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 21, 2011 | career, children, family, Gina Abuyuan, parenting, woman
By Regina Abuyuan
Readers of this blog who are connected with me through Facebook have probably been keeping tabs on the latest adventure of my wonky life. With D and another friend, R, I recently opened a pub in Cubao X. It’s called Fred’s (after D’s grandfather, a drinking stalwart who was also into cigars; coincidentally, R’s and my maternal grandfathers were also named Fred, and both carried their drink and smokes more than well). It’s been weeks of very late nights (er, early mornings) for me, which had me behind the bar serving drinks, wiping down tables, and cleaning ashtrays. I have great respect for waitresses and barmaids now. Their job is exhausting and murder on the feet and legs.
For more than a week straight, I packed my kids off to my mom’s (God bless grandmas!), and prayed they wouldn’t be any trouble.
They were.
Well, at least my twins were. My daughter behaved as she always does—responsible, quiet, obedient. My absence had taken its toll on the twins. My mom and her househelp tell me they frequently fight, watch too much TV, and fall asleep with the TV on. One day, when I had nicked enough time to drive by and check on them, they exasperatedly said, in unison: “Finally!”
When I got ready to leave again, Mateo handed me the piece of origami he had made (he likes making me these things; my bedside table is littered with them). “I made this for you, Mommy.”
My heart almost broke with guilt.
Their teachers have told me their behavior has changed in school, as well. Mateo’s on the verge of being a bully; Marco is his usual cool self—but probably more cool than expected, which is also reason for alarm.
I swore I would never allow myself to feel this way again, to let any situation let me feel this way again. But the universe likes to play jokes on us sometimes, and just as we think we’re free, an opportunity comes where we have to give up something to attain something. I feel especially guilty because the twins have gotten the brunt of these choices; the first was when I was putting up a new magazine when they were only three years old, and now, this.
Is it worth it, you may ask? I don’t know yet. But at least now, being part-owner of something I created, I also have the power to choose how much time I put in our venture, and how much control I’m willing to take—or give up.
I’ve not had a late night in the pub since Friday, and I attended the twins’ emergency preparedness workshop on Saturday (another advocacy I’m involved in). I’m trying to regain what I lost over the past weeks: Balance. It’s what all mothers strive for. It’s the law of the universe; the law of Mother Nature herself, who knows just how and when to tip the scales this way and that.
Wish me luck!
![Why I Work]()
by rossanahead | May 14, 2011 | career, children, Education, family, parenting, Rossana Llenado, woman
By Rossana Llenado
rossana llenado
Women work for all sorts of reasons. For some, it is to pursue a lifelong passion. For others, it is to have that sense of self-fulfillment inherent in a job well done.
One of the reasons that I started Ahead Tutorial and Review Center 16 years ago was because I wanted to be able to manage my own time. I was a mother of twins, and leaving them in the hands of strangers was not acceptable. Going into the tutorial business seemed like a very good idea. Not only could I pursue my passion for teaching and molding young minds, I also get to keep an eye on my children.
Today, I have four children of my own, but thousands more that I could very well call my own. Yes, one of the great joys of being in the business of education is that you get the chance to meet all these wonderful children and see them grow up into young adults with purpose. You could see it in their eyes—that burning desire to learn and improve.
Nothing gives me greater pleasure than seeing a student shine—and I’m fortunate enough to have witnessed this many times over. A child would come to us, defeated because of failing grades, and then several months later, he has grown confident in his skills—and has improved his grades immensely.
And so, whenever faced with the everyday problems of raising four children and managing a company, I just picture that child who could now walk with his head held high.
by rossanahead | May 12, 2011 | children, family, Jing Lejano, parenting, woman
By Jing Lejano
On the way home with V the other night, she asked, “You don’t wake your kids up in the morning?” “No.” “Who wakes them up? “They wake up by themselves.” “Who makes their breakfast?” “They’re old enough to make their own breakfast.”
V gave me a look of utter surprise, as if I belonged to some other planet. She goes on to tell me that her mom still wakes her up in the mornings and fixes everybody breakfast. V is in her twenties.
D, who is in his thirties, also once told me that his mother makes sure that breakfast is ready for everybody. And I gave him a look of utter surprise, as if he belonged to some other planet.
Well, apparently, I am the one who belongs to a galaxy far, far away.
I don’t wake my kids up in the morning, but I can stay up with them all night. I don’t do breakfast, but I can cook Lasagna, Sisig, Pata Beans, and Chicken Pickle whenever I have the time and the inclination. I don’t do the laundry, but I work–although my work is on such a crazy schedule that it might see me wracking my brains one day and sleeping all day the next. I may not be able to attend each and every school-related activity but when I do, I am my child’s loudest cheer leader—much to his consternation. I may not be able to help them with all their schoolwork, but I hyperventilate whenever they get sick, and could hardly sleep unless something happens in the middle of the night. I can’t iron but hey, I can sing and I can dance.
There are all sorts of ways of being a mommy; this is mine.
by rossanahead | May 10, 2011 | children, family, Lyra Pore, parenting
By Lyra Pore
It had been a long drive. My young family had just spent seven hours on the road; and we were relieved to have finally arrived at the Twelve Apostles, one of the most popular tourist destinations in Victoria, Australia. Getting a glimpse of the famed rock formations would be a fitting highlight to our road trip after the scenic drive along the Great Ocean Road. My children, however, thought otherwise.
My six-year-old asked, “Is this all we’ve travelled seven hours for? To see rocks in the water? And, look, they’re not even twelve.”
“The drive is part of the experience,” I’d told the girls earlier. But dizzy as they were from the twists and turns on the zigzag coastal road, they completely missed the point. To them, the fun part was getting off the car, running on the beach, and picking up pebbles and shells they could take home.
Earlier that week, my husband and I had taken them on a sightseeing trip to the Melbourne City Center. It would be fun, I figured, to ride the tram that went around the city and hop on and off to check out different tourist spots. But my girls didn’t even bother to look out the windows. They took out their Nintendo DSi games and played with them the whole time we were in the tram. The Melbourne day-out would have been a complete disaster had we not stumbled upon a sand pit where they were happy enough to play with shovels and pails.
I picked up some brochures at the visitor information centre to find other places we could visit. Ballarat, a gold rush town with lovely 19th century architecture, would be interesting–not to the children though. They sat at the back of the car with this bored look on their young faces unable to appreciate what could be so fascinating about those brick houses that were built over a hundred years ago.
“Can we swim in the pool when we get back?”
To them, the highlight of the day was heading back to the resort and frolicking in the pool. Last weekend, a family friend suggested we go on a family holiday in New Zealand. We would see things there, he said, that we wouldn’t find in Australia.
“We’re not ready for it,” I said to my husband, memories of our trip to Victoria still fresh on my mind. “The children aren’t interested in sightseeing.” It wouldn’t really matter to them where they went. Their idea of a great holiday was simple: just let them play.
