Before May Ends

(My tribute to all Biological and Un-biological Mothers)


This conversation with my mom started with my very innocuous remark about my curly hair, how I never notice it until hairdressers ask me if my curls are natural, or when I first wake up in the morning. Ngatanan gad kamo, kurong, my mom said.

My mom then jumped from that topic to Hayden Kho, waray man la mag sulibang ko. And how she pities him now. What? Am I hearing what you are saying? And how did we get to Hayden Kho from my hair?

My hair, my brother’s curly hair, Mano her son, Hayden who is now in the news is a son to a mom who has defended him, she would defend her son too, no matter what- that was her logical flow. You follow? From the time I woke up that morning with my untamed hair, we were just one breath away from talking about Mano, the pinakurong among us.

She explained: Hayden is a mother’s son too. And if she were his mother, no matter what he did, no matter how wrong, she would take his side, and she would protect him. Like what Hayden’s mother did. I could have told her that Hayden’s mom got a lot of flak for that. I told my friends this exchange and they asked, but what about Katrina’s mom? I said, that is not the theme that day- for my mom, the mother and son story is the central theme this particular morning. The son who did wrong and the grieving mother. And if Mano were alive and did a Hayden, well she would go on TV and say, nilulong lang siya ng droga ni Katrina. She is funny that way, my mom. I could have laughed but I wanted to cry instead.

So just to clarify, it was not Hayden my mom sided with, she emphatized with Hayden’s mom, just in case the anti-Hayden group set camp outside our house.

But that morning, even before I had my first cup of coffee, my mom had once again shown me what this mother-love thing is all about. In All about my mother, (something I wrote two Mothers’ days ago) I have said all that I could say to pay homage to my mom. And I wondered, would I ever be like her?

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My mom’s declaration of unconditional love reminded me of a very indulgent question that only a non-mother like me would ask. I have asked this question over and over again: What if I have a child and I end up not liking him/her? (What if they end up being the over-achiever classmate everyone detested, or the bully, or the airhead I would make fun of? What if she/he does not like books? What if the sound of their voices is irritating? What if? What if?)

Consistently, and without much hesitation, every single one I asked who is a mother said, “that is not possible.” It is impossible for any mother not to like their children.

Of course a non-mother like me would have a little difficulty understanding this statement of seemingly unquestionable fact. But the daughter in me, who is loved by her mom, major flaws and all, somehow gets it.

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The plan for this trip to Tacloban was I would bring back my cousin’s kids to Manila from their summer vacation. When I arrived, the two now very home-sick kids were waiting for me. The conversation went:

Kuya Shameer: Nanay Jet, sabi ni mama sama kami sa iyo balik Manila basta hindi lang kami makulit.
Me: Ok, basta I only have two rules, don’t call me Nanay Jet if there are single men about and hindi kayo mag poo-po-poo ha…
Kuya Shameer: Bakit, walang toilet?
Me: May bathroom, Pero si Nanay Jet, hindi nag-clean clean ng poopoo, ever…
Ate Lousie: Kasi wala ka children kaya hindi ka naghuhugas ng pwet?

Such insight from a five-year old. Poor kids, they would really have to hold it, if they travel with me.

But motherhood and baby shit have always been inseparable from my mind. When I was a teenager, my mom would always tell me, kung gusto mo magkatae early pa, hala sige, pag-asawa hin temprano. Mom, that was very effective, look at me now.

Now, decades beyond my teenage years, I still panic if these kids, whom I adore and who adores me in return, calls me from the toilet, saying, “tapos na ako”. It’s Mana Adette’s job, she’s a mom, she has no qualms about these things.

In my mind, that is what sets Mothers apart from us the cool titas- this kind of love that makes it ok to wipe the shit off somebody else’s ass. Shet. Pakshet.

*******
So would I be willing to do that? (and more, I know, but in my mind it all starts with dirty diapers)

My brother once said that one has to decide early on whether they want to have children or not, and past a certain age one should not have children anymore (he did not say what age though). I took this to mean that he has already decided not to have kids. I suppose that marker has to do with being at an age where you can still grow with your kids, or play ball with them without getting a heart attack after. I have thought long and hard whether I want to have kids and at some points I said I am cool being the greatest Tita ever (and ask my pamangkins, I am the coolest Tita EVER). Now the only thing that I am certain of is that I do not want that option taken away from me.

Now, I am surrounded by women who badly want to have kids but for many reasons could not just yet. We talk about it sometimes, or we don’t most of the time. But the mere fact that they are already considering being responsible for another life is already remarkable. I will dance a million times in front of the fertility goddess for them if that would help.

