A Letter to My Daughter

"A chain of life begun
Upon the shore of some primordial sea
Has stretched through time
To reach to me."
- 'The Story Goes On' from the musical "Baby"
   
    About five years ago, one of my best friends lost her mother to stroke.  To say that it was a difficult period in my friend's life is an understatement, especially when her mother's passing came rather swiftly and unexpectedly.  I was a freshman in law school back then and I found it completely unbelievable, especially when her mother had been a regular textmate of sorts who was always sending me messages of encouragement and asking how I was doing.  I was unable to attend her mother's funeral due to class but in the middle of my professor's lecture, I wrote the the date (Feb. 14, 2007) and a short goodbye message to my friend's mother on the margin of one of my textbooks.

    That night, when I got home to my apartment, I sat on my bed, trying to sort out what I felt and what I wanted to tell my friend who had just lost a very important person in her life.  She would never get to talk to her mother again.  Neither would she ever see her in this lifetime.  My friend would never be given away by her mother on her wedding day or place her newborn baby in her mother's arms.  That thought stung.  I wondered what my friend's mother would have told her, had she known she was to die pretty soon.  That made me think about what my own mother might have said to me and in the process of thinking and reflecting, I then began to effect some sort of transference by asking myself "What would I tell my own child if I knew I were to pass away soon?"  I had never been pregnant or had a child so that, in itself, was a huge challenge.  But I wanted to somehow leave my friend with a mother's words of love and encouragement, with what I thought her mother would have said to her and, in the process, using thoughts from my own mother and from some natural maternal inclination within me.  After about an hour or writing, the result was a letter simply addressed to "my dear child." 

    The problem I faced was giving the letter to my friend.  I wanted to give it to her as soon as I could but I felt the pain was a bit too raw and I might just be reopening her floodgates which, for now, needed to be shut down.  So I waited and decided to give it to her on her birthday (which didn't happen), then Christmas (still didn't happen), on her mother's first death anniversary (still didn't give it) and so on.  Eventually, after one too many postponements, I decided to keep the letter in my files and give it to her on a major milestone in her life which I am sure was to happen - her wedding day.

    A month ago, on December 2, 2012, I finally gave my friend the letter, just a few hours before she walked down the aisle and pledged to become someone's wife.  The letter I had kept for the last five years goes this way:

My dear child,

When I was a little girl, my mother used to say something to me many times over that it has forever remained in my memory.  She would always tell me, "There is no love like a mother's love."  Those words rightfully described every moment with her not just because of the frequency that those words were uttered but because I felt that love day by day from as far as I could remember.  That is why I write this letter to you now, to tell you what my own mother told me just in case the realization within you is still up for grabs.

I have loved you the moment I first felt you growing inside me and I loved you even more the moment I first held you in my arms.  To me, you were perfect, from your eyes down to your tiny toes, from the way you made those gurgling noises to the way you squirmed when you were held in an uncomfortable position.  You grasped my finger with your tiny hands and I immediately felt the connection between you and me, mother and child, the bearer and the offspring, the very connection I shared with my own mother, only this time, reversed.  "It was the same connection yet different in a way," I thought to myself, as I felt your tiny heart beat along with mine while I held you close to my chest.  It was almost like two identical ships passing each other in an open harbor, one sailing east and the other going west.  I had grown up full of love because my own mother loved me with so much intensity and devotion.  And in turn, here I was, passing on that love to you.  It was too beautiful for words to explain.

I love you, my child.  It was this love for you that made me devote my time and effort to simply being your mother as you grew up year after year.  You would gaze at me with those beautiful eyes full of wonder and none of the things I gave up could compare to the sight of you before me.  You, my child, were a bundle of myriads of possibilities - good and bad, heartaches and triumphs, laughter and tears.  No one is perfect but I promised myself I would do my best to bring out what is good in you, to make you the best person you can be and to give you the life you deserve. 

I love you, my child.  Watching you grow up was nothing short of a thrill.  Slowly you began to emerge as your own unique person, sometimes imbibing certain characteristics from your father or from me, but still with an edge which made you stand out as a person distinct from us.  I have so many dreams for you and so many things I want you to do.  But I had to realize that I had to respect the person you were slowly becoming, that I could never impose on you my wants and my desires.  You had your own path to choose and your own road to walk but still I felt the need to be here to hold the light for you.  If I had my way, I would shield you from all harm and carry your burdens for you.  But loving is not about keeping the ones you love in your tight grasp.  It is about giving them wings strong enough to carry them off as they fly into the sunrise. 

