time slips away

Image from here.

My father turned 60 today. Yesterday, we had a nice day, celebrating the milestone year. I took them to see a play and to dinner and we were all rather pleasant because of the experience. I was distracted by the idea of what having a 60-year old for a parent meant. And then as we were pulling out of the mall parking lot after the play, I realized that there might not be a lot of years left when I could rely on my dad to drive us to places -- the thought terrified me. Not even of him dying, though everyone dies -- just the idea that he would be there but unable to fulfill the functions I had grown up being used to: driving, getting cars fixed, having all the answers, things like that. It made me feel so inadequate and unprepared for anything.

Today, during his all-day birthday party, I had a similar thought again. My grandmother was here for the celebrations, and while I was trying to coax a birthday greeting out of her, I realized that she was no longer as lucid as I thought she was. I realized that she could barely open her eyes because she no longer saw very well. I want to say that this is what a big big family does (you could go on living not thinking about your grandmother because there are too many of you to think about) but I really don't want to use that excuse. I can't believe that so much time has passed and despite my grandmother living a few minutes away, I have not taken the time to know her beyond the cursory "hello" and "how are you" when I come and go. She was lying on the couch (she has been immobile since she broke her hip a couple of years ago) and as I was trying to get her to recognize my voice, I rubbed my hands on her legs and she smiled. It was a little girl smile, a smile I didn't see on her face when my grandfather was alive, or when she was lucid for that matter. It made me realize that it must have been so long since someone rubbed her legs like that -- since she felt anything about her legs like that, and it made me smile that even when she could no longer recognize me, I could comfort her by simply rubbing her legs. I wish that I had given her more, that I had more to give back when she still knew the difference.

The idea of time passing makes me nervous. What have I done with the time that's gone by?

Butterfly visits

Hi Dada! Image from here.

I lost my grandfather when I was five. I was really young when he passed, but I remember really loving him, and really feeling loved by him as well. Though I was too young to feel pain after his passing, I still really miss him. I find myself thinking about him all the time, and feeling as though he is watching over me -- my own personal guardian angel. I suppose it is why whenever I find myself feeling worried or nervous about something, I find myself calling out to him and asking for intercession, or guidance, or a little bit of courage.

Today, I called out to him once more, as I was cramming for an exam that I had not studied enough for -- there just wasn't enough time after being sent out of the country for work and then coming home to a stack of deadlines both for my master's and my two jobs. As I ran my eyes over the text, in a mad dash to remember as much as I could, I called out to him. I asked him to help me remember everything I read, to calm my heart so I could concentrate more, and to just help me get through the day. I remembered too that it was his death anniversary. He passed away on October 5, 1987.

This morning, as I was on my way up to get dressed for the test, I saw a tiny brown butterfly hanging out on the staircase. It was not the showy kind, very much a plain-jane butterfly if there ever was one (and my lolo was not a showy person himself). I had to take a closer look, because I was still feeling dizzy from lack of sleep. It was there, just like it had been in many other points in my life, most often on the day of his death anniversary. It was telling me he had heard me, and that everything was going to be fine.

I got to school calmer, though still a bit worried that I did not know enough to pass the test. It got rescheduled to a week from today, giving me ample time to get everything done. I wanted to smile at heaven and wrap my arms around my lolo, to blow a kiss at my brown butterfly who had come down all the way from heaven to tell me that everything was going to work out. Thank you Dada for always looking out for me. I hope that in spite of my failings, that when you see me, I make you proud. I miss you all the time, but I find comfort in knowing that you are somewhere far better than here. Till we meet again!

Lessons learned from leaping

I wrote this in my journal while in one of my favorite writing spots: the CAL (College of Arts and Letters) Library. I had been meaning to post it much earlier, but after the time I spent running around for this project, I became consumed with making up for my many absences. But I did catch up, quite well actually :) I am grateful for that too -- and it merits its own post.

March 1, 2012 11:25 AM CAL Library

And so I am back home after the whole jet-setting life of jumping in and out of planes and running in and out of different places so quickly -- I loved meeting the inspiring people that we met. I wish I could have been less conscious of myself and more engaging with them -- I know that this is something that I have to work on.

