boxing day

This is my third winter in Canada. My second christmas. My first boxing day.
What is boxing day?
As I understand, from a business' point of view, after the Christmas rush, instead of boxing up their stock, they would rather clear it.
And from the consumers' point of view, it is time to box up their old stuff and time to replace with the new.
So how do these objectives marry? A ridiculous (in that prices can go unbelievably low and also in the way people behave) and frenzied shopping spree.
In the US, this is equivalent to black friday, the day after their thanksgiving each November. Remember the Wal-mart employee who was crushed to death? That was really a black friday.
As for me, I now reflect on my buys and grow aghast at how much I have spent.
Reality check. Cheap buys upon buys equal a mounting expense tab.
Ca-ching for Bestbuy, Futureshop and the Source... but this is nothing for me to sneeze at.
I'm glad this was my only boxing day.
It may just as well mean boxing (read: beating) yourself to pay up.
Time to condition myself now. Mantra: It is all worth it. Repeat 100 times.

a christmas like none before

The past couple of days has been snowy and icy. Yesterday was overcast and rainy. Whatever Christmas spirit I had went down the drains much like the slushy snow that melted with the precipitation. I got invited to a Pinoy family get together last night, Christmas eve. The invite was from a co-worker in the unit. I did not want to go but she was insistent. Admittedly, my well thought plan was to stay in my pyjamas and drink all the hot chocolate I wanted. Lenny (my new laptop and friend) and I needed to get seriously acquainted. Oh well...
I had my leche flan and cassava cake on hand (yes, homemade! and I make a mean banana bread laden with chocolate chips) as we waited at the porch for the door to open. There were dreadfully sombre looking snowbanks and despite the festive display of lights on each homestead, it seemed isolated...I did not see a soul. Quite a complete contrast to the multitudes of loitering people back in the P.I. on this same occasion. Finally, the light from within swathed and beckoned us to come in.
The family is big. Think three generations. The patriarch is a 92 year old who has as much vigor as a 20 year old. He and his jovial 86 year old wife bore eight children. Among all of them, I lost count how many children there are ranging from 9 to 29 years old. I felt like an intruder. But they were so warm and genuinely happy to have me there. I felt so mopey inside that I held back tears threatening to break my ducts. This is what Christmas is about. Sharing. Giving. Laughter. Love. Family.
I wondered how my dad would do...how we all would do. First christmas without Ma.
As per our tradition, more of Ma's really, the piece de resistance was turkey and stuffing, gravy and cranberry sauce prepared then by aling Miling and now, aling Rosa. It was a great ceremony for her to carve it as we sit down for noche buena after coming back from midnight mass. I remember finishing my share and yet I always find my plate brimming with more.Then after dinner, we would pose for pictures galore as per our in-house photographer, Ma. Exchange of gifts that followed would never fail to elicit squeals of glee and delight from the kids. More pictures for Ma to take.
This christmas would be one like none before. Melancholy and remembering.
A time to be thankful for what and whom we have cherished. A time to further enrich existing relationships and embark on new ones.
Strains of "I'm dreaming of a white christmas" could be softly heard then.
I shivered.
"I'll be home for christmas" played in my head. Next time. For sure.

I am not ready for a new relationship

On December 20, a vital part of my existence (at least while I am here in Toronto) died. I am talking about my 3 year old Dell laptop. She has been my reliable link to the world and more importantly, to my family back home. A year ago, she suffered a minor meltdown but after appropriate therapy, bounced back. But this time, it is the motherboard and I'm afraid the inevitable has come. It pains me because I made a commitment to a DIY upgrade (from 512MB to 1.256 GB RAM and 80GB HD to 160 GB HD) and we've been happy for months now. I went to Best Buy for a diagnostic just in case I was wrong but my suspicion was confirmed. At that time, I was still mourning my loss. I was caught off guard when the Best Buy geek said, "If you buy a new laptop now, I will waive the diagnostic and data extraction fee." And he waved an in-store flyer at me. "Whoa, I completely am not ready for this. I need time. I don't want to make a hurried purchase...it'll be like I am on the rebound, y'know." Boy, that sounded nuts but I said it anyway.

PS. My recovery didn't take long. I am waiting for my new Lenovo to arrive. Here's to a more lasting relationship.

wanting release

As of now, I am loving being on research and not being on clinical service. Don't get me wrong. I love dealing with pathology and wracking my brain (and if that falls short, the on-line journals) for the pathophysiologic mechanisms and corresponding treatment. It is simply a thrill to find out what to do for a patient which ultimately impacts on his/her family and also on my own knowledge / experience. The downside to this is the opposite. That is, not knowing what else to offer a patient and inflict on a family a pain so deep that is beyond fathomable. In my current hospital setting, we get the sickest babies in the province. Often, we find ourselves bearers of the bad news.
So, there I was today, quietly passing along the patient rooms' corridors when I saw a familiar figure. I had met this grandma before when I was taking consents for my current study. Her eyes looked sad. I have heard that her grandchild, an ex 24 weeker and now 11 weeks old post natally, is not doing so well. He has never been able to tolerate extubation for more than 6 hours and has had a series of serious infections. It is bad. The level of intensive care support has been escalated. And they have gotten "the talk."
I stopped. "How are you?"
She recognized me. "My grandchild is really sick this time. I just want him to rest. He has been through so much since he was born. You understand? I just want him to rest. Is that so bad?"
What could I say? I understood. I knew her pain. Memories of my mother flood back into my mind.
We sit down.
I let her have her release...if only for this moment.
I quietly said a prayer.

the quest for a planner

Since December came round and the prospect of the new year is a looming reality, I have been on the search for a journal / planner. The sticky "post it" method has become too messy and at times, made me miss out on things. I think I have gone to four different stores, only to come out empty handed. At first, my eye caught a leather bound one in an amazing rich chocolate colour. Alas, the price tag was way too rich for me. Going the complete opposite direction, I went towards the handy paperback ones made by Hallmark and American Greetings. Hmmm...the spaces were way too small. And still for CAD 7.00! I have to stop doing price conversions in my head. And then there were all sorts of planners in between. There was the zen inspired planner that was just too beautiful to write on. The MOM organizer with every date accompanied by a blank to do list for home, kids' activities etc....we all know why I would not buy that one. I felt too old (!?) for the Far Side planner and the Anne Geddes was, well, I already see a lot of babies in my everyday.
It sounds now that I am making all these excuses. Well, I did.
If I were back in Manila, this would not even be a problem. My mother-in-law, who is a top insurance provider, gives out planners every year.
But I still am on a quest, that is, until today.
To my complete surprise, I received a package at work.
I had the biggest dopey smile and tried hard to quell the tears.
It was a Starbucks planner. From Jun. And everything was made perfect.

sweet

For the first time in weeks, I actually made my way back to the apartment at 5 pm...woo hoo! My mind was preoccupied with what ingredients I need to make cassava cake for my team meeting tomorrow. As I entered the elevator, I thought about how delighted I was, while shopping around in Chinatown last Saturday, to come across a particular brand of thick coconut milk which would make my cake really yummy. Ang babaw.
Yummy.
I became aware of a couple sharing the elevator with me. Nordic twin towers if I hazard a guess. In such a confined space, they were quite oblivious of my petite presence. It is cliche but they only had eyes (and other bodily parts) for each other. Gooey. And more than ever, the lift seemed to have gone on slower motion ascent than usual. Ay-yay. It was hard not to look anywhere else and my eyes roamed the ceiling.
I got out at my floor. Finally.

