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.