cherry's chakra

2010-06-12T08:25:00.004+12:00

Giving a new meaning to Independence Day, we literally flew the coop by migrating to New Zealand via Singapore Airlines. That was a year ago, 12 June 2009.

It all began in the Autumn of 2009, when we were blessed with an opportunity to have a three-week holiday in Auckland as part of the Fernandez Family Reunion. We had a full itinerary of trips to Kelly Tartlon’s, Mission Bay, Goat Island, MOTAT (Museum of Transport and Technology), Auckland Zoo, The Candy Factory, Hamilton Gardens, Auckland Museum, Paradice, and Snow Planet.

When we went back to Cebu, we decided to move our family to NZ, along with the invaluable support of our families. It took us a whole year to get our papers and ourselves ready to file our applications. A few days later, our case officers called us separately, asking for a few more supporting documents. Ten days after we submitted our applications, our visas were granted: an international student visa for Romil, a multiple-entry work visa for me, and domestic student visas for our kids, Raj and Elle. The catch was that we had only a month to give away and sell things we would not be able to bring, bid our goodbyes to the important people in our lives, buy what we needed, and pack luggages and balikbayan boxes (for shipping).

Arriving in winter did not deter us from doing things as planned: hubby started attending his classes on 15 June and our kids followed suit the following day. We immediately applied for jobs and got accepted for part time work by the same company, a contact centre, a couple of weeks later. Soon after, we joined KBNZ (organisation of Bisaya-speaking Filipinos in NZ) and the NZ-Filipino Santo Nino Devotees. Auckland welcomed us with wide, open arms and we embraced it back with gusto. Despite getting caught by heavy rain sans an umbrella or rain jacket or having to do walk-a-thons to catch the train or bus, as well as to ensure we wouldn’t be late for work or in hubby’s case, for school. Despite the bed bugs and flea bites, too.

By August, we were able to move out of my sister-in-law’s house and move into a two-bedroom flat that was just a five-minute walk away. With a lot of assistance from my sis-in-law’s family and Cebuano friends, of course.

The following month, running after my preschool aged niece and nephew whom I was babysitting then, I accidentally skipped the last step down the stairs, fell hard, and sprained both ankles. Thanks to ACC (Accident Compensation Commission), I was given free 20 physiotherapy sessions and was able to walk properly again after six weeks.

Hubby and I co-hosted the First KBNZ Family Day and had a jolly good time. We revisited MOTAT, taking advantage of the free entrance for Auckland residents. We went on a pilgrimage to Puhoi. In the summer, we had picnics in nearby parks and even those as far as Wenderholm, Tawharanui, and Pakiri. Strawberry picking and eating ice cream with fresh strawberries were certainly a treat. Our wedding anniversary, birthdays, Christmas, and Sinulog were celebrated in NZ for the first time.

Romil’s classes ended on 15 March and we submitted our applications to the Immigration Office for his graduate-job search work permit, my work permit, and the renewal of our kids’ domestic student visas. It took Immigration, however, two weeks to assign case officers – the actual day our visas expired. At 5:00pm the following day, though, they were granted. Whew! Heaps of thanks to the prayers of our families, relatives, and friends, as well as to the support of our employers.

God is good and continuously blesses our family. Hubby graduated and gave the speech in behalf of his class at the ceremonies. We have good jobs, our kids excel in school, and loving relatives and wonderful friends surround us.

Time sure went by so fast and a whole year has passed. It is with great enthusiasm still that we look forward to all that life in NZ will bring.

My Life According to Julia Fordham

2010-06-07T20:20:00.000+12:00

My best friend from uni days, Robert, recently asked me io describe my life as a series of song titles by one artist. I initially scowled and thought of saying I could sum up my life through Miley Cyrus’s songs, but taking him seriously, I knew I simply could not. My life ain't that pop, after all. So no go.

After some pondering, it hit me that if there was one artist out there whose songs I related most to back in a day, it had to be those of British singer-songwriter Julia Fordham.

Describe yourself: "Towerblock". Probably the one song of Julia Fordham that I related most for a little over the first half of my life. That is, until Mr. Right found me and he has became my towerblock since.

How do you feel: "Patches of Happiness". Happiness was but fleeting moments for me in my younger days.

I didn’t know what being happy truly meant. Just that at a particular time and place I was happy. That all changed when I got married and had kids. Since then, those patches have become much larger. And yes, now I can truly say I’m quite happy.

Describe where you currently live: "East West" For here in Auckland, we Filipinos are able to live in a culture that blends the east and west.

If you could go anywhere, where would you go: "Happy Ever After", which may not be a place, per se, but a point in time. And if I’m not there yet, then that’s where I’d like to be. Even though life isn’t a fairy tale, I believe in “happy ever after”.

A place you’d like to visit, whether or not you’ve already been there before: "Italy" – to see the Vatican and perhaps catch a glimpse of the Pope; to set foot in one of the oldest countries in the world and bask in its history, arts, and cultre; to see Milan fashion up close.

What's the weather you like most: "Blue Sky". Although autumn is my favourite season and that I used to love walking in the rain, there’s nothing as peaceful and beautiful as the clear, blue sky.

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called: "Foolish Thing". Like most people, I’ve done a lot of foolish things and do get silly at times.

What is life to you: "Mysterious Ways" of course. It’s what makes life interesting.

Your fear: "Invisible War". The thought of which sends chills up my spine.

What is the best advise you have to give: "Hope, Prayer, Time" With faith, we would have hope. With hope, we can pray. With prayer, we can make the most (and best) of the time we have in this world.