********

And then, there are the un-biological moms (dyndyn’s term not mine).

Aimee and Rubylee have long ago started calling each other MA, - just because they could only really depend on each other. Another mother-sister—mother relationship I admire is that of Dyndyn and Baan. They are mothers to each other and mothers to Dantoy.

There’s Mommy Jasmin, who has done a pretty amazing job in raising Jehu, and like any other Mom has already set aside her own dreams and has planned her life around him.

Drey has reluctantly and temporarily assumed the role of the mother while waiting for her mom to wake up from her sleep. Darl recently stood as the mother of the groom but has long ago assumed the role of mother in the Delgado household. In one conversation with Darl and Drey, we concurred that taking on the role of the mom in a mom-centered household is not an easy feat. We may be competent in our jobs, but thrust in the roles that our moms played, we reach a certain level of incompetence on things that our mothers have done so effortlessly.

And so I propose that after Mother’s Day, there should be a day dedicated for all un-biological mothers. Let me bring this up with the Hallmark people, that should be a strong start. Or come up with a contest for Ulirang Hindi Ina. I could go on and on with these ideas (I could hear Weng heave a big sigh, adi naman kamo, nagwinaso-waso na naman) but in the meantime, let me just say: Mothers of all non-mothers, you rock!!

Taxi Drivers and Tracy Chapman

While sorting through my documents a couple of nights ago, I chanced upon a small notebook that contained a daily journal of my vacation in Brazil in 2007. I realized I never ‘blogged’ about it, maybe because of the lack of time, or because I was confident that it was already documented. Anyway, while I was leafing through the entries, I was pleasantly surprised to find something I wrote, an excerpt of it I copied below:

March 4, 2007

Another cab to another airport on my way back from Salvador, Bahia to Rio de Janeiro. The driver turned on his radio and surprise, surprise, Tracy Chapman was on. So I started singing-along “Give me one reason to stay here, and I’ll turn right back around”. ..The next song was Brazilian, sounded familiar but I did not know the lyrics. I saw the driver glance at me from his rearview mirror and without saying a word I sort of understood that he said, “now it’s my turn”. Then he started singing along at the top of his voice.

Hmmm, the showdown was on. The next song was another Brazilian song that the driver sang but the next song was mine, and a Sting song at that. “We’ll be together, we’ll be together…” I sang the whole song the rest of the way with the driver nodding his head in tune with the song. At the airport, we said goodbye like we were old friends, I even gave him a hug, and all this without a single word being exchanged between us (I do not speak his language, he does not speak the language I use). We just shared a drive and some music and that was enough.

End of entry.

I was pretty amused because just recently, I had come from Taiwan. I had a meeting in an area an hour away from Taipei and instead of renting a car, my colleague arranged for a cab to take us, wait for us there, and take us back. Turned out, the driver is a Filipino who is now a Taiwanese citizen. He hooked up his I-phone and played his I-pod- and instantly I recognized the first song. It was Tracy Chapman’s The Promise and I have not heard that song for the longest time. And I happen to love the song and when I sing it, I feel I own it. So again, as is my habit, I sang along with my old friend Tracy. Another Tracy song followed that one.

I was at a tough meeting for four hours but when I got back into the cab, the driver was ready with the song. I did not even have to ask. This time, the driver sang along with me, and we sang at the top of our voices. My colleague was amused.

Naturally, I arranged for him to pick me up at 5am the next day for the airport. Like the day before, we listened to Tracy, but singing The Promise at dawn is not the same thing, it takes on an extra element of sadness. So we sang it under our breaths, each lost in our own thoughts, and singing, “in your arms, where all my journeys end…” I so badly wanted to ask who he was singing that song for, where she was, and when he was coming home to the country he said he badly missed, but I did not.

Love in Translation

What do you do in Taipei on an insignificant Thursday night? I saw long lines at the movie theater, and a big crowd of young people in the Ximen district where there are a lot of shops and bars. But I had better things to do. In the Taipei Central Train Station, I saw a long table with women talking to men in white, they appeared so engrossed in their conversation I asked what it was they were there for. It’s fortune-telling, my Taiwanese friend, H, said. Well, the horoscope junky in me just had to do it, I could not resist. You had to choose though, each guy there had his own expertise. Was it career fortune you wanted to know? Or family? Marriage? Money? I said, I know where my career is going and even if I love what I am doing, it does not completely define me. Family, I do not want to know what will happen with that, I am too paranoid to even ask. Marriage, well, it’s jumping the gun a bit, right? Money, I know I need to work really hard to have some, I do not need any fortune-teller to tell me that. So that leaves Dr. Love a.k.a. Mr. Chen.

