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.

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!

Now it isn’t cool anymore if you have no time to make yourself beautiful. This brings to mind one television show where the host said “kapag ikaw ay isang misis at pumangit ka, kasalanan mo na yun” (if you’re a wife and you became ugly, that’s your fault). Balancing the scale means learning to allot specific time and space for the self.

But change must begin from within, so they say. And that made me ponder time management seriously. I also am looking at my organizing skills, my propensity to brood over insignificant matters. I am crossing my fingers for this less and more list to work!

Facebook less, blog more
worry less, enjoy more
eat less, treadmill more
hate less, love more
watch TV late less, sleep more
sit less, walk more
hoard less, share more
cry less, smile more
rice less, fruits and vegetables more
shop less, save more
complain less, thank more
criticize less, praise more
work less, play more
whine less, pray more

How about you? Do you keep a list of your less and more?

But eventually, you make peace with the fact that this world no longer puts you at its center, and that there’s more to lollipops and colorful hairpins and fancy paper dolls. So you say goodbye to childhood and innocence. But not for long. Life pierces you to the core and you find yourself tripping down memory lane.

It became my saving grace to recount my childhood days especially when my character is put to test or when I feel like jumping off  a cliff because in it,  I seem invincible. It’s true that there are people and situations capable of prodding us to think or act negatively. No matter how hard you try, obstructions will crop up like pests ready to destroy you from full blossoming. What a feat it is to be a good person! As they say, madaling maging tao pero mahirap magpakatao ( its easy to be human, but its hard to act with dignity). I believe it’s part of this universe’s design to let humans experience conflict, otherwise we would not be able to appreciate life in its fullness.

Honestly, it’s much easier to make sense of theoretical problems than understand real-life issues. Years of training allows you to be an expert in one field or discipline. But when it comes to managing personal life, not even a hundred years of existence can make you demystify life in its totality. There’s no such thing as masters or doctoral degree courses that can provide ultimate answer to every human’s unique questions.

Yet we are also gifted with free will. Viesca expounds “no one who achieves anything significant in life gives up at times when he is supposed to stretch.  Claim your birthright to become a better person with every event that comes your way.  In those moments when things seem too complicated to understand, be thankful.”

We can create something from nothing, turn crap into a thing of value. In a sense, we all can be alchemists of destiny. Instead of relying on nostalgia which is more often than not, erroneous and escapist - we can man our future by living today and savouring the present!

Muchos Gracias to my friend Miss Guimba for giving me this “You’re a Doll” award. Thanks dahling! I do feel like waving my right hand now ala-Precious Quigaman. Dolls always bring to mind beauty queens with their flawless skin, pretty peepers, and perfect bod.

Since my complexion is on the darker side, wearing bright colors automatically metamorphose me into a baluga of the first kind. Fortunately, my familiarity with Picasa3 and  other digital mediums allow me to tweak photographs. At least in pictures, I can be semi-mestiza. Otherwise that dream of mine will remain a dream forever.

The other day,  my friend tagged me in her blog and because you don’t say no to goddesses, I took time to find “orange” objects in my house. Then I realized, what’s not to like in orange anyway? They say that colors represent varied psychological and emotional connotations. Orange for instance, helps a person become assertive. If you’re out to nail a debate, try donning an orange costume.  Now that gives me a better idea. The next time hubby and I have a disagreement, I’d be in my orange ensemble (and I mean, from head to foot). Overkill, babe! Promise, I’ll be a walking and talking carrot just for that moment.

So I conducted a little inspection and surprisingly found these:

There’s the orange curtain in my room that we bought on impulse. Hubby and I were off to purchase something at the home appliance section but got hooked at the home decor instead and were hypnotized by the array of curtains. We picked this one thinking it will do magic when hung on the windows. Now all of them are tucked neatly in our closet, save for this pair.  Too bad, we forgot our walls are painted in raw sienna!

This one’s a present from my daughter’s Ninang, an orange (and yellow) mini-document holder. Isn’t it cute? This is where we keep copies of Faith and Elmo’s souvenir Christening invitation. They remind me of Pete Lacaba’s Edad Media. When men, both the  male and female specie, hit midlife — there’s no escaping BMS (bulging midsections syndrome).

