On Building Sand Castles

Dear Promise and Heaven,

I want to teach you so many things, but I know I may never be able to prepare you for all the heartbreaks you might have to endure in your life. For now, my dearests, perhaps we can start with sand castles.

Oh Promise, how you patiently willed your little fingers to shape those sandy towers with care so they won't crumble at your touch! I watched with pride how each seashell underwent such scrutiny before you decided if they deserved a place in your sandy palace. I saw too, how your face was set in avid concentration as you dug and shoveled and shaped and poured. I will remember it forever because it was one of those moments when I was so vividly aware of my un-importance in your life. There was no one else in your world then but you and your sand castle. And that is okay too, my love. Because I know I won't be physically present for you forever and that you will have to face the world on your own someday.

And my little Heaven, how intelligent you seemed when you examined the sand between your toes, as though their presence beneath your toenails was a quintessence without which, the sun will not shine. There was no confusion in your face at their intrusion into your otherwise un-effaced determination to touch and taste everything. But there was a demand from your gestures that the beach was something you just had to know immediately and surely and intimately. Perhaps you are too young to build sand castles with your sister. But you're growing up too fast for my liking already.

And here is the thing, my little dearests. I will take you here everyday to build sandcastles if it means your happiness, but tomorrow your castle will be gone. No matter how carefully you make it. No matter how far from the waves you think you are, tomorrow your sand castle will be gone. It is the nature of the ocean to take back what belongs to her and that includes your little masterpiece. Such is life my little barefoot prinsesas. There will always be things that you cannot control. There will always be things that you won't be able to keep no matter how you try. And sand castles are one of them. They're just not made to last. Their purpose is to make you happy for a while. To make you imagine. To make you create. To make you play. To make you realize that there are bigger things out there that you can make. Things made to last.

Sand castles are great and the memory they leave will be something you can look back to when you wish to recall the fleeting bliss of the childhood in the beach that I am making sure you're enjoying now. But in the things that matter, always, always make something stronger than sand castles.

When you find that person who will be your best friend for life, don't build your friendship out of something that can be washed away.
When you find that person who will be your great love, don't make something that the winds can easily destroy.

And most important of all, you should always remember that you are made of stronger stuff yourselves. So that when you've done all you can and things still go out of control, don't give up. You don't need to be afraid of sand castles either. You just need to understand their nature and enjoy them for what they are. And the beauty of the ocean is that just as it washes away today's sand castles, it makes fresh canvases for you everyday too. So you can always try again and have fresh beginnings.

I cannot stop the waves, my loves. And I cannot stop the heartaches and disappointments that will soon come. But you, my darlings, are not made of sand. You are made of my dreams, and my tears, and my happiness, and my prayers, and my promises fulfilled, and my conviction to keep standing back up after a fall. You are everything that is good in me because you are a reflection of the most selfless kind of love I never thought I could have.

I will always remember that moment forever because I was so vividly aware of my un-importance in your lives. But I'm here still, even when you've forgotten me for a while. I'm here still, even when you will someday no longer need me. I'll be here, still, watching you build your sand castles; watching you make your little discoveries until they grow into existential light bulbs that are sure to lead you to some path leading further and further away from me.

But I will always be here.

Because my love for you is not made of sand.

And no ocean can wash it away.

This I promise.

Love,

Mom :)

Pink Plastic Houses and the Runaway Bride

Since my daughter is completely ignoring me at the moment, I figured I'd write something.

Last Saturday, it was Mom and Daughter Day for Promise and me. Christopher and I had an out-of-town weekend vacation planned with some of his ortho-buddies, but it got cancelled. Then Nanay Ring had to do laundry at my brothers' place in Cubao, so Promise and I had the day to ourselves. We went window-shopping at the mall. She fell in love with a Stitch doll that she found while I was busy browsing through a stack of "untangable" (yes, I know it's not a word but it says so on the label) earphones. When she's older, I will have to make her argue why her Stitch Doll was more important than my "untangable" earphones, but for now, I am guilty of having ignored her several times for the past few weeks, so Stitch Doll it is: a remembrance of my attempt at undoing the repercussions of my past neglect. Tsk. Tsk.

We had lunch with her Ninang Yinyin at this Thai Restaurant where they had superb seafood soup. Then Ninang Yin, being in the mood for Fairy-Godmother-hood, bought her some early Christmas presents.

We took her to Toy Kingdom and set her free.

Let me repeat that, because it's important.

We took her to Toy Kingdom.

AND SET HER FREE...

Did you hear the hallelujah fanfare music that came with that statement?

Yes. I don't suppose any adult could argue that that must be a child's definition of ultimate bliss. So, let the records show: We took her to Toy Kingdom and set her free.

(HAAAAAAAHH-LLLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH! HAH-LLLLEEEEEEH-LUJAH!...

