by rossanahead | Aug 6, 2011 | career, Ruth M. Floresca, woman
By Ruth Manimtim-Floresca
There are usually two types of people I encounter in my line of work: those who inspire and encourage and those who can turn a good day bad. Thankfully, over the years, I’ve learned that life always has ways of balancing things out.
One memory I’ll never forget was being scolded via text messages by a university professor for not being able to provide her immediately with a complimentary copy of the magazine where the article I interviewed her for appeared. At the time, I really didn’t have the budget to buy even my own copy because we’re saving up for my son’s operation. I politely asked if she could give me a month or two to provide her with one since the publisher doesn’t give out complimentary copies. She replied with “No need. This will be the first and last your company is getting any help from me and I will inform my colleagues about your policy” as if I have just committed a crime.
There was also a time when I got stuck in traffic and arrived less than 10 minutes late for an interview. On my way over, my interviewee has been texting and calling me that she and her husband will not wait for me because they’re always on time. I was out of breath when I got to the venue because I ran as fast I could after getting off an expensive taxi ride.
I have dozens more of these stories than I care to remember including a couple of clients who vanished into thin air after making me write press releases for them. Thankfully, I have also been blessed with pleasant ones.
For instance, there was this Saturday when my article appeared in the newspaper I was writing for and my interviewee texted me to ask for my mailing address. That afternoon, a beautiful bouquet of flowers arrived at my doorstep. A couple of months ago, while grocery shopping during my birthday, my sister in law called me to say that a lovely cake from a PR company was delivered at our house several minutes ago.
When I get text messages or e-mails from people I interviewed telling me how much they liked what I wrote, I try not to erase them from my phone or e-mail inbox. When I do have to make way for new messages, I write down their texts, the dates, the senders’ names, and the articles I interviewed them for in a small notebook.
On days when I encounter another bad experience, I take the notebook out and read the affirming messages there. I remind myself that I may fail to satisfy the expectations or demands of certain people but there are still those who appreciate what I do; and that is validation enough that I am not doing as badly as those others think I am.
Then again, I also try to keep in mind to treat the negative experiences as lessons in humility that would help build my character, let me grow more as a person, make me more patient, keep me grounded, and provide me with better discernment on how to deal with or avoid similar incidents in the future.
In my roles as parent, friend, colleague, etc. I always pray that I could also be a source of encouragement for other people even if I may fall short every now and then.
We all need to hear words of affirmation. However, let’s also remember that they are not meant to make us feel puffed up or arrogant but rather grateful that there are people who believe in what we do. At the end of the day, that is what should matter.
by rossanahead | Aug 4, 2011 | career, family, Karen Galarpe, parenting, woman
By Karen Galarpe
On a media trip to Thailand last week, my fellow journalists and I made a beeline for the duty-free shops at the airport with less than an hour left before boarding time. Our agenda: buy homecoming gifts or pasalubong. We bought chocolates, tamarind candies, mango in sticky rice, and Thai curry in a box and headed to the gate with our loot.
Looking around, I see that rare is the Filipino who doesn’t buy pasalubong for folks back home. It’s more of an unwritten rule and a custom to bring home a souvenir for those who weren’t with us on the trip, in effect saying, “Wish you were with me” or “Thinking of you” or “Here’s a little gift to show you I care.”
It’s not really the grandness of the gift that matters, rather the thought that counts, and so little pasalubong items from chocolates to little trinkets are welcomed. This is an expression of the love language of gifts. In “The Five Love Languages of Teenagers”, author Gary Chapman writes, “Gifts are visible, tangible evidence of emotional love.”
My sister remembers hugging and carrying this big white stuffed bear on the plane back home to give to her kids. A friend of mine brought home in his hand luggage two heavy little sculptures from Bangkok to give to friends. And I remember checking out maybe about three stores in Akihabara in Tokyo looking for a specific anime action figure for my son.
There’s satisfaction in buying something for a loved one, or people you care about, and handing this over personally upon arrival from a trip. The smile on the recipients’ faces is worth it.
Traveling soon? Make room then for some strawberry jam and peanut brittle from Baguio, otap and danggit from Cebu, green tea from Japan, coffee from Seattle, wine from California, chocolates from Switzerland, tea from China, and yes, why not—some crocodile jerky from Australia. If it fits in the bag, it’s great pasalubong. Have a safe trip!
by rossanahead | Aug 2, 2011 | children, Education, family, Lyra Pore, parenting
By Lyra Pore-Villafaña
My family has had a number of conversations lately about the best high school for our oldest daughter who’s now in Grade Six.
“I want to go to OLMC,” she declared last year. OLMC is an exclusive girls’ school run by the Sisters of Mercy in Australia. It prides itself in educating Catholic girls in the Mercy tradition for over a hundred years.
My daughter has been particularly impressed by the breadth of extra-curricular opportunities that OLMC provides. There’s a string ensemble, a cake decorating club, a debating team. Name any activity that will catch the fancy of teenage girls, and they probably have it. They even have a strong swimming team that my child, who loves racing, is looking forward to joining.
We’ve already made up our minds about OLMC that we’ve enrolled her there one-and-a-half years before she’s due to go to high school.
Then a few weeks ago, my daughter received an offer from one of the government-run academic selective schools. These are like the Australian equivalent of the Philippine Science High School system. Each year, thousands of Grade Six students apply for admission to selective schools, but only a few get offers because places are limited.
While we are all extremely happy about her passing the test, the good news suddenly throws our plans into disarray. My daughter will have the opportunity to study in one of the best high schools in Australia at a very minimal cost to us. All we have to pay for are the school uniforms and supplies and a small contribution to educational resources. The decision to forego private schooling seems to be a no-brainer ― but it actually isn’t.
Yes, the quality of education in an academic selective school will be superior. Yes, it will save us a fortune. Foremost on our minds though is this: Will she be happy in a highly competitive environment that these schools are known for? Will she thrive in a school where she’s constantly striving for good grades, leaving her with very little time to pursue other interests?
My husband and I have been in the workforce long enough to know that building a successful career isn’t all about having the brains to do the job. Don’t get me wrong. Having walked the grounds of the University of the Philippines in Diliman myself many years ago, I am all for academic excellence.
My experience in the “real world”, however, has also led me to appreciate that doing well in life doesn’t depend on intelligence alone. Equally important is one’s ability to build relationships, to bounce back from failure and rejection, to keep one’s focus even when the going gets tough.
What type of school will help a person build that character? It depends. Some children excel in a highly competitive environment. Others blossom when allowed the time to pursue arts, music, sports, and other co-curricular activities.
We decide to give our daughter room to weigh her options. Though she’s only 11 years old, we feel that she should have a say in the matter. It’s her future after all.
“I’ll go selective,” she announces just a few days after mulling things over. “And why is that?” I ask, amazed at how quickly she has come to a decision.
“Well,” she begins. “I checked out the school uniform, and I think I will look good in it.”
“And I have some friends who are going there too.”
So there. I seem to be making things more complicated than they really are. To an 11-year old girl, it’s all about the outfit and the friends.
by rossanahead | Jul 30, 2011 | children, family, parenting, woman
By Tina Arceo-Dumlao
The realization that I was truly and absolutely responsible for someone else’s life came without warning one quiet morning in 1996, a few days after my son, Miggy, was born.
My mother had left that day for work and left me home alone with my two brothers with the firm instruction that we should give Miggy – who was a little over a week old at that time – a nice, relaxing bath as soon as he woke up from his early morning nap.
She neglected, however, to tell us exactly how to do just that.
Because I delivered via caesarian section, it was my mother who had been giving Miggy a bath since we came home from the hospital, and I did not see for myself how she transformed the little life form into a sweet smelling baby since I was mostly in bed recovering from my operation. My husband, Jerome, who was an executive at that time in an office in Makati City, was not around to help because he had left early for work.
And so there we were, three siblings without any idea how to give a fragile, crying baby a refreshing bath.
We argued over options: Should we just put him in the tub? But he might drown! Do we just put him on the bath mat? But we might miss some spots! Should we use a sponge or a small towel? But it might hurt him. How much pressure do we apply? Will he get scratched?
There were too many questions and just us three loudly arguing over what is the right thing to do.
In the end, I took over and made the final decision. I was the mother after all and the call was mine and mine alone to make. Talk about responsibility on a young and first time mother’s shoulders.
And so I told my Kuya to carefully hold him over the bathtub while my younger brother and I took turns soaping then rinsing him.
Of course, it was the wrong and inefficient way to do it, but he did end up smelling like only newborns can – a faint mix of milk, baby powder, and baby soap. I came out feeling oh so proud of myself because I, who was 24 years old when my son was born on Feb. 2, 1996, had made my first major decision for the good of my son. I had become a mommy!
Armando Miguel Arceo Dumlao is 15 years old now and in his final year in high school at La Salle Green Hills, and it has been one decision after another since that time I gave him a bath for the first time.
Some do not require much brain activity: Mom, can I go to the party? No. Mom, can I stay overnight at a friend’s house? No. Mom, can I get a new pair of shoes? No. Others you have to agonize over: Mom, can I ask somebody to be my date to the prom? Ummm….Yes (Sigh). Mom, can I start driving soon? I’ll think about it.
But through everything, I was guided by the same overriding, singular thought that crowded my head that time that I was splashing water on my baby’s tiny, wriggling body: What is the best for my son?
My decisions are not right all the time, but I rest easy knowing that right or wrong, I tried to do what is best for him – always for him, not about myself. And that sacrifice, that heroic act of putting my son’s interest before my own (even if it kills me) is, for me, what motherhood is all about.
Tina Arceo Dumlao is a multi-awarded journalist and desk editor of the Philippine Daily Inquirer. She has a Journalism degree from the University of the Philippines.
by rossanahead | Jul 28, 2011 | career, children, Education, family, Gina Abuyuan, parenting, woman
By Regina Abuyuan
My friend R, who partnered with D and me on this new venture of ours, a pub in Cubao X, has an ingenious solution to the never-ending quest for work-life balance and spending time with his kids even when he’s at work: letting his kid work alongside him.
For two weeks now, his son R2 has worked Fridays and a couple of Sundays waiting and clearing tables at the pub. Unlike most teens, he’s not into video games and girls (thanks to his ultra-sensible, well-grounded parents). However, R thought he could use some boosting in the get-your-nose-out-of-your-book-and-relate-to-the-world department. Don’t get me wrong—R2 is no sullen, emo-type nerd. He’s always smiling; chatty when he wants to be. But parents like to push their children’s potential, so here we are.
The first night, R2 was learning the ropes, trying to gain his footing. And he did—fast! Now he automatically hands guests their menus, knows how to serve beer, and wipes down tables after.
“It’s about building confidence,” his father likes to explain to people, after joking about child labor, when they inquire about the bespectacled lad handing them their drinks. “How to relate to different kinds of people—people skills.”
The best feedback I’ve gotten from R about his boy waiting tables, though, is this: “Papa,” R2 told his father after one (his first!) particularly busy Sunday. “I will never get irritated at waiters again.”
And what about my kids, you may ask? Why haven’t I asked S to join in? I don’t think it’s for her. I’ve asked her to serve customers a few times, but I know she wouldn’t be the eager learner like R2 is. Instead, I let her watch and witness how hard D and I work at the kitchen and bar—and her reaction has been just as rewarding.
“Are you sure you’re OK?” She texted last pay day, a Friday, when she learned D was going to be late for service and R wasn’t around. I was basically running the whole show, with the crowd growing bigger by the minute. “Yes, I’ll be OK,” I answered.
“Uhm, well, at least you’re earning…and you like it…I hope Tito D comes soon so he can help you.”
I rediscovered what I taught myself and S when she was little and would sit beside me while I wrote: If you can’t bring your kids to work, or have them experience what you do, at least make them understand what you do, how much you enjoy it, and how much it means to you. That way (hopefully!) they won’t resent your work—or at least resent it less.
