JASMINE IN MY MIND

Bago ang Babae.
- Rebecca Anonuevo

Mabuti na lang at sa panahong ito ako
Ipinanganak na babae.
Hindi ko kailangang manahimik
Kung kailangang magsalita.
Hindi ko kailangang magsalita
Kung nais kong manahimik.
Hindi ko kailangang ipaliwanag
O hindi ipaliwanag ang bawat pagpapasiya.
Hindi ko kailangang sumunod sa inaasahan
Ng lahat, tulad ng pag-aasawa.
Kung mag-asawa man ako’y
Di ko kailangang magpasukob,
Hindi ko kailangang matakot,
Kung dumating ang araw ng pagkabalo,
O kailangan nang makipaghiwalay.
Hindi ko kailangang magkaanak ng labis
Kahit kaya ko itong panagutan.
Hindi ko kailangang malugmok sa lungkot
Sakali’t hindi ako magkaanak.
Kung kailangan kong gampanan
ang pagiging ina at asawa,
Hindi ko kailangang humingi ng paumanhin,
Hindi ko kailangang panawan ng talino at lakas,
Hindi ko kailangang kalimutan ang lahat,
Hindi ko kailangang itakwil ang sarili,
Hindi ko kailangang burahin
Na isa akong tao,
bago isang babae.

Have you noticed one thing in common among social networking sites today?  They’re all swarmed with Father’s Day greetings in varying styles and languages! Here’s a small catch though – I haven’t sent my own Tatay any message yet. So I carefully typed in these words on my mobile phone: “Happy Father’s Day sa pinaka-cool na Tatay sa balat ng lupa!” and clicked the ‘send’ icon. I know it’s lacking originality and all but the sincerity comes from deep within this well-loved heart. Some few seconds passed and he replied, “Thank you. Paghona ko ta subago pa ramrag nag-greet su iba, ka-kwartahon na lang. Joke. Salamat sana dakol pang greetings sa fadir’s day ta puro man nakarumrom’. Translated in English, he said: Thank you. I thought you’ll have it converted to cash instead since your siblings have already greeted me early this morning. Thank you very much, all of you remembered..”

My father have always been like that eversince. He injects humor whether it is in plain conversation, or serious talks. No wonder I got this propensity to joke around dear people. He has a certain glib and he can always get away with it. (TBC)

My son recently turns ten. I’ve been sounding cliche every time I ask, “Isn’t it a wonder how time flies so fast?” Indeed. I remember an acquaintance, my husband’s ex from the South, who told me years ago that I should enjoy my time with the little boy because when he reaches ten, I might no longer be able to hug and kiss him as often as I want. True enough. He doesn’t want to be cuddled and tickled whenever there are friends around. Like it’s a disgrace to be caught being playful with your parents.

This early, he also made an announcement that he will officially ‘court’ a girl in grade six. That’s already next year! In other words, I have to prepare myself emotionally and psychologically the soonest time possible.

Yet there are so many things to be thankful of. Despite my limitations as a mother, I am plain glad that Elmo (well, we only call him that at home because he’s so embarrassed to be addressed that way in public, I think he doesn’t want to be associated with the sesame street character) is growing up to be a responsible one although most of his traits, he took after me. I don’t know. He got my sensitive side. My goodness, he’s ten times a cry baby than his little sister.

I thank God that my boy  —

* is healthy in all aspects
* is a very thoughtful son
* is always setting a good example to younger sister Faith
* is quick to offer help whenever he can
* is good at balancing time ( playing PSP and reading all his books)
* is appreciative of the love we give him

At times, he can be “matampuhin” and “tamad”. Very much like me! I really could not blame the boy, it’s in his genes. Lol. Happy birthday, anak! Be happy always.

(Note: This post’s title “Eytyxismena Genethlia!” is a Greek term for Happy Birthday. The kids are fascinated with the Greek alphabet so I might as well use it here. Faith even copied the characters on her notebook.)

Well, yes. There is definitely something about summertime that makes it exciting to all young people. Not only are they freed from the bondage of numerous assignments, quizzes, and class recitations — they also find time, plenty of it actually, to play and just be themselves!

