Flannel Sheep on a Sickbed

The last time I remember being IMMOBILIZED by fever was a good eight years ago. I still got sick after that (naturally!) but I still felt well enough to walk around. I was with my high school classmates attending a science fair held in a high school located in a town outside the city. By lunchtime, I was feeling rather whoozy. I told my Sue and Doi I was going to hail the first jeep home but my EnSci teacher didn't think I'd survive the 40-minute ride, judging from the way I looked. He looked for a cab which brought me home. One look at the insides of my mouth revealed the cause of the fever - German measles at the ripe old age of 16.

My more recent date with a temporarily debilitating fever was Monday last week. With the thermometer hitting 38 degrees, I was coughing incessantly as if I swallowed a handful of thorny barbs and my nose dripped endlessly like a wet sponge receiving a steady supply of water. I still managed to crawl into my morning classes with my thick jacket zipped up to my neck. By lunchtime, my head was throbbing as if a marching band lived inside my head and decided to have a concert. I could barely walk so after a visit to the infirmary, I went home, put on my worn out yellow flannel pajamas with the numerous nameless sheep, buried myself in three layers of blankets and drifted off in what would be my best and longest sleep since school started. The fever wore off after a couple of days but the cough still punctuates the stillness of my study nights and my stuffy nose still somewhat makes the "n's" and "d's" difficult to distinguish. That means no cold drinks and sweets until I'm back to normal...oh the agony!

To be really honest about it, though, I welcomed getting sick to some degree. I did not really have much of a summer break to relax and when I started school, there were still knots in my muscles which had yet to come undone. Add that with a much uglier schedule this semester compared to last year (which sees me in class until late Saturday afternoons) and I sometimes forget breathing as a mechanism has a voluntary aspect. I juggle all that with training with a church singing group and attending and sometimes leading a small group along with being a daughter, granddaughter and an older sister...the list just seems endless. A couple of mornings before I got sick, I woke up feeling not just tired but deep-down exhausted, the kind that seeped past my bones into my soul. That brought to mind a documentary I saw a couple of months ago in Discovery Channel about a group of people who pull boats upstream in China's great Yangtze River for a living. There was so much tension evident in the images - from the ropes bound to the boats to the taut muscles of those who did the pulling. That's what I told Macor when she came to visit me, while chewing off yummy choco pie (Ooops! Didn't I just say 'no sweets?').

As I lay on my bed swathed in blankets and the sheep shivering in my flannel pajamas, I swirled a bottle of messages from Mayla, a gift from Mayla on my birthday a couple of weeks ago, popped the stopper and picked one. The small slip of silver paper contained two lines from Matthew 20:28 - "The Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give His life as a ransom for many." I immediately pulled out my copy of "My Utmost for His Highest" and turned to a reflection I had read sometime ago. Oswald Chambers wrote "The process of being made broken bread and poured-out wine means that you have to be the nourishment for other people's souls until they learn to feed on God. We owe it to ourselves to be the best for His lambs and sheep, as well as for Him (February 9)."

The thing was that I had not been getting my fill of God for the past couple of weeks. It was like drinking half the contents of a glass of water and sweating off a liter. I was runnning around headless and it was just a matter of time before I would crash into a wall - and I did. Sheila texted me, saying that I really needed my rest this time and there was no arguing with her, especially since she's older than me and I sometimes call her Mama. There was something more than just satisfying when you're working for Someone Else's glory and not your own in any aspect of your life and I get to know more about that Someone and His true nature as I get mud on my fingernails and sweat on my brow.

But then, nothing beats the stillness.

I slept in my Father's arms that night, shivering flannel sheep and all.

Inside My Summer Backpack: Cebu and the Time Machine

Prior to visiting Mactan, we decided to stay overnight in Cebu. For one thing, mom wanted us to check out the Ayala Mall Complex in Cebu, a far cry (I have to admit!) from our local SM City, the biggest mall in my part of the country. Aside from that, she wanted to give us a quick tour of Cebu, a city where she lived for roughly four years as a medical student.