I love you, my child.  In my days of youth, someone once told me that a mother is both a daughter's best friend and worst enemy.  I never felt that way about my own mother but I have to admit we had occasional clashes, much like what the two of us now have.  But what I am most proud of is the fact that my mother and I could sit down afterwards, talk it over and later on forgive and forget, again much like what the two of us do.  I believe in what some people say, that the ones you love often hurt you the most.  True, words have been exchanged which tear us deep within our hearts.  But I believe that statement is wanting of a follow-up.  The ones you love often hurt you the most but it is also the ones you love who can make you forgive and forget the deepest hurt.  I look at you and all I see are the happiest moments of my life - waking up in mornings with you by my side, packing your lunchbox, doing grocery shopping, beaming as I watched you in your school play, seeing you out the door as you head off on your first day to college, having a family picture taken during your graduation, making your brownbag lunch for your first day in your first job. 

I love you, my child.  I want to be here for you day in and day out until time stops running.  I want to be everything for you, I want to stand by your side always.  But I am afraid that cannot happen, that this is not a possibility in the world we live in.  If you can, I pray you would find somebody who will take care of you for me.  I hope he is somebody you deserve and somebody who deserves you, somebody who will love you with all his heart, somebody who will respect the person you are.  Establish your own family and pass on your future children all the love from my heart so you will remember me as I will always keep you in my thoughts and in my heart.

I love you, my child.  There can be no love like a mother's love but there is no love greater than God's love.  In anything and everything, put Him first.  Let Jesus be your constant companion day in and day out.  Turn to Him when the seas start to rise and the rivers start to rage.  Yet, most importantly, nurture Your relationship with Him when the nights are quiet, when the sunshine is warm and when your joy is unsurpassed because, contrary to what most people think, God is best known in moments of solitude and peace, in times when You see nothing but His goodness, His mercy and His overflowing love.  There is so much more to God than being Light of the World and Savior of Mankind.  He is a friend who sticks closer than brother and He knows You, up to the deepest, innermost recesses of Your being.  Bring that knowledge of Christ into Your own family because a house built on rock may see storms come and go but constantly know the peace that only God brings.

I love you, my child.  I always have and I always will.  I cannot always be there for you, no matter how much I want to.  I may not get to see every life-changing occasion, every monumental event but know this - I am and will be fiercely proud of every milestone and every achievement that will see you grow into a more beautiful person than ever.  Let every fall be an occasion to show your strength and your ability to rise up to any challenge.  I know you can do it, I have no doubt.  I certainly cannot wait to see what the future holds for you.  At some point, I may not live long enough to be with you in all of them but believe me, I will be there.  Just as you know that the stars will come every night though you cannot see them in the morning, I will be there. 

With all my heart,
Your mother

The Sound of the Sky

For Lois

11:58 PM, sometime in 2009

The sky was black and the streetlights had just been switched off. I sat by my window, surrounded by complete darkness. The cool wind blew a soft caress into my cheek and I warmly grasped its cold fingers. I had set a date with the Sky at 12 midnight because a meteor shower had promised to make its appearance. I sat and waited for quite sometime, looking at the darkness of the sky, my eyes slowly adjusting to the blackness. My sister was asleep and she twitched a bit when she heard me open the window across her bed. "Close it, please. It's bad for my throat," she croaked. I opened the window across my bed and sat beside it. I called out "The meteor shower's starting anytime." She then mumbled something inaudible about ice cream and candy, a rather obvious indicator that she was sleep-talking again. I went back to the Sky. The stars, though not as numerous as the sparkly dots in the night sky back in my hometown, were bathing in their simple radiance. They were twinkling miles away, small as they were before my eyes but huge, incendiary, gaseous bodies somewhere in the deepest recesses of space. As I gazed at the Sky, I realized I had long forgotten how beautiful the celestial blanket could be if only one paid very close attention. It seemed to be breathing on its own and everywhere, life in the outermost bowels of space was pulsating in its own silent, rhythmic beat. The longer I gazed it, the more I seemed drawn to the darkness, swallowed even, as my eyes tried to reach as far as they possibly could. Eventually, the feeling of being stuck like a galactic bolus in a wave of astronomic peristalsis ended pleasantly in a warm embrace courtesy of the quiet grandeur only fulfilled by the Sky.

