A major change and all those blessings in between

I can't believe it's almost the end of the year! It seems only last week when I was driven up the wall, packing all my stuff to go home to good old Manila, saying hasty goodbyes to everyone in Lah-Lah Land, and excitedly anticipating my first Christmas back home...and when I checked the calendar, it's been almost a year since then. 11 months, 3 weeks and 4 days ago, to be precise.

And so life goes on.

I am currently in the middle of yet another major change. Now that I think of it, some of the biggest changes in my life came around October/November. It was around that time 11 years ago that my ex-boyfriend and I decided to become a couple (and now I'm married to the guy!). This time last year saw me moving homes between two countries. And now I am in the midst of moving on to another job.

Well, not exactly moving on. Sort of a homecoming, I should say. I finally accepted an offer from the TV station I used to work with to rejoin them. Not as a talent anymore (not that I would mind), but as a regular employee that would allow me to work within the sphere I had been so used to for more than 10 years, yet be able to keep more reasonable hours (or so I hope). Coming home to Manila to go back to what I've loved doing all this time...I have no other way to call it but poetic justice.

But no matter how sweet the offer was, I was in a quandary for some time, thinking of ways of how to break it to my current employer. After all, there was no love lost between us when I decided to move countries. In fact, they have given me the most unheard-of and the most considerate employee arrangement I've ever found myself in: I was given the chance to keep my job abroad while working at home in Manila. I'd like to think I've done something right in all that time I was employed with them, because no ordinary person would deserve that. And no ordinary boss will just shell out that privilege for that matter.

And so now you understand why my resignation letter was just a blank white page for almost a week after signing the offer sheet from New Employer. I felt like a traitor.

But...

...my Divine Writer reminded me that following His plans does not make one a sell-out. One fine morning, I opened my office email and I found just the solution I was waiting for. My boss emailed me saying he needed to cancel my work permit as he had exceeded his quota for foreign workers. Of course, not being based there made me the best candidate because I didn't really need a permit to work/stay there anymore. Note that while he was saying he needed to cancel my work pass, he was still considerate enough to ask me what the implications would be on my end.

After reading the message, I felt it was the cue I was waiting for. If that wasn't Divine Intervention, I don't know what else is. And so I emailed him my resignation letter. (Fine, I know it isn't exactly within the boundaries of etiquette that one emails the boss her resignation letter...but, hey, this is an unconventional set-up and I place myself as an exception)

If you're curious about the contents of my letter, suffice it to say that I decided to come clean. I felt honesty was the way to go. So I told them I was given an offer to go back to my industry of choice, with a very good position, to boot. And that a work-at-home set-up was not as ideal as I thought it would be. Boss graciously accepted the letter and simply told me that "the possibility to pursue one's desire or aspiration is truly immeasurable." Awww :')

So that's Blessing Number 1. Going back to the old without burning any bridges. It feels great.

And as if that wasn't enough, we were given yet another surprise. Hubby got some unexpected recognition from his bosses for all his hard work. Without really going into the details (he hates it that I post so much about our lives online...), the recognition cemented, more than anything, that this is really where we're supposed to be.

And the biggest blessing of all...

(No, I'm not [yet] pregnant. I leave the timing to my Divine Writer.)

Hubby and I took a leap of faith and invested in our family's future. We bought a piece of property that we thought is a good buy. At first, we were having second thoughts because we felt we might not have enough resources to finance that. But, you know what, the Big Guy Up There wasn't quite finished with us. He proved yet again that when you follow His plans, He will provide. And provide the resources He did. And so we found ourselves signing contracts and issuing cheques like there's no tomorrow.

All these changes are a happy-kind-of-scary feeling. All the decisions we took in the past few months and weeks feel so grown-up.

However, we remain child-like in one matter: our faith. We believe we are on the right path, and when we stay positive, we witness that the universe conspires to listen to the quiet whispers of our hearts :)

The other man

You were born on this day many summers ago.

Since the beginning, ours was a complicated relationship. Although we both know that our connection was never simple. But I loved you. Yes, in my own special way, I loved you.

I still do.

Yours is the kind of love my husband can never give me.

I've longed for your loving embrace for as long as I can remember. Without meaning to sound ungrateful for all the blessings I have, I look at others exchanging loving looks and feel a tinge of regret for that which we never had. For what we allowed to slip through our hands.

