summer peak musings

Uneventful week except for the presidential election and my continuing online search for my end-of-the-year vacation destination. My sister is flying to NY this May and in October. Lucky rich she. But what I’m actually eyeing and excited about is Iceland. Yet she keeps discouraging me, for it’s way located at the end of the globe. Not to mention way chilly (we reckon). She encourages my second choice which is Eastern Europe and expressed willingness to go with me. Although looking at google images of EE’s tourist attractions, they can’t compete with the excitement of possible Aurora Borealis sightings and splendid views of glacier mountains, waterfalls, geyser springs, and other beautiful Icelandic sites. Hard choice it is.

While reviewing my previous posts from years back in the process of transferring a few to a new site, I keep shuddering in shame at all those darned amateurish soppy entries I had audaciously published. To think that I had befriended some of the best minds and most talented bloggers in my more than five years of residency in this realm. No wonder they mysteriously dropped off the face of blogearth. My writings must have distressingly driven them all far far away to another galaxy.

The current atrocious heat of summer has been intolerable. The other day I decided to have Coke to leisurely gulp down with my lunch so I grabbed an 8-ounce empty bottle and went down to proceed to a merchandise store. I’d been swinging my arms during my stroll when the mini-sized bottle somehow slipped from my grasp and away it flew at the back — a tiny sound of glass crashing followed. I turned around and walked toward the spot of disaster where glass pieces were scattered on the ground — scratching my head, a mix of unbelief and confusion on what to do next stunned me for a few seconds. Then my eyes caught sight of a street scavenger couple, a man and a woman taking a rest by the sidewalk, who’d been watching me. Surprisingly, the man was giggling.

My thought: “What’s so funny, sir? Can’t you see I’m in pain here? How can I buy my Coke without my bottle now? I’ve exactly only 9pesos on hand and my residence is on the 5th floor of that building over there. Though if you have 3pesos to spare for the required bottle deposit, I’ll forget you ever laughed at me. Everything will be forgiven.” The man was still giggling.

I began taking steps to head back to my apartment. Yup, I ate my lunch minus any delicious beverage to chug.

(This is another entry I’ll wince at years from today. See, why do I sometimes fancy I can be entertaining.)

my photocokeIce baby + Coke – Win win!

Indifference versus Devotion to Politics

Who are you going to vote this May?” they ask me. “I’m not” is my curt answer. “Oops, we forgot. Geena is voting for POTUS!” Ha ha you faddy hoots. Now leave me alone.

The problem is I didn’t register. I was extremely busy months ago and wouldn’t want to waste a particular Saturday waiting in line for hours to be able to renew my privilege in selecting the next leaders who won’t be able to save our country anyway. The nation has for numerous generations been in deep shit and there’s scarcely light at the end of the tunnel especially for the grass roots. No, it’s not all the government’s fault; the people are to blame, too. Filipinos have been marked by certain character flaws which work to our very detriment: inside our territory we basically do not like being disciplined. Plus we can be too stubborn and dramatic.

In addition, the complications of lack of education or enlightenment have led to our unmanageable population growth and, for the lord of Batman, I don’t get why we go on electing and reelecting bird-brained movie/TV stars, useless over-the-hill politicians and keep building and supporting their political dynasties. Corruption rules to boot. Yes, we’re that lost and beyond hope.

Although if I had my pick, I’d want the tough willful Duterte guy to become the next president; The Philippines desperately needs an ultimate strong-arm chief executive right now.

In the other half of the globe, the recent update on Trump being ganged up (again) by Ted the puppet and Kasich the ick bugs me. And still, after all this time, I’m perplexed by the posture of many who go like “Oh I belong to the class of the intellectual elites, therefore, I must be anti-Trump.” The hypocrisy.

No matter what they say, I adore the man and am loyal to him. It pains me knowing they’re never allowing my favorite candidate that seat in the White House. I’ve no doubt he’s sincere in his mission to make America great again. If you’re a member of the “Never Trump” movement, we’d better not talk about it. I’ve already discussed enough my stand during my countless defense of the frontrunner on several sites. My ties with a long-time co-blogger and a new one had already been severed for that reason. If I had to make a choice, you know the billionaire would always win hands down.

