still virgins?
: From which province could be be?
: Why is he eating that way?
: How mean can she get?
: Did he have a good morning?
: Is he happy with his job?
: Does he read the newspaper?
: Is she good in bed?
: Has he ever worn a thong?
Crazy thoughts. But they make you the best scenario builder in the world.
But not the kind that ogles over them trying to look through their dresses and making sense of what curves and shapes lie beneath. I specifically relish the experience of sitting in one of those crowded places like cafes or airport lounges and quietly fill your sight with faces and all possible mysteries that go with them.
Recently, I dropped by a coffeeshop near my gym and decided to while away time. I pulled out a book from my bag, but decided to put it back in no time after getting bored with long sentences and pathetic stories of men whose only reason for living is to stick in their sticks in all the holes they can find. I then sat back, relaxed, and opted to quietly feast my eyes with everyone there.
Lest I be accused of reckless imprudence resulting in manslaughter (if there's such a thing), I assure you, I only do friendly stares. I enjoy looking at the other customers but I specially delight in watching waiters, lady guards, receptionists, and the others who, by virtue of their work, are transformed instantly as our meek servants in between crisp curses and swears. I normally look for a certain twitch in their brows or pout on the lips or listen to the tone of their voices, sometimes even an infuriating mannerism. From there, I get drowned in a deluge of thoughtful questions.
: Could he be married? Was it shot-gun wedding?
: Is he the family's breadwinner?
: I wonder if he's happy.
: Why is she so clingy?
: Did he ever finish college?
: Are they still virgins?
: From which province could be be?
: Why is he eating that way?
: How mean can she get?
: Did he have a good morning?
: Is he happy with his job?
: Does he read the newspaper?
: Is she good in bed?
: Has he ever worn a thong?
Crazy thoughts. But they make you the best scenario builder in the world.
10.01.2003
Lola Laget, Part 2
One time I asked her, what could be the secret for her long life. She held her ears. I laughed. But she was serious. She said long and big ears mean long and fruitful life. I found myself wanting for a bigger ear. But really, I think life loved her so much and she has lived this long because she has given back so much to life itself. And there are angels who take care of her.
Some of these angels came to life in 1992. That day, she was alone cooking food for her pig in a vacant lot across her house. Now you see how driven she was until that age. She sat there mindlessly beside the iron-stove when all of a sudden the cauldron full of boiling hog food fell on her. The weight of the pot was just too much so she was pinned to the floor, in the middle of hot and steaming water. Since this was far from the house, no one saw her. She relates that, later on that there was a man who passed by and saw her. The man carried her, brought her home, and quickly left. She said she was able to thank the man.
What was startling was that the place where it happened was far from where people would go, not being accessible. And yet, there was that man at the right time. When my tita saw Lola drenched in steam, she screamed to the heavens. But my Lola was just sitting there calmly trying to fix her blouse. She has managed to take off her drenched dress and changed into a new one. That turned out to be a bad decision because as soon as they got her to the hospital, the doctors had to remove the dress --- and the skin peeled off with them. She spent many months in the hospital. And she never walked properly after that.
Small miracles
But then she would create a miracle everytime I go home for vacation. Because on the day that I arrive and the time I would finally leave for the city again, she would make sure that she is strong enough to walk over a hundred meters from her house to where we live. It is a daunting task for her, I know. But she says, she wanted to see me off. And I would be always deeply touched. My cousins would throw piercing looks at me. I don't know if it's because of envy or because of worry for Lola.
I don't mind. I feel special everytime. More especially because I'm the only grandchild she allows to cut her nails. This has been a running tradition between us from the time I was in college. I would spend the last hour with her before leaving the province. I'd take out my nail clipper and would cut her nails in both feet and hands. And then she'd ask me when I will be home again. I'll just say in no time. She would pledge to have her nails cut only when I'm back. My cousins have time and again tried to persuade her to have them cut it. But Lola Laget would always say she'd wait for me even if the nails grow really long.
Some of these angels came to life in 1992. That day, she was alone cooking food for her pig in a vacant lot across her house. Now you see how driven she was until that age. She sat there mindlessly beside the iron-stove when all of a sudden the cauldron full of boiling hog food fell on her. The weight of the pot was just too much so she was pinned to the floor, in the middle of hot and steaming water. Since this was far from the house, no one saw her. She relates that, later on that there was a man who passed by and saw her. The man carried her, brought her home, and quickly left. She said she was able to thank the man.
What was startling was that the place where it happened was far from where people would go, not being accessible. And yet, there was that man at the right time. When my tita saw Lola drenched in steam, she screamed to the heavens. But my Lola was just sitting there calmly trying to fix her blouse. She has managed to take off her drenched dress and changed into a new one. That turned out to be a bad decision because as soon as they got her to the hospital, the doctors had to remove the dress --- and the skin peeled off with them. She spent many months in the hospital. And she never walked properly after that.
Small miracles
But then she would create a miracle everytime I go home for vacation. Because on the day that I arrive and the time I would finally leave for the city again, she would make sure that she is strong enough to walk over a hundred meters from her house to where we live. It is a daunting task for her, I know. But she says, she wanted to see me off. And I would be always deeply touched. My cousins would throw piercing looks at me. I don't know if it's because of envy or because of worry for Lola.
