Grandmother Blues

The evening started well enough. My grandmother, aka Mamala, and I arrived home from the church and came upon my mother, recently arrived from her weekend with friends, sorting our dirty clothes to bring to the nearby laundry house. There were the usual greetings and conversation then suddenly without warning Mom and Mamala were snapping and sniping at each other. From what I can hear they were arguing about, of all things, the lights in the altar that quickly escalated to a shouting match about the electricity bill then Mamala was taking potshots at my youngest brother, who was out of the house that time, how he was the one wasting the electricity with his late night television and stuff. Mama has it in for my youngest brother, but that’s another story. Anyway, Mama climbed upstairs and suddenly became a little bit hysterical. She was crying and going on about how Mom was treating her, after all her (Mamala’s) sacrifice for her family, in short, her usual angst-laden spiel against Mom in particular and the world in general. I went down to get her a glass of water. Mom was downstairs muttering to herself. After giving Mama her glass of water I brought down the dirty clothes that Mom was sorting when we arrived. She went out as Mama was coming down the stairs ready for another round of confrontation. Mom hurriedly beat a retreat to avoid another shouting match. However, Mama was on the roll. She kept going on and on about her usual monologue on Mom’s shortcomings and how she (Mama) was being treated…to enumerate everything would take me the whole night to write. I heard her call my uncle in the Middle East with her cellular phone and she was crying and complaining. But from what I can hear from her side of the conversation, the line must have been choppy because she was calling out again and again my uncle’s name. I turned on the TV to tune her out but she came downstairs. She was shouting to my cousin, her acolyte, to bring down her bags because she was packing her things. She was still ranting and raving about everything and nothing. I was not feeling up to the task of listening or playing referee, for the nth time, once my mom came back from the laundry house. So I quickly went upstairs and changed into my Capri pants with the intent of escaping the house. My grandmother followed me upstairs, still not yet finished with her piece and was getting more emotional. My mother arrived and tried to dissuade me from going out on account of how it was already dark outside (we had just moved to the neighborhood) but I was not to be dissuaded. I got my shoulder bag ready to go out but before I could leave I heard my grandmother clattering down the stairs. On hearing this, my mother quickly went outside and closed the door. I hurried after her. It was only when I got outside that I realized I had no money and no way was I going back to the house where Mama was still shouting because now she was being deprived of her prey (Mom) and I her sounding board was also escaping. My mother was already outside the gate when I caught up with her. Since she had brought money, we decided to go the bookstore one ride away from the house. We left my poor cousin to soothe the ire of the tigress. In the bookstore we browsed through the books but we did not buy anything since it was not a secondhand bookstore and the books were very expensive. My smart aleck brother, the one I usually quote on this blog who lives in Cebu with my paternal grandmother, sent me a message asking to borrow something. I told him not to call home since mom and I escaped from the skirmish in the home front. And these are what he had to say (yes, these are more quotes from him. Maybe I should change the name from “looking for directions” to “my brother’s wisecracks” or something to that effect) These are direct quotes, text icons, wrong grammar, and everything.

First text: wats new. hihi 0ld f0lks r alwyz lyk dat. iv ex 8 a l0t of tym. at 1^st makalagot (makes you mad) . per0 (but) after i heard a preach I came 2 realize dey nid a few dash 0f luv. Ü

Next text: btw beware 0f m0m. she’s next. haha. tita she (our paternal aunt) has a sympt0ms of bec0min her m0m. shh. age gets in d way. (referring to our paternal grandmother)(she and tita are also like cats and dogs)

Another one: (he had a nice insight) a smal d0se 0f luv n undrstandn. mamala nids 8.c0z mama fils lyk a sec0nd clas citizen. haha ni puyo xa lugar n way ganhan. tv r an kast0rya (she lives in a house were she’s not quite liked. she only has the tv to talk to) (a somewhat brutal assessment with more than a grain of truth. bro hits the nail in the head.)

