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?

Drifting Again

Four years ago we began. I suppose we never really ended, chasing the cancer cells through surgery, the terrible promise of Tamoxifen, and hospital visits again and again. Mother found her own way around the cancer there. The journey changed. The path became less clear and more muddled. It's strange in a way. Side effects of breast cancer. The trouble is dealing with that, with knowing it and living in it, walking around each day with that settled on your soul. The adjustment is not pleasant.

In many ways, I'm not sure what to expect.

A day when the thoughts are closer to the surface, when my memory of her good health is more easily accessible and the road to recovery is a little clearer. But it's still just a day. I cried, but not as much as I might have. There is no clarity, at least not anything new. Some days I feel strong, some other days even the shallowest drama on TV would bring me to tears.

She is in a hospital again. Doctors extracted the fluid out of her right lung. No big deal. Root Canal would have been longer. And more painful I guess.



But the day passed on too slow. Again. I’m counting of all the days until she is out of the hospital.

I know better to expect revelations. I know better than to expect anything at all on a schedule. It's been four years and I know that there will be more years to come. I know in the end it will settle. Not settles in the sense that it's ok, or not horrific in some way, but settles in the sense that it is not actively debilitating when it happens. Loss of any kind, especially the loss out of order of someone you love, is not a wound that heals. Closure is an impractical and misplaced goal. Mother is not a torn ligament or a broken bone, something a surgery and a few months of rehab will set right without further ado. You live with it. Your only choice is how you choose to do that.



Some people don’t know any better. Once they knew about mother, they give us the "cancer eyes." These were the eyes people, from hospital staff to strangers, would give us when they found out mother’s breast cancer. Pity, mostly. The looks I get from these acquaintances are very similar "condolence eyes." Like cancer eyes, I have little patience for them. That's not to say I do not appreciate people feeling bad about what happened to her. Of course I do. But pity does not interest me. To me, that undermines the experience. I prefer sympathy, or empathy. If people want to talk about her, I'm happy to do so. People have told me they were sorry and added something, talked about it. If they're just going to say the words for the sake of saying them though, I'd rather we skipped the formality.



I know this may sound harsh, that people just want to be kind. I know they're trying and do not mean anything by it. Still, I think it's important to recognize what's good to say and what's not. So I suppose I'm trying to say that. I am glad when people talk about her. What I am not interested in is people saying something just for the sake of saying it. Or mocking it. I did not notice it before, but I do now.

::

Thank you all for your continued thoughts and prayers.

That Was Never a Comedy For Me

I broke down in tears Sundays ago.

In front of my church friends; was literally sobbing and was crying my heart out.

I came to church in my old self. Living a normal life and just trying to work stuff out, be present as a parent, a sister, a friend while holding my self together, doing the very best I can. You know, finding beauty in things.

But things were not good lately. We have been stressing out due to mother’s condition.

I wasn’t in the best frame of mind, but I did come anyway. We’ve been MIA for 2 Sundays already. Sometimes if I ignore how I feel and just do the things I need to do, I come good.

But there was no coming good.

Between his and hellos, I told them that mother is not doing good, water was leaking in her lungs.

And then came the singing, the hand-shaking and the preaching.

The last thing I remember, the preacher, whom I know personally, told in the pulpit, in front of many, that people gets easily downed and depressed

“Because their mothers are sick”

In a mocking, amusing and comical way.

I thought I heard a few laughed with what supposed to be a joke. What is more difficult, he said the same joke one more time.

But that was never a comedy for me.

I was hurt so badly that I wept.

I came to his wife crying. I told her I was hurt. Said it was not a good joke.

I've never felt so scarily low, for such an extended period of time. I unravelled to the end of the string. It was such a relief to not pretend anymore. But then people can be so insensitive sometimes, they don’t know.

I don’t know too. It was 2 weeks already. My head says its time to move on. But my heart tells it needs more time to heal.

Kids, Inc.

Hello to you all my dear friends. I’ve been into a lot of things lately so busy I was not able to update my blog. Well lot of things would mean the youngest kid going now to school, my birthday, my mother’s hospitalization and my endless things to buy and things to do.

Well.

As I said, Yana started big school today. And neither of us cried.



There's such a revolting feeling when your child starts kindy. Who will help them open their crackers? How can they possibly go to a bathroom stall by themselves? The classroom is SO BIG, and she is SO LITTLE. How can this happen?

