Where I Turned Into A Saw Slaying Monster. Kind Of.

I have many kinds of anger:

1. The kind that I forget after 10 seconds.
2. The kind that takes a day to sink in, which is very frustrating especially when, the moment it sinks in, it's not relevant to talk about anymore
3. The kind that makes me create imaginary arguments in my head in which you will win and I will hate you more.
4. The kind that makes me want to make you realize how stupid you are by using extreme sarcasm and snide remarks that you probably won't even understand.
5. The kind that frustrates me a lot that it makes me tear up. 
6. The kind that makes me want to go Super Saiyan on you. 
7. And the kind that makes my blood boil up inside and make me want to secretly take a picture of you and post it on the Internet because I will probably hate you forever. FOREVER. 

And do you want to know what makes me that angry?

Wait. Okay. Not that angry.

PMS.

If you have been reading this blog for a length of time, there are two things that bother me every month: bills and monthly period.

I know its not normal for most girls to get crazy-angry when PMS-ing. But compared to the random mood swings and cramps and headaches and body pains and frustrations and that feeling where you want to strangle everyone who says something stupid, staying sane is probably the worst when the red flag is up.

So this is why I want to discuss ways to get us girls out of trouble when its the time of the month.

Here they are..

Eat. Follow your cravings. We're a lot peaceful with full stomach.

Go to the gym. Exercising and sweating bring you a sweet
adrenalin rush..

Find a hobby. Dance, sing, shave someone's head, twerk. Whatever!
Anything that turn you back into peace-loving, delicate
butterfly that you know you are..

Lastly,


Don't eat sugar for breakfast. Because as the day goes on, you'll get more hyper.
More hyper than you already are in the morning.


So there.

I hope I helped.

You're welcome

::

Dear Cancer

You suck!

You used to scare everyone silly, but we are not afraid of you anymore.

You didn't get my father. You didn't get my aunt. You didn't get my other aunt and you're not gonna get my mother!

She is eating healthy & then you know what she did?

She smiled for a photo & posted it on FACEBOOK.

My mother at the right, with her sister

So there.

You can try to beat us all you want, but we know how to fight. And we will keep fighting.

You might as well just go away.

And never come back.

::

Talk About Gifts

I've had so many gifts.

But none as great as. . . .

Lian, 9 & Yana, 4

I can't take any credit. To God goes the Glory.

::

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.

::

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.

BIPOLAR

Talking about mental illness is a slippery eel. If one went to hospital almost because of a broken leg? Completely legit. But if one went to hospital for a broken mind? A shame for life. A stigma you can never redo.

Thing is, they're mostly just like you and me. Mostly just doing their best. You would never guess if you walked past them in the street. Or see them on TV. Sometimes we were probably too busy thinking about basic things like food and water and shelter and forget about other basic stuff like the monsters in our mind.

Everybody experiences mood shifts in daily life, but with bipolar disorder these changes are extreme. A person may be quite unaware of these changes in their attitude or behavior. After a manic phase is over, they may be quite shocked at what they've done and the effect that it has had.

Inside a bipolar mind, the streets are crazy, no traffic lights. Things just zoom around and get away with it.

Like monstrous waves crashing on sharp rocks.

And these are feelings these people must be feeling right now.

Catherine Zeta-Jones checked into facility for Bipolar care

20-year old Demi Lovato had series of rehabs for substance abuse disorder, bulimia and bipolar..

Isabella Gonzales (daughter of Kuh Ledesma):

"I'm not ashamed to admit it. I was diagnosed at 17. It's genetic since I have it on my dad's side"

 

The two psychologists I flew with to Cebu confirmed that the popular young star currently in a family war is indeed a patient. Of a psych ward. Currently undergoing therapy for Bipolar II.

Sometimes I Do Politics

For most of my life, April has not been a favorite, however I do fancy it’s clear, blue sky. April is beach and sand and sun burn. April is a spacious train ride to and from work. April is waking up late, longer break fast and TV time.

And this year, April is more hands to shake.