I voice these things over here; it’s my blog. Comprende? 🙂

 

She Should Have Slept Around

My elder sister and I with the whole family are having lunch in a restaurant. She’s narrating her recent trip to Germany where she underwent stem cell treatment — something she goes through every year (partly as an aftermath of her choco addiction) with my brother-in-law, her husband. While the conversation progresses, he stands up and goes out to take a phone call. My sister turns to me.

She (with eagerness): My German doctor. He’s cute and I think he likes me.

Me: He is? He does?

She: He’s been sweet and extremely attentive to me. And I believe I’m the only female patient he kissed on both cheeks when we said our goodbyes.

Me: Ooh… (nodding). Inner Me: Of course he’s that nice. You’re a customer! No, I can’t say that to her; I won’t dare refute the giddiest hunch of someone who allows me to live in one of their apartments nearly rent-free.

Me: Aren’t you happily married? I teasingly remind her. Because she unmistakably is.

She: Yes, very much, but I watched the movie “Same Time Next Year.” Interesting to be in that two-timing couple’s situation, I imagine. My sister’s smiling.

My eyes secretly widen in bewilderment; I need a drink quick as I search for any server passing by. “Uh, Waiter, a can of Coke Zero please!”

Is he single?” I proceed to ask her.

She: Well, no. But blah blah blah…

Inner Me: Excuse me, sis. If he’s married, there’s no but. There can never be a but. (Sorry, though, to confess I previously broke that rule twice in my life. Don’t worry, Karma already made sure I paid the heaviest price.) I go on listening to my sis and keep nodding dumbly while she rattles on how maybe her doctor is gonna welcome some sort of fling with her regardless of both their connubial status.

She: The part where he injected (the goat, I mean sheep cells) bulged a bit so that became an excuse for me to email him. I had to ask about the swell…

Me: What did he say?

She: Well, he didn’t reply at first. So I had to email him again. He responded then. I think he’s just being cool and cautious because Joey (my sister’s husband) is his patient, too. But I can sense my doctor does like me as much as I like him.

Now I’m resisting the urge to dip my fingers in my glass of cold H20 and sprinkle some on her face.

Dear dear sister of mine, you’re telling me he has seen your 50-year-old butt (the needle went there, btw) and now he helplessly finds himself having a crush on you. Listen, a good-looking well-moneyed medical practitioner like that will get carnal only with the best-looking female  WHO’S HALF HIS AGE. Get real!” Again, no, I couldn’t tell her that. She’s paying for the whole meal.

My sister, in sudden mild reflection, continues: In our earlier years, Joey fooled around. Those were very stressful periods for me. Maybe he doesn’t anymore but I’m not quite certain. Now I realize I should have “hanged around” with other guys in the past.

I understand. I look at my sister keenly and start pondering as well. This is what happens when a woman has bedded only one man her entire life. I’ve gathered she’s just had the same discussion with our mother; how she feels sorry for herself for lacking “substantial experience” with men. I remember when she and I were in our earliest teens, our parents would lecture us till midnight not only about prioritizing our studies but more on the value of preserving our “innocence.” Our mother went so far as to insist our first boyfriend should end up as our husband, too, and should be the only male we’ll ever sleep with. Sister took it to heart (She and our mom have always been soulmates). Me? Inside I was like “Yuck!” The rebel in me at the time had already been emerging so my stance was “One dude in a whole lifespan? Not on your life.”

Anyway, my zany brother who’s been partially listening to our sisterly chat strongly butts in: Ho ho, jumping to conclusions! Too much chocolate again in your system, sister. The three of us laugh. My brother-in-law walks back to our table.

What is the moral of this blog piece? Sister should have slept around and all women should do so during their unwedded era. Unequivocally. And it matters little whether the men were fucking dickheads or not.

Wait, did I just say that? Give me two weeks of good night sleep to take it back.

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++my brother, bro-in-law, sister and me in that most recent outing++

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Yep, another old favorite love song (ad nauseum, I know) from way way back. This Dionne W’s deeper gentle version I surprisingly unearthed on YT as it was rarely played on the radio.