In the darkness and stillness of the night, I could hear hearts breaking. It is a sad thing to hear, hearts breaking. There is no sound at all like that in the rest of the world. It is the sound of silence, of a heart ceasing to beat. It is the sound of wings, fluttering desperately. It is the sound of fragile crystal transforming into tiny shards as it crashes albeit muted into a cold stone floor. It is the sound of a dream slowly drifting to nothingness, of light passing through a black hole and then sucked into its unforgiving vortex.

In like manner, there is no other soreness which comes with a heart breaking. It is quiet pain, a slow death. It goes deep into the very core of your spirit and refuses to die or go away quietly. It hangs like a pall over your face, a veil both translucent and opaque. It is pain which seemingly has a life of its own and roots of its own which, when left unattended, could drain or strangle the very essence out of all hope.

Out of the corner of my eye came a streak of light as thin as a hairline. It flew through the Sky like a short strand of golden thread, disappearing as quickly as it came. More streetlights a block or two away were simultaneously turned off. The weatherman promised a night full of meteors, a shower even of about 20 or so bright strands of light every minute. I peered through the darkness, egging the Sky for more meteors on horseback. But all I got was about three or four random streaks every minute or so, randomly swooping in any point of blackness and then disappearing completely. Just when I thought I had seen the last one, my date did not renege on its promise and let loose a bit more of the sparkling threads. Though conservative at best, the sight of happy-go-lucky, fiery little meteorites certainly made bedtime a little more magical than usual.

In the middle of all these sights and non-sounds comes the quiet whisper of a heart mending, a heart growing, a heart coming back to life. God knows how frightened anyone would be at the realization that the little life that many thought had been nursed to a slow death is now stirring back to existence. How different then is this creation, an entity both old and new? What then would set it apart from all the hearts breaking or self-combusting in their little ribcages all over the world? The shards of a broken heart may not have completely disappeared because they are still a bit too precious too discard so they just sort of hang around there like deadly icicles in some self-imposed winter.

My eyes were slowly giving up on me and I leaned out to close the window. The air was chilly, almost nippy outside and I made a mental note to say a prayer of thanks for not having been born in Siberia. I blew my cosmic, taciturn date a quick kiss as I locked the window and it responded with a bit more flashing meteorites displaying their subdued brightness. I could still hear the sound of hearts breaking, unmistakeable and distinct. I could hear a million voices quietly whispering, promising never to subject the poor, throbbing little muscle to any more emotional distress. Yet, in the wake of what could be an aortal massacre and a mad scramble to tediously put the pieces back together, I found myself consumed by the last thought in my head before being completely overtaken by slumber - I found myself, once more, believing.

Cartoons and Cheesecake

Something gastronomically interesting I learned this week:

When you're feeling absolutely wretched for one reason or another (I know I have been acting like the blue Care Bear with the raincloud on his cute tummy since the previous weekend), a huge slice of blueberry cheesecake washed down with a glass of water CAN BE the perfect comfort food.

I say "CAN BE" because your stomach is not made of the same stuff as mine.

Or is it?

****************

Sue and I have been friends since we were in grade school and the reasons why we have remained as such all these years vary from the usual to the unusual. One reason would be our (still undying/unwavering) fascination for Disney cartoons.

A couple of days ago, while waiting for our Oblicon professor, Mini and I almost spontaneously launched into this talk about Disney cartoons as well.

We then went on to enumerate three Disney cartoons which we liked the least. Mine included the ones listed below. The last time I saw these titles would be a good fifteen to twenty years ago.

1. Snow White because:
a. Snow White has this shrill, high-pitched voice which makes her sound scarier than the Witch/Evil Queen.
b. Prince Charming has redder lips than Snow White.
c. Snow White puts on too much eye makeup.

2. Dumbo because:
a. Like what Mini said, the multi-colored elephants in Dumbo's dream in that scene where he had a little too much to drink were scary (think of what It did to clowns).
b. Of that scene where Dumbo's mom was cradling him with her trunk because she was locked up. That was just a little too much for my 5-year old heart to handle.
c. Of those mean, jealous, ugly, old elephants!

Poor Dumbo! *sniff sniff

3. Bambi because:
a. BAMBI'S MOTHER DIED!!!
b. I couldn't understand why Bambi's father had to be away most of the time.
c. It was a little weird watching a fawn talk.