But Mr. Chen does not speak English. So I had to convince H to translate for me. Out comes Mr. Chen’s PDA. After a very complicated calculation involving my date and time of birth, he said, through H, that from this year on until 2013, particularly during the months of February to July, I will have the good fortune to meet the One. And I will get married. And have children. Practical and pragmatic H, who could not help being a more active participant, right away asked a question I did not even formulate. How will she know? In the restaurant later that night, while we were recounting the experience, I asked her why she kept repeating that particular question. She said, “it’s very important, you meet so many people, how will you know who is the one?”

Mr. Chen was forced to give us a description so specific he went as far as to give me a physical and job description. H, who has an extensive English vocabulary when we talk about our work, had no similar range for conversations around love and fortunes. So the description involved a lot of non-verbal explanations and hand gestures. If I interpreted their hand gestures right and nothing was lost in translation, then does it mean that your time of birth will actually influence the height of the person you will marry?

I have a different explanation for fortune-telling that is more acceptable for logical people, especially when the reading is uncannily accurate. People who go to one usually have a specific question in mind. Usually, the mind is so cluttered with so many concerns that when they actually shell out 100 NT to get some answers to one question, they force their minds to focus on one thing. And more intuitive people (like fortune tellers) are able to pick up on that energy they emit, and read it.

Although I have a simpler answer to H’s question and Mr. Chen did not have to consult his PDA and his complicated fortune calculator to tell me how I will know. For me, you know or you’ll never know. But if Mr. Chen is right, he will be invited to my wedding. And H, who has never gone to a fortune-teller until I dragged her to one, said she will remind me every year of Mr. Chen’s timeline just in case I forget. Tick-tock, tick-tock…

The Weatherman

My father has only one use for the internet- to go to the official website of PAG-ASA (Philippine Atmospheric, Geophysical, and Astronomical Services Administration) to check the latest weather update and track the paths of the many typhoons and depressions that hit the country. He particularly likes those satellite photos of storms and low pressure areas. He keeps track of the travel schedule of the people around him (more often than not, he is on to my travel schedule) and he uses the information from the website to give people a go-ahead signal. He does not just check the internet, my sister said, he calls the PAG-ASA weather hotline too, to double-check.

The night before my flight back to Manila, Typhoon Dante was in the country. I saw him watching the news and was particularly worried he would not allow me to take the morning flight. He has done that before, he jumped the gun on the airlines and did not allow my grandma to fly because there was a typhoon on its route from China and when the typhoon detoured I had to shoulder the no show fees and fare difference. Every time we scheduled him for a trip to Manila or anywhere that involved him taking airplanes, I would pray for good weather, no, the best weather, and I would always be one step short of offering eggs to Sta. Clara (the Saint for sunshiny days, I think). I would tell him, you know, the airlines would not be allowed to fly if the conditions are really bad. Sometimes, my argument would be, oh, the planes usually fly over the storm clouds. That last one does not always work as I hope it would.

The morning of my departure I sensed that he was more nervous than usual. He asked me to check the weather on the internet and I pretended not to hear him. When he insisted, I said the internet was not working and I would miss my flight if we did not leave that very minute. What compounded his discomfort was his distrust for the airline I was taking that morning. It is new, or at least new to our area, and I kind of understand why he would not have confidence in an airline that sounds like a tetra-pack juice drink. He talked about maintenance, I told him airline maintenance is highly regulated and it would be standard for all airlines, regardless of its tutti-frutti-sounding name. I thought they had already left when I finished checking-in but my mom told me they waited for the plane to arrive so he could see for himself if the plane was big enough. He was not impressed. He called me and told me not to take that airline again.

It has become an SOP for me to call my father once my plane lands, and my standard line has always been “the flight was so smooth.” Technically, I am not lying because I am usually dead to the world during plane rides that the worst air pockets won’t affect me one bit.

My father’s obsession for the weather is only one of the many things he worries about nowadays. His anxiety level increases when he has to travel. I was not like this before, he would always tell me, especially when his anxiety was at its worst. When I came back from Zamboanga, he cornered me just to tell me the stories about his own travels to that island as an internal company auditor more than 30 years ago, of the times when he ate monkey brains, or his island hopping experiences, the time when he had to be sneaked off the island because of the anomalies he found in one warehouse. He also told me of his time in another town, when he had to make his way five floors down through rubble during an earthquake (that’s why he asks me to make sure I know where the hotel fire exits are). He was also supposed to be on a flight that crashed. I was not always afraid of travel; I had many adventures, too. I know, I know, no need for apologies.