You know those campaigning politicians. I was sitting for a good 30 minutes, talking and laughing with neighbors and not too long came a parade of politicians one after another. And since election came every 3 years, and I get to meet local officials once every 3 years too, I was almost sure I got entertained looking, talking, teasing them with sheer and unbridled enthusiasm. Boy, don’t they look so cool to vent and poked fun at. But of course I can try and fool myself that I was able to make fun of them, knowing that politicians are already used to swearing around, talking around and lying around.

And while I was telling myself to never see a senatorial candidate from as far as Palawan, I saw Hagedorn.

Hagedorn? you know underground river, tubbataha?...moustache? Yeah that's Hagedorn. 

I thought his face hair looks funny.

I am actually not a politics person. I don’t have any political record. I don't even have anything to back up my claim on how to survive election campaign period. But since I am a legitimate voter of this country, and have survived 13 elections already, I can probably add to your election-survival scheme.

That is,

If you’re a campaigning politician:

1. Wear a vest with your name on it. The one that will make you look like a police reporter. It adds a fashion sense. 
2. Wear a toupee. Even if it looks so fake and ill-fitted. It gives you the impression that you can survive your 3-year term without frequent cardiac arrests. 
3. Come with a hoard of followers. It will make you look so important. And rich. 
4. Don’t shake hands looking and smelling like another dog(or cat or any other animal). This can be ground for disqualification. 

And if you’re just a plain citizen, you could have your head hacked by these people if:

1. You tell them they smell like dogs. 
2. You tell them their hair look fake and ask them straight about their age. 
3. You will not laugh at their dull jokes. 
4. You ask them for money.

 I'll admit that I'm being a little snarky here, so I'll finish by clarifying that there is no real and genuine"election survival plan"; if you fail to do any of these things, then you sir (or madam) are, in for a real trouble.

Don't tell me I didn't tell you.

The Reasons Why Thrifting Is Never Easy

Who is the one always harping about paying cash and staying within your budget?

Me.

Who is scared to go broke days before the payday?

Me.

I pass by department stores everyday to and from work and I see things I think I need but don’t buy. Things is, they are too pricey. Totally out of budget.

So where does a cost-conscious, penny-pinching person like myself go?

The answer is thrift store. Ukay-ukay or Wagwagan,

In hindsight I can tell you that, true to what I had mused about money and lack of it is in the post where I begged for Santa to pay off all of my loans, this choice fit the mold in that it was extremely difficult at the time but ended up being the right one. It’s hard to buy pre-owned stuff right? What if they wore by a dead person? I mean not when he was still alive but say, at his wake?

Oh well, I know they don’t change dead person’s clothing once already inside the coffin. So there really isn’t any chance that they’ll undress him and sell the shirt to a thrift store. But it’s me. I get scared and excited almost by the same things. Remember the post where I related the benefits of buying haunted furnishings and then blogged four days later why horror movies leave me like a zombie. Yes readers, that’s how I rock and roll.

There are so many reasons to love shopping here. For example, I could go on about the amazing P 65.00 never-been used swimwear I wore to the beach where I almost lost a child? The tag inside was still original. Or so I thought. I also got a green blouse for less than a hundred peso.

I wonder why green hangers are common in Ukay-ukay..

However, when you go in these places make sure you have at least 3 hours to haul mountain of clothes. Like you do in an ordinary department store, check for lose buttons, hems and linings. Watch out for the stains in the armpits, chest and other areas. Also you have to dust off before purchase. Forget the smell. Old clothes smell like old people.

These are extra pointers to think when you decided to visit these stores.

1. Know what you are looking for. Ukay ukay clothes come in rows and can be overwhelming. Have in mind the outfit or look you want to for before you go shopping. That way, getting that tie-dyed shirt, flare pants and hippe bad for your seventies retro look will be easier.
2. Have an eye for detail. Sometimes I do look for brands, since they come a lot cheaper than the ones sold in malls. However details are what make clothes interesting. Look for good one-of-kind-prints, delicate embroidery or unusual buttons.
3. Try it on. Always try on the outfits before purchase. Don’t rely on the size on the tag. It may already have stretched or shrunk. Also the L size before may be the S size today.
4. Be patient. You need a load of patience to go through every item if you want to snag a real find.
   
