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Back in School

It's true, you know. You should be careful about what you say, because it might come true.

Even as a child I've always admired teachers, but whenever asked what I wanted to become when I'd grow up, it was just one profession that did not cross my mind.

When I was filling up college application forms decades ago, I vividly recall choosing psychology or behavioral studies primarily because should I later on decide not to pursue law (which I did not), I did not want to end up having no other option than to become a teacher. With psychology, I repeatedly rationalized over the years to everyone and to myself, I can get into almost any profession -- as long as it involved dealing with people.

Well, fresh from college, my first job was a teaching one. I taught English and History to high school students at La Salle Greenhills, and became homeroom adviser to a 2nd year class to boot. Why?? They had this ablult night school program that called to this perennially gnawing need of mine to serve others. Plus, I couldn't say no to the Superintendent (a LaSallian Brother) that time, whom I was quite fond of. He had his secretary call me and facilitate my teaching position. It was a done deal.

That stint, however, lasted only a year and I told myself I was not cut out to teach. That such a vocation was quite a laudable and honorable one, and yet so not mine.

I decided to take the easy route. I took another course, hung out with friends, continued working on the student paper (a bi-monthly) that I became the managing editor of. Afterwards, I became editor of magazines and trade publications.

A decade later and with a family to prioritize, I opted for an even easier path. Marketing consultancy, which mainly involved public relations and events management services. Even with a real office and secretary, I worked mostly from home. It was fine and it has served its purpose: additional income for my family; professional work for me.

So that need to serve? It gnawed and gnawed and gnawed. So I'd do some advocacy work and that gnawing feeling would subside. Somehow, they weren't enough to fill that need.

After several prayers for guidance and wisdom, I decided (with my husband's full support) to go back to school. That is, to help the PAREF (Parents for Education Foundation) Southcrest School by working full time as marketing officer. Several more prayers later, I agreed to teach Composition and Grammar to the fourth year students.

Surprisingly, I have found myself actually enjoying teaching, relating with my students. I look forward to listening to their speeches, reading their compositions and journals, and viewing their projects. There are only 11 of them and so I get to personalize the lessons. I truly enjoy getting to know each one of them and helping prepare them for college.

I am challenged by our generation gap and thus, aim to inspire them, motivate them. Teaching is putting my creative skills (and digital know-how) to a test. Teaching is actually fun. And I'm proud to say I'm a teacher.

The Stuff He's Made Of

"What are little boys made of?
Snips and snails, and puppy-dogs' tails;
That's what little boys are made of!"

According to history, the "What are little boys made of" poem can be traced to the early 19th century, when the battle of the sexes had been apparently already raging. The words of "What are little boys made of" obviously reflect this, but what does of 'snips and snails' mean? Various interpretations have been suggested, but the one with the most credibility is that the original words were in fact 'snips of snails', wherein 'snips' meant 'little bits of'.

Despite being a member of the opposite sex, I wouldn't like to think that my husband was made of 'little bits of snails and puppy dog tails'. Nor that I gave birth to a boy made of the same.

My son, Raphael Josef, is certainly made of the good stuff. His name alone speaks of virtues and strength. Raphael, in Hebrew, means 'God has healed'. Thus, the archangel Raphael is known as the 'healer'. Josef is Slavic for Joseph, the Carpenter, husband of Mary, foster father of Jesus, pillar of strength. His nickname, Raj, is also a formidable name, which is Hindi for 'king'.

Raj, in all his seven years, has a winsome personality. He is witty yet diplomatic, friendly and outgoing, authoritative yet respectful, cheerful and energetic, masculine yet gentle. He is smart and wise for his age, and yet is innocent and pure.

He may not always readily do what we, his parents, ask of him and sometimes may question our reasons, but he would obey us in the end.

He may tease and play tricks on his sister, but he incessantly dotes on her and protects her.

He's made of the good stuff. The stuff that will make him into a great person one day.

