Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Guitar mom
Mommy, we have been through tough times. And there are times when you have shown your moment of weakness, but in my heart, I know that it would be just temporary. Because you are strong. And stubborn. And I got those from you.
By the way, I am so proud that you can play the guitar, and that I can't. It's your thing, and I love it!
(But can you teach me some time? I'll get an appliance lift, and move over my piano. I never loved it anyway. Guitar is cooler!)
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
still
| Eduard and brother Eric playing with soda crowns, flatting them with stones |
It was Eduard's birthday the other day. We had a simple celebration in our house. Mom cooked her classic spaghetti for the 12-year-old celebrant, and there were some fried chickens, too. Only the immediate family members were present, but it was nevertheless a lovely day.
Once again, I am happy that my cousin (who is more like a son to me) is growing up to be a simple boy, who never asked for anything his family couldn't afford. He never asked, not even wished, for a PSP, Wii, or a Nike shoes or anything a boy his age would naturally want to have. Even custom design t-shirts will make him happy. Actually, I don't have a gift yet, and he understands I'm broke these days, and I never heard a tantrum from him. (On my last birthday, he broke his piggy bank to buy me a gift.)
I like looking at the photo above. It's a good memory frozen in time. I hope they could stay children forever. Or at least, I hope they remain pure in heart.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
his best birthday EVER







Monday, April 25, 2011
a quiet week
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
teenage dirtbag
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
bisita
When I woke up this morning, she heated water for my coffee and offered all the breakfast she had around. I just took the coffee. She stared at my face and saw the pimples that appeared during finals week and asked me if I wanted her to bring me to the dermatologist for skin care (during college, she was the one who always insisted, and the one who actually brought me, to the same derma). Considering how simple she is, it's surprising how she really gets bothered with a few pimples in my face (as well as that of my male cousins!).
And on our way home from my cousin Eduard's recognition, she bought me halo-halo and my favorite isaw. Isn't she the sweet one? =)
Monday, January 31, 2011
when you believe
This week, my mother will have her 8th and last chemo. The chemos in between were also physically hard for her, the anxiety and fear never really left her, but she faced them with more resolve and courage.
My father was instrumental that she reached this point. He has always, always, been there for her. He would understand her tantrums and cries of desperation and paranoia when most of us would lose patience. He would memorize all her medicines and their dosages and administration. He seemed like an expert in cancer already. He is a natural in taking care of people and perfectly fit for those healthcare industry jobs, at least for my mom's needs. He disregarded, well, postponed, his own health concerns just to take care of her.
Now, my mother's a little more hopeful with her condition. I am very positive she'll live a long life after this ordeal. I guess things happen when you believe.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Eric's Graduation Party

Sunday, December 12, 2010
with honors
And that was what precisely, and with much more meaning, what happened yesterday. Yesterday, the Philippine Children's Medical Center held a celebration for the children who succesfully finished all the chemotherapy sessions and other treatments. Eric graduated, not from school, but from being a cancer patient. He has surpassed all those intravenous treatments and awfully painful bone marrow tests. He has passed the stage of not being able to walk and eat and talk. In that hospital of metal building and then seemingly lonely walls, along the way, many children did not make it. One day, you just see them playing just beside Eric's bed; the next day, they're gone. Thankfully, because Eric is a fighter, with an iron will of a child to go on, he survived his leukemia. He was diagnosed when he was 4; now he was 7 and very active.
When he arrived in my place, he was really excited to show me all the gifts he got from the people and foundations who supported these kids with cancer, along with actors, singers, and politicians. He got two bags of toys and school stuff and waited for me before he would open his huge gift-wrapped box (inside was an educational toy). But he was super proud when he showed me perhaps his most precious gift of all...to all of us.

