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Friday, June 19, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Reveries of the Mother of A High School Student
11 June 2009
So it's official. I'm finally the mother of a high school student when classes opened at the Sacred Heart School of the Society of Jesus (a.k.a. Jesuit) yesterday, June 10. We were all excited about it because it was Karwin's first day in high school and this was also his first official day in a new and much bigger school after having spent the past 9 years of his life in the small and very close-knit environment of St. Benedict's Childhood Education Centre (a.k.a. St. Ben).
The transition from St. Ben to Jesuit was made easier for him by having, more or less half of, his classmates from his former school enrol in the current one. Also, these same classmates were in the Chinese Summer Camp that Jesuit offered for 5 weeks over the summer break for those students who have not had any background in Chinese language. While Karwin was, at first, really upset about having his precious summer break marred by classes, he later began to enjoy being with his friends and making new ones. In fact, he was invited to the birthday party of one of his new schoolmates over the summer break.
We were all up early yesterday--Yaya, Karwin and I. When I went to check on Karwin at 5:30 a.m., he was already up, NOT eating breakfast in bed as was usual in years past, with his eyes still glued together while he grumpily sucked on a Chuckie, but sitting upright at his study desk with--get this--coffee and rosquillos for breakfast. Coffee is something he acquired a taste for over the summer in a big way.
He had the look of someone eagerly looking forward to something but was, at the same time, deep in thought while he munched on a rosquillo cookie. I entered the room and his reverie was broken. I asked him if he didn't want a heavier breakfast (but knew that he usually didn't have any appetite first thing in the morning) and he told me, "I'm fine, mom." Without asking, I took one cookie from his plate and proceeded to munch on it, to which he protested, "Hey, that's my cookie." I left his room with a parting shot, "Greedy boy!" Mother and son had just said their customary good mornings...LOL
By 6:15 a.m. we were on our way to Jesuit. I forgot to tell Yaya and Leo that Karwin's classes actually commenced at 7:30 a.m. and not 7:00, that's why they were both in such a hurry to be out of the house. We had been told that traffic along the route to Jesuit was horrendous because of several schools along the way (i.e. Banilad Elementary School, BRIGHT Academy, Woodridge, Marie Ernestine, University of San Carlos, San Isidro, etc. etc.). Luckily, some schools had not started classes yet, so we were pleasantly zipping along nicely early on in our trip so that by 6:24 a.m., we were already halfway to school. I commented then that Karwin was going to be much too early to be in school, thinking that Jesuit was just going to be another 10 minutes away. Leo told us not to be too confident.
And he was right. When we got to the Talamban fork, that was when traffic started to build up and our van began to slow to a crawl. It was when we got to the bridge that would take us to H. Abellana where Jesuit was located that traffic just stopped and moved an inch at a time. Per usual, our beloved Department of Public Works and Highways had chosen to start doing roadworks close to the opening of classes (i.e. 2 weeks before opening) which meant that excavations along the side of the already-narrow road was going to make the road impassable to two-way traffic in some areas. Consequently, each side had to take turns navigating through the pot-holed street. I am sure that if the curses of everyone passing through that road could be converted to cash, we would be able to raise enough money to build a twelve-lane highway straight to Jesuit, but of course, I exaggerate.
What amused us along the way was the sight of two big Cataliya coaster vans filled with students on their way to school. Karwin espied his friend Vincy in one of them and got very excited. He tried to text Vincy on his mobile, only to find out that he had no more load. Another van passed us on the right and a pretty girl with braces smiled at Karwin. Leo was the one who got thrilled by this and teased Karwin. The boy was embarrased.
We finally managed to enter the gates of the school at around 7:03 a.m. Karwin espied Vincy and another classmate, Ralph, walking on the sidewalk leading to the Grand Lobby and practically jumped out of our van so he could catch up with his friends. We said our goodbyes to him but he was already out the door, his attention on Vincy, Ralph and other classmates who were now massing together. As Leo, Yaya and I watched, we saw Karwin smile a wide smile at his friends as he joined them. We watched as the posse went up the steps of the Grand Lobby of the school and into life as high school students. We couldn't have been prouder.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
One Friday Afternoon
Note: Before I set up this blogsite, I used to send out emails like this to friends whom I knew would indulge my nostalgia trips.
I wrote this a little over a year ago and when I read this again today, I got some sort of epiphany. People who know me well think of me as a funny person who sees the world in a wacky way. I am. But I sometimes get into these moods where I write down stuff that my friend Riza says makes her want to cry. I told her to stop reading me if that is the effect I have on her. But she told me that she kinda liked it because it reminded her of things like her childhood and stuff. I told her that it was the nostalgic in me wanting to burst out of this person who sees the world as a constant source of amusement.
April 18, 2008
Today I heard a song that I really loved as a young girl, when music played a big part of my life. As a teenager, the radio was always on whenever I was in my room, even as I was doing my homework or even while asleep. The only time the radio was off was when I went out of my room for extended periods of time, like when I was in school or out of the house. The song, entitled “I Will Still Love You” by Stonebolt, a Canadian rock group, gave me such a pang that I had to stop a while and write down what I felt.
What came to mind was that this song shaped my view of what love should be— constant, undying, able to weather any and all difficulties, obstacles, crisis, – and though “the mountains and trees tumble into the seas to rest there for eternity, no matter what you do, I will still love you.” As a young girl, I knew this was the kind of love that I would have.
Thirty odd years later, having weathered and left a marriage that, in hindsight, brought me more grief than happiness, and a string of what–I- can- only- describe- as-flings later, I realize that I still held the ideals of this song as the touchstone by which I based how I wanted to love and be loved.
In an increasingly rare moment of reflection, I asked myself if the pang I felt was because I was disappointed that I did not get what I had hoped for as a young girl, the answer that came to me surprised me greatly. The answer was, my life is not over yet. There is still hope that I will find this kind of love, if not in this life then in the next. Anything less, for me, is not worth having.
And so, I salute the people who wrote this song, not curse them. For those of you that remember this song, join me in reliving that time of innocence and hope. For those of you that don’t know this song, here’s a link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-YWMNqJN1Nc
I will understand if you think that I am seeking the impossible. But just remember, my life isn’t over yet.
I WILL STILL LOVE YOU
Stonebolt
Love 'em and leave 'em
Give them the air
Hurt and deceive them
Say you don't care
Break their hearts and let them fall
Like rain on your back stairs
Then call me up tomorrow
You know I'll still be there
Ref:
When the moon disappears forever
And the sun shines electric blue
And the mountains and trees tumble into the sea
To rest there for eternity
No matter what you do
I will still love you
So if your bridges go up in flame
And if all your lovers
Strike you too tame
Some sad song of love you hear
Can make you call my name
I will be there in a minute
And you know I'll feel the same
(Repeat refrain)
Bridge:
So the weary traveller
Tired of passing through
Stops to get his bearings
And stays on to wait for you
(Repeat refrain)
I will still love you....
I wrote this a little over a year ago and when I read this again today, I got some sort of epiphany. People who know me well think of me as a funny person who sees the world in a wacky way. I am. But I sometimes get into these moods where I write down stuff that my friend Riza says makes her want to cry. I told her to stop reading me if that is the effect I have on her. But she told me that she kinda liked it because it reminded her of things like her childhood and stuff. I told her that it was the nostalgic in me wanting to burst out of this person who sees the world as a constant source of amusement.
April 18, 2008
Today I heard a song that I really loved as a young girl, when music played a big part of my life. As a teenager, the radio was always on whenever I was in my room, even as I was doing my homework or even while asleep. The only time the radio was off was when I went out of my room for extended periods of time, like when I was in school or out of the house. The song, entitled “I Will Still Love You” by Stonebolt, a Canadian rock group, gave me such a pang that I had to stop a while and write down what I felt.
What came to mind was that this song shaped my view of what love should be— constant, undying, able to weather any and all difficulties, obstacles, crisis, – and though “the mountains and trees tumble into the seas to rest there for eternity, no matter what you do, I will still love you.” As a young girl, I knew this was the kind of love that I would have.
Thirty odd years later, having weathered and left a marriage that, in hindsight, brought me more grief than happiness, and a string of what–I- can- only- describe- as-flings later, I realize that I still held the ideals of this song as the touchstone by which I based how I wanted to love and be loved.
In an increasingly rare moment of reflection, I asked myself if the pang I felt was because I was disappointed that I did not get what I had hoped for as a young girl, the answer that came to me surprised me greatly. The answer was, my life is not over yet. There is still hope that I will find this kind of love, if not in this life then in the next. Anything less, for me, is not worth having.
And so, I salute the people who wrote this song, not curse them. For those of you that remember this song, join me in reliving that time of innocence and hope. For those of you that don’t know this song, here’s a link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-YWMNqJN1Nc
I will understand if you think that I am seeking the impossible. But just remember, my life isn’t over yet.
I WILL STILL LOVE YOU
Stonebolt
Love 'em and leave 'em
Give them the air
Hurt and deceive them
Say you don't care
Break their hearts and let them fall
Like rain on your back stairs
Then call me up tomorrow
You know I'll still be there
Ref:
When the moon disappears forever
And the sun shines electric blue
And the mountains and trees tumble into the sea
To rest there for eternity
No matter what you do
I will still love you
So if your bridges go up in flame
And if all your lovers
Strike you too tame
Some sad song of love you hear
Can make you call my name
I will be there in a minute
And you know I'll feel the same
(Repeat refrain)
Bridge:
So the weary traveller
Tired of passing through
Stops to get his bearings
And stays on to wait for you
(Repeat refrain)
I will still love you....
The Universe and Geoducks
Note: Before I put my writings down in blog format, I used to just send out emails to friends whom I thought would indulge me. The topics would range from hearing a song on the radio or, as in this case, seeing something funny on National Geographic.
May 15, 2008
The universe has a wacky sense of humor. (I would have said "God" but my Catholic upbringing makes me balk at this, imagining lighting strikes and the earth swallowing me up if I uttered such blasphemy). And so it shall be, the "universe" has a very wacky sense of humor.
The other night, my son and I watched a show on Discovery Channel called "Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe". We love watching this show because the host, Mike Rowe, features people doing jobs that we never really think about like "road kill collecting" or "sewer cleaning" or "pig wrangling", well you get the picture. That night, the job featured was "geoduck farming".
What the heck is a geoduck, you ask. In the first place, the name is not what it seems. Geoduck, pronounced "gooey duck", is NOT a duck. It is, in fact, a kind of shellfish, a bivalve if you're into specifics. It is native to the American and Canadian Pacific Coast, specifically Washington State, British Columbia, and Southeast Alaska. It typically lives up to 146 years and the oldest recorded is 160 years old (although how they were able to record this, I do not know—Wikipedia was sketchy about this claim). But its age is not the most remarkable thing about this bivalve.
In the show, Mike Rowe and the geoduck farmer drove rows upon rows of cut pvc pipes into some tidal flats and placed small clam-like baby geoducks in the sand inside the pvc pipes like seeds in a rice paddy. As babies, geoducks are non-descript, just run-of-the-mill white clams, the kind you would find in Iloilo's imbao soup.
Geoducks, when they grow, begin to resemble "diwals" and then some. At least 10 times larger in fact, that when Karwin and I saw the adult geoducks on tv, we could not help but burst out laughing. Okay, okay, I've said enough. Click on the link below and have a look for yourself and see if you agree with my hypothesis about the universe. Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vpU6cKIde5I
Postcript: After I wrote this, I had the opportunity to eat geoduck in Hongkong sometime in September 2008 and what do you know? It tasted really good! It was sliced thinly, much like bamboo shoots, and was crunchy to the bite, much similar to eating jelly fish, only smoother and the taste, to my recollection, was quite subtle like scallops.
May 15, 2008
The universe has a wacky sense of humor. (I would have said "God" but my Catholic upbringing makes me balk at this, imagining lighting strikes and the earth swallowing me up if I uttered such blasphemy). And so it shall be, the "universe" has a very wacky sense of humor.
The other night, my son and I watched a show on Discovery Channel called "Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe". We love watching this show because the host, Mike Rowe, features people doing jobs that we never really think about like "road kill collecting" or "sewer cleaning" or "pig wrangling", well you get the picture. That night, the job featured was "geoduck farming".
What the heck is a geoduck, you ask. In the first place, the name is not what it seems. Geoduck, pronounced "gooey duck", is NOT a duck. It is, in fact, a kind of shellfish, a bivalve if you're into specifics. It is native to the American and Canadian Pacific Coast, specifically Washington State, British Columbia, and Southeast Alaska. It typically lives up to 146 years and the oldest recorded is 160 years old (although how they were able to record this, I do not know—Wikipedia was sketchy about this claim). But its age is not the most remarkable thing about this bivalve.
In the show, Mike Rowe and the geoduck farmer drove rows upon rows of cut pvc pipes into some tidal flats and placed small clam-like baby geoducks in the sand inside the pvc pipes like seeds in a rice paddy. As babies, geoducks are non-descript, just run-of-the-mill white clams, the kind you would find in Iloilo's imbao soup.
Geoducks, when they grow, begin to resemble "diwals" and then some. At least 10 times larger in fact, that when Karwin and I saw the adult geoducks on tv, we could not help but burst out laughing. Okay, okay, I've said enough. Click on the link below and have a look for yourself and see if you agree with my hypothesis about the universe. Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vpU6cKIde5I
Postcript: After I wrote this, I had the opportunity to eat geoduck in Hongkong sometime in September 2008 and what do you know? It tasted really good! It was sliced thinly, much like bamboo shoots, and was crunchy to the bite, much similar to eating jelly fish, only smoother and the taste, to my recollection, was quite subtle like scallops.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
The Net, Photos and Goodbyes
I've had my Yahoo email account for 3 years now and like the pack rat that I am, I almost never delete messages I receive or send. I always tell myself that one day I am going to sit down and really do a big "delete", but then again, maybe not. Sometimes it pays off, like today when I found the digital copy of a photo of me at my NZ citizenship ceremony that was held at the Bruce Mason Centre, Takapuna, North Shore City in May 2007. I thought I had lost that photo and yet, there it was, in my yahoo email, just waiting for me to retrieve it. The words of lawyer Katrina Legarda came to mind when I saw the photo. Ms. Legarda had said on national television, in relation to the Hayden Kho-Katrina Halili brouhaha, "mamatay ka na lang (even after you're dead), your picture will still be on the net."
Well, I am hoping no one will consider a photo of me --in Filipiniana attire, the kimona of which my very talented sister-in-law Joy painstakingly beaded for the occasion, wearing red "Ugly Betty" glasses, and sporting a very wide grin as I shook the hand of His Worship, the Mayor of North Shore City, Mr. George Wood, as he conferred New Zealand citizenship on me-- titillating enough for me to worry about what Ms. Legarda said about my photo outliving me.
Another gem that I found while browsing through my virtual filing cabinet was this email that I sent to my officemates at Colmar Brunton Research when I said my goodbyes. It has been almost 2 years since I left New Zealand to come home to Cebu and yet the pang I felt when I wrote my "valediction" back then still manages to affect me in the same way today. I know that this shall outlive me.
I reproduce the email here in its entirety.
=======================
20 July 2007
Dear all,
This part I don't like…3 years worth of files and personal memorabilia must be packed up and the office tidied to make way for the lucky person who will succeed me. As I pull down photos and drawings from the wall--children's drawings, family photos and those of other families, including my Colmar Brunton one--I am struck by how much like home this little nook on the first floor had been for the past few years. Heck, I even have cow slippers under my desk and stuffed toys littering the place. I've got chocolates and candies stashed somewhere and my desk even has Jergens moisturizer. The only thing I need here is a bed really.
Thank you all for everything you have been to me. I am so damn proud to be a part of this great team. I leave you now with words from Ana Escalante-Neri, a free-spirit who said it so well.
"We leave home and come back changed: minds like suitcases stuffed with mementos, bearing the names and habits of new friends, the path of our own veins rerouted to stream more blood into the heart that no longer feels so small."
Love,
Kate
Life As We Know It
One of my favorite titas was just diagnosed with lung cancer. I'm still in a state of denial and the news has not hit me like it should. I should be feeling an overwhelming sense of sadness or, at the very least, fear that someone I admire and love is in the "pre-departure area".
I am writing down my thoughts now in an effort to understand why I don't feel that way...yet. My brain cannot fathom life as I know it without her elegantly put-together self, her well-coiffured hair, her genuinely pleased smile that crinkles at the corner of her eyes when she sees me, her hoots of laughter when she hears something funny or the impassioned way she would recount stories of the less than savory kind especially when it pertains to politics and the sorry state of our government today. Even now as I write this, I can hear her voice, the shake of her head and how her hands would move in time to emphasize a point.
