Flight

It is in times of the most profound sorrow that I find myself at a loss for words.

You have been given your wings, my beloved uncle. You are now living up to your name...you have been liberated from all your pain and sorrow, and you now stand with all the saints and angels in Heaven, to feast with your beloved Creator for all eternity.

Please be our angel and watch over us left here on earth. We send our loving hellos to all our family and friends who have gone before us. Oh, and while you're there, please tell Francis M and Michael Jackson that I'm a big fan. Maybe you can also share with me what really happened to Marilyn, Elvis and JFK, if and when you do get to chat with them.

Farewell, my dear uncle. Rest well. I will never forget how you have been like a father to me when I needed it. Please tell my dad everything I've always wanted to tell him but never got around to doing so.

You will be missed. See you in the next life.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die."

A Bag's Life

I remember a time (a veeeery long time ago, if I may add) when I could go out the house without a bag. Much to the chagrin of my fashionista mother (who, in true Imeldific style, maintained a plethora of bags, shoes, various accessories, jewellery...the works), I insisted on sticking everything in the pockets of my jeans, and anything that doesn't fit either gets left behind or enjoys instant accommodation in her purse.

Fast-forward a decade hence and here I am, getting those occasional gentle scoldings from my husband, who is convinced I'm close to developing scoliosis because of the bag I constantly carry. I haven't gone around weighing it yet, but I think it weighs close to three kilos.

Here's my load on a regular work day:
Cosmetic bag - which normally contains foundation, concealer, powder, 12-colour eyeshadow palette, blusher, various make-up brushes, eyeliner, lip gloss, lipliner, lipstick and mascara, plus a comb. My eyelash curler doesn't fit in the pouch, but if it did, I'd bring it along in a heartbeat. Hey, a girl has to be pretty, right?

A bottle of perfume - because a girl's got to smell pretty, too, even after a long day.

My purple umbrella - you never know when it's gonna rain (although, weirdly, I rarely use it because I find umbrellas too cumbersome...I carry one just in case I change my mind).

Marlboro Medium - and a lighter, of course.

A pack of tissue - because you don't want to eat at the hawkers without it. On top of that, I also have a handkerchief.

A change of undies - plus feminine pads and pantiliners. Because I never want to be caught unprepared (even if I'm as regular as clockwork).

MP3 player - it's a staple for a Singapore commute.

Plus:
Mobile phone
Wallet and coin purse
Hand sanitiser
Pen and small notebook
Candy
Sunglasses
Any book I'm reading at the moment
My breakfast (usually a sandwich)
Fan (it gets hot, okay)
Name card holder
Rosary - not that I use it, but it's been my constant companion since 2nd year high school. I never leave home without it.
Thumb drive
House keys
Nipper (for those pesky hangnails)

No wonder my bag weighs at least three kilos! Come to think of it, it's a good thing I have an office cabinet where I can leave my phone chargers and organiser, not to mention that I don't lug around my laptop anymore as I refuse to take home my work.

That's a normal working day for my bag. On a family day out, my bag heaves even more with a change of clothes and various odds and ends for my son (water bottle, wet wipes, snacks, etc.), and a few things that don't fit in my husband's pockets.

Well, such is the life of a working mother, I discovered. Which is why I can never get around using those teeny-weeny purses that are gathering dust in my wardrobe. And which is also why my husband has taken to bringing me big bags from his overseas trips (much to my endless delight).

So, what's in your bag?

WTF are you thinking?

Why people would use the expression OMFG is beyond me.

Maybe they think it's cool to quote quotes from Gossip Girl. Maybe they want to take OMG a notch higher. Or maybe they don't even know what it means, and simply parrot it because "it sounds cool".

You don't have to be Einstein to realise that OMFG means "oh my f*****g god". For crying out loud, IT IS NOT COOL TO CURSE OUR GOD! It makes me squirm just to think about it.

And I'm not just talking about pubescent girls here; even the supposedly mature, "well-educated" "professional" uses the term. Apparently, they didn't learn enough. I think they forgot that the First Commandment said You shall not take the name of the Lord in vain.

Yeah, I'm talking to you. WTF ARE YOU THINKING? IT IS NOT COOL TO SAY "OMFG"!

Faith without blinders

Warning: if you are a hard-core, ultra-conservative Roman Catholic, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS POST. However, if you still choose to go on, well...don't tell me I didn't warn you.

