by rossanahead | Aug 9, 2011 | career, Mari-an Santos, woman
By Mari-An Santos
Change excites and terrifies. I don’t think anyone who encounters change feels just one or the other; they seem to go hand in hand.
I am due for a change myself. A change that will once again test whether I am a wallflower or an adventurer, whether I will take courage or recoil, whether I am to step outside of everything familiar and comfortable.
I am excited to experience this change. It will involve the unfamiliar, the unexplored, and the unknown. This always sends shivers down my spine, but it also makes my stomach overflow with butterflies.
Faced with either moving forward or standing still, it’s easier to keep still. Being creatures of habit, human beings like surrounding themselves with things familiar. Besides we like being in charge, as if we are ever really, truly in charge of our own lives.
The traveler in me is excited. I want to explore the unknown, to soak up experiences, and to get as much new knowledge as I can.
There is also that small part of me—and I feel guilty that it’s just a tiny part—that feels sad. Of course, there will be people and places that I will need to leave behind. And surely, I will miss them.
I will miss how the tiny birds outside my window wake me up with their tiny chirps. I will miss the sight of the mountain breeze as it sweeps the bamboo groves. I will miss the colors of the horizon as the sun creeps down to sleep. I will miss the pregnant moon in the dark, clear sky.
I will miss all of these and more, but I will not say goodbye. This change is not permanent. And when I am thrust once again to the familiar, there will be a beautiful reunion for sure.
by rossanahead | Jul 23, 2011 | career, Education, Mari-an Santos, woman
By Mari-An Santos
I was recently awarded a scholarship to study abroad. It sounds so simple now, but the road getting there was anything but.
After having taught at a university, my eyes were opened to the possibility of pursuing higher education abroad through a scholarship grant. On occasion, colleagues would nonchalantly mention how they took a short course at a university in the United States or participated in a conference in Europe. Being an avid traveler, I yearned to see those places, but I did not quite know how.
One by one, my closest friends received scholarship grants. One got a Ford Foundation scholarship to study in the United Kingdom, another a Fulbright to study in the US, another a government grant in Singapore, and the last a fellowship in The Netherlands. I was very happy for every one of them. They deserved it. But then, a tiny voice inside me always said: “What about me? Why can’t I get one of those?”
Of course, I didn’t know the first thing about getting a scholarship. I would read about scholarship grants on the Net, but there were too many requirements. It would take too much time and effort, I thought. And so I didn’t even try.
But as one colleague after another flew off to some faraway land to study, I was pushed into action. They encouraged me to try. And so I did.
I applied to one scholarship after another, but only got letters of regret. I got disheartened. Fortunately, my friends kept on pushing me, telling me to try again. And so I did, again and again and again.
In the middle of a busy day, when I least expected it, I got the most exciting news! That life-changing story, however, is for another blog post.
by rossanahead | Jul 7, 2011 | Mari-an Santos, woman
By Mari-An Santos
One of our household traditions is to clean out the closets at least twice a year. This not only means taking out clothes that no longer fit us (whether it’s for the happy reason that one lost weight or the undesirable horror that one has gained so much), but also getting rid of scuffed shoes, peeling bags, unused cosmetics, and old magazines. We pile them in boxes, bring them out to the corridor, and whisked away to people who my parents think might need them.
The exercise is always cathartic. Going through pairs of jeans that used to fit snugly brings back memories of gimmicks with friends during more carefree times. Discarding old magazines elicits laughter over former crushes and fashion trends in the dusty, faded pages. Fishing out old receipts or photos and other memorabilia from the corners of boxes or at the bottom of bags is always nostalgic.
It feels like cobwebs are being cleared not only in my room, but also in the attic of my brain. Though not completely forgotten, things that remind us of the past, distant or not so distant they may be, bring about a wave of emotions.
In the process, we make room for new clothes and new magazines, and more space for our things to “breathe.” Unloading boxes full of memories does not diminish or erase the experiences related to them. In truth, they are made richer than if they had simply been left inside boxes unopened, fading away with time, and crumbling over age.
by rossanahead | Jun 21, 2011 | Education, family, Mari-an Santos, woman
By Mari-An Santos
When we were growing up, my mother assigned us to do certain chores on weekends and during our summer break.
I learned how to clear the dining table and how to wipe it clean without leaving any crumbs or leftover food on the floor.
I learned how to wash the dishes with my mother first demonstrating how it’s supposed to be done: Rinse the dirty dishes in a basin of water. With a soapy sponge, wipe the glasses, plates, and utensils clean. Rinse everything thoroughly.
Every so often, my mother would come around to inspect my work. She would look closely, sniff, and then slide her fingers down the dishes. She would point out a tiny fleck of rice still sticking to a bowl or the slippery, still-soapy side of a glass. I had to wash those items again, of course. It took some time before she was completely satisfied with my work.
I learned how to care for wooden floors, sweeping, buffing, and waxing them. I found out which direction it was best to sweep with the broom and how to angle the dust pan so that my efforts did not go to waste.
I learned to cook and bake too. When we made brownies or cookies, my mother would let me lick the spoons clean. The reward, of course, was getting to eat whatever we had made.
I also had to clean the bathroom, which was my least favorite chore. Of course, I knew that someone had to make sure that the toilet was spic and span, I just couldn’t accept the fact that I had to dig my hands deep into wherever our bodily waste went on a daily basis.
Growing up, I did not understand why I had to do any of these things, especially when we had helpers who could do it. But when I started living alone, I realized the value of such hands-on knowledge. Because of my mother’s diligence, I could take care of a house and myself. It is one of the most enduring lessons that I learned from my parents, and I will be forever grateful.
I still don’t like cleaning the toilet though.
by rossanahead | Jun 11, 2011 | career, children, family, Mari-an Santos, woman
By Mari-An Santos
Whenever I go to Hong Kong, it feels so familiar. On the MRT and at the stores, I inevitably encounter a fellow Filipino. It could be the bakeshop attendant, the security guard, or the countless au pairs taking their wards home. A lot of them, recognizing a countryman, will ask, “When did you arrive?” It felt good to be acknowledged.
I am struck by how much my fellow countrymen have to sacrifice in order to provide for their families back home. On Sundays, they congregate at the Central District, where they lay out mats and have picnics with their friends. They spend the entire day catching up with each other’s lives as well as those of their loved ones back home.
One particular scene has stayed with me all these years. After Sunday Mass, a group of women huddled around one, who was distributing all sorts of goodies to her friends. I gathered that she had just arrived from the Philippines. One of her friends started looking at the pictures in a digital camera. She was showing her friends her children, exclaiming, “Oh, how he’s grown!” “Look at what she is wearing!” I was moved to tears. Here was a mother who was taking care of a child not her own while her children were growing up without her.
Walking through the groups, it was as if they were at Luneta Park on a Sunday. Some were getting a haircut, some pedicures, others were reading gossip magazines, others sharing recipes. Whether Ilocano, Tagalog, or Bisaya, their collective chatter made a cheerful sound.
We have given them the generous monicker “Bagong Bayani.” But I suspect that given a chance, they would rather be fathers and mothers to their own children, and husbands and wives to their spouses than rays of hope to an entire country from across the sea.
by rossanahead | May 28, 2011 | Education, family, Mari-an Santos
By Mari-An Santos
In school, Math was not my strongest subject. Somehow, I did very well at English, Filipino, and Social Studies–and good enough at Science, but I was terrible at Math! This is ironic for someone whose father is excellent at Math.
My father can mentally compute at lightning speed. And it must have been disappointing for him to have a daughter who was moved to tears by complex equations–if only there were more established tutorial services when I was in school. Instead, my father spent many late nights trying to explain to me why x’s and y’s could be relevant to real life.
I begged my Math whiz friends to help me understand the lessons every week. Every time we had a quiz, a long test, or an exam, however, my pulse would race. I would get light-headed and sweat profusely. I was literally terrified! I just barely passed—but never failed—Math every single quarter.
Though my choice of course in college depended largely on my passion, one other factor was the fact that I just needed to take three units of Math. Sold!
When I was thinking of pursuing a second degree, I considered another interest: engineering. But when I saw the list of prerequisite subjects—a lot of them, complex Maths–I backed down. I knew myself well enough to know my limits. And besides, I am no masochist.
In the real world, however, I encountered Math on a daily basis: computing the division of a meal with friends, making sure I got the exact change, and figuring out if I had enough money to commute home. Soon, I was no longer nervous when I mentally computed how much money I should hand over. I developed my own system so that I never missed a beat.
I get by. I don’t shy away from Math anymore–just don’t make me go through Calculus again.