I am no prude but that was way more than I could handle.

tsokolate

In this caffeine frenzied country, it seems christmas brings in the craving for a nice hot cocoa drink (picture snuggling with loved one/s in front of a cozy fireplace). I find myself yearning for tsokolate. As far as I can remember, my dad's only indulgence is tsokolate at the breakfast table. Our cook would buy a jar of handmade cacao con mani paste still with the oils swirling within it. When I was little, there were daily rations of fresh carabao's milk which was put to boil and then the decadent paste was allowed to melt within it. Crucial to the mixing process is the batidor which results in a light froth on the surface and makes the drink oh-so creamy. Yum! To this day, my dad still enjoys his tsokolate. I can't wait to share the next one with him.

the perfect present

Recently I have been busy with a research project. A big part of it now is recruiting subjects. With an enganging and confident smile, I have introduced myself to countless parents and impart words quite ingrained to my brain. Something must be working because I have not been refused yet. But I almost did.
The father looked haggard, the bags under his eyes were sagging. The mother looked uncertain and a bit afraid. Their daughter has generalized hypotonia. Since birth, that is three weeks ago and many tests later, there is still no clue as to why. I can understand their frustration but cannot begin to imagine what it is they are feeling.
I approached. They seem to be guarded. I had the sinking feeling that they were not going to consent. Mom turns her back and tends to their baby. Dad continued to face me. He seemed all tensed up and ready to recoil...I did not want to be in his path. I start my talk. He had a lot of questions. After a while, we were not talking about the study anymore. I just felt that he needed to talk to someone. So I gamely chatted with him. And slowly, I felt his layers coming off. He was genuinely unsure and even scared. I felt for him and his wife. I did not even notice the time, more than an hour had passed. I did not care any more about the consent. I just wanted them to feel a little bit at ease.
"Since this whole thing happened, I realized that all that is important is right here, right now. So I have thought about it, I will begin to volunteer at the hospital near our place. Whatever problems there are in the world, there are sick people and their families who have it harder than most."
I smiled and said, "That is a great thing. The best gift you can actually give another person is time...make them realize that they matter, that they are worth it."
And he smiled back at me.

man

This real life situation is so cute, it needs to be shared and appreciated.
For reasons which will remain unspecified in this blog, Jun found himself visiting the nearby convenience store one evening. He found his destination without any difficulty. But now, Jun had a task which definitely would not be the envy of any other man alive. He scoped the labels on the many rows....regular, thin, ultrathin, longs, maxi, overnight, with wings, no wings. It was overwhelming and baffling. How could there be so many variations of a product that serves only one purpose? But all is not lost. Man evolves and adapts. Armed with his trusty lifeline (i.e., his cellphone) he made the call that would make him survive through this harrowing rite of passage in fatherhood.
He has lived to tell this tale. I am so proud of my hubby.

grace

Having just talked about endings, my thoughts could not help but drift to my mom.
In what I would like to think of as her last conscious moments, when we called her name, she would momentarily open her eyes and seemed to nod her head. But always, always she would put up her right hand and feebly gesture what I made out to be the sign of the cross. Three days earlier to this, she could still speak.

My mom is a creature of habit. Even while at the hospital, in the mornings, I would give her a sponge bath, then apply her baby powder using her polvera (older than me) followed by a change and her dress up. I would massage her limbs and then she gets breakfast...not that she ever really broke her fast. All she could manage to eat was about 4 or 5 pieces of strawberry and perhaps 3 to 4 spoons of taho or oatmeal. It took a lot of cajoling to have her eat more. It was our ritual. I would help her brush her teeth which she insisted on doing, quivering hands and all. And then she was all set.
"Pakiabot nga ang prayers ko." My mom suffered through it all for the most part. But she never forgot. She never forgot to be thankful and to humbly accept that God is the greatest power. She had a set of prayers but one was her favorite. She was able to utter them all by herself.

Three days earlier to this, she could still speak. But then, she was not really quite there to start up a sensible conversation. She was coming and going. And she did not ask for her prayers. I knew it was not good. I started to read her prayers to her. My eyes fill with tears as I remember how she would mouth the words as I recited, words that rang true from her heart, from her being ...even in her state then. Though it is a prayer for the sick, I felt an overwhelming sense of surrender and grace as I read.

Heavenly Father,
I call on you right now in a special way. It is through your power that I was created.
Every breath I take, every morning I wake, every morning of every hour, I live under Your power.
Father, I ask you now to touch me with that same power.
For if you create me from nothing, you can certainly recreate me.
Fill me with the healing power of your spirit.
Cast out anything that should not be in me. Mend what is broken.
Root out any unproductive cells. Open broken arteries or veins and rebuild damaged areas.
Remove all inflammation and cleanse any infection.
Relax compressed lungs to normalize breathing and prevent coughing.
Let the warmth of your healing love pass through my body to make new any unhealthy areas so that my body will function you created it to function.
And Father, restore me to full health in my mind and body so that I may serve You the rest of my life.
I ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

I say this prayer now. I feel connected with her. In the end, she showed the grace of acceptance and for this, she is enjoying a new beginning somewhere.

the end

It is October 21, the winter season has not been heralded and yet I saw snow falling. Brrrrr....it was sure an unexpected gust of cold that left me feeling frozen. I thrust my un-gloved hands into my coat pockets and bowed my head as I walked to protect my face from the harsh chill. I bit and chafed my lips. To escape, I made a stop at the card shop. The christmas stock are out now. Just seeing the festive mix of red, white, green, silver, gold and blue with touches of tinsel made me feel all warm and tingly inside. The winter wonderland display complete with the inviting fireplace and the cozy grandfather chair beside it was more than enough to beguile me from the misery of the cold outside. There are lovely pocket calendars and I love the fact that they are dated all the way to the end of 2010! I could not resist but pick up one. I leafed quickly to June 30, 2009. A Tuesday. The end of my fellowship. Just then, I caught sight of a greeting card nearby. On the front it read:

Everything will become okay,
it usually is in the end.
If it is not okay,
it is not yet the end.

I almost laughed. I am not quite at the end yet...but I will be okay.

school's back (breaking)

My 10 year old, Maxine, is a wisp of a thing. She is tall but lanky and lean. She weighs about 55 lbs. On the few occasions that I was able to pick her up from school, I saw how much she leaned forward and used her weight to counter the load that is her back pack. Oh, and she carries an envelope bag and her snack pack of course. Her face is a picture of grim determination...a few more steps to the gate..... And believe me, once I reach her, I get her bags and my legs, on a few occasions, almost gave. And it was torture for the back and the neck. I don't know how Maxine does it. But I could not bear it. The bag she uses now is a salmon coloured Samsonite with generous padding but still I don't think it is quite cut out for the job. In the course of the day, she would also go up and down the stairs apart from covering the distance of two courtyards to get to the gate to her classroom.
So today, I got Maxine a new bag. I know she has said that she will not use a wheeled bag. The reason? She's in the fourth grade. Not prep nor grade 1 or 2.