So we have one girl now in kindy and one boy in year four, at different schools. I keep telling my son in my best Rizzo voice that he's gonna"Ruuule the school."

By the time I was my sons's age, I was already thinking about my future like who will I marry, and how many kids will I have. I don’t feel so pretty then but I know that somewhere out there a little boy is also growing to be my husband.

I also tell him that because he is so strong and tall and popular, he has a duty to watch out for kids who need his help, who might be bullied. He tells me he does - I hope he does.

You think your kids are set once they are no longer babies, that the hardest part is over. It's not. It's a whole new ballgame, one I never saw coming until it came and I was all um, I didn't order this particular parenting sandwich?!

Fights, arm wrestling, limits ignored, harsh words. The severe worry and panic that you are totally wasting these kids up. It's completely terrifying. I just hope it's minimal, that not too much damage is being done, and that when they go out into the world they're armed with enough confidence to take care of themselves. And respect themselves and other people.



Financially, we often just lurch from one problem/crisis to the next. I've been parenting for nine years now. I've sucked at it, been awesome at it, loved it, loathed it. It demands so much, to look after people who can't look after themselves quite yet. Sometimes I count up on my fingers how many more years until it's just me and Hubs again, like, boyfriend/girlfriend.

But man they keep us anchored. And responsible. We're all just a bunch of crazy people, doing the best we can.

Everything I Ever Wanted To Be

I'm sure you see her.

Why is this girl so happy?

She's the one whose clothes are neatly pressed, nails perfectly manicured, waist so narrow, house is immaculate, and children polite and behave. (Sigh). Mine are so wild sometimes, even Dora can’t explore them.

She is everything I am not.

But I'm trying. I'm really, really trying.

I know I told you I don’t have a resolution.

But I promised myself that for the New Year I will be the best me.

And I've really tried to stick with it--I'll spend wisely, eat better, stay active (*finger cross*), and take charge of all my work stuff.

But then there's me.

The me that everyone sees. Fat arms. Outdated clothes. My husband threatened to burn this one blouse I still use. He said he saw me in this blouse even before I gave birth to our eldest. I wonder if Sigmund Freud is right about penny-pinching.

I am always tired. My hair is flat. My nails are broken and unkempt.

Perhaps I'm being too hard on myself, but seriously? I don't feel great most days.

I feel like there's this person inside of me just waiting to bust a move in the outside world.

But instead she's buried in laundry and all the rest of the mundane chores a woman has to do every day.

So, this year I decided I'd change all that. I will work hard all weekends to get the house organized and in order. I’ll set time for manicure and pedicure.

But I woke up last Saturday morning and reality hit me: Saturdays are reserved for cooking, cleaning, and generally un-fun things. And Sundays are saved for ironing.

But thanks heaven, manicure I did.

But you know what happened when I hung my clothes up in the laundry?

I chipped the polish off of my newly manicured nails.

Gah.

Things They Didn't Tell Me

Hello readers! Hope you have a good weekend..

Glad it’s over. New Year. Not complaining. Just saying. Sometimes the start of the year makes you over think. A lot more introspective than any other days in the year. All the people want to have a fresh start like new look, new girlfriend, new job, new life. The reasons why we write those tricky little bastards called resolutions, right? You see I have grown a little. I’ve changed. There’s a side of me that whenever this season comes, a change in year, I refused to be drawn in to the fiasco that always, always happens this time around. If nothing is coming, then why bother? Just keep on going. There's always a pause, a moment when you realized that stagnancy of life is not bad at all. And I like that I learnt how to play around things now.

How do we get through the things that we can't get through? How can we make sense of the unfathomable? Can't. Just have to keep going, do what we can. Strip it all back. The most important things in life aren't things. We are wiser than we know.

Dreams, like warts and mole, they grow back. At the precise moment of dreadful failures, the human spirit inside us instantly begins to plot its own survival. And a heart that is broken again and again, is stronger that we thought. It can swallow a big pride without choking, strike old wounds without being hurtful and defensive. Although I still don't understand the magnitude of life, who says we have to?

Saying yes to life makes it open up like an oyster.

My mother appeared at Social Security for the annual confirmation. It is the system’s way to check if the pensioner is still alive. She does this so they will continue her check. My father has pension too. But he died elsewhere, with a different family, years after their marriage broke up. I believe I have four or five younger half-siblings. I also learned that it's the other woman who picks up my father’s annuity.