And another: d0nt w0ri u wil hav ur tym. next aftr m0m. Ü re 85% of 0ld f0lks dependin w/s0me0ne 0r n0 bank acc0unts hav d same personality lyk r lolas. (I haven’t the vaguest idea where he got his statistics)

I replied to brother with the realization that I dreaded growing old because I didn’t want to turn out like my grandmothers. I want to be a rich, independent old lady. I want to be an old lady who does not have to depend on her children or if I never marry, then on my relatives. I want to be an old woman who is easy to live with, lovable, and gracious. I know being rich will not guarantee that I will be any of these things but at least if I can’t stand to live with any of them, then I have the means to set up my own household. Both my grandmothers are as different as night and day temperamentally but what they have in common is that it is very difficult to live with either one.

When we went home after mom had finished her carrot-apple shake from the supermarket beside the bookstore, Mama was already upstairs having calmed down and was resting. Her earthly goods (seven bags of different sizes and shapes) were arranged beside the stairs all ready for transfer (temporarily, until she will realize again that our house is still the best place for her given her limited choice) to her son’s house in another town.

Hayy...until the next skirmish

Jeepney Incident

In a jam-packed jeepney I heard the child seated on her mother's lap beside me ask her mother, "Mommy, ba't di mo na ako kinukutuhan?". Waaahhh my hair!!!!!!!!!!

Text Conversation

Bro: how's ur love lyf?
Me: Non-existent as usual. And urs?
Bro: flavor of the month. Ü
Me: U wish bro. U wish.
Bro: no u wish. Ü

My Brother Strikes Again

My very quotable brother struck again. I was in Vigan last week for the group assessment of our division and because of the Globe unlimitxt promo, I sent my brother some forwarded messages that I received during the day. It was already one in the morning when he responded. Since I was already sleepy, I told him good night and to give mom a kiss for me. They were sleeping over our new house-to-be. He replied with:

8s better to giv her ur salary.

Their Love for Each Other was Gigantic

I came across this poem while I was reading the book, The German Greens: A Social and Political Profile by Werner HÜlsberg for my book report (having intellectual pretensions is such a hardwork). The poem is written by Udo Lindenberg. I don't know if it's already the whole poem or if it is just an excerpt but I found it striking. When I have time this summer I'll try to search the web for the poem.

They met on the street
just stood and looked at each other
'where can we go for a chat?', she said
and he said, 'don't know
but let's walk along together'
they had sought each other for so long
and now at last they'd met
and later in the bar
although there was only coffee
they were as if intoxicated
...
Yes, their love for each other was gigantic
and yet there was something wrong
'if only you were a little bit different,
and not exactly what you are!'

Funny quips

My smart aleck brother's reply to my aunt's question if he was coming home for lunch when he learned that lunch would consist of left over food:

I'm not dog. I don't eat leftovers.

Classic Prayer

(a nice prayer sent by greataunt who is a nun)

Dear Lord,

Your WILL,
nothing more,
nothing less,
nothing else.
Amen.

Speak in English ( I think)

1. from a friend during a chat: hayup ka ____ dinidisturb mo ang lie of thought ko ang ganda na ng flow. (lying won't do you good talaga..hehehe)

2. from a textmate: I take it (courting) seriously because it is holy and the beginning of the Holy Sacrimony. (short cut for holy sacrament of matrimony...txt speak...hehehe...actually this is not a verbatim transcription because i already erased the message but the essence is there:)

Prayer sa walay uyab (Prayer for Singles)

(a forwarded message from my naughty brother)

o mahal na emahin
giunsa mo ba pagbahin
ang uban nangahalin
ako nagpabilin
ang uban gabalhinbalhin
ako wa gihapon mahalin.
amen.

Intimacy

Have you ever experienced being so close to somebody that you can feel his stomach move when he breaths and eventually you will realize that you are breathing in the same pattern? That kind of intimacy feels a little crazy especially since he's a stranger to you. Sitting side by side, feeling very conscious of each other's movements, only thin clothes separating you from each other. No matter how hard you try to move to avoid such familiarity, it's just not possible. It's beyond your control. Your drawn together because of the confined quarters that create such contrived closeness. You can even feel the vibrations of the mobile phone in his jean pocket as it signals an incoming new message...