Although the irony of it all is that when I was seven, I was once cast as the only girl to play a dwarf among six other boys (whose names I can still call out aloud) in our school production of Snow White.

****************

I had been pining for blueberry cheesecake for two months, I think. A couple of times, I would have dreams wherein I would be sinking my teeth into the best blueberry cheesecake in the world. I would wake then wake up feeling absolutely crazy for two reasons: 1) I want the cheesecake so bad and 2) when I was a child, I read a book which said that dreaming of food and eating usually happens to people who eat too much. Uh-oh.

So one day, just to cater to that longing for something sweet, I bought a junior-sized chocolate cake to share with my sister because the bakeshop where I usually buy the cheesecake said they no longer had it in the menu. As I put forkfuls of cake into my mouth, I thought that it was not as satisfying as cheesecake but I guess, it was good enough in its own way.

Two days later, I went back to the mall to get a bunch of new pens to use for school. I passed by a branch of the same bakeshop and lo and behold! They had cheesecake right there staring at me in the face! I couldn't go ahead and buy it because there was still a lot of chocolate cake left to be consumed. I left the bakeshop muttering a lot of "shoulds."

About a week later, when the chocolate cake was no more than a mere memory, I was happily sinking my teeth into the cheesecake that had haunted my very dreams for several nights.

An interesting interplay between settling and waiting can occur in the most outrageous of circumstances.

****************

Aside from being horrifying in terms of losing one's mother, Bambi had its fair share of funny moments.

I especially enjoyed this one scene towards the middle of the cartoon wherein winter has finally come to an end and spring has just made its entrance. Bambi is now sporting some form of antlers, though not as grand as his father's. His friends Thumper (the rabbit) and Flower (the skunk) have also grown up. The three of them then embark on a little expedition of some sort, each animal walking with head held high to the tune of an interesting background music.

Somehow, the "expedition" makes a different, unexpected turn (pun definitely intended).

Flower is the first to go when he gets distracted by another female skunk. Thumper scoffs at him for being too soft but apparently Thumper talks too soon. Then, as the viewers all know, Bambi isn't alone for too long either.

I remember that as a child, I found the entire chain of events absolutely funny.

Perhaps I never did quite understand how exactly it would feel like to lose a skunk.

For the Love of Yeats

Note: I wrote this Thursday night but never did get to post it. I was in a great Valentine's Day gathering last Friday where Enchang Kaimo gave a powerful testimony, I decided to post this here.

Now that it's Thursday and all the bruhaha about love and Valentine's Day has dissipated, I figured today should be the best time ever to write about it for two reasons: first, the Valentine's Day mania is headed downhill so I doubt if anybody would be interested in my attempt to be...er...touchy-cheesy and second, matters of the heart are always given serious thought.

People might think that Valentine's Day is only for couples and those who are in relationships. Single people are almost immediately viewed as Valentine's Day scrooges who, as a local newspaper writer so humorously put it, spend the Day of Hearts holed up in their couches eating chips while watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy. For my part, I was holed up in my couch, in between case readings, watching a snowy reception of American Idol just to see who would make Top 24. But, like what I told another friend of mine, Valentine's Day is also a day to celebrate being single - if we were to stretch the concept a little bit. They say Valentine's Day is all about love. I am not sure if many people would realize this but single people have a whole lot of lovin' going around actually. They see love in a different way, I believe - love for family, love for friends, love for the Creator, love for simply being alive.

Em and I were on our way home from Paranaque about a month ago. We were stuck in traffic which was a good thing since we could talk about a lot of things and not worry about getting into a vehicular accident. She told me that she never realized until now how good it felt to be unattached at our age (yep we're nearing our mid-20s), that we could engage in a variety of activities as much as you can and, in the process, get to know and help other people while also getting to know yourself a lot better in a whole new perspective. I was then immediately launched into a time warp back to that one day when I was in my grandfather's office with two second cousins who I will call G and S. G is in her late 20s and my grandmother was especially astounded by the fact that at her age, G had remained unattached and had the prospect of settling down farthest from her mind. My grandmother kept on calling her a spinster which got all of us snickering - until she pointed to S and me and told us we were headed that way too.

Timing has always been of the essence in almost anything. For instance in a musical score, all the notes are played one after another in a sequence, each note being given a special designation at some point in time when it should be played. If there were no such thing, all the notes would be dumped in a heap, each getting played in a wanton matter. The result? Pure, unadulterated musical disaster to put it lightly.