I know I've always said I want to live life without regrets. But sometimes I still think of all those missed chances. All those what-ifs.

What if I had more time with you?
What if you spent more time with me?
What if I knew you better?
What if you knew me better?
What if I fought harder for you?
What if you fought harder for me?

I'll never know.

All those firsts and lasts we've missed out on, we'll never have them back.

My first steps.
My first words.
My first day in school.
My first date.
My first heartbreak.
My first-born.

Your last day at work.
Your last vacation.
Your last cup of coffee.
Your last farm harvest.
Your last words.
Your last breath.

But in spite of all those things, I still thank you.

I thank you for teaching me acceptance. How all things that come to pass happen for a reason.

I thank you for teaching me strength. How the loudest voices can be found in the silence of one's heart.

I thank you for teaching me faith. How you can always find something to believe in even when all else fails.

I thank you for teaching me the meaning of unconditional love. How it is measured not by how much it receives, but how much it gives.

Papa, so many things were left unsaid between us. And while I may never know what's on your mind, you can now see inside my heart.

But if there's any "firsts" that I will never forget, it's that you taught me the very first song I know:

I wanna give
I wanna give my love to you completely
I beg of you
I beg of you to listen to my heart.

I've never prayed like this before
But I'm asking you not to close the door
For I can tame the wind and smooth the waters
If you just let me.

I wanna give
I wanna give you all the strength within me
To make a world
To make a world that cannot fall apart.

And you can sit upon a throne
And I'll give it all just for you alone
For I can tame the wind and smooth the waters
If you just let me.

The first song I've ever learnt is perhaps the last solid earthly link I have to you. And it will be the only song that will be in my heart for eternity.

I love you, Papa. Happy birthday.

The anniversary gift

"The course of true love never did run smooth."

~A Midsummer Night's Dream 

In my previous entry, we were a few days away from our 6th anniversary and I did not have a gift for my husband yet. Like I mentioned, he had just been away on a business trip and was able to squeeze in some time for shopping, and so at the moment, he had everything he wanted and needed.

So I surprised him with these:

Okay, so it wasn't really a surprise. He already knew I bought these in advance. We're both fans, and their first album was our constant companion during our long drives home, back when we were still working for a television network. It's also the same CD that put our then-infant son to sleep the moment he sits in the car. Initially, I wanted to get the gold tickets, but after discussing with a good friend, I realised it would be more practical to settle with the silver ones. So I went ahead to purchase a couple of them. Sure, the concert will be almost a month after our anniversary, but the timing shouldn't really matter when you're in the company of your other half.

Apparently, this concert is not meant for us.

About a week after I made the purchase, hubby broke the news that he needs to go overseas for an important training. It's not something he can miss nor pass on to somebody else. And it will be on May 24. I was a bit crestfallen, but he said he can still figure out a way to watch the concert, then take the first flight out. Sounded like a good plan.

But the airlines weren't on our side. The earliest flights available were all fully booked, and the next available ones are already too late for him to make it to the training.

Eff it. Eff it. EFF IT!

To his credit, my husband generally tried to be inconspicuous for the remainder of yesterday (he broke the news to me late afternoon). I guess it wasn't hard to stay out of the way of a scowling wife. And even when I was snapping at him at the rate of about once every millisecond, he never lost his patience and remained calm, giving me small, apologetic smiles. I think that one infuriated me even more. And so while the rest of the world oohed and aahed over Kate Middleton's gown, I was simmering in my own temper and busily pondering my botched concert plans (although I did spare some time to gawk at the lovely, lovely hats).

Seeing how upset I was, hubby told me that I can just go ahead and watch it. He knew how badly I wanted to see it. But, for the life of me, how can I go on and enjoy it when my heart was set on having him as my concert date? And, for crying out loud, it was my anniversary gift to him! So I told him I lost all my desire to watch the concert, and that I was selling the tickets. If nobody wants to buy it, I guess I'll just throw them away or give it away, whichever comes first. The bottomline was, I felt pissed to the high heavens, and could he just give me a few days to calm down because I wasn't really feeling him at the moment.

Today, he was still wearing a contrite look as he left to attend some meetings. While I'm not expecting him to say sorry because it wasn't really his fault, I don't think I am going to apologise for being so pissed off, because I feel I have every right to be: I can't go to the concert date I had planned for us, and I am expected to just accept it because it's all about work. It brought back memories of when he was not around on my birthday two years ago, a first in our 10 years of being together. And, yes, work-related travel was again the culprit.

