Movie Watching Club

Halwa, burfi...to begin with! Anitha and I were snacking on these tasty confections in the afternoon while scanning a myriad of channels for movies. We caught a glimpse of Julia Roberts wearing a green saree and thought it's a good movie to kill time. Eat, pray and love. The gargantuan running time proved to be a dismay.

Then came the scene where Javier Bardem was driving a jeep in Bali! Dios mio! Why is this Hispanic guy so good-looking to the point of being delectable?! And wait till you hear his deep gruff voice. Oh si! We totally forgot about Julia towards the end of the movie and got hooked with Javier. Allow me a little Spanish por pabor. Te quiero, Javier, mi amor! Se que estas casado. Hi Penelope!

So back to reality.

I remember him as Anton Chigurh from No Country for Old Men. His character here is so evil that there's no way of comprehending his psyche except that he's hired by his "efficient way" to recover money. In my opinion, this sets the bar so high for credit card collectors. His portrayal is so amazing that won him an Oscar in 2007.

Anyway, we finished EPL gasping and happy without noticing the empty bowls of sweets. Moral of the story: Don't watch a Javier movie side by side confectionery to avoid that extra avoirdupois.

Sleepless in Manama

The conundrum of insomnia has made me guessing since my early 30's. You can do the maths on how many years I've been trying to cope with this sleeping disorder. The problem with insomnia is when you're asleep, you're not really sleeping. And when you're up, you're not really awake.

As much as I would surreptitiously pretend to be not insomniac, it's obvious in the dark circles around my eyes; the lightheadedness; the sluggish feeling almost physically fatigued. Altogether, these make my mind vacuous. Ultimately, cross the whole day--just totally "out of order".

What makes matters worse is when some people would say, "Go get some sleep". If that hadn't been my problem in the first place I wouldn't have been sufferring from sleep loss the past decade! So crassly put by the parochial some!

If science has paved way for shampoos to have special formulation for hair loss, why not for sleep loss? I wonder if science really take insomnia seriously because many of us suffer from this disorder and has never been addressed conclusively.

Tips That Worked and Didn't:

1. Drinking milk before going to bed. It helps me relax and dose off for the next hour only to be awakened by a full gall bladder a couple of hours later. This will never work.
2. Listening to Soft Music. Yanni's neoclassical flavor soothes the mind and drowns the heart. Really helpful in relaxation and helps me think of boring, mushy stuff.
3. Getting a back massage. A gentle back massage especially on the shoulders help ease muscle tension.
4. Sleeping on a firmer bed. This is good for the spine. Eases my back pain. Thus, help me relax.
5. Drinking Iced Tea at night. Not sure how much content of caffeine Nestea iced tea has but it kept me up all night during Ramadan. Never again will I drink one can before going to bed.
6. Walking after dinner. A short walk proves to be helpful.
7. If all else fails, consult a doctor.

I was told I'm a healthy insomniac. Meaning my sleeplessness is directly related to my lifestyle which can bring about stress and anxiety. (Anxiety...probably. Bahrain has been economically unstable since the unrest in February. The fear of losing a job is enough to make one really worry.) I was prescribed over the counter drugs and lifestyle modification which I tried to comply with. Funny how it's categorized as "healthy" when the effects of the same malady are ill and comparatively not effective. Does that make me a chronic insomniac? I'm not sure if I want to laugh or cry at this. Whatever it is, it's a grave state to be sufferring from sleep loss. And I'm not the only one.

Trying to Write When I Don't Want To

It's been 2 weeks since I last published my 25th post. Was busy with a copywriting job. That too, a few days after the presentation was approved, I was afflicted with diarrhea of the pen. Not the montezuma's revenge but the dilemma of a writer whose material tends to have a beginning, a middle,  and if the reader is lucky, an end. Ultimately on the 3rd week, I felt exhausted. My mind went blocked. Thanks to a far remote friend, Malou Eden, who gave me the inspiration to write about something. I cannot promise though that this entry will be of good substance versus the previous ones.

I have always loved to write for as long as I can remember--about interesting people, life experiences, and life lessons. I normally carry around a pen and a small notebook to write down inspirations anywhere I'd be at a certain time (Yes, I'm old-fashioned!). I find it trivial using my mobile's notepad. Makes me dizzy.

Reading all kinds of books evoked my interest to pen my thoughts.  It was accidentally polished when I wrote more love letters and poems in sophomore high more than I did my homework. Reading and writing are two sides of the same coin.  The more I read, the more I want to write. Proving Bill Robinson's study that "an advance in one skill reinforces the other." Hence, English as my major in college. 

As I grew maturely, I had the privilege to work while functioning as a Corporate Trainer from the late '90's to 2004  on what I consider to be important jobs like ghostwriting,  advertorials, copywriting, and writing training manuscripts.