She can't possibly use a wheeled aparador bag embellished with all those characters that I've pointed out to her from store to store that we went to. She, after all, is now one of the older kids in her schoolbus. Ah, yes, the tween age. Image before comfort. But I did better. I got her a covertly wheeled backpack with the sleek pull up handle. Best of all, unlike other wheeled bags, the mechanism was not heavy at all. And I could not believe my luck, it was pink. I can't wait to hear it now..."Mama, you are great."...the only thing I strive to be for my kids.

a true individual

This evening, Jun and Nikki went over her homework. Yes folks. She is three years old and attending nursery school.
I could see and hear their interaction thanks to the marvel that is the internet.
The Lesson: Emotions. Happy, Sad, Scared.
Jun read the scenario to her. Nikki is walking and suddenly you saw a snake (Jun provided realism with a hissing sound effect and writhing arm movements). What do you feel?
Nikki (in her most exuberant): Happeeee!!!! I love snake..Yes!!

How often would you hear that from a little kid? Anyway, this reminds me of when we were in a school supply store. Nikki wanted to get a watercolor set and a drawing book to unleash her art on. On the counter, the sales lady spread out the many drawing books with varying Disney Princess characters on the covers. This lady was giving my Nikki a hard time choosing and then would probably end up asking me to get more than just one. A sales strategy, I'm sure. Nikki was bent over the pile and seriously scanning. A few moments later, "This one! This one!" She excitedly pointed to a cover underneath the pile. And who do you know...Mr Bean. Nikki kept nodding her head with a big smile on her face. "Yes, I like Mr. Bean."

She is definitely her own true individual.

spot the not!

There's always some announcement adorning the common areas in the Toronto apartment building where I live. Reading this one brought a smile to my face. See if you can spot why. It 's not only in the Philippines...

planning for the next chapter

Only a mere 8 months to go. That is how I want to think of it. And then, this fellowship will be done. Time to move on to the next chapter. After almost these three years, I just want to start living life...get settled again. I must admit that I have a feeling uncertainty about what awaits me when I go back to the Philippines. Given the current turn of events, with the dread of a recession, whether this decision to return will haunt me sometime down the road remains to be seen. I plan to pick up again where I left off with my practice in Bulacan. I am positively skeptical though if I would get enough stimulation from that population base given what I am trained in and what for. Which makes me consider getting in to a Manila based hospital but I am all too naive in their ways. And if politicking is involved, I would rather not. It seems I would be my own deterrent. But no. I am fully cognizant that the only way to know is to go ahead. If I slip, I can only pick up myself again and be better. I have no visions of grandeur. I only have simple aspirations and that mainly is to provide for and see my children grow up happy and healthy, and be the best they can be in whatever they choose to do.

Life may get a bit complicated. But that makes it all the better. A challenge overcome, a victory so sweet.

I must say I can't wait to start writing my life's next chapter.

balikbayan box

My sister resumed her life in the US in late March after having been away for almost 8 years. During those 8 years, she stayed with my parents and personally tended to their needs. With her gone, my parents palpably felt her absence. To somewhat assuage this, she eagerly set off on shopping and in mid-May, sent two balikbayan boxes via an ABS CBN forwarding company. My father was excited to see his new Florsheim shoes. Lambing niya sa ate ko.

The months passed and with the turn of ensuing events, nabaon sa limot ang mga kahon.

On September 13, my ate went back to the US again after having come home on August 4. After having buried our mother on August 30.

On September 13, the two balikbayan boxes arrived....after four months. Opening them was bittersweet. Almost a full box were things for our mom. Her favorite things. A tall pile of crossword puzzle books. Packs of Pilot G2 pens, the only ones she would use. Bottles of Clairol Loving Care Medium Brown. Egyptian cotton shirts. Tins of Campbells cream of mushroom. Her favored kind of bath mitts. Things part of her day-to-day. Packs upon packs of Boost. Varying multivitamin preparations and her CoQ10. Hordes of Cetirizine and cortisone creams / lotions (mom was a perpetual atopic).

They would have been a delight to see for her. But it was too late.
Now it is a sight to behold and feel our loss more greatly so.

of death and taxes

Buhay pa nga, pinaghahati-hatian na. How distasteful it is to ask, let alone talk, about acquiring one's inheritance from ancestors while the latter are still living. Ang gahaman naman. Such is the Filipino way of thinking. This is my impression.
The truth is though, not one of us will live forever.
Another truth is, even in the time of overwhelming grief over a loved one's passing, the government will, sooner or later, come knocking. May nabuwis na ngang buhay, papatawan pa din ng buwis uli.

However, Jun's family is not like any other Filipino family. They openly talk about anything. No holds barred. It was his parents who brought up the matter of distributing their properties while they are still alive. My father in law is a practical man and together with my mother in law, they had a family meeting and let their children discuss / deal / compromise amongst themselves. Harap-harapan.

That makes sense. I am working my tail off for my kids. What could be more gratifying than for me to still be around to see them actually have and enjoy what I have toiled for. And not the government, Lord knows where they spend tax money on. Morbid as this may seem, but Jun and I are preparing. Whatever we acquire, our kids' names will be right there as owners as well. It will certainly make it less painful having not to deal with deathly death taxes.

mom's pictures

My mother was in hospital again. This year, previously she already had two ICU admissions but she came out walking in both times. She was tough and resilient. I was going to take care of her...however long she needed me.
From afar I saw her propped up on the bed as I entered the ICU. I thought, a medical student who would have her as an OSCE patient should not have any difficulty diagnosing what was wrong. My feelings sank. Her venous congestion crept all the way up to her scalp. Her breathing was mildly labored. Her eyes met mine and we were both in tears. She was happy to see me but could I really afford to be here once more? (I also came home when she was ill in April.) That doesn't really matter, mom. I am here for you now.
There were a number of reasons why I became a doctor. At that moment, I did not want to be one. I did not want to be one because I could see what was coming and I wish I was wrong. I thought, please God, let me be wrong.
There and then, I faced my mom. Hard as it was, but we had to set things straight in front of my dad. How much intensive care support do you want us to give you if the situation worsened? Absolutely none. She was resolute. My mom has always maintained that she was ready and if it is her time then so be it. Sya Nawa.
When she was diagnosed with lymphoma five years ago, she orchestrated building the family mausoleum.
Her illness did not strike her down. Just the opposite, it seemed to drive her on. She made every moment count as she went to every opportunity to celebrate with family and friends. Each occasion memorialized with the pictures she took with her trusty digital, her Canon. Though she has accepted the digital age, she still had all her pictures printed and carefully set them to albums with the corresponding notations. She took pride in them, the albums are numbered and arranged in a large aparador.
Last year, she was in Toronto and we tore all over the place...on foot. She was a trooper.
But now, she could not even brush her teeth without tiring. That crushed me.
I did not know that I was only going to have three more weeks with her.
I was here for her now. Now that she was ill. I wish I was there for the times when she was not. Now, I can only peer at her life from the pictures she lovingly kept and cared for.
I miss my mom.

a 5 year old's take on life

Having just arrived from a long day at work, contemplating about what to prepare for my dinner seemed such a huge chore. Even though I only had the granola bar for brunch. No doubt I was hungry but also did not want to move a muscle to fix my food. My phone rang and it was Lisa, a friend and an RT I work with in the hospital. Perfect timing. She asked me to come over to her place for dinner. Yey!! I was not coy. Hunger knows no boundaries...

