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

A letter to my son

My dearest son,

One of the things I'd like you to learn is that nature is a great equalizer. Whether you live in a palace on top of a hill, or in a shanty under a bridge, we all live under the same sun, and we are all at the mercy of the same rising and ebbing tides.

Last Saturday, September 26, 2009, Typhoon Ondoy (international name: Ketsana) visited Philippine shores and brought unspeakable tragedy in its wake. Weather reports predicted that it packs maximum winds of 100kph, but nobody imagined what kind of damage the rains would leave behind. Imagine dumping a month's worth on the city in a span of nine hours! And it did not discriminate: rich and poor, young and old, famous and nameless faces alike, all of them were left holding on for dear life.

I followed it this entire weekend through internet news and photos, and I am left speechless and almost in tears. Main thoroughfares were rendered impassable, and familiar places became alien landscapes submerged in floodwaters (some as deep as 20 feet!). Just look at the photos and see for yourself:


Ayala underpass in the heart of Makati


Cainta, Rizal


Marikina (one of the hardest hit areas - those are people on the roof)


Katipunan, Quezon City (where, incidentally, the Presidential son was found purchasing liquor from a store not 100m away from where this is!)

Some photos, I could not bear to include here. It includes children (some younger than you at this time) going hungry on rooftops…animals swept away and drowned helplessly…victims fished out from the muddy flood. Some accounts said that in the space of an hour, floodwaters rose from ankle-deep to 6 feet high; in some places, it was as deep as 20 feet. And, mind you, it wasn’t a silent stream: it was a raging tide that swept away concrete houses and heavy cars like plastic toys. Your grandma even recounted that the rain was so heavy, it sounded like someone was dumping bucketfuls of water on the roof (thank God she’s safe, as well as our other loved ones).

What is incomprehensible is that all this happened in a span of nine hours. I am not even going to bring in politics and the ill-preparedness of our farce of a government. That is already a glaring fact. But, one day, you will be the head of your own family, and though I continue to pray that you never see anything like this in your lifetime, I want to pass you on some pearls of motherly wisdom:

1. ALWAYS keep an emergency kit in your house. Include a reliable flashlight/emergency lights/candles/matches, spare batteries, sturdy ropes (in case you need to tie something, or need it to cross surging waters), basic medicine, canned food, bottled water, disinfectants, a heavy tool like a crowbar, and perhaps a list of important phone numbers stashed in a waterproof casing.
2. With reference to #2, periodically check your stash and make sure they are still in good working condition, and the perishables are not expired.
3. At the first hint of danger, quickly move to a safer location. Do not wait until it is too late. In the face of impending disaster, it is always better to err on the side of caution. And forget about your possessions, they are not worth your life: leave them if need be. You can always replace them, but lives lost can never be bought again.
4. In case you are caught (and I pray it never happens), do not panic because others will look to you for support. If you crumble, they will drown in their own fears, and that is not a good thing. Keep your presence of mind at all times.
5. No man is an island, as the old saying goes. Never be too proud to ask for help, nor be too up high on your own pedestal as to deny others your help. But, please, know your limits and DO NOT BE A HERO. As your grandpa once said (God rest his soul), the mistake of some rescue workers is that they try too hard at the wrong time, and instead of helping, they become part of the statistics.

It is during times like these that I keenly feel how much I love our country. The images leave me choking back tears and my heart bleeds for our fellow Filipinos. It feels so real to me, especially when I check my social networking sites and see my friends’ status updates, photos showing their firsthand experience of the event. And – perhaps more horrifying for me – there’s the silence of those who cannot even access their accounts because they are stuck on their roofs, praying for rescue.

For our part, your Daddy and I are thinking of scraping up whatever amount we can to donate to the victims of the typhoon. It isn’t much, as we also have to extend some assistance to our immediate family, but we believe that every effort counts.

I could choose to teach you to live simply and not care for designer clothes, fancy gadgets or spiffy cars. Instead, what I would like you to learn is, as you forge on with your life and build a comfortable nest for yourself and your future family, DO NOT FORGET TO BUILD YOUR CHARACTER. You are a man, after all, and I expect you to be a pillar of strength. And possessing a certain amount of material wealth means that you will be in a position to give help when time calls for it. Like I said, we all live under the same sun, and so you must always strive for humility, and for responsibility towards your fellowmen. Never imagine for one moment that you are above anyone else.