Notice I skipped the year I joined EasyCall (ECPI) in 1993 to 1997. I allowed an insolent immediate superior to treat me with contempt on a regular basis. I put up with her manic-depressive behaviour which was ever so highly evident when she and her boyfriend would have a bad fight the night before. Helpless and depressed, I started believing all the negative stuff she told about me. My faith in myself just flew out of the window--including that special skill.

I breathed for the first time when I was offered a job as a Corporate Trainer for Recall 138 mid of 1997. While I was directly reporting to the HR Manager, I also worked side by side the president for ghostwriting projects. My output spoke of my work and commanded respect from both my colleagues and the management. What a huge difference it makes when somebody believes in you. I was reborn!

I have forgiven that audacious manager from ECPI but I must admit that for a while I kicked myself everytime I remember how and why I put up with her. In retrospect, I thank God for allowing that to happen to me because in God's appointed time, I became a manager to my own training staff. I used the same negative experience to teach me to be more compassionate, encouraging, and a team-player.

Fast forward to where I am now, I'm glad to be writing again. I had to put off writing for a little while because circumstances called for it. Circumtances too brought me back to the writing circle.  Hence, the title of this blog "Immaculate Emancipation." Why such title? Long story.

Apologies for a seemingly an insipid post as this one.

Half-Glass Empty or Half-Glass Full?: Devil-May-Care

According to Wikipedia, Pessimism is a state of mind in which one perceives life negatively.

I have met quite a few of them and I must be honest that I regret almost immediately to have come accross their paths. 

I'll talk about one character at a time.

An old acquaintance I reconnected thru facebook perpetually talks about her financial woes. The moment I asked how she is, she would, as if scripted, respond, "still drowning in debt." No matter how much I try to shift the subject, she gyrates yet skillfully on bringing up the same old pathetic issue. What glory she finds in whining and complaining about how luck seems to have turned away and yet not do anything! Boy, I feel sick after each encounter with her. For my own sake, I have to make a quick decision to end the chat before she drains out the infinitesimal energy left in me.

I sympathize with her but I'm not sorry for her. The state where she's in right now is the choice she made. Since she solicited my advice on almost every occassion, I told her to consider the following:

1. tell her spouse to get a temp job in any establishment for extra income;
2. search for offshore teaching jobs where remuneration is far better than local--online, through POEA or any legal recruitment office;
3. avoid borrowing loans and use of credit cards;
4. live within their means;
5. and, finally, be thankful for everything because she has everything at her disposal--stable career, a loving son, and good friends around her.

It makes me sad when I see pictures of her partying. It's good to be in social events once in a while because this somehow takes off the worry, but to see a post of her "high time" and the next telling me she's broke, is ridiculously insane. I find that unacceptable. No wonder she's still in the pit. 

Steve Pavlina says, "Negative people are energy vampires.  They have an almost endless capacity to dwell on what they don’t want, whining and complaining about their lives while denying responsibility for their result. Their fear blocks the natural flow of energy from within, so they must get it from other people instead.  After spending a few hours with them, you’ll usually feel drained, tired, worried, or stressed.

It makes no difference what particular circumstances negative people blame for their negative outlook.  Ultimately it’s still a choice rooted in free will.  No matter how unconscious the person was when making the decision to sink into negativity, in this moment that person still has the power to choose otherwise.  So if you decide to help such a person, your primary role is to help guide him to make a more conscious choice, one that will likely be much more empowering."

In my case, I guess I tried to help. But her attitude seems as obstinate as her stagnation. And I can't give what I already don't have--patience.

She remains in my prayers. At least in that avenue, I don't need to deal with her in person as God is far better handling her case than I. 

Roller Coaster Ride

I have watched Nanay falling in and out of  sickness since she reached her 50+ years of age. It seems so macabre to suggest that her body translated infirmity as she aged. The once strong woman who took care of 7 kids has been frail for the last 15 years.

I spoke to her yesterday concerning her health since I learned that her blood pressure shot up to 180/90 and pulse rate of only 47 on Wednesday. Lynn rushed her to the hospital complaining of lightheadedness and physical weakness. She underwent a series of lab tests including 2D-echocardiography, carotid/vertebral duplex and other tests to diagnose autoimmune illnesses. She was sent home that day too showing signs of improvement, but with a new set of prescription drugs.

Emergency care was inevitable late evening of Thursday when her blood pressure registered to its most dangerous level of 220/100 with pulse rate of 37. She had to be monitored 4 hours straight until her condition stabilized. It took 2 doses of catapres 6 hours later to bring her blood pressure down. She was released from the satellite clinic a few hours later.

We reckon that stress and exhaustion from taking care of my father from his episode of stroke last February can be imminent, but not to this extent. Sleeping would have been palliative for her but she's also deprived of it.

While she's out of danger now, I think in my carnal mind, based on her medical history that it would just be a matter of time when sickness would attack again. I'm so sick of it!

When sickness invades the life of your loved one, it completely  drains you--emotionally, financially, mentally, physically. It feeds on sadness; robs you of your joy ultimately stressing you out while it slowly depletes your savings. 

