by rossanahead | Nov 6, 2011 | children, home, parenting, woman
By Julie Javellana-Santos
For me, the Christmas season officially began when I found myself waking up at dawn and groping around for a blanket. The mornings had suddenly grown cooler. Where before I kicked off all covers, it was all I could do to snuggle into a comforter a few days ago. Needless to say, it took a monumental amount of will to get up and start getting dressed for the day.
For my sisters, the Christmas season began when the malls started playing Christmas carols last September. My sisters call me “Scrooge” because among all of us (we are five), I do not look at the holiday season as vacation time, but rather as a “stressful” time.
When the word Christmas is mentioned, images of endless traffic jams and malls packed with shoppers immediately enter my mind. This particularly affects me because of the many gifts I have to get. Since I was a little girl, my parents had Christmas gifts for everyone around them—the household help, our numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins in the province, and so on and so forth, and this is a tradition I want my own daughters to carry on.
Having been in media most of my life, I always found myself wrapping presents up to the last minute as vacation leave time could not be obtained to get those gifts and then wrap them. Being in media is stressful in itself as there are no holidays, no days off. One is always on call. Perhaps that is why the idea of Christmas as a time to enjoy is all but alien to me.
When I was a freelancer and master of my own time, I could do all this and the decorating as well. I had all the time in the world to scout for new decorations, and to refurbish my old stuff.
But perhaps it is time to pass on that task to my daughters. So this year I will leave them to do the decorating and the figuring out which of our Christmas decorations need to be changed and which do not. I will also leave them to do the shopping for gifts, the wrapping, and the distributing, all with the objective of giving me more time to enjoy myself this season–for a change.
Now if only something could be done about the Christmas traffic . . .
by rossanahead | Oct 31, 2011 | children, environment, Gina Abuyuan, parenting
By Regina Abuyuan
“What’s worse than someone raping your daughter?” read an award-winning poster for an awareness campaign back in the ‘90s. “Someone raping your son.”
I think either is worst, period. Sexual assault, bullying, seemingly harmless pranks that end up scarring one’s emotional growth forever, illness—the list of motherly fears go on.
Friends and family like to say that I’m braver (let’s say more foolhardy) than most, but it’s the opposite when it comes to my kids. With them, I’m hopelessly praning. I wiped down their toys with alcohol when they were babies, fearing they would contract some deadly disease when they put them in their mouths. I stock up on the Neosporin, fever patches, and make them drink wheatgrass, even if I know their intake of fruits and vegetables is enough (I hope!). I’m that kind of mom.
I also, have of late, begun teaching my teenage daughter more practical ways to stay safe. Some of these were borne out of my own “kapraningan” when I was young—and were validated later on via viral emails and warnings, as everyone grew more aware of how to keep out of danger or compromising circumstances. Here they are:
The two way mirror. Restrooms, dressing rooms, and yes, motel bedrooms have them. Not wanting to go down in history with a Betamax scandal tape to my name, I learned to search for hidden cameras or places where they could be hidden. Any strange protusions, wires, unevenly installed areas of an otherwise flawless surface—those were subject to scrutiny, knocking (if it sounded hollow, it was covered), and rearrangement (lamps and vases, transferred to the floor).
Mirrors were particularly tricky. A trick I learned from a policeman was to put your finger against the surface. If there was no gap between the surface and your finger, it was likely to be a two-way mirror (I can still picture myself doing this in the restroom of Larry’s Bar in Makati). Another trick was to check if the mirror was installed within the wall, and not merely mounted on it. If it was, it was a sign that it was an observation mirror.
Of course, a pervert need only to clear the silver backing of a small area of a mirror to get a view, and there are more ways to tell a one way mirror from not (read here), but so far I’ve been safe. Phew.
Walking on the traffic side of a sidewalk. Never walk on the outer side of a curb—especially if you have long hair, a bag swinging from a long shoulder strap, or loose articles of clothing hanging from your body (a jacket tied around your waist, a cuff with tassels, a necktie). Abductors can easily swing by and drag you into their vehicles, mostly vans. (I almost had this happen to me in the Katipunan area. I quickly stepped back and ran back inside the Ateneo campus grounds.) In the same vein, don’t use your mobile phone, iPod, or gadgets while walking in public places. A motorcycle snatcher can easily breeze by and grab your valuables.
