Goodbye, Nanay

Today, at exactly 8:15 pm in my watch, Nanay died of organ failure in the hospital where she stayed for about a month. She just turned 85 yesterday, February 2.

To me, it was a beautiful and peaceful death. She was surrounded by her children and grandchildren. Those who were working and studying abroad, talked to her over the phone to assure her of their love and that it was okay for her to finally rest and have peace. I was rubbing her arm to let her feel our presence. My face was just inches from hers so she could easily see me. Seconds before she finally rested, she raised her hand to touch me. Inspite of prior delirium, now she looked at me with focus and full consciousness, as if to say her final goodbye. I told her to just sleep and rest. And she closed her eyes. And rested without pain.

How I wished that when my time comes I would be in the same situation – with my children and apos and loved ones around and near me. Not the kasambahays or strangers in the hospital. As I’ve always said, if I have a choice, I prefer my kids not to work and live abroad. Just like I was happy today I was not living abroad. I was beside Nanay when she breathed her last. And I was there to sign the papers to forego more tubes and machines which would prolong Nanay’s agony. And to remind the doctors to spare Nanay more injections and hospital pains. Because even without pulse and heart beats registering in the machine, Nanay was weakly trying to take out her oxygen mask possibly to ward off the discomfort.

I was also glad I was near her to tell her all the words she would have wished to hear from me. I sometimes read messages like ‘Tell your loved ones how much you love them before it is too late.’ Today, the message just rang true. And I told Nanay I loved her and I thanked her for all the joys, the memories, the life and the things she had done to me and to all of her children and apos. And I whispered to her that, with all my failings, I wished I had done all that she had hoped me to do for her; and I had achieved all that she had wished me to be. I was sure she heard me before she closed her eyes for the last time.

Goodbye Nanay.

Read More...

Start of post only...

Sweet smells of the past

Hay, buhay! Our former kasambahay would add, ‘Parang life!’. I wouldn’t utter such corniness. But then, sometimes, when I am alone, it’s nice to just let go of the phrase to release the stress and tension that build up in me.

Today is January 29, many weeks after I made a post in this blog. I really planned to write before about issues, ideas, trivias, or just about small things that happened in my day. My thoughts just flowed out like water from the fountain. But once I was in front of the computer, I could not find the words that would truly represent my thoughts. I was in the dark. I could not write. So I just played some music in the computer – music that somehow brought my mind to the time when I was younger and brimming with vigor and idealism, to the time when the whole of my future was in front of me, when everything seemed easy and possible.

Those were the times when…

I was applying the sunblock lotion Coppertone on my skin even when I was going to the office, or even when I was going to my graduate classes in the evening. I loved the smell of Coppertone. It reminded me of summer, when my friends and I hied off to some remote beaches or mountain destinations we had never been before to enjoy our newfound freedom as well-paid single professionals. In all these outings, I had my Coppertone, more because of the smell than because of its protective formulations. Later, I noticed my male classmates at the Ateneo Graduate School also smelled like me, possibly because they came straight from an outing or because they just liked my smell. The smell was manly and outdoorsy. And psychologists say that we like a smell not because of the smell per se, but because the smell evokes or reminds us of some past experiences or people we like. So for me, nothing beats the smell of Coppertone.

I also like the smell of Crayola, the smell of new plastic, and the smell of newly mowed grass. All these evoked happy memories of my childhood. But of course, I don’t like to smell like Crayola, new plastic, or newly mowed grass.

When I was a child, my parents would bring my siblings and I to the city to purchase school supplies during the opening of school. We bought notebooks, pencils, ballpens, crayons, bags and others. When we arrived home I gathered all my new school supplies and placed them inside my new plastic bag. My notebooks were neatly covered and my crayons were arranged according to color intensity. And the smell was overpowering. Now, when I smelled the crayons of my children, it was dejavu for me.

At the start of school, I was grinning from ear to ear as I met my friends who were all having new bags and new school supplies. Like me. We were all happy. Our notebooks were covered and clean. I didn’t like to write on them lest they would look messy. Our hairs and clothes were neat. Of course, after a week nobody bothered if our hairs and clothes were in disarray. Or whether we even changed clothes at all. But on the first day of class, I pitied anyone without a new bag. For me, I felt very handsome; it seemed all my classmates and teachers were staring at me because I had a new bag. And everybody could tell that my bag was new because the plastic still smelled.