Somehow in this fast-paced, money-dominated culture of ours, expectations about the role of children in the family and society also have started to change. Many children have lost touch with what its like to be a kid in exchange for food to feed their hungry mouth. Many are denied the chance  to bathe under the summer heat, to visit relatives, to do picnics so they can help mother and father earn a living. Sadly, poverty had long blurred many young people’s concept of summer.

I am a mother and as such, I want my children to live a normal life. So I let them be. Besides they are responsible kids as far as school work  is concerned. In the same manner, I believe they have to be guided about the things that will make them learn and be happy at the same time. Today for instance, I suggested an activity for them not to get bored. Origami making! Faith and Elmo, judging by the way they spent the whole day, had a great time. Here are a few of their origami art pieces.

Berry wearing an origami samurai hat & shuriken

origami chair

origami piano

origami tote bag

lady bugs

double star

fortune teller

lotus flower

puppy

polar bear

mouse

elephant

Faith busy doing her origami art pieces

William Shakespeare captured life’s essence when he wrote: “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.

We all say hello and goodbye one time or another. Like a storyline, there’s always a beginning and an end.

While patiently waiting for my bus in Naga to take me to Manila, I see faces that poignantly speaks of hidden stories — mother half-smiling, half crying as she peeks through the bus’ window and wishes her daughter well; lovers locking eyes and arms with the hope of instantly blurring an impending farewell; families smiling from ear to ear as they expectantly awaits a member’s arrival. My habit to “people watch” whenever I travel undeniably allows me to ponder what’s behind those faces. I think it is significant because in the process, it also permits us to revisit our own selves. And I wish to emphasize that part of our selves which we are too scared to confront. Gray areas and personal taboos we don’t want to acknowledge. Those that we can laugh off but never really erase simply because they’re indelible — just like the idea of death.

Hello moments are often happy moments. The birth of a child for instance, or one’s acceptance to a great job, can uplift the soul to a higher level. On the other hand, goodbye moments are often associated with sadness or mourning. What could be more devastating than when one loses a favorite possession, a friend or a loved one?

My father-in-law, Tatay Gene, who had been very good to me and my children, just said goodbye. However, I was in Bicol when he died so I had to be home immediately to pay my last respect. It was sad knowing I didn’t see him breathing if only for the last time.

People come and go. We have been joined by so many yaya’s and relatives but all of them became best friends with him. Maybe some of them left with ill feelings towards me or my husband but never with Tatay Gene. He’s such a good man that he never remarried after his wife (my husband’s mother) died some 28 years ago. Instead, he devoted his entire life to his six children. Proof of it was the fact that all his children finished school. I also met his nephew, Kuya Alex, and I wasn’t surprised he only have kind words to tell.

Tatay Gene, you may not be able to read this, but I thank you with all my heart and I am sorry if I have offended or made you sad somehow. I know I hadn’t been a perfect daughter-in-law. Whereever you are, please know how proud we are to have witnessed a life well-spent! Yours.

Travel well ‘Tay and please guide us as we face our own hellos and goodbyes. We will miss you and your fatherly grin; your kind gestures; your rationing us fresh vegetables; the sweet potato, ginger, bell pepper, string beans you always loved planting at the rooftop, the sacks of rice you give us for free every time you harvest your palays; the coconuts from the trees you planted; every little thing you did to make your grandchildren Elmo and Faith’s childhood memorable; the cigarette butts you left unintentionally at the sofa; the coffee and coffee mate you buy when our cupboard runs empty; the cabinets you made for free; the wall paints you applied (again, for free); your listening to “haranas” and news updates from your old and battered transistor radio; your watching boxing fights especially those of Pacquiao’s; the visits you made at our house/dorm in Cabanatuan, PRRM, and CLSU; the hot pandesals, the wooden kubo upstairs, the pails of waters you fetched when I gave birth to my eldest. My list is long. I have more to write and the space is not enough. Fare well, Tay! You will be missed.