The added bonus was spending time with her 5 year old charmer, Sarah. After the lovely pasta dinner, she treated us to a puppet show. Sarah had brown paper bags made out into hand puppets. In one of her skits, she portrayed a boy and girl falling in love. Then she continued, "And then they got married...and lived happily ever after. And then of course seven weeks later, they got kids and that was...the end."

Funny girl.

my acceptance speech - not!

On Mondays at lunchtime, our group of staff people and fellows convene for journal club and more importantly, eat all you can pizza. This Monday just past however, though there was the unmistakably delectable smell of pizza, there was no journal club. It turned out, it was the fellowship's end of the year program. I felt sad in a way because it meant that some of the people I have worked and became friends with are leaving. And also perhaps, they are going and yet I am staying.

Dr. S, our affable and superb programme director, opened the activity with one of his humor laden spiels. "Oh, parting is such sweet sorrow.."

One by one, certificates for having completed the two year programme were handed out. I heard my name and stood up to receive mine. A handshake, a buzz on the cheek, a smile, applause. Not much aplomb at all. So there, technically speaking, I am a graduate. However due to duration of fellowship requirements back home, I am constrained to continue on for one more year.

I sat down again and waited, contemplating on the year yet to come. Other sorts of recognition awards were being handed out. I just clapped along with everyone else. Dr. S was talking about the final award of the year. I heard parts of it. I was chatting with my seatmate, a colleague and now friend from India who will be on her way home soon.

"every year, this award is always lengthily deliberated on.....this year though, the decision from all three sites (i.e. the three hospitals we, as fellows rotate through) was impressively unanimous....this fellow truly is much deserving, and she has come a long way.....and so the trainee of the year award goes to....and then I heard my name...."

I was so stunned. Pat would later tell me I looked like I was going to cry. I admit to a tremedously weighty mix of emotions and could only wish my family was there. I stood up amid applause. Still dumbfounded. As I approached my boss, I said, "You have got to be kidding." And he half seriously replied, "Oh, I thought I was right unless I mixed it up...darn, let me check the name on the plaque..of course, dear, it is yours. We don't joke about a thing like this." He handed me the handsome looking plaque and gave me a big bear hug. He also showed an even bigger plaque, which I have espied in the HSC NICU many times before, to which my name has been added to a list with the names of previous honorees. Now earlier, for the Teacher of the Year Awardee, Dr. S had joked that the envelope he handed over with the plaque does actually now contain the 500 dollar bonus and not a mere promisory note. So, after Dr. S's repartee chronicling my fellowship "highs", as I received my award and envelope, all I could blurt out was, "So, is this also for 500 dollars?" Not even was I able to stammer out a thanks. My mom would have clobbered me. Everyone hollered in laughter and I sat down. More unreal was the line of people making my way and offering their congratulations, and to which of course, I automatically say, thank you.

I still felt bothered about my "acceptance speech" and so to redeem myself (and make my mom..and dad proud), I sent him an email later.

Hi M,

I just wanted to say thanks. I totally did not expect it. Ergo my completely dumbfounded stance. And of all things to blurt out, "Is this also for 500 dollars?" Now, what I really meant to say was, I am utterly honored by your vote of confidence and trust. And no amount will equal to the wealth of the quality of learning and training I have earned (and will keep on earning) from this programme.
I am truly indebted to yourself, all the staff people and my co-workers.

Cheers,
D

I received a quick reply...

Congratulations - hope you found the cheque, anyway!!!
Much deserved.

Best wishes,
M

Ok ba bumawi? He really is a sweet man.

Kayod na naman uli.

Maxine is 10

Here in Toronto, oftentimes I am met with disbelief at the mere mention that I have kids, let alone three of them. Apparently, I look too young and that for me to have three meant I must have started early, like at 12. Well, lately, I have been feeling older. More so because my bigger babies (namely Lomi and Maxine) are not quite that anymore.

Maxine will be 10 this June 10th. She is now formally launched into that wondrous journey of the double digit age. Ngiiii...the tweens! Jun usually comments on how quiet she has become and not quite into rough housing with her cousins (and him) anymore. Our anticipation of her blossoming into a young lady is a mix of anxiety and joyful pride.

I remember the first time I held her in my arms and I felt a surge of happiness overwhelm me. She has the biggest eyes framed by longest lashes that fanned out. Her eyes (and needless to say, the rest of her) are still as beautiful. Though now she is gangly and about to be as tall as I am, I still get the same surge of endorphins when I see and even think about her.

I can only hope and pray that Jun and I will be able to efficiently navigate with her as she further embarks on her life's journeys.

Happy birthday baby.

chinatown finds

I had gone for palengke at Chinatown. My first excursion out since I moved. Since it is a fresh start, I bought all the Pinoy kitchen necessities. Datu Puti Suka, Marca Pina Toyo, Lorins Patis, bagoong. I lingered in the greens aisle and decided on sitaw, bok choi, spinach, sayote, coriander among others. I was tempted to buy golden, juicy looking Philippine mangoes (goodness though they were 5 for 10 bucks!!). Two tilapia (for 10 dollars!!) found its way to my basket and then some pork spare ribs (for barbecue, sinigang, adobo, pork steak). A dozen chicken wings completed the purchase. I did not expect to get so carried away. I stuffed as much in to my own recycled shopping bag (I care for the environment!!). The rest (and I meant the fresh meat) had to go in the plastic bag. Still, it was quite a load to carry. I made my way outside. It is summer alright. The sun was out in its full glory and made sure that everyone felt its warmth, rather, heat. This was going to be quite a trek.. 8 blocks to be exact. Ay-yay. I berated myself for not having brought my rickety shopping cart.
It was not all bleak. A familiar bell ringing out on the intersection called my attention to the street car. I went to the corner and stood waiting for the next car. I eagerly boarded into the airconditioned comfort. I sat in the back of the car and thankfully set my bags down. As I was getting settled, there was a tisay Pinay with bug eye sunglasses (tutubi shades) dressed in a grey jersey knit dress approaching my way. "Hi Miss", she says and sat down beside me. Weird. She then sat sideways toward me,"Hindi mo talaga ako nakikilala?" Even weirder. She took her glasses off. Surprise, surprise. It was Nel, a dear high school barkada of mine. We threw our arms around each other in a warm hug. Had I been more attentive, I would have noticed her hubby, Mario, just tailing her. They were in Toronto, from Chicago, for the weekend. Nel had thought of looking me up but time was short as they were flying out tonight. It seemed fate had wanted us to meet. Armed with a TTC day pass, they were hopping in and out of the street cars, making their own tour of downtown. Mario had spotted me from afar and they went in pursuit. What a happy coincidence. We spent the afternoon re-connecting.
They do say you can find just about anything or in this case, anyone, in chinatown.

nikki's tricks

I have a particular memory of Nikki that gets me all tickled pink.