Darn these FX vehicles!!! It is really a tight squeeze to seat four people in the middle. I have a hard time positioning my hands since there is no place to put them. The short ride feels longer because I can't move any body part without inconveniencing the person beside me and he can't make even the slightest movement without me getting irritated. FX rides are really an exercise in patience and consideration. It's also a wake up call to trim down so that those pockets of fats in my middle area that become grossly exaggerated when I sit down won't make sweet music with the flabs adjacent to me. I wouldn't mind if it's the abs of Sang Woo or Pieter but I should be so lucky. I guess these are the hardships that a commuter like me has to endure unless I want to drive myself to bankruptcy by taking a taxi wherever I go.

All in all, tightly squeezed FX rides are far more superior to jam packed MRTs or LRTs. At least I have a modicum of comfort since I'm seating down. I pity those MRT or LRT commuters, especially the women rail users, who brave the rush hour madness, standing so close to each other that you won't know where you end and the next person begins. It's more than pockets of fats and flabs getting acquainted. Only souls are not touching during these rides before you can finally get off your station. Just thinking about it makes me grateful that I'm not one of those poor souls who have to go through that hellride everyday. I guess I can make do with my FX rides until I can finally afford a car (like maybe when I retire 40 years from now) or when I will finally win in one of those numerous grocery raffles I get sucked into joining. Until then, my fats will just have to play Miss Congeniality during such encounters.

Funny Quips

Quip 4: (from a wise cracking male officemate on the sex appeal of Madame Auring)

Papatol na lang ako sa bading wag lang kay Madame Auring.

Funny quips

Quip 3: (from a smart aleck playboy friend about another friend who is a girl)

Yan si lola, playgirl yan pero walang nabiktima.

Cebuano Humor

While waiting for my flight to board, I was drawn into conversation with a fellow passenger who was also a kababayan. He was returning home after attending a seminar in Manila. He was funny in a Cebuano way. What do I mean by that, you might ask. Cebuano humor is something that only another Cebuano can truly appreciate. It straddles the thin line between corny and witty but funny nonetheless. But one thing it is, it is not sophisticated. It’s dry humor combined with a deadpan delivery of down to earth observations on life, work, and everything else under the sun. I can’t describe how it is different from other regions but it just is. Having been away from Cebu for a number of years, this realization was brought home to me during that flight back to the island of my birth and carefree childhood. Only Cebuanos can come up with lines such as the classic “Ikaw ba’y gwapo, lalim ba”, a line in a Cebuano commercial delivered by a popular Cebuano actor whose face even his blind mother will not call handsome. Another line that became popular after my time and something I heard from my wisecracking brother when he visited was “Bahala na saging basta loving”. It’s a Cebuano take on love conquers all even poverty. These lines lose their color in translation because your appreciation hinges on your understanding of the language (as it is in most cases). Such lines embody the Cebuano sense of humor: unsophisticated, quirky and refreshing.

Funny quips

Quip 1: (from an aunt)

Sorry ka na lang your relatives got just feet and the wheels of misfortune! You can choose amigas but not parientes.

Quip 2: (from an education commissioner during a research capability building symposium)

The thickness of your research paper may not be enough to cover the thinness of your thought.

- examples of Filipino humor from the same commissioner-

(Another way to say NCR or National Capital Region) National CR

Ph.D means Puro hangin ang Dala (a dig at post-graduates who got their doctorate degrees abroad)

Nanotechnology from the word unano (vernacular for a person who suffers from dwarfism)

Making a corner of hell in heaven

It’s getting very hard to go to work. It’s harder than when I first started. To think I was having a hard time adjusting during that time. I was not getting on well with my new superior. I had three bosses who had different ideas on what I should do and I was feeling very put upon. Now I get along well with my superior and my other officemates. I have two groups of great friends in the office. I know I’m blessed but it’s much harder when I feel am the problem. I feel that I’m not giving the job my best. The burden of guilt, of knowing that my best is not enough, that I’m not suited for the job, is making me uncomfortable. The problem is that I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m afraid to ask for directions. It’s much harder to cope with than dealing with external forces like suspicious bosses or hellish officemates. It’s hard filling up the hours with meaningful work when I don’t know the meaning of my work. Ignorance is not bliss. I’ve tried reading related literature to help me come up with the expected output but it seems too little an input. I just want to escape. I’m an insomniac lying in a bed of roses. Everything is cushy and comfortable but sleep is elusive. Aaargh!!!!

