BELATED BIRTHDAY LETTER TO GABRIEL

My Dear Gabriel,

This letter is rather late. It’s just that lately, my life as a career mom has been in great hullabaloo. I’m not going to talk about it though, as this is supposed to be my birthday letter to you.

As I am writing now, you’re already asleep right beside me, breathing quite noisily and coughing in short intervals. We went to see your pedia this afternoon and thankfully it’s just a simple allergic cough, though she said I must be forewarned that allergies can later lead to asthma. Please God, that will not happen. I didn’t have a decent sleep last night, as you stayed most of the night coughing and at one point, vomiting in the bed, soiling everything. The anticipation of the following day’s endless washing of the beddings was nothing compared to the great pain I felt as I watched you all red from too much coughing. I was so desperate for you to be well, I couldn’t stand watching you struggle like that. Yes it’s just a simple cough, but for a mother, anything that makes her child’s life difficult is a humongous tribulation. Exaggerated words, but they certainly give justice to my feelings.

A good friend recently shared with me while she was reading an article about the power of the sign of the cross. I remembered it while you were coughing nonstop and crying at the same time out of sleepiness and exhaustion. I prayed, asked God for good night’s rest for you, and healing, and made the sign of the cross on your forehead three times, and on your back three times. The coughing stopped in an instant and you slept till the next morning. You see, we are so blessed we have our faith. It is because of this faith, that I am determined to make things right with you, to choose what is good, what is righteous, to choose love.

This is not an easy world we are living in. In fact, everyday, you see suffering everywhere. Before you came, I only cringed at these sufferings. But now that you’re here I take these sufferings as God’s constant reminder of how much I am blessed, how much I have to give. I have you, and it’s more than enough blessing to share with others. You will grow in love, encouragement, discipline. We will not only be mother and son. We will be friends. Even best of friends. You will tell me what you think and feel, I will listen. And vice versa. This world needs faith, hope, charity. And we will be among its heralds. You, me, your Tatay. Our little family.

You have officially entered the ‘terrific terrible two’ stage. Terrific, because it’s in this stage that you get to learn, and show what you learn, really fast. Terrible because this is also the ‘me, my, mine stage’. You’re beginning to see how much you can do thus giving you ‘courage’ to get what you want. You’ve been really really terrific-terrible-two lately. Of course, when you get overboard, you get a good spanking. Sometimes I don’t feel guilty, many times I do. But that is the kind of pain I am willing to undergo every once in a while, just to make sure you grow up knowing that what goes around, comes around.

‘Lab yu Nay!’ You seem to be fond of telling me that lately. That’s more than enough assurance for me, that the language of my love will always be greater than what ‘terrific terrible two’ brings along. You will get spanked. But you will know why.

Happy birthday my dear Abe! With you, God has blessed me in so many wonderful, amazing ways. Your face, your voice, the touch of you, all the intricate detail of my Gabriel … here, in my heart. All the birthdays of your life, forever.

Love,

Nanay

I have to give credit to my friend, Hannah for the term 'terrific terrible two'. Really brilliant.

(here is a link to gabriel's recent birthday celebration: http://annereinee.multiply.com/photos/album/32/ABE_TURNED_TWO)

PINK POWER

I was recently one of five Rockin' Girl Blogger awardees, courtesy of Mama Mapz. Now it's time for me to pay it back and/or forward. Here are my five topmost on the list, in no particular order.

BEBANG: She’s my sister blogmate. If I won’t include her in the awarding, I’ll be in big trouble. Juk juk juk. She’s my number one fan when it comes to writing, but she too can actually write. She writes heartwarming, witty, relevant blogs. My recent favorite is her 11 days. Creative, funny, again, witty. What makes her entries even more worth reading is the enduring faith that makes up the mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend that she is.

MIRA: After much coaxing, she finally gave in and started her own blog. We met at SFC in 1995 and we instantly became friends. Her profound thoughts were like a fountain I wanted to contain in a teacup I shared with her every once in a while. It’s her birthday on September 8, so I better continue this simple tribute on a birthday blog for her.

KURING: Mira’s younger sister. She used to collect every piece of poetry I wrote. She’s of the very first few who get to read my work first, before I share it with others. It’s like an exclusive joy for her I wouldn’t want to take away. From her entries, you can tell how she becomes an exciting mixture of the traditional and contemporary, as she faces more challenges in a wider, more complex world of NYC.

MAMA_ALY: I saw her blog site when I was blog hopping one day. A refreshing page of a career woman who chose to stay at home and become a fulltime wife and mother. She shares her faith in simple, reflective, and insightful words, any reader can’t help but be blessed. I always walk away feeling pounds lighter after every blog visit.

MAPING: Why wouldn’t I give her this award? It’s because of her blogs that I, too, wanted to have my own. I instantly was able to relate reading her entries. A working, blogging mother and wife. She writes heartwarming blogs, light, mostly funny and cute especially when it’s about her munchkins.