To Be Young Again

Once upon a time, in another lifetime, I was the kind of girl who was sugary sweet and almost always nice. The kind of girl almost everyone got along with, the classmate who could rarely ever say “no”, the student practically all teachers liked, the obedient daughter her parents were proud of, the sister her brothers adored.

At 17, I recall perennially being on a multi-tasking mode. In school, I took leadership roles in Kathalan, the drama club, and in Accion Juvenil, the club for those aspiring to join the Teresian Association of women lay apostolates (for which I started undergoing formation the year before). I also took part in the glee club, Marian Core, and Headstart (weekly outreach program). After school, I would rush to my gymnastics training two hours, for three times a week. Saturday afternoons were spent on more gymnastics training and jazz dancing lessons; or going to the Tala Leprosarium to give psycho-spiritual seminars as part of SHARE’s (Service for Human and Religious Experience, a peer-counseling organization led by La Salle Greenhills) projects. Weekend nights I was either taking advanced acting lessons at Rep Phil or rehearsing for a musical wherein I was part of the cast.

Although it may have seemed that my education then took a backseat to my extracurricular activities, I did take joy in learning what I could from whatever lessons teachers could bestow upon me -- albeit inadvertently tuning out in the mathematics and sciences. The languages had always fascinated me and thus, excelling in them came naturally. Gifted with superb memory, mastering the social sciences was child’s play. It was at this age that I also discovered a knack for the culinary arts, which I relished.

I do, however, recall having been called often to appear before the high school principal: to show my sprained ankle as proof of an absence or not being able to write due to the new blisters in my palms or sprained wrist; to be ordered to reschedule dance or drama rehearsals so as not to coincide with my math classes; or to be asked to let go of one of my extracurricular activities in school, in the hope of helping me have more time to study for subjects my grades have dropped down.

Ah, yes, I had lots of fun when I was 17, and still I couldn’t wait to get out of high school. There was a whole new world for me to yet conquer. Despite the surprise of all my classmates that I did not apply for courses in English or MassComm, I actually knew with utmost certainty that Behavioral Science was the undergrad degree I would pursue. And though I knew my parents wanted me to study at the Ateneo, I personally envisioned myself taking up college in UP, where fellow students would be of various backgrounds and experiences and consequently add flavor and color to my college life.

Young, idealistic, energetic, and full of optimism about the future. Ahh...to be young again! Although more than 20 years have passed, I still have some of that idealism and energy -- and certainly most of that optimism still intact.

And yes, if I could go back in time, I’d do it all again.

Wait Sa

"Wait sa,” I often tell one or both my kids whenever they demand my attention. Be it to show me a drawing they made, one after another until we either run out of scratch papers; or to tell me what the other did wrong and thus should be reprimanded; or to ask permission to eat or drink what is normally a treat or dessert saved for special occasions or at least not to be consumed more than once a day; or to relate something very, very important to them, such as that there’s a full moon outside or the dogs are asleep. ”

“Wait sa” has been an automatic response on my part, simply because the attention they demand is more often than not when I’m on the phone, busy working in front of computer trying to meet a deadline.

“Wait sa” is actually a combination of an English word and a Cebuano term. “Sa” is pronounced with emphasis on the letter “a”. The way people here in Cebu say when we mean, “please wait.” It is usually accompanied by a non-verbal sign of raising one hand up, palm facing the person or persons requested to wait. At least that’s what I do and think when I do it.

I’d like to think that I get to teach my kids patience whenever I tell them to “wait sa,” that they cannot get what they want when they want it. Even my attention or consent. I’ve prided myself in successfully getting my 6-year-old son and 2-year-old daughter to actually wait until I am ready to listen to them. Of course, I don’t make them wait for more than 2-5 minutes. Besides, I doubt they’d let me get away with it longer than that.

Recently, though, I asked my son to come to the dining table for lunch. He promptly replied, “Wait sa, Mom,” as he wanted to finish his drawing first. It took him more than 5 minutes, 3 repeated requests on my end, and consequently 3 more “wait sa” responses before he actually went to the table.