Good Housekeeping

2010-04-01T20:37:00.006+13:00

Just whistle while you work
And cheerfully together we can tidy up the place
So hum a merry tune
It won't take long when there's a song to help you set the pace

And as you sweep the room
Imagine that the broom is someone that you love
And soon you'll find you're dancing to the tune

For some strange, fairly inexplicable reason, I always sing in my head and consequently hum (and at times catch myself singing out loud) Snow White’s cleaning up song whenever I do household chores. In all probability, my subconscious mind strives to convince me to take joy in doing my chores. Either that or I watch too much cartoons. Naturally, I’d like to think it was the former (I do watch a lot of animated films and TV shows, but I have young kids and thus, the perfect excuse to do so).

Most of us Filipinos were not accustomed to doing household chores, with the prevailing practise of having domestic helpers back in the Philippines. Although my mom taught us how to clean the house, cook, wash dishes, do the laundry, we rarely ever really needed to do so ourselves.

The first time I went on fours to wash and scrub the floor was when my friends and I cleaned up our organisation’s staff house. Of course, it was heaps of fun back then, with lots of hands and laughter to get the job done.

I did live alone for several years and had to keep the studio apartment I rented tidy, but when I got a bigger apartment later on, I hired a household helper. Marriage and kids came afterward and having been a hands-on mom, I gladly relinquished all other domestic duties to our helpers.

Moving to New Zealand, we prepared our kids by training them to help out in our home back in Cebu by putting away their toys after play at the end of each day, setting the table for every meal, and putting away their own plates and utensils after each meal. I took a two-day training in housekeeping, dabbling into a business that provided cleaning services to homes and offices. After the training, though, I let my business partner oversee the work as I focused on marketing our services.

So when we finally moved to Auckland and into a modest two-bedroom flat, domestic duties have been a struggle for us, particularly for my kids and myself. Hubby has always been more domesticated and handles the vaccuming, taking out the rubbish, and tidying up quite well. I, on the other hand, have been finding it difficult to make sure the laundry gets done twice a week, the bathroom and toilet cleaned daily, the dishes are washed after each meal, and that we have food to eat for lunch and dinner (Breakfast has always been my husband’s assignment, be it to prepare rice and the viand or simply ensure we have cereal, milk, bread, butter, choco spread, and jam.).

The talk I listened to during a spiritual recollection I attended a month ago, however, focused on how we should do all things well and out of love. Most specially household chores. Cleaning behind the toilet bowl and cleaning it very well, because you want your daughter or son or husband or even yourself to be able to put your hand at the back of the toilet bowl and not shiver in fear or whatever might be back there. To cook meals that you know your family would relish.

After that talk, I realised I had just been doing the chores at home simply because I had to, and admittedly at times begrudgingly. My resolve was then to start thinking of my domestic duties as opportunities to show my family how much I love them.

So I guess, Snow White knew what she was doing, after all, when she sang:

Just whistle while you work
Put on that grin and start right in to whistle loud and long
Just hum a merry tune
Just do your best and take a rest and sing yourself a song

When there's too much to do
Don't let it bother you, forget your troubles,
Try to be just like a cheerful chick-a-dee

And whistle while you work
Come on get smart, tune up and start
To whistle while you work!

Total Surrender

2010-03-01T20:32:00.006+13:00

“What do you do,” a young mother asked, “if you had to leave home early to find work and though you tried very hard, at the end of the day, you found nothing? What do you do when you go home with empty pockets and hands and your two children, whom you left home, had nothing to eat for breakfast and lunch that day? What do you do when they run to you and ask if you have anything to eat, because they’re very hungry? What do you do?”

This woman asked a priest, who could not say anything. For what can you say to a story that’s as real as that? He did, however, ask the woman, “What did you do?”

“We just hugged each other cried,” was her reply.

Such was the story related by Fr. Gilbert Ramos in his homily for the Mass he celebrated last 16 February in Balmoral (Good Shepherd Parish), the day before the Lenten Season officially began.

He continued to talk about how in the Gospel reading that day, the apostles were overly concerned about not having enough bread to eat, when prior to that incident, they witnessed Jesus’ miracle of multiplying the loaves of bread and fish with heaps of leftovers. He talked about faith and how sometimes we lack it or pray and ask for God’s help conditionally.

It struck me as I listened to his sermon that for the first time, as long as I could remember, I had just surrendered totally to God’s will. For almost half a year, I was struggling to find full time work with pay. Despite my continuous search, several CV versions, and fielding of applications left and right, the most I got were part time jobs given by relatives and friends and a non-paying internship for a not-for-profit organisation.

Of course, I was glad to have helped OxfamNZ with its advocacies and had self-fulfilment achieving my goals during my internship with regard to producing the social media manuals and strategies of the organisation. I appreciated the blogging job and the retail sales experience, too. But the pressure was on by the start of 2010 to find full time work so that I could help provide for our family, particularly because my husband was still a student and could only work 20 hours a week.

Although it was difficult, especially since I do not (yet) drive, I completed the nine-day novena and Mass for the Feast of the Santo Nino last January. A first for me. Once, I rode the bus, got lost and walked more than a kilometre to find my way to the church. Another time, coming from another direction, I accidentally got off more than a kilometre early and had to walk the rest of the way. The rest of the time, I ate my pride and hitched a ride to and fro with friends.

I prayed for a job, any job that God wanted me to have, that would help lead me to sanctity, as well as help provide for my family. I surrendered to His love and will, applying for jobs that I was not truly keen on but knew I was qualified for. And then it happened. I got call-backs and interviews one after the other. I had my preferences, but left all to His will. On that morning I heard Mass at Balmoral when Fr. Gilbert talked about having complete faith in God, I had just signed a contract for a full time, 40-hour per week job with a small company that was actually my first choice among the little options I had. A good job, good work environment, a good company that upholds principles similar to mine. Normal working hours and short bus ride away from home.

My first day of work was on the following day, Ash Wednesday. What better way to commemorate the start of Lent?

