The minute I opened my eyes at 7 o'clock, Friday morning, only one thought popped into my head amidst the myriads of concerns which had been taking little bites off me me like an army of ants for the past month or so.
She was getting married today.
My mother then called me a little while later and we had a rather long talk. She and the rest of my family were in our home province whereas I was miles away, cooped up inside a room in an apartment I had just moved into two days before. This was my first time to spend Holy Week away from my family. There is always a first time, I thought to myself and I tried to console myself with the thought that I wouldn't get stuck in a horrendous traffic jam while watching procession after procession after procession pass by. Yeah, there is always a first time...just like getting married. I thought about it again.
We were fourteen, I believe, when we first talked about getting married. I don't really remember much about where we were except that there were three of us, seated on the steps of our third floor classroom, the long skirts of our school uniforms tucked under our legs as the wind tried to blow our heads away. She said "I'm sorry you can't be in my wedding. I'm telling you ahead of time so you can't complain that I didn't tell you beforehand." I teased her that I was toying with the idea of getting 'converted' for a day, just so I could see her in a white dress, a veil and make up. She gave me one of her looks as if to say "That is not possible." So I let the matter go like a leaf in the wind, consoling myself with the fact that I just might be there to attend the reception.
That was eight years ago. Now as I got off the phone with my mother, I glanced at my watch and the dial read 8:15. Her wedding had just started.
I left the house ten minutes before 11, having had to fumble through the half-full boxes in my apartment for the car keys with the mental note that I really had to unpack and rearrange my stuff pretty soon or else I could end up tripping over these things and land in the hospital with a broken hip. I had to be in church by 11 to go through some songs we had to sing for the Good Friday service that afternoon. On my way to church, I decided to take the route which would make me pass the church where she was to get married. I entertained the thought that she might still be there.
I slowed the car as I entered the drive which led to their church compound. The wind was blowing rather hard that day and the sun was partly hidden by the clouds. I almost spontaneously stepped on the brakes when I saw someone in a pristine white dress and a white veil clutching a bunch of white flowers walk though the neatly trimmed lawn of the church, a taller man in white standing beside her. Could that be her? My goodness, I laughed to myself as felt like I was in one of those movies where the jilted ex-boyfriend/other guy watching the female protagonist marry the male protagonist the movie watchers would want her to marry. She didn't tell me I could at least do this - sit in the car and from the outside, watch them take pictures. After all that was all I wanted: to see her in her white dress and white veil, clutching her bunch of white flowers.
I called her on my phone and I asked her if she were the girl I had just seen walk by.
"Where are you?" she asked me.
"I'm right outside your church, silly," I answered.
"That's not me. I'm in Cubao now. They are the couple who got married after us."
I thought I heard a thud somewhere and I knew that was not something beyond five feet of my arm's reach.
Great.
"You didn't tell me I could at least see this," I told her.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know you wanted to be there."
"What do you mean I didn't want to be there? How could you know that?" I answered quickly.
Then we both kept quiet knowing we should not have said what we just said.
Her voice broke as she said "You're making me cry. You're making me feel guilty."
She almost always never cried. We even used to tease each other we shouldn't be with guys who cry more than we do.
"Konsensiya, konsensiya, konsensiya!" I chanted like a tease and we both laughed. I told her I'll see her the next morning, before she goes back home a married woman.
I was back the next day, Saturday at 8 AM. I met her husband at the gate of the place where they stayed. She came out a little while later and the two of us took a walk around their church complex. The sun was shining brightly on that day and a breeze was blowing softly. The garden of their church was beautiful, the flowers were blooming and the grass was neatly manicured. I glanced up to see the white spires of their church point towards the blue sky. I made out a gold figure standing on one of the spires. "That's Muroni," she said. I don't even know if I spelled the name correctly.
She later showed me the pictures of her wedding. She looked perfect in her immaculate long-sleeved white dress. A tiny tiara was on her head and I could make out a short train of a veil somewhere near her head. I told her I liked her dress although I hoped she wore just the tiniest bit of makeup. "After all, you won't ever get married again!" She kicked me and her husband laughed.