 

A Woman After Her Own Heart

A day for tinted roses, soft words, thoughtful prose, and tender songs. Most of them I still find either lovely or silly cute.

From across a window with glows of tiny moonbeams infusing my home, an air of sweetness has honored one faint white line.

I fancy the language of gentleness within my own heart — that my blog has, in sooth, become a true love of mine.

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Most Favorite Love Song When I Was A Young Girl

An apathetic fraction of me asserts romance novels and songs like this must be held accountable for womenkind’s desolation from then till now. But it’s Valentine’s day and, as always, this memoir must hold true to my every remembrance.

I recall quite a sunshine across a vibrant sky whenever I hear this song. Oh so so young I was – around eleven years of age – and dreamy… singing while unbelievably convinced by forevers and of undying love. 🙂

– geena, feb2016

 

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a beautiful lake in Jungfrau, Switzerland; photo taken by me in 2014

So the weary traveler, tired of passing through,

Stops to get his bearings, and stays on to wait for you,

When the moon disappears forever

and the sun shines electric blue

And the mountains and trees tumble into the sea

to rest there for eternity

No matter what you do, I will still love you.

 

I am a bundle of…what?

There exists an unforgettable dear blogging buddy from my past. Why unforgettable, you might ask? He had gone reading and commenting over many of my oldest posts and subsequently dropped this bomb of an observation, in a friendly manner…maybe: 

geena, you’re a bundle of contradictions.”

Hmm.

My preliminary internal reaction was like “oh okay.” But after a day or two of deep cogitation, it was: “wait, I am a … whaaat?”

Listen, bundle sounds like bungle. So how can this turn good.

It was the first time somebody made such an assessment of me – considering my more than 40 long years of existence on our planet. He’s introspective and a blogging icon so his every input had been meaningful for me. I wanted to knock-knock on his blog and politely question him as to what he meant exactly by his remark. Of course I chickened out because he’d be then quite convinced how lacking I am in comprehension. I couldn’t risk losing the camaraderie.

I tried googling it. Not much luck. The precise meaning of “a bundle of contradictions” and its aptness to my essence as a living entity remains nebulous. Diaphonous. Amorphous.

It’s been three years. The ex-buddy had since dropped off from the face of blogearth when he found a job and got busier. Yet I’m still wondering and scratching my head as to how many or which of my posts led him to believe I’m a “wad of mismatch and variance” (Darn, I really should stop using this lousy thesaurus of mine).

To be continued……. (don’t ask me when)

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We’re Happy People They Say

I was buying food at 7-11 the other night when I glanced down on a newspaper carrying an article about a recent international survey that says Filipinos rank fifth as being the happiest people on this planet. The findings made me smile — hardly surprising me at all.

Why? Here are the facts:

For us, having no money is not much of a problem. Really. As long as loved ones are around, we feel A-okay. Most of the time, mere togetherness is enough. Starving together can even be a deep, bonding experience.

You must already be aware of our supreme fondness for parties or small gatherings, and of our intense romance with the videoke. Horrific belting out for several barangays to hear could turn into volatile situations once in a while. In the spirit of fun, however, off-key singing is generally acceptable.

In spite of our country’s economic afflictions, each year there seems to be a mall sprouting, like a mushroom, at some corner of a city; Something which fosters more groupings and better camaraderie. Not to mention we probably manufacture the greatest number of cheap, most delicious assorted chips and crackers in the whole world. Oh, that last one doesn’t count, does it?

We might boast of a low suicide rate, too. The motive for taking one’s life could just be a ramification of a liaison turned dreadfully sour – which manifests of our over-the-top passionate nature as well.

Pensive, quiet gals like me are looked upon as different, or odd. Yeah yeah you’re right, I am weird. You’d feel out of place and sometimes be ridiculed (as I have been all my life) if you aren’t the boisterous, big talker type. At faculty meetings – with all of us female teachers clustered in a room – the propensity of my colleagues to endlessly babble all at the same time never ceases to amaze me. I often imagine myself grabbing something, anything around me that I could stuff into one or two of my co-teacher’s mouth, just to lessen the din.