The frailty of the human body can cause one to think of a god who can heal and save. I'm no exception. I can cause a tide of prayer requests to Christian friends and ministries until I'm emotionally and spiritually exhausted. Sometimes I find myself spiritually paralyzed especially when the one sick is someone I dearly love. It's difficult to pray when someone is sick, but I know in my very soul that it's the enemy's way to keep my prayer unanswered so I have to keep on pushing.  

I see sickness as a gun pointed at a person's head leaving him or her almost instantly petitioning God to manifest His power right at that very moment. My friend Blenda is right when she said that "God is not moved when we have a need, He is moved by our faith."

Hebrews 11:6, "And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him."

I'm believing God will release her from the bondage of sickness so she can live life as she should--healthy, happy and pain free.  

Special thanks to my friends and prayer warriors Blenda and Mavic from Manila and Thess R from Australia who helped me pray for my mother. 

All is well now. Thank you, Lord Jesus.

Eat Bulaga!

My family and I had dinner at Hot Pot in Gudaibiya this evening. It's a Filipino-Chinese restaurant serving both Asian cuisines but most of its patrons are Pinoys (an informal demonym for Filipinos). There was an on-going seminar for a group of Pinoys at the function hall so we proceeded straight to the fastfood section instead.

We're lucky to have the best seating because I could watch "Eat Bulaga" closer. I grew up watching Tito, Vic and Joey since I was 9. They were first huge household names in the renowned "Iskul Bukol" as Ungasis and Escaleras. Then shortly came Eat Bulaga pitted against Student Canteen. (I know, I'm beginning to sound really old!) They have changed home stations three times if my memory serves me right. But still, I followed through--along with the whole archipelago.



Tito, Vic, and Joey

My intent to describe the comic troika would be personal. As a fan, my personal opinion can be subjective but not necessarily less honorable as I only have pure admiration and respect to these guys.

Joey is the most passionate of the three. I have always liked his choice of clothes--funky, young, yet decent. Known for his frankness, humor and authority on showbiz chismis, he pulled in more audience who can relate to his comic. His impeccable timing is indefectible. Tatay could relate to his jokes better than I did because I was too young then. But when I reached college, I totally get him! Tatay would chuckle longer than I normally would. And that's really hilarious. 

Tito is more of the suave type. Prim and proper. Sometimes when he cracks jokes my lightning-fast mind couldn't get it quite right because his personality comes first. To myself, "Did he really say that?". He pursued public service in the early '90's so his appearance became irregular.

Vic Sotto. What can I say? His name per se has this huge mass appeal. He's the ladies' charmer. I find him really cute. He became my boyfriend as long as I can remember. Only...he's completely unaware of it! He looks so hot to this day no one would guess he's 57. Unfortunately, his lovelife is the very untithesis of his stable career. I wonder though if his being a ladies' charmer has any correlation to this fate.

Since I'm out of the country for some time now, I rarely see them too. I definitely have missed out on a lot of events in their respective careers as well. I kind of missed the trio so I got hooked immediately when I heard Joey de Leon's voice. Man! 30 years later, they still have it--that grip on the Filipino audience anywhere in the world.
 

It will take more than a thousand gladiator effort to outseat them from the number 1 spot. They're so good at what they do that not even a hundred rival shows can come at par with Eat Bulaga.

I totally forgot to tell you what we had for dinner, didn't I? Next post, guys.

Mummy Diaries 101: Peachy

My daughter is at an amazing age where she can't get enough of mummy. She spends a lot of time sitting beside me--at the hall, kitchen or my lap--playing with my hair, my nose, stretching my eyes in the hope of making it big, kiss me on my lips, sometimes all over my face; giving me a deep "haaaaaaaaa" to check if her breath is as fresh as her toothpaste even if she had just woken up.

She thought it's obstreperously funny when she passes gas in a rowdy sound like "frraaaaaaaaaaaapppp". And debates that some farts you can't hear because they wear slippers. I end up getting a whiff on what I prepared her for dinner. Sometimes, her favorite soft toy Tikboy gets the blame for it.

I revel on moments in between her bites of chicken nuggets or while slurping chocolate milk and tell me, "Mum, I love you very much." I'm like butter turning into ghee in a microwave. She would often tell me in the morning when she catches me immersed in writing, "Mum, if your child is awake, you should stop typing on that laptop."  Of course, I willingly oblige. Her wish is my command.

She compliments me "looking pretty" regardless if  I'm wearing old torn clothes. At least in her eyes I am beautiful no matter how flabby my arms are or how big my tummy is. I don't mind her combing my hair that ends up tangled anyway. She actually thought I lack the skill to detangle it and my comb is not the finest.

She has started going to painting class while on school vacation. She has a friend who goes with her to the same class in the afternoon. She adores her a lot. There's a great sense of joy seeing that my child has already stepped into exploring her young world--to choosing her own summer class; having her own friend; and eloquently exchanges ideas about oil pastels, biscuits, chocolate milk and the place we would pass by as the car runs. She and her friend actually talk about anything about the whole shebang. It's wonderful!