At the end of the day, I believe that the Filipino spirit will prevail and will see our nation through. But take the painful lessons that we have learned with you, and never forget them. Pass them on to your children someday, remind them how truly resilient their countrymen are. Remember, too, that we reap what we sow; take better care of our environment, as the price to pay usually comes with human lives.

As for you, my dear son, wherever life takes you, always be in touch with your motherland (and your mother, as well!), and say a silent prayer each night for her.

Be safe always. I love you.

Mommy

Pay It Forward

Just a funny anecdote the other week courtesy of my precocious three-year-old.

I came home from work one evening and I was greeted by my boy enthusiastically even before I put my foot into the door. He told me about a particularly naughty boy he encountered in the playground earlier.

My son complained that the other boy pushed him around. In fact, he almost fell off the steps going to the slide, all because this boy was picking on him (who was, by the way, much bigger than my son). According to the grandma, my normally placid and tolerant toddler had one push too many. He turned around and, with arms akimbo, shouted at the other boy, at the top of his voice: "STOP PUSHING ME! YOU'RE A VERY, VERY BAD BOY!"

And - what do you know? - the little bully stopped and stayed away from my son.

After both my son and his grandma recounted the story, I told my baby that what he did was right. Though he should never pick a fight with others, neither should he be a pushover. He should learn to fight back, and what he did was a good thing.

My son paused for a while to consider my statement, then drew his own conclusion: "It's okay to fight back. You shouldn't fight forward, you just fight back!"

Epilogue: After that initial confrontation, my son and that other boy have since become playmates. I love the way children can completely forgive one another and move on with their lives.

photo from Getty Images

Weighing the Issue

Forgive me for being a girl today.

I never had a problem with weight. Except during my pregnancy, I never went above 48 kilograms (about 105lbs), which I think is ideal for a petite frame of 5’1”. I guess I am one of those women whom others would say is blessed with good genes. Most notably during my adolescent to early adult years, I could eat like a horse and still get away with it. Today, I am a 33-year-old mother of one, and the weighing scale tells me I am around 43.6 kilograms (96lbs). Not bad, I suppose.

Yet vanity is making itself felt today. I feel that my mere mortal body is succumbing to the force known as gravity, and everything is headed south.

I look in the mirror this morning as I am dressing up for work, and I turn a critical eye on myself. I find myself a bit wider in some places, a little loose in some, a tad sagging in a few areas. *cue in the cuss words*

I know, I know. Don’t give me grief for the fact that I weigh less than a hundred pounds, and here I am complaining. But I know now that having low weight doesn’t necessarily mean you’re exempted from all that excess baggage.

Disclaimer: I am not blaming my pregnancy for this. It’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me, so far be it for me to point my fingers on it. It’s just that I realised, during that phase, my skin stretched out far more than it was ever used to (I gained 35lbs then). Now that I couldn’t shrink back to my original form, those blasted fat cells took the opportunity to fill in all those nooks and crannies, thus giving me all this flab (and grief). It doesn’t help that I read up a bit and was reminded that fat actually weighs less than muscles, and so I therefore conclude that while I may weigh less now, I still damn well look pudgier than usual.

This should probably be my cue to dust off my old sneakers and start running for fitness again.



Now the problem is, I find too many excuses NOT to exercise.

First of all, it’s too friggin’ boring. I have an issue with routines/repetitiveness, and if there’s one thing I frequently see on exercise manuals, it’s the word repeat. Can’t I just do it once and everything will magically transform thereafter?

Second, I get sick when I overexert myself. Don’t laugh at me…it’s true! I’m such a lazy-ass that any form of physical exertion leaves me feverish for three days! Ask my husband. Back when we were still dating, he casually invited me for a game of lawn tennis. I was a bit rusty since I haven’t played in a long time, but – what the heck – it’s great bonding, right? Wrong. I had a 39-degree fever and body aches for a few days and sent my then-boyfriend into near panic, and that’s when I remembered that childhood malady: during the first few days of PE class, I’d be absent because of fever. I thought I outgrew it, but turns out I didn’t. Think that’s an isolated case? The first time I was here in Singapore and walked too much, I developed a fever. Pity my poor, unused muscles.