Everyone dances here regardless of religious affiliation, political persuasion, or the contents of their refrigerator. A shrinking violet that I am, I have thought of all the number of hours I reluctantly spent practising with my siblings to prepare for our performance at every relative’s party in my pre-teen and early teenage years. Hours that could have been spent reading English classics and mastering the art of penning mushy-mushy yet wonderful tales. I swear I could have ended up giving Jane Austen a run for her money. But then, it’s also a blessing my parents instilled in their children love of dancing; even though they’ve got this one daughter who’s been marked for bashfulness all her life.

Well, it’s gratifying to broadcast now that I can finally dance sans any morsel of shyness. In front of an audience. I mean in front of my favorite and sole audience. My cat.

Indeed, we’re a bunch of happy happy people.

***********

In view of my penchant for strong dance beat, choreographed dancing, and fun videos, I include an old favorite of mine from 1989: Dino singing and bopping to his hit “I Like It”: one of those trip the light fantastic tunes that make me get up and dance to this day.

One Proud Mom, Although…

It’s of utmost pleasure on my part to reveal here my son placed 2nd overall in the recent Board Exam for Electronics and Communications Engineers. People around have congratulated me. They said I must have done something right as his only parent. That made me smile.

His success in the national exam was actually the outcome of several months of his commitment to diligent studying. In addition, he has always felt passionate about his field. His father was into the technical profession, too, by the way. Like father, like son.

Before starting his college studies I had expressed my wish that he took up Music instead. My son is also a talented pianist and guitarist. I made sure he had the proper lessons with those two musical instruments in his childhood and teenage years. Isn’t it that Science and Maths are the tools for living, but Music and the rest of the Arts are the reasons for living? He was adamant, though, in his selection in preparing himself to become a full-fledged engineer someday. I backed down.

Six years later, here we are. I am beaming with pride. I’m happy with the results, too, of course. My son seems to have made the correct choice.

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from left: me, my son, my sis, my nephew

But I am here not just to tell you how proud I am of my son. It isn’t my style sugarcoating my reality. A spirit in pain is also hiding behind my smiles in our photos. For he and I are currently undergoing a difficult period in our lives. I am hoping it’s gonna be an evanescent phase for both of us.

There’s a downside to having a child who’s endowed with way academic strength than his or her progenitor. Suddenly, nothing I say seems to matter anymore. Suddenly,
there’s nothing left for me to do but take a backseat. It’s as if any contribution or
suggestion from my side is necessary no more. Oh yes – I must keep on reminding myself – he already turned 22 this April.

Yet I ruminate on the following parental guidelines that have echoed in my mind for so Image (2)long: Do your best for your child. Show him unconditional love. Make sure that he knows how much he matters to you, etc. I did my damnedest to follow them all. Now I realized all those loads of advice…are actually crap. Nothing in life is guaranteed. No relationship maxim, even between mother and child, from any sphere on this planet is a sure thing.

You might think I must have done something not right that brought about this predicament. Alright, I do own up to not being the perfect parent and to having committed some mistakes along the way. But God knows how hard I tried. How hard I really tried. And only God knows how much I love my only child; The love which made me swear to all the angels in heaven two decades ago I’d be a much better parent to my son in raising him than my own parents combined in rearing me. I subsequently thought I was succeeding through all the years that my son was growing up. He appeared to be turning out finer and finer each passing day – which made me cling to the credence that the bond cementing us together would be stronger than steel.

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Nowadays, however, I keep on questioning my prior performance as a mother and asking myself what went wrong.

Or perhaps, I deserve this because I hadn’t exactly been an ideal daughter to my parents either. On the whole – and I say this in supreme truthfulness – my son is a thousand times better individual and human being compared to me.

Still, how poignant it is to discern I have failed in everything. Motherhood, I had promised myself, would be my redemption. The one thing, I thought, I might do well in life. How could I have been so mistaken.

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After the oathtaking ceremony, my family members and I went to a restaurant for a quiet celebration. During dinner, while my son was occupied shooting the breeze with his cousins, my mother and siblings took time to ponder and talk about our situation.