And the newly mowed grass? Every summer during my childhood years, my cousins and I spent our vacation in our grandparents’ farm. We helped in the chores. My male cousins and I were assigned to take care of the carabaos. Every morning we brought the carabaos to the fields to graze. The grasses were still wet with dew. And each time the carabao munched on the grass, I got a whiff of its smell amidst the unadulterated crisp morning air in the far barrios. We sat on the backs of the carabaos, ate some guavas, and told stories until we were called for lunch. After lunch, we listened to noontime drama over the radio. When the drama ended, it was time for us to bring the carabaos to the brook for a swim. We also swam with the carabaos in the black waters of the brook. Possibly, we smelled like the carabaos after we swam but nobody complained. Then back to the pasture. It was a carefree and memorable childhood. And each time I smelled the grass I remembered the uncomplicated days we tended the carabaos.

My mother is 85 years old come Feb 2. And she is in the hospital since December 29 for high blood, pneumonia, and blood infection. She is alright now and might be out of the hospital tomorrow. My experience with my mother in the hospital gave me some thoughts about life. She had her lows in the hospital as her doctor said ‘naga-practice dying sya’. Her children and apos were with her in the hospital. But I noticed that her face really brightened when her cousin and contemporary visited her. Her cousin was 88 years old and still spritely. I was thinking that possibly my mother cannot connect to the younger generation. She wanted to take out all the tubes inserted to her body and just go home. But we won’t allow her. She was practically a prisoner in the hospital room. She was therefore happy to see her cousin because she was reminded of her younger years, when she was without worry, carefree, and could run free in the open spaces of their rural barrio. Too bad that most of her contemporaries are now dead or prisoners of their aged body. I told my children that when I grow old like Nanay they should not bring me to the hospital. I prefer that a doctor just visit me at home. Possibly, I could stay in the hospital when I am already unconscious.

Looking at Nanay, made me want to go back to the past. The past was just simple and worry-free. If only I could turn back the hands of time and savor the sweet smells of the past…

Hay buhay…

By the way HAPPY NEW YEAR sa tanan.

Read More...

Start of post only...

Nobody, nobody but you!

It's been a while since my last post. Anyway, holidays naman. And nobody was supposed to visit my blog during the holidays, right? Wala na gani time mag-shopping, tapos mag-surf pa sa blog? People thought my insomnia has been cured because of the absence of any post. But it was understandable that even if I still couldn't sleep, I would be doing something else, rather than just sit in front of my computer. The past weeks, even salesgirls, or especially salesgirls stayed up late. Baw, grabe gid mag-shopping mga tawo.

I too had to chauffer my family to shopping and visiting sorties. And these sorties sometimes lasted up to the wee hours!

But now, tapos na Christmas, and the shopping rush and spending woes that went with it. It was a habit of Filipinos to really splurge during Christmas. It was also a habit of malls and other business establishments to mark down prices or put up Sale gimmicks to entice and squeeze out the last money from gullible holiday shoppers. Anyway, better to give than to receive daw. But tell that to the marines, as I witnessed faces fell in Christmas gatherings because,after spending a lot for the exchange gift, some participants resented it when they received obviously cheap items from ukay-ukay or tiyangge sale; or they were about to cry after receiving a piece of handkerchief or a lavacara, knowing fully well that they bought branded t-shirt or other pricey items for their own exchange gift. They even had their gifts specially wrapped with special wrappers by paid wrapping counters that sprout along mall aisles, only to be forcefully torn by excited receivers. They didn’t even appreciate, even for a few minutes, the art and the skill that went with the gift wrapping.

In my family, we too had our share of budget scare. No matter how we limit the expenses, it seemed the final bill was always over the budget.

We shopped and purchased gift items and groceries for Christmas dinner early to avoid the rush only to find even as late as the eve of Christmas that we failed to purchase some required items. For example, we planned to cook pancit molo, our tradition, for Noche Buena. Days before, we drove to Panaderia de Molo to purchase the chicken molo balls. My kids and nieces love their molo balls! On Christmas eve, as my wife was cooking the molo, she discovered we had no molo noodles and spring onions. I hated the queues and the road traffic while paying or while driving, as the case maybe. So I purchased the noodles in a small tindahan near my mother’s house kilometers away when I fetch my mother for midnight mass.

Every Christmas we attend Misa de Gallo in the Colegio de San Jose chapel. The chapel is walking distance from my house and its Christmas eve mass at 10:00 pm is earlier than in our hometown. After the mass, my mother, my siblings and an assortment of nieces, apos and in-laws gather in my house for Noche Buena, exchange gift, and a party. For years now, we gather in my house because my house is the most accessible and the biggest in my mother’s family (but not anymore).