I had brought Nikki along for a shopping trip at Gateway. No yaya. Just me and her. She would be traipsing right beside me and at times, would even walk, skip, hop right ahead of me and then stop and turn around slowly to check if I was still within her reach. She would flash me back a most impish smile then start running towards me. I almost topple over as she jumps for my arms. I felt so giddily happy. It felt so right, like all the planets in the universe aligned and made that perfect moment.

In a store, I was browsing for tops as Nikki lounged in one of the oversized couches. Perhaps she was getting bored and so she darted in and out the clothes racks, half shouting and coaxing me,"Where's Nikki?" She was going to hide out in one of the racks further in the store but on her way, she missed a step down and fell on her knee, her arms shot straight out breaking her fall. Nikki slowly raised her head and peered sideways, trying to get a sense of who had witnessed her mishap. She looked straight at me and I was already on my way to comfort her. I was pretty sure she was on the verge of tears. But still on bended knee, she stretched out both her arms in a diagonal and with much flourish exclaimed,"Da-dan!!" I gave her a much deserved applause.

old metal box

At this month's start, I moved in to a different apartment. Yes, my roomie and I have divorced (it was amicable, needless to say). I stopped counting the number of times I had gone up and down the elevator in the process of carting my stuff from the 8th floor down to the 2nd floor. It was a good thing that my cousin has a flatbed cart that eased the weight (literally) of relocating. In two years here, I am amazed at how much stuff I had accumulated (now I ponder on how to ship all these back home). The all metal freight elevator I was using is decidedly dated. There were some scratches on the wall, indelible marks left by previous building occupants who have done much the same as I am. On my umpteenth trip, there was a couple already in the elevator who came from the ground floor. I recognized them. They had moved in across the hall to my soon to be old apartment. As the elevator slowly rose, all our heads were heavenwards it seemed, looking at the floor numbers as they lit up. Why do we that? I was thinking this when I saw the number 7 dim and expectantly waited for 8. Instead, we all heard an awful mechanical groaning. Uh-oh. The elevator stopped. Not quite at the 8th but past the 7th. We were stuck. The three of us looked at each other. For a moment there I felt panic that the cables holding the elevator up would snap and we would free-fall. Yikes! Snap out of it. The guy called building security and we were told it would take a couple of minutes. I felt claustrophobic. To ease the nerves, my companions and I made small talk. Oohh...you're from Spain. I am from the Philippines (you colonized us for 300 years..) And then an uncomfortable silence. Just to do something, I tried to pry open the elevator door. It was heavy but then the other girl helped me and we were able to crank it open. Girl power!! Freedom!! The elevator was not quite level with our floor and we half crawled our way out. I was glad to be out of the musty smell of the old metal box. I had never felt so happy to smell Indian curry that one of the neighbors was cooking. It was still fresh air to me.

hannah montana (in me)

The Hannah Montana concert movie opened while I was still in Manila. Maxine is an avid fan. She knows all the songs and watches the series like a religion almost. Lizzie Mcguire is now a remote memory I guess. So, I thought it would be great for the two of us to watch the movie. Quality mother-daughter time. I really had no idea about Hannah Montana other than the songs Maxine would belt out. I found out more as Nikki, upon seeing the show on Disney would point out repeatedly, "Ha-motana." Nearing the movie date, I was somewhat familiar already with the series and some of the songs.
It was a source of discomfiture to wear the 3D glasses. I had to keep on pinching the frame to my glasses for it to keep still. Maxine was doing the same. Regardless, I could see from the corner of my eye that she was starting to mouth the songs and even bouncing a bit on her chair. When she found how to balance the 3D glasses over her prescription lenses, she had her arms across her chest though still singing softly.
"Maxine, it is a concert. It is okay to sing along more loudly and feel the music. Stand up if you want to." A group of tweeners was already doing that further back.
She gives me a look. "Mama..." As if I told her a most perverse thing.
"I will stand up with you....heck..Best of both worlds..." I started to sing.
She shot back a disbelieving stare. "Mama, no."
Two years ago, or even a year ago, she would have. No cares. Just enjoying herself.
And then it hit me, mio, nagda-dalaga na ang anak ko.
She will be ten in a month's time.
Like any dutiful mother, I shut up.
As we got out of the theater, I started to sing again.."I've got nerve.."
Uh-oh. She was darting looks at me. Well, I found the Hannah Montana in me.

first day in school

For this summer, we had signed up Nikki in her first endeavor to the realm of the classroom. She just turned three in March and we thought it was time for some formal education. (Enough of Wowowee and the likes.) Okay, it was more of an art and read-along class. But still, she would mingle with kids her age and was introduced to the concept of "teacher" (read: someone who hopefully she would see as "the boss").
She had six other classmates. And on the first day, 4 of them were bawling even before teacher asked the parents / yayas to leave. I looked nervously at Nikki, afraid that she would start crying herself (the "hawa" effect). "Nikki, mama will go ha. Give me a kiss na." She didn't budge. Uh-oh. She sat in stony silence. I waited with bated breath. Nothing. "Mommy," it was the teacher,"sige na po." That was my cue. I gave Nikki a quick kiss and hug then went towards the door and out.
If I had a camera then, I would have gotten a nice shot of parents craning their necks and edging each other over the door's glass window. When I finally inched some space and peered through the glass, I saw Nikki looking around. She is looking for me. My poor baby. She is probably unsure and is scared (what with all the crying around her). I wanted to go in and hug her. As I was making my mind up on what to do, Nikki saw me. Still seated, she raised a thumbs up, winked and smiled at the same time. Whew. That's my girl!

he understands

Before coming back to Canada, I made sure to brief Lomi way ahead.
Once I was sure of my date of departure, I started to point to that day in the calendar and tell him, "Mama Donna will ride airplane. Go back to Canada, live in Canada." He would say nothing but just smile, even laugh a little. As if it was a private joke.
I woke up one morning about a week before I had to fly out. Lomi was sitting by my side. He had just woken up as well and was rubbing his eyes. In his fragmented speech, he said, "Mama Donna, finish (gesturing with his left thumb up and moving it from side to side) Canada. Live in Quijote." I was speechless. I gently said,"Lomi, sorry. Mama has to go eh." He makes a noise of irritation. "No, Papa Jun ride airplane. Go to Canada. Mama live in Quijote." I let it go. Yes I sure did. Here I am once more.

pom-poo-ter

This is not about one of the most natural bodily processes known to makind.

One morning as Nikki was waking from her slumber, she said in-between yawns, "Pom-poo-ter." As any mom, I was on the alert. Huh? Did she just say she was going to poo? I quickly lifted her and had her on the toilet seat in record time. She was still sleepy and slouched over my shoulder, "Mama, I want pom-poo-ter. No poo-poo." Aaahhh....com-pyoo-ter.

It amazes me how at the ripe age of three, she has learned the rudimentary know how in operating the PC. Nikki can deftly utilize the mouse and even the touchpad. Leave her be and she knows how to maneuver her way through her favorite programs and websites. Wow.

