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.