by Kaye
One of my favorite stories of hers was the one about the night she came home drunk. My mom recalls her holding on to the staircase for dear life, dragging herself up one stair at a time while wailing, “I’ll never drink again!” My mom was torn between laughing and being truly mad. I laughed my head off when I heard. That was two years ago, it earned her the nickname “Tipsy” from her now-kuya.
In a few months, she will graduate from high school. A few months after that, she will do what I didn’t and go to college abroad (“abroad” here meaning, “not in the Philippines”… because if you get technical about it, she does already live abroad with the rest of my family). That means more months away. Farther away than I was, not as easy to go to. Who will tell me more funny rite-of-passage stories about her? Facebook?
Yes, Aneka is 18 and will go off to college soon. It’s making even the most nonchalant of sisters (ie. me) sentimental. I already missed the majority of the last 10 years, and now I will miss even more. Be that as it may, I am proud that she has reached her first major goal – she worked her ass off in school for this.
So in May, we will be in the audience as she accepts her high school diploma in Jakarta. Then in August, while holding back sentimental tears (must-be-nonchalant!), say bye as she leaves this side of the world to go to college in the States.
I will miss the crazy, lovable mofo.
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Friday, August 8, 2008
Three Times Three, Make Them See
by chantal
I was almost thirteen when, after a fire consumed our house, my family moved to my great-grandmother’s place in Mandaluyong – an old, wooden house with capiz windows, three small bedrooms and a basement. Grams occupied the biggest room in the house. I bunked in together with my parents. My sisters shared a smaller room. I slept on a folding cot that faced the open door, screened by a hideous pink curtain. Despite our sad yet temporary living conditions, we were grateful to dear Grams.
Surrounded by ancient trees, the house may seem ominous to anyone else besides us… and the others that lived there.
------
It was past bedtime, but I couldn’t sleep. I laid on my cot, facing the curtain that separated the bedroom from the living room. I heard the shuffling of feet. Must be Grams going to the bathroom, I thought. I peered through the sheer curtain, seeing a faint light moving in the darkness. Candle light. I waited and watched from where I laid. I had nothing else to do. The light got brighter as it got closer to where I was. The shuffling stopped. I moved the curtain aside, just a tad, to see my great-grandmother.
I froze.
Grams wasn’t there at all. But the candle was, suspended in mid-air. I swallowed hard. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t find my voice. I felt invisible eyes slowly turn to look at me. I drew back the curtain, shut my eyes and counted to infinity. When I opened my eyes again, nothingness stared back at me.
------
Mom is an early-riser, usually awake before dawn breaks. One very early morning, she looked out of one of the capiz windows. The sun was a slow riser that morning and it was still dark. She saw someone moving outside and she heard that distinctive sweeping sound of a walis tingting (native broomstick).
“Grams!” she called out to the figure in the garden, the shadows of the trees half-hiding her.
The sweeping continued. She can’t hear me, Mom mused. So she went outside to greet Grams a wonderful morning.
Mom looked around, wondering where Grams had gone. Surely she couldn’t move that fast as she was pushing eighty. She saw the walis tingting by one of the trees and was struck cold when
“Tessie! Anong ginagawa mo dyan?” It was Grams, calling out to Mom from the living room. (Tessie, what are you doing there?)
Mom looked at the walis tingting again and ran as fast as she could back to the house.
----
The main gate was about twenty meters from the house and one had to pass by an old open garage house that became a dumping ground for junk. My sisters and I hated passing by that garage house. Something was not right about it. So whenever I came home from school (which was by nightfall), I’d run screaming from the gate to the house.
One night, though, I didn’t. Braving the garage, I decided to walk casually to the house. Bad decision. Something tiny hit my leg, like a dart from a blowgun. Then another and another. What the !@$#? Poised to run, I saw the shrubbery move. There was no wind so how can it move? Whatever it was quietly whispered close to my ear “Chantal”. I stopped, drawn to the voice. It was odd that I didn't feel frightened at all.
"Chantal", it whispered again. The shrubbery shook and parted.
It called to me. It asked me to follow it.
I took a step towards the voice.
A light tap on my shoulder broke the chilly air. I stopped and looked around. No one was there. The shrubbery seemed normal again. I turned on my heel and hurried home, screaming.
Writer's Note: The garage house is gone. In its place stands the house I'm living in with my son and my mother.