Alisha is the greatest evidence of God's blessing in my life. Every little thing she does disposes me enough conviction that no matter how life seems to have shrunk for me, her genuine love will always bring me to full confidence of God's will in my life--to be her mother and her steward to help her reach her fullest potential. 


All I ask is...please, don't grow up too fast.

Nombre Cafe

After dropping off the kids to Kalabhavan Music and Arts Training Center, my husband and I with our friend Anitha and her 2 year-old European-looking son drove around Adliya to look for Cafe Lilou. Famous for its bohemian theme and sophisticated ambience, we thought we could give it a try--after all, it's not an everyday splurge.

Funny how GPS can obscure the truth on highway rules that my husband totally believe it's useless. He would rather look for signages and use gut instincts to search for a place. Unfortunately, gut instincts are not a man's birthright (smile).

You see, I know he hates being told directions let alone asking for one. I keep mum most of the time so as not to add further tension. But to keep quiet is to be stoic--while finding a place that is. Turning right at the junction, we practically avoided the road leading to Saudi Arabia. What a relief! We just had the most boisterous laugh after a few tensed minutes there.

We figured any coffee house we spot anywhere would be alright. After all, we only had a few minutes left to spare. As if luck turned well to our favor, a space was free parallel to the curb just 10 feet away from New York Coffee. Bliss! Finally, we can have cappuccino.

Don't get me wrong. My husband for me is the best driver in the whole world. He adheres to various traffic rules and drives defensively. There were drivers whom we have hired before that loved to "feel" the speed! I ended up nausated more than the feeling of joy ride.

Feeling more relaxed after the coffee, we drove back to Kalabhavan to pick up the kids. This time, we prepared for the best role-shifting while coming to the center--as parents!

Who cares about Cafe Lilou anyway?

Cheers!

My sister and I started the tradition of drinking wine on Christmases and vodka on New Years in the early 90's. I suppose you can guess why the drinks were specific. Christmas is a sweet, subtle celebration of the Lord's birth so wine is the best choice, while New Year is obviously a more exhilerating time so vodka is the one.

Since my sister and I started earning well and can pretty much afford life's simple pleasures, we would make sure that every Christmas and New Year, there's a special liquor in the house. It's a hallelujah moment whenever I received corporate gifts with wines because it's for one a fine choice, and secondly, saved me some bucks.

We liked Bordeaux and Rioja, Smirnoff, and San Miguel beer. The latter we saved for the boys since beer is an acquired taste for us--not until later when Lynn migrated to Japan to work as a software engineer. (What I know is they drink beer or sake first before a regular meal over there). In my case, it took me a lot of facial distortions until I learned to like that yeast-fermented malt! We save Bailey's Cream for last since it's the most expensive and the best according to our simple taste.

I'm married for quite a while now. So is my sister. Only my brothers carry on the tradition back home. However, since our marriage, they modified the celebratory dates to their own respective birthdays so that came down to the normal "toma" with their barkadas. They are moderate drinkers. They know that there is a huge--I mean, huge!--level of nagging issue involved from our mother afterwards. And boy, they can't and won't push their lucks!

Jesus' first miracle occurred at a wedding party in Cana 2000 years ago. He turned large water vessels into wine after knowing that the first batch had been consumed. He's not a kill-joy, wasn't he? He understood that occassional drinking is more of a celebration of life together as a family as opposed to drinking for the heck of getting a buzz.

I have my own tradition at home with my husband. We prepare wine and vodka for ourselves in the safety of our homes on special occassions--particularly on birthdays. We drink with our good friends to celebrate promotions, birthdays, or just simply enjoying the company of each other. 

It is one thing to drink in moderation and it's another when you woke up in a different house with a different person. Tradition or not, one is responsible for his or her own actions. You just got to know your limits. 

  

Mummy Diaries 101:Mistaken to be a Nanny

Evening minima in Dubai is usually around 30-32 degrees centigrade in summer as per my experience. Desert summer in the Middle East can be unrelenting so proper timing is your real buddy. Alisha, only 3 years old then, and I usually went out at dusk when it's less hot.

Our first destination would be Al Talal Supermarket--only 3 blocks away from our apartment building--to enjoy its efficient airconditioning. At its facade were coin-operated kiddie rides that Alisha loved. In my pocket was 2 fils and a few dirhams in case the ride had convinced her it's truly exciting.

As the night fell, more and more mums or nannies with their kids came. I guess those kiddie rides have become a panacea for all of us whose liberty to explore farther places by foot had been constrained because of the sinistrous humidity.

Being in a multicultural city like Dubai, you can expect to see and meet different mix of kids born from beautiful parents of mix race. It's wonderful. Sometimes events could turn hilarious, too.

"Where's her mummy?" A lady inquired while pushing a cart alongside mine. It was an innocous question coming from an elderly lady.