A few nights ago, my daughter looked so cute and cuddly I wanted to hug her and so asked her to come to me for a hug. She continuted walking towards whatever it is she was going to get and told me, “Wait sa, Mom.” I asked her again to come to me, telling her sweetly that I missed hugging her and wanted to do so. Again, she said, “Wait sa.”

At this, I retorted and begged, “Wait sa, wait sa. You keep telling me to wait sa. Come na! Please?!!”

The moment I said it I realized that tables had turned and that it was I who was being taught patience by my kids. Elle finally did come over and gave me a big hug. Raj, who didn’t want to be left out or outdone by his sister, rushed towards me and also gave me a hug. And for these, all the “wait sa’s” make it all worthwhile.

To be a Better Mom

The moment I found out I was pregnant with our first child I vowed to myself that I would work hard to be a good mom. With my own mom as model, I told myself I’d try to even be better than she was. I’d be a full time mom, hands on, but would make sure I’d have professional fulfillment with a business I can manage from home (my mom gave up practicing law to be a full time wife and mom).

Of course, being human, I’ve had several shortcomings and mistakes as a mom. Not having enough patience and getting angry at my son; not securing him well enough on bed and so he fell down more than once; not having enough sense not to leave him inside a water pail and so he fell over and had a cut on his forehead; losing control and screaming at him out of frustration once too often. And more.

Each time afterwards I would pray and ask for more patience, more courage, more perseverance. Each time I’d vow to do better, to be a better mom.

Then came baby no. 2. I recall telling myself that I knew better. It was the second time around. I was sure I’d be a better mom.

Although I’d like to think I am better at it, I’m still human. I still falter. I still lack patience. I still lack perseverance. I still lack courage. And so I continue to pray to be a better mom.

But one thing I realized only at the marriage enrichment weekend seminar (entitled “Beyond I Do”) hubby and I attended last year — which I fretted leaving my kids alone with the helpers for 3 whole days (something I never did before) — is that to be a better mom, I have to be a better wife first. Educhild (Education for the Upbringing of Children Foundation) has always been about parenting and for the first time, we learned that parenting starts with mom and dad, hubsand and wife. A good, happy, loving marriage would consquently make a good, happy, loving family.

I still aim to be a better mom everyday. Only now I know that to achieve that, I have to work on being a better wife each day.

If I Could Rule the World

If I could rule the world, my kids wouldn’t have to suffer.

A little over a month ago my husband’s eldest sister and her family migrated to New Zealand. My kids “lost” their 8 cousins (yes, 8!), their bestfriends. Raj, my 6-year-old son, in particular, has been inseparable with his cousin, Mikel, who’s only 7 months older, practically since birth. They loved doing things together, sharing stories and adventures, swapping toys, clothes, and what-have-you’s.

We recently watched the “Brother Bear 2″ video and towards the end Raj went up to me and said with teary eyes, “I wish Kuya Mikel and I were like we used to be. But we cannot.” I hugged him tight and cried. I couldn’t stop from doing so. He didn’t see my tears, though.
Elle, my 2 years and 10 months old daughter, doesn’t fully understand the situation and looks for her cousins Maia (4 years old) and Lilo (2 years old). Much less, why her grandmother had to go NZ to help her aunt’s family settle in and took 2 months to get back. She exasperately asked me “Why” almost everyday, and afterwards, again why both her paternal grandparents left for the US to help out my sister-in-law (and her husband) who gave birth last March, to help take care of their (then) 1-year-old daughter and home.

Two weeks ago she had cough, colds, on-and-off fever, and (bronchial) asthma. She hasn’t been eating much and has been frustrated with about feeling uncomfortable and not being able to do anything about it, and much more about not being able to do what she normally does.

If I could rule the world, I’d make it so there was such a thing as teleportation so we could just go to NZ every weekend or have any of my children’s cousins from NZ or relatives from Manila visit us often. If I could rule the world, none of my children would get sick or I could just switch places with them in a snap.

But alas, I do not and cannot rule the world. I can only pray and give them all the love and time I can; hug and kiss them and help them feel better. One step at a time.