I don't mind. I feel special everytime. More especially because I'm the only grandchild she allows to cut her nails. This has been a running tradition between us from the time I was in college. I would spend the last hour with her before leaving the province. I'd take out my nail clipper and would cut her nails in both feet and hands. And then she'd ask me when I will be home again. I'll just say in no time. She would pledge to have her nails cut only when I'm back. My cousins have time and again tried to persuade her to have them cut it. But Lola Laget would always say she'd wait for me even if the nails grow really long.
That feeling
As much as possible, I refuse to write about sad things. I always say, there's so much sadness in the world already, I don't like to add one more. But this one caught me by surprise and got me to think about certain things.
I was getting ready to sleep one late night when I got this call from a friend. He said he was driving around aimlessly around Makati near the place where I live and asked if he can come over my place. I sensed an unusually different sound in his voice, some cracking, a bit hoarse, heavy breathing.
I asked why, what the matter was. He matter-of-factly replied, "Deep sadness." I was stunned, shocked, and embarrassed. Then when I recovered, I invited him over and asked the maid to prepare dinner for him.
M. is hardly the person you would suspect to succumb to this feeling. He's 30, bright, a lawyer, independent. He's a loving older brother to a younger sister whom she would pick up from work everyday to make sure she's safe, and a very thoughtful younger brother who's ready to part with 100,000 pesos from selling his car and give it to another sister just so she and her boyfriend could start firming up their wedding plans.
But that night, seeing him so lost and tired when he walked in my door, I had two things in my mind.
First, this feeling of sadness, the deep one as my friend described it, comes like a thief. It doesn't choose whom to hit and, what's worse, it hits when you least expect it. I have long understood the painful reality that nobody is excused from its attack. All of us, albeit at different pain levels, we all suffer at one time from this feeling of being so alone even when surrounded. We try deep breathing to soothe our tightening chests to no avail. Some try to find comfort from buckets of beer or maddening eat-all-you-can restaurant promos. And yet, as if we don't know, the feeling will still be there long after the beer has found its way to the urinal bowl, long after the feast has been transformed to something unsightly.
Which leads me to my second thought, I wouldn't like to see myself in his shoes if I can help it. And for that to happen, I have pains to forget, mindset to change, people to evade, companies to enjoy, friends to cherish, more maturity to aspire for, more support to solicit, more time for myslef, more prayers to recite, more warmth to share, more secrets to reveal, more of myself for others.
No one has to be lonely.
I was getting ready to sleep one late night when I got this call from a friend. He said he was driving around aimlessly around Makati near the place where I live and asked if he can come over my place. I sensed an unusually different sound in his voice, some cracking, a bit hoarse, heavy breathing.
I asked why, what the matter was. He matter-of-factly replied, "Deep sadness." I was stunned, shocked, and embarrassed. Then when I recovered, I invited him over and asked the maid to prepare dinner for him.
M. is hardly the person you would suspect to succumb to this feeling. He's 30, bright, a lawyer, independent. He's a loving older brother to a younger sister whom she would pick up from work everyday to make sure she's safe, and a very thoughtful younger brother who's ready to part with 100,000 pesos from selling his car and give it to another sister just so she and her boyfriend could start firming up their wedding plans.
But that night, seeing him so lost and tired when he walked in my door, I had two things in my mind.
First, this feeling of sadness, the deep one as my friend described it, comes like a thief. It doesn't choose whom to hit and, what's worse, it hits when you least expect it. I have long understood the painful reality that nobody is excused from its attack. All of us, albeit at different pain levels, we all suffer at one time from this feeling of being so alone even when surrounded. We try deep breathing to soothe our tightening chests to no avail. Some try to find comfort from buckets of beer or maddening eat-all-you-can restaurant promos. And yet, as if we don't know, the feeling will still be there long after the beer has found its way to the urinal bowl, long after the feast has been transformed to something unsightly.
Which leads me to my second thought, I wouldn't like to see myself in his shoes if I can help it. And for that to happen, I have pains to forget, mindset to change, people to evade, companies to enjoy, friends to cherish, more maturity to aspire for, more support to solicit, more time for myslef, more prayers to recite, more warmth to share, more secrets to reveal, more of myself for others.
No one has to be lonely.
9.29.2003
Buttons
I have a hard time staying in the company of people who whine and complain and ridicule. There were times when I tried to be patient and stayed on, but I remember leaving the moment the conversation shifted to themselves being more superior or more beautiful or more affluent than others. I think it's a, put bluntly, mindf*ck.
It leaves you wondering, how in the world is it possible that one feels good about himself by putting other people down. Maybe I'm just naive, or plain stupid. But I have a hard time reconciling affirmation of one's self with demeaning other people. They just don't fit together like fish out of water.
Good, I always try to give a person the benefit of the doubt. I console myself that, deep down, they might have redeeming values stored somewhere. It may not be obvious or worse, it may have been put to use very sparingly, but nevertheless, it's there.
================
And so, after all, man is good. The more I think about it, the more I firm up my belief that, really, man is, by nature, good. We just don't go around the town hurting or killing anyone in sight. Even the most callous of mercenaries would have this innate sense of goodness to desire living peacefully free from trouble and disease.
Funny, but this occurred to me on my way back to work today from lunch. I don't know how I ended up looking at that lady and noticed her unbuttoned blouse. Looking back now, I could have done the worst and uttered unpleasant remarks, but you instead choose to reserve unsavory comments to yourself and quietly hope that some Good Samaritan would do what you failed to do.