“It’s hard having an only child, I guess.” I conveyed with somberness to them.

My sister responded, “No. You just had it hard being the only parent.”

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Inside a coffee shop during the celebration with my mother, my brother, my sister, my nephews, and my son.

This Lady Isn’t Convinced Blogger Guy Is That Bad

I am not convinced he is that bad a man. The Clown: Eric the Magnifik, that is.

So the guy is conceited. That’s what WordPress superstardom can do to a blogger here, lest you haven’t fathomed. So he wanted to build an empire: If he’s got the means and ability, why not? He’s a predator to boot, a female blogger accused. I don’t think so. That’s not the exact term to describe him or his actions. Let’s see, how about branding him a typical male. Yes. Hypocrisy aside, would any man have behaved differently taking into account The Clown’s circumstances? I doubt it. To all those women who have been swift to condemn him: How sure are you that the man you’re with doesn’t conduct himself in a similar manner?

The Clown didn’t pretend to be so much more than he already is around WordPress. He, in lieu, provided a platform to bloggers who wished that their voices be heard by more readers; for the benefit of the ones, like him, who are upfront enough to share about their imperfections, misfortunes, or brokenness. He was also generous to co-bloggers who had earned his good graces. He pulled several bloggers with him on his way up, in fact. And I didn’t see him try to benefit out of it materially, did he?

As a person, he would err from time to time naturally. He’s, after all, not Jesus Christ. So he has a thing for women taking selfies with a cigarette between their lips. I don’t understand such proclivity, but can that already be considered a crime? Raise hell if he had requested the women to send him photos with some sausage near their mouths.

I have no idea as to the woman’s age but I’ve a hunch she’s years younger than me; years younger than The Clown. She might not have carefully thought about the repercussions of her move to “expose” him. Her post was a bit confusing, too. She admitted flirting back with him. Of course guys would always mistake it for a green light. He thought it was ok to drop a sexual joke or remark during their private conversations. He did cross the line, admittedly. He proceeded to apologize profusely and offered amends; begged her repeatedly for the acceptance of his expression of regret. What baffled me was her resolution to remain hard-hearted; it’s like she got quite ignited by the idea of “outing” The Clown and trumpeting his real name to the world. Or, could there be something more personal to her decision than her agenda in warning others of his (predatory?) ways. I don’t know how long the girl has been blogging anyway. If she stays around longer, she’ll surely get to know of other less pleasant characters inhabiting this blogworld.

I still remember how an elderly male – who blogs about empathy and compassion on his site – once badgered me to send (revealing) photos of myself. [Unbidden, he’d send laughable “stuff” and nonsense of him in addition] Can anyone top that hoary dude, hmm? (My response to his request then, btw, was something like: har har har…you must be kidding, a#%hole)

The blogging universe is indeed populated by narcissists, opportunists, racists, fucking boring scribblers, and intellectual cuckoos; each carrying airs of arrogance in various modes. Still, there are wonderful peeps whose minds and sites, in spite of their individual flaws, that are worth visiting – to my delight.

On the subject of flirting in the blogosphere: it’s assuaging to have learned a majority of adult bloggers indulge in it sporadically. Who can argue with the reality that flirting, with words merely as your tool in this realm, is as potent as water which quickly vaporizes into thin air? Women here are no different from bored male construction workers, doctors and lab technicians at work all day. As long as it’s done with mildness, superficiality, precaution, and remoteness, who’s to sue us?

I’m appalled by those so-called friends (of The Clown) who immediately jumped on the bandwagon in slamming him. It looks as though they’re secretly rejoicing the fact the most popular male blogger on WP is gone. Frankly, it’s obvious their comments manifest of their jealousy with regards to The Clown’s fame, or of their own personal issues against him. Yet if The Clown comes back tomorrow, they’ll most likely be darting to his side again. For sure.

I’ve never had any kind of dealings with the famous blogger. I was merely another low-key reader – who had stumbled upon the man’s exceptional blog not long ago while hunting for a good read. I commented twice or thrice in his posts; that’s all. Someone like him doesn’t need an additional blogging buddy to his already long long list so I didn’t squeeze my way through. I figured, too, he’s the kind better appreciated at a distance: Me watching his antics from afar, while smiling softly, both in amusement and admiration.