The open drinks. Never accept open drinks when you’re out partying or hitting the clubs. Let’s be real. Your daughter will eventually enter this scene, even if they claim they never will, and forewarned is forearmed. I tell my daughter that, when that time comes, to buy her own drinks, and if she accepts one from anyone, to make sure she sees it being opened in front of her by the bartender. Sedatives or date rape drugs can easily be dropped in already-open drinks. Not good.
Don’t be afraid to scream. Teenagers value their image and poise. But in times of uncertainty and danger, they have to learn to scream—scream their lungs out. Troublemakers don’t like attention, and they’re sure to scurry away if a victim creates a major fuss. Their voice is their best weapon in times of distress. Reassure your children it’s okay to let it rip, and the “embarrassment” far outweighs their safety.
Be wary of men who approach you in malls. During the launch of Called to Rescue, a movement to halt trafficking, Cyndi Romaine informed the audience that a popular modus operandi of traffickers was to approach a group of teenagers in public places, usually malls. They would choose the average-looking girl—not the prettiest, not the homeliest—to them, it was a safer gamble. That particular girl would probably have the self-esteem easier to manipulate and be easier to “sell” to clients. Whether or not the motive is to traffic, warn your children—girls and boys—to stay away from strangers in malls. Our parents warned us about this then and it’s worked…so might as well warn our kids now.
by rossanahead | Oct 27, 2011 | children, family, Karen Galarpe, parenting
By Karen Galarpe
Looking over the chocolates on the shelves at the supermarket today, I smiled at seeing a bag of local cheap chocolates individually wrapped in white-and-orange stripes. “It’s still alive!” I thought to myself, as I picked up the little bag and added it to my basket. Memories of me in my grade school uniform unwrapping those little chocolates while in the school bus (more like a school jeep) on the way home came to me on the way to the cashier’s counter.
Then other grade school memories flashed: filing past displays of swimming fish at the Manila Aquarium (there was such a thing back in the 70s), eating my classmate’s baon back in Grade 4 (since she lived near our school, she had hot lunch delivered every lunch break, and oftentimes could not finish her meal), running around and going up and down the slide in the playground under the hot noonday sun, swimming with my father in a beach (me in T-shirt and shorts, he in maong pants), going from tomb to tomb at the cemetery with my cousins to collect candle wax on All Saints’ Day and rolling them up in huge hot balls, and traipsing down Session Road in Baguio with my family, all of us bundled up in sweaters and jackets.
Those were the days when we had nary a care in the world about traffic, debts, bad news, sickness, inflation, catastrophes, love life, and what have you. What mattered then was that precise moment, when we just did what we had to do and lived for that moment alone.
A few years ago, I interviewed Heinz Bulos, a money-smart dad and editor of a personal finance magazine, about family finances, and he said something that stuck to my mind: “Spend for experiences rather than stuff,” he said. “As dads, we have a tendency to lavish our kids with material things, partly out of guilt for not spending enough time with them and mostly because we just enjoy seeing the smiles on their faces. But their excitement is gone weeks or even days after getting something they want. So instead of buying more and more stuff, spend for experiences–trips to the zoo, the park, the beach–since memories of happy experiences last much longer than the fleeting enjoyment of toys and gadgets. Plus you get to spend quality time with them. More experiences, less stuff.”
What memories are you building with your children? I hope that someday, even when he is a grown man, my son will remember us going to Manila Zoo and Enchanted Kingdom, swimming in the clear waters of Boracay, eating sushi in Tokyo, watching cars drift in an exhibition game in Greenhills, plunking down on the floor of a bookstore at the mall to read a storybook together, or just sharing a piece of chocolate at home on a lazy summer afternoon.
by rossanahead | Oct 25, 2011 | woman
By Romelda C. Ascutia
One of my most hair-raising experiences in recent years is when I made a significant financial investment. I had a little savings in the bank that was not being maximized, and I feared it would be frittered away with unnecessary withdrawals here and there. So I decided to put it in something that would have a bigger ROI in the long term.
I am not a newbie in the real estate investment scene. I bought a piece of residential land in Cavite back in the ’80s. A 276-square-meter corner lot in Bacoor, it was supposed to be the site of an apartment building when I had saved enough capital. Alas, with the high cost of construction, the land remains idle, a place my family visits and marvels at for 10 minutes during our annual pilgrimage to the municipality to pay the real estate tax.
In the ’90s, I made a second investment, a two-storey townhouse unit in Caloocan City where my family presently resides. The contract prices of both the land and the house are exceedingly cheap actually, though back then, it didn’t seem that way. With today’s inflation and the high cost of housing, I realize with hindsight that they are wise investments indeed.
Since I was making a real estate investment every decade, I decided in 2009 to invest in property once more—a condominium unit in Mandaluyong City. Unlike my earlier purchases, however, the contract price of the unit was very steep. I withdrew my savings and plunked the down payment. Because I signed on during the open house, I learned that I was entitled to a discount of more than a hundred grand. Elated, I recklessly told the agent to throw in a parking slot as well. What was a couple of hundred grand more anyway? Uh-oh.
Fast-forward to the present: A condo unit is a bleeding wound from a hemophiliac. You pay a monthly amortization that is probably equal to the salary of a couple of junior employees, plus monthly dues that are already the amortization of my present home. And don’t forget the penalty. This year I forgot to pay my huge annual equity and for that, I was dealt a double whammy, forced to pay penalties to both the developer and the bank that ran to several thousand pesos.
So as soon as the unit was turned over to me early this year, I immediately set out to find a tenant. I thought it was going to be easy, but it took several months before it was occupied, even with four brokers working for me. There is, I found out, a glut of condo investors competing to rent out their units, too.
Now the bleeding has been staunched to a trickle. This is because condo rental fees are based on prevailing market rates, and I still need to fork out part of the payment.
But it’s still the most exciting experience I’ve had lately. That rainy night a couple of months ago when the rental papers were being signed by the tenant, I felt like a balloon, floating above the scene from sheer relief.
My challenges as a condo owner are just starting, I know. But I’m beginning to enjoy it. Real estate to me is a good investment, if you have the financial staying power and you choose your location well (avoid flood-prone and earthquake fault line areas, for one). And when my wallet is screaming in pain, I comfort it with this mantra I repeat over and over again: Just six more years to go, just six more years to go, just six more years to go ….
by rossanahead | Oct 22, 2011 | children, family, parenting
By Julie Javellana-Santos
Last Sunday I watched the movie “Phantom of the Opera at the Royal Albert Hall” with my husband and teenaged kids. This was the opera’s 25th anniversary presentation filmed in its entirety for movie audiences and particularly for those left disappointed that the entire play was not in the movie of the same title released in 2004.
Well, I was one of those disappointed a few years back so I rushed over to see this movie. And I was pleasantly surprised when the movie featured, not just interviews by the composer and heads of the production, but the entire play as well!
Although the lyrics were a bit different, I and my husband could sing along to the music. We could even look forward to our respective favorite songs (as expected mine was All I Ask of You while his was Masquerade).
But I was even more surprised that my older daughter liked the play too. In fact, she was singing along with the lead actors and added that she had to have all the songs on her iPod’s playlist!
After the movie, I mentioned to my daughter that her dad and I were hooked on “Phantom of the Opera”. A friend had given us photocopies of the libretto once upon a time so we could sing along to the tapes (there were hardly any CDs then). This we did almost every night. And yes, that was around the time I was pregnant with her.
Of course she pooh-poohed the possible connection. After all, she said, it was only a few years back that she found out she liked “Phantom of the Opera”.
I distinctly remember, however, the words of my lamaze or natural childbirth teacher that a baby in the womb will recognize the music her mother used to play while pregnant. I then remembered having a cassette of classical music on my Walkman (the predecessor of the iPod) when I watched “Star Wars I” (the first prequel to George Lucas’ “Star Wars” trilogy) during the eighth month of my second pregnancy.
I had placed the earphones close to my tummy while playing this music because I was afraid my baby would be bothered with all the sound effects which accompanied the movie’s fight scenes.
When my baby was born, she would fall asleep to the same music and grew up singing, something she definitely did not get from me.
I am not much of a music buff, but I wanted my daughters to grow up otherwise. I guess I was able to make sure that they did so.