:)

Anyway, we took home a pink dollhouse with 28 pieces inclusive of little furniture, a miniature family that came with a pet dog, a functional doorbell and colorful lights. And for the record, as of the moment, Pink Plastic Dollhouse with Functional Doorbell strumps Mom, five to zero.

I only become important again when a door hinge is stuck or when the miniature dog is missing. I should feel worried that my present status is second only to the missing miniature dog, but I can't help myself. I'm happy when she's happy. She discovered a way to make fun of Manang B by pressing her little doorbell and watching Manang B hurry to open our door to an empty hallway. She did it three times before Manang B figured it out. Haha!

Anyway, Promise was also a topic of discussion in my supervision sessions this semester. My homework was to write out a personal history and try to understand myself using the same theories we use to understand our patients.

And Lo and Behold.

I have a pattern of behavior that tended to escape stressful situations like a runaway bride. When I was gearing up for med school and got anxious about going to UST, I flew to Iloilo and enrolled there without telling my parents. When Christopher and I broke up for the first time, I dropped all my plans to apply for specialty training and escaped to Boracay and called it "finding myself." When I found out I was pregnant, I dropped all my prior commitments and flew to Manila to take on any job that would keep me here, because I was horrified of being stuck in the province forever without getting a chance to do something with my life ever again. I truly, truly believed that if I stayed and had my baby there, I would never have the nerve for adventures ever again. Silly me, right?

And now I'm at another crossroads. Specialty training is about to end in 3 months. I'm getting married in 4. And I'm busy browsing through job opportunities in Singapore.

...

I must be really, really afraid.

...

"You know it will be harder to run away when you have a baby in tow." Said my supervisor with a knowing smile.

And I couldn't give her an answer. So I just sat there and looked stupid.

"Haven't you wondered what made your fiance propose to you at the time that he did, even when he's not yet done with his training? Orthopedics is a stressful specialty. I don't think he will be benign in the next few years. Do you think he knows you better than you know yourself? Is he afraid you might be running away after you graduate?"

I just sat there and looked stupid.

I've never given it thought before. In fact, when I plunged into specialty training 3 years ago, I was convinced that I was being independent and insisted on standing on my own two feet. At the time, it did not feel like running away. It felt more like, a frantic grasping for something to hold on to lest I fall and not get up.

And now Promise is two and terribly so. Christopher is still his usual laid-back-watch-the-game-all-day-on-the-living-room-couch-with-popcorn-and-a-giant-mug-of-coke kind of self. At least when he's at home. And I'm...

I'm browsing for job opportunities in Singapore.

:)

Maybe I should just wear running shoes underneath my wedding dress in January?...

Yung tipong, tatakbo sabay sabi ng: "habulin mo ko!" with matching playful background music and fake flirty laughter habang nagpapahabol...

(blech!)

Kung hindi ako masapak dahil sa mga katarantaduhan ko... Haist!

Makatulog na nga!

I Want...

(Written October 2009)


...Everything and nothing

...Something I cannot describe in a line of words, like pearls sliding off a string

...Your touch, like sunrise waking my slumbering soul

...Your laugh, like a ring tone perking up my ears for something short of urgent

...My reflection in your eyes, not a mirror after all, but a window with curtains drawn

...The feel of your hand when you pull me close, like a safety belt in a moving vehicle

...Flowers, the ones you took from your father’s grave and sprinkled onto my palms like broken pieces of memories that you needed me to put back together

...Bells, hanging from a stick with which I put up my hair so that every time I nod ‘yes’ or shake ‘no’ or simply turn in answer to someone calling my name, my ears are filled with the music that played when you handed me your first gift.

...To be a part of your life

...To be a part of your success and your failures

...To be the reason for your smile

...To be the person you deserve

...To be the person for whom you will bloom

...YOU and everything that makes you who you are. But most importantly,

... Your happiness, even when in the end, I cannot be a part of it.



...yun lang.
... kainis..

Eulogy for Last Year's Heartaches

Written January 2013

Here we go again.

Another year's ending always brings people much reflection. I told myself I wouldn't do it this year and just let it all pass without much thought. But the thing about thoughts is that they are partly, if not mostly, unconscious so that before you realize it, you're thinking away without a moment's hesitation. And the tricky thing about thoughts is that when you tell yourself not to think about pink, flying elephants, for example, it becomes impossible because you've already done it.

Anyway, I'm not about to write New Year’s resolutions and other such stuff. I never get any of them done anyway so I've given up on resolutions a long time ago.

But heartbreaks... ah!

Now there's something we never get enough of. The good kind and the bad that comes with it.

Last year Promise grew up too fast for me. It's not something I could control, nor would I want to. But there it is, heart-breaking none the less, though I wouldn't have it any other way. This time last year she was solely dependent on my arms for transportation. Now she's off pretending to have a baby of her own when she sings her dolls to sleep. Now she's running off to play with her cousins all by herself and I'm becoming more and more paranoid every day.