I felt my mother has few misgivings whether to fight for it or not. Half of me can’t take it. It belongs to mother and she could use the money for her maintenance. And I feel for her. I punched my self-consciousness if it’s right to convince her to claim what’s rightfully hers. It took my whole life to be in a place where I believe I can make a difference. But my other side tells the other family needs it more. My father died a poor man. I strongly believe that we live more comfortably than them.



There’s a deep essence of something I don’t know. I'm just so, so sorry down here. I guess a sister is only as happy as its unhappiest half-sister or brother.

So while I wait for God to tell me what to do, I leave you loads of love, understanding and peace. Supersized, and with refills.

Finding Friends

You can’t catch time when you’re busy catching your rowdy kids

Sorry friends. I miss you and I love you, but my hands were full. In as much as I want to yak all my stress up, converse where life has taken me so far, and convince you to death that I really took Zumba, there were lots of things on my plate. You know my kids. They trick me into “Ma, we need you more than you need friends”.

They make me feel this way all the time. Every time.

I met my college friends last December 31 and I miss them. I just couldn’t let this one pass. Gah, I miss going out. Sadly, I can’t do that as frequently as I want. And sadly, I met them with my brood.

The food was great, the place just fine. Only I had a nightmare on the first hours. I was no use to anybody because I was always busy with the kids. They need me like air. Forget the steep stairs, or the kidnappers. I fear them breaking the glass barriers anytime, falling straight down the concrete floors of Festival Mall in Alabang. Ang mahal kaya ng glass barriers.!

So to these people who I got the chance to share my life with, although very seldom I see and chat, I hope our ties will never end. And despite of the long times that went by we connected last, and the more time it takes to catch up, I know friendships are not about time and distance alone. It is about the heart that never forgets. I pray that our friendship will last forever. I pray that our kids will be friends too and share crazy stuff and relate stories only genuine people can value and understand.

To my one friend who feels that love is so elusive: Ease up. Don’t worry it will come in the right time. Feel good and look good. Love find its way to a heart that never stops dreaming and believing.

To my other friend who just entered her first romantic relationship: Enjoy the moment. Don’t fret about things you cannot control. Go with the flow. And let life takes it’s course. Sometimes when you release the reins, things fall into place naturally and simply. As they should.

And to you who suck up all the craziness of this world and still end up the best mom: I am so proud of you. You have already proven yourself. I adore your klutziness. You never hold back and that’s what makes you special. I pray you meet your one true love some day.

This post is for you guys. Rock and roll!

Since You Asked…

I am not spawning. Not pregnant. It’s my belly, and it is just bloated.

Yesterday, the church was a full house. It was our anniversary and many people came to check us. Some were a bit cold, some tried their best to be gracious and cordial and some others were genuinely happy to cheer with us.

I was one of the two emcees and so my face was wallpaper.

In a mad scramble to coordinate the next song number to the next powerpoint presentation, I was trotting like a troll.

And so bumping with old acquaintances, shaking hands with ex-deacons, ex-youth members, ex co-workers, is always inevitable.

And so I was asked, “Sis, pregnant ka ba?”

By the same old woman, who asked the same question, every single time she see me. And I did what I always do in extremely stressful and emotional situations: smile. Can she just asked “kumusta na?”.

So I said no, and after exchanging few pleasantries I excused myself politely.

And then another guy commented, “tumataba ka ngayon ah.”

He said that, like it was nothing.

Thank you. Your words are really comforting.

I'm being as kind to myself as I possibly can, cutting myself some slack. My children, they are so full of life, and beautiful and my biggest treasure. I’m beyond lucky and have a big spirit of gratitude. Hubs looks better with each passing year. Not too thin, not too fat. ... how is it that men age better?

When the speaker started, I sank at the corner like a distraught toolbag. Did not care who was watching. I was all ears because I was Ruth in his story.

::

I expected to return home annoyed and stressed at all of the hurry ups, hustle and bustles and mania of anniversary event- but I'm not. Remember the story of Ruth in the bible? She is a Moabite, a widow, a foreigner, exactly a person who has no identity. Many know her side of story who is faithful to her in-law. Remember the verse:”Your people, will be my people. Your God, will be my God?”. That’s her.