(Note: This was written in March 28, two days before my father in law’s burial but was only published today since my husband asked that he be allowed to break the news to friends. Yet, up until today he didn’t blog about it.)

March is International Women’s Month. And though it lacks the glitter and festivity of  Valentines, Christmas,  or New Year — it significantly heralds in this world a woman’s existence, her resiliency, and her loving heart.

In the spirit of women’s month, I will shut off my mind from that constant illusion of attaining a scorching summer bod which, obviously, reeks of inebriated narcissism. Besides, it’s way too unrealistic to even consider. I’ve been pigging out all day, never minding the fact that our bathroom scale can no longer carry my weight. If it can only speak, God knows what it’ll be yelling at me each time I set my gigantic frame on it!

Why not write about women who made contributions amidst heaps of trials and challenges? Women who have made my imagination aflame with their colorful and dangerous lives? And women of substance I’d love to emulate?

My strongest influences came from the family so I’ll list my mother first. Well, her life story’s a melodrama of sorts: lost her father when she was a few months old,  got her older sister killed due to an accident, gave up school at fifteen to find herself a job, married my father at nineteen and had me at 20.  Yet, young as she was, she raised all six of us the best way she can. Her sacrifices seem so vivid after all these years. She’s the earliest to wake up in the morning and the last one to sleep at night. Day after day, she’d prepare delicious meals knowing how picky eaters we all are. Her patience is beyond compare when it comes to assisting us in our school work and assignments. You bet I’d pale in comparison. My mother know by heart lessons in Science and History that she didn’t need to read our textbooks in order to review us. There were unpleasant memories but mostly because we need to be disciplined. I do not regret it especially now that I am a parent myself. In fact I appreciated it more that I tasted bitter-sweet days in my childhood. Perhaps I’d be a spoiled brat if it weren’t for those.

Fast forward to today, she means several other things. Nanay is graying-hair-dyed-black, squeaky clean floor tiles, fancy flower vases and neat flower gardens, facial moisturizers and reading glasses, fresh fruits from the backyard, baked goodies/meriendas and aromatic coffees. And most of all, my mother is a welcoming hand that misses and asks me to come home all the time!

The others that follow are randomly listed.

Evita Peron. Yes, she’s the inspiration behind the classic pop “Don’t cry for me Argentina, the truth is I never left you…all through my wild days, my mad existence, I’ve kept my promise….” Evita is María Eva Duarte de Perón,
first lady to late Argentinian strongman Juan Domingo Peron. While reading her memoir (The Life and Death of Eva Peron by Paul L. Montgomery), I was totally blown by her person. She had this reputation of being one of the most notorious women in the 20th century. But behind all that is a child. I think she never outgrew her sordid past. She might have fed first-rate scandals but she also built the most beautiful orphanage in the world, gave her countrywomen the vote, and fed the poor.

Evita was a country girl who unbelievably used all her means to reach the pedestal. Imagine, she died at the height of her glory with a whopping $20M nestled in Swiss bank accounts.

President Cory Aquino. I blogged about her some months ago. As far as empowering the people is concerned, Tita Cory stands out without a question. Such a selfless woman-leader deserves all the adulation we Filipinos have for her up to this day. One’s greatness is truly known even when a person is no longer present. And in her case, I genuinely felt her superiority over crooks who have and who are continually managing to lure us under the pretense of grand promises. (TBContinued)

In a matter of weeks, my two younger brothers will be graduating in college and high school respectively. Finally I can now heave a sigh of relief.

Early last year, my parents requested that I take ward of them during this final phase in their academic life believing they need role models to look up to. Nanay and Tatay have always been a staunch believer of education. They ingrained in my young mind to persist no matter what it takes to be educated. (True enough, I took it seriously even if it meant skipping meals and taking odd jobs.) Since my youngest brother dreams of becoming the best cock fighter and “tambay” in our small village in Bikol, they decided to have him spend his fourth year in HS under my tutelage.

But I must say, the process was never easy.