We were billetted in a hotel along Ramos Street, another choice of my mom because "that's the same street where my medical school is." Sure enough, when we were on a cab en route to the hotel, we passed by a white building with horizontal blue accents here and there. "That's my school," my mom said. "So my dorm must be here somewhere."

The hotel was strategically located because it was right beside a coffee shop and about a minute away by foot from Robinsons Place. As we crossed the street to get to the mall, my mom stopped and said "This is my old dorm. For goodness sake, WHAT THEY HAVE DONE TO MY OLD DORM?" Sure enough, what loomed before me was a restaurant which obviously could have been a house in its previous lifetime.

Robinsons Place was located right at the corner of Ramos Street and Osmena Boulevard. My mom asked me if I would mind walking just a bit further because she wanted to check if her old boarding house where she and her best friend (and my namesake) lived was still standing. Their landlady, a gracious woman, eventually became her best friend's mother-in-law. She's one of those people you'll immediately warm up to and my first telephone conversation with her lasted half an hour. She now lives in Alabang and I only met her once in a hotel lobby. As she hugged me, she said "You don't look like your mother but you sure sound just like her."

So off I walked along Osmena Boulevard at 11 AM with my mother, thankful for my good anti-perspirant. We walked past two or three high-rise buildings under construction and a bunch of roadside carinderias. We first passed by a hospital which my mom said "could not have been there before." After about every block or two, she would say "just a little further" or "just up until McDonalds" until she finally said "I really think the house is gone." When we turned around to go back, she changed her mind and walked up to a sidewalk vendor. "Asa man ang YMCA?," she asked in Cebuano, knowing that the house was located near that complex. The vendor told us to a walk just about a block more. With hope renewed, we went our way until we got past YMCA and then saw a huge excavated lot right beside it. A sign stuck to a cyclone wire fence read "Sony." The house was really gone this time and my mom just wanted to cry.

My mom did bring us to Ayala Mall as she promised. The stores sold a lot of interesting items, like a feminine Swiss Knife which reveals a lot of girlie gadgets inside like a vanity mirror, tweezers, nail cutter and scissors. We didn't buy any clothes though. One thing about being a stickler for Divisoria is that you get turned off by prices of clothes in the mall. But my best (and only) buy though would be a nice pair of Italian wedges made of strappy brown leather. I am not a huge fan of wedges or heels for that matter but this pair was absolutely comfortable, rather stylish and made my feet look smaller! And the best part was the 70% discount off the price tag, making the shoes way cheaper than a pair of Mary Janes on the Celine outlet next door!

My mom was planning to bring us to the Chinese Temple ("because that's where I used to bring everybody who visited me when I lived here") and go for a drive around Beverly Hills, an exclusive subdivision on the hillside. I asked her how she planned get past tight security. She answered that she could remember a couple of names from her roster of classmates in med school who lived there. Now I wonder what makes her think they still lived there. But those plans did not push through anyway for lack of time.

With Cebu being the so-called cradle of Christianity in the Philippines, we did get to visit the Santo Nino Church compound which houses the famed image of the Santo Nino as well as the cross Magellan planted in Cebu in the 1500s. The church is huge and elaborately decorated, doubling as some sort of museum with paintings on the wall and statues of saints in every corner. The ceiling was also adorned with paintings like the Sistine Chapel. The intricate door carvings and antique benches were major scene-stealers. The devotees were all over the place in droves, lighting candles or praying fervently, while a bunch of twelve-year old sacristans were practicing their march to the altar.

Five pesos (the student discount rate) is good enough to visit the Santo Nino Museum. On display are all sorts Santo Nino images. I liked one portrayal of the Child Jesus as a streetchild. The image was carved out of wood and the image was dressed in rags and the hair was all messy. They also had the different vestments worn by the Santo Nino through the years encased in glass boxes so that the viewers could scrutinize every minute detail of each vestment. The embroidery was done in gold thread and the designs were fine and intricate.

One shelf towards the rear part of the museum housed a rather odd, if not, interesting, collection. It contained the toys given by people to the Santo Nino - and there were A LOT. I spotted, among others, a carwash playset, a Simba action figure, rows of Matchbox cars, toy trucks and yes, even a Voltes V.