I came across an interesting post by a certain Mike Aquino. Please read on below (taken verbatim from this post):

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I no longer consider myself a Catholic

I no longer consider myself a Catholic. No matter how fondly I remember the good parts of being Catholic – the songs, the retreats, the lessons – Catholicism for me became increasingly difficult to reconcile with common sense and decency.

I can’t reconcile so-called Catholic values with the Catholic institution’s nasty tendency to close ranks around its priests. Child abuse in the priesthood was given cover for so long because bishops would rather hide abusive priests rather than confirm that such abuse took place. Justice became secondary to the preservation of appearances.

I can’t reconcile so-called Catholic virtue with its hierarchy’s politics, often exercised to uphold retrograde policies against family planning and reproductive health. Empowered by its mass believer base, the Catholic Church continues to abuse its political power in the secular world.

In Manila, doctors were forbidden to prescribe contraceptives to patients, because Mayor Atienza thought he could implement Catholic doctrine into municipal governance. Church pressure has distorted the Reproductive Health debate; the simple question of “should government-run health centers provide reproductive health services, including artificial family planning methods” has been drowned out by priests railing against it from the pulpits and banners hung from churches.

There has been no good-faith effort by the Church hierarchy to explain their side; there has only been arm-twisting and emotional blackmail. Church representatives have ignored or walked out on any efforts to engage them in discussion.

In short, I can’t believe the Church is moral anymore. A fatal conclusion for someone who was raised to believe that Catholic priests acted in persona Christi capitis, in the person of Christ.

I now know that is a lie; many Catholics, laymen and priests alike, use their faith as cover for some of the most grievous immoralities. Not just in the Philippines; the Church hierarchy is complicit in genocide in Rwanda, torture in Argentina, and child abuse in the West. In persona Christi capitis my ass.

Due to the Church hierarchy’s own actions, the current situation is becoming more and more unstable – the Church cannot maintain the status quo for long. At least two presidential candidates have declared their disagreement with Church policy on reproductive health, a position that would have been political poison a few years ago. More Catholics are speaking out, or voting with their feet. The Church is less and less seen as being infallible – increasingly its clay feet are showing.

In time, I hope an increasingly secular electorate will realize a few things about the Church and the civic sphere:

The Catholic hierarchy’s interests are not those of the community at large. Catholic interests cannot predominate in a multi-ethnic, multi-confessional community. A Muslim or Protestant mother must not be compelled to settle for government services tailored only to meet Catholic sensitivities, which is what happens when the Church is able to bully legislators into substituting the Catholic agenda for the government’s.

The Church can no longer impose its particular views onto a secular government. Bishops may have to settle for a conversation with equals, instead of expecting to have their own way every time. Catholic scholar David Hollenbach argues that Catholic involvement in the public sphere “must proceed according to a mode of dialogue and persuasion… faith and theology are seen as participants in a drama that involves numerous other actors. The church is not the producer or director of this drama.”

In real life, the usurpation of government decision-making by ecclesiastics has always ended up badly for everyone. The Church loses moral authority, government decision making powers are hobbled, and constituents end up being badly served by dogma-driven decisions.

I no longer consider myself a Catholic. I still remember my Catholic upbringing and influences with fondness, but so much of present Catholic doctrine treats truth and morality as if it can be decided by fiat (”Roma locuta est…”), and I simply cannot be a part of that.

**********

This man read my mind.

Personally, I still think that the Roman Catholic faith is beautiful, with simple, common-sense principles rooted in the universal concept of love. And I believe with all my heart that our Lord is a just and loving God. Unfortunately, the mechanisms of the Church are controlled by men, easily corrupted and victims of their own humanity.

Until this time, I get funny looks from people when they discover that I do not attend Sunday mass regularly. But we should live and let live. In the same way that I respect people who do make an effort to fulfill their Catholic obligations, I think I deserve some respect for my personal decisions. While I will gladly take opportunities to show people my belief in my Divine Writer, I refuse to "fulfill" my Sunday duties just because I want to keep appearances. Sorry to disappoint the Augustinian fathers, but I am a servant of the Divine Word, and not of that person who happens to preach from the pulpit.

Faith is defined as "allegiance to duty or a person, fidelity to one's promises, or sincerity of intentions." We should be guided by this definition, with the operative word being sincerity.

The role of the religious order should not be very different from our own parents. While they should uphold discipline, morality and purity of our faith, 1) they should walk the talk and be living examples of these ideals (instead of closing ranks), and 2) while the basic principles of our faith should remain unchanged, some facets need to be modernised to make its teachings less antiquated and, therefore, followed even more faithfully.