Unfortunately, of all the questions, this one was not expected. I politely replied with a cold smile, "I'm her mummy." "Oh, okkk. Sorry. Beautiful kid!" then turned away. For the first time, it occured to me facial features and skin color can be confusing to other people. Alisha is the splitting image of my husband (with lighter complexion).

Another time at The Mall of the Emirates, a gregarious teen sipping cold moccha approached my child and touched her hair and inquired, "Are you her nanny?" My already chinky eyes could only give her a sharper squint, "No. I'm her mother." 

Many a similar misnomer followed in separate occassions like the airports in Manila, Hong Kong, and, yes, even here in Bahrain. There were times I told myself, "Alisha, pilizzz call me mummy now!", as I noticed a few presumptious rubbernecks.

This time I don't get upset anymore.  Given the numerous times I've been mistaken to be my daughter's nanny, I learned the skill of giving the fastest, most polite, and appropriate reply possible. 

I think it's ignorance more than the attempt to be disrespectful by these inquisitive people. Living in a multicultural society doesn't mean all posh and everybody looks, thinks, and acts the part. Nevertheless, I can survive desert summer.

Having a Bad Day

I feel frenzied working at home today. One of those days with so many things to do with so little time. Add to that my hormones on high-strung because time of the month is coming.

School vacation can be hectic. In the midst of multi-tasking, my child came to me grumbling, "I'm bored!" I got irked to be honest. That angelic face, sweet and cuddly child can actually turn me to a lunatic the next minute. No matter how much I try to tame time with crafts and games, impatience can still breed in between. I replied with sarcasm, "maybe it's better if you're in school." I know I could have chosen to respond lovingly, better yet, carefully, but I just didn't have that extra patience today. All the screaming, jumping, clutter that never got decluttered really--it all wears me thin.

I sat on the kitchen stool to cool off while my eyes gaze at the skinless chicken wishing a chicken fairy will appear to turn it into curry. Dishes from last night still piled up; balcony full of dust as if desert has come 5th storey-high. With half of domestic slavery done, it seems the rest of it will take a whole life to finish.

Then I heard, "Is there something new about you? New hair? New dress?...Kellogs for breakfast. Lose 2kgs in 2 weeks." I checked the flabs on my arms. They swing like a jell-o back and forth. I can actually stick a finger between my waist and thigh. You've got to be kidding me! I tried that countless of times! Didn't work. What works? Scrubbing sink and toilets (smile).

So, is it the clutter or my hormones that bum out the happiness in my home? I want this negativity beast out of my system fast!

Wait a minute...is that onion or me?!  

Usque Ad Aras

Lunch Date. It happens almost everyday at Anitha's house who lives just right across my apartment building. Our friend Monika joins us occassionally. I think she has a predilection to food which explains why she's so slender. Otherwise, she's present most of the days and takes care of pivotal topics of motherhood and marriage. Anitha and I handle the mundane.

Anitha is one of the best cooks in the circle. She puts so much integrity to ordinary vegetables and turn them into an out  of this world sabzee. Her homemade South Indian dishes are so scrumptious that even my daughter rated it 5 stars. In my case, I have to abandon the scale!


Maybe I can talk about Anitha some more.


I met her November of 2010 at a bus stop. Both our kids go to the same school. I thought she was more of an African-American descent because of her prominent gluteus maximus. Alas! She's a South Indian avant-garde.


She has a fantastic personality that crosses cultural differences. Loaded with common sense, she doesn't allow her religious dogma to interpret my character or any person for that matter. She mentioned one time she's never religious at all. That sounded safe. Her laughter can be boisterous yet infectious but never garrulous. She listens and doesn't judge easily. What a thing of beauty!


Hosting an informal luncheon, depending if her maid came early or late, her house can be  immaculately clean  or variegated with all sorts of kid's stuff--which signifies whether I can rest my legs on the couch or nope!


She's such a fun hostess. "Don't make me call you tomorrow!" She told me last night as we bid goodbye after shopping with the kids. Our friendship is special. We both understand that friendship doesn't just happen. It takes time and effort to make it work.


Who knows if we will still be here in the next 6 months given this present economy. We may have to relocate somewhere and  begin anew. In her situation, she has to go back to Chennai in less than 8 months to assume her job responsibilities at Central Government of India.  


This luncheon is a must for us while we're here. It keeps us sane--schmoozing refreshes the brain; makes us feel loved in some ways where there is lack from our own homes.


Life is good. Can't complain.

The Gypsy

Remember the adage, "Don't forget where you came from"? I carry that around--all the time, I guess.

I've been living overseas for almost 8 years now. I'm blessed with a beautiful family and a good life. When I cleaved for marriage with my foreign fiance in 2004, that meant I had to leave my loved ones, my job and my country behind. But, I never stopped looking back.

Our search for better or best of opportunities brought us to different countries--a necessary evil for my husband whose expertise in finance is more in demand offshore. A daughter was born to us in 2006. She started traveling by plane when she was 1 month old.  