We went home to Roxas City for the holidays and I always feel nostalgic when I'm at my parents’ house. But this time, the horror that crept into my throat when I remembered the games my brothers and I used to play in that house! We used to take turns sitting on a chalk board and pushed each other down a flight of stairs. Fourteen steps (because Grandpa said 13 was unlucky) that led from the living room to the upstairs bedrooms. We strategically made a wall of pillows down below and I don't remember ever being scared. I could only remember a thrilling excitement that came from the strong sense of confidence that I have imbued in my brothers, who were, unfortunately, as blissfully deluded as I was. That childhood delusion that nothing bad could ever happen in a game. And there I was, 30 years old and horror struck at the mere thought that my own daughter might be doing that sooner than I'd realize and I’d be a complete hypocrite if I say no.

I have developed this reflex to say "It's okay, love. Pick yourself up," every time she falls on her knees, just to show her that she shouldn't be scared of falling every now and then. But the honest to goodness truth of the matter is that every time she hurts herself, my hearts stops. And it gets stuck in my throat until she actually manages to get up, with or without my help.

There's also this thing about allergies. I know my lips always begin to itch after my third piece of shrimp and don't even get me started on crabs. But nothing can stop me from driving to the nearest seafood stall every time I visit my hometown. Can you imagine not having spicy crabs or shrimp sautéed in garlic and butter when you're in the Sea Food Capital of the Philippines? It's just impossible. I just tell myself that it's nothing a dose of loratadine can't remedy. Or an injection of diphenhydramine for worst-case scenarios.

But Promise is a completely different story. She eats generally all kinds of food now. Well, she chews them and then spits most of them back out. I'm never quite sure how much she actually swallows. But she's just the right weight for her age and she's rarely sick, so that's pretty much reassuring for me. But all the same, I've never introduced her to shrimp or crabs or shellfish for deadly fear that she might swell up and just can't tell me yet. The idea was to introduce different kinds of food one at a time so that in case of a reaction I'd know which kind it was.

But can you imagine living in the Seafood Capital of the Philippines and not have seafood in the dining table? And can you imagine having brothers who enjoy experimenting with their nieces and nephews, mostly delighting on the babies' facial expressions when there's a new taste in their mouths?

Yes.

That is the kind of household I grew up in.

SO there I was scientifically explaining why my baby SHOULD NOT have shrimp or crabs until she has developed the ability to tell me when she can't anymore breathe, and there they were, already feeding her morsels of said food.

And there was Promise blissfully unaware of the danger she was in, treating the shrimp in much the same way she treated hot dogs (chewing and then spitting them out, I mean).

And there was I, hopelessly paranoid and overreacting.

Needless to say, I now know that she was NOT allergic to said food.

After some thought, I do admit, that had not the subject of said experiment been my daughter, I would have been spearheading same experiment on someone else's baby. :P See? Nothing a dose of antihistamines could not remedy, I would say.

But, do understand the point I'm driving at. I'm saying goodbye to my careless, tactless self to make room for my cautious, careful mother self. Last year has made a hypochondriac of me when it comes to my daughter. Something I should carefully check if I want her to have the adventurous childhood that I did.

Sliding down a flight of stairs on an old chalkboard is still, ever after, out of the question.

The beautiful thing about childhood, though, is that no amount of maternal over- protectiveness could stop new experiences from being just that: new experiences. Because then, almost everything is for a child. And Promise had no lack of new experiences, I made sure of it.

This year, she rode a horse in Batangas...



... and a carabao in Balasan.




I took her swimming as often as I could dare.



She trod on grass for the first time in UP Diliman...



And toddled across a carpet of fire-blossoms...



And the wonder in her eyes was unforgettable for me.



She walked on sand in Baybay and complained about them sticking to her toes.



She's held a baby chicken in her palm...



and touched the back of Simoune's ear, hesitantly but bravely.



I already told you about ice cream and how every childhood must have ice cream in it.



We took her trick-or- treating...



And carousel riding...



And even to Isaw Food trips (she's not allowed isaw ...but she's allowed cookies and juice!)



I read to her as often as I can...



...hoping and praying that she would learn the value of books and discover for herself that a great novel is whole new kind of experience by itself.




So in a way, I'm saying goodbye to the Me who measures time by the movement of the clock hands to give room for the Me who weighs the value of time by the milestones.

At home, when I'm with the people I cherish, time is the measure between smiles...



Or milk bottles...



Or bath times...



Or coloring activities...



Or pretend tea parties...



Or mini musical concerts.






Minutes and seconds can’t possibly stick to my memory better than the image of Christopher strumming his guitar and Promise looking up to him intently.