===========
But how exactly do you tell a lady that she has some buttons not securely "fastened." I have listed a menu of possible liners, but I'm not sure if they will be helpful. You gotta tell me if they will bring more trouble.
1. I'm sorry Miss, but some of your buttons are misguided.
2. I think your butt-ons are not in their butt-holes.
3. Miss, I wanted to ask, "Where did you buy your roaming buttons?
4. I'm sorry for being the one to tell you, but you're buttons were led astray.
5. Where did you get those buttons? I think they want to go home.
6. Is it also you or just your buttons who change partners?
7. Miss, you better button up. You're inside the Pope's residence.
8. Did you just come from the boob clinic? Where is it located?
9. I know you have it, you don't have to let them loose.
10. Miss, I think you're wearing the wrong bra size.
So tell me, how do you say it?
It leaves you wondering, how in the world is it possible that one feels good about himself by putting other people down. Maybe I'm just naive, or plain stupid. But I have a hard time reconciling affirmation of one's self with demeaning other people. They just don't fit together like fish out of water.
Good, I always try to give a person the benefit of the doubt. I console myself that, deep down, they might have redeeming values stored somewhere. It may not be obvious or worse, it may have been put to use very sparingly, but nevertheless, it's there.
================
And so, after all, man is good. The more I think about it, the more I firm up my belief that, really, man is, by nature, good. We just don't go around the town hurting or killing anyone in sight. Even the most callous of mercenaries would have this innate sense of goodness to desire living peacefully free from trouble and disease.
Funny, but this occurred to me on my way back to work today from lunch. I don't know how I ended up looking at that lady and noticed her unbuttoned blouse. Looking back now, I could have done the worst and uttered unpleasant remarks, but you instead choose to reserve unsavory comments to yourself and quietly hope that some Good Samaritan would do what you failed to do.
===========
But how exactly do you tell a lady that she has some buttons not securely "fastened." I have listed a menu of possible liners, but I'm not sure if they will be helpful. You gotta tell me if they will bring more trouble.
1. I'm sorry Miss, but some of your buttons are misguided.
2. I think your butt-ons are not in their butt-holes.
3. Miss, I wanted to ask, "Where did you buy your roaming buttons?
4. I'm sorry for being the one to tell you, but you're buttons were led astray.
5. Where did you get those buttons? I think they want to go home.
6. Is it also you or just your buttons who change partners?
7. Miss, you better button up. You're inside the Pope's residence.
8. Did you just come from the boob clinic? Where is it located?
9. I know you have it, you don't have to let them loose.
10. Miss, I think you're wearing the wrong bra size.
So tell me, how do you say it?
9.26.2003
The irony of love
I don't know where Ernie is now. He must have gone back to his province in the north. Or maybe he's still around in the mad city somewhere. Maybe he's in some foreign land. I just hope he's not back in the dark, smoky, dimly-lit square room where he worked before.
The last time I saw him, he was puffing his cigarette. It was around ten in the evening and it was dark, but this unusual way of smoking was visible that night. He would breathe heavily, each time filling his chest with as much air and burned tobacco. He was restless but grieving at the same time, tired but hated rest and sleep. All of us there understood. Ernie has just been out from the hospital after several months of taking care our friend R., who, by then, was laid in a modest wooden coffin and placed in the middle of the room where we were.
All of us there that night who really knew Ernie's story silently sat and fought back tears. We were humbled by what he has done. It was ironic that he, of all people and all of 23 years old that time, would teach us the ultimate lesson on selfless giving and unconditional love.
Our friend R. met Ernie in some very unusual circumstances. They met one night because Ernie had what R. needed. They became friends soon after and Ernie would be regular in our Sunday lunches and afternoon coffees and sometimes, Friday dinner and drinks. We felt awkward initially because we didn't know exactly what he was. Was he there to run errands for us? Was he there as the butler, concierge? In one of those parties, R. suddenly felt that piercing jolt in the chest and had our doctor friend who was in that party do an outright check up. A visit to the hospital first hour tomorrow morning was non-negotiable, our doctor friend said. R obliged.
And that was the start of several months of practically living in the hospital. In each of these months that followed, it was only Ernie who was there all the time all the way. He would be shy to reveal, but we found out he practically lived like a patient making the hospital his home. He never left R.'s hospital room. He did all that a private nurse would normally do, and more: bathe, handle medicines, story tell.
It was during these times that they naturally became very close. So close that their lives were touched. Ernie, without the slightest tinge of feeling embarrassed, was deeply touched with R.'s gesture of teaching him how to speak English. It was in one of those long nights that R asked Ernie to lead in praying the rosary. He was too shy to admit that he didn't know how it was done. So R. very patiently went through each mystery teaching Ernie the correct way of saying the prayer. And every night they would do the same until such time that Ernie mastered it so perfectly. Ernie didn't know any other English up until that time. I don't know if it was a joke. Be he insisted he was being truthful.
Two nights before he died, Ernie disclosed, R. made two unusual requests. First, he asked that his first-born son, if ever he'd have one, be named after our friend. No explanation was given. Secondly, R. asked Ernie to send for somebody who knows how to cut hair. R. wanted that Ernie fashioned his hairstyle similar to the short cut that R. was sporting that time. Ernie had a hard time looking for one, but he managed in the end. So soon after, the nurses were joking around, they were having a hard time distinguishing one from the other. But Ernie and R. were happy in their newfound connection.