I would meet my parents and siblings in biennial visits. Coming home carries both the exhilaration and agony of waiting. The longing for that familiar fervour between me and my parents; the kulitan (joking around) with my siblings; shopping in tyangge (bazaar) in Greenhills or Antipolo; the tricycle; jeepneys, sinigang (sour stew); and Jollibee chickenjoy!

I get excited when a passenger would shout, "Manong, bayad po!" I'd gladly reach for the coins or bill and pass it on to the driver or his sidekick. And pass back the change if any. What I don't understand though is why other passengers would play deaf ears for the call when it's actually fun to pass the fare! (smile).

I was home last year with my daughter. Visiting our parents' home reminded me so much of my young life. The furnitures are the same; the vintage curtains; the painting hanging on the wall; the closet with some of my old clothes hung; and the smell--all are long-familiar. Everything was the way it was 8 years ago. The only different was me. Somehow I felt I don't belong there anymore.

The time you spent away from your family is the time you'll never get back. We went to newly-built malls; binged on street snacks; visited relatives; splurged on bargains; even stayed up till morning catching up. While I enjoyed most of my time with them, part of me was sad and pensive at the moments I've missed from their lives--and all that they had missed in mine.

I have always been very close to my mother. The days passing by so quickly left me feeling heartbroken. When the day came for us to leave, her eyes spoke vividly of her sadness, but always in her most gracious stance. In her customary fashion, she would leave the house with Tatay ahead of time so they wouldn't see us leave for the airport. We all know Alisha and I have to go back to the man waiting for his family, too.

Whether I can come back home for good remains uncertain. But, I will never forget who I am and where I came from.  

An Ascent of a Martial Law Baby

It's my sister Lynn's 18th birthday today. If today was 1990 though, that age would have been most accurate (smile). She's a martial law baby. A rather state-of-mind than a clear category for babies born that year.

I remember when we were kids, I used to braid her hair and bombard it with clips in the hope of making it look sophisticated. But while walking in the fields toward our grandmother's house, the hair ended up looking more like a toupee than a hairstyle really. She complained, of course, but innocously. Very much a contradiction now that she's older! (Oh dear me).

She never liked household chores. She had always hated washing dishes or cook simple fried egg. Therefore, I ended up tending to her supposed house assignments because she would just pretend to be a handicap!  After I voiced out my complain though, she hastened to do some work. Surprisingly, without grumbling. But you could hear some loud clanks getting louder and a little bit more then gone. That meant her job was finished.

She liked playing with other kids but not much into dwelling on it. It's not something she looked forward to doing everyday. She was capable of expressing herself without emotions while I cried a river with nose running like monsoon.

She excelled in Mathematics. I guess all her young life. She received medals in elementary levels for being constant in carrying weapons of mathematical instruction! (I can't even finish a simple algebraic expression without biting my nails).

Between childhood and adolescent years, Lynn seemed to have borne the struggles of my parents in raising the family. She learned early that somebody had to do something. That came late for me unfortunately. Immediately after high school, she joined a transport company for an administrative job. That was rare for someone who just graduated from senior high. She did odd jobs in between--contended with her own personal dreams in favor of her family and sufferred the punishment of being young and responsible without enjoying its advantages.

She has been admirable in that respect. She has always honored our parents. Out of the generosity of her heart comes the inherent attitude to help and reach out to people in need. Perhaps because she was once poor and she knew how it is to suffer lack.

I can go on talking about what had happened in my family the years that followed but I leave that part with me. At that time, the road ahead was long and steep for everyone else in the family but far from deplorable. The future never burned ever brighter as we see each year past us. And it all started from a martial law baby who desired to alleviate her family from poverty.

What's Going On When You're 40?

I have always been skeptic of reaching 40 and finding myself doing the same routine with added issues of poor(er) eyesight, sagging skin, falling hair, higher waistline because of Cinnabon...the list could go on.

Shopping can be very stressful for me. I would leave the house for the supermarket with my hair all bunned up; with a list on hand I push the cart isle after isle; and cash out with my hair all over my face. While watching the items being scanned, I could see my reflection on stained glass with grey hair popping out. Righttt...I can feel my chinky eyes burning at the end of it all.


You know you're 40 when your niece whom you used to carry in your arms and changed diaper at night now has a facebook account and wears too-hot-shorts! Seriously. I was once like her, too--25 years ago.


When I was in my mid-30's, I command instant attention from my husband when I pick up dirty socks on the floor. I can imagine some of you saying, "eew!". This journal is guaranteed wholesome. My then svelt figure was size 5. Now that I'm 40--only a few months shy away to 41, my size has gone up to 10 (alright! sometimes 12!), I just pick up the socks with my toes and toss it up.