A Mania Magnified

2010-02-15T18:15:00.006+13:00

There's something about vampires and their lore that make them so attractive to us, mere humans. Upon search, 19,200,000 sites on vampires came up on Google. They may be monsters, but they're almost always portrayed as exquisite creatures in fiction novels, TV shows, and films (well, save for Nosferatu).

They didn't start out that way, though. As a child, I recall watching Dracula movies that starred Christopher Lee over and over again. No, I didn't find him captivating, but the concept of a supernatural being that fed on the blood of humans was fascinating.

Then came along the 1992 production of Bram Stroker's Dracula with Gary Oldman making vampires into seductive beasts. Didn't we all secretly (and maybe even openly) wished Winona Ryder ended up with Dracula, instead of her drab beau, even though he was played by hunky Keanu Reeeves?

Anne Rice's vampire novel series soon afterwards took the world by a storm and moreso when Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, and Antonio Banderas brought to life on-screen the fabulous creatures she wrote of in Interview with a Vampire.

Attempts in television were made, but it was only in 1997 when Buffy the Vampire Slayer was produced that the teen audience was considered. Angel, as a spin off, didn't however, have as much raving reviews. The catch? He and Buffy were an item and fans just didn't like it any other way.

There's something about vampires and humans as starcrossed lovers that make a tv or movie plot a sure hit. Moonlight tried to latch onto that idea, but it's audience was limited to the 25 and above, and so it failed.

That's where Twilight comes in, which has become a mania, particularly among the youth. I admit, though, that I read the first three books in one night, and the succeeding two soon after their publication. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone below 18 years old, just the same.

Moreso the 2008 TV series True Blood, which, despite the casting of Anna Paquin in the lead role, I find a poor excuse to show nudity and porn. Too much of anything is no longer alluring and much less, entertaining.

These days, hubby and I follow another TV show, Vampire Diaries, that still is far from being wholesome, but its plot is more complex and well-thought of. A twist to the vampire-human romance is the inclusion of the vampire-brother, completing the a love triangle. With teens as main audience, we'll see how long the series will last.

One thing's for sure, vampire stories, be they in literature, on television, or on film, will be here to stay for a very long time.

Reckoning of a Resolve

2009-12-30T22:31:00.005+13:00

1. Find a job

2. Stick to the job for at least six months (or until I find a better one)

3. Go on a diet and get fit

4. Prepare more nutritious meals for the family

5. Blog more often (at least once a week)

6. Do my norms (of piety)

The list can actually go on, but I decided to stop there. It’s already overwhelming as it is. This top 6 are actually a rehash of last year’s list (and the year before that). Not that I didn’t get to do any of them at all. I did find a job each time I set out to look or one, but the search here in New Zealand has proven to be difficult for the past four months. I am, nonetheless, hopeful that I will land one soon, with the holidays finally over.

Dieting has, however, been akin to a yoyo for me the past four years. I’d get on one, stick to it, lose weight, and gradually go back to my eating habits. Exercise? Much worse. Intermittent at most. Having struck the big 4-0 recently, however, I realise I can only count on having low blood pressure, normal cholesterol and blood sugar levels for so long. Plus, there is that need to pass the permanent residence visa we plan to apply for in the near future. I walk a bit to and fro Oxfam’s office in Newton (where I have been an online communications intern since November), but that’s just twice a week. So I’m planning on walking at least half an hour, five days a week. Soon after I get a job, I can enrol in a gym, too. As for the diet, well, I’d like to keep it simple and real. More fruits and vegetables (one serving of each everyday should do the trick), less fat and sweets (limiting the latter most specially to once a week).

A naturally consequence of the above would be the next on the list. If I eat healthy then my family will, too, since I plan and prepare our meals.

Now as a writer, I have to push myself to enhance my skills, to get my name out there. Watching “Julie & Julia” before Christmas has inspired me. If Julie Powell was able to blog her way to stardom, I can, too. One of these days (hopefully within my lifetime). Plus, there are my fellow writer-friends Janette Toral (Digital Filipino) and Max Limpag (of Sun Star) who have made names for themselves in the blogging arena.

Last, but most important on that list, is having a plan of life to help ensure my spot in God’s kingdom one day, when my time comes. Thus, the need for me to do my norms of piety – e.g., daily Mass and Communion, prayers, spiritual reading, examination of conscience, penance. In so doing, I become a better person, a better wife, a better mother; and set an example to my children in the process.

Daunting tasks, yes, but achievable.

If only I were still a child and it would all be easy and simple to do. A child’s primary job, after all, is to play. At play, a child is active, almost always bursting with energy. A child, more often than not, does what she is told and what is right for her. A child loves God with complete abandon, with all her heart and soul.

No wonder Jesus said in Matthew 18:3, "Truly I say to you, unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.”

So on hindsight, my one true resolve this coming New Year is to be childlike. And what better child to emulate than the Holy Child Jesus, Himself? Quite apt with the celebration of Sinulog falling on this same month. Undoubtedly one event we all shouldn’t miss.

Fanatic

2009-11-30T16:56:00.009+13:00

Hi. My name is Cherry and I’m a Facebook addict. There, I said it. They say that admitting is the first step to recovery. In my case, however, I doubt I would.

Although far from being a tekkie, I embraced the commercial launch of the Internet back in 1995 with wide, welcome arms and have been avidly online since. I even learned html and offered Website design and development soon afterwards. As a hobby at that.

When social networking sites started cropping up, I got into them, too: SixDegrees.com, ICQ Buddy, MySpace, Multiply, LinkedIn, Flickr, and even the biggest disappointment in Internet history (so far), Friendster. Of course, I also use communication tools like Yahoo Messenger, Chikka.com, and later on, Skype. And yes, I also blog (obviously) and Tweet.