R. died a day after they had their haircut. Ernie was the only one in the room as usual and he panicked when he saw the flatlines in the monitor. His screams calling for the nurses filled the quiet hospital hallways. All the nurses, who have become their friends, rushed to the room and tried to revive R. Tubes were drawn, R.'s chests were pumped, every monitor observed. Ernie was inconsolable. He cried like he had never cried before. Their nurse friends took turns trying to comfort Ernie since they too were teary-eyed and didn't want to show Ernie. Finally, Rose, Ernie's closest nurse friend, hugged him and whispered, "Let R. go. R deserves to rest." Only then did Ernie calm down.
During the wake, I was happy to see that R.'s family acknowledged Ernie's selfless service. All those times that R. needed round-the-clock attention and care, this young guy who didn't even finish high school and who wasn't even related to R. offered himself. It was the ultimate example of selfless giving. That's why, all throughout the wake, we would have this quiet admiration and respect for R. I personally was so humbled that I never even bothered to ask myself if I can do the same. I am not sure.
R. was interred in a city south of Manila. R.'s family was gracious enough to pay for Ernie's plane fare so he can attend the funeral service. To this day, I refuse to know what exactly happened that time. I don't know how Ernie said goodbye to R., but that's not important.
What matters to me, and what I hold dear to this day, is the lesson Ernie taught me how to be selfless in giving. And how love, when genuine and sincere, doesn't care if the object of our affection is a man or a woman. Love is love, relationship is relationship regardless of whether it's between a man or a woman, one woman and another woman, or one man and another man.
Like in Rudy's story.
The last time I saw him, he was puffing his cigarette. It was around ten in the evening and it was dark, but this unusual way of smoking was visible that night. He would breathe heavily, each time filling his chest with as much air and burned tobacco. He was restless but grieving at the same time, tired but hated rest and sleep. All of us there understood. Ernie has just been out from the hospital after several months of taking care our friend R., who, by then, was laid in a modest wooden coffin and placed in the middle of the room where we were.
All of us there that night who really knew Ernie's story silently sat and fought back tears. We were humbled by what he has done. It was ironic that he, of all people and all of 23 years old that time, would teach us the ultimate lesson on selfless giving and unconditional love.
Our friend R. met Ernie in some very unusual circumstances. They met one night because Ernie had what R. needed. They became friends soon after and Ernie would be regular in our Sunday lunches and afternoon coffees and sometimes, Friday dinner and drinks. We felt awkward initially because we didn't know exactly what he was. Was he there to run errands for us? Was he there as the butler, concierge? In one of those parties, R. suddenly felt that piercing jolt in the chest and had our doctor friend who was in that party do an outright check up. A visit to the hospital first hour tomorrow morning was non-negotiable, our doctor friend said. R obliged.
And that was the start of several months of practically living in the hospital. In each of these months that followed, it was only Ernie who was there all the time all the way. He would be shy to reveal, but we found out he practically lived like a patient making the hospital his home. He never left R.'s hospital room. He did all that a private nurse would normally do, and more: bathe, handle medicines, story tell.
It was during these times that they naturally became very close. So close that their lives were touched. Ernie, without the slightest tinge of feeling embarrassed, was deeply touched with R.'s gesture of teaching him how to speak English. It was in one of those long nights that R asked Ernie to lead in praying the rosary. He was too shy to admit that he didn't know how it was done. So R. very patiently went through each mystery teaching Ernie the correct way of saying the prayer. And every night they would do the same until such time that Ernie mastered it so perfectly. Ernie didn't know any other English up until that time. I don't know if it was a joke. Be he insisted he was being truthful.
Two nights before he died, Ernie disclosed, R. made two unusual requests. First, he asked that his first-born son, if ever he'd have one, be named after our friend. No explanation was given. Secondly, R. asked Ernie to send for somebody who knows how to cut hair. R. wanted that Ernie fashioned his hairstyle similar to the short cut that R. was sporting that time. Ernie had a hard time looking for one, but he managed in the end. So soon after, the nurses were joking around, they were having a hard time distinguishing one from the other. But Ernie and R. were happy in their newfound connection.
R. died a day after they had their haircut. Ernie was the only one in the room as usual and he panicked when he saw the flatlines in the monitor. His screams calling for the nurses filled the quiet hospital hallways. All the nurses, who have become their friends, rushed to the room and tried to revive R. Tubes were drawn, R.'s chests were pumped, every monitor observed. Ernie was inconsolable. He cried like he had never cried before. Their nurse friends took turns trying to comfort Ernie since they too were teary-eyed and didn't want to show Ernie. Finally, Rose, Ernie's closest nurse friend, hugged him and whispered, "Let R. go. R deserves to rest." Only then did Ernie calm down.
During the wake, I was happy to see that R.'s family acknowledged Ernie's selfless service. All those times that R. needed round-the-clock attention and care, this young guy who didn't even finish high school and who wasn't even related to R. offered himself. It was the ultimate example of selfless giving. That's why, all throughout the wake, we would have this quiet admiration and respect for R. I personally was so humbled that I never even bothered to ask myself if I can do the same. I am not sure.
R. was interred in a city south of Manila. R.'s family was gracious enough to pay for Ernie's plane fare so he can attend the funeral service. To this day, I refuse to know what exactly happened that time. I don't know how Ernie said goodbye to R., but that's not important.