   
   
   And more importantly,
   
   5.Learn the art of haggling. Ukay-ukay stores give you price cuts on these grounds: its their “buena mano”(first sale), when you buy a lot of items, when the business is slow like during rainy seasons, and when you are makulit (persistent)
   
   ::
   
   Who else has thrifting story to share? It doesn’t have to be embarrassing- although that will earn you extra point for being branded as bakya, cheap, broke and well, jologs

The Mystery Remains

Ok. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the idiot in this scenario. I guess that’s possible. Maybe I was supposed to realize I needed someone with super human skills to understand my pre-menstrual moods. I spent all day yesterday arguing with myself, my kids and Hubs, growing increasingly disheartened as the day wore on. My mood swings were so terrible, it's almost hellish. 

But what can I do?

Its the Hormone Hostage. You have to know that there are days in the month when all a man has to do is open his mouth to a woman and takes his very life into his own hands.

And while I neglect to mention on here though is that Hubs is the most patient, most loving person that you will ever meet, there are times he thinks I'm crazy. I was so hot-tempered, I get piqued by little reason so easily. But enduring as he is, and although he snores like a bolting thunder, he puts up with my crazy hormonal moods and this makes him automatically a saint.

And these happen every month.

Well there’s a handy guide, labeled as Dangerous, Safer, Safest and Ultrasafe. When you're bargaining with pre-menstrual women, chocolates are best solutions. And it should be as common as a driver's license in the wallet of every husband or boyfriend when their partner's red flag is up. 

In closing, the difference between a woman on her period and a terrorist is that you can negotiate with a terrorist.

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.

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?

Time Wasting Experiment

Remember we tried “quantifying the world”in my last post?. Well, this is a close cousin. This project of Alison Provax, a sort of audit of how a person spend his time (most times in a wasteful way), was a bit of a reality check. How much of our day is spent waiting for the inevitable, slipping into the depths of our mind? Take in the reasoning and philosophy behind this project.

How do you waste time? What’s your relationship with minutes, days and seconds?

The New Math of Relationships

Ever wonder why we can't easily get to the bottom of life's happiness, success and all that abstract ideas until now? Only if there's a way to take all the complexities and confusions out of relationships and break everything from arguments to honeymoons and down into simple, mathematical equations-you know- a way to "quantify the world", we will all come up to something like these:



{Source via morenewmath}

You Can’t Choose Your Family

Thirty Eight Years. That's almost four decades of existence. It seems like an eternity wrapped in a milisecond, if that makes any sort of sense. A long stretch of time on the highway of life and yet the miles seem to have passed by so quickly. Old family photos look so yesterday. Gone are the days of youthful appearance. Instead, you see your parent looking more like your grandparents while you getting your parent’s “look“.

If you know what I mean.



Life is a funny thing, isn't it? You can never really know where you're going or who you’ll end up with until you've looked at it through the lens of where you've been. Life is one wild journey, and marriage among other things is one side of self-discovery with no U-turn. In those years, I've...

*Wielded power during early times of loss, deaths, separations, unemployment, etc.

*Fought against the challenge of poverty that tried to stop from me pursuing college.

*Loved, had my heartbroken and broke a few hearts (well, in my mind) along the way.

*Finally graduated from college, got married and bore kids.

*Had 2 Cesarean surgeries.

*Exposed myself to criticisms of bringing up kids (and raising up husband).

*Molded the future Katy Perry as mom to Yana who loves to sing ‘Fireworks’.

Not looking far, I see and hear lots of stories of marriage breakdowns, watch lives go down the drain of depression, self-hating and hopelessness. And see the consequences in their children’s unhappy faces. Sadly you can’t choose your family. This is because you can’t make life for them. Our children’s lives are the sum of our choices and decisions as parents. As for one parent who stood the ground of trials and hardships of raising children alone, you are definitely a hero. No one can prepare for emotional meltdown.



Not knowing better, I looked at marriage failure before as a bad thing. As if it is because of some sort of inherent - and fatal - character flaws that prevent you from building a happy home. But for others, especially mothers, who choose to embrace her responsibilities, saying "I' can do this ." There's such power in that declarative, isn't there?