I could go on and on about this. Even as I voice out my opinion, my traditional Catholic school upbringing is already debunking some of my arguments. But, ultimately, I stand only by one thing: I would rather be a faithful personal friend to my Divine Writer who chooses to follow his teachings with eyes wide open, instead of a blind follower who keeps holy for one hour every Sunday and goes back to his old, sinful ways the moment he is out of the chapel's doorway.

Schools of Thought

I called my mother the other night and told her the exciting news that I just enrolled my son in nursery school.

At the risk of making an understatement, she was not thrilled at the prospect. She was dismayed that I broke one of her cardinal rules: that we, her children, pledge not to enroll our kids (especially male kids) before they reach the age of five. So across about 3000 miles, I got a sound scolding from my mother. Why are you putting my grandson through this? At his age, he should be getting his fill of sleep and play! I'm telling you, you're setting him on the wrong path...he'll get tired of school quickly and you will regret it! And when the time comes he starts skipping school and flunking, don't tell me I didn't warn you!

I think I got the equivalent of Ronald Weasley's Howler.

My mother admonished me on shirking my responsibilities. She is under the impression that I do not want to take charge of my son's education under my personal watchful eye, which is why she says I would rather stick him in school. I just kept quiet because I know getting a word in edgewise, once she gets heated up, is virtually impossible. Especially when it comes to these things.

Let me set the record straight. In all fairness to my mother, she is in a good position to know about these things. She was, after all, an educator for more than 25 solid years (and counting, if you include the lectures my siblings and I get at the slightest provocation). Perhaps she had observed a pattern in my brothers, in my nephews and other male relations, or in her gazillion students, such that she made her own conclusion. She has this theory that the male of our species tire easily of rigid education, and so we must endeavour to delay formal schooling until the last possible minute. In place of school, it is a parent's duty to instruct the child from home, in as conducive a manner as possible, using a play-to-learn approach.

It does sound very ideal. In fact, she used the system on me (even if I am female), so she likes to dangle my intellectual superiority over my siblings to drive in the point (disclaimer: the point expressed is my mother's opinion and not mine).

So why, then, did I not subscribe to her school of thought?

For one thing, I have an opinion on why her system worked so wonderfully for me: SHE was the one teaching me. In my mind, she is still one of the best English teachers around (which explains why I excel in grammar and literature, while failing miserably in Math and Science). I don't think it will work as well for my son if he is stuck most of the day with only the caregiver around. Case in point: after only about two months of being with her, malutong na syang managalog ngayon. At may puntong Ilonggo pa. And I can't blame him because he only spends a few waking hours with us parents during weekdays.

Now don't get me wrong. I have no intention of completely eradicating Filipino from his vocabulary. In fact, I want him to be strong in both languages in oral and written form. My thinking is, the household is mainly Tagalog-speaking, and since he can understand and converse perfectly well in the language, then what remains for us to build will be his English vocabulary and grammar (which is mostly my job, because he knows it's English when he speaks with Mommy). That's on top of the Mandarin which he has yet to learn (and for which he will not be able to get help from any of us).

Secondly, I believe that the time is right to send him to school. He is showing an eagerness to learn, evidenced by the thousand-and-one "why's" I receive daily. His curiosity is insatiable, and I'm afraid the knowledge I have may not suffice. It is truly marvelous for a parent to observe a child's hunger to learn. He can't stop reading, he can't stop asking. And so, there's that window I will NOT miss. I want him to be eager to go to school. I don't want to risk waiting, and find out later on that I have to force him to go because the eagerness had passed.

Most importantly, perhaps, I am painfully aware that my son sorely lacks some age-appropriate company. He is stuck with us adults 24/7. I had that kind of childhood, being the youngest in the brood (my nearest sibling is 11 years older than me). I get all kinds of praises from my parents' friends, on how well-behaved I am, and how very adult I was acting. Now, I hear that kind of opinion often expressed about my son. Which, in my opinion, is not so good for his well-being.

With all due respect to their parenting style, focused as they are on developing my intelligence, they kind of overlooked the growth of my emotional intelligence. I know that it's a fairly new concept and may not have been en vogue when I was a kid, but the fact of the matter remains that EQ is important in making a well-rounded individual. I had a hard time adjusting to my peers when I was younger, and I don't want my son to go through the same difficulties. True, I get compliments that I am "wise beyond my years" and have "older insights", but can one not be precocious yet fully-adjusted to peers? At this point, developing his social skills is something I want for him.

