The Lumenarias

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

Happy Ever After

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.