But her other side tells she is a poor woman, waiting in vain for somebody to do the right thing. That's all. She was sent to Boaz to glean from his field. But Boaz here, blessed her in more ways than one. She was allowed to go with the women, picking up as they harvest. She was provided with water, and told no one to touch her or else.

I saw myself in Ruth. I’m resolved to not buy cheap version of me. My body should have no bearing on how people treat me. And I want to talk to those good people who never had to live this, but genuinely want to care and help, without buying into crap that have been sold for generations about obesity, diet and body image.

God sees us as beautiful people, fat and all. What we taught that things we don’t deserved like respect, kind-heartedness, thoughtfulness, caring words- these are given. And more. He sent Jesus, what else can He not give?

Time Equals Beauty

Still on the subject of time, how long do you prepare for work? school? Women often hear men complain about the time we need to doll ourselves up. But don't we all? I mean, if we really think about it, men are as vain as women. For documentation purposes, my morning routine is not at all noteworthy. But if you’re really curious, I whip a comb through my hair, toss on a pair of pants and blouse from my pile — not joking, it’s a mini-mountain — and apply baby powder that usually wipes off before I get to work. I only put lipstick on when I am in the office already.

However, I can appreciate a more elaborate process, and geishas’ rituals are lengthy and steeped in tradition. This beautiful film from the 1930s shows geisha styling their hair, dressing and preparing for public life.

And boys still ask what’s taking us girls so long?

Can't Help Growing Old

Have you heard the song, “Grow Old With you” by Adam Sandler? You know, the one from the movie The Wedding Singer. That sounds sort of cool, isn’t it? I wonder if it’s really like that. For someone who will not really mind seeing you wrinkled, saggy and lined? Is there really such kind of devotion that left you blind to thinning hair and bulging stomachs. Still find you adorable even if you have frequent tantrums and grumpiness because you are aching all over? That’s a tad incredible. And sounds a bit, well, out of this world, might I add. But then, knowing me, I’m in love with love. I can believe all matters of the heart.

I wanna make you smile when you’re sad
Carry you around when your arthritis is bad…

…Oh, All I wanna do is grow with you.

So you go from first kiss to your wedding day and, later, you discovered that things are a lot different. When you were single, there’s a bitter sweet feeling when you split up. And I suppose you could say that you missed him already seconds after he left. But now that you live under one roof, and found out that he snores like a cow, you wish you live world apart. Certainly, you know that things work differently sometimes.

I’ll get your medicine when your tummy aches
Build you a fire if the furnace breaks

…Oh, it could be so nice
Growing old with you.

But here’s an interesting thought: he sticks with you at the delivery room, cleans the house a bit when you don’t and shows genuine concern when you’re sick. I remember contacting UTI and had fever that reached 40 degrees, my husband went out of his way to bring me to the doctor and left only when I’m okay. And looking back over the last several years, he would always let me get inside the bus first before he does, takes the danger side when we’re in the street and hold my hands no matter how sticky and sweaty they sometimes are. He also takes pride at our little family. He would always mention how tall my eldest gets each day and the youngest, how she looks more her mother as the days pass.

Need You
Feed You
Even let you hold the remote control…

…Oh, All I wanna do is grow with you.

I can't think about the day that I will be away from him without getting a huge lump in my throat. I pray that we will grow into greater understanding of each other. And that there is no way that any gray hair, arthritic hands or drooping eyes bags steps in the way.

Missing Part 2

Dear Son,
I have one favor. For my birthday, Christmas, or Mother’s day, I don’t want another bag. Or fancy earrings. Or a new perfume. Take a good look at me. My face has more wrinkles now. I’m getting old and these things don’t give me the joy that they used to. Do you want to make me happy, son? Stop giving things. Instead I need your presence. Now I know you’re a busy man. In fact, you have a good job and a girl you want to marry someday soon. You’ve got a million things to do. I understand, son. I really do. But once in awhile, can we just talk? I want to hear you say you miss me. Bring me out for lunch. Or bring me out of the city-just the two of us. I still get jealous, you see? Let’s talk about everything and anything. I’d like to laugh with you again. The same way we did when I used to bring you out in the park; when you were tiny enough that I could carry you in my arms when you slept on our way home; and when your favorite topic of conversation is Transformers and Spiderman. Oh my Son, I miss you so much.

