by rossanahead | Apr 10, 2011 | career, family, woman
By Jane Santos-Guinto
Epiphany has got to be one of my favorite words. Directly translated from Greek epiphaneia, it means “Vision of God.” It’s also the ‘formal name’ of the Feast of the 3 Kings, which is celebrated on the first Sunday after the New Year. In lay man’s (secular) terms, epiphany is a sudden realization–brought about by an inspiring moment, a burst of intuition, or possibly for others, by booze.
Epiphany can come in the unlikeliest of places, the most inconvenient of times. Among my best epiphanies have come while driving along the congested roads of Quezon City (the Philippines’ largest) and at home at two or three in the morning.
These past months I’ve been praying for new epiphanies. You see, I’ve been finding it pretty hard to be 30. My normally busy thoughts border on insane sometimes. I’ve questioned and questioned. And I’ve answered and answered.
Finally, after practically two weeks of hibernation (translated: mental torture), I’ve been led to the following “manifestations:”
(1) I can never be a housewife. I can only do housework if and only when I am happy with my “real” job.
(2) I can express my love to my husband, my mom, my sister, my grandparents, and to everyone else around me in a deeper, truer way when I am really happy with myself and what I’m doing.
(3) I want to write and speak about God.
One of my creative writing professors told me that reflective writing isn’t creative writing. For a long time, I held this as fact. But then, who can outdo us in creativity but the Creator Himself?
I’m hoping this blog’s readers aren’t my professor’s ‘disciples’.
by rossanahead | Apr 9, 2011 | Education, Mari-an Santos, woman
By Mari-An Santos
After my last post, my parents asked why I did not mention “the swimming classes.” In our house, this is one of the most enduring stories. I cringe every time my parents recount it with such gusto and glee.
The summer when I was 8 or 9 years old, my parents enrolled me in swimming lessons at the YWCA in Manila. My parents, like most, wanted to keep me busy with extracurricular activities during summer vacation. Succeeding summers saw me taking ballet, piano, and jazz dance classes.
On this particular vacation, my parents decided that I had to learn how to swim. If you read my previous post, you know that I was not a confident child. Putting on a swimsuit was enough to freak me out, and going out in public where people would actually see me?! That was out of the question. I’m sure I cried and wailed over this–hemming and hawing cannot even begin to describe it. Wailing and pleading and begging were probably involved.
Sure, my parents didn’t know how to swim, but they made this an argument “for,” whereas I was satisfied that if it was good enough for my parents to go this long without learning, then it was good enough for me. No dice. As a child in this debate, the “government” side won.
A few weeks in, as we were learning to breathe underwater, I swallowed a large amount of water and started wailing: “Mamamatay na ‘ko! Mamamatay na ‘ko!” (I am going to die! I am going to die!) I wanted to quit. I never wanted to get into the water again. The next day, I pleaded with my parents, but they told me I should not give up and had to finish the lessons. And so, I obediently went.
Obviously, I’m still alive. When we were in senior year of high school, I was reunited with the YWCA pool as we took our diving P. E. class there. I aced that class.
Today I swim every chance I get. And not just in the swimming pool either. I’ve done Boracay, Panglao, El Nido, Siargao, Bauang, Pagudpud, Currimao, Mactan, Dumaguete, Puerto Galera, to name a few. Of course, I have swallowed my fair share of water and I’ve smashed against some rocks. But I’m still swimming with my own two feet.
by rossanahead | Apr 7, 2011 | family, Gina Abuyuan, parenting, woman
By Gina Abuyuan
It started mid-last year, me taking my daughter to the mall, allowing her and her friends to walk around without me or other parents chaperoning them. I’d sit by myself in a coffee shop armed with my laptop and a grandé, trying to look cool. But each time they’d rush by—a gaggle of adolescent girls, their male companions ambling awkwardly after them—I’d shoot straight up, my neck craning, try to see what they were up to, what they were doing.
My partner, who spent two years overseas and did not see the more gentle parts of this transition—from playdates to Mom-daughter dates to barkada dates—still feels a little crestfallen when S asks him to drive her to this mall and that. “May sarili nang lakad,” he says, his mouth in an upside-down U. “I never thought this day would come, and that I’d feel this way.”
But who ever is? I spent the majority of my time away from my boys until only last year, due to a variety of (stupid) reasons—too much work, too much partying, too many problems in my love life—and now, not only do I regret it, I find myself trying to make up for lost time by squeezing every possible iota of cuteness out of them while it still exists. But they’re already seven. Pretty soon, they’ll have to get circumcised, want their own time away from Mommy, and will be reminding me to buy extra razors. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for that.
Some parents don’t want to let go because of sheer over-protectiveness. I don’t think that’s the case with me. No one wants their children hurt or harmed, but disappointment and pain is a way of life, and shapes character.
Some don’t want to let go because, to put it simply, they don’t trust their kids. They believe Mom/Dad knows best, and that kids will never be able to take care of themselves on their own. This isn’t the case with me either; a huge part of a parent’s role is to bring up their child/children so they be self-sufficient, are equipped with the smarts and skills to deal with difficulties and live life the best way they want to. Any action or belief contrary to that is disempowering and unfair to the child—and the parent.
So what has me still mulling over S and her teenage shows of independence? What is it that has me poised breathless, almost on the brink of fear? Maybe it’s the thought of her leaving me. Maybe it’s the thought of her choosing her friends, and eventually, her boyfriends and spouse over me. I’ve gone through the cycle. I’ve got good reason to be afraid, haha.
Of course, I know I’m getting ahead of myself more than a decade here, but still. You get to think about a whole lot of junk while you’re sitting in a café, nursing a grandé.
by rossanahead | Apr 6, 2011 | family, grandparenting, parenting, woman
By Bubbles Salvador
My son has quite an unusual play group. When I’m working, his 65-year-old Lola looks after him. Sometimes, Luis spends an hour or two next door with his 19-year-old cousin. He also likes playing photographer to his 91-year-old great-grandmother, whom he calls Sweetheart.
How these lolas manage to care for such an active toddler during the day is beyond me. But Luis is such an Energizer bunny – I bet he gives his lolas all the energy they need.
Anyone who’s ever known a grandmother will agree with me: It is a blessing to be around them. Apart from Sweetheart, Luis has both lolas from my husband’s side and mine. He also has a very doting Lolo who often comes to see him in the morning – but I’ll save that for a different day.
I remember my own lolas – Viola and Nene, who both lived past 90. From Viola, who was an Olympic athlete and a school principal, I learned that women can succeed both at work and at home. Nene, on the other hand, was a farmer’s wife whose life taught me the value of hard work.
Luis may not realize it now but his grandmothers are teaching him life lessons even without them knowing it. Respect and compassion – these are values that we can teach only by doing. No school can teach that as effectively as when kids learn it at home.
So while my son may just be having fun play dates with his grandmothers, he is also learning that Sweetheart needs help when going down the stairs, that my mom’s wheel chair needs to be pushed by someone else, and that his Lola could use some help putting away his toys after playing.
The part where he makes his lolas super happy by showing off his crazy antics? It’s just a happy bonus.
by rossanahead | Apr 5, 2011 | family, parenting, Ruth M. Floresca, woman
By Ruth Floresca
Just last night, at a movie premiere where I brought my youngest son with me, some friends teased, “Pabata ng pabata ang mga ka-date mo ah.” (“Your dates are getting younger and younger.”) We all laughed at the joke because I’ve just “dated” my eldest son at another movie premiere a couple of weeks ago while my second son accompanied me to the press preview of a theater play last week.
As much as possible, I try to take time to bond with my boys, including hubby, one at a time at least once or twice a month, or more, if time and budget permits. See, I am guilty of getting caught up almost every day with writing deadlines and house chores that I don’t get to talk to them as much as I’d like to.
But when we’re traveling on the way to and from our dates, I am able to catch up on what’s happening with them and get to know each young man better. It’s a continuous process, this getting to know one’s children because they grow up so fast and I don’t want to wake up one morning to find out that I don’t know anything about them anymore.
Thus, I am very grateful for those moments we are given pockets of time to bond. My kids do sometimes protest that they’d rather stay at home and watch DVDs or catch up with friends on Facebook. But I do hope that when they’re all grown up and have families of their own, they’ll remember those instances when they had a great time laughing with their mother during a hilarious play or movie; eating a new dish they got to try the first time we ate at a restaurant we’ve never been to before; or getting lost because we rode the wrong jeepney and hilariously panicked together because it was nearing midnight and we had no idea how we’ll get to our destination.
Someday, I’m sure I’ll also look back at those moments and have a great time remembering …
by rossanahead | Apr 4, 2011 | family, Karen Galarpe, parenting, woman
By Karen Galarpe
The security guard peeked into my little red checkered tote bag before allowing me entry into the bank early Wednesday morning last week. He must have been amused because he said, “Thank you, ma’m” in a cheerful tone.
Inside my bag, you see, was a Zip Loc plastic bag full of P5 and P10 coins. Total weight: maybe 5 pounds. Total count: over P1,000.
It was my mom’s gift to my son. For quite some time, my mom would drop P5 and P10 in two piggybanks. They became full recently, and so she gave them to my son. It was my son who decided to deposit all of the coins in his account at the bank, which was what he did too when he got some cash as gift last Christmas.
I can’t remember how old he was when I first opened a bank account for him. Definitely it was before he started grade school, though. And so over the years, whenever he would receive cash from godparents and family members, these would go straight to the bank.
When my two friends got married more than a decade ago, I was floored when I learned they bought a house using their own money as downpayment. They were just in their 20s then. It turns out both of them grew up with their parents saving for them in the bank all the money gifts they received since they were small. So in some 20 years, compound interest has made their savings grow so much that these were enough to help them start on their own two feet when they got married.
The habit of saving can be instilled in a child early. Aside from opening a bank account for him, let him see you and the people around you practice saving as well. Start today and keep at it until it becomes second nature to your child.