Falling in love and being in a relationship with somebody has to enter the picture at the right time also. It saddens me to see that some people I know are in a relationship because of the wrong reasons like, for instance, because the environment seems to dictate that people at this point in time or at this age should be in such a relationship.

Like what Em said, being single is just great, to put it simply. I am sometimes astounded by the time I have in my hands right now and the myriads of things I can do with it like study (boring!), go grocery shopping with my mom, buy an ice cream with dad at midnight, meditate, read a good book, remove weeds from the yard, help out in the office, learn guitar on my own, write, play with my nieces and nephews, join a small group, serve in church in any way, watch a movie with my sister, spring clean my room, laugh it up with my grandparents, teach, figure out CSS, attempt to declog the sink, take pictures, clean the car, talk with a friend I have not conversed with in a long time, sing in the shower, bike with a couple of friends, etc. The list is endless. Such things give me my happiness and my fulfillment that I desire for nothing else at the moment. It's like what one of my good friends (who has been in a pretty good and strong relationship for a number of years) said to me: "To each his own. You find fulfillment in what you do, I find fulfillment in what I do." I find mine in a smile.

When I was fourteen and in my sophomore year in high school, one of my afternoon classes was Values Ed. For four years of what could be the best time of my life, I went to a public/secular high school so any religion class was prohibited but a Values class was in our curriculum to take its place. My teacher Ma'am Ocampo told our class that we should look at such relationships through a long-term perspective, not just for the next couple of months or the next year or couple of years. "You should ask yourself objectively whether you can see that person in your future," she repeated. I remember Sue glancing at me (she sat directy in front of me) and me glancing at Doi (she sat directly behind me) when Ma'am Ocampo said that.

I guess that basically sums up my take on relationships. There is always a perfect timing for everything and waiting is the best part. Being involved with someone in an exclusive relationship takes a lot of commitment and a lot of effort and if you are not willing to give any of that at the moment, you have no right demanding exclusivity from that other person. When you're in a relationship with someone, you give a part of yourself to that person, you share your time and you start to share a part of your life with that person because of the view of...well, what goes beyond next month or next year or three years from now. Being involved with someone and staying committed to that person can be a delightful experience but it is a huge risk in itself that one of my favorite poems, the eternally beautiful He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven by W.B. Yeats, makes a perfect fit:

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Mary Ann

"Mary Ann."
The sound of her name sounded like a slightly off-key note in a song. I winced ever so slightly, hoping she would not notice it but she did. She looked at me and I looked back at her. She gave me a sad smile, one that seemed misplaced in a face as bubbly and efferevescent as hers.
A sad smile.
Just four days ago, there was no sadness in her smile. Along with ten other girls and four guys, we had confined ourselves to a small room in the more obscure innards of the church we attend. It was our Christmas party so we had pizza and chicken on the table, gifts on hand, a videoke microphone up for grabs, cameras going "whirrr" and friends side by side.
Friends side by side.
She had that tonight, more than a dozen according to my last count before I hugged her goodbye and left. It felt so different to see her eyes welling with tears, her face all flushed for reasons other than feeling giddy. Everything was different - from her face to her name. She had always been Mean to me, ever since that day we were introduced to each other by P. Joel almost two years ago. In that span of time, she became a very good friend and somewhat something like the older sister I had always wanted to have. She was as cool and as spunky as her name. She always had the sweetest of smiles and the gurgliest of laughter.
As people walked to her to extend their sympathies for her father's passing, I heard more voices calling her "Mary Ann." She looks a lot more serious than four days ago... a lot more tired, a lot more worn, a lot more like Mary Ann, a little less than Mean. But no matter what name she is called, I think to myself "She will carry through, she will carry on."
She will carry on.
Because behind her sad eyes is a spark of faith and a strength that is not of this world.
She will carry on.

Love

Two years into this blog, I have written about a lot of things - from my dogs to my nieces, American Idol and Korean serials, videoke concerts to beaded slippers. I sometimes wonder what has taken me so long to write about this when I usually try not go MTRCB on myself.

For more than two decades, I have been falling deeper and deeper in love with someone.

And most of the credit to how that relationship has grown through years should not, and would not, be attributed to me. As a matter of fact, I am the worthy recipient of the usual snide remarks "He's too good for you." I admit I will never be good enough for him but because I love Him too much, I cannot and will not stop trying.