Adjustments had to be made, in terms of disciplining, time, attitude, etc. I have to make plenty of sacrifices especially with my youngest brother who thinks refusal to accept authority is in vogue. In fact, the times I have sought my parents’ advice outnumbers the amount of time I allot in minding my own children. Who wouldn’t be alarmed if your brother goes out late at night apparently for reasons any sane mind will have difficulty comprehending? Or when you go visit his school and find out he’s smoking inside the classroom? Or if the teacher tells you straight-face that your brother had been skipping his classes? Worse, I caught him piercing his lower lip with a needle! There was also one occasion when I spotted a huge mark on his right shoulder, the kind that you see marked on animals? Gross!

When I was his age, I knew my responsibilities well. It never entered my mind to try alcohol or any vice for that matter, cut classes, and all the stuff that will jeopardize my future. I was ever studious and serious. Although that might not be an ideal way to handle personal and school pressures – I’m glad I was successful at finishing school.

People are idiosyncratic. That’s why I respect differences, as long as it does not bother anybody. However, it’s an entirely different case when you are dwelling with other people. You should learn, as much as the other party tries to, adjust. Unfortunately, I didn’t see any of that happening with my brother. And this is when I start to scold them. The older one, we call him Nono (my third sibling), was mature enough to handle my nagging moments. Oh you bet, I get angry every time I go upstairs and see what a mess they’ve made of their room! I get ballistic at the sight of unwashed dishes. I transform into a monster when I see they did not even bother sweeping the small garden upstairs. But that’s just how I am. After the nagging, I do all the jobs and messy chores they left. The clothes scattered on the chairs are put inside the laundry basket. Papers, pens, scissors, cutters strewn everywhere are placed in one area. Floors are swept free of litters and dry leaves. And even if I am mad, I still hand him his allowance.

All because I care. I do not want them to live a miserable life in the future. My constant reminder “Please help yourself as much as other people tries to” pisses him no end, telling me to stop because I’m like a broken record. Maybe my siblings see me as the evil sister because I always try to meddle and insist on my share of thoughts. But I take that with a grain of salt. No matter what, they are my sisters and brothers. I get affected by whatever hurts or frustrates them. And being the eldest, I can’t seem to take that they will suffer the same heartaches I encountered along the way.

In the final analysis — we are still a family. When all else turn to shambles, who will accept you with both arms? Who will be there even when you made the biggest of mistakes without judging you? Family members are our best friends, they don’t leave us…they stay behind all the time… Yet, they also do not tolerate evil ways and they’re always ready to praise you when you need one.

Maki and Nono, happy graduation!

When I got home that night as my wife served dinner, I held her hand and said, I’ve got something to tell you. She sat down and ate quietly. Again I observed the hurt in her eyes.

Suddenly I didn’t know how to open my mouth. But I had to let her know what I was thinking. I want a divorce.. I raised the topic calmly.

She didn’t seem to be annoyed by my words, instead she asked me softly, why?

I avoided her question. This made her angry. She threw away the chopsticks and shouted at me, you are not a man! That night, we didn’t talk to each other. She was weeping. I knew she wanted to find out what had happened to our marriage. But I could hardly give her a satisfactory answer; she had lost my heart to Dew. I didn’t love her anymore. I just pitied her!

With a deep sense of guilt, I drafted a divorce agreement which stated that she could own our house, our car, and 30% stake of my company.

She glanced at it and then tore it into pieces. The woman who had spent ten years of her life with me had become a stranger. I felt sorry for her wasted time, resources and energy but I could not take back what I had said for I loved Dew so dearly. Finally she cried loudly in front of me, which was what I had expected to see. To me her cry was actually a kind of release. The idea of divorce which had obsessed me for several weeks seemed to be firmer and clearer now.

The next day, I came back home very late and found her writing something at the table. I didn’t have supper but went straight to sleep and fell asleep very fast because I was tired after an eventful day with Dew.

When I woke up, she was still there at the table writing. I just did not care so I turned over and was asleep again.

In the morning she presented her divorce conditions: she didn’t want anything from me, but needed a month’s notice before the divorce.
She requested that in that one month we both struggle to live as normal a life as possible. Her reasons were simple: our son had his exams in a month’s time and she didn’t want to disrupt him with our broken marriage.