There you have it ladies! The long overdue pink badges! Strut it around and be proud you’re pink!

QUEEN WITHOUT A CROWN

I wrote this article for Philippine Daily Inquirer back in 1999, Youngblood section.

I have three sisters, all of them beauty queens. (Even my brother has taken part in a number of pageants.) Our living room is full of their trophies, their bedrooms are covered with sashes. Our photo albums are filled with pictures showing them in makeup and proudly displaying their crowns and bouquets. There are piles of newspapers with their pictures.

Friends and relatives always praise my parents for having such beautiful and talented children. And then they turn their gaze on me and ask, "How about you? When will you complete the number?"

I give them a shrug for an answer. I just can't imagine myself in the spotlight, forcing a smile to hide my nervousness and trying to answer questions from the judges. If what happened to Miriam Quiambao happened to me, I don't think I would be able to stand up, manage a smile and brush off such an embarrassing fall. Even just reciting in class made me feel faint.

Most of the time, I serve as bona (a gay term for "alalay" in our province) to my sisters. I bring their costumes. I fan them backstage. I look after their belongings. Sometimes I also get into disputes with supporters of other candidates who mumble unflattering comments about my sisters (which is inevitable, since there are losers when there are winners).

I love the thrill and excitement of watching my sisters walk the ramp, flash their brilliant smiles and answer tricky questions and then waiting for the final moment when the host announces who will be crowned as queen. If it is one of my sisters, I swell with pride and I have a hard time keeping myself from running in front and shouting to the crowd, "That's my sister! that's my sister!"

In most of the photos from various competitions my sisters joined, I can be seen in the background, smiling from ear to ear. One time when I was showing a new friend of my photo with a sister in a fashion show, she casually said, "Oh, so you're also fond of pursuing movie stars for a photograph!"

But I'm used to all that. I'm contended to be my sisters' No. 1 fan.

I'm not saying I am very different from them. I don't wear thick glasses and long skirts. In fact, I could be more daring and stylish than them at times. But while my sisters busy themselves moisturizing their faces and applying lotion to their bodies at night, my face is usually buried in a book. Maybe that's where we are slightly different

Still there came a time when I asked myself when I would make a name for myself to make my parents proud. Of course, they are proud of all of us, but I think parents love nothing more than seeing their children in the spotlight and being admired and cheered.

This thought almost drove me to give beauty pageants a try. I tried wearing a swimsuit in front of a mirror, put on some makeup and faked a smile. I looked all right, but I felt stupid. No, I just didn't have the nerve. As I was talking to the girl in the mirror, I realized I wasn't feeling fine at all. I was insecure, self-protective, indecisive. I was living in a box, shutting myself away from the world. I loathed failure. I feared rejection. And this realization embarrassed me and became a challenge.

I didn't find the courage to take a leap overnight. For a long time, I nursed the desire to have a "name" for myself but I couldn't really change myself into the way people wanted me to be. I wanted to remain what I was.

Since I loved books and I loved to write, I gave campus journalism my best shot. I wanted to get out of the box and I did something about it. I faced my fears. I struggled through sweat and tears. I suffered failures and became dejected. I got involved in fights. I was humiliated. But I kept trying, knowing these were the things I had to take if I wanted to be a winner.

Eventually I became the editor of our school organ. I represented our school in different assemblies and competitions in different places. I ran for various positions and won some. That was the way I got into the "spotlight."

I was able to experience how it felt to read my name on bulletin boards and the papers, or accept congratulations and shake hands with people I never imagined I would meet or walk in the corridors saying thank you to well-wishers on campus. and it felt great!

I realized I could do and achieve things on my own without creating an image of myself for people. After all, it's my family who will be proud of me whenever I win in my own version of pageants.

I graduated from college with a journalism award given by the Philippine Information Agency and that has been the highlight of my young life. I was proud to see my parents go up the stage and share the spotlight with me, and pin on me the medal I worked so hard to earn. I didn't feel the weight of a crown on my head or the rustle of a sash on my gown as I faced the audience and heard the loud cheers of my friends and fellow campus writers. I just felt the weight of the medal on my neck and I became the proudest daughter in the world.

Now I don't think I need to join beauty pageants. I have already completed the number.

WRITER'S BLOCK

I used to write no end.
I used to write like writing
was the only way I could live.
I wrote saccharine, sentimental pieces
where some people scoffed at.
And sometimes I bullied my way
into poetry like a dog getting on
a porcupine… and people adored me.

Out of my well-worn heart
and complex imagination,
I declared myself master of my pen,
oblivious to the fact
that poetry sometimes does fade.

The wine tasted bland.
Raindrops, annoying.
Night sky, frightful.

There was no more joy
in my writing,
only sad patterns for sorrow.
And so I grieved at the sunset
Like it would never rise again.