Also, every year my sisters and nieces choose a color motif for our Christmas attire. This year 2009, it was violet, lavender, purple, indigo, whatever. Everybody had an exciting time scouring the malls and tiangges for their Christmas attire. In my case, I already eyed some violet t-shirts in some boutiques. On Christmas eve, when I was about to purchase my shirt, I discovered there was no size for me. Nag-panick na ako. Violet is an uncommon color for men’s clothes. The only store I thought I have not gone to was Collezione. I thought I would be wearing one of its shirt, the most worn t-shirt this side of the planet this season (which I don’t like to wear because it was so common) – the one with the map of the Philippines embroidered on its breast. From Noynoy and Kris Aquino, to the TV news anchors and reporters, to salesgirls and even cigarette vendors – they wear proudly the Philippine map on their breasts. Very nationalistic, indeed. But do I have to wear what half of the Filipinos were wearing? Luckily, there was also no size for me at Collezione. The last boutique I went to was Folded&Hung. I avoided this boutique because its items were very expensive. But now I discovered it sold t-shirts for below Php500.00. And they had all the colors of the rainbow. I also liked their t-shirt with the Philippine map. Its embroidered outline of the map extended up to the collar, with the upper part of Luzon already embroidered on the collar. Cool. At least iba. But then, there was also no size for me. Uso kasi ngayon in the Philippines ang body-fit style of shirts, na nakadikit sa body na parang balat ng suman. Bagay sa mga kids and students. But for an older professional like me, parang trying hard ang dating sa akin. Parang nag-shrink ng todo ang damit mo, and you still have to wear it because you have no choice, dahil wala ka nang pambili. So I bought my violet shirt from F&H, the one without the map.

On the night of the Misa de Gallo, my kids and nieces were excited to wear their attires. We first had a group picture-taking before proceeding to the church. It was nice to know that, in the wake of the Filipino diaspora, many of us were still together to celebrate Christmas. There were new faces, as a niece got a husband, and a brother had an apo. But I was sad to know that other faces in our last Christmas picture were no longer with us - a niece went abroad to work and my only nephew who was my constant companion was in London with his parents. The world is getting smaller. Every Christmas, there is always a missing face in our group picture. Who would we miss next Christmas? Can we ever gather completely again?

The church goers were staring and smiling at us, as twenty-plus of us, and my wheel-chair bound mother and the babies, paraded to the church wearing all shades of violet. Probably, many were thankful they were not wearing the same color, else they be mistaken as members of our boisterous family.

The mass was long as it was preceded by a re-enactment of the Nativity starting from the arrival of Joseph and Mary in Bethlehem up to the birth of Jesus and the coming of the three Kings. The children were happily watching at the start, and silently sleeping when the play ended. We had a hard time keeping them awake during the mass.

We had a hearty Noche Buena after the mass. And exchange gifts and games. Two computers with webcams were strategically placed in our sala so our homesick relatives abroad can also join us on real time. The kids danced like they were drunk. And they danced mostly to the tune of Nobody, Nobody But You. They kept on replaying the music and dancing to its beat, I thought my eardrums would burst. It would have been nice to hear Jingle Bells or Silent Night as it was Christmas. The kids only stopped the music when we had our ‘exchange gifts’. Afterwards they were snickering as they thought their gifts came from Santa Claus, but they said it was actually their Tita - my sister – who gave them all the gifts. I received a replica of the crucified Jesus as gift from my SP (special pal).

At 1:30 am, I drove my mother to her house in our hometown, as she will never sleep in any house but her own. When we arrived in the town 25km away, I passed by many cars and people. I found out the mass had just finished and people were still going home for their Noche Buena at 2:00 am.

In the morning, we all woke up late. And we ate all the left-overs from the previous night’s meal. The children were again preparing a dance number for the Christmas Party with their friends in our compound. I told them they should dance to any music except Nobody, Nobody But You. They just laughed. Then they all swayed their hips as Nobody, Nobody But You shattered the morning calm.


@

Read More...

Start of post only...

The women in the Arroyo Fountain

Early this morning I drove to the office of my sister in Bo. Obrero. It was their Christmas Party. The party was a day-long activity starting with a breakfast. I brought with me ibos, huwad-huwad, and ripe mangoes for their breakfast.