Sometimes, it's hard to be an understanding wife.Especially when you have a husband with this kind of a job. I know it's a small price to pay for the benefits we receive, in terms of financial rewards and career growth for my husband. But I guess this is part of the work that goes in a marriage. It can't be rosy all the time.

Now that I have some time alone, I realise I was probably too hard on him, considering he might be dealing with his guilt, too. So tonight, when he comes home, I'll probably be less likely to bite his face off and make up for the crabbiness by cooking him dinner. I don't think I'll be 100% back to my normal self yet (especially since I keep seeing all those concert plugs on TV), but knowing me, it won't take me more than three days to forget about this brouhaha.

How glad I am I have this book to keep me company:

 

They don't call it chicken soup for nothing. It's like balm on my frazzled wifely nerves. If you're married or in a relationship (whether you're a man or a woman), I suggest you get a copy of this book. It has the ability to remind you how trivial some of our concerns are. The book chose to give me a bitch slap with a quote from Malcolm Forbes: "Presence is more than just being there."

 

I'll be in a better mood tomorrow. I promise.

P.S. If you know anyone interested in my concert tickets, do let me know. Thanks in advance.

Time will reveal

And so my Divine Writer seems to be in one of His humorous moods. He might  have decided my life is too boring, thus some unexpected surprises.

I am quite hard to surprise. So when I use that word, then it's something really big.

But time is on my side.

Growing old, Desperate Housewives-style

It may seem an irony for a full-blooded production person like me, but I rarely watch TV. I used to, in heavy doses, but that was when I was much, much younger. The time when I didn't drift off to sleep within five minutes of staring at the tube.

However, there are some TV series that occasionally catch my attention and have me looking forward to new episodes every week. Desperate Housewives is one of them. I find the characters funny, the plot engaging, and the writing style equally witty and insightful. I think that if I were half as good as their writers there, that would be my writing style, too (although I do not think I would make a racial slur like they did one time, but that is a separate issue altogether). I was watching an episode last night and one particular scene touched me.

Two of the characters, husband and wife Tom and Lynette Scavo (played by Doug Savant and Felicity Huffman), were having an argument. As a quick background, Tom wanted to have plastic elective surgery done to his face. He felt that the years have taken their toll on his features, and he's blaming what he perceives as his unsavoury appearance for his lack of employment. He is convinced that prospective employers give him a cursory once-over during interviews, and he immediately loses out to the next fresh graduate sitting in the waiting room. Apart from his increasing insecurity stemming from Lynette's flourishing career, his ego received a further bruising when they chanced upon an old classmate who looked about 10 years younger than Tom did. And Lynette just happened to rub salt into his wounds when she laughingly remarked, "Seriously? You two were classmates? You were IN THE SAME CLASS?!"

Lynette tried dissuading Tom from the procedure. Of course, there was the money issue; they had several school-age kids plus a toddler in a single-income household. She is also afraid that once Tom's outward appearance improves, he would think she looks unsightly and would dump her for a pretty young thing. She went as far as inviting an officemate to their house - someone who had a botched-up surgery - just so she could drive her point in. But Tom is adamant. And as they argued in the kitchen, far from their guest's hearing, Lynette revealed her true reasons for not wanting him to go under the knife.

Lynette said she did not look at Tom's lines as wrinkles, but as a map of their life together. Each crease represented an important event. The thought lines on his forehead, "That's you worrying about how to provide for us." The frown marks, "That's my cancer" (she is a cancer survivor). The crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, "That's all the laughter we shared together." Needless to say, Tom relented and did not pursue the surgery.

Touching and true. Each moment of laughter, each heartbreaking instance, the marching years make sure that they are all indelibly etched into our countenance. Most of us choose to pay attention to the superficial; I, for one, am guilty of that (I find myself increasingly attracted to wrinkle-control creams, and I actually keep a nightly regimen to keep the creases at bay).

But, perhaps, what we must all aim to do is to look beyond the sagging skin and diminishing youth, and focus on how well we journeyed using the Maps of our Lives. And it is only when we are truly happy with our life's voyage can we stand in front of the mirror, look at those wrinkles without batting a heavily-mascara'd eyelash, and still say that, "I am beautiful."