I met her mother a little while later and we gave each other the biggest bear hug. She was almost like my own mother also and I teased her that she should be ready to have little grandchildren sooner or later.
I later drove them - she, her husband, her mother and her husband's aunt - to the bus terminal for their trip back home. I told her I'd see her soon although I did not know exactly how soon "soon" should be. She was my best friend. Time didn't matter.
As I drove away, I glanced at the rearview mirror and saw her standing by the roadside near the bus terminal in her green shirt and jeans.
I missed it. I missed the vision of white.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Friday, March 9, 2007
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.
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!
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.
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.
Monday, March 5, 2007
A Series of Unfortunate Events
I'm always in for a little excitement to spice up my already terrorized life. But too much excitement in a week can be a tad bit too much for my poor little battered heart.
Last week was such a week.
Monday started off pretty well, actually. I was holed up in my sister's dorm, reviewing Oblicon basics because everytime my professor opens his mouth to speak, I only understand half of what he says. The rest of the words come across as Greek...and Spanish, Latin and some Parseltongue. I just knew I was going to be in trouble if I don't resolve the muddle in my head.
On Tuesday, I woke up pretty early to meet up with some classmates. We were going to review some of the basic Oblicon concepts which made me feel relieved somewhat, even if it was just for a teeny percentage. We were going to make some noise in the library so I asked them if they wanted to study in the apartment where I live near our school and they agreed to do so.
Now I love my apartment because it's such a small place yet very cozy. It was a good find actually because it did not cost much to rent the place. My little room in the second floor lets just enough sunlight in and has this old attic feel. In one end of the room, the ceiling slants and I positioned my bed under that area so as to conserve space and because there is a window by the junction where the slant meets a rather short strip of a wall before hitting the floor. Every morning, when I sleep through my alarm clock (which I always do), the birds outside my window wake me up.
I vividly remember the sight that greeted me when I laid my feet on the steps which led to my apartment. All the windows were flung open like outstretched arms. I thought our helper was inside but I could hear no signs of activity. I called her name as I moved towards the front door. I held the doorknob and realized that it was unlocked but the door was shut because the deadbolt was still fastened. Feeling rather ominous now, my eyes caught something black sticking out of the window like a garter snake. Moving closer, I realized that the black thing was the rubber strip that held the window screen in place. That was when I realized that the screen had been slashed open. It now hung by the remaining hinges like a tongue lolling out of an open mouth.
Someone had tried to break into my apartment when I was with my sister during the weekend.
Bryan put his arm through the window and tried to open the doorknob but he couldn't reach it. It seemed like the would-be criminal thought of that as a way to get the door open. Come to think of it, what would he carry away if he had succeeded in entering my apartment? The only thing of value inside would be my small TV, my sister's radio and the refrigerator if he would succeed in bringing it outside. Other than that, he can help himself to my plates, glasses, cutlery, clothes and even my case readings.
A survey of the place revealed that nothing was missing, nothing had been stolen. Even the laundry which hung on a clothes line by the open windows had been spared. By the end of the day, the window screen was fixed and reinforced and I was curled up on the floor, at the foot of my bed, thanking God for blessing the would-be criminal with short arms.
Wednesday was a bit more laid back but the thought of the attempted break-in was still gnawing at my mind. While writing digests, I watched the guys take the stage in AI6 and was pretty happy to see them back in form. My favorite among the guys was Blake Lewis although I would agree with Randy and Simon that he did sound too much like Jamiroquai except for the beatboxing interlude. I most definitely did not agree with all the praise-heaping for Chris Richardson. He sounds like Justin Timberlake on high pitch and he has a tendency to be eaten up by the background, shaved head and all. As for Sanjaya Malakar, the soothing voice makes a great listen...when my eyes are closed. When I open my eyes to look at him, all that evaporates. He moves around the stage with some awkward stiffness devoid of spontaneity. Of course, some remnant of nationalistic pride bubbled within me as I watched AJ Tabaldo perform and the bubbling became vigorous popping when he got heaped all sorts of praises courtesy of the judges. The popping would be transformed to vigorous simmering come Friday night when AJ got booted out rather unfairly, in my opinion.
I proceeded to watch the ladies Thursday night but not before I slipped and stumbled on the middle of the street in the afternoon (still could not figure out how that happened) as I walked towards the gate of my apartment, arms full with my backpack and books. I was in my house shorts and I landed on my right knee to stop myself from falling flat on the road. That would be the first time in about seventeen years that I scraped my knee. I later got a text from my mother, telling me that Dr. Luisa Pollentes had died of complications due to cancer. I believe she was in her 30s. She was one of my sister's good friends and former ballet teacher. The news left my sister in a mess that night.
Friday morning left me feeling a bit groggy with just three hours of sleep but with Melinda Doolittle's rendition of "My Funny Valentine" still ringing in my ears. I had studied (and did my handwritten notes for FIVE canons) for my Leg Prof class because of a gut feeling (which was usually right) that I was going to be called. Consti, my first period class, was given second priority because I had already been called exactly a week before.
In class, one of my girl classmates was called to discuss Soliven vs. Makasiar, a case I digested for the class digest pool. There was a rather curious question fielded which left the class bewildered. He called on my other classmates one by one and each one who was called begged off, saying he had not read the case. I could detect a hint of exasperation on his voice already when he asked "Did anybody read the case?" Uh-oh. There was an agreement in the class that we had to take responsibility for the case we digested so even if my arms and legs were objecting violently, I raised my hand and stood up to face a question the answer to which seemed to dwell on one of the rocks which make up the rings of Saturn.
After what seemed like eternity, I was told to sit so I went back to reviewing for Leg Prof while keeping one ear on alert just in case I get called again. When my classmate who was reciting was finally done, all of the guys in the class became fidgety, anticipating that, as tradition dictates, one of them was going to get called next.
All of the screws in my head came loose when I heard my name loudly spoken in the almost quiet classroom. I looked up from my notebook to meet my professor's gaze as he asked me "Would you like to continue the discussion?" Uh...duh! NO!
I know it took me an eternity to answer "Yes, sir." All of a sudden, I had to muster all my strength just to push myself off the table into a standing position. As my teacher went through the reading list, I motioned to my seatmate Joey (my saviour), asking if I could borrow her copy of the digests for some of the cases which she placed in front of me. I began to furtively flip through the pages with cold, shaking hands while sarcastically telling myself "So much for thinking you won't get called."
It was like being forced into an arranged marriage, meeting your potential lifemate for the first time. I was seeing these cases for the first time too! I badly needed a whack in the head and hands around my shoulders to shake me into my senses.
"Okay, let's discuss Borjal vs. CA."
Borjal? Glub glub glub...I was sinking in the mire - FAST! If I mess up and my teacher erupts like a volcano, spewing red hot lava to the whole class thanks to my non-eloquence, there would be no one to blame but me and my non-existent clairvoyance.
I noticed that the petitioners were the late Art Borjal and the late Max Soliven, two columnists for the Philippine Star. When I mentioned Borjal's name, my teacher then launched into telling the class about his physical incapacity and how he died. I took advantage of that time just to skim through the digests. In the back of my mind, I whispered in a rush "Lord, help me, please. If I mess up, the professor will certainly blow his top this time. I swear this will never happen again. I'll never be caught unprepared next time."
I never did get to finish reading the digest but during my recitation for that case, and for two cases following that, I would glance into the digest every once in a while and for one reason or another, my eyes would always fall on the key words in every paragraph. I don't know where the words came from and how I managed to say what I said but the entire process seemed almost free-flowing like an open faucet.
Finally when I was done and asked to take my seat, I returned the digests to Joey, thanking her for saving me and I uttered a silent prayer, thanking God for staying true to His promise that He will provide in instances which do not even involve food. But I made an urgent mental note and virtually spanked myself for coming to class unprepared. I promised myself there will never be a next time.
And just a thought, I never did get called for LegProf.
***************
Finally Jepoy's mama posted the first couple of pictures of my newest niece Patricia Aimee. Trish looks just like her "kuya" Jepoy! Such cuteness!
Last week was such a week.
Monday started off pretty well, actually. I was holed up in my sister's dorm, reviewing Oblicon basics because everytime my professor opens his mouth to speak, I only understand half of what he says. The rest of the words come across as Greek...and Spanish, Latin and some Parseltongue. I just knew I was going to be in trouble if I don't resolve the muddle in my head.
On Tuesday, I woke up pretty early to meet up with some classmates. We were going to review some of the basic Oblicon concepts which made me feel relieved somewhat, even if it was just for a teeny percentage. We were going to make some noise in the library so I asked them if they wanted to study in the apartment where I live near our school and they agreed to do so.
Now I love my apartment because it's such a small place yet very cozy. It was a good find actually because it did not cost much to rent the place. My little room in the second floor lets just enough sunlight in and has this old attic feel. In one end of the room, the ceiling slants and I positioned my bed under that area so as to conserve space and because there is a window by the junction where the slant meets a rather short strip of a wall before hitting the floor. Every morning, when I sleep through my alarm clock (which I always do), the birds outside my window wake me up.
I vividly remember the sight that greeted me when I laid my feet on the steps which led to my apartment. All the windows were flung open like outstretched arms. I thought our helper was inside but I could hear no signs of activity. I called her name as I moved towards the front door. I held the doorknob and realized that it was unlocked but the door was shut because the deadbolt was still fastened. Feeling rather ominous now, my eyes caught something black sticking out of the window like a garter snake. Moving closer, I realized that the black thing was the rubber strip that held the window screen in place. That was when I realized that the screen had been slashed open. It now hung by the remaining hinges like a tongue lolling out of an open mouth.
Someone had tried to break into my apartment when I was with my sister during the weekend.
Bryan put his arm through the window and tried to open the doorknob but he couldn't reach it. It seemed like the would-be criminal thought of that as a way to get the door open. Come to think of it, what would he carry away if he had succeeded in entering my apartment? The only thing of value inside would be my small TV, my sister's radio and the refrigerator if he would succeed in bringing it outside. Other than that, he can help himself to my plates, glasses, cutlery, clothes and even my case readings.
A survey of the place revealed that nothing was missing, nothing had been stolen. Even the laundry which hung on a clothes line by the open windows had been spared. By the end of the day, the window screen was fixed and reinforced and I was curled up on the floor, at the foot of my bed, thanking God for blessing the would-be criminal with short arms.
Wednesday was a bit more laid back but the thought of the attempted break-in was still gnawing at my mind. While writing digests, I watched the guys take the stage in AI6 and was pretty happy to see them back in form. My favorite among the guys was Blake Lewis although I would agree with Randy and Simon that he did sound too much like Jamiroquai except for the beatboxing interlude. I most definitely did not agree with all the praise-heaping for Chris Richardson. He sounds like Justin Timberlake on high pitch and he has a tendency to be eaten up by the background, shaved head and all. As for Sanjaya Malakar, the soothing voice makes a great listen...when my eyes are closed. When I open my eyes to look at him, all that evaporates. He moves around the stage with some awkward stiffness devoid of spontaneity. Of course, some remnant of nationalistic pride bubbled within me as I watched AJ Tabaldo perform and the bubbling became vigorous popping when he got heaped all sorts of praises courtesy of the judges. The popping would be transformed to vigorous simmering come Friday night when AJ got booted out rather unfairly, in my opinion.
I proceeded to watch the ladies Thursday night but not before I slipped and stumbled on the middle of the street in the afternoon (still could not figure out how that happened) as I walked towards the gate of my apartment, arms full with my backpack and books. I was in my house shorts and I landed on my right knee to stop myself from falling flat on the road. That would be the first time in about seventeen years that I scraped my knee. I later got a text from my mother, telling me that Dr. Luisa Pollentes had died of complications due to cancer. I believe she was in her 30s. She was one of my sister's good friends and former ballet teacher. The news left my sister in a mess that night.
Friday morning left me feeling a bit groggy with just three hours of sleep but with Melinda Doolittle's rendition of "My Funny Valentine" still ringing in my ears. I had studied (and did my handwritten notes for FIVE canons) for my Leg Prof class because of a gut feeling (which was usually right) that I was going to be called. Consti, my first period class, was given second priority because I had already been called exactly a week before.
In class, one of my girl classmates was called to discuss Soliven vs. Makasiar, a case I digested for the class digest pool. There was a rather curious question fielded which left the class bewildered. He called on my other classmates one by one and each one who was called begged off, saying he had not read the case. I could detect a hint of exasperation on his voice already when he asked "Did anybody read the case?" Uh-oh. There was an agreement in the class that we had to take responsibility for the case we digested so even if my arms and legs were objecting violently, I raised my hand and stood up to face a question the answer to which seemed to dwell on one of the rocks which make up the rings of Saturn.
After what seemed like eternity, I was told to sit so I went back to reviewing for Leg Prof while keeping one ear on alert just in case I get called again. When my classmate who was reciting was finally done, all of the guys in the class became fidgety, anticipating that, as tradition dictates, one of them was going to get called next.
All of the screws in my head came loose when I heard my name loudly spoken in the almost quiet classroom. I looked up from my notebook to meet my professor's gaze as he asked me "Would you like to continue the discussion?" Uh...duh! NO!
I know it took me an eternity to answer "Yes, sir." All of a sudden, I had to muster all my strength just to push myself off the table into a standing position. As my teacher went through the reading list, I motioned to my seatmate Joey (my saviour), asking if I could borrow her copy of the digests for some of the cases which she placed in front of me. I began to furtively flip through the pages with cold, shaking hands while sarcastically telling myself "So much for thinking you won't get called."
It was like being forced into an arranged marriage, meeting your potential lifemate for the first time. I was seeing these cases for the first time too! I badly needed a whack in the head and hands around my shoulders to shake me into my senses.
"Okay, let's discuss Borjal vs. CA."
Borjal? Glub glub glub...I was sinking in the mire - FAST! If I mess up and my teacher erupts like a volcano, spewing red hot lava to the whole class thanks to my non-eloquence, there would be no one to blame but me and my non-existent clairvoyance.
I noticed that the petitioners were the late Art Borjal and the late Max Soliven, two columnists for the Philippine Star. When I mentioned Borjal's name, my teacher then launched into telling the class about his physical incapacity and how he died. I took advantage of that time just to skim through the digests. In the back of my mind, I whispered in a rush "Lord, help me, please. If I mess up, the professor will certainly blow his top this time. I swear this will never happen again. I'll never be caught unprepared next time."
I never did get to finish reading the digest but during my recitation for that case, and for two cases following that, I would glance into the digest every once in a while and for one reason or another, my eyes would always fall on the key words in every paragraph. I don't know where the words came from and how I managed to say what I said but the entire process seemed almost free-flowing like an open faucet.
Finally when I was done and asked to take my seat, I returned the digests to Joey, thanking her for saving me and I uttered a silent prayer, thanking God for staying true to His promise that He will provide in instances which do not even involve food. But I made an urgent mental note and virtually spanked myself for coming to class unprepared. I promised myself there will never be a next time.
And just a thought, I never did get called for LegProf.
***************
Finally Jepoy's mama posted the first couple of pictures of my newest niece Patricia Aimee. Trish looks just like her "kuya" Jepoy! Such cuteness!
Sunday, February 18, 2007
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.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
A Valentine's Day Like No Other
Valentine's Day 2007, 5:00 PM. A Valentine's Day like no other.
After ten sticks and one bottle, I was lying face-down on my bed, smothered in my pillow and in what could perhaps be the best sleep I have had in days.
That is, ten sticks of isaw and a bottle of iced tea.
The moment I entered campus yesterday, the entire Valentines-y feeling was palpable. A women's org was in brisk business, their wares consisting of flowers and everything chocolate flying off their booth. The classroom was no different. Almost everyone was talking about dates - which had to do with having one, not having one or hoping to have one. There were plans to see "Music and Lyrics" after class, a movie which I had been raring to see ever since the first time I laid eyes on that gigantic billboard of it along EDSA-Greenhills. But I had to pass since I had promised to see it with my own "date" (aka my sister) this weekend. It would be our first movie in months.
After class, some of the "single people" across the aisle where I was seated (Jo, Bryan, Lora and Marge) decided to go out. I decided to pass again since I had been feeling heavy-headed all day. My weekend had been both physically and emotionally draining so I just wanted to get some sleep. On my way out of the school building, I fished out my phone and made a call.
The voice on the other end of the line sounded even more tired than I was.
"Valentine's Day is different this year. At this time last year, we were doing a movie marathon, just like we always do."
Her words stung like a wasp. This year was indeed going to be the start of something totally different.
At 4:00 PM of perhaps the next most anticipated day after Christmas, instead of cringing over the cheesiest chick flicks available on the planet, I was standing in the back of the school building, clad in my favorite blue shirt in an attempt to look cheery while talking to one of my best friends who was on her way home after burying her mother earlier in the day.
Tita Celine, as I fondly called her, died last Friday at around noontime, two weeks after suffering from a stroke. I was in my third floor classroom, reviewing for my last class that day. I checked my phone to see that Banana had texted me, asking if she could call. My teacher was unusually late but I did not want to take the call since she might come bursting in at any minute, spot me with a phone on hand and call my attention. I asked her to call me at around 4 PM, when I am sure my class would end. She did just that and I was alarmed to find out that her mother had a stroke. I could not believe it. A few days before, Tita Celine and I were texting each other like we always do. Ever since I entered law school, she would frequently send me messages of encouragement which always seemed to come at the time when I was feeling worn out and tired. Once, one message really hit home, I had to text back, "Thank you, Tita. I really needed that." Then she replied, "Alam ko, kayang-kaya mo yan."
Em and I went to the hospital the next day and we made our way to the Acute Stroke Unit. The first person I saw inside the room was Banana's younger brother, Pau. I tentatively approached the room and saw Tita Celine. She was intubated and her eyes were closed. A monitor was attached to her and I found myself screaming inside my head "This cannot be happening." The last time I saw her, she was doing great. Her gentle voice rang inside my head and her trademark sweet way of saying my name. Moments later, Banana arrived with her boyfriend Marvin. Banana brought me beside her bed and I swear, I was shaking. She tried to coax her mom to wake up, to let her know I was there but Tita Celine slept on. I took Tita Celine's hand in mine. It was swollen slightly but warm. I wondered if she could feel my hand in hers. Banana and I then closed our eyes and I began to pray. In the middle of the prayer, I began to cry.
It was Banana's turn for her "Father Estrada" moment.
The "Father Estrada" moment began in our sophomore year in college. Banana and I could not come up with a better name that is why it is called such. It started on that day I was told that my mom had to undero a hysterectomy in order to remove a myoma that had grown on her uterus. The procedure was risky, given the fact that the last time my mom was opened up, the doctors said that she had severe adhesions. On the day I found out about the decision to open her up, I was harrassed both by schoolwork and my friends who thought I was just being moody. I retreated to the school chapel where Banana went with me. Choking up with tears, I told her what was wrong, including my fear of losing my mother. She bowed her head and prayed for me and when she was done, we both looked up to see that Father Estrada, our freshman theology teacher, had passed us by and was eyeing us both rather curiously. He eventually walked away and just to lighten up the moment, I told her "He's probably wondering who broke up with who."
I saw Tita Celine for the last time a week ago, February 3, Saturday. The week had been literally sleepless because of my Crim midterms. I was nursing the beginnings of a really bad cough which I acquired from trying to catch a few winks in a car the night before, at around the time the "cold wave" hit the country. I had a 3 PM flight to catch because I was going home for the weekend for a double whammy thing - my grandmother's 77th birthday and the inauguration of the new building of the church I attend back home. But I just felt I had to see her before I left, just to see how she was doing. Besides, Banana's father Tito Max was also admitted in the same hospital because of fluctuating BP. I walked into the ACSU just a few minutes before visiting hours would end and I was livened up by what I saw. I did not enter the room but through the open door, I could see that Tita Celine was awake although her eyes were out of focus. She was more conscious now and she was no longer intubated. She looked so pretty and brave lying on her bed I could not stop smiling. It was like being calm in the midst of a storm. I whispered a "Thank you, Jesus" to myself, hope renewed that she would make it through.
Things would get better on Sunday. I got a text from an uber-excited Banana at around 6 PM. Her text read: "Niyakap ako ni Mommy (Mommy hugged me)!" I was so happy for her I could not wait to fly back to Manila and see for myself how much Tita Celine had improved.
Exactly two weeks after Anna informed me that her mom had suffered a stroke came that fateful call. I had two unopened voice messages from Banana so I called her back immediately. The voice on the other end of the line was barely perceptible and all I could hear were her sobs. All she managed to whisper was "Wala na si mommy (Mommy is gone)."
During Tita Celine' interment, I made up my mind not to look at her as she lay on her coffin. Banana prodded me to do so, teasing me that she would get mad if I did not look at the dress she bought for Tita Celine to wear. I told her I couldn't do that, that I had to preserve that last image of her mom in my mind. All of Tita Celine's text messages are still in my phone, in its own special folder that I made before her stroke. During the time she was hospitalized, I unconsciously found myself waiting for her texts and it did not help that Banana would sometimes use her mother's phone to contact me. I was hopeful and anticipating the day I would finally receive a message from her saying something like "Hi, I'm back."
I do not know why Banana and her family chose February 14, the day of hearts, to lay Tita Celine to rest and if they did so on purpose. Thinking about it brought to mind the inscription on the epitaph of Rianne, Em's niece whose life was taken away by leukemia at age 7. This made the choice of February 14 more significant and beautiful. The inscription says "Death does not put an end to love."
On the day of hearts, Tito Max, Banana and Pau made that message loud and clear.
Love transcends death, love is eternal, love remains even when our mortal bodies are no more.
After ten sticks and one bottle, I was lying face-down on my bed, smothered in my pillow and in what could perhaps be the best sleep I have had in days.
That is, ten sticks of isaw and a bottle of iced tea.
The moment I entered campus yesterday, the entire Valentines-y feeling was palpable. A women's org was in brisk business, their wares consisting of flowers and everything chocolate flying off their booth. The classroom was no different. Almost everyone was talking about dates - which had to do with having one, not having one or hoping to have one. There were plans to see "Music and Lyrics" after class, a movie which I had been raring to see ever since the first time I laid eyes on that gigantic billboard of it along EDSA-Greenhills. But I had to pass since I had promised to see it with my own "date" (aka my sister) this weekend. It would be our first movie in months.
After class, some of the "single people" across the aisle where I was seated (Jo, Bryan, Lora and Marge) decided to go out. I decided to pass again since I had been feeling heavy-headed all day. My weekend had been both physically and emotionally draining so I just wanted to get some sleep. On my way out of the school building, I fished out my phone and made a call.
The voice on the other end of the line sounded even more tired than I was.
"Valentine's Day is different this year. At this time last year, we were doing a movie marathon, just like we always do."
Her words stung like a wasp. This year was indeed going to be the start of something totally different.
At 4:00 PM of perhaps the next most anticipated day after Christmas, instead of cringing over the cheesiest chick flicks available on the planet, I was standing in the back of the school building, clad in my favorite blue shirt in an attempt to look cheery while talking to one of my best friends who was on her way home after burying her mother earlier in the day.
Tita Celine, as I fondly called her, died last Friday at around noontime, two weeks after suffering from a stroke. I was in my third floor classroom, reviewing for my last class that day. I checked my phone to see that Banana had texted me, asking if she could call. My teacher was unusually late but I did not want to take the call since she might come bursting in at any minute, spot me with a phone on hand and call my attention. I asked her to call me at around 4 PM, when I am sure my class would end. She did just that and I was alarmed to find out that her mother had a stroke. I could not believe it. A few days before, Tita Celine and I were texting each other like we always do. Ever since I entered law school, she would frequently send me messages of encouragement which always seemed to come at the time when I was feeling worn out and tired. Once, one message really hit home, I had to text back, "Thank you, Tita. I really needed that." Then she replied, "Alam ko, kayang-kaya mo yan."
Em and I went to the hospital the next day and we made our way to the Acute Stroke Unit. The first person I saw inside the room was Banana's younger brother, Pau. I tentatively approached the room and saw Tita Celine. She was intubated and her eyes were closed. A monitor was attached to her and I found myself screaming inside my head "This cannot be happening." The last time I saw her, she was doing great. Her gentle voice rang inside my head and her trademark sweet way of saying my name. Moments later, Banana arrived with her boyfriend Marvin. Banana brought me beside her bed and I swear, I was shaking. She tried to coax her mom to wake up, to let her know I was there but Tita Celine slept on. I took Tita Celine's hand in mine. It was swollen slightly but warm. I wondered if she could feel my hand in hers. Banana and I then closed our eyes and I began to pray. In the middle of the prayer, I began to cry.
It was Banana's turn for her "Father Estrada" moment.
The "Father Estrada" moment began in our sophomore year in college. Banana and I could not come up with a better name that is why it is called such. It started on that day I was told that my mom had to undero a hysterectomy in order to remove a myoma that had grown on her uterus. The procedure was risky, given the fact that the last time my mom was opened up, the doctors said that she had severe adhesions. On the day I found out about the decision to open her up, I was harrassed both by schoolwork and my friends who thought I was just being moody. I retreated to the school chapel where Banana went with me. Choking up with tears, I told her what was wrong, including my fear of losing my mother. She bowed her head and prayed for me and when she was done, we both looked up to see that Father Estrada, our freshman theology teacher, had passed us by and was eyeing us both rather curiously. He eventually walked away and just to lighten up the moment, I told her "He's probably wondering who broke up with who."
I saw Tita Celine for the last time a week ago, February 3, Saturday. The week had been literally sleepless because of my Crim midterms. I was nursing the beginnings of a really bad cough which I acquired from trying to catch a few winks in a car the night before, at around the time the "cold wave" hit the country. I had a 3 PM flight to catch because I was going home for the weekend for a double whammy thing - my grandmother's 77th birthday and the inauguration of the new building of the church I attend back home. But I just felt I had to see her before I left, just to see how she was doing. Besides, Banana's father Tito Max was also admitted in the same hospital because of fluctuating BP. I walked into the ACSU just a few minutes before visiting hours would end and I was livened up by what I saw. I did not enter the room but through the open door, I could see that Tita Celine was awake although her eyes were out of focus. She was more conscious now and she was no longer intubated. She looked so pretty and brave lying on her bed I could not stop smiling. It was like being calm in the midst of a storm. I whispered a "Thank you, Jesus" to myself, hope renewed that she would make it through.
Things would get better on Sunday. I got a text from an uber-excited Banana at around 6 PM. Her text read: "Niyakap ako ni Mommy (Mommy hugged me)!" I was so happy for her I could not wait to fly back to Manila and see for myself how much Tita Celine had improved.
Exactly two weeks after Anna informed me that her mom had suffered a stroke came that fateful call. I had two unopened voice messages from Banana so I called her back immediately. The voice on the other end of the line was barely perceptible and all I could hear were her sobs. All she managed to whisper was "Wala na si mommy (Mommy is gone)."
During Tita Celine' interment, I made up my mind not to look at her as she lay on her coffin. Banana prodded me to do so, teasing me that she would get mad if I did not look at the dress she bought for Tita Celine to wear. I told her I couldn't do that, that I had to preserve that last image of her mom in my mind. All of Tita Celine's text messages are still in my phone, in its own special folder that I made before her stroke. During the time she was hospitalized, I unconsciously found myself waiting for her texts and it did not help that Banana would sometimes use her mother's phone to contact me. I was hopeful and anticipating the day I would finally receive a message from her saying something like "Hi, I'm back."
Tita Celine's phone which Anna now uses.
I do not know why Banana and her family chose February 14, the day of hearts, to lay Tita Celine to rest and if they did so on purpose. Thinking about it brought to mind the inscription on the epitaph of Rianne, Em's niece whose life was taken away by leukemia at age 7. This made the choice of February 14 more significant and beautiful. The inscription says "Death does not put an end to love."
On the day of hearts, Tito Max, Banana and Pau made that message loud and clear.
Love transcends death, love is eternal, love remains even when our mortal bodies are no more.
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