I am not sad when I recall how she took good care of me when both of us were partnered in overseeing C-Cimpel volunteers during the elections of 1998. We were assigned to the western part of Cebu (Balamban, Barili, Aloguinsan, Pinamungajan, etc.) and I remember how totally uncomplicated she was despite our very spartan accommodations at a convent right next to a church. We slept in a bunk bed, me on top, she at the bottom. Our alarm clock was the pealing of church bells at 5am and despite our having had only a few hours of sleep (we had poll watched until a little past midnight at a school in Balamban), I remember her waking up bright and cheerful. Seeing her like that made me forget that I was lacking sleep and usually dead in the mornings. She has that kind of effect on me and I am sure, everyone else.
I met her through my mom. They were friends through some organizations that they were both members of and for years, I was just this young girl, the daughter of a friend. We would meet and greet whenever we chanced upon each other but it was not until I became an attorney and had joined C-Cimpel that she became my very own friend.
She is the kind of person who listens with her heart and mind. She treats me as an equal, as someone who had something to contribute to the organization. Because she is well-read, conversations with her are invariably interesting. Her quick wit and sense of humor also define her and even my son enjoys peeking into my mom's cellphone just to look for the jokes that she sends from time to time.
I had the chance to talk to her recently, just before she started her chemo sessions, and I asked her what she felt. She said that if she had not seen the x-rays and results that said she had cancer, she would never have thought something was wrong with her. But there it was and it needed to be met head on. Even after her chemo session, she described it to me, through text, as something totally routinary, and that people receiving treatment there also bantered and talked to each other like people in a beauty salon would.
When I spoke to her recently, her voice was strong and her tone pragmatic, totally devoid of self-pity. It emboldened me to not feel sad for her. It made me see that life goes on and while she's here, she will continue to face life as she always has--with candor, humor, pragmatism and with a whole lot of love. I can do no less.
I am writing down my thoughts now in an effort to understand why I don't feel that way...yet. My brain cannot fathom life as I know it without her elegantly put-together self, her well-coiffured hair, her genuinely pleased smile that crinkles at the corner of her eyes when she sees me, her hoots of laughter when she hears something funny or the impassioned way she would recount stories of the less than savory kind especially when it pertains to politics and the sorry state of our government today. Even now as I write this, I can hear her voice, the shake of her head and how her hands would move in time to emphasize a point.
I am not sad when I recall how she took good care of me when both of us were partnered in overseeing C-Cimpel volunteers during the elections of 1998. We were assigned to the western part of Cebu (Balamban, Barili, Aloguinsan, Pinamungajan, etc.) and I remember how totally uncomplicated she was despite our very spartan accommodations at a convent right next to a church. We slept in a bunk bed, me on top, she at the bottom. Our alarm clock was the pealing of church bells at 5am and despite our having had only a few hours of sleep (we had poll watched until a little past midnight at a school in Balamban), I remember her waking up bright and cheerful. Seeing her like that made me forget that I was lacking sleep and usually dead in the mornings. She has that kind of effect on me and I am sure, everyone else.
I met her through my mom. They were friends through some organizations that they were both members of and for years, I was just this young girl, the daughter of a friend. We would meet and greet whenever we chanced upon each other but it was not until I became an attorney and had joined C-Cimpel that she became my very own friend.
She is the kind of person who listens with her heart and mind. She treats me as an equal, as someone who had something to contribute to the organization. Because she is well-read, conversations with her are invariably interesting. Her quick wit and sense of humor also define her and even my son enjoys peeking into my mom's cellphone just to look for the jokes that she sends from time to time.
I had the chance to talk to her recently, just before she started her chemo sessions, and I asked her what she felt. She said that if she had not seen the x-rays and results that said she had cancer, she would never have thought something was wrong with her. But there it was and it needed to be met head on. Even after her chemo session, she described it to me, through text, as something totally routinary, and that people receiving treatment there also bantered and talked to each other like people in a beauty salon would.
When I spoke to her recently, her voice was strong and her tone pragmatic, totally devoid of self-pity. It emboldened me to not feel sad for her. It made me see that life goes on and while she's here, she will continue to face life as she always has--with candor, humor, pragmatism and with a whole lot of love. I can do no less.
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