I hope to remain beautiful for my husband. And I pray that, someday, many years from now, despite my age and outwardly appearance, he will continue to bestow me with the same loving look and say, "You are still my beautiful wife."

Tom and Lynette's photo courtesy of ABC.

Old couple's photo courtesy of Getty Images. 

Home for the Holidays

...is exactly what I would like to be, but unfortunately, I will be spending another Yuletide season here in Lah-Lah-Land. That's two years in a row. Sigh.

With less than 20 days to go before Christmas Day, I feel all sorts of nostalgic thinking about the fun traditions I'll be missing out on. So I compiled the Top 10 things I miss about Christmas at home (in no particular order):

1. Food - a Filipino holiday is just an excuse to shamelessly indulge in cholesterol-laden, heart-attack inducing, waistline-growing dishes like there's no tomorrow. I always took the fiesta ham for granted, but I found it conspicuously missing from our table last year (ham just doesn't taste the same here). And what I wouldn't give for the lechon and the ever-reliable lechon paksiw the following day. Puto bumbong and bibingka are also sorely missed.
2. Someone else to plan the holiday spread for you - Now that I'm the one doing the planning for the Noche Buena and Media Noche feasts, I do appreciate my mother's time and effort. I never knew it could be so stressful! Hats off to you, Ma!
3. The crisp Christmas chill - it's a bit colder here now, but not nearly as nippy as December nights back home. It seems absurd listening to "Winter Wonderland" when you're all drenched in sweat.
4. Tinsel-laden streets and homes - living in a multiracial community has its drawbacks, foremost of which is the lack of yuletide spirit! If you don't go to the central business district, or to the homes of your fellow Pinoys, chances are you won't be seeing any glitter or tinsel. Where I'm at, Christmas is just like a regular Sunday - an extra day off work, and more excuses for shopping. Our company keeps business hours on the 24th and 31st, mind you (although I do plan to take half-day leaves for Christmas and New Year's Eve, at the very least).
5. Gifts - at the risk of sounding materialistic, I do miss the gaily-wrapped parcels. I miss the unexpected packages waiting for me on my desk or beside my pillow (especially if it's from one of your subordinates or younger family members - no matter how small the present is, I am always very touched by the thought that goes with the token). And I sorely miss wrapping presents for family and friends - it's my favourite thing to do (my family knows that absolutely no one else can touch the wrapping paper and adhesive!).
6. The Starbucks planner - oh, yes, I so miss the daily pilgrimage to the nearest Starbucks branch to get my stickers. I know I fell for the sick marketing ploy, but, well, one of the owners is a personal acquaintance so maybe I'm willing to be a bit of a sucker :) But, no, I will not be asking her to send me a planner. Where's the thrill in that?!
7. Christmas parties - do I sound sick yet? Well, maybe I am - HOMEsick, more like it. I used to hate attending these, but since Christmas parties here are virtually non-existent (save, perhaps, for MNCs or other bigger companies), I do miss the fun and silliness of it all (and the ensuing inebriation).
8. Christmas plugs on TV and radio - there's a smattering of that here, but they don't feel the same as ours do. They're not as warm as how we do them. Our TVCs and RCs back home make you feel as if you're stepping into a Hallmark card, or getting on the Coca-Cola Christmas train with Santa.
9. Family and friends - need I explain?
10. Alvin and the Chipmunks - this is one of my little quirks, but Christmas just doesn't feel Christmas-y if I don't hear "Christmas Don't Be Late". The silly song heralds the season of cheers for me! And they don't play it here!
    

I do hope we get to go home for next year's Yuletide celebration, though. Cliche, trite...but there really is no place like home.

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

Rants and raves on the last day of the year

Well, at least the last day of my 32nd year.

There are two ways to approach this milestone. Since I like to save the best for last, maybe we’ll start with the glass-half-empty perspective.

Tomorrow is just another date on the calendar. I will find myself hitting the snooze button as my alarm goes off at 6:40am, and wonder why I even bother to set the alarm that early if I won’t get up, anyway. I’ll drag myself to work, pretend I’m busy for a while, then give up at precisely 6:25pm so I can be out the door by 6:30pm. I’ll zone off by around 11:00pm. And then it’s the same thing again the next day.