I remember when I was in Calcutta two months ago when an agent offered varied life insurance plans based on our obvious hectic lifestyle. We already have some though. But agents and brokers alike are abundant there either offering their products or creating the need for you.   Did he see me catching my breath after walking my way up the 2nd floor while complaining of back pain? Come on! Everything slows down with age.


What's my point? I don't understand any of those policies (smile). There's just no rule of thumb to tell you which plan best suits you because either way these companies can declare bankruptcy at their will and you and your money are both caught dead in the process. This is where my husband comes in the picture. He's good at this stuff. He's not a CA for nothing.  


Ummm...what about pension plans? I imagine my husband taking his afternoon tea in a porch--retired (or darn tired after working all his life for his family [smile]). He assured me there is already an existing one, too. At least in the Indian sub-continent, they don't have funeral/burial plans. Otherwise, I would probably have been offered those, too.  Again, what's my point? These companies know our profile and we become the age-appropriate group to be offered such plans. They just catch up with you.


Physiologically, I have changed significantly--so does around me. I just know it when I can't sing along with a Justin Bieber song except for the "baby, baby, oh!". While I don't worry too much about that--because there are factors which I can be in control of like eating, exercise, and kunsumisyon (vexation)--I'm more concerned about how much is left for my child who has many years to go.


Am I over-reacting? Maybe not--because my daughter needs me and I hope to be there as long as she requires. Pehaps, I have legitimate reasons to fear the unknown. One thing I realize though when you reach this age, everything seems finite. I know no matter how I try to push it behind my mind, I'm getting closer to old age and even death.  

But...

"God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and of a sound mind."--1 Timothy 1:7. For my good and His glory, He wants me to walk in faith as I watch Him fulfill His promises in my life as “Not one of the good promises which the Lord had made … failed; all came to pass."--Joshua 21:45

There's a sense of boldness when you walk in faith and let the word of God take root in your heart. You just can't tolerate fear too long. What am I afraid of that God cannot handle?  

"For through me your days will be many, and years will be added to your life."--Proverbs 9:11


That, my friend, is what Jesus calls rest at 40 or beyond.

immaculate emancipation: A God-Given Day

immaculate emancipation: A God-Given Day: "My day begins at 5:30am. Most of the time though I get up ahead of the alarm. It frustrates me sometimes not to be able to sleep at least 6h..."

immaculate emancipation: Thess

immaculate emancipation: Thess: "I lost a good friend of mine to leukemia yesterday. I didn't know it would hurt this much to lose Thess. We reconnected through Facebook la..."

A God-Given Day

My day begins at 5:30am. Most of the time though I get up ahead of the alarm. It frustrates me sometimes not to be able to sleep at least 6hours. In hindsight, it allows me enough time to pray and have more quiet time with the Lord before my feet hit the cold floor.

Packing lunch for my 4 year-old is the first order of the day. I prepare sandwiches--grilled cheese, hotdog, and/or peanut butter and jelly on alternate days; sliced apples and mango juice. Waking her up at 6:15am is pretty much predetermined by how and what time she slept the night before. It's one thing when she had at least 8 hours sleep and it's another when it's less than that. Our mornings are different each and everytime (smile).

After the bus had picked her up, need to go back to the kitchen for my husband's breakfast. I'd like to think he loves my omelette with chopped onion, tomatoes, green chilis, turmeric and pepper accompanied by buttered toast and jam. It's actually a result of the abrakadabra routine I do in the kitchen. I'm a bad cook. My kitchen IQ is probably just about .1% above an idiot. And for me to be able to make an honest omelette is boy, a miracle in every 100 years! That's why we hired a cook.

After my husband had left for office, I'm left with this massive work at home. Don't get me wrong. I love household chores. I enjoy doing the laundry--especially careful with hanging clothes with applied color coding, large to small, using appropriate clips. Yes! Art can be applied there, too (smile). If you're a housewife or single living alone you can probably relate to me about the endless jobs I'm talking about here. Laundry is just one of them. Nothing more pitiful than crying while scrubbing the toilet, right? And I try to fix that by eating a dozen cinnamon rolls! I meant that as hilarious. I want heavenly promotions. I try not to be like that anymore.

Relieved from the hassles of cooking, I can turn to blogging. Put my thoughts into writing. Thanks to Shane, my not-blood-sister but a good friend, who encouraged me to create a blog as an outlet--more like a motherhood cum wife literature--subjects can be diverse. It's basically self-serving. 

As I wait for my child to return from school, I think of some crafts we can both do for the day. A big chunk of that challenge has been taken away by my good friend Anitha. When our kids are back from school, she gladly welcomes us to her home everyday providing a super fun indoor space for my kid and hers. It's good for both our kids to develop social skills especially living abroad where everything is foreign and everyone a stranger.

Coming back home, I make sure she naps between 3 and 5pm. That helps her recharge and do homework. Afterwards, it's play time till dinner time. My husband comes home around 6-6:30pm. I give him downtime before dinner. We talk in between if the mood permits. Otherwise, we watch TV together--mum or talking--it depends.

That's pretty much how life treats me or how I treat it everyday. I turn to the Lord in prayer after a long day of both physical and spiritual drought. I said drought because it is up to me to steward my inner strength out to be useful and as meaningful as possible. It can be draining sometimes sans sleep vis-a-vis hormones at work! Who said it's easy to be a mother and a wife at the same time? I'm the last person to sleep and the first person to get up. But I'm compelled by love. I'm enjoying my journey.

Thess

I lost a good friend of mine to leukemia yesterday. I didn't know it would hurt this much to lose Thess.

We reconnected through Facebook last April 2010. Since then we shared life stories after EasyCall. We exchanged photographs of our travels. I fell in love with her stories of how she's enjoying her life--going to spas for massage, eating well, working hard, traveling in and out of South East Asia with good friends. She's having the best time of her life so to speak.

January 26 this year I received an email from her with a different tone. She wrote that  she was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia in Malaysia on September 2010. She obliged to seek second opinion in Manila as advised by her doctor. January 12 she received a conclusive report that she was indeed afflicted with the blood disease. I was in total disbelief. How can a peppy yet pure soul like her be stricken with such a deadly disease?

She refused to undergo chemotheraphy because she was very scared of its side effects. I was devastated! Mainly because I know if she refused treatment it would not make her condition any better. Respecting her for this decision, I can only encourage her to activate her faith and put on the armor of God. We have a serious battle to win here.  

4,600 miles away from her, the best I could do was seek church elder's help for prayer. I sent a letter to the pastoral assistant of National Evangelical Church to include Thess in the congregation's prayer. The church being so concerned of her health condition contacted a specialist from American Mission Hospital encouraging her to seek prompt treatment. I wrote to select international ministries to ask for her healing. When they replied, I forwarded all letters to Thess so she would know that she's not alone.  

Thess, on the other hand, continued to live. She never pity-partied. Depression was never an option. One day she wrote,"sorry, mare, di na kita tinoma kasi pa-good girl effect ako. hahaha!" I told myself maybe she's really feeling better. She obviously kept an attitude of faith and kept her heart right. I kept following up. "I'm ok, mare". That's what she would tell me every single time.

She spent more time with her family; explored places she's never been; surrounded herself with good, loving friends and yet never mentioned anything about pain. What I know with leukemia is it makes one's bones hurt so much that it debilitates the person in excruciating pain. Nevertheless, in succeeding months she posted photographs of her activities looking happy. No one can guess she's sufferring in silence. It gave me a great sense of relief though knowing, based on the pictures, that she may indeed be feeling better. 

Meanwhile, unrest in the Middle East erupted causing most of us expats to panic. The economy was badly affected. The target now is my own family--our safety and our future. To make matters worse, my father suffered a massive stroke that same month! Thess wrote to me February 29 assuring me that everything will be alright. My husband filed for emergency leave and 3 days later we were all in Calcutta. I kept in touch with Thess while I was there.

When everything settled in Bahrain after 3 weeks, we came back to resume our normal lives. Classes started officially for my daughter too at that time. My hands were full. Thess kept in touch with assurance that she's fine. And I believed her all the time.

June 16 I wrote on her wall asking how she is. I didn't get a reply. I thought she would write back later on because she would never ignore my message or any person's for that matter. I received a private message from Ms U, a former colleague and an old friend from EasyCall, telling me to call her, "it's about Thess B". I had a bad feeling about it but I brushed it off. I told her I can't call right away because I didn't have an international calling card. I texted her asking what happened to Thess and told her to write me at facebook.

"Thess passed away this morning. Acute leukemia." I was shocked! I refused to believe it. I said to myself, "No! It can't be. She was ok." My heart ached a lot. I cried so hard I cannot breathe. I asked myself, did I pray hard enough? Maybe my prayer was not enough. Did she go through so much pain that last hour? I thought she would be around longer.

So I called Ms U. Told me the moments she shared with Thess while seeking treatment at UST. She mentioned seeing my post left unanswered. I told her I will check my private messages again since they tend to pile up as I receive a lot of messages from family members and other friends too. Moments later I did. And here's what I found: 

 

June 16

Thess Bantigue

hello mare, musta na? para sa akin ba ung msg mo sa wall na "kumusta na bes"
anyway, i'm ok naman. tuloy pa rin ang pagpapagamot. kayo musta na dyan, ang cute ng mga pics ni ali ah.
ingat & God bless always. miss u na mare

My heart sank. 

Thess' good nature are too numerous to mention. All I know is she loved the Lord and she sought Him and found comfort in her affliction. Did we win this battle ultimately? Yes! Her strength is unimaginable to a regular person. She triumphed over pain by celebrating life instead of sufferring. She inspired many people by her positive attitude and that's how I want to remember her by. I know now she's home.  

Revelation 14:13 "Then I heard a voice from heaven say, "Write: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on." "Yes," says the Spirit, "they will rest from their labor, for their deeds will follow them."




Thess