Anyway, I was disheartened by those social networking sites. Poor design, not much interaction and growth, and just plain boring. So when Facebook came into the picture, it took me three years to actually create an account. Once in, though, I was hooked. I was able to reconnect with friends as far back as primary school and relatives all over the world. I’ve joined and advocated causes, created fan pages, kept abreast of what’s happening internationally without having to open a single newspaper page or visit a news site. I get to share photos and videos of my family and keep in touch with everyone dear to me. After the onslaught of Typhoon Ketsana, Facebook helped people communicate with one another. I was glad to have helped connect two of my friends, one who had medical kits to donate, and another helping organise relief goods and medical kits for Calamba, Laguna. They didn’t know each other, but because I read their wall posts, I introduced to them to one another, so to speak. And yes, Facebook keeps me entertained, too. Not only with the videos posted by other users, but more by the games. Yes, you read right. Games. The priest actually laughed when I confessed this fascination of mine, hearing my struggle with temperance when it comes to playing online games.

Truth be told, one of my motivations for getting up from bed each morning, despite the lure of sleeping in after a late night, is that my spaghetti would spoil if I’d leave them on the stove or that my crops would rot if not harvested on time (Same goes at night, before I hit the sack, I make sure I have enough food for the waiters to serve while I'm asleep.). If you’ve played these games, then you know I’m referring to Café World and Farm Town. Mafia Wars? I play it, too, although not as zealously.

For Lent this year, I abstained from Facebook. But hey, I am only human and couldn’t fathom staying away from Facebook the whole season. Just every Friday. It was what I coined as my Friday Facebook Fast. Now that it’s Advent, I’m thinking I should offer up abstaining from Facebook. Then again, the Yuletide season is supposed to be filled with joy and merrymaking. So maybe it’s not such a good idea, after all. =8P

Written like a true addict would, don’t you think?

Dumbfounded

2009-11-20T13:11:00.002+13:00

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

2009-11-09T20:27:00.001+13:00

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

2009-11-01T15:20:00.006+13:00

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

2009-10-17T11:59:00.001+13:00

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

2009-10-02T16:48:00.000+13:00

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

2009-09-24T08:53:00.000+12:00

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

2009-09-02T11:22:00.000+12:00

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…

Parenting Beyond Two

2009-08-06T11:18:00.000+12:00

“Who’s clearing,” you’d often hear me ask a few minutes after dinner and get varied replies each day. Varied, because there would be three to four possible kids who’d be tasked for the chore, or a team of two. Each of the ten kids in the house has a chore, you see. That is, save for the youngest, who is only three years of age.

Yes, there are ten children in the house where we currently live. Two of which are our own, and the eight are those of my sister-in-law’s. She and her husband (and yes, their brood of eight) have welcomed us with open arms into their home when we decided to migrate to New Zealand.

People who discover this fact usually react with eyes almost popping out, raised eyebrows, and jaws dropped down. True, it may not be the common scenario for any family, Filipino or otherwise, but it used to be back in parents and grandparents’ days. My mom had 11 siblings, my mother-in-law has eight, and my father-in-law has 11.

It’s a challenge for any parent to raise children and to raise them well. Hubby and I have only been blessed so far with two, and they can test our parenting skills to the limit. Thus, I take my hats off to my sister-in-law and her husband, who, despite the trials they may face in rearing their kids, continue to do so quite admirably.

So when my sister-in-law went to the Philippines with one of her children for two weeks, we didn’t have any problem running the household without her. Of course, it helped a whole lot that she prepared a two-week schedule of tasks for each one, printed it out, and posted it on the fridge as our guide. I sat down with my eldest niece and planned the menu, as well as shared the cooking responsibility with her for lunch and dinner. My husband took care of buying groceries with the assistance of our five-year-old daughter and other times with one of our nieces. Watching over the younger ones during the holiday break was managed by the two eldest kids, who also took turns baking cookies and brownies; our son and his best friend-cousin cleared the dining area after mid-afternoon snacks; our daughter and her playmate-cousin set the table for dinner. The true challenge lied on getting the young kids to take a bath on time to make sure there would be enough hot water for everyone. When kids play, they put their whole heart and mind to it and getting them to stop to take a bath can be quite a feat.

There would be rough play, quiet time, accidents, spats, but generally a whole lot of fun. With ten kids in the house, they all share, take turns, help each one out, and look after one another.

And though it may seem like the inside of the house perennially gets hit by a typhoon, the abundance of love, fun, and laughter provide us peace.

Kiwikiwihan

2009-07-16T11:13:00.001+12:00

It’s uncanny, the way we Filipinos have the innate ability to blend in: adapt a culture, copy an accent, adjust to a climate, and if necessary, reinvent ourselves.

A couple of days after we arrived in Auckland,

my husband and two kids started school and had little or no problem making friends and fitting in. A few days later, hubby and I both got hired for part time jobs and were to start work immediately (same job, different shifts). Among the many blessing we received, reinforcing our resolve to migrate to the land of the long white cloud.

Walking almost a kilometer to the train station each weekday is a good form of exercise and can be considered a leisure stroll. Same goes for the half kilometer walk from Britomart to the building where the office is located. That is, except when I have to literally run and catch the train on days that household chores took longer than I expected them to get done. Or when the rain suddenly pours down. But like most Kiwis, Asians, Islanders, and others who’ve made NZ their home, who walk to and fro anywhere in the city, I brave the rain sans an umbrella and oftentimes without a hood, too.

I told my husband that one of my conditions to our move to NZ would be that my sense of style would not be compromised. But even as we were packing our clothes and accessories, I had to give up, give away, and leave behind heavy clogs, 3-inch wedges, kitten heels that I knew wouldn’t be able to wear, walking the streets of Auckland. I bid goodbye, too, to beloved handbags and purses of pink, orange, red, green, and blue hues. And there’s that half of my collection of fashion accessories that I had to let go of, as well.