Then there’s the Me who is afraid of the labels. I think last year, I said goodbye to her too, slowly, if ever. I was perpetually afraid of bringing shame or disappointment to my family in the matter of my choices. Had I been less a coward, I would have stayed at home and had my baby there in the comfort and security that home brings. I would have trusted in my parents’ love and acceptance. Instead I went ahead and got myself into residency training because I was ashamed of having got myself pregnant without a plan, and more importantly, without a wedding ring. I was determined to stand on my own two feet and prove to myself, more than to anyone else, that I can be self-sufficient. That I can raise a child. That I can pull my act together. That I can stand up for my choices.

I’m glad I'm not alone in this.



But even if Christopher had made other choices, I would have been too stubborn to turn back.

On the matter of the wedding ring, my heart aches the most. Not for myself but for the people who ask it of me. Of us. And for my baby who will one day ask. There are just some things that we have to teach ourselves to accept every day. And some things that are not mine to remedy. And some stories that are mine to keep but not to tell. At least not yet. I pray so deeply that those who give loving counsel never grow tired of doing so. And that they would never think for a moment that their guidance fall on deaf ears. Each reminder is taken deeply to heart and the only reason why I keep diverting from the topic is because I fall short of courage to disappoint. All I ask is to let things unfold in their own time. All I ask is for the people I love to accept each other despite everything. We don’t really choose the people we love, do we? Our parents. Our siblings. Even our true friends are of the unlikely material we thought we wanted in friends. Even Promise was not a choice. She was just a really unexpected surprise I fell deeply, deeply in love with. I even thought her timing was really, really off, but I could not have been more wrong.

On the matter of the wedding ring, my heart aches the most. But I’m saying goodbye to the Me who is afraid of the ache. I know and understand my choices and their consequences, and I have stood up to my decisions with all that I’ve got.

Christopher and Promise.



Yeah, I think they're a really excellent choice.

:)

Post PPA Blues and Promise's Spaghetti Delight

CHAPTER 1: POST PPA BLUES

Last week was the annual convention for the nation's psychiatrists. It was held in Clark, Pampangga.

I presented a case called "Babae Sa Breakwater" and got through it alive. Now I have a small trophy and one thousand pesos to spend. But most of all, now I have a story to tell and an experience to learn from.

Nothing complicated about it after all.

Plus, We actually have a decent "Ling Photograph" to take home...

And although we only took home the 2nd place trophy for the dance competition, it truly felt like we were champions...

It was the most fun I ever had in a PPA convention. :)

But now, it's back to work and the realities of the "back-to-workness" of it all is depressing. It feels like a hangover from a really great party and you just have to pick yourself up, have a cup of strong coffee and life goes on. :)

CHAPTER 2: PROMISE'S SPAGHETTI DELIGHT

And So because I was feeling a little
down, we went to have a nice dinner at Shakey's. Promise and Erika were with me as Christopher was on duty.

They were a little bored because it took a while before the food finally came.

But when it did arrive, this happened...

And finally some OJ to wash it all down...

:)

I love these girls.

They remind me of why I'm doing what I'm doing in the first place. And when I'm honest with myself and shave off all the unnecessary drama, Promise is really all the reason I need to keep going.

And I hope I never forget it.

Yun lang. :)

My Christmas Vacation 2012 Bucket List

Mababaw lang ang kaligayahan ko. Most of what's on my list involves food and their consumption.

1. Devour a platter of grilled oysters all by myself.
2. Have a bag of Balasan Bibingka, fresh from the oven.
3. Have breakfast by Panay River (shark is always in the menu).
4. Treat myself to a platter of fresh scallops baked with garlic and cheese.
5. Have lunch at Pizza Junction (their Kare-kare used to be Tope's favorite).
6. Take Promise for a swim in Baybay Beach
7. Take Promise to ride a cow or carabao.
8. I'm undecided as to whether or not I want to have my hair curled. We'll see...
9. Have a bowl of Halo-halo from Tracy's.
10. Go dancing by the beach on a wild night (unfortunately, I have to stick to clean living because I have a baby with me. haha!)

Anyway, it's only day 2 and I've already had my oysters and scallops, and Promise is already brown from the morning swim. Tomorrow daddy is driving to the farm, which means Balasan Bibingka and carabao ride are up next! :)

I wish Christopher was here. :)

Steeples and Skies

I'm not an affiliate of Iglesia ni Cristo, but I think their church buildings are lovely. There's one right in front of our apartment, with four lean spires that point to the heavens in unquestioning steadfastness, taller than any of the surrounding structures and in our direct view when we step out of the balcony.

We like this view, Christopher and I. Steeples that seem to never grow tired of reaching for the heavens against the backdrop of an ever changing sky.

We are like that, he told me one particular Joker Day. And I could never forget the question I wanted to ask.

We are like that...

Steadfast?

Or ever changing?

It's a quintessential question for me.

Are we the steeples?

Or are we the sky?