What matters to me, and what I hold dear to this day, is the lesson Ernie taught me how to be selfless in giving. And how love, when genuine and sincere, doesn't care if the object of our affection is a man or a woman. Love is love, relationship is relationship regardless of whether it's between a man or a woman, one woman and another woman, or one man and another man.
Like in Rudy's story.
9.24.2003
Luigi, Teresa, and me
Whenever I see my friend Dindin being very affectionate towards her children Luigi and Teresa, I melt. And in deep appreciation, I wish that all mothers are like her. Whenever I chance upon Luigi clowning around Mommy Dindin in wide grin, I get misty eyed. And in quiet prayer, I wished that I had that chance.
You see, I grew up in a completely different environment. I'm not sure exactly what, but there was something in the air during the 80's which convinced parents that the proper way to bring up kids is much like issuing executive orders. They lay down the stone tablets detailing their rules and everyone is expected to strictly follow regardless of the pain and discomfort they brought. One is never allowed to question the wisdom of these rules, much less argue how they are interpreted. They don't cover just one aspect of life like behaving inside the home, but seemingly every corner of one's life. What was sad was this: Most parents during these times insist that there was only one way to deal with these rules, and this was to quietly submit yourself to them.
There's no point trying to undo things now. Many years have gone by and some damage have been done. But one thing is clear, at least for me. I feel strongly about reclaiming what otherwise would have been a very loving childhood full of devotion and warm affection by making sure every child experiences love, friendship, acceptance, and endearment.
In my every waking moment, I subscribe to this truth: To make this world a better place to live in, we should start with the kids. Only when they are brought up in loving family environment from loving couple in a loving relationship can we ensure that the love will be in the air for the years to come.
In closing, I pray this: That I'll still be around when Luigi and Teresa will finally become parents. That's a long while yet. But I'm sure they will be as nice and loving as their parents.
Cheers!
You see, I grew up in a completely different environment. I'm not sure exactly what, but there was something in the air during the 80's which convinced parents that the proper way to bring up kids is much like issuing executive orders. They lay down the stone tablets detailing their rules and everyone is expected to strictly follow regardless of the pain and discomfort they brought. One is never allowed to question the wisdom of these rules, much less argue how they are interpreted. They don't cover just one aspect of life like behaving inside the home, but seemingly every corner of one's life. What was sad was this: Most parents during these times insist that there was only one way to deal with these rules, and this was to quietly submit yourself to them.
There's no point trying to undo things now. Many years have gone by and some damage have been done. But one thing is clear, at least for me. I feel strongly about reclaiming what otherwise would have been a very loving childhood full of devotion and warm affection by making sure every child experiences love, friendship, acceptance, and endearment.
In my every waking moment, I subscribe to this truth: To make this world a better place to live in, we should start with the kids. Only when they are brought up in loving family environment from loving couple in a loving relationship can we ensure that the love will be in the air for the years to come.
In closing, I pray this: That I'll still be around when Luigi and Teresa will finally become parents. That's a long while yet. But I'm sure they will be as nice and loving as their parents.
Cheers!
9.23.2003
Departures
People come and go in our lives. Love is won and sometimes lost in no time. Hearts are conquered and bleed in defeat afterwards. You win some, you lose some. This is life, this is living.
But not all departures in life are disheartening and numbing. There are a few that are noble, profound, and lovely. Like some in my life.
I grew up with my parents almost always lamenting that they would only enjoy me for 16 years. I would often hear my Mom say that, and I couldn't understand a bit. It was unthinkable to think of death at a young age or even the slightest idea that she has long known what my lifeline was. It was harsh, sometimes cruel, I thought. However, I understood everything in April of 1989 when I left home after high school to pursue college in the city. It was my first real separation from my family and they were naturally anxious. They feared that a strange land will defeat me and leave me biting the dust. Good, nothing of that sort happened. On the contrary, I think I did well. And so, I always say, my life's first departure story was noble. I left my birthplace to prepare myself for life's demands and I did well.
A few months after leaving home, I took on another big leap in my life. I had a friend in the college dorm who was attending a Baptist service and he sort of tagged me along one Sunday morning. I don't know what got to me, but I obliged. For some people, this was difficult to fathom considering my family brought me up a Catholic and I was even an altar boy for seven years, something that should have glued me. But as fate would have it, I joined my friend Terry that Sunday morning. I didn't know I was going to be there for a good two hours of worship, but I had fun. I enjoyed their kind of worship where the Message was the focus of the entire service, and not some elaborate rituals which almost always fail to uplift any worship experience.
For the years that followed, I would regularly attend that Baptist church and even joined some of their activities. For one, I sang in the choir. I gained one of my closest friends from there, a friendship that has lasted for almost 13 years now. And so, I say that my small yet courageous move to depart from what I have grown accustomed to gave me immense joy, and that was profound.
I am patiently waiting for one more departure, this time lovely. And, if possible, one that lasts me for life. I don't know what it will be --- migration, matrimony, Moon, Mars --- I really don't know. But I pray it's going to be lovely this time.
But not all departures in life are disheartening and numbing. There are a few that are noble, profound, and lovely. Like some in my life.