I am not perfect and I never will be, not while I am here. I am a work in progress, a manuscript with lots of blank pages, a piece of pottery with more than half of it all lop-sided and sloshy, a song in dire need of arrangement. But He does not seem to care - to borrow Julia Stiles' lines from 10 Things I Hate About You - "not even a little bit, not even at all." He is very patient with me, carefully smoothening my rough edges even though the entire exercise involves Him getting hurt and disappointed with me time and again. I can feel His pain everytime I fall. His disappointment is unmistakeable and apparent, I immediately hate myself everytime. How could I deeply hurt someone who loves me so much that the world could never be enough to fill? Callous. Selfish. Insensitive. That's what I am. Yet He believes that I can be better and He never stops giving me new beginnings and new mornings, when I can stand up, dust myself off and walk with Him, hand in hand, towards the sunrise.

His everyday gift for me is visual poetry - clouds with a silver lining, an irrepressible smile from a child, a sparrow fluttering about while ruffling its feathers, leaves of green swaying with the wind, slender fingers of lightning. On more special occasions, there's a cloud with a silver lining, a fiery sunset, bridges all aglow with lights, tulips of pink and blue, myriads of stars that the night sky almost looks silver. This is all for me, He says, and so much more. Once, He asked me if I knew how much He loved me. He said He loves me like the ocean. No matter how far you look, there seems to be no end, even past the point where the sky kisses the water. Just like the way water rolls over the ocean floor, He sees past my depths, which conceal sights of both beauty and darkness, and covers it all completely. Perfectly.

He is not just my happiness. As a matter of fact, He IS happiness. He is joy. This joy is not of this world, not like fleeting laughter or smothered giggles. It is happiness that goes deep down within me that even my soul sings in mute tones only audible to His ears. The happiness He gives me overflows, like water gushing from spring, gurgling and struggling to be free.

I find it a shame, though, that amidst my inner glow, the girl who sits across me in the jeep looks downcast...or the lady who bags my groceries seems forlorn...not to mention the teener selling sampaguitas near the bus stop whose eyes mirror uncertainty. And it's not just them. The old woman with sad eyes, the guy at the computer store who seems mad at everything he sees and the smart-suited woman who carries a Starbucks cup on one hand and the whole world on her shoulders. It does not feel right at all.

But it should feel right, I tell myself. If I overflow with happiness, someone would naturally be affected by it somehow, much like the way the common cold slips from one person to another with ease. It's somewhat like water flowing past the brim of a cup, rendering the surface it stands on void of dryness.

How could I, participant to the greatest love story the world has ever known, venture only as far as to see that there are others are in need of that love too? A love that will cover their imperfections and give hope. A love that spans time, gender or natioality. A love that can fill any void too deep or too dark. A love that is both true and truth. A love that is already given and simply waits to be accepted.

A love that is patient, love that is kind, a love that does not envy nor boast, a love that keeps no record of wrongs, a love that always trusts...always perseveres...

Second Lesson of Yesterweek: A Heart-ful of a Lesson

Just four days after my experience with the stylist from Deep Six, I met up with some college classmates in Megamall. A good number of us showed up in Kenny Rogers for dinner along with a teacher of ours. I won't name him for fear that it might be intrusion to his privacy. I went with my perennial companion Anna. To add to the already stacking comments that Anna and I look alike, Leigh's boyfriend said that we could be mistaken as sisters. We have been labelled as cousins and the sister comment is particularly common. Anna and I are just waiting for the day that someone declares we're twins.

After dinner, Teacher suggested we go watch a movie. It was getting late so the others decided to leave. I opted to go for the movie along with Affie, Ken, Diane and Teddy. We wanted to watch The Skeleton Key but it was not yet being shown. The bowling lanes were practically overflowing with people. So we decided to go to the Megastrip, have some coffee or dessert and talk.

We found a spot in an already bursting-at-the-seams Seattle's Best: a small table with two chairs. The Megastrip is not usually teeming with a crowd this big even on weekends but on that day, Parokya ni Edgar was doing a free concert in the parking lot in front of Seattle's Best. A little while later, some people vacated their seats and we occupied a much bigger space consisting of two tables and just enough chairs for the six of us to do what we came to do - have coffee or some dessert and talk.

That's when I learned another lesson from Teacher who I have since then associated with an alter-ego I call The Guru of Dating.

The Guru said that there was such a thing called theory on dating.