Graduating with honors, I am pretty sure Eric will have a more comfortable, blessed life. =)
Thursday, December 2, 2010
crazy about Keng
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
For Your Birthday, Mother
For your birthday, I only wish for your strength. I know these are really tough times for the family, especially for you. But you have always been the strong one. You have a dominant personality that we repel, and yet this time, I truly hope you be that imposing woman again. Tell your cancer cells to go away, and I bet it would.
For your birthday, I only wish for your peace of mind. The storm is passing in our lives, but as all storms, this one shall pass. Know that in all these things, I am with you. Daddy is with you. Lola is with you. Mama is with you. And the kids have always been praying for you. We love you, and there is nothing more we want, nothing more, than for you to get well. I know all these plasil, and emodan, and conjugated linoleic acid, and norvasc, and a whole range of medicines are making you nauseous, but Mommy, just a little more. I would take these all for you if I could, but I couldn't. So just a little more. Know in your heart that you will be healed. And that there is someone in the stars guiding our lives.
For your birthday, I only wish for your understanding and acceptance. It must be really hard to accept that an illness as serious as this one comes to you. But it's already there, and there is not much we can do but to fight this one. Know that in all your struggles, this one and all that will come, I am with you. Daddy is with you. Lola is with you. Mama is with you. And the kids have always been praying for you. There must be a reason, Mother. Look inside, there must be. After this fight, we're going to face a better life---the best life I can give for all of you.
And for your birthday, Mother, I wish you could have a better daughter. I know I am the cold one, and I wish I could just give you this letter. I wonder why I could tell everyone I care, when I could not tell it to you. For now, I just hope that through my actions, I can let you know that I too am scared, that I love you, and that I will always be here for you. I know somehow you can see it, and you know it, but I still hope I could be a better daughter for you.
Happy birthday, Mother.
Love,
Anak
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
My Harry Potter Scar
Oftentimes, people do not notice this scar. I still get surprised whenever a friend I have known for several years would suddenly remark one day, "Oh, you have a scar in the forehead!" The place where my scar is located is rather conspicuous, and I do not know why some people would not readily notice, until I point it out to them.
But my grandmother never forgot about this scar. From the moment I had this, she insisted on me undergoing a plastic surgery, which I vehemently refused. Always, she was the one concerned with how I look. Back in college, she was the first person who took me to the derma and bought that expensive acne scar removal cream for me. She's also the one who buys all those Eskinol for Men for my male cousins during their teenaged years.
Up to now, I am quite comfortable with my scar and believe that it is already of part of me and my character. I never really harbored any anger toward that drunk driver who suddenly hit my car head-on. I took the accident rather coolly. Perhaps it's a symbol of how I survived figuratively and metaphorically, much like the baby Harry Potter survived Voldemort's attacks. As for my grandmother, she still feels sad every time she sees the scar that fate brought me. It feels like it hurt her more than it hurt me.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
the dilemma of a weak heart
It led me to the understanding of what I already knew -- it is hard to cure a weak heart. Of course, the constantly improving fields of medicine and technology as well as industrial bearings promise cure for a weak body, or if improbable, at least alleviation of pain. But what can cure a weak heart? The constant support of people doesn't quite help as much as valium does in sleeping problems (although valium sometimes "helps" in handling pain). The companionship does not quite help treat loneliness as much as arcoxia relieves pain, albeit temporarily. Faith isn't easily infused in one's being as easily as blood is infused in one's body.
The trial in one's sickness is as much the suffering of the body as it is the suffering of the heart. But in both body and heart, although hard, there is nothing much left to do but to have continuous "medication" and "treatment" ("the fight") and of course, prayers for the body and the heart. Lots and lots of prayers.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
where my dreams began
After 30 years of “living” in my father's wallet, a slightly tattered news clippings about my grandfather, Lolo Pasyo, was shown to me by my father. I only know him through little stories from my father as Lolo Pasyo died even before my father met my mother. But stories will never suffice, and there's a missing spot in me that will never be filled.
My father said that Lolo Pasyo was the silent type. My grandmother was a beautiful maiden, and I wonder how sweet or stiff their courtship was. Together, they raised all their children to be, the perfect word, respectful. My father never raised a voice to my grandmother and always comes immediately when called by her. He always acquiesce to her request and oftentimes remember her. I could only assume that this great respect came from the much respect Lolo Pasyo gave his wife.
Father told me that his father was a disciplinarian. He never tolerated any mischievous activity from his 8 sons and 4 daughters and never used influence for favors. This is not to say that the boys never did any naughty acts. They did, but did everything not to let their father know. For Lolo Pasyo, any “bad” behavior must never go unpunished.
My grandfather was a US veteran. I am sure that my grandfather deserved every penny of the pension he and his wife were supposed to be entitled to. Ingrates. After the army, he held several government positions, most of which I only knew from reading the newspaper.
His last post was a Punong Bayan, now known as Mayor, before he died of leukemia. As a child, I asked my father why they were not wealthy if Lolo Pasyo was a mayor. I already had a concept of government officials then. He told me that Lolo Pasyo was never corrupt, unlike most people. Their family barely have enough, with Lolo Pasyo sometimes giving his salary to the “needy” constituents. He was a straight man. While studying, my father and some of his other siblings had to stay at relatives' house as they could not afford to rent a house of their own while staying here in Manila. My father's aunt wanted to take him and sustain his education, but he opted to stay in the province after a year in Manila. My father even had to work abroad to earn a living. These, I think, would not have happened if Lolo Pasyo had “manipulated” government funds, which is commonplace nowadays. Lolo Pasyo has successfully imbibed in his children the value of honesty and responsibility, not one of them ever been involved in a scandalous behavior.
Knowing that I came from a line of a brave and honest man, I felt inspired to be someone like him. Only one of his sons joined politics, whereas one daughter became a DECS (now DepEd) official. My aunt already died of cancer, but the stories of colleagues of how straight she was and how she often rejected bribes warm my heart, something he learned from his father.
My father told me that he was highly respected in their community. And the respect for him translated to respect for the family's name and for the family. No ordinary man can do that. Even after 30 years since he died, I still hear stories of him from their neighbors and friends.
I formulated my dreams as a kid, and writing this now made me think that his legacy might have influenced me. He was everything I want to be: a leader, a public servant, and an honest person.
It saddens me that I can tell you about him only through my father's stories and person. But I hope that the message of his people would be enough to show you how proud I am to be this silent man's granddaughter:

