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.