This was agreeable to me. But she had something more, she asked me to recall how I had carried her into out bridal room on our wedding day.

She requested that everyday for the month’s duration I carry her out of our bedroom to the front door ever morning.. I thought she was going crazy. Just to make our last days together bearable I accepted her odd request.

I told Dew about my wife’s divorce conditions.. . She laughed loudly and thought it was absurd. No matter what tricks she applies, she has to face the divorce, she said scornfully..

My wife and I hadn’t had any body contact since my divorce intention was explicitly expressed. So when I carried her out on the first day, we both appeared clumsy. Our son clapped behind us, daddy is holding mummy in his arms. His words brought me a sense of pain. From the bedroom to the sitting room, then to the door, I walked over ten meters with her in my arms. She closed her eyes and said softly; don’t tell our son about the divorce. I nodded, feeling somewhat upset. I put her down outside the door. She went to wait for the bus to work. I drove alone to the office.

On the second day, both of us acted much more easily. She leaned on my chest. I could smell the fragrance of her blouse. I realized that I hadn’t looked at this woman carefully for a long time.. I realized she was not young any more. There were fine wrinkles on her face, her hair was graying! Our marriage had taken its toll on her. For a minute I wondered what I had done to her.

On the fourth day, when I lifted her up, I felt a sense of intimacy returning. This was the woman who had given ten years of her life to me.

On the fifth and sixth day, I realized that our sense of intimacy was growing again. I didn’t tell Dew about this. It became easier to carry her as the month slipped by. Perhaps the everyday workout made me stronger.

She was choosing what to wear one morning. She tried on quite a few dresses but could not find a suitable one. Then she sighed, all my dresses have grown bigger. I suddenly realized that she had grown so thin, that was the reason why I could carry her more easily.

Suddenly it hit me… she had buried so much pain and bitterness in her heart. Subconsciously I reached out and touched her head.

Our son came in at the moment and said, Dad, it’s time to carry mum out. To him, seeing his father carrying his mother out had become an essential part of his life. My wife gestured to our son to come closer and hugged him tightly. I turned my face away because I was afraid I might change my mind at this last minute. I then held her in my arms, walking from the bedroom, through the sitting room, to the hallway. Her hand surrounded my neck softly and naturally. I held her body tightly; it was just like our wedding day.

But her much lighter weight made me sad. On the last day, when I held her in my arms I could hardly move a step. Our son had gone to school. I held her tightly and said, I hadn’t noticed that our life lacked intimacy.

I drove to office…. jumped out of the car swiftly without locking the door. I was afraid any delay would make me change my mind…I walked upstairs. Dew opened the door and I said to her, Sorry, Dew, I do not want the divorce anymore.

She looked at me, astonished, and then touched my forehead.. Do you have a fever? She said. I moved her hand off my head. Sorry, Dew, I said, I won’t divorce. My marriage life was boring probably because she and I didn’t value the details of our lives, not because we didn’t love each other any more. Now I realize that since I carried her into my home on our wedding day I am supposed to hold her until death do us apart.

Dew seemed to suddenly wake up. She gave me a loud slap and then slammed the door and burst into tears. I walked downstairs and drove away.

At the floral shop on the way, I ordered a bouquet of flowers for my wife. The salesgirl asked me what to write on the card. I smiled and wrote, I’ll carry you out every morning until death do us apart.

That evening I arrived home, flowers in my hands, a smile on my face, I run up stairs, only to find my wife in the bed – dead.

The small details of your lives are what really matter in a relationship. It is not the mansion, the car, property, the money in the bank. These create an environment conducive for happiness but cannot give happiness in themselves. So find time to be your spouse’s friend and do those little things for each other that build intimacy. Do have a real happy marriage!