I am blessed to have such an opinionated mother. She is the type who will form her own judgment and will fight you tooth-and-nail for what she believes in. Unfortunately, it is also a trait I seem to have inherited from her.

My heart says I should send my son to school. And I believe it.

What's in a name?

The other day, I was teaching my son his middle name. He knows his given names (he has two) and his surname by heart, even knows how to spell his full name, so I thought he ought to know about his middle name. After all, that is my father's legacy to me.

So here's the scene. I just revealed his middle name to him. My son looks up to me with mild surprise:

MIGUEL: Mommy, why do I have so many names now?
MOMMY: Baby, that's your middle name.
MIGUEL: What's a middle name?
MOMMY: Your middle name was your Papa's (grandpa's) surname. That was my surname before Daddy and I were married. Now, I use Daddy's surname, and so do you.
MIGUEL: Why isn't it a misname? It's a misname.

This one left me scratching my head. My son has a penchant for coining terms, depending on how he understands the prefix and the suffix. His English is far from perfect but it is a confusing language, after all. My interpretation of "misname" was something like "misspelled", and so I prodded him further:

MOMMY: (confused) You mean it's wrong? No, my surname is correct.
MIGUEL: (exasperated at the stupid mom) NO! I said misname! It's not SIR-name, it should be MISS-name coz you're a girl!

Monday Randoms

The high point of my week occurred this morning: I just finished enrolling my son in Nursery! He will be starting classes on the first week of January, and will be attending afternoon sessions between 1:00-5:00 pm.

I cannot believe how fast time flies. My baby will be a school boy in the coming months, and that means he will start having a life of his own, away from me. Prior to enrollment, one of the thoughts I had was, will my boy be crying and clinging on to my skirt (or denims) when it's time for him to enter the classroom? That remains to be seen on the 4th of January, but seeing how tickled pink he is at the thought of going to school, it looks like I'll be the one left to deal with my own separation anxiety!

It's a big step for everyone. For my son, it's a whole new world for him, the start of many years of academic learning and social education. For both my husband and I, it will primarily be a crash course on proper budgeting. And then there will be the lifestyle changes; apart from having to think about monthly expenses, we can no longer go on spur-of-the-moment holidays, seeing that our activities now has to follow the Ministry of Education's 2010 calendar.

Adjustments notwithstanding, my son is excited to attend his classes. He has a sense of ownership already ("Have you seen my school? Did you see my teacher today?"), he's looking forward to wearing his 1st uniform, and he's happy that some of his playmates will become his classmates. As for me, sure I have the normal maternal fears (Will there be bullies in class? How can he eat properly when I have to chase him around for each spoonful of food? Will he be able to cope with his Mother Tongue (Mandarin) class?), but overall, it will be for everyone's good (well, I HAVE to send him to school at some point, right?). And ultimately, I think that Mommy and Daddy will learn a lot in the course of the school year.

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Which brings me to another point. I think I'll have to learn Mandarin together with my child. Number 1, I need that to help him with his lessons. The principal explained to me this morning that kids will bring home one book per week to read together with their parents...so if it happens to be in Chinese, then what the hell will I do? Pin Yin, here I come.

Number 2, it's logical. I'm living in a Chinese-speaking country, and for practical reasons, it's a good idea to learn the language. I'm pathetically stuck at "Ni Hao" and "Xie Xie", so I'm welcoming the opportunity to learn alongside my son. If anything, it will be a great bonding experience for us.

And thirdly, assuming my son will be perfectly conversant in the language in the near future, I wouldn't want to be shut out from his activities with Chinese-speaking friends, right? (Oh dear, I sound like a nosey Mom there...).

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That said, I am stuck in the office all by my lonesome self (at least in my department). My colleagues are in Indonesia today to celebrate an ex-colleague's wedding. Both hubby and I were actually invited, and I was really looking forward to going. Unfortunately, we had to wriggle our way out at the last minute because of some personal circumstances and schedule problems. Then, there's another co-worker currently in Scotland for a two-week holiday.

So while they are out cavorting in the streets of Jakarta or busy roaming the Scottish highlands, here I am keeping house. Thank goodness blogging is keeping me occupied.

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Hubby and I will be celebrating our 9th anniversary as a couple this November. It's funny because until now, we remember that anniversary better than our wedding date.