When I was three, hmm...I was...well, what was I doing? What I am pretty sure of is, I first touched a computer in junior year of high school and I felt awe. It was pretty daunting especially that I remember we were being taught binary stuff. Yikes! That seems quite a long time ago. The future is here.

mamang sorbetero

Picture a warm, lazy afternoon in Sampaloc, Manila. Our neighborhood boasts one of the more elevated and widened streets in the area. Houses are all lined up side by side in a row. It is an interesting study. The oldest house on the street was built in the post war days and bears an unmistakable dignity with its all wooden structure. A number of homes sprouted alongside thereafter. Some of the old time residents have moved elsewhere as now, new medium rise buildings have risen and houses the students of a nearby university. Always, companionable old neighbors chat about the weather and of course, now about the soaring prices of gasoline and rice (of all things!). College kids would distractedly be walking as they fiddle with cellphones to send SMS or completely oblivious as their ears are blasted with music from their iPods. From our second floor window, I spied a handful of girls enjoying a game of Chinese garter. I wonder how they could stand hopping and jumping about barefoot on the hot cement road. In stark contrast to my three year old who is enamored with her interactive Green Eggs and Ham CD on the desktop. The curtains were billowing out with the breeze from the two fans steadily directed towards Nikki.

Kling-kling-kling...I heard a soft tinkling. Nikki heard it too. "Ice cream!!," she let out a delighted squeal followed by, "Manong! Manong!". I saw the cart stop. Nikki hurriedly bounded down the staircase. I went in hot pursuit.

A small crowd had enveloped the ice cream cart. It was a welcome relief from the heat. At the gate, she yelled some more, "Manong! Manong!" I opened the latch and held Nikki's hand. Not to be thwarted, Nikki had squeezed her way to Manong's side. Manong is the same Manong Roland who has been doing the same route since Jun was about 8 years old. And now, Nikki is his "suki". It is their almost everyday ritual. I picked her up in my arms and she starts to point at the tall metal cans. To this day, it amazes me how the ice cream does not melt after being ferried around the whole day. "Look, Mama...Cheese! Chocolate!" Already, Manong had her "usual" five scoops of chocolate ice cream in a sugar cone before she said another word. She flashed him the sweetest smile. "Thank you!" and darted through the crowd back to our gate.

I handed him the two hundred peso bill I had in my pocket.
"Wala po ba kayong barya?"
"Ay wala po."
"Hamo na po muna, mamaya o..." and with a smile, "bukas na lang uli pag ikot ko."

After he serves his last customer, he pushes his cart and I hear the tinkling of his bell.

It felt good to be home.

spaghetti sauce with sugar

I woke up decidedly early today. It is Easter. Also, it is Nikki's third birthday. I felt pangs of guilt as I, the mother, am in Toronto while her party was in full swing. Jun did not really think about getting a party together seeing that I am not around. But he pulled through at the last minute. Our two other kids had parties through their seventh birthdays. I wouldn't want Nikki hounding us about breaking traditions (sort of), years from now, just because I am unavailable. I have too much guilt already.

So, I made my way to the kitchen and knew exactly what I would make to honor this day. Spaghetti of course. A Pinoy birthday would be incomplete without it. Okay, okay. Some would argue that Pancit is the staple. But you have to admit that since Jollibee, the spaghetti seems to have ousted it. Either way, both dishes use noodles which is really the essence of the thing. Long noodles....long life. And the garnishes, the flavors to life.

Onions, garlic, green pepper, mushrooms, ground beef, tomato sauce, tomato paste, salt, pepper, mozzarella cheese. Anything else? O yeah, the pasta. My mind wafted to a different time as I begin chopping away. My memories bring a smile to my lips.

It was my Family Medicine and Community Health rotation during internship year. My group (Francis, Jom and Nette) was going to cap our stay and express our gratitude to our barangay by throwing a small party. Of course, what could be easier than spaghetti? Naturally, we also had barbecue, hotdogs on sticks with marshmallows, cake and ice cream. Come to think of it now, it sounds like we hosted a children's party. Where were the Boyoyong clowns?

I digress.

I was in charge of making the spaghetti. It was a big task. We were going to feed a multitude. I was going to cook them up the best spaghetti (classic meat sauce with meatballs) they ever tasted. I made sure I had my oregano. It was a hot day and I was already sweating it out. Our housemother would peek in from time to time but we would shoo her away. Finally, it was ready and I called her back in to give her first taste. I was proud. She made smacking noises with her lips and tongue. She proceeded with a very interesting comment, "Aba'y di mo ba sasangkapan ng ke-chap?" Huh? Francis and I looked at each other. And then it struck me they wanted sweet spaghetti sauce. Pinoy style, Jollibee style. Uh-oh. "Wala po kaming ketchup." She then miraculously produced a whole gallon full of UFC. And started to pour it in to the huge vat of my sauce. I think my jaw dropped open. She stirred and stirred. Tasted again. And then darted to her cupboards outside. This time, she brought in a bag of sugar. I was horrified. I have never seen spaghetti sauce with sugar, let alone ketchup. But I just stood there transfixed. And finally, she said,"Ayan, tamang-tama na. Sarap ng sauce mo."

Remembering now just brings me chuckles. Back to present time. My sauce is coming to a slow boil and I let it simmer. I sing "happy birthday Nikki" quietly in my mind. I call Pat. "I made spaghetti." As she was to help herself, I said, "I did not put sugar ha." A look of incredulity shadowed her face. "San ang asukal natin?" I begin to laugh. Am I just one of a few who does not get this sugar in sauce thing? Or am I totally alone?

evolution

When I first set foot here in June 2006 to pursue my training, it was summer. The climate was a temperate 24 to 28'C I think. Titing, my cousin who graciously took me in the first couple of weeks, would laugh at the sight of me. She would be in her shorts and I would be wrapped in a sweater. I would tell her, "Eh hindi naman ako balat Canadian 'no! Balat Pinoy ako."

Now, after having braved and lived through 5 or 6 snowstorms (they say this winter is record breaking with the amount of snowfall so far) and chilling in temperatures as low as -25'C, I welcome the fact that we are finally getting temperatures over the freezing point. Today was a pleasant 6'C. I am sure last winter, I wouldn't bear having the heater off. I wouldn't have been able to bear going about without at least three layers on. This time it is different. I ventured outside wearing my shirt and jeans, topped by my wool coat. No scarf, no gloves and no hat. I felt free. And oddly enough, not cold.

Am I finally molting into my Canadian skin?

Well, clearly, I am still in the process of evolution. A number of native locals have already taken to wearing shorts! I remember last year, when the temperature reached 10'C in the spring, I spied a number of bikini tops and tanks worn in the outside. Crazy Canucks!

The end is near!!

The end of winter that is. Punxsutawney Phil (of groundhog day fame) predicted six more weeks of winter, and as if to prove him right, a snowtorm just passed yesterday.

However, it is time to spring forward. Daylight savings time has been lifted. I just realized that the sun has slowly been reclaiming its lost glory during the winter. At seven in the evening time, she still reigns. In a showing of her return, her rays caused almost a blinding glare upon the whiteness of the snow. I feel her warmth upon my cheeks and I feel my spirits lifted.

Another Barney song comes to mind...

Oh Mr. Sun. Sun. Mr. golden sun. Please shine down on me.
Oh Mr. Sun. Sun. Mr. golden sun. Hiding behind a tree.
These little children are asking you. To please come out so we can play with you.
Oh Mr. Sun. Sun. Mr. golden sun. Please shine down on me.

