Dumbfounded

For someone who talks a mile a minute -- literally, according to my husband -- and who was hosting a TV talk show at that time, I stammered and ended up speechless when I sat beside the former Philippine President Cory Aquino. A good thing the show was a taped one.

Not that I've never seen her before. I was in high school when she often went to our school for PTA meetings, since her now notorius daughter studied in the same school I did, albeit a few levels lower than I was. Of course, she wasn't the country's President then. But she was the widow of a martyr whom most Filipinos admired and revered.

Anyway, I knew I was scheduled to interview Cory Aquino for the talk show on women that I hosted back in 2003 for the Cebu Catholic Television Network. I prepared for it and had my questions all in my head, along with additional tips from the director.

What I wasn't prepared for was the aura and commanding presence Cory had. And her humility. And how much she loved God, her family, and her country. Although I made a bit of a fool of myself as a TV talk show host, I was glad to have met her and talked to her. She was one awesome lady who is greatly missed by the Filipino people.

Singing in the Rain

I blame Gene Kelly. It's all his fault. Really. Him and his dimples and awesome dancing steps. And yes, his singing in the rain.

I was but a young child when I first watched his movie, "Singing in the Rain", and it was then that I fell in love with singing, dancing, and yes, the rain. I vividly remember taking baths in the rain as a tween, loving the rain drops that fell hard on my head. In high school, I even choreographed a dance number on the movie's theme song as a requirement for physical ed. Umbrellas and all. We got a 96 as grade, as I recall. When I was already in the university, I walked under the rain so many times and went home drenched. My mom would give me one look and ask with resignation, "You walked in the rain again?"

Because of Gene Kelly, I always welcomed the rain. Well, save for the occasional thunders that came along with it. For most of my life, I had brontophobia, fear of thunder. I only got over it when my daughter was born, because I had to feign courage for her and consequently no longer had to make pretenses. Anyway, since I almost always liked the rain, I never got used to using an umbrella. Thus, getting wet whenever there would be storms. Back in Manila, there were quite a lot of those. Once, I even had to walk most of Taft Avenue (a very, very long road) under the rain.

Nowadays, however, as much as I still like the rain, I prefer to be indoors when it pours. Just like this morning. It was a bit chilly, so I snuggled under a blanket and drank a cup of hot coffee while watching the rain from the window.

Did I ever sing and dance in the rain? Well, I'm no Gene Kelly or even Debbie Reynolds at that. But, yes, in my head, I have more than once sang THE song while walking in the rain with a somewhat silly, big grin on my face.

Unspooked

No costumes, no trick or treatin', no fun games for my kids and their cousins for Halloween this year. Although there has been a long-standing debate as to whether or not Halloween is a satanic tradition, the event can be and has been celebrated by our family as a day of fun, cute costumes, and sweets.

Having managed events for children and families in the past, I always advocated cuteness for Halloween: "enchanted" with kids encouraged to dress up as princes, princesess, and other fairy tale characters; "too cute to spook" with kids asked to wear cute costumes of animals, insects, superheroes, angels, et al. A pity that Halloween isn't much celebrated here in Auckland then.

So to commemorate the occasion and to have some fun on our own at home, I spent a couple of hours in the kitchen yesterday while hubby brought the kids to the park. That is, by making Spaghetti with Oozing Eyeballs (meatballs decorated with mayonnaise and sliced black olives) and Spiderweb Mudcake (white chocolate frosting with Hershey's chocolate syrup for the web). The look of the kids' faces, the oohs and ahhs, and the second (and third) helpings were all worth the effort. T'was totally wicked.

The Lumenarias

They're beautiful inside and out. They're sweet, charming, and caring. They're lovable, loving, and beloved. Always supportive, shoulders to cry on or simply lean on, hands to hold. They'd readily stand up and fight for each other's cause and dish on anyone who'd make their sisters cry. They would, however, also be honest enough to say if our concerns are silly or or if one of us is becoming solipsistic. They keep each other real.

These are the Lumenarias. The "enlightened" women who met each other virtually back when they were just newlyweds and have bonded through time. How they met? Through the newlywedsatwork@yahoogroup.com, where they shared new wifey roles and woes, cleaning and other household keeping tips and tricks, pregnancy concerns, milestones of their children, anniversary celebrations, problems with co-workers, neighbours, and in-laws. After nine + years, they figured they could no longer relate to the much younger newlyweds nor want to share their most intimate thoughts, concerns, and experiences with women they didn't really know. And so Lumenarias was born.

Despite having only reunited for only a little over a month, the Lumenarias welcomed the new pregnancies of a few and sympathised with the loss of one; prayed for the safety of those affected by the Ketsana typhoon and donated what they could for one who was gravely affected by it; swap tried and tested recipes; and continue to make everyone feel good about themselves, while still keeping things real.

I've never had a sister and despite having studied in an all-girl school from preschool to high school, I had difficulty getting close to other women most of my life. Well, that is, save for my mom. But I call these Lumenarias my sisters and I'm glad to be one of them.

Not So Ripped After All

I couldn't help it. There was no stopping those tears from falling. I felt real bad and yes, it was self-pity, but there it was.