A story tacked to one wall of the museum told about the ritual of bathing the Santo Nino. The origins of this ritual have yet to be established but it is an interesting story in itself. I am not sure exactly how often bathing the image occurs but according to the story, after the image has been bathed, the water used is not thrown away but distributed to people for use in curing ailments and diseases.

The cross of Magellan was sought after by tourists in a more historical sense than the Santo Nino. It seemed like people went there mostly for picture taking and when we got there, there were around thirty plus people crowding inside the small kiosk, snapping picture after picture. Outside, vendors walk around selling more Cebu keychains and guitars.

I wanted to get a shot of the cross from top to bottom (just like the camera shots in music videos of the Philippine National Anthem played in movie theaters) so I angled my camera from the bottom so that it seemed from the viewer's vantage point that he was looking up. A second after I took my first shot, the next two people in line ran up to the cross and did the exact same thing, crouching on the ground and angling their cameras for the "looking up" perspective! I was...well, pleasantly amused!

My 5 centavos worth of tips:
* It's good to have a Cebuano-speaking companion especially when riding a cab...or at the minimum, someone who understands Cebuano. If not, speaking in Tagalog would just have to do. That's why I hung on to my mom like a lizard the entire time.

* Check out a store called Bisaya Ispisal in Ayala Mall. They have great T-shirts with prints consisting of Bisaya expressions. My favorite was a black baby tee with "Maldita" on both the front and back. Too bad it didn't come in my size.

* I absolutely recommend having a meal in Cafe Laguna, a restaurant located in the ground level of Ayala Mall. It's right about the worst place to go when you're on a diet. The place looks fancy but they serve Filipino dishes with the "lutong-bahay" feel a.k.a. nothing fancy like animal-shaped vegetables, just really good food. We had dinner there and we had radish salad, chicken tinola and crispy pata. In a word: BURP.

* Along a major thoroughfare somewhere in Cebu, vendors sell grave markers ("lapida" in the local dialect). Interesting enough, these were some of the markers they had on display: Rico Yan, Dorothy Jones, Fernando Poe Jr. and, of course, Dr. Jose Rizal.

Inside My Summer Backpack: Panglao's Chariots of Blue

All it took was one text from Sue to get me hyped up. She had gone with her cousins to Panglao last April, about a week before she started with her summer hospital duty as an incoming senior in med school. When she got back, she told me I should try going there to see the place for myself. "It's like Boracay with less people and less noise," she said.

So with her recommendations on hand, my family and I took a ferry from our homeport to Cebu and then jumped on the next available fast craft bound for Tagbilaran City.

Upon arrival in Bohol, we were awestruck by the cleanliness of their seaport. I mean, you could jump right into the water and swim. The water was emerald in the sunlight and there was no smell of grease, gasoline or anything rotting anywhere - a stark contrast to our seaport back home which was always guaranteed to get the soles of my shoes all black from grease. The water was clean enough for us to actually SEE fish swimming around in schools!

We were fetched by a resort car which took us to Panglao, an island about 22 kilometers (about 30 minutes) away and connected to Tagbilaran City by a bridge. I had booked the four of us in a resort located in Alona Beach, one of the more popular and more developed beaches in Panglao Island. For some reason, my sister was feeling awfully lethargic (blame it on Bonamine, maybe) so after a late lunch, my dad and my sister had a nap. Now my mom and I were fuming. We were on vacation, in a beautiful beach, in an island where there were hardly any people and the only thing they could think of was sleeping! So my mom and I went out for a walk by ourselves to see for ourselves what we could do here.

To put it lightly, Panglao is one of those places blessed with a beautiful duet of white and blue.

Alona Beach can rightfully boast of the fine, white sand which has made Boracay famous but the stretch, although generous, is not as seemingly endless as the latter. The water is also as crystal clear as Boracay's waters and is perfect for a dip during high tide. Three hours of getting prune-y from 9 AM to 12 noon was not enough for mermaid me.

But that's about as similar as Boracay and Panglao can get. Boracay, in TV terms, would be like MTV's Spring Break meets Next Top Model with the beach getting transformed into sandy runways and fun party places. Panglao, on the other hand, would have to be National Geographic meets Discovery Channel. It is the perfect place to sink yourself in cool clear water and make sand angels without smelling anything other than the salty mist or hearing anything else aside from the soft rustling of coconut leaves and the fluttering of crows' wings. In other words, Panglao is one of the best places to experience nature's perfect kiss.