The man has got charisma, aside from talent and skill. Interesting persona, we already got that. I doubt very much he had written all those honest, intense blog posts about his past primarily to deceive people or lure women to his side. And let’s face it: A man’s mind is, most of the time, focused on two things mainly – money and sex. Only when a blogger turns those two things tangible here in our blogworld does it become uncomfortable and scary. I doubt very much The Clown’s intentions include actually banging at female bloggers’ doors persuading them to have intercourse with him – except in an arrangement of mutual consent.

Rather than get enmeshed in the hullabaloo when the woman blogger “outed” him last January, he surprisingly deleted his blog and stayed silent. He might have done the right thing; I don’t know. But by george, I hope he gets back to blogging again. Because the guy can really write.

Besides, I ain’t convinced he’s that bad a person.

 

All Feelings and Nothing Else

In person I’m not a major talker. I never was and I guess I never will be. I’ve no problem being viewed as taciturn anymore. In my younger years, some relatives and acquaintances had even ridiculed me for my innate reticence. Painfully shy since childhood, I concede to being one of those people who have come to live inside their heads with ease.

As the main avenue I can now turn to for consummate expression, the world of blogging has become a saving grace for me; in hopes it’ll constantly be the crucial place where I can strip my soul and be completely ingenuous in narrating the yarns of my existence.

But I don’t want to feel like I need to apologize for things that get uncovered in these pages. Or that I’ve got to prove anything about myself. We live in a world where each one of us is defined either by the material things we possess or by the relationship we should preserve with our fellow beings. I confess to not giving much of a darn to either. And that could mean I will continually have to pay the price for my unconventional perspectives and uncensored prose.

Yet the decision to face up to the consequences is a done deal.

My son is the driving force behind the set up of this blog. Perhaps in his future he’d want to know what his mother was all about, warts and all. He may want to read the things I wrote here someday (or not). If ever that time comes, my hope is that this site will still be around – even after I’m long gone.

You may ask: Why don’t I journalize in the privacy of my notebook instead? Exposing my writing, in contrast to keeping a confidential diary, prompts an effort on my part to check on my syntax and punctuation – a peripheral activity I find pleasurable in the process. It’s not a total win-win all the time, though. The impulse to convey my admiration or add my two cents in recognition of some co-blogger’s outstanding post makes me forget the invariable upshot of drawing attention to my own site – which shamelessly houses the contents of my mind and heart. Never was my intention to invite anyone to become a follower. Being misunderstood plus the misconception of my warmth are among the inevitable ramifications, too. These days it makes me wonder if it would have been wiser had I stayed an undisclosed fan or reader to them all.

My writing boldness is propped up by the fact I am thousands of miles away from all of you. I basically feel safe. A morsel of discomfort pinches me, however, whenever I see the country Philippines on my Stats. Except for one very young female co-blogger, I anticipate of no other reader from this side of my hemisphere.

Conversations with people around me in my physical world are mundane and unfulfilling. Colleagues and family members would seek my attention and companionship just so they could babble to their hearts’ content. They knew I would be listening. Not a tangible spirit in my actual realm has been aware that deep inside, there exists a long-standing discontent for not having enough people close by who are on the same wavelength with me.

In moments when I get tired of my own reflections, the need to dip myself in other people’s words come to me. Trapped by my circumstances, the blogging world arrives to the rescue. It’s a comfort allowing my own thoughts and concerns be buried under the voices and contemplation of others from time to time. Which brings me to mention more than a couple of fellow bloggers I’m fortunate to have known for their enviable psyche and superb skills of expression:

One of them has just written a beautiful piece about his parents who are on the brink of slipping away (his folks are probably the most beautiful elderly couple I’ve seen online). I wish I had the right words to say to him. But all I can reckon with certainty is – compared to me – he’ll be much stronger in dealing with it all when the zero hour comes, and that he’ll be able to carry on in a finer demeanor than I do.