I got an orange nail polish. For the first time, I’m growing my nails longer. Not that I have gone uber maarte, it’s just that my nails suddenly started lifting themselves from the nail bed. They look awful. Without manicure, you can actually see the exposed whitish area where the nails have separated. Perhaps they’ve become too sensitive to detergent bars and powders. This orange nail coat is great as far as dealing with nail imperfection is concerned. It also helped that my hands are lighter in color compared to my arms, so orange nails are fine. Methinks.

Lo! An orange office wall magnet.  Its a must especially if you have an obsessive-compulsive guy for a husband. His room looks like a gallery museum of receipts and papers.

The orange phone. My Nokia 7610 is an old model but I like it more than any other cellular phones in the house. I think this is one of Nokia’s best phones as it contains full smartphone features, a bluetooth wireless connectivity, and an excellent display and camera. Amazing how the range of pre-installed and downloadable applications can be immense, and the design is compact and lightweight.

Here’s an orange headband I bought it for my daughter in 2008. I definitely am not brand-conscious. As long as it looks pretty, simple, and functional - expect me to get one. Faith loves kikay stuff. In fact, her drawer contains headbands of varying designs and colors. But this orange headband is seldom used. Perhaps its a bit too un-kikay for her taste? I use it often though. What I love most about having a daughter is that we can actually swap things.

As my friend earlier told, I’m also quite not sure how this tag works, but I hope you can show us violet or purple stuff in your home –  Warp Zone, Things I Remember/Things I Forget, and Super Nanay.  Read more…

It’s still cold at dawn but mostly, cold days have started to compete with warm days. Mornings are made of lovely kaleidoscopic sun rays creeping through my windows. The market where I buy our weekly supplies bursts with an almost summer-y color as it displays baskets after baskets of ripe mangoes, pineapples, watermelons, star apples, and oranges. I bet in a few more days - flowers in different packages will be all over department stores and supermarkets.

In the same way, kite makers have probably began designing guryons, tsapi-tsapis, and boka-bokas. These are popular types of kites well-loved by both young and old. With abundant winds in our Philippine summer sky, what’ll be more perfect for kite-flying?

February, needless to say, is such a fine month. After the pocket-emptying Yuletide, here comes another season to spread happiness around us.

And since it’s almost Valentines Day, I hope it would not sound “cheesy” to talk about courtship that has become underrated and predictable these days. What with the rapid evolution of gadgets and communication devices that made everything possible in a relatively short period of time. An SMS away and you’ll have a taste of what its like to be “in a relationship”.

But have you ever wondered what its like during the old days? Our folks didn’t live long enough to tell us their love stories during the pre-war era. I look up my handy Pinoy Almanac which describe in pictures courtship talk via handkerchief and I find them soooo cute.  Here, take a peek:

If a lady presses a handkerchief on her lips, it means she agrees to exchange letters with a man.

A handkerchief pressed on the eyes means she’s lonely.

When a lady presses her handkerchief on both cheeks, it means she loves you!

When  the handkerchief is pressed on the right cheek, it means yes.

A handkerchief pressed on the left cheek means no.

A handkerchief pressed on the shoulder means ‘follow me’

A handkerchief knotted on the fingers means “I am married/taken. Sorry”

]]> http://joybeth.lisondra.net/2010/02/feb-ibig/feed/ http://joybeth.lisondra.net/2010/01/a-touching-story-about-marriage/ http://joybeth.lisondra.net/2010/01/a-touching-story-about-marriage/#comments Sun, 31 Jan 2010 16:08:22 +0000 joybeth http://joybeth.lisondra.net/?p=974 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!

See, even inmates can summon inspiration. I saw this from my cousin’s FB but did not figure out how to make the video appear in my blog until today. They are the “Dancing Inmates” from Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center (CPDRC), a maximum security prison. It was so lovely of Michael Jackson’s long-time choreographer Travis Payne and dancers Daniel Celebre and Dres Reid to visit and teach them this choreography from THIS IS IT.