I grew up with my parents almost always lamenting that they would only enjoy me for 16 years. I would often hear my Mom say that, and I couldn't understand a bit. It was unthinkable to think of death at a young age or even the slightest idea that she has long known what my lifeline was. It was harsh, sometimes cruel, I thought. However, I understood everything in April of 1989 when I left home after high school to pursue college in the city. It was my first real separation from my family and they were naturally anxious. They feared that a strange land will defeat me and leave me biting the dust. Good, nothing of that sort happened. On the contrary, I think I did well. And so, I always say, my life's first departure story was noble. I left my birthplace to prepare myself for life's demands and I did well.
A few months after leaving home, I took on another big leap in my life. I had a friend in the college dorm who was attending a Baptist service and he sort of tagged me along one Sunday morning. I don't know what got to me, but I obliged. For some people, this was difficult to fathom considering my family brought me up a Catholic and I was even an altar boy for seven years, something that should have glued me. But as fate would have it, I joined my friend Terry that Sunday morning. I didn't know I was going to be there for a good two hours of worship, but I had fun. I enjoyed their kind of worship where the Message was the focus of the entire service, and not some elaborate rituals which almost always fail to uplift any worship experience.
For the years that followed, I would regularly attend that Baptist church and even joined some of their activities. For one, I sang in the choir. I gained one of my closest friends from there, a friendship that has lasted for almost 13 years now. And so, I say that my small yet courageous move to depart from what I have grown accustomed to gave me immense joy, and that was profound.
I am patiently waiting for one more departure, this time lovely. And, if possible, one that lasts me for life. I don't know what it will be --- migration, matrimony, Moon, Mars --- I really don't know. But I pray it's going to be lovely this time.
9.22.2003
All's well that ends well
I've never really thought about it until last Sunday night. The funny thing about it was that it came after some heated discussion with my new neighbor. I think I make a good labor arbiter or, as I have always thought, a good lawyer.
I moved in to this new place two weeks ago. It's not incredibly huge, but it's comfortable enough for me and the maid. She occupies the smaller room; I got the bigger one (of course!). She gets a tiled floor, I have the parquet. We both get French windows. It's on the fourth floor near the service stairs, the second farthest unit from the elevator lobby. The common space facing my unit is huge enough for me to place a mobile coffeetable and two chairs where one can enjoy late night conversations or brewed coffee on early Sunday mornings while reading the papers. We don't have any tall structure blocking the airflow, so we get a generous supply of refreshing oxygen all the time.
Except that my neighbors are not really refreshing. When I moved in, they already have this folding table and three stools stationed in front of my unit. It may be a common area meaning any tenant can have access to it, but the fact is, it's in front of my unit. I can do whatever I please there. I can even sleep there naked if I want to (but that's another story). I can bear with the tables and chairs, but I erupt in anger and frustration when I realize they obviously lack any form of exposure in the field of propriety. Like, how in the world can they be so dumb, how can some people be so amazingly stupid? They knew I was a new tenant; they should have taken those right away without anyone telling them. I don't care if they were chummy-chummy with the old tenant and they were allowed a place there. Fact is, new tenant = new agreement. Simple as that.
And so for a week, I intentionally didn't talk to them and instead waited for them to voluntarily take those out and respect my area. They didn't. I stretched the little patience I have for one more week hoping things will change. Nothing came. So I asked my lawyer friend to do the talking for me. He graciously obliged. I don't know how he approached them but they were very confrontational. I was home that time but decided not to go with my friend to face them. I may just end up in the papers the next day as the killer of my neighbor's sick mom. Not really my idea of glamorous publicity.
Anyways, I let my friend and my neighbor with her mom yank and yank at each other, almost slithering each other's neck to death. I, on the other hand, was behind the curtains doing what a stenographer does in a courtroom battle, trying to listen to every word said. After a few minutes, there was a lull. My lawyer friend looked for me and suggested that it was best that I talk to Julia.
When I walked over to where they were, Julia was seated in one of the chairs, trying to look composed and calm. I offered my hand and introduced myself. I was burning inside, but I tried hard to be civil and warm in my hope that something good will turn out that night. I made sure I told her my frustration about their seeming lack of consideration and sense of propriety with them not even asking permission from me and, instead, be so callous. She apologized.
To make sure we don't spark to death any longer, I tried to talk about other things like which province she's from, her daughter (she's a single mom), bits of work, and, believe or not, christmas. The whole time, my lawyer-friend seated with us silently while listening to our every story. Amazingly, Julia and I hit it off well and agreed that we should be friends. I allowed her to continue using the space for her table and she offered that I use it too. I set conditions for her to continue enjoy that space (two of them: absolutely no drinking there and no smoking) and she agreed to them. Now, we're OK. She sent me a plateful of dessert and noodles last night, personal delivery. I asked my maid to cook pancakes this morning and return Julia's plate with some of it.
I thought I should end this with some thoughts I got from one of my readings. It's helpful to know how to properly and intelligently fight --- be they husbands, wives, business partners, bestfriends, boyfriends, girlfriends, family members.
-----------
Fights are inevitable, and how you fight probably indicates whether your love will last. But don't be afraid to fight. Fight fairly. This means:
Count to ten before you start.
Stick to the issue.
Don't dredge up ancient history.
Avoid put-downs and name-calling.
Nix the sarcasm and camp.
Speak your mind, and give him/her the chance to speak, too.
Avoid profanity.
Don't throw anything.
No violence. Ever.
Don't change the subject.
Don't pretend you don't understand what he/she's saying.
Don't mimic him/her.
Don't bully him/her.
Assume nothing.
Don't ask your friends to take sides.
Don't hit below the belt.
Be specific about your complaints.