And there’s this other long-time blog buddy whose father has just been confined in the hospital. Thankfully, it was nothing serious. Me and this bro pal of mine: we’ve always been like children in our online conversations; although I haven’t been an awesome friend or elder sis to him lately and most probably had sounded like a jaded twerp during our recent chats. Yet he surprisingly put up with me and has been quite patient. You haven’t lost me, dear brother. That’s all I can assure for now.

There’s also this phenomenal woman from a lovely island in Canada – who currently works in a rehab center – I’ve been itching to send a fan message and at the same time extend my apology to; for the reason I had misjudged her posts, at first impression, on the subject of men and love. In truth, she has been a true source of inspiration to me for her splendid works which are – on the whole – funny, intelligent, enlightening, touching. I still have to figure out how to get through to her without feeling like a bonehead.

My writings have been deemed melodramatic, cynical, and emotional; by individuals who, I realized in the end, hold nary an interest to get to know who I essentially am. The embarrassment I had felt then from their conjectures led to my attempts to alter the manner of my articulation here, until it seems I’ve begun writing like a man. But I’m a woman… which means that, yes, sometimes I am all feelings and nothing else.

This words I penned for my gravatar profile many moons ago:

Allow me this freedom; that I may find closure to my quest for endless new beginnings.”  It had been true then… It still holds true to this very day.

In Love and Forever We Trust

I notice most of my posts have the word forever or its synonyms in them. Probably an ideal concept and favorite theme of mine even though nothing in this world truly lasts that long. No argument to that. But what do we make of the greatest love of all – the love between parent and child?

My son’s recent trip to Cebu had him gushing, “It’s been the best time of my life.”  It was then that I realized my boy is fully grown up.

In the recent months that I’ve been watching him, oft from a distance, fractions of our history slice through my mind and warm memories seize me. Twenty one years of sheer togetherness. Now my baby is getting set to spread his wings. He’s excited about his future that seems rich of promise. A year of preparation and hard studying to become a licensed Engineer is about to culminate in a grueling two-day (national board) examination this March. Aside from that, he has already expressed his enthusiasm for independence – to be on his own – as soon as he finds a job. It’s about time; I know. No filial cord should tether him from stretching his courage and gumption.

Lying in wait, both our destinies have paused for a moment of breath.

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At my sister’s house last Christmas day. From left: my son, my mom, my nephew, me, and my niece.

I’ve no doubt my son loves me in his own peculiar way; in much the same way he has perfectly known how I’ve always loved him to pieces. But there’s a world outside waiting for him to explore.

Doesn’t love allow for trust in the unknown – no matter how heavy the price it exacts on our peace of mind? I’d be lying if I said I have no worry as to how well my son would blend into that broad, distant horizon where he plans to go. I may be looking forward to retreat into quiet happiness and bits of adventure in the near future myself – but I have begun envisioning, too, how much I’ll be missing him when he has already flown away from my nest.

Sometimes, being a parent doesn’t fully justify the fire of love and concern that burns in your heart for your child.

But what do I really know about life and love and loss anyway? What with the past year that has seen me dismantling and overhauling the personal ideologies I’ve kept for so long.

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Clowning around with my sister, brother-in-law, my mom, my nephews, my niece, and my son.

Our doors invariably remain open to everything uncertain – good or bad or worse. The world will keep on orbiting in its inscrutability regardless; clutching each of us in its course.

Eventually, we’ll all bend down to the conceit of time, the inexorability of change, and the ruthless wiles of the Ultimate Equalizer.

Yet I have also learned that love expands to an unexplored breadth – as soon as everything’s lost to eternity.

*

A beautiful poem titled “You Shall Be Free” by a Filipino poet, from one of my son’s college literature textbook, has appealed to me. It goes:

I will not hold you by restraining hands

For you shall be free like waters on the strands

I will not speak of days to remember

Of lanes we trod through April sun and shower.

No, not a word to hint of that or this,

Lest speaking so, your going I impede.

I will resign myself to all that is –

Like unto sands when cooling waves recede.

O while the strength of seeing love undone

Still stands by me, I pray you, Love, be gone.

 

–   Trinidad Tarrosa–Subido