Mr. Sun? I have always thought of it as Mother Sun. Whatever. I was humming this same song as I tried to secure my footing over the mounds of snow. Whoa!! I almost fell as I stepped on a patch of ice. Focus. Focus. Old Man Winter is not quite finished with his tricks yet.

being earnest

Thought I'd share these words of wisdom.

When you know you have done wrong or even if you weren't entirely wrong, be humble enough to say three things.

1. I am so sorry.

2. It was my fault.

3. How can I make it right?

ventilation

No. This is not a blog about how to ventilate a baby. Or maybe it is. Hmmm. Really it is more for me to fan down my slowly burning feelings of irritation rather than it explode into a fireball. I need to ventilate.

I was in the resuscitation room with a 33 week baby, who was born via complete breech extraction. Oh, and the head did deliver a minute and twenty seconds after the rest of the body. So it was no surprise that she was not so sterling. Lucky me, I was with a team comprised of RT's, RN's. Or was I? I did not want to lose time. The heart rate was good but she was apneic. I reached for the bag. A team member's voice squeaked out, "Oh, I think we should suction and stimulate her." Huh? I said no. But she proceeded her own merry way. I held my breath and gently said, "I will do bag mask ventilation now." The baby started to breath but when she did her efforts were tremendous. She was sucking her chest in literally and breathing over 100 resps per minute. Our oxygen was up to 100% and her sats were just 84. I said, "We are intubating." The same squeaky voice piped in again, "Really?" "Maybe she'll be better with just some good CPAP." Arghhh. My eyes went heavenward. "No." "Even if her oxygen requirement were to go down but with that work of breathing, she will tire out and her lungs will be collapsed by then." I intubated the child. When I was in, the same now irritating voice said,"Are you sure you're in?" Cripes. "I can barely hear a thing." Okay, I see chest rise. I see sats going to 94 and the Fi02 down to 50. I said through gritted teeth. I am sure I am in. Thank you.

I am sure there is a lesson or two I can get from that whole experience. But right now, I can't even bring myself to reflect. I just want to ventilate. Breathe. Ohm. Ohm.

de-briefing

As part of our reality checks in the fellowship, we were entreated today to a half day of "letting it out." The frustrations, the difficulties, the moral distress, fatigue, inexplicable demands and expectations...and the list goes on and on. A bull session of sorts. I did not really speak up but I soaked up what my co-fellows had to say. It is comforting to know that I am not alone in what I feel and experience. But I am not writing this now to enumerate the many cruxes of this fellowship I voluntarily allowed myself to get wallowed up in. At the end, one thing that our facilitator advised us to do is to list down three things that went well in the previous 24 hours and three things that could have been done better. A form of self reflection, a catharsis of sorts. So let me see. I am post call today.

Hmmm...three things that went well. Let me start with one first.

Just as I had clocked in for my night call, an overhead anouncement resonated. "Code OB! Code OB!" This meant that there is a stat delivery and either mother or baby are in peril. In this case, it was the baby. Limp, blue and not breathing. Palpating the cord, I counted 8 in a 6 second span. 80 beats per minute. I went straight to bag mask ventilation. No more tactile stimulation. I needed to get this baby breathing. The father was just standing over my shoulder. In less than 30 seconds, the baby was taking breaths and giving timid cries.A couple seconds more and the baby was pink and crying. Dad was teary eyed and thankful. If he only knew how thankful I was too. Thank you Lord. A disaster was averted.

I am still thinking about the other stuff. Or maybe I will turn in already. Tiredness has set in.

Mental note to me: Be mindful of my everyday occurences.

well heeled

I love shoes. However I have not been blessed with petite and streamlined feet. Mine are solid and well sized enough (read: big) to keep me well grounded and stable in this harsh Canadian winter. I wear sensible shoes since I am on my feet constantly at work. It just amazes me though that I see other staff wearing heels. Imagine 3 inch chunky heels and stilettos even! My hat's off to them. I may be even secretly envious...just a tad bit. It takes a lot of attitude and leg power to pull it off.

For my in-law's ruby anniversary, I wore 3 inch heels. Sling back, open toe and golden hue, it was an instant attraction. I don't know what I was thinking. Obviously I was not. On the big day, the heels were on by mid-day. I appraised my look in the mirror and I was happy to be wearing sassy shoes. My whole family (hubby and three kids) were in the entourage. What I did not count on was Nikki, who was 10 months old, would insist that I carry her everywhere. It was a buzz of activity during the reception that followed. By the end of the day at 1 o'clock in the morning, my legs were jelly and my poor feet! I delicately extricated them from the golden captors. Aaaahhhhh. I sinuously moved every muscle and tendon, soothingly rubbing away the ache. Even more aaaaahhhhhs. Jun called over that we were all heading out to the car. Dang. No way I am putting on heels again. Besides, my feet have now re-expanded to its natural form. Hehe. Fancy free, I hooked my fingers through the slings and flung them over my shoulder. Walking barefoot never felt better.

Tobi

It was difficult to get over jetlag. I had arrived in the evening of January 30 and was back to work bright and early on February 1st. My body was in the throes of temporal confusion. My eyelids would be drooping at lunch time. I stifled yawn after yawn after yawn. Still can't figure how I managed to be lucid in the better part of the day. Once I got home, I would be flat out in less than 5 minutes. The dang part of it was I would wake up again at 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning. No matter how I tried to go back to sleep, I couldn't. I sat mindlessly in front of the television, flipping through channels. I realized that in that ungodly hour, majority of the programs were infomercials. And for one with nothing better to do and to choose from, it was easy enough to get mesmerized with the new "breakthroughs" flaunted. Over and over, it was like hypnosis. I was getting lured. More than once, I told myself to snap out of it. One item though that caught my eye was the Tobi steamer. I hate ironing. As I don't have anybody else to do it for me, I iron on a "as needed" basis. The Tobi is touted to be the ultimate wrinkle remover without the back breaking and time consuming work. A quick but real fix. To me it symbolizes my freedom from the necessary chore that I have no love lost for. I think I just may cave in and get one. But what if it turned out to be a dud? Check the Tobi out (www.thane.ca). Could this really be the genuine easy way out? Help!

Toronto winter work out

I got off work early today. It is Ash wednesday and I meant to get to the 530pm service at St. Mike's. As I made my way towards the hospital's doors, I realized that it was snowing. Heavily this time though. The outside was a white haze. With each step I took outside, I felt my booted feet sink in to the freshly fallen snow. Deep. Deeper. What a work out. Despite the cold, I felt myself getting warm underneath my layers. The howling wind sounded sinister and its strong gusts nearly toppled me over one time too many. As I focused on taking each step, I felt ice pelting my face and it built up on my lenses making visibility close to nil. I was plodding on in zigzags like an aimless wanderer. I heard the church bells ring out. I am near.