Driving from our house in Jaro to Bo. Obrero, passing by Lapaz to Lapuz without crossing the Iloilo River, was a so-so experience - especially the trip through the Lapuz area. It was just one of those forgettable trips, so humdrum it was over before I even thought about it. The place was very impersonal, with the buildings either closed or occupied as warehouses or depots, and populated by half-clothed cargadors and other daily wagers carrying sacks of produce.

On my way back, I changed my route just to brighten up the trip. When I reached the Rizal rotunda, I turned left to cross the Iloilo River via the Quirino Lopez Bridge. Across the river, I could see the new Provincial Capitol Building, The Atrium, the old Iloilo Prison, the Hall of Justice Building, and far to my left is the turn of the century Aduana Building.

And as I got near the other side of the Iloilo River, I was face-to-face with the Arroyo Fountain, that famous landmark in front of the old Provincial Capitol Building.

The Arroyo Fountain is also known as Kilometer Zero in the island of Panay. And I think all Ilonggos must know this – that all kilometer readings beside the highways all throughout Panay were measured from the Arroyo Fountain. It was named after an Ilonggo Senator, the late Jose Maria Arroyo. He was the grandfather of the First Gentleman Mike Arroyo, infamous for being linked to the many scandals and anomalies in the administration of President Gloria Arroyo. (Now, Ilonggos must be aware that the person they love to hate is just a fellow Ilonggo.) The fountain features four women carrying a basin over their head. When I was in high school, I was one of the few students tapped by the Department of Tourism to help in their tourism promotion campaigns. We were given briefings as regards attractions in Iloilo City. I remember that we were informed that the four women in the Arroyo fountain were originally naked. But the conservative attitude of the Ilonggos, made the government decide to cover the women with Grecian garbs.

And I was reminded of the original nakedness of the stone women when I passed by the fountain two weeks ago.

It was a Tuesday, about 9:00 am. I was driving to Calle Real for some errands. The streets were busy with pedestrians and traffic. It seemed a normal day. Just like the other days before. But something unusual happened.

As I approached the Arroyo Fountain, I saw this unusual sight – a voluptuous near-naked woman, a pale orange gumamela tucked behind her ear, was dancing on the street level ledge of the fountain. No, I was not hallucinating. It was not one of the four stone women turning to life, possibly because of some enchanted kiss of a prince charming in the guise of a taong grasa. The woman was real flesh and blood. She was doing a sexy dance while circling the fountain like she was in a bar - gyrating and grinding her pelvis, swinging her exposed breasts, and taunting the passersby with the most luscious lips. From afar, her morena features would easily make her just another buang or babaeng grasa na nakakadiri. But as I got near, I could see she was not the usual streetside buang. Her body was well maintained and she could pass for a high-prized GRO. Her auburn hair could have been from a parlor. Her bras were pulled up. Her tits were dark but she had perfect skin. And her scandalous performance seemed choreographed.

But, alas, as I passed in front of her, I failed to see her face. I failed to see if she was really still wearing panties.

When I passed in front of her, I was concerned more of the reactions of the many minors and students who passed by the area. I was concerned more of whether there were policemen around and what they were doing. I was more like a scandalized Ilonggo of old prodding my government to put stone clothes on the statues that may cover the stony outlines of their nubile womanhood.

No, there were no policemen. I could see two uniformed traffic enforcers about twenty meters away with some scandalized old ladies. Surely, the dancing lady did not commit any traffic violation. The traffic enforcers were looking helplessly at the live performance they could have longed to see but could not because of their meager salaries. But in the presence of the manangs, they were in a quandary of whether to stop the indecent performance or to flag down their libido from producing a raging hard on in broad daylight. Accidents too might happen as drivers may think they were at the ringside of a go-go bar and not at the driver’s side of a vehicle.

Then I was far away. I didn’t like to look back as I may be the one to cause an accident.

When I reached home, I immediately narrated the incident to the carpenters doing some renovation in my house. We had a good laugh. One panday told us that, in the past days, he had been hearing over the radio the same incident. According to radio reports, the lady was not buang but possibly high on drugs or could have bouts of depression.

Anyway, for you my cyberfriends, I didn’t just fail to see the face of the dancing lady, but I also failed to take a pic of her even with my cellphone. Bitin? Just pray I could again witness her next free performance. And hope that my cellphone is not lowbatt.

But look at the photo of the Arroyo Fountain. Can you imagine how the stone women looked originally? @

Read More...

Start of post only...