A theory on dating was interesting to learn, especially after the concept was introduced to me at the age of 10, credits going to Francine Pascal and her whole band from Sweet Valley.

So the six of us sat there, with Parokya wailing "First Day Funk" in the background, as The Guru shared with us the theory of dating which, he said, was related to him by a friend.

One of the first premises of the theory of dating states that if you, for example, feel good about your date and enjoyed it immensely, chances are, your date also shared the same sentiments.

For instance, you say something to your date because you think he would like it or you feel it would amuse him. The truth of the matter is, if your date really did like what you said or truly felt amused by it, chances are, he would try to give the proper response. The proper response would consist of your date throwing back an interesting reaction, story or comment which he thinks would give you the same level of amusement you gave him, or even higher. You receive the response and enjoy it immensely so you return the favor once more. So the entire date goes on like a volleyball game - the ball getting tossed back and forth between the net as two teams try to do their best to get the ball to the opposite side with as much interesting flair as possible.

Which is why pretending to enjoy a date is a particularly difficult feat. Your date throws you a story or a comment which you do not find the least bit interesting. Lacking the proper motivation, you fire back a response without the slightest idea of what particular level of amusement to fulfill. Most likely, given your disinterest, the response would be way below par of your date's initial attempt at an interesting conversation.

The Guru said that his friend was able to subject the theory to experimentation, saying that based on experience, the women with whom he had the most pleasant dates also shared his sentiments that their date went very well. He would find out about this through other friends with whom his previous dates shared their thoughts with.

The second premise is that good dates are driven primarily by good conversation which consequently is predominated by excellent communication. Sharing sentiments and thoughts is part of good conversation and this helps people get to know each other better.

Thus the theory shows that in as early as an initial date, a relationship is already fostered between two people in their inital attempts at a conversation and gradually grows much thanks to communication. The entire process is an exercise of give and take. You are given something by someone which brings a big smile to your face. So you take it but you are not contented with just receiving. You want to go ahead and see the same, if not an even brighter, smile on his face so you go ahead and send something back. This could go on for days, months and even years. This constant communication volleyball is so crucial that once someone stops sending the communication ball flying over the net, the relationship ends just like when someone decides to stop playing the game and walk away.

Lessons:
2.1 The whole theory of dating does not just apply to the context of a boy-girl relationship. It works for parents and children and friends.
2.2 Listening is as important as talking. Sometimes there could be no better response than to just listen.
2.3 Selfishness does not figure prominently in a relationship. A monologue (mo-no-lo-gu in Japanese) ensues instead of a dialogue.
2.4 Someone can choose to stop playing the game when it is no longer amusing.
2.5 If dating has a theory, I am sure a theory also exists as to why people choose not to date.

To close this entry, here is an interesting (and funny) email I got from a friend today.

Dear Tech Support:

Last year I upgraded from Boyfriend 5.0 to
Husband 1.0 and noticed a slowdown in the
overall performance, particularly in the flower and
jewelry applications that had operated flawlessly
under Boyfriend 5.0.

In addition, Husband 1.0 un-installed many
other valuable programs, such as Romance 9.5
and Personal Attention 6.5, but installed
undesirable programs such as NFL 5.0 and NBA
3.0. And now Conversation 8.0 no longer runs and
House Cleaning 2.6 simply crashes the system.

I've tried running Nagging 5.3 to fix these
problems, but to no avail. What can I do?

Signed,
Desperate


Dear Desperate:

First keep in mind, Boyfriend 5.0 is an
entertainment package, while Husband 1.0 is an
operation system.

Try entering the command C:\ I THOUGHT
YOU LOVED ME and download Tears 6.2 to
install Guilt 3.0.

If all works as designed, Husband 1.0 should
then automatically run the applications Jewelry 2.0
and Flowers 3.5. But remember, overuse can
cause Husband 1.0 to default to Grumpy Silence
2.5, Happy Hour 7.0 or Beer 6.1. Beer 6.1 is a
very bad program that will create Snoring
Loudly.Wav files.

Whatever you do, DO NOT install Mother-In-
Law 1.0 or re-install another Boyfriend program.
These are not supported applications and will
crash Husband 1.0.

In summary, Husband 1.0 is a great program,
but it does have a limited memory and cannot
learn new applications quickly. You might
consider additional software to improve memory
and performance. I personally recommend Hot
Food 3.0 and Lingerie 6.9.

Good Luck,

Tech Support