Unlike Boracay where swimming does not have to be tied to a particular schedule of the tides, the same cannot be said about Panglao. During low tide (around 4 PM onwards during our stay), the water is a clear aquamarine up to only about five meters from the shore. Swimming during low tide is not recommended if you're over three feet in height because you'd end up waddling like a duck just to get the water up to your chest. Beyond that, the water shifts to a darker shade of (still clear) blue. The shift in the color of the water from light to dark is attributed to the lush underwater vegetation: a wide expanse of sea grass on the seafloor which extends into the open sea, giving the impression of an underwater rainforest to the quiet observer. My dad was curious and wanted to know if planting a bare foot on that area would give the same feeling as walking in a grassy meadow minus shoes and socks. Before we could warn him that it was not the best of ideas, he had jumped out of the water with a yelp, shouting "Something bit me!"

Having unseen things snapping at your toes would be a bane to the beach babe but it becomes a great underwater adventure to an avid snorkeller. I stood on the fringes of that "underwater forest" and silently observed what I saw on the seabed. From my vantage point, I saw two starfish, a sea urchin and something crustacean-like scurrying about the blades of the sea grasss I immediately got excited. I am not exactly an expert snorkeller and I had not snorkelled in years but what I saw was enough to have me bubbling. I then fizzled into disbelief when I realized I did not bring my old snorkel with me. Hopeful that my mom might have brought her mask, I overhauled all our bags in our room but could find nothing. I swore to myself that the next chance I get to go back to Panglao, the first thing I'll FIFO would be the snorkelling gear. The better snorkelling site would be off the coast of the neighboring island of Balicasag which we skipped because I did not like the idea of renting snorkelling gear.

Perhaps one of the highlights of our trip was dolphin watching. Sue told me about her adventure, perhaps out of some sincere desire to drive me to fits of jealousy, knowing very well how obsessed I was with these beautiful sea creatures. We met someone who offered us a good rate and told us we were to start at 5:30 in the morning. My parents were not all too keen with the idea, saying that we had seen dolphins a couple of times already. But I insisted that we should do that because it was one of the highlights of a trip to Panglao.

It is never too easy to haul your butt off bed at 5 AM when you're used to waking up at 7 AM and the blanket seems wonderfully soft all of a sudden. But I made up my mind to wake up and to do the same with all of my room mates. As my dad was putting on his shirt, he was whining about losing the extra hours of sleep. Uh-oh. If this did not turn out as good as I wanted it to be, I might get blamed for everybody's eyebags all day.

We were met on the beach by Ladio, the boatman and spotter. He had a rather soft voice and had some scars on his face, it made me wonder how he got those. We then boarded his boat, a motorized banca with outriggers called Golden Seal. True enough, there was a painting of a golden seal on the hull of the boat. When we were all settled, Ladio sailed out to the open sea, heading South. The sun was rising on the east, giving the sky a pinkish-orange tinge. The water was calm with little ripples here and there. From afar, we could see silvery-white patches stretched across the entire length of the water. We asked Ladio what that was. He tried to explain to us that it was that area of the water that the waves could not reach. True enough, when we got to that area, the water was still and glassy. Except for the path our boat had traced, the surface remained unmoving like dark gelatin wobbling from side to side. There was stillness in the midst of the turmoil of the sea, an area which even the waves could not touch. This area is what my mother thinks is called "linaw" in our local dialect.

After about fifteen minutes of seeing nothing except water and when the magic of seeing "linaw" had faded, my mother whispered to me "Seems like we're going nowhere." I couldn't be of help since I did not know exactly where we were headed. Another five minutes passed then ten and still all we saw was water. At least Noah was better off, what with all the animals on board to keep him busy. About thirty minutes after we left shore, when we were verging on boredom and slight panic, the four of us spontaneously erupted into some form of euphoria when we saw something dark partially bob out of the water like a cork and then disappear all of a sudden. Was that it? A couple of minutes or so later, we spotted another white boat looming in the horizon. It just floated there in the middle of the wide expanse of dark water and something else.

I don't know when I first saw them but at some point, dolphin fins all of a sudden graced our presence. There were fins all over the place, behind us, about ten meters from either side of our boat, about a couple of meters ahead of us. The fins seemed to spin around like wheels, emerging from the water and sinking again one after another. We were practically surrounded by pods of dolphins! A bunch of what I suppose were the pluckier dolphins would jump out of the water and then disappear again. We spotted two which swam around with their backs in the water, bellies up and exposed. A little while later, some moved just a bit closer to us, about three or four meters away, close enough to do some for us to do some scrutiny. My sister later stood up and pointed to a splash by the water. I approached her position and spotted a dolphin swimming alongside our boat! Soon another one swan beside the first dolphin, as if they were pulling our boat using an invisible rope. After about less than a minute, the dolphins Lol-lo and Saraw (43 Phil. 21) disappeared into the water's depths.

Our nights in Panglao saw us having dinner right on the beach while an acoustic trio sang to familiar songs from Bread, Eric Clapton and the BeeGees. The enterprising lead singer kept on changing the lyrics of Tears in Heaven. In the first chorus, he sang "Would you call my name, if I saw you in Germany?" He then went on to use every country from which every Caucasian tourist sitting in that restaurant hailed from. After a walk, we were all in bed by 10 PM, a far cry from our Boracay bedtime.

Panglao also has a good array of dive shops and stores which sell everything from the essentials (shampoo and sunblock) to gifts (Bohol T-shirts and stuffed tarsier teddies) and pasalubong (Peanut Kisses, of course). I bought a stuffed tarsier and immediately named him Rome. You'd wanna know why!

All in all, I desperately want to go back to Panglao not just to soak in some more sun. Because my parents wanted to enjoy the beach more, we did not go on the Bohol countryside tour which brings tourists to Bohol's heritage spots, a cruise along Loboc River with a hearty lunch which also allows them to see actual tarsiers and caps off with a visit to Chocolate Hills. Besides, I told my mom I wanted to swim with the dolphins next time, although she does not buy the idea ("God knows they might take little bites off you.") But like I said, my snorkelling gear will prominently stick out of my bag next time.

My 5 centavos worth of tips:
* It's good to make a reservation in a resort before heading off to Panglao, especially during the peak season. Most of the resorts I called were willing to accept room reservations without need for deposit. Beachfront resorts cost a little bit more than those which are located a bit more inland. If you'd rather scour around the beach for a good place to stay, just make sure you arrange for transportation into Panglao beforehand by calling up a car company. I'm not sure how much hiring taxis on-the-spot would cost. Jeepneys are scarce in Bohol...or are they non-existent?

* For those interested in dolphin watching, heading out early (like 5:30 AM) would more than make up for the lost extra half hour of pillow burial. It's better to watch the dolphins swim around you when you're the only boat floating in the middle of (sea)nowhere. More boats means more people hooting and cheering at these beautiful sea mammals and you'd soon end up chasing the dolphins around like Indiana Jones.

* Boatmen can offer a cheaper rate if you do both dolphin watching and snorkelling in Balicasag Island. For instance, an extra P500 for dolphin watching would also guarantee you a visit to Balicasag. Snorkel gear for rent would cost around P150 to P200.

* Resorts offer tour packages and the like but locals hanging around the beach can sometimes give you the same offer more or less at a cheaper price.

* Great lunch is served in Lost Horizon for those who are not calorie conscious or do not nurse cholesterol problems. They serve delicious, super-tender baby backribs and yummy sisig. They also have reasonably priced airconditioned rooms!

* If you're passing by Cebu on your way home (like us) and you're planning to horde Peanut Kisses, it's advisable to buy the Boholano cookies there. Peanut Kisses in Panglao cost between P38 to P40 for the medium-sized box and P15 for the small pack. I found out too late in a Cebu grocery store that I could get them cheaper at only P28 for the medium-sized box and P7.50 for the small pack.

Helpful links out of my backpack:
* Alona Kew Resort
* Bohol Tourism

Inside My Summer Backpack: Blown-Out Fuse and Sunburn

All it took was the inferno of May 14 to completely torch me and the last remnants of my sanity to bits. Rewind to that day and I remember being released from school for only a couple of weeks and I really did feel like zombie. I was up by 7 (but slept at around 2 AM the night before thanks to someone I know who got home waaaaay past bedtime) and did not get to sleep until 4 AM the next day.

So I went bawling to my mother and cried "I really need my vacation now."

Apparently she desperately needed one too.

So right then and there, my mom, dad, sister and I decided we were going to take a week off and just scuttle out of our city like refugees into some place where we could undo the knots in our muscles and the lines on our foreheads. Naturally, it was almost a unanimous yet unspoken decision that we would most likely end up in Boracay because of ease in accessibility, familiarity with the place and our pent-up desire to finally regain an old tan (for me) or get a new sunburn (for my sister).

But then, my mom and I had been planning to go on a backpacking trip somewhere South - like Cebu, Dumaguete or even Bohol. We weren't going to live exactly like backpackers but we had decided that we should bring nothing more than a backpack and "live out of it" for about a week or so. And the idea of going South was even more enticing because, even if I love Boracay a little bit too much, it would be nice to see a new place once in a while.

So into my backpack went, among others, two swimsuits, a black scrunchie, a huge bottle of SPF45 sunblock lotion, baseball cap, sarong, a batik halter sundress, my trusty phone with its high-res camera and 1 GB of storage up for filling and my mother who could still speak flawless Cebuano after more than thirty years. No, wait, the latter part of that enumeration does not sound nice.

But I had to cry because I realized I forgot my even trustier digital camera and video camera in my apartment closet back in Manila. Major bummer but the trip must push through.

Children's Hour

"I will never forget your favorite song," Manang Maya said to me as she held her fidgety younger daughter Aimee. "Your song was I'm a Little Teapot and when the whooshing part came, you really whooshed."
Good thing there was nothing tangible available to her to prove that point on one hand and embarrass me on the other. However, when my nieces Aidagere, Bea, Pau-pau and nephew Jepoy all grow up to be in their 20s someday, I will have tons of moving and noisy stuff to make their faces all scarlet like Christmas ribbons.
Last week was the culmination of the summer workshop classes they had been attending in one of the best new schools in the city. Aidagere was enrolled in a science discovery class whereas Bea took up a module on reading. Pau and Jepoy, who are of the same age, were in a kindergarten class which had them singing in Chinese.
Pau-pau and Jepoy took the stage in the culminating activity of the workshop held in the activity center of perhaps our biggest mall here. Pau-pau and Jepoy were singing with their own respective classmates and as early as three weeks before the program, the two of them would regale us with one Chinese song after another, singing as loud as their vocal chords would permit.
Pau-pau took the stage first with her classmates. She wore gloves and a paper crown over her head. The minute the music began she began to sing as loud as she could but as the song went on, her mouth began to move less and she began to find the stage floor more interesting than the faces of the people in the audience. A little while later, she just stopped singing all together. All of us simultaneously started cheering her on by mouthing "Pau" and "sing" in all sorts of combinations and expressions but she continued to fixate her eyes on the floor. Uh-oh. My niece just had her first dose of stage fright.
Jepoy's class took centerstage after Pau-pau had walked off the stage. Jepoy was one of the smallest boys in the group so he stood on the rightmost end. He was the first to enter and immediately stuck his tongue out at all of us. He sure is one brave boy...well, either he's very brave or simply "walang hiya (roughly translated to gutsy)." They went on to sing two nursery rhymes and one Chinese song and he jumped around and wiggled his little hips like a pro! He was just the cutest four-year old boy on that stage. And he did all this with a fever raging about him!
I got both of their antics on video so when Jepoy becomes a big boy and Pau-pau a big girl someday, I'll sure do a good demo for them to jolt their memory cells a bit and say "You know when you were four years old, you used to sing just like this..." I mean, that's what it's all about anyway: revenge.
Okay, I'm kidding, I'm kidding.

(L-R) Aimee, Jepoy, me, Aidagere, my sister, Bea. Pau-pau was off playing with a classmate.