I stuck to my fashion conviction, defying the winter wind with nary a cover for my head, simply because none of my beanies and berets matched my dark brown winter coat. Suffering sinusitis and colds as a consequence. And yet, I find myself after five weeks, bidding and winning a pair of trainers at an online auction, because I’ve decided to ape the Kiwis who wear comfortable footwear whilst traveling to and fro work, with their actual preferred shoes in tow. Practicality has won me over.

Working in a call centre, I’ve acquired a semi-British, semi-Kiwi accent. When talking to my British boss and when seated beside British co-workers, I pick their accent up unintentionally. When speaking to Kiwis on the phone, I automatically pick their accent up. When speaking to Asians or other nationalities, I automatically switch back to my natural, American English accent. Ah, but nothing beats speaking in Filipino or Cebuano to fellow Pinoys. I forget I’m in another country altogether.

Speaking of fellow Filipinos, I am amazed at how everyone almost automatically warms up to one another, and the instantaneous desire to assist the one in need. A week after we arrived, hubby and I immediately joined our uni alumni in an evening get-together. The following day, with other Cebuanos to help organise Sinulog in NZ. And when the KBNZ invite came a few weeks later, we didn’t hesitate to sign up and take part in the organisation’s planned activities, too. As for our new friends, they immediately offer to help us keep our jobs and possibly get better ones.

We are, after all, all migrants and try as we might to be like Kiwis, we will always be Pinoys and will forever share a bond with one another.

A League of His Own

2008-10-14T22:43:00.000+13:00

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

He may not be the top of his class, but he has the intelligence, wit, charm, and character that makes him a great leader, despite his very young age.

He may not be patient all the time with his sister, but he is quite protective of her and dotes on her as big brothers should.

He may often question and complain about what is asked of him, but always chooses to follow us, his parents, teachers, and elders, anyway.

He may not at times have tempter tantrums, but for most he has a cheerful and amiable disposition.

He may be fantasizing he's a superhero or that he will be someday, but who is to say that he won't be in his own little way?

He may not be the most handsome or cutest boy in town, but to my eyes he will forever be so.

He is, after all, the best son I could ever have.

Life Began and I Turned 40

2008-09-23T11:36:00.001+12:00

So much hoopla has been made by almost everyone I know about turning 40. Big deal. Not much difference, really.

Okay, so maybe I'm not yet experiencing that mid-life crisis people talk about. Or maybe I've already been through it. Really, I think it's a matter of attitude, perspective, and faith. A lot of faith. That all is according to God's plan and that I should simply use my freedom to choose what do with my life with responsibility.

Anyway, I have to admit I looked forward to my 40th birthday starting a couple of years ago, thinking of possible ways to celebrate, including planning a big celebration. When D Day was near, I backed out, but still wanted a celebration, albeit a smaller one. One that I would enjoy and not be reckless of.

The day went by fast but productively. Bacon and eggs for breakfast courtesy of my husband and kids; Mass intended for me at my daughter's school, attended by my whole family; pizza (one of my favorite food in the world) for lunch; work; a couple of hours at the salon (my treat to myself); back to work; and coffee and dessert with hubby and our closest friends at La Marea. All in all it was a really good day.

I've been contradicting since that day that the saying "Life Begins at 40" doesn't apply to me, because life already began and I just turned 40. But if there is any truth that adage, then bring it on. I'm ready for life.

A Mom's Pride

2008-09-08T14:03:00.000+12:00

Make a Smilebox greeting

Isn't it every parent's pride to see their kids perform on stage, especially if they do it well? Or when a child excels in school or sports?

I've had my share of those and only most recently. My eldest son, Raj, came up behind me last 1 September in the oratory while I was doing my afternoon prayers and loudly whispered (yes, it can be done!), "Guess what, Mom? I went up the stage ten times today (students general assembly)!"

"Ten times," I asked with a puzzled look on my face.

"No, Mom," Raj said and explained further, "I was top ten for the CEM tests in math, science, and English. Then I went up again for sports for winning all my games."

We immediately thanked God for such blessings and after a big hug and kiss from me, he whisked off to play and allow me to hear Mass.

My daughter, Elle, who is in junior kinder, has a different personality and temperament. My husband and I often wondered how she would be like in school, if she would have enough self-esteem. She has always been more reserved, bashful, as compared to her brother (and parents).

First day of school, we were taken aback when she just confidently walked into her classroom, went up to a classmate she knew, and made friends with others she didn't. And two hours later, came out and played with them without looking for me.

Last 6 September, her school celebrated Mothers Day (held annually near or on the Blessed Mother's birthday, which is today) and her class presented a dance to the tune of "Reaching for the Stars" by S Club 7. I simply could not take my eyes off her -- she didn't only dance confidently, but she did so quite well (albeit talking to whomever was beside her at the same time, almost all the time). She never missed a step and looked at me and smiled often.

At the end of the program, all junior kinder students sang Celine Dion's "I'm Your Angel" and once again, Elle stood out. She sang loud and clear, and did the choreographed actions appropriately. Other moms even commented, praising her for performing very well.

I'm sure both kids will surprise us more with their accomplishments and talents as time goes by. I just can't wait.

Love Always

2008-08-20T14:40:00.000+12:00

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It has been ten wonderful years and I look forward to the rest of my life with Romil and our kids.

We celebrated our anniversary by renewing our vows with no less than Rev. Fr. Fidel Orendain, who officiated our wedding ten years ago. This time, however, the ceremony was held the the Don Bosco Retreat House Chapel in Lawaan, Talisay, where Fr. Fidel is retreat master. Our long-time friend, Cio Datan, took our photos on our wedding day and again last 15 August.