I want you to know that every so often, I still open an old box I keep all these years. In it are your pencilled drawings of robots, monsters, and superheroes. And in case you didn’t know, I still like looking at my old photo albums. In these old photos, I see you as a shy child hiding behind your mother’s skirt, I see you singing a song in a Christmas party, I see you blowing candles on your birthday cake. I let my finger touch your face on those photos. I wipe the tears flowing down my cheeks. Memories rush over me like a river. My heart swells with pride as I think of you. Oh, how proud I am that you’re my son.

But you know what, son? Looking at these pictures makes me feel old. Very old. I’m struck at how unforgiving time is. Yes, it flies. And time will continue to fly ever so swiftly, and one day, I will be gone.

But mark my words, son. Each day, in Heaven, I shall watch over you. My love will continue beyond the grave, beyond the boundaries of heaven and earth. My love for you will remain forever.

Son, I’m still here. With you. While I’m on planet earth, once in awhile, give me your presence.
When you were 7 years old, you used to shout, “Mommy , I love you,” and instantly, I’d get a lump in my throat, my eyes would moisten, and my chest would be filled with warmth.

Son, after all these years, you’re a grown up man now. But nothing has changed between us. Tell me those words again, “Mommy, I love you,” and instantly, I’d still get a lump in my throat, my eyes would still moisten, and my chest will still be filled with warmth. Son, let’s make an agreement: No matter how corny it gets, let’s not stop hugging each other. The older I am, the more I need those hugs. I don’t want a shirt. I want you, Son, even if it’s just a few minutes of your time.

Love,
Mommy

- Article posted at preacherinbluejeans.com. I changed some words to fit characters I have in mind. I thought they were the exact words and wishes of one mother I know. I know her son too. I hope that one day; they will talk about things, eye to eye, heart to heart.

Senior Moment

My mother, at 69, still wants to be in control of everything. She has her own way of making somebody believe, either through passing hint or strong, sharp criticism. Her hands may be shaky and legs aching, but her heart did not grow any older. She still handles arguments, confrontations the way she did some half a decade ago. I am pretty sure there are times that she still wants to spank me. And then there are grandchildren. Other days, she is doting, gentle loving grandmother. But in the extreme heat, she would curse them with words not even us, their parents, would use. She said she just want them to realize things and head in the right direction.

Let me preface this little story by telling you a bit about my childhood. My mother did most of the child-rearing since father left early. And through it all, she was always there. This also meant that not only did we associate with her serious, pointed views; but also got the early taste of life’s inanities. As a child, a lot of times I fell, scraped, bruised, bumped, scarred, and burnt, physically and metaphorically. At 6 years old, I was already contemplating about life. Seriously.

Now that we have come full circle, my turn has come to parent her, in a way. I keep her money, buy her medicines (with her money). She hates long walks, so I oblige myself to do some errands for her like buying the red blouse she wore to a wedding. Now that she can still walk without hobbling on cane, not still crooked or bent over, I could only pray to see her with profound peace, to laugh until her belly hurts, to see her take deep breaths, enjoys the sunset and takes pleasure of what is left of her remaining years.

“If wrinkles must be written upon our brows,
let them not be written upon the heart.
For the spirit should never grow old. “

What Is It Again?!

Now, I've never mentioned this before, but I have a serious case of forgetfulness. There are days that I couldn’t easily call to mind usual or familiar things. Sometimes, I would mull over which vegetable, spices and ingredients is right for the recipe I have in mind. Occasionally, I discover left over food lying inside the fridge after days or weeks. And twice or thrice it happened that I got off the jeep without paying my fare. And last night, mother asked for analgesic and I replied I don’t have. The pain held her awake until 2am. Today, when I went about my routines preparing myself for work, I saw this tiny bottle of calming oil that I have for sometime now, which is very good for pains and inflammations, and I almost cursed myself for being forgetful. She could have had a night of peaceful sleep if it weren’t for my “memory loss”.

So there I was: easy to forget and difficult to keep watch and to stay awake. It is said that passion, tastes, excitements, hobbies, competitions, entertainments are things that entrance us and dominate our sub-conscious minds. It may be true because I think it’s my active imagination and my mountainful of mental notes that I make all day, everyday. I make decisions and juggle one task to another so as to save time. With the day-to-day activities that we do for our jobs, families, friends, co-workers, and so much more that we have to deal with, we sometimes find that we barely have time for ourselves to just relax and rest our mind. However, I just hope not to run out of memory for more important things that this life awaited me.