Hello September

I'm relatively happy to wave August goodbye, with its seasonal thunderstorms and floods, and memories of hospitals, and one too many stresses of the here and now.

I’m waving it farewell in order to welcome the start to one of my favorite times of the year:

**Christmas** 

(which is a September - January affair for me).

September is the ideal time for thinking anything shining, shimmering, splendid. So as I sit, trying to ram knowledge into my brain, my mind tends to wander to more delightful things. But this blog is officially welcoming you the best holiday season ever!.

And such as what I want to do this December:

*Treat mother to her favorite place
*Have a picnic in some beautiful gardens
*Watch live TV show
*Make no-bake goodies as Christmas give-aways
*Visit bazzars and night markets.
*Eat at Banchettos in Pasig.
*Sleep in a hammock
*Go to the zoo and look at penguins.

I'm sure more things will pop into my head as I think about it...

Christmas to me is always more than just the 25th, it's the run up to it.

So, there. I give up. I'll keep my anticipation, thank-you very much, and you can keep your problems. I don't want them, they’re bitter and thoughtful.

::

Where I Screamed My Head Off

People are way too serious about death. I am serious about death. It hurts, it's unfair, it's scary as hell, it's despiteful, all that's true. But sometimes the only way to get through it is to recognize the ridiculous in the horrible. Because what will it all matter in a hundred years. Because life is silly. Because we're all just temporary. And because what else can you do.

I say a lot of times that while I am hopeful and a great believer of God’, I am also a realist. I don’t do fantasy or make-believe. I know cancer. Not all of it though but I know it’s alive and vicious, will go to remission for awhile but fired back at an instant.

So while I am at where I am at, I could use some breathing space, right?

So my house looked like this last Monday.

Meet the audience: a son, daughter, few nephews, nieces,
and a bunch of neighbors's kids. 

Me: What the hell is going on in there?

Kid: Ma, manood tayo ng Conjuring

Me: Is it okay?

Kid: ….

Me: **covers all the mirrors**

So I’m sitting there next to my little girl with pillow on her face. I even saw the beginning of it but I had to ask again and again if the ghost will appear yet. Now, normally my philosophy about everything concerning ghost movies is "If I can't see it, it's not my problem."

But of course, my older nephew leapt at the opportunity to regale us with the plot of the movie.

"Well, you see, they moved in that creepy house and that's where the dog would back all day. Before she will be discovered dead the next day. You can see where the tapping is heard, all because that’s where the killing happened..."

Half an hour later, we were all screaming. I think my uterus ruptured, or my eggs cracked. I don't know.

Once everyone was able to calm down and stop shrieking, after a few seconds of silence we would burst into screaming again.

Now I can't stop thinking about that cellar scene. It’s where the possessed Carolyn out to get the child and Patrick Wilson with his Elvis-like flip haircut and sideburns, is stuck in a hole saying his exorcism rites while Vera Farmiga’s Liberace-style collar ruffles is lulling her to think of their best time as a family.

So there.

I feel like I could be a good movie critic, though, because while other critics will give you intellectual point-by-point breakdowns on things like story arc and character development, I base my evaluations on emotional impact alone. Did I laugh? Did I cry? Did I sink into a near-death phasmophobia or extreme fear of ghosts and require six months of bi-weekly visits with a psychologist afterwards before I could sleep through the night again?

Oh I love you and hate you, Conjuring.

You scared the hell out me.

AFLOAT

You might be asking how I am so I thought I would tell you.

I am better than yesterday. Thank you.

I think I have visited more than enough hospitals this year, seen few hospital beds and met handful of people, which is good for an introvert like me. I am not shy. I am just big on privacy, personal space and a firm believer of not talking to strangers. So the nurses and doctors I’ve met? You people are amazing. We should give one day in year to honor you.

The past month has been beyond hard. The worst was the weekend before last. But mother is doing well on Letrozole and B-complex and some vitamins. She now laughs a little, speaks livelier and eats healthier. Recovery road is a long travel. And she needs all these synthetic pills, and our constant love and support to live longer. It is expensive, tiring, stressful and depressing. But we need to choose to stand back up again in life. One foot in front of the other is sometimes the best way we can manage.

We did indeed go see her every weekend and every single time we see her, we walk off somehow feeling enriched and better ourselves. She is okay, we are okay.

There's a quote by somebody famous about how, we must not be afraid to share the hard times in our life. Something about poets heralding the darkness, because if it doesn't get documented, how will people know we got through? That they can get through as well?

So. That's where I'm at. I'm ok enough to log on to my computer and upload some photos and write some words, so that's something. I miss the days of just coming to blog and offloading like I used to, without worrying that some people I love will die, and that bad things will still come one day.

At this point I don't care. It's night-time and it's raining. Tomorrow is a whole new day.

::

This verse has kept me alive. I think about it and it made a whole world of sense.

Isn't it?