Dinner afterwards was great, albeit the long drive back to the city, at La Buona Forchetta, where Italian food has always been authentic and oh so good.

A small, intimate celebration. The way it is supposed to be.

True Colors

2008-08-03T21:50:00.000+12:00

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After all that has been said and done, all the trials, all the challenges, all the disappointments, and all the misadventures, I've become the person I always was in the beginning.

A friend once said that the life I've led is the stuff made of Hollywood movies. The dramatic kind. A good read, if I or some other writer would take the time out to put into words all that I've been through and all that I chose to do with my life. Except maybe that for a good conclusion and commercial appeal, that writer would have to end my story early on or write a brief summary of what came to be.

Looking back, the person I was and whom I tried to be a decade or two ago area far cry from whom I've become today. Then again, I realize that I've always been the person I am today, albeit older, wiser, and definitely more mature. I sure didn't know anything much in my late teens and early adulthood, despite my strong belief that I knew it all back then.

I certainly had no idea before that my true colors are the ones I don today.

A Lil' Fun, A Lotta Lovin'

2008-07-18T17:34:00.000+12:00

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

Life has never been more fun until hubby and I had kids, especially now that Raj and Elle are in that adorable age. Thus, I have to admit, I have difficulty understanding couples who choose to marry, but exert extra effort not to have kids or not to have more than what they'd like. I wish I could have more and yet, for now, have only been blessed with two -- wonderful, adorable ones.

Beyond Ourselves

2008-07-07T13:51:00.003+12:00

You've always been there for me
even when you did not know it.
Knowing in my heart that I could run to you
if I needed to was at times enough.
Thinking of you, what you would say
if you were there made it seem
like you never left.
All those times I wanted
you to be the first to know
what was going on --
I did tell you, you know.
Those conversations may have been
all just inside my head,
but they kept you and me
alive and real.
So much so we can start
were we left off
as if we never truly did.

How many people in a lifetime can you say truly know you and accept who you are, whom you've become, the person you are going to be? Someone who knows what's going on your mind, what you would say, before you even start forming the words in those little grey cells?

I have such a special someone in my life. Sad to say, he has not been that much a part of it the past years as much as I thought he would be, as I wanted him to be. Our pride seemingly kept us apart more than the lands and seas that were physically in between us, not wanting the other to think less of the persons we've become. Much more, to not be understood and accepted. Alas, it was, in the end, what kept us apart was our lack of faith in each other.

But that was then. We've hence vowed to be better friends. No more pretenses.

In the meantime, as we cannot yet spend endless hours catching up on each other's lives, plans, and dreams, the virtual world would have to do and we'll be taking our coffee to go.

I am a Moonstruck Mom

2008-04-15T01:40:00.001+12:00

Yes, I agree, Cher did a great performance in the movie “Moonstruck, ” wherein she landed her first and only Oscar as Best Actress. But that was in 1987. Two, long decades ago. Although my real name is Cherry, there is no co-relation whatsover between the title of this entry and Cher or the movie.

Long before that, there has been the Moonstruck Band that plays pop, rock-a-billy, blues, country, and Latin dance music. I never actually heard of them until I got several queries as to why I named my company “Moonstruck” [Marketing]. They were, I hear, a hit, back when I was way too young yet to care to listen to them.

So why am I a Moonstruck Mom? Well, I’m no typical mom. I cook, but I’d really much rather not, and wish I had a personal chef adept with international cuisine. I’d rather eat cakes and pastries than bake them. I want a neat house, but prefer to only lift a finger to point to what needs to be picked up and cleaned. I can verily thread a needle, but that’s as far as I go.

On the other hand, I’m a devoted wife and I actually fall in love with my husband over and over again with each year we’ve been married. To spark things up, I keep him second-guessing –almost all the time.

I adore my two kids who constantly make me want and strive to become a better parent, a better person. After all, becoming a mom is the best thing that has happened to me. My family motivates me, inspires me. With them I find true love, joy, and peace.

And yet, like those who get awed by the full moon, I get a little crazy sometimes.

Check out my Slide Show!

2007-11-01T20:45:00.001+13:00

Back in School

2007-11-01T14:54:00.000+13:00

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

2007-10-09T01:20:00.000+13:00

"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

2007-09-14T00:22:00.000+12:00

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

2007-08-10T10:38:00.000+12:00

"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

2007-08-09T20:18:00.000+12:00

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

2007-08-09T19:58:00.000+12:00

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.

2005-07-20T10:32:00.001+12:00

Soon after their love story began, when my mom was crowned muse of the Ateneo College of Law and my dad was appointed her consort.

Not a Fairy Tale

2005-07-20T10:30:00.000+12:00

She was by nature a probinsiyana with a passion for life. He was a Manila-boy with nary a care in the world. They went to a party. All the men lined up to dance with her. All the women's eyes were on him. She saw a handsome stranger. He beheld a goddess.

In a fairy tale, they would have met, danced, fallen in love, and lived happily every after. It didn't happen that way in real life. He did dance with her that night, though. Just once. And that was that. At least for some time.

She had ambition, an overwhelming drive to succeed. She liked to play the field, dating whomever she chose; not wanting to be tied down with the same partner at dances. She was the second child of ten, from a modest family in Cagayan de Oro.

He, on the other hand, had no desire to accomplish anything. He flirted with several women and ran away from any serious commitment. He drove around in a black Lincoln Continental wishing he could travel in it around the world. He was, after all, the eldest and favored among the four boys of a wealthy clan.

She wanted to become a doctor of law and vowed to wed a man of the same field, believing that only a lawyer could understand the profession she had chosen and put up with the rigors that would come along with it.

He was already a student of law; ahead of her for a couple of years, but delayed due to numerous absences and failures. He wanted to become a doctor of medicine, but his mother insisted otherwise.

She was chosen muse of the Ateneo college of law and he to be her consort. She put up a fight, transferring her anger -- on the country's first woman judge for insulting her out of envy -- to her darling son. She was crowned, just the same, with him at her side.

He desired her, that he knew. So much so that he swore to finish his studies so he could win her heart. Unlike other women, though, she did not drop on his lap and he had to woo her. Alas, he did not know how.

So his mother, as always, came to the rescue. Courted the woman in his aid, whom she realized was the best among the females that abound her son.

In his own way, he pursued her. He shaved his head of hair (to his regret years later when none would anymore grow), shunned his friends, studied for the bar examination, passed, and became a full-fledged attorney-at-law.

And after a total of seven years of courtship, she finally said yes. On 6 January 1960, they had a simple wedding ceremony celebrated by her younger brother who had become a priest. Their honeymoon was one of the longest in record, which lasted until she gave birth to a daughter one September morn eight years later.

She gave up practicing law when they wed to devote her time to the family and to give way to her husband, who's ego she believed she would have bruised if she had not. He doted on her and on their children, giving in to all their wishes and whims. Terry and Boy's marriage was not, however, a fairy tale.

He erred. Once too many. She nagged. Often and bitterly. He forgot a lot of things. Both trivial and important. She never forgot anything. Be it petty or grave. She complained but submitted. He kept silent but ruled. She threatened to leave. Some of the time. He begged her not to. All the time.

When she had a stroke, he cried to me, their eldest child. When he had an operation, she fret and I prayed for them both.

As parents, my brothers and I couldn't have asked for anything more. Except maybe that we were born eight years earlier or that they were eight years younger so that we could have spent time with them a little bit more.

Forty-five years ago, people were fascinated by the promise of Shangri-La and eternal love when they saw the movie "Love is a Many Splendored Thing". Just as my parents were back then.

Today, my dad is 74 years old and my mom was a less than fortnight shy of 70 when she passed away on 10 August 2001. For 41 years they lived a fruitful life as husband and wife, bearing and rearing three children, and caring for their grandchildren.

Though their love story may not be a fairy tale, it is safe to say that the last few years they lived together, they lived happily ever after.

2005-07-07T07:52:00.000+12:00

back page of father's day card

2005-07-07T07:51:00.000+12:00

A peek inside

2005-07-07T07:49:00.000+12:00

A Simple tag card for the father I fondly call "Tatay"

Daddy Dearest

2005-07-07T07:48:00.000+12:00

I remember the stories of how you used to

drive me around in your car each night

so I could fall asleep;

the tales of you bringing me with you

everywhere you went – be it the office,

meeting, or in a nightclub.

I remember the twinkle in your eyes

and the warmth in your smile when you’d speak

of me to relatives and friends with great pride;

how you’ve always been there for me whenever

I needed you – be it for help or just your company.

I remember the first time a boy called me at home

and how you fretted and fumed;

the times you’d threaten and ask for a shotgun

for all those times a boy would call on me;

the approval you had of my husband

when he came a calling, which helped me know

he was the one for me.

I remember you preferring to take cab rides

just so I wouldn’t have to

and use the family car and driver, instead.

I remember the first time you saw and carried

my son in your arms and rocked him to sleep;

the times after that you’d hold his hand

or give him special attention and care.

I remember you scrounging for gifts

to give my children when you really

could not afford to give them any.

I remember you always making us

your children and grandchildren come first.

For all this and more I love you

and thank you for being the greatest dad

I could ever have.

2005-07-07T07:45:00.000+12:00

Life has never been better ever since I've become a mom

Motherhood Becomes Me

2005-07-07T07:37:00.000+12:00

Becoming a mom is the best thing that has happened to me.

I’ve always known I wanted to have children, even as a young girl. Although in my daydreams back then I would simply adopt two children whilst working as a lawyer by day, a stage actor at night, and a novelist on the side. Little did I know back then that someone like Angelina Jolie would do something similar today.

Marriage did find its way into my life as God willed it to. Just as He blessed me with an almost perfect husband (no human is totally perfect, after all). The news of pregnancy a year and half later brought an inexplicable inner joy to heart and warmth to my soul. Childbirth preparation and anticipation made me a better Christian as I daily prayed for my baby’s safety and my own, as well. The first time I held my son in my arms, my love for him simply overflowed. The bond I had with him grew stronger each day as a nursed him despite difficulties and obstacles that came my way. A feat my mom not only approved of but also shared to others with pride. I never knew how much my mom truly loved me until I became a mother myself. I’m glad I was able to tell her so before she passed away.

The seemingly overwhelming emotion I felt for my son I thought would not and could not be matched. But I was wrong. The love I felt for the baby in my womb two years later grew as steadily as she did. Each day I am overwhelmed by my love for both my children. I sometimes say in jest that I like having a girl and a boy, because I can claim and declare that Elle is the daughter I love best and Raj is the son I love best.

Becoming a mom gives me the opportunities to acquire and practice virtues every day – patience in handling tantrums, temperance when on the verge of anger, fortitude in my faith, modeling charity towards others, justice in dealing with misbehavior, prudence with material desires, courage to face parenting challenges.

Being a mom has also made me realize that my love for my children knows no bounds and that I would and could have more than enough love for them all. Be they two or three or more.

2005-07-06T05:14:00.000+12:00

On 15 August 1998, at the Archbishop's Palace in Cebu, Romil and I wed. Reception was held at the gardens of Fort San Pedro.

Happy Ever After

2005-07-06T05:10:00.000+12:00

I once wrote an article entitled "Romancing the Risk" that came out in a lifestyle magazine about not needing a man for it was what I grew up believing. "That's also what most of today's women's magazines and other forms of literature claim and try to impart to women. That the women of the 90s are tough, independent, competitive, assertive, and can do what they want on their own -- without a man.