Don't threaten to leave him/her to get your way unless you truly mean it.
An unfinished fight will only return another day. Fight to the finish unless you're merely fighting for fighting's sake, Then, stop.
I moved in to this new place two weeks ago. It's not incredibly huge, but it's comfortable enough for me and the maid. She occupies the smaller room; I got the bigger one (of course!). She gets a tiled floor, I have the parquet. We both get French windows. It's on the fourth floor near the service stairs, the second farthest unit from the elevator lobby. The common space facing my unit is huge enough for me to place a mobile coffeetable and two chairs where one can enjoy late night conversations or brewed coffee on early Sunday mornings while reading the papers. We don't have any tall structure blocking the airflow, so we get a generous supply of refreshing oxygen all the time.
Except that my neighbors are not really refreshing. When I moved in, they already have this folding table and three stools stationed in front of my unit. It may be a common area meaning any tenant can have access to it, but the fact is, it's in front of my unit. I can do whatever I please there. I can even sleep there naked if I want to (but that's another story). I can bear with the tables and chairs, but I erupt in anger and frustration when I realize they obviously lack any form of exposure in the field of propriety. Like, how in the world can they be so dumb, how can some people be so amazingly stupid? They knew I was a new tenant; they should have taken those right away without anyone telling them. I don't care if they were chummy-chummy with the old tenant and they were allowed a place there. Fact is, new tenant = new agreement. Simple as that.
And so for a week, I intentionally didn't talk to them and instead waited for them to voluntarily take those out and respect my area. They didn't. I stretched the little patience I have for one more week hoping things will change. Nothing came. So I asked my lawyer friend to do the talking for me. He graciously obliged. I don't know how he approached them but they were very confrontational. I was home that time but decided not to go with my friend to face them. I may just end up in the papers the next day as the killer of my neighbor's sick mom. Not really my idea of glamorous publicity.
Anyways, I let my friend and my neighbor with her mom yank and yank at each other, almost slithering each other's neck to death. I, on the other hand, was behind the curtains doing what a stenographer does in a courtroom battle, trying to listen to every word said. After a few minutes, there was a lull. My lawyer friend looked for me and suggested that it was best that I talk to Julia.
When I walked over to where they were, Julia was seated in one of the chairs, trying to look composed and calm. I offered my hand and introduced myself. I was burning inside, but I tried hard to be civil and warm in my hope that something good will turn out that night. I made sure I told her my frustration about their seeming lack of consideration and sense of propriety with them not even asking permission from me and, instead, be so callous. She apologized.
To make sure we don't spark to death any longer, I tried to talk about other things like which province she's from, her daughter (she's a single mom), bits of work, and, believe or not, christmas. The whole time, my lawyer-friend seated with us silently while listening to our every story. Amazingly, Julia and I hit it off well and agreed that we should be friends. I allowed her to continue using the space for her table and she offered that I use it too. I set conditions for her to continue enjoy that space (two of them: absolutely no drinking there and no smoking) and she agreed to them. Now, we're OK. She sent me a plateful of dessert and noodles last night, personal delivery. I asked my maid to cook pancakes this morning and return Julia's plate with some of it.
I thought I should end this with some thoughts I got from one of my readings. It's helpful to know how to properly and intelligently fight --- be they husbands, wives, business partners, bestfriends, boyfriends, girlfriends, family members.
-----------
Fights are inevitable, and how you fight probably indicates whether your love will last. But don't be afraid to fight. Fight fairly. This means:
Count to ten before you start.
Stick to the issue.
Don't dredge up ancient history.
Avoid put-downs and name-calling.
Nix the sarcasm and camp.
Speak your mind, and give him/her the chance to speak, too.
Avoid profanity.
Don't throw anything.
No violence. Ever.
Don't change the subject.
Don't pretend you don't understand what he/she's saying.
Don't mimic him/her.
Don't bully him/her.
Assume nothing.
Don't ask your friends to take sides.
Don't hit below the belt.
Be specific about your complaints.
Don't threaten to leave him/her to get your way unless you truly mean it.
An unfinished fight will only return another day. Fight to the finish unless you're merely fighting for fighting's sake, Then, stop.
9.21.2003
Lola Laget
Eight months ago, I went home to Basco in grief to bury my 101-year old great grandmother Lola Laget. Had she lived today, she would have been the oldest person alive in my province. I'm not really sure if that's an accomplishment anyone would like to beat, but it sure is something.
Let me talk about my Lola Laget and me today on her birthday, my little way of paying tribute to one life lived.
When every elderly person is identified with folly and disease, my Lola Laget has remained a delightful antithesis. Up to the time she died, she never failed to surprise us with her faultless memory, impeccable taste, and pure love for life. You will soon see why.
I grew up in the province. Deep in my heart, I am probinsiyano. And because the place where I came from is nearer Taiwan than mainland Luzon, that made it more different and interesting. You grew up probably with Star Wars and Voltes V and a bit of Tom and Jerry on the side. I grew up with war stories. But these are not of the kind that scares and disheartens people. These are the stories that inspire and keep you in awe long after they have been told.
Kitchen and veranda
My fondest memories as a kid mostly happened inside the kitchen or the veranda. I spent many nights as a kid sitting by my Lola's bed or in the kitchen where she prepared dinner. Once in a while, she would ask me about school or my cousins. But most of the time she would relate her life story, each time with so much passion you'd think it was better off made into a movie.