Summer

I love the flowering of the Narra trees. This marks the beginning of summer for me. The time before that scorching summer heat drives you to seek refuge in front of the electric fan. That fleeting and ephemeral period that ushers in the summer season. The tiny orange blossoms that fall gently and cover the streets and pavements remind me of my childhood. In my blue and white uniform, I would pass by a private stretch of road to and from school where one or two Narra trees grow at the side. I loved stepping on the flower-strewn path that coats dreary looking asphalt with a subtly scented orange carpet. It signaled the end of another school year and the beginning of the two most awaited months for students, two heavenly months of freedom from assignments and examinations. I’m nostalgic for those days where the only thing you dread is the end of summer. Now, the flowering of the Narra no longer signifies the start of a carefree existence. There is less anticipation for the summer season since there are no more long lazy days where your time is your own and playing with friends till dusk is all that matters. It’s no longer a beginning but just another day in a chain of days of work and toil where pockets of freedom start on Friday nights and end too soon on Sunday evenings.

Poems for Brett*

there are originally 4 poems at the different stages of my infatuation but i can't find the copy of the 4th poem. These 2 poems are from the treasure chest of my bestfriend who managed to keep a copy but she won't give me the 2nd poem because it cornier than these 2 (if it's possible :)

Poem 1

The first time I saw you
I had little inkling how well
You’ll disturb my peace,
The tingle of attraction
I just dismissed.

Now every time you stroll by
I crane my neck
Quite unconsciously,
I know not why,
My eyes follow your every move.

My hands long to reach out to brush
Your hair as it caresses your face.
But I continue to walk in a daze
As you pass me by unseeing.

You do not see me at all
When, just to see a glimpse of you
I almost stumbled into a wall
Yet, you continue on, unaware of the havoc you caused.

Poem 3

How does one get over a crush?
It’s not done with a stroke of a brush.
However hard you try to scrub
There still remains a blob
Of that feeling you try
So hard to shoo goodbye.

So many methods have gone awry
So many dreams had to die
Before I was able to suppress
This feeling I cannot express.
And I thought I had succeeded at last
Only to find that it has turned to lust.

*(the epitome of my college infatuation)

Something about the Night

What’s something about the night
That draws secrets from the soul?
What’s something about the night
That’s makes you and me vulnerable?

The utter stillness, the hush snores
The soft whispers of dreams and
The fleeting smile of the sleep
Cocoon us in our wakefulness

What’s something about the night
That makes Sanity take a rest?
What’s something about the night
That makes Impossible sleep in Morpheus breast.

Highways

Driving through the highway of Batangas in January reminds me of a car racing computer game that we used to play when we were kids. Dilapidated trucks loaded with sugar cane are the obstacles you have to overtake in order to get to the finish line. These trucks are old, cumbersome and slow moving. The triumph you feel when you have overtaken one is quickly doused when you realize that there are still dozens of them you have to pass by down the road. Because of their bulk, it's hard to see if there are vehicles in front of them or how far the vehicles on the opposite lane are so that you can maneuver your car to overtake these beasts of burden. There is also the fear that the rusty cage-like steel holding the gigantic pile of sugar cane will give way and tumble into the highway or if you have a really morbid imagination, will fall into your car and piercing the windshield or burying you under all that canes. Can you say that it is a sweet way to go? :)

Passing through towns, you sometimes manage to catch a glimpse of special moments in the lives of its residents. We passed by a house where a wedding celebration was going on. Tables and chairs were arranged in front of the house and there were guests seated. Since dusk was descending, lights strung along the make shift bamboo walls were twinkling, adding a festive air to the occasion. It is also startling to see colorful grand houses plunked in the middle of greens and grays. These houses contrast sharply in a scenery that speaks of poverty in rural areas where small, old and dilapidated structures dominate. There is a strong possibility that these houses are the fruits of the labors of overseas Filipino workers.

There is something magical and other worldly about provincial highways during dusk as day gives way to night. Dusk slowly descends casting a gray tinge to the atmosphere that little by little turns inky black. Darkness is only broken by lamplights and fluorescent bulbs inside the houses that dot both sides of the highways.

Wishes

be careful of what you wish for, you just might get it...
if i wished for and got you, would you make me regret it?
if i make it a prayer, will you be the answer or a test of faith?