Tomorrow, I am reminded how much it sucks that, out of the 365 days in the year, the hubby’s boss decided that now would be a good time for him to visit Beijing. So I’ll be stuck in a place far away from the home I’ve always known, unable to visit my mom for my usual sumptuous birthday spread, and won't expect the deluge of siblings, nephews and nieces to wish me a happy birthday. A few cold ones with old friends will not even be a remote possibility. And I’ll surely be missing the flood of happy birthday text messages.

But if I look at the glass half-full…

Tomorrow is the first day of a brand new year in my life. I will find myself hitting the snooze button as my alarm goes off at 6:40am, then snuggle back into my warm pillow and enjoy the luxury of sleeping a bit longer. I’ll be thankful to have a job to go to in these tough times, accomplish what needs to be done, and be grateful to have some spare time to check my email. I’ll start packing up by 6:25pm so that by 6:30, I’ll be rushing home to my son’s delighted squeals, big hugs and warm kisses. I’ll start feeling deliciously languid by 11:00pm. And then I drift off to Lala Land to prepare for another wonderful day.

Tomorrow, I am reminded that, no matter where in the world he goes, I have a good husband 365 days every year. I can’t wait to see the presents he is sure to have picked up for my son and I as he goes around Beijing. I have a new home away from home, enjoying the quiet reverie for a change, where I can have some quality time with my mother, whom I will surely be speaking to over the phone as I drink my morning coffee. No cold ones with my friends, but, recently, I’ve had some quality smokes with representatives from each phase of my recent past: an old high school classmate (haven’t seen him in about 15 years), my college buddy (adopted her in between “Mraz-zing”), and a former colleague (also my son’s godfather – stayed in our spare room for two days…and soon, we will be neighbours!). As for the text messages, I probably wouldn’t miss it that much because Facebook will surely live up to my expectations.

And so, with that, I raise a glass that runneth over and give my Divine Writer a toast, for giving me a wonderful life, and for the gift of wisdom that helps me see things in the proper perspective.

Happy birthday to me :)

Coming Home

Tonight, my husband returns from a week-long business trip to Amsterdam. It will be his first time to be home after two long months.

Yes, you read that right. The business trip is just for one week. And he hasn't been home in two months.

Confusing? Okay, I'll explain.

My husband is an expat. He was recently hired by a Singapore employer to join them as a Demo Artist. The weird thing about that is he never applied for the job, nor did we ever plan to relocate to another country. The details would need a separate blog entry to be able to do justice to the beauty of the story, but that's the gist, more or less.

He found himself shuttling back and forth between Manila and Singapore since March this year, for interviews, exhibits, more interviews, and finally the employment confirmation. By the end of July, he found himself in the Lion City, quite alone.

It was a blessing that he was occupied with a number of out-of-the-country trips during his first month. Barely two weeks after he arrived, he and his team went to Malaysia for some training. A week after that, he found himself in Mumbai, India for still more training.

I would keep close tabs on him the entire time he was away -- especially if he was outside Singapore. We probably spent a small fortune on call cards, considering that he wasn't always online. He complained at one point that the return trips always felt empty. He knew he was supposed to be "coming home"...but to what? A foreign land. A hotel room, maybe. Or a flat shared with people he didn't know from Adam.

The places he stayed in held an almost clinical quality about them. It was a halfway house. It was somewhere he could put his things in while he was at work. It was a place where he could catch a few zzzz's, but ironically, would not make him feel refreshed or recharged at all.

The last week of August found me on a Singapore-bound plane. I finally gave in to my husband's increasingly urgent requests to be with him. He said that he found a flat for our family, at last, after weeks of poring over the internet and countless viewing schedules. But he would need my domestic engineering abilities to make it more liveable.

And so I went.

A few days ago, we were chatting online...I, in Singapore, and he, in Amsterdam. He said that this was the first time he felt excited about his return trip. Now, he felt certain that he is, indeed, coming home.

Interestingly enough, I found a beautiful caption in one of my Facebook friend's profiles. He went with his wife to Amsterdam on a pleasure trip, and in one of their photos in that faraway place, he said: "Travel with your soulmate and you'll never miss home."

To a certain degree, that's true. However, if he may allow, I will paraphrase his statement to fit my situation: "Be with your soulmate, and you will ALWAYS be home."

Welcome home, honey.