As luck would have it, Hubby will be missing this important anniversary because he has to attend a roadshow in Bangkok. He's asking me to join him on his trip so we can have a Thai celebration, but the practical side of me is kicking in and I am wont to refuse.

It must be a sign of the times. Imagine throwing away a nice holiday in favor of practical reasons! I'm getting old!

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On more inane things, that pink cow on FarmVille is frustrating me. I can't adopt one on time. I want one!

Bitten by the bookworm

(Does one get bitten by a bookworm, or does one accidentally bite into one (gross)?)

A few days ago, I was itching to read. I was in the office and I wanted to take an early day off because I JUST HAD TO BUY A NEW BOOK. I don't know why but the feeling was that urgent. So as soon as the clock hit 6:30pm, I ran out the office and went out of my usual route home, just so I can pass through the bookstore.

Here's my loot:

Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love


Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore


Jodi Picoult's Salem Falls

En route to the bookstore, I promised myself I would only get one title to satisfy my reading lust. Of course, no matter how hard I try to keep my resolution, it never happens. Although I'd have to say my guilt feelings were a bit assuaged as I got the last two titles on a "buy one, take one" promotion :) On this side of the world, books are a wee bit more expensive than in good old Manille; on average, a paperback costs $17.99, or almost Php600.00. So snagging it under the promo price, that's about $8.99 per title, or around Php300.00 each. Not bad, right? And so, with that triumphant little victory, I proceeded to purchase a third book under the regular price, hahaha (greedy little me)!

Books have always been a personal extravagance. Although, when I think about it, it's not exactly an "extravagance". I write for a living, and so I take it upon myself to continuously expose myself to good writers. Plus, I'd like to think I'm setting a good example for my son. I'm glad to note that he seems to be a voracious reader (I didn't even know he knew how to read - and he just turned three at the time!). That being said, I have to be extra careful now about the titles I pick up and the cover illustrations, because he always asks me what I am reading, and he can already read the title all by himself.

And while I have not even taken two books out of their shrink wraps, I'm already greedily eyeing a few more titles, most of them sourced from this website:

The Sookie Stackhouse series - this was the basis of the hit series, "True Blood" (Dead Until Dark, Living Dead in Dallas, Club Dead, Dead to the World, Dead as a Doornail, Definitely Dead, All Together Dead, From Dead to Worse, A Touch of Dead)
The Artemis Fowl series (Artemis Fowl, The Arctic Incident, The Eternity Code, The Opal Deception, The Lost Colony, The Time Paradox)
The Monster of Florence, Douglas Preston and Mario Spezi
Memoirs of my Melancholy Whores, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The Uncommon Reader, Alan Bennett
Nineteen Minutes, Jodi Picoult
Eye Contact, Cammie McGovern
My Friend Leonard, James Frey
The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold
Swift as Desire, Laura Esquivel
Merrick, Anne Rice
Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging, Louise Rennison (but how will I explain this one to my son?)
Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, Patrick Suskind (now how do I put the blasted umlaut on his surname?)

There's also Dan Brown's The Lost Symbol, which just hit the book stands. I'm a big fan of Brown and Robert Langdon, but something tells me this just might not live up to my expectations (he might be giving in to publisher pressure, for all I know). That one ranks on the bottom of my to-read list. Let's see how many of these titles I get to strike out...assuming I would remain faithful and not be distracted by the thousands of other paperbacks out there!

So I look forward to this weekend surrounded by the smell of new books. Looks like I'm gonna be keeping a few late (but happy!) nights.

A Child's Prayer

I never claimed to be deeply religious, but I believe I am a spiritual person. I look up to my Divine Writer and I know that it is my responsibility to raise my son along the right path.

Every night, I ask my son to say a short prayer to his Papa Jesus. I am amazed at how innocent and utterly free of greed a child's prayer can be. Here is a sample of his nightly conversations with Papa Jesus:

"Dear Papa Jesus,
Thank you for my toys and my milk and my clothes and my food.
Please bless my Mommy and my Daddy.
Please bless the vegetables in the market.
And please bless me.
Amen."

Last night, my son overheard my Skype conversation with his Daddy, who is currently on a business trip in Bangladesh. I didn't even know he was listening, so I was quite surprised to hear he had a very special request:

"Dear Papa Jesus,
Thank you for my toys and my milk and my clothes and my food.
Please bless my Mommy and my Daddy.
Please save my Daddy from the dirty toilets.
Thank you for our clean toilets.
And please bless me.
Amen."

Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." ~ Matthew 19:14

P.S. Photo credits belong to Getty Images