Mastering your fear, someone said, is the key. But for my father, his concept of mastering the fear is to check the weather, so he will know what he needs to fear, and when. But how do you control the weather, Mr. Weatherman?

Single-serving

I was an anomaly in South Korea. Not for any other reasons but for these: I was a tourist. A woman. Dining. Alone.

I have had solitary dining experiences in a good number of cities, in four continents. More often than not, I travel alone and I have never felt that dining by my lonesome was an anomaly until now (or maybe once in Sri Lanka but that’s another story).

Of the two nights I was in the country, one I spent having a group dinner with the people who came for the meeting, the other night I decided to spend part of it by myself. I refused dinner invitations from a couple of people but a made half a commitment to join the group to go clubbing later that night.

I should have heeded all the signs. I spent an hour walking around looking for restaurants that had pictures of food that was for a single serving. There were Western Cafes that had single-serving but who would want to eat Carbonara if it was there first time in Korea? I peered through restaurant windows and mentally took note of whether there were tables for one. There were none. All over, I saw groups, congregations, couples. The receptionist at the restaurant I finally settled on had a perplexed look on her face when I asked for a table for one. The waiter who took my order had to go comb through the menu to look for a dish that would be good for one. Even the glass of coke had two straws in it. The Korean guide for the night out, when I asked her if people in Korea ever ate out alone said in a very definitive tone: Never. So that’s that. I decided to get back at the Seoul that had no room for single people by going out and being sociable. But maybe I should not be blaming the city or the country. Maybe it’s me beginning to notice or to mind.

Black Saturday

“My only question is,” she said, “Where do they go after this?”

Faith, I believe is the word, I said. I cannot not believe, otherwise where would they be? At that time, I envied the people around me with unwavering faith, because the conviction that he is somewhere, wherever that is, is better than struggling with the questions – Is this it? And then?

Once, some time ago, an aunt and I agreed that it is better not to seek answers to, or look for meaning to these permanent absences. This is just how it is, you feel it, and then.

So for you, my friend, I share this:


The Same Old Figurative
by Joel M. Toledo

Yes, the world is strange, riddled with difficult sciences
and random magic. But there are compensations, things we do

perceive: the high cries and erratic spirals of sparrows,
the sky gray and now giving in to the regular rain.

Still we insist on meaning, that common consolation
that every now and then makes for beauty. Or disaster.

Listen. The new figures are simply those of birds,
the whole notes of their now flightless bodies snagged

on the many scales of the city. And it’s just some thunder,
the usual humming of wires. It is only in its breaking

that the rain gives itself away. So come now and assemble
with the weather. Notice the water gathering on your cupped

and extended hands—familiar and wet and meaningless.
You are merely being cleansed. Bare instead

the scarred heart; notice how its wild human music
makes such sense. Come the divining

can wait.
Let us examine the wreckage.

(for B, who has just recently said goodbye to a love one; and for him, I say a prayer)

Because D once said:

‘Enough of that cryptic death stream of consciousness thing.' And so, three years later, I decided to drop Notes from Six Feet Under.

A little note on why this is now Horoscope Junky. I am a compulsive reader of horoscope. I subscribe to the daily yahoo horoscope and monthly, I check out www.astrologyzone.com. I once tried to explain why in my first ever blog entry.

So I decided to let this blog go where my horoscope tells me.

My March horoscope said: “It would not be a good time to get engaged and if you don't have to, avoid getting married. Finally, you must never have plastic surgery when Venus is retrograde, which thankfully is a rare occurrence...’ Gosh, and I had such big plans around these things. Ha-ha!

So I guess the only thing I can do that is not in the realm of life changing experiences would be to go back to this page. But it has been so long that I no longer know how to compose paragraphs (with a topic sentence and supporting sentences ba)…so let’s take this slow. The best that I can do right now is come up with a list.

25 Random Things

(This is a facebook thing, not sure why it has to be 25. I started thinking about what I would write on my list of 25 while I was on my dentist’s chair, trying to get my mind off that drilling sound)

1. One of my biggest fears involve losing all my teeth in a freak accident, like getting so drunk and waking up to find myself picking up my teeth from the bathroom floor of Sarah’s.