“Marlene says her son went into hiding because they knew they were up into an influential person – the victim’s father – and couldn’t possibly find justice in the country. But if her theory is to be believed, if in fact her son is the victim of a conspiracy, then wouldn’t his innocence be his prime defense?” – R. J. David, PDI, 01/24/2010

Watching Marlene Aguilar spew defense for her son Ivler leads me back to a remarkable story my Nanay and Tatay repeatedly told in my childhood. Those storytelling sessions by the way, mostly happens when one of us did something wrong. For the record, I hold the distinction of committing the most of our little “crimes” from fist-fighting with my cousins to bawling with my younger sibs over television channels. In short, I was the most suplada. Hmmmm. But take note of the ‘was’.

My father would tell us the story of a young man about to be sentenced to death. As his execution comes near, the jail officials asked for his last wishes. He said he only have one: to see his mother for the very last time. The latter came to bid her son’s last request. On that certain day, the son asked: “Mother, why did you not tell me what I was doing then was unjust and wrong? Why didn’t you correct me when I did so many bad things in the past? And now I am going to pay those with my life…”. The mother said tearfully, “..because I love you that much, son! I could not bear to see you hurt or unhappy!”. With that, the young man asked if he can kiss his mother, but instead he bit his mother’s ear so hard until she bleeds and cries to death.

How violent. My young mind did not bother validating if it was a true account though. All I know is that having heard of it countless times inculcated in me the crucial role played by parents in the lives of children. Parenting is like cooking in many ways. Never set the fire too low for it will leave your meal uncooked. Never set the fire too high, or you’ll end up eating a piece of charcoal. Marlene seem to epitomize that and gives  parenthood such a bad name. In most of her interviews (that I watch despite my irritation), I can see her attempt to cover up the real issue and bring the limelight to her instead. Is this what a mother’s supposed to be? No wonder her son grew up that way. Am I being judgmental? Perhaps I am. Perhaps not? Who in his right mind would shoot a complete stranger simply because a  misunderstanding ensued? Traffic altercations doesn’t give anyone, not even a HOT young man (lets qualify that as being born to alta/high profile parents with looks enough to attract a horde of fans), the license to murder humans. I wonder if he has any blood relations with Mayor Ampatuan.

Mistaken Identity. So they were claiming innocence. And yet, there are the more innocent ones who had been dragged to this. 26 year old Jason Aguilar from Bulacan was detained for having been mistaken as Ivler. He worked as welder in Qatar to support his family in the Philippines. We learned later on that aside from mistaken identity, he was also a victim of illegal recruiters. Some recruitment agencies have no heart. They’ll suck your blood until you become lifeless!

I felt bad knowing that Aguilar was arrested by the Qatari police and had to stay for seven days in prison with no idea why he was jailed in the first place. He doesn’t even know the story behind Mr. Ivler and yet he had to endure all that. I mean, he wore the same clothes from day 1 to day 7. What if it had been one of us? I for one could not think of better ways to get out of the situation sane and intact. Had Marlene Aguilar surrendered her son the first time an offense was made, no innocent people will be involved. What if it was you?

Extra Bragging Rights. For the nth time, Ms. Aguilar did not fail to mention her books, her son’s being a former special forces member, her works of art, but never really answered questions about the road-rage shooting incident (one with a stranger and the other with Ebarle’s son). Of course people have every right to fair trial but as a popular adage goes “res ipsa loquitor”. The only thing missing is court trial. If he is innocent, as his camp claims — why did he go into hiding? Why should Marlene Aguilar deceive the police and the people that his son suddenly went missing? People are not that stupid. They can easily detect it when you’re lying under your teeth. The last time you were blaming the Americans as the root and cause of your son’s plight, now you’re asking them to “rescue” him.

To be continued

A courier service messenger came with a package for me the other day. This is unusual, I thought. I seldom receive gifts now that I’m a parent except from generous girl friends who happen to have the same initials (my kumareng M, and my good friend M). I was puzzled while alighting from the tricycle as to where it could’ve possibly come from. I signed the tracking form and found out it came from Johnson and Johnsons. Weeeee!!!! Faith loved them and asked if we could share using the products. The violet-colored container (Johnson’s Body Care melt-away stress) suits me well because of its calming effect. Daughter prefers Johnson’s Body Care (24-hour lasting moisture).

share the softness with your friends

mild scents

Faith hiding her mumps