That morning of December 8 in 1941, she says, started gloomy. They just came from church when people started to notice countless ships by the bay. It was the first time they have ever seen fleet of ships in their life, and they wanted to know what was happening. And since they were all good-natured and hospitable people, they rushed to the shore to meet them. Minutes later, the first bomb was fired. My lola lost no time. She quickly got everyone in the family to travel on foot six kilometers to the next town, up in a farm where they thought they'd be hard to find.
And so they were there, her six children including my grandfather who was her eldest. That farm served as their home for the years that came until the war ended. That farm was where my mother was born two years later.
She fondly recalls, she was fortunate to have been born into a landed family. She rode horses when she was young to help out shepherding cattle by the hundreds. She remembers enjoying admiration of many young men as well as women. This wasn't hard to believe. She had long hair, high-bridged nose, and fair skin. She soon met my great grandfather who was a pure Spanish. Because he belonged to the family of the first Spanish government head in my province, they were wealthy and had so much influence.
But they had an unhappy marriage. Stories I gathered disclosed that it was only my great grandmother who remained devoted to the end while my great grandfather gambled a lot, sired children from different women, and failed to pay taxes. And so, little by little, the landholdings dwindled down to the last prized possession. If Cinderella had the rags to riches story, Lola Laget had the exact opposite.
She chose to be happy
But she was not bitter. She then began working in the field to raise her children and keep the family together. Many times I have heard it said, if our family remains intact to this day, Lola Laget should be credited for it. No one ever heard her cry, or worse, blame anyone, during those times. When every one else were chiding her husband, she was never tempted to say anything hurtful. I'm sure she had sleepless nights and it was likely her pillows were drenched in tears too. But, for her, it was a different story every day, each morning.
This was how we grew up. It may not be your idea of perfect childhood, it may completely be irrelevant today. But all of us have nurtured a close relationship with Lola Laget.
For instance, long before I ever started working, there was an unspoken tradition in the family. The moment you start earning, you don't get to hold and enjoy your first paycheck. As our modest way of appreciating what she has done for the family, everyone's first paycheck is wholeheartedly given to her. All of it. It is a sweet vindication for her and for most mothers, that life's adversities do not cripple you.
<to be continued>
Let me talk about my Lola Laget and me today on her birthday, my little way of paying tribute to one life lived.
When every elderly person is identified with folly and disease, my Lola Laget has remained a delightful antithesis. Up to the time she died, she never failed to surprise us with her faultless memory, impeccable taste, and pure love for life. You will soon see why.
I grew up in the province. Deep in my heart, I am probinsiyano. And because the place where I came from is nearer Taiwan than mainland Luzon, that made it more different and interesting. You grew up probably with Star Wars and Voltes V and a bit of Tom and Jerry on the side. I grew up with war stories. But these are not of the kind that scares and disheartens people. These are the stories that inspire and keep you in awe long after they have been told.
Kitchen and veranda
My fondest memories as a kid mostly happened inside the kitchen or the veranda. I spent many nights as a kid sitting by my Lola's bed or in the kitchen where she prepared dinner. Once in a while, she would ask me about school or my cousins. But most of the time she would relate her life story, each time with so much passion you'd think it was better off made into a movie.
That morning of December 8 in 1941, she says, started gloomy. They just came from church when people started to notice countless ships by the bay. It was the first time they have ever seen fleet of ships in their life, and they wanted to know what was happening. And since they were all good-natured and hospitable people, they rushed to the shore to meet them. Minutes later, the first bomb was fired. My lola lost no time. She quickly got everyone in the family to travel on foot six kilometers to the next town, up in a farm where they thought they'd be hard to find.
And so they were there, her six children including my grandfather who was her eldest. That farm served as their home for the years that came until the war ended. That farm was where my mother was born two years later.
She fondly recalls, she was fortunate to have been born into a landed family. She rode horses when she was young to help out shepherding cattle by the hundreds. She remembers enjoying admiration of many young men as well as women. This wasn't hard to believe. She had long hair, high-bridged nose, and fair skin. She soon met my great grandfather who was a pure Spanish. Because he belonged to the family of the first Spanish government head in my province, they were wealthy and had so much influence.
But they had an unhappy marriage. Stories I gathered disclosed that it was only my great grandmother who remained devoted to the end while my great grandfather gambled a lot, sired children from different women, and failed to pay taxes. And so, little by little, the landholdings dwindled down to the last prized possession. If Cinderella had the rags to riches story, Lola Laget had the exact opposite.
She chose to be happy
But she was not bitter. She then began working in the field to raise her children and keep the family together. Many times I have heard it said, if our family remains intact to this day, Lola Laget should be credited for it. No one ever heard her cry, or worse, blame anyone, during those times. When every one else were chiding her husband, she was never tempted to say anything hurtful. I'm sure she had sleepless nights and it was likely her pillows were drenched in tears too. But, for her, it was a different story every day, each morning.
This was how we grew up. It may not be your idea of perfect childhood, it may completely be irrelevant today. But all of us have nurtured a close relationship with Lola Laget.
For instance, long before I ever started working, there was an unspoken tradition in the family. The moment you start earning, you don't get to hold and enjoy your first paycheck. As our modest way of appreciating what she has done for the family, everyone's first paycheck is wholeheartedly given to her. All of it. It is a sweet vindication for her and for most mothers, that life's adversities do not cripple you.
<to be continued>
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