I do feel at home here in the CAL Library, and I've come to appreciate the time when I sit here and write and ponder on my life. While there are so many other questions to answer, I celebrate that for the meantime, I have found a place where I can run to and be uninterrupted with my thoughts -- without the fear of being scolded or judged with how I am living my life.

But there are so many lessons that I learned from this trip, culled from all the great people that I've met.

From Deng: I learned that you should believe in yourself, in your value as a person, believe that you are as cool or as boring as you allow yourself to be. I also learned that true friends listen to you and are concerned about your life.

From all the interesting Volunteers and Members of Amnesty International (I worked on a video advocacy project that had me travelling to 5 different cities in 2 weeks):

That's me working during one of our shoots around Cebu!

Some of the AI members we interviewed in Cebu

From Hope/Mamou: I learned that you can gather courage from your oppression. It doesn't define you. Turn it into something that can help or inspire others. Hope, known as Mamou by AI members in Davao, was once a battered wife. Instead of letting the beating get to her, she used it as motivation to empower others so that it didn't happen to them. She always opened her home to everyone who needed a sanctuary, somewhere to be themselves in. Her joy was infectious.

From Strauss: Mamou's brother, also an AI activist in Davao, I learned that there are people who are so selfless that they devote their lives to fighting the causes of others. I was inspired by how simple and how kind they were -- yet they were also so passionate about all the things that they did.

From Date Ed Rosales (Datu Chieftain of the Bagobo tribe): I learned that one must be proud of where he came from. Celebrate your roots. Keep who you are inherently and work hard at keeping it pure. In trying to find good partners to align with his tribe, he taught us how to be careful not to succumb to political leanings. He always thought about what was good for his tribe, long-term.

From Yasser: He is a young AI member from the Tausug tribe. I learned how one should be real and uninhibited. He joyfully celebrated differences and embraced what made them similar instead. From him, I learned too that one must be humble enough to trust.

From the LGBT AI members: Own your decisions. Campaign for what you think is right. But be respectful and respectable about it.

My friend Deng pondering the state of being on a street named Little Children in Dumaguete

From Jia: She was a lovely and vibrant member of AI Dumaguete who left an abusive relationship. She is a single mother with an equally charming son. You would never think that someone as happy and cheerful as her had gone through something as painful as that. From her I learned that you can still have a life even after your old one falls to pieces -- find places where you can learn to be strong, acknowledge that you are weak, but work to continuously improve.

That's Jia looking fab on set, Deng the director is in black

Our tiny crew with the happy members of AI Dumaguete

I loved seeing life lived in different parts of the Philippines. From seeing the sights and meeting the people, I saw how one could be happy anywhere. It was really just a matter of deciding how to see your life's circumstances and how to go about moving from there. 

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Rereading this post made me so happy that I was able to have this experience. It really was a gift. Thank you universe!

Chance meetings

Image from here.

Where do your mundane activities lead you? The other day, I was doing homework and then I suddenly found myself caught up in one of those whirlwinds that leave you shaken for days, even weeks (I hope not) after.

What began as research for class turned into one of those three-hour conversations that you keep in the pockets of your mind - an unwitting bench mark for more meaningful conversations in the future. The conversation itself felt a bit like literature (carefully crafted questions, beautifully written responses, glimpses of brilliance in little turns of phrases). And it began so innocently - a thing that I needed to check off my to-do list. It was Kathleen Kelly in You've Got Mail who so aptly put it: "The odd thing about this form of communication is that you're more likely to talk about nothing than something. But I just want to say that all this nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings." And so it has, for me at least. In the three hours that we spoke, I've said more to that stranger than I have to those I call my friends. It was both strange and fascinating, a bit like walking on a ledge, edging closer and closer to see how far you can go without actually falling. It felt a bit like putting myself out there, like taking a chance, like all those other cliches that people use to say falling in love without actually having to say it. It felt like dangling my legs by the edge, wondering how it felt to jump into something so foreign, so unknown. I jumped.