2. Still on fears, I have always been afraid of dogs. When I was about 8 or so, a small puppy bit me (the story around this involves a lie that a cousin and I did not take back until we were in our mid-twenties, when we were too old to get a spanking and to be grounded) and I had to be injected with anti-rabies vaccine everyday for about 2 weeks. Hellish for a kid to go through. I was bitten two more times after that, the last one by Maguay, the Delgado’s dog. It was not his fault, he was sick and grumpy and I was sun-shiny happy. Could be irritating for anyone. Darl said he bit because he actually liked me. Does not make sense to me, I never understood that whole law of love and violence.

3. I love solitary walks but these have been seriously hampered by my fear of stray dogs. So now I go on solitary drives. Simon, my dream interpreter, said that every time a threatening dog appeared in my dreams, it means I am anxious about something or there is something I am afraid to face during my waking hours. And he was so right.

4. I have a dog though- I call him Mang Pedring, a toy poodle (I have no problem with dogs once they become my friends). He is back home with his grandparents because his single working mom (me) can’t leave him to starve to death while she is travelling.

5. What I miss most from my childhood is climbing trees. And even if I can’t climb them, I love pine trees. I particularly like peeling resin from its barks.

6. I know this is not environmentally-friendly, but I am always nostalgic whenever I get a whiff of dried leaves burning. Reminds me of lazy afternoons back home. Tita G introduced me to the romantic smell of pine cones burning.

7. For home fresheners, I would prefer the smell of freshly-baked bread or brewed coffee. I can’t stand those lemon or strawberry car fresheners or any fruity smells- gives me a bad headache.

8. If Nicolas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas said, ‘You can never ever ask me to stop drinking’, my version would be: ‘You can never ever make me eat ampalaya (bitter lemon) and okra, ever.’

9. These can make me cry without fail: all boys’ choir during Sunday mass, the show Extreme Makeover Home Edition, sports-themed movies where the underdog always wins the game, the movie Running on Empty, the song Smile, and early morning flights to Tacloban.

10. I can’t throw keys away. I keep all of the keys I find in a box even if its owners are long gone, even if the doors that they open are shut forever, or even if the drawers that were under lock and key are now empty.

11. I am all about big wide windows and open spaces. The view from the bedroom window has always been my primary consideration when moving into a new place or checking into a hotel room. My first anxiety attack happened when I drew the curtains of a hotel room and found out it had no windows, just frosted glass. The reason why I decided on my place now is that it had windows you can actually open, unlike other high rise condos where all you get are closed, suicide-proof glass windows.

12. My biggest pet-peeve: Men who carry the purses/small bags of their girlfriends or women who let their men do that- I have never understood why they would need to do that. For me bags are fashion accessories (aside from the practical purpose it serves) so why should I let someone else carry it for me?

13. Another pet peeve is the song Bakit ngayon ka lang. Trust me, in all videoke bars, there would always be married or otherwise committed men singing that song (with feelings pa).

14. It is very important for me that the person (s) I would end up spending a lot of time with would be able to pronounce my name just right- Jet, not Jit, not Jate, not Jets. That’s why I dropped Claudette in the first place- got tired being called Clawdet. Besides, Claudette is so French and I am so, so not.

15. I took diving lessons and went diving twice after I got my license and have not done it since. I took sewing lessons, and have not been back after the second lesson. Now I plan to take photography lessons, wonder if I will make it to the third session.

16. For most of my high school and college years, my plan was really to be based in the US, in New York pa. But now, I can’t imagine living anywhere but here in my country. I love travelling but I get so home-sick and I can’t wait to come back. I tell people I meet when I travel that I live in a tropical paradise. Among the many reasons I can’t imagine living anywhere else: the tropical weather, the beaches, inexpensive salon services and spas, and my family (not necessarily in that order).

17. Among the things I thank the Big Boss for are: that I do not have motion sickness, I do not have allergies, and I can sleep anywhere, at will and in any position, and I have a small circle of very good friends (again, not necessarily in the order of importance).

18. My retirement plan is to own a beach resort in one obscure island that only accepts guests I like; where money would not be the currency accepted as payment for room and board--payment would be through songs belted out in abandon, stories that can make me laugh or cry, even those untold, those that still have to make their way out of their hiding places, and tales of passion and compassion. It will also serve as half-way house for my friends, who can be the resort’s resident eccentric artists. Ines, when I told her about this a year ago, said I should keep and carry a symbol of that dream with me all the time to make it happen (she kept a leaf or a twig- for her dream house or dream island). I wonder what airport security would do if they find me carrying white sand in my pocket.

I am pretty sure that there are seven items we could lift from my previous post to complete the 25 (just realized I have been in a list mode).

1.