I have always been a feminist, in spite of the fact that I grew up surrounded by the male species. Well, except for my mom. Most of the kids I played with during my childhood, whether cousins or neighbors, were boys. Added to that, I have two brothers as my only siblings.

In order to be accepted by them, I had to be tough like them. Stand physical pain without shedding a tear like them. Climb trees like them (the way monkeys do). Play with toy guns and cars like them (I actually had an extensive collection of matchbox cars). And fight like them (with black-eyes and all).

As the eldest child in our family, I naturally had more responsibilities, more rights, more privileges, more freedom. From my formative to adolescent to adult years. I never had a curfew and could stay overnight at a friend's house anytime. I was always allowed to travel around the country and abroad with my friends or by myself (my brothers weren't permitted to do any of these until they were in their twenties, when they started fighting for their rights).

I liked hanging around with males, from boys to men (no, not the singing group), but I didn't need them to achieve the things I was able to do. On my own, I had good grades, I ventured into several extra-curricular activities, and I got the jobs and positions I wanted and applied for with ease.

Sure, I said to myself, I didn't need, don't need, and won't need a man to establish a career, be successful in it and in other endeavors. I also don't need a man to be happy.

Despite my independence, achievements, and successes, I still long to have a family of my own. And though I can have this on my own (without a man), it wouldn't be as complete and fulfilling. Having experienced romantic love, I yearn for the companionship, intimacy, and "magic" that a special someone can give me. Heterosexual as I am, only a man can give these to me (hey, I can't conceive on my own, for even an artificial insemination requires a man's "cooperation").

And in spite of being liberal, I do believe in marriage and I do consider it as a very sacred covenant. But in this modern world, separation (legal and not legal), concubinage, and chauvinism (in spite of feminist movements and calls for gender fairness) are not only rampant, but are an everyday occurrence and are generally accepted by most people.

What assurance would I have then that the man I'll be involved with would want to marry me? But then how would I know unless I take the risk?"

Since I needed a man, after all, I decided the risk was worth taking. And soon afterwards, Mr. Right found me.

2005-07-06T04:25:00.000+12:00

The maiden that is Virgo, the wit and mischief of an ape. All in one package.

The Name Game

2005-07-06T04:22:00.000+12:00

Maria Dulce Mercedita Milagros Cervantes Thelmo-Fernandez.

Can you say that in one breath, complete with Spanish accent? What a mouthful, huh?

It all began eight years and eight months after my parents' marital bliss. Such a long honeymoon. Based on the calendar, I was born on the Feast of the Sweet Name of Mary, the day historians thought the Virgin Mother was given her name. And so my parents and dear ol' grandmama (my dad's mom, who always wished she had a daughter after having four boys) agreed to name me Maria Dulce. But sneaky grandmama took the chance of adding names to the list when my mother's lower half body was paralyzed after giving birth to me as side effect of her allergy to anesthesia. Mercedita, she thought, would be a wonderful addition, as it was a name she would given her own daughter, had she been blessed with one. Milagros, her namesake, she believed, would complete my name, since I was her spitting image.

Imagine the horror of trying to squeeze in all that in the boxes alloted for my name in the NCEE (now NCAE) exam papers. I had to simply add Mercedita and Milagros to my middle initials.

Dulce was the name classmates and teachers called me from preschool to high school in Poveda. They're the only ones who still call me by that name. When I got to UP Manila, I could not stand the mispronounciation others made of Dulce as "dolsee" and "dolse". It was murder, I tell you. So I opted to use my family nickname, Cherry, instead.

So where did Cherry come from? According to my mom, she originally wanted to give me the nickname, Candy, but her eldest sister, who came over to visit and help her out with infant care, thought people might mispronounce the name as "kan-dee, kende, or keendee". My aunt then started calling me Cherry and soon everyone followed suit. A good thing, at that. Cherry suits me better -- I can be sweet or sour.

As for Cervantes, that was my mom's maiden name. My grandfather originated from Surigao and settled in Cagayan de Oro, although the family name supposedly hails from Pangasinan.

Thelmo is my dad's family name. It's original spelling is actually without an "h". Dear old grandmama added the "h" years after her children were born to distinguish their blood line from the rest. Go figure.

I got married to a Fernandez. No, no relation to most Fernandezes. They are just too many of them out there. That's one reason I hyphenate. I don't refer to myself or like being referred to as Cherry Fernandez. That's just not me. There are three other Cherry Fernandezes in Cebu alone. It's that common a name. Moreover, I'm fond of my maiden name and marrying a month before I turned 30, more people know me as Cherry Thelmo. Hyphenating is also my way of acknowledging my marriage and giving respect to my hubby.

So if you're about to have a child and are starting to think of possible names already, be kind. Think ahead, like when your child will have to write his or her name in school; how others might make fun of his or her name. Remember, it is really all in the name.

2005-07-06T03:37:00.000+12:00

Each photo posted in this site will be from my digital scrapbooking album, of which this is the cover page. Quite apt, don't you think?

What's It All About?

2005-07-03T14:58:00.000+12:00

chakra
Pronunciation: 'chä-kr&, 'shä-, 'ch&-
Function: noun
Etymology: Sanskrit cakra, literally, wheel
: any of several points of physical or spiritual energy in the human body according to yoga philosophy

So what's Cherry's Chakra all about? Basically my sources of physical or spiritual energy. My relationship with God, my husband, my kids, my parents, my in-laws, my siblings, my relatives, my friends, my business associates. My hopes, goals, dreams, ambitions. My passions, hobbies, professional involvements. It's all about me, my life. And I'd like to share them with you.