My one and only good pair of jeans got ripped. Why? I sat down the sofa, but hubby had not yet fixed the broken arm rest and somehow, there was a nail exposed that snagged my jeans. I screamed an "ouch" since it hit my skin, too. Minor flesh wound. But the big hole on my pants stung more. I quickly went down to our bedroom, took off the jeans, and opened my sewing kit. I had no thread that was near the dark blue shade of my trousers. I decided to go with the royal blue. After I stitched the hole up, that was when I could no longer see clearly, because tears welled up in my eyes. It has been more than a decade since I last bought a pair of jeans. This one pair was one I was quite happy about, mainly because they fit me well and they cost half of what I would have paid in a store. I bought them from a favorite eBay seller who was based in Dubai and would frequently ship fab plus sized clothing to the Philippines for reselling. How was I going to buy again from her and have it sent here in New Zealand without paying for the shipping cost? No way was I going to be able to do that. At least not in the near future. Worse, I was jobless and trying hard to be frugal, especially since I had to not only curb, but put an end to my former shopaholic life. So there I was struggling to overcome a weakness and that incident had to happen. Thus, the downpour of tears.

After I calmed down, I turned to God. I normally visit http://wau.org for daily Mass reading meditations and articles for reflection. By chance, that afternoon when I went to the site, it was earlier than I usually would, and thus, the meditation was for the previous day, which focused on God's Holy Cross and how we should let go of material things. It struck me. I was truly meant to read it. How silly it was of me to have been so attached to a pair of jeans and get so affected by it getting torn. It was just a pair of jeans. I stitched it up and it still looked good. It wasn't perfect, but it suits the owner.

It had to happen so I would learn from it. And I did.

"Lord, give me the courage and conviction to let go of the things that are blocking the flow of love in my life, so that I can receive a generous helping from you."

Taking a Time Out

Stuck. That's exactly what I've been for almost a whole week. Stuck at home, that is. Not that I can really do anything much about it.

I sprained both my right and left ankles, after all. Yes, you read right. Both ankles. I was babysitting my 3-year-old nephew and 4-year-old niece Friday afternoon last week, you see. Well, hubby picked up our kids and six other nieces and nephews from school and when they arrived, the kids all pounded on our front door, excitedly knocking and shouting. The two tots then ran all the way down to greet them and I ran to follow them. Unfortunately, in my haste, I twisted my left foot on the second to the last step and knew I was going to skip the last step down, but couldn't stop myself anymore from falling. And so I did.

A good thing hubby was outside already. I was in so much pain. I landed on the floor hard and knew both ankles were sprained. I couldn't get up, but had to let him help me get to our bed. A good thing I landed just a couple of feet away from our bedroom door. Feet elevated and iced, hubby dear had to leave me for a few hours, though, since he had a class he couldn't miss. My sister-in-law and her husband came to my rescue an hour later. Not that I really needed anymore rescuing, but I badly needed to go to the toilet and it was up on the second floor. If that wasn't an emergency, I don't know what is. So, with one arm over my brother-in-law's shoulder and my other arm over my sister-in-law's, we made it upstairs one step at a time. Literally. We decided then that it would be to my best interest to stay upstairs. So they got me a pillow and propped me up on the sofa (after I did my thing, of course), made sure I was comfortable enough. Hubby left me a ham sandwich and some chips for dinner, and my sister-in-law left me a glass of water so I can sip some and won't get dehydrated. I really didn't want to drink any water lest I would have to go to bathroom again and wouldn't have any help for at least two more hours that night. Oh well... I could always crawl, I joked. Seriously, I didn't think that was possible, so I just slept after dinner.

Since that day, I've been mostly lying on the sofa, sleeping, reading, eating, Twittering, playing games on Facebook, with intermittent trips to the bathroom aided by my husband. I've been blessed with one of the best husbands ever, who just did all the household chores with some assistance from our two kids, helped me wash up and get dressed, and even slept on the adjacent sofa to keep me company at night.

I can't wait to wash my hair, though. It's getting oilier by the day, but I don't think I can stand inside the bathroom long enough to wash them. Yet.

Through all the pain and what should have been boredom, what has made things easier were my prayers. I never had so much time to pray, to talk to God. I offered my so-called suffering to all the dying souls, adopting one each day in the hope of that soul's conversion. I think of this time as His way of making me stop, slow down, and take a time out. So to speak.

I do hope I can be up and about in a few days, though, on time for my son's birthday party.

Start of Something New

Novelty has charms that make it all worthwhile. Well, maybe not all the time, but in our case, starting a new life in New Zealand does.

It all began with the New Year, when we consciously made effort to collect our documents for our application for migration to NZ. Our departure from the Philippines followed suit, which was coined by friends as having brought “new definition” to the term “independence” since we flew out of the country on 12 June. Winter was then a new experience for our kids, who inadvertently missed the heat of Cebu’s summer after the first few weeks of our arrival. New school, new jobs, new friends, new way of living. Out of our comfort zones and yet all quite thrilling.

After less than two months, we moved into our new flat: a two-bedroom, two-storey unit that’s just right for us, easy to maintain, and within short walking distance to the train station and to my sister-in-law’s house (quite important since our kids ride with them to and fro school, as well as stay there until we can pick them up after work and bring them home). On our own, we’re enjoying our new-found independence from household helpers and privacy. We’ve got new and sort-of-new appliances and furniture, to boot; some we bought and others given by relatives and KBNZ friends. We’ve recently bought a new (second-hand) car, too.

What is truly wonderful about starting anew is redefining the way we live so we would have a unity of life. That is, that our spiritual life is one with our social life, one with our professional life, one with our family life. We have but one life, after all. An ordinary life. As St. Josemaria Escriva once said, "There is something holy, something divine, hidden in the most ordinary situations, and it is up to each of you to discover it."

Having recently celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary, this is truly the perfect way to start a new decade of our married life.

Now, if we can only find new jobs…