I was almost thirteen when, after a fire consumed our house, my family moved to my great-grandmother’s place in Mandaluyong – an old, wooden house with capiz windows, three small bedrooms and a basement. Grams occupied the biggest room in the house. I bunked in together with my parents. My sisters shared a smaller room. I slept on a folding cot that faced the open door, screened by a hideous pink curtain. Despite our sad yet temporary living conditions, we were grateful to dear Grams.
Surrounded by ancient trees, the house may seem ominous to anyone else besides us… and the others that lived there.
------
It was past bedtime, but I couldn’t sleep. I laid on my cot, facing the curtain that separated the bedroom from the living room. I heard the shuffling of feet. Must be Grams going to the bathroom, I thought. I peered through the sheer curtain, seeing a faint light moving in the darkness. Candle light. I waited and watched from where I laid. I had nothing else to do. The light got brighter as it got closer to where I was. The shuffling stopped. I moved the curtain aside, just a tad, to see my great-grandmother.
I froze.
Grams wasn’t there at all. But the candle was, suspended in mid-air. I swallowed hard. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t find my voice. I felt invisible eyes slowly turn to look at me. I drew back the curtain, shut my eyes and counted to infinity. When I opened my eyes again, nothingness stared back at me.
------
Mom is an early-riser, usually awake before dawn breaks. One very early morning, she looked out of one of the capiz windows. The sun was a slow riser that morning and it was still dark. She saw someone moving outside and she heard that distinctive sweeping sound of a walis tingting (native broomstick).
“Grams!” she called out to the figure in the garden, the shadows of the trees half-hiding her.
The sweeping continued. She can’t hear me, Mom mused. So she went outside to greet Grams a wonderful morning.
Mom looked around, wondering where Grams had gone. Surely she couldn’t move that fast as she was pushing eighty. She saw the walis tingting by one of the trees and was struck cold when
“Tessie! Anong ginagawa mo dyan?” It was Grams, calling out to Mom from the living room. (Tessie, what are you doing there?)
Mom looked at the walis tingting again and ran as fast as she could back to the house.
----
The main gate was about twenty meters from the house and one had to pass by an old open garage house that became a dumping ground for junk. My sisters and I hated passing by that garage house. Something was not right about it. So whenever I came home from school (which was by nightfall), I’d run screaming from the gate to the house.
One night, though, I didn’t. Braving the garage, I decided to walk casually to the house. Bad decision. Something tiny hit my leg, like a dart from a blowgun. Then another and another. What the !@$#? Poised to run, I saw the shrubbery move. There was no wind so how can it move? Whatever it was quietly whispered close to my ear “Chantal”. I stopped, drawn to the voice. It was odd that I didn't feel frightened at all.
"Chantal", it whispered again. The shrubbery shook and parted.
It called to me. It asked me to follow it.
I took a step towards the voice.
A light tap on my shoulder broke the chilly air. I stopped and looked around. No one was there. The shrubbery seemed normal again. I turned on my heel and hurried home, screaming.
Writer's Note: The garage house is gone. In its place stands the house I'm living in with my son and my mother.
Mother's Tongue
by JJ
Christie, a good friend of mine has this rather amusing anecdote about her dear old mother. Imagine this fabulously bejeweled, impeccably dressed, perfectly coiffed old lady ordering her driver to buy coffee: "Facundo, bumili ka nga ng brewed coffee sa Star buck." (Facundo, buy me brewed coffee from Star buck.)"
Christie was naturally shocked and embarassed. She nudged her mom and whispered: "Mommy, ano ba? Nakalimutan mo yung isang 's'!" (Mommy, what's happening to you? You've forgotten the other 's)
The Mom acknowledged the error. She sat up straight, waved her hand to the driver to correct her phrase: "Facundo, bumili ka nga ng brewed coffee sa Stars Buck!"
Christie, a good friend of mine has this rather amusing anecdote about her dear old mother. Imagine this fabulously bejeweled, impeccably dressed, perfectly coiffed old lady ordering her driver to buy coffee: "Facundo, bumili ka nga ng brewed coffee sa Star buck." (Facundo, buy me brewed coffee from Star buck.)"
Christie was naturally shocked and embarassed. She nudged her mom and whispered: "Mommy, ano ba? Nakalimutan mo yung isang 's'!" (Mommy, what's happening to you? You've forgotten the other 's)
The Mom acknowledged the error. She sat up straight, waved her hand to the driver to correct her phrase: "Facundo, bumili ka nga ng brewed coffee sa Stars Buck!"