And thirdly – and most importantly – I don’t have time. I wake up early to go to work, and I come home with just a few hours to catch up with my family’s day. How can I sacrifice quality time with them for such vain shenanigans, right?

My husband is trying his best to help me. Recently, I’ve been on the receiving end of small tokens from my always-generous husband: an mp3 player and a good pair of cross trainers. Bless this man, he really knows how to handle whiny little me! Instead of telling me bluntly to go out and do something about my “problem” (which will almost certainly be met by an absolute refusal), he is gently coaxing me to take my new playthings out for a spin, i.e., go jogging or something. I actually told him good-naturedly that I recognise the tactic, to which he replied that, had I known how to ride a bike, he would’ve bought me my own so we can cycle every weekend.

Sigh. I really should stop making excuses and run a few laps this weekend.

On the other hand, brisk-walking from one mall to the next is still a form of cardio, right?




many thanks to Getty Images for the royalty-free photos

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 :)

A Most Dreadful Gesture

I was checking my Facebook account the other day when I came across a link posted by one of my contacts. It was about a wedding proposal. Out of curiosity (and maybe because, deep inside, there's a cheesy gal in there), I clicked the link and watched it.

There was nothing fancy-schmanzy about it. No romantic, candlelit dinner, no spectacular beaches at sunset. What actually made it special was the video the guy made to propose to his girl. It basically showed a cut-to-cut compilation of his smiling self, medium shots, with some road signs/establishment names behind him...such as the U-turn sign, the last two L's from "Shell", the McDonald's "M", stuff like that. All together, the signs spelled "Will U marry me". Plus points for the guy for his creativity and effort.

What ruined the moment for me was when I saw him kneeling in front of the girl, that classic pose while offering the engagement ring. Okay, I know I have a sappy streak, but for some reason, I find that gesture quite pretentious.

What does kneeling mean?


To kneel is to beg. So now a man has to beg a girl to marry him? How pathetic can you get? If you need to beg to get the girl you want, then there's something really wrong in the picture. Take off the rose-coloured glasses to get a better look at things.

It means devotion, true. But I only kneel in front of my Divine Writer. I am devoted to my mother but I never did that to her. Sure, I kneel in front of my cat, but only to pet her.

Kneeling connotes subservience. Remember the olden times when servants will kneel in front of their kings and queens? Hard core romantics may argue that it means they are willing to "serve their queens"...but how come they expect women to pick up their dirty socks and cook them dinner - can someone clarify who is supposed to serve whom again?

Humility? Maybe. But men are expected to "wear the pants" and be the "head of the family" in our patriarchal society. It has been ingrained in their earliest memories that they are the masters of the house. I don't think they'll give up the claim. So why waste the moment kneeling on the day you propose? They shouldn't promise a lifetime of humility when their basic, socially-conditioned, testosterone-driven nature goes against it.

I'm a deeply romantic woman. My husband knows how romantically creative I can be, and I have made him weep tears of joy on several occasions. But kneeling in front of a woman to propose marriage is not for me. At the risk of sounding like I'm sour-graping, I'm glad my husband did not propose to me as such.

In my humble, personal opinion, a marriage is a union of equals. Therefore, there should be no expectation of subservience. It should be give-and-take.

My husband and I once talked about this, and we agreed that we should never refer to the other as "my better half". We choose to call the other "my other half". We're "partners" in every sense of the word. Because we complete each other. Because one is not "better" than the other; instead, we make each other better. We complement each other's weaknesses as well as our strengths. And our life's decisions are never based on who gets to have the final say; rather, we arrive at a mutual agreement that we are both comfortable with, that we feel would be best for our family, and would not leave any resentment in the other's heart just because one of us needs to give way to a designated decision-maker.

So please stop kneeling. Unless you want to give a blowjob.

Happy Valentine's Day!



Thank you to Getty Images for the royalty-free photos