A man who had gone in the church before me held the door open. Aaaahhh. Sanctuary. Sanctuary for my aching muscles and bones. Sanctuary for my soul. Thank you Lord!

candy bars and milkshakes

As I was up early, I decided to attend the 8am mass at St. Michael's Cathedral. I tried to rouse my room mate from her slumber for company but no such luck. According to the weather report it was -1C outside. Not too bad. After the customary layering and lacing up of snowboots, I am off. I never really liked snow. And when I did get outside, there was snowfall. It was pretty, I must admit. It was fresh still. None of the slush and mush but just the pristine white cover of the ground that would make the perfect christmas card picture. With the mild wind, I felt the snowflakes on my face. I turned my chin up towards the sky and singing quietly to myself.

"If all the snowflakes were candy bars and milkshakes, O what a snow that'll be.

Standing outside with my mouth opened wide. Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah , ah, ah, ah."

Arghhh..minor brain freeze! Wonder if Barney ever thought of that.

I am back

It is 4 in the morning and I have been up for about an hour now. My body clock has yet to adapt. I got up in the semi-darkness. Living right in the heart of the city, the illumination of the bright lights of the buildings around us never makes for pitch black where I am. At the foot of my bed, I can clearly see the outline of my two pieces of luggage. I have not unpacked. I told myself that I would do it on Saturday and along with doing that, re-arrange and re-sort my stuff. But Saturday has come and gone, my bags are still asking for relief of their contents. Secretly, I am deluding myself into thinking that my bags are there ready for me to go back home again....for good this time. Wishful thinking.

I unlocked and unzipped my trusty green samsonite. With a smile, I am amazed at just how little amount of clothes I actually did pack compared to the foodstuffs that were given to me as "pabaon". I collect the 6 boxes of pastillas that my parents sent me as "pahabol" along with "polvoron". Also out came the 10 cans of Ligo sardines in chili sauce which I always crave for. Hey, to get it at PhP 15.00 per can compared to almost $2.00 CAD each, this is indeed a treasure. Hmmm..it seems somebody has stuck in a box of tikoy as well. Wow. Kung hei fat choi. From my red hardside Heys maleta, I collected 5 rolls of cacao tablea. I have always been a big "tsokolate" fan. I only will now have to get "malagkit" to enjoy a nice bowl of "champorado". And yey, my packs and packs of Lucky Me Beef Mami and Pancit Canton. These noodles are such lifesavers. But most prized of all are the different seasonings I brought back. Nilaga, sinigang sa sampalok at sa gabi, paksiw, ginisa, kare kare, afritada, menudo, tocino and tapa marinade. Mental note: I guess this means I have to pay a visit to Chinatown then.

Alright. Almost everything is out now. I am here in Toronto. Sitting on the floor in my bedroom. Surrounded by all the "padala" and "pabaon."

Reality bites. Ouch.

onwards

I find myself sitting in front of my old trusty laptop. Yes, I am back. Back in Toronto. I could hardly believe it myself. My vacation month went by so quickly. And to earmark my comeback, there is a blizzard in the forecast tomorrow, my first day again at work. A blizzard. My sentiments exactly.

When I arrived, I struggled with my apartment keys, somehow finding them quite unfamiliar. I felt dreary. From the moment I started the trip back, thoughts of how my days were filled in the month that was constantly flooded my mind.

I cocooned with my family. I savored just being mama again. Wonderful. I seriously did not want to take this trip again. I felt the life in me being sucked away.

When I finally got the door opened, I had the welcome surprise of plants in the apartment. Life beckons. Time to think positive...to look forward.

feline (non) fiction

This blog is about a cat.
I have this friend who was kind hearted enough to welcome to a frail stray kitten (pusa-kal) into her home. So fragile was the creature that it could not even manage to drink the milk from her own bowl. Her new mistress bought a "bottle set" for feeding. It was rigorous. My friend had reliable help among her sisters to keep to the timetable for feeding. This kitty was one lucky cat. Soon it was purring. And why not? She was bathed frequently, shared a nice cozy bed, provided with her own toys. The pusa-kal became the sosi-cat. Sounds like a feline tele novela.
But despite the "upbringing", I guess, primal instincts would eventually surface.
One day, the pampered feline went missing. My friend was quite upset. She searched the usual spots. No luck.
Their neighbor's kasambahay had alluded to seeing the wandering kitty with a tomcat.
Visions of that awkward Simba frolicking scene in the Lion King came to mind.
"But she is only a baby!!!"
But I guess, much like dog years, there are cat years.
The poor cat was banned from entering "her room" when she finally surfaced.
My friend has relented though.
Maybe soon enough, she will find herself becoming a "grandma".

Surprise

In the darkness illuminated by the Meralco lamp post, I saw the familiar white gate of our home. It was already past 11 o'clock at night. The kids must be asleep. Jun handed me the keys to the door which I gingerly opened. Nanay Linda heard the car come in and was about to open the door herself. Upon seeing me, it seemed she saw a ghost.
"Hay naku. Sabi na nga ba! Di ka rin makatitis."
I put my finger over my lips to shoosh her.
I make for the stairs.
Lomi and Nikki were asleep. Maxine was watching a television show.
"Maxine!"
My daughter was speechless. She locked me in the longest embrace and she was uncontrollably sobbing. Jun catches everything on video which has been banned from public viewing.
Lomi slept like a log. And he felt like one as I tried to wake him. One eye popped open. "Hi mama." And off he was again to snoozeland.
I couldn't believe my eyes as I stared at Nikki. She has grown so much since the last time I saw her. Even though I see her on the internet virtually everyday, seeing her made me realize the painful truth that I have been missing out on her growing years.
She was also blissfully asleep. Much to Nanay Linda's protestations, Jun successfully woke her up. When her eyes peeled open, she had the most angelic smile. She was happy to see Jun. "Papa! Papa!"
Jun thrust me forward.
"Look oh, I have a surprise!"
"Who's this?"
Nikki then exclaimed, "Mama! Mama!"
I felt an overwhelming rush of relief.
She knows me. She knows me.
My first night again home. I wish it never ended.

Postscript.
I guess Lomi might have thought he was dreaming when he first "saw" me. I was woken in the morning by the thuds of his footsteps on the hardwood floor. Our bedroom door suddenly opened wide. It was Lomi. He had this most incredulous look on his face. He pointed towards me. "Mama. Mama Donna." He came closer and pressed his cheek to mine, constantly touching my face. Ang sweet ng panganay ko. Sarap to be home.

lay off

It has been a while since I had a blog entry. Quite a lot of things have happened.
On December 28, I boarded the AirCanada flight for HK. From there, I caught the Cathay flight to Manila.
I had called Jun before I boarded in Toronto.
The big thing about this homecoming was that it was a complete surprise.
Not even my kids knew.
I could not wait to see their faces.
Yes. Manila, Manila. Ain't no place like Manila. Manila I am coming home.
I found myself humming.
When the plane touched down, I felt my heart leap and tears brimming my eyes.
Immigration was a breeze. Being an OFW has its perks.
The wait at the conveyor belt was unbearably long....all of 55 minutes.
Again, I love being an OFW. No questions with Customs.
The Manila heat and humidity enveloped me. The dense crowd at Arrival was overwhelming.
I craned my neck as my eyes scanned the compact mass of humanity.
And then, there he was. He was waving back at me.
I found myself smiling from ear to ear. My tears falling.
Papa! Papa!
In seconds, the gap between us closed.
I am home.