I've grown, I've changed, but most importantly, I've learned. Everywhere I've been, every experience I've had, every encounter I've had with another person? It's all part of the story of where I've been. And honestly, it's sort of amazing to look at your life written out in a list like that. If nothing else, it makes you realize one thing: Life is still a ride you never want to get off of. And that's something to be celebrated.

Every. Single. Day.

When is Giving Up Better?

I once thought that if I did the right things and made what I deemed to be the best choices – then life would be rosy and peaceful.

But we all look for little diversion in life right? and before we know it life becomes so busy, the real schedules demand more than we can give and many of our grand plans get lost in the shuffle. It's hard to remember that for all the activities we add, something must be removed - even if it's something that we all look forward to every week.

My extra-curricular activities are in full swing, church commitments require more time and of course my oh-so-wonderful(but-oh-so-consuming) kids need more than food and toys. They need you even if all you do is play hide and seek all afternoon. Even if I am itching to do something else, that need to wait. Aside from day job, I also have a sideline that eats also a lot of my time so other things are falling through the cracks: mainly housework, self-care and even time with friends. I thought these just need to wait but what I'm realizing is that it's now catching up to me. Around the house you see:

• Laundry that need to fold

• Ceilings, walls, and tops that need scrubbing and serious cleaning

• Toilet bowls that stinks and smells and need to sanitize

And a dozen of other house projects. My other secondary activities that require me to be out of the house, also take me away from completing these. Although they are not urgent but they definitely need results. These are just examples, but they can be applied to almost every situation.

I have no magical solutions, but writing out the list helps me know what needs to be worked on. This weekend I plan to try and catch up and be more proactive. Then I can determine which adjustments need to be made. A few thoughts are:

• Plan ahead as much as possible- see what needs the most importance.

• Delegate the task- discuss and share the house loads with husband and kids but don’t be a push over.

• Be ready to flexible- set for last minute interruptions, delays or changes but pursue on finishing the task.

Maybe you have other ways of catching up with the million chores and things to do inside the house. Let's talk about it, shall we?

How Charice Did It Right

If you chanced upon Charice last night in her One for the Heart concert at GMA channel 7, you will love her. I rarely get to see live concerts these days, so I really and literally wait and took time out to watch concert on TV. It’s a “me-time ”, for heaven’s sake! So I begged my husband and the kids to sleep right away.

Charice is all Asian (read: flat nose) but she has all grown up with her voice more breathtaking, and her stance more powerful before her audience. She does not have the body of Christina Aguilera, the blondness of Britney Spears, or the sexiness of Rihanna but her voice made all the difference. It is very dynamic. It can go very low and can go very high.

What struck me most was where Charice sang to her father Ricky Pempengco who passed away last year. It was so tender and moving, I can’t believe she did not falter or went off tune. Given the same instance, I would be howling, and rolling, and bawling, and wailing. But the singer sustained her presence and finished the song unbelievably perfect. She sang Luther Vandross’ Dance With My Father. Isn’t that in the heart of every father’s child? She got me there, all the heart of me.

Dance With My Father/ Luther Vandross
Back when I was a child
Before life removed all the innocence
My father would lift me high
And dance with my mother and me
And then
Spin me around 'till I fell asleep
Then up the stairs he would carry me
And I knew for sure
I was loved

If I could get another chance
Another walk
Another dance with him
I'd play a song that would never ever end
How I'd love love love
To dance with my father again

When I and my mother
Would disagree
To get my way I would run
From her to him
He'd make me laugh just to comfort me
yeah yeah
Then finally make me do
Just what my mama said
Later that night when I was asleep
He left a dollar under my sheet
Never dreamed that he
Would be gone from me

If I could steal one final glance
When final step
One final dance with him
I'd play a song that would never ever end
Cause I'd love love love to
Dance with my father again

Sometimes I'd listen outside her door
And I'd hear how mama would cry for him
I'd pray for her even more than me
I'd pray for her even more than me

I know I'm praying for much to much
But could you send her
The only man she loved
I know you don't do it usually
But Dear Lord
She's dying to dance with my father again

Every night I fall asleep
And this is all I ever dream