It ended as abruptly as it began.  At the end of the third hour, I realized how strange we actually were to each other. It had taken him that long to tell me that he was getting married. Soon. After that, we exchanged nothing more but polite pleasantries. I said goodbye before I could do more things I would regret. But when I remember things he said, I don't, really. It's only when I hear his words in my head that I feel haunted.  Haunted by the idea that I could meet someone like that, so late, too late. Haunted by the idea that he might be the only one like that. Haunted by the idea that while I will keep those three hours worth of words for a long time (maybe forever), I know that he has already forgotten me. How could he not?

My head is still above the water though, I'll live.

Joy

I find this photo both strange and enchanting (image from here)

This week has been tough, but overall, what I would like to take away from it is how there were many moments within it that were just joyful. I wish I had taken more photos - just so I have something to look at when I want to remember. But I was too overcome by joy from having conversations to worry about taking photos.

There is this feeling of everything falling into place. There is a part of me that wants to believe that this is the universe conspiring to give me what I want - not for free, I know. I intend to work hard, and am prepared to accept very little. I am amazed to think about why these things don't scare me too much. I just want to begin.

This is not one of those philosophical posts, but more like a documentation of all the joyous moments I have had this week. For so long, they were few and far between. Now, the month has barely started, and there have been so much that have been keeping me perked up.

snippets of childhood remembered

almost as if by serendipity, i found myself picking up a copy of to kill a mockingbird that's been sitting on my night stand for months now. i'm on the second chapter now, but going through parts of it reminded me of my own childhood, particularly the part where Scout gets scolded by her teacher because she reads too well for Miss Caroline's tastes, and she insists on asking Scout's father to stop teaching her when he never actually did. Scout would recall how she would crawl into Atticus' lap whenever he read in his study and she would learn the words herself as his fingers ran through them.

I don't know why it is exactly (well, I have an inkling) but I've been thinking a lot about how differently parents raise their children, in particular, when they are in different stages in their lives. maybe there is a part of me that is bitter about how strict they are when they aren't sure of what they're doing, but tonight, all of a sudden, i was reminded of how good it sometimes was, even with all of the rules in place.

how i was read to nearly every night of my formative years, until I fell asleep. how they were still young enough to make up stories for me when they ran out of story books to read.

how it was still considered 'fun' to read when I was that young, gameboys and nintendos hadn't been invented yet, and so i got on with very old editions of the brothers grimm fairy tales (the gory kind! i wish i still had this book with me. i wonder if it is still in the old house, and if there is some way i could possess it), and all of the bible stories for children that were in my great grandmother's house. i remember reading and rereading them every time i visited her house for our morning coffee.

how aware i was of my observation skills, even at such a young age, so much so that i was able to fool many of the grownups living in my house into thinking that i was reading perfectly by age 3 when really i had memorized the books which i insisted be read to me over and over again.

how in spite of our humble beginnings, i would get pasalubong every night. how i loved those little boxes of sugared cereal and those imperfect mallows that they sold at my dad's office. back then, we had no concept of expensive and cheap, and so i looked forward to these treats so much!

how my dad would spend afternoons drawing things with me sometimes, and draw makeshift masks, clocks and costumes for me for school. i remember vividly one owl mask that i thought was amazing.

how they had time to call us up in the middle of the day then, to just say hello and ask how i was doing. i remember going through many minutes of 'no, you hang up first' with my mom, and how my dad would find it hard to be mad when i incessantly rang his desk or when i insisted on spinning in his chair, buzzing at invisible intercoms for secretaries to make me coffee, because I thought that was what lawyers did for a living.

how excited they were for me to try things. how i would be dragged to hotels to see miniscule entertainers (we could only afford the very last rows) and i would be treated to choco loco at manila pen, and chicken and chips at shakeys after. how we would all be excited to watch musicals together. how we had time to go biking at the circle on saturday mornings.

i wonder what kind of parents my brother and kids of his generation had. we may have been poorer when it was my turn to be a child, but it almost feels as if they had been more eager to try then than they did the second time around.