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Ube Ice Cream
by Omie
April 2006, we went home to Hagonoy, Bulacan to visit my mother who was a diabetic. She didn’t want to eat anymore. The whole family was there, and we were all worried that her health would continue to deteriorate if she wouldn’t eat. We tried our best to make her eat – anything. Never mind if it wasn’t good for her diabetes. We were that desperate.
I sat beside her and asked her what she wanted to eat. Because I knew her favorite foods, and most of them were desserts, I started naming them: “Do you want Sansrival? Chocolate cake? Brazo de mercedes, champorado? Mais con yelo? Hmm… so yummy! “ But she remained silent, her eyes closed. “What about ube ice cream?” I asked. Upon hearing that, she opened her eyes and looked at me. “Gusto ko ‘yun!” (I like that!) she said. We all smiled. Everybody was excited to buy ube ice cream.
My husband and I immediately set off to look for an ube ice cream. Unfortunately, all the groceries we tried didn’t have ube-flavored ice cream. Determined to find one, we continued our search until we saw this old grocery store near the market. I went inside the store and found exactly what I was looking for. I was so excited that I screamed to my husband: “Hey there’s ube ice cream here!”. Everyone in the grocery gave me a puzzled looked because my husband was outside, waiting in the car. I bought the ice cream and went back home. “Mother, here’s your ube ice cream!” I said. She opened her eyes and when she saw the ube ice cream, she smiled.
April 2006, we went home to Hagonoy, Bulacan to visit my mother who was a diabetic. She didn’t want to eat anymore. The whole family was there, and we were all worried that her health would continue to deteriorate if she wouldn’t eat. We tried our best to make her eat – anything. Never mind if it wasn’t good for her diabetes. We were that desperate.
I sat beside her and asked her what she wanted to eat. Because I knew her favorite foods, and most of them were desserts, I started naming them: “Do you want Sansrival? Chocolate cake? Brazo de mercedes, champorado? Mais con yelo? Hmm… so yummy! “ But she remained silent, her eyes closed. “What about ube ice cream?” I asked. Upon hearing that, she opened her eyes and looked at me. “Gusto ko ‘yun!” (I like that!) she said. We all smiled. Everybody was excited to buy ube ice cream.
My husband and I immediately set off to look for an ube ice cream. Unfortunately, all the groceries we tried didn’t have ube-flavored ice cream. Determined to find one, we continued our search until we saw this old grocery store near the market. I went inside the store and found exactly what I was looking for. I was so excited that I screamed to my husband: “Hey there’s ube ice cream here!”. Everyone in the grocery gave me a puzzled looked because my husband was outside, waiting in the car. I bought the ice cream and went back home. “Mother, here’s your ube ice cream!” I said. She opened her eyes and when she saw the ube ice cream, she smiled.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Tuloy
by Ronan
The back door to my mom's clinic in Cubao lies beyond this dark and stingy eskinita right beside two pawnshops and a Muslim general merchandise stalls selling cell phone casing and various trinkets. It's a few meters off the side entrance of the Murphy Market that leads to the dry market section selling kitchenware, slippers and pots. Numerous vehicles park right in front of the opening of the eskenita block the existence of such a secret passageway. If Araneta had its Gateway, this was the gateway of 15th Avenue.
Once you reach the end of the eskinita, you now have before you a secret garden of shanties, clothes hung to dry and random plants in random pots made of clay, tin and rubber tires. It's the looban, one of many in the area. But this one rested right in the heart of 15th Avenue. This would have to be the Residences (right above Greenbelt) of 15th Avenue. The way to our back door lies to the left from the end of the eskinita. It's on top of our staircase on which hang three sets of clothes lines, as we too have to dry our clothes and save on the electric billing.
When I was younger (than I am now,) I hardly passed through the eskinita. I always found it dirty and quite the scary way to our house. I would only pass there if I was with my mom, dad or an adult companion. I would always pass through the front entrance leading straight to my mom's clinic. Not until recently, when I began spending more time in Cubao, did I find myself passing through this portal almost all the time, to and from home.
Then, I did have friends who lived "down there" (the term I openly use to refer to the area down from our back door.) We'd play street games on the backyard when it wasn't so crowded yet. See before, there was half a basketball court there, a canal, and a semi-vast garden and semi-vast