by rossanahead | Apr 19, 2011 | parenting, Ruth M. Floresca
By Ruth M. Floresca
We live in modern times. Despite being labeled as a third world country, the Philippines cannot be said to be behind other countries in terms of technology and lots of other things. In fact, if we look around, there are so many indications that we are not as backward as people of other nations might think.
Unfortunately, as we continue to travel the path towards modernization and, if I may add, sought-after sophistication, many Filipinos barely notice how much we are going farther away from things that should matter. I’m talking about culture, particularly, Filipino values.
It saddens me these days to see and hear young people scarcely showing respect to others, especially their elders. I grew up in the province and was thoroughly instilled with the importance of family ties, saying “po” and “opo,” and speaking in deferential tones when conversing with older people.
My husband and I are doing our best to raise our kids the same way. Thankfully, most of the things we keep teaching them seem to be sticking. If they sometimes forget, they get reprimanded and reminded. Truthfully, if there was one thing I would hate hearing about my kids is that they were not raised to practice good manners. On the other hand, I’d usually get surprised and mildly offended whenever some of their friends or classmates address me like a peer with matching authoritative tones to boot. I have to admit that there were times I imagined washing their mouths with soap if I could.
I understand that there are parents who believe in equality and mutual respect. Well, when I got married and had kids of my own, I saw my relationship with my parents veer in that direction. But I don’t think that kind of association can be, nor should be, applied yet to parents and very young children.
Many foreign and local TV shows, music, and movies don’t help. Young people nowadays are bombarded left and right with role models who are not very good examples to begin with. Which is why we parents should doubly focus on correctly teaching our kids who and what to believe in.
We Filipinos are known for our hospitable nature. But I hope that we can also become known as a people who are raising children who don’t talk insolently to adults as if they have every right to do so; children who’d rather be with their families instead of bonding with their friends majority of the time; and children whom other parents would speak well of for being raised properly.
In her book “Anything We Love Can Be Saved,” author Alice Walker writes about soul nurture as “that infusion of spiritual carrots and spinach that one’s own culture can give, and that the dominant culture under which we live cannot.”
To those of us who proudly say we are Filipinos, whether we still reside in the Philippines or have chosen to live in another land; whatever outside influences have come into this country and into our lives; however Americanized (or Europeanized, etc.) many of us have become; and whether we allow these factors to seep into every facet of our being or not; I hope we can all continue to strive to keep intact what good Filipino values we intrinsically have and treasure them because they are, to begin with, part of who we are.
by rossanahead | Apr 17, 2011 | career, children, Gina Abuyuan, parenting, woman
By Gina Abuyuan
I would probably now own a Mac Air, have a year’s worth of rent paid, and a lilac Gucci handbag made of the most sublime, buttery leather if I were paid a peso every time I’ve been told/asked:
* “I-feature mo naman ako,” (“Can you do a feature on me?”) when people learn I edit a magazine (well, when I did);
* “Masakit?” (“Did it hurt?”) when they see the tattoo on my wrist; and
* “May lahi kayo?” (“Is it in your genes?”) when people learn I have twins.
And I would probably be now driven around in a mini-van if I gave myself a peso every time I promised myself: “I will not get dramatic about my being a working mom”—and broke it.
Don’t get me wrong—I love being a working mother. I love the adrenaline and challenge it gives me; I love being paid for what I love to do. But sometimes, the stress gets the better of me. I retreat into my selfish, self-centered world and resent the fact that other people (my sister, for instance, who I love dearly, again please don’t get me wrong) have got it easy: their husbands bring home bacon (a full slab at that!), all they’ve got to worry about is the kids’ baon, bring them to and pick them up from school, and make sure dinner is ready when hubby arrives.
But is it really that easy? I once was left sans yaya, when my twin boys were still babies, and a whole day taking care of them left me more sapped than 48 hours putting my then-magazine to bed. I marvel at the energy of my partner’s ex-wife, B, who’s chosen to be a homemaker to her current husband and two daughters. She’s up at dawn, cooks the family’s meals, drives the kids to school, hangs out in the mall while waiting for them to get out of class, drives them back home, takes care of her husband, and drives them to extracurricular activities during the weekends.
One time, when we were corresponding about her son’s schooling and she had missed an e-mail or two, she was profuse in her apologies. She was so busy, she said, but probably not as busy as I was, an editor. I stopped her right there. No way, I told her. It’s OK. Nothing can be busier than a full-time mom and homemaker.
So, yes, I do get emotionally frayed sometimes, especially when deadlines are piling up, editorial assistants are calling, and texting non-stop to follow up on stories, book clients are asking (“but no pressure! Just asking!”) if the copy is ready, and public relations practitioners are requesting for interviews “at the most convenient time.”
But, as I remind myself, that just like B and my sister, I made a choice. I made a choice to be a working mother. Not just a 9 to 5 pencil-pusher, mind you, but the type of worker who needs to hustle and have the ability to speak/write/understand different voices. Sure, I can un-make that choice, but that will mean going against who I am, what I was meant to do, and what I’m happy doing–occasional dramatics notwithstanding.
by rossanahead | Apr 17, 2011 | Jing Lejano, woman
By Jing Lejano
Every so often, my sister M and I would have these marathon phone sessions. She lives in Canada, you see, and we try to squeeze in several months of our lives into several minutes of talk. Our last conversation was a wild one and peppered with much laughter.
While talking about the many shades of dating these days (casual, complicated, what-have-you), M blurted out, “Hindi na ko cool!” (“I’m not cool anymore!”) I replied right back, “Matagal na tayong hindi cool!” (“We haven’t been cool for a long time!”)
I’ve never been cool to begin with, if your definition of cool is an au courant hipster. I’ve always seen myself as some kind of geeky cowboy. My sister M, however, is “cool.” She will forever be an artist with that “tortured soul” vibe about her.
When I became a mom, however, I was suddenly cool. When I get to meet my children’s friends, they’ll always tell me afterwards that their friends thought I was cool. Huh? Me? Cool?!
Is it because I knew how to take care of myself while the mommies of my kids’ friends started going losyang? Or is it because I was open to the idea of them participating in field trips, going on parties, or meeting up with friends? Or is it because I still liked hanging out with my kids? Or is it because I talk with their friends?
Maybe it’s all of the above or maybe it’s none of the above. But one thing’s for sure, I chilled out a bit because of all the things I learned from having kids. And I’m not just talking about their taste in music, which I make a point to listen to, or their sense of fashion, which I always take note of, or their passion for games, which I occasionally try to play.
No, I chilled out because I learned to relax. The obsessive-compulsive in me learned to let go because, really, how can you control everything when you have four different lives to think of? You can’t. And so I rock, and so I roll, and at the end of the day, I can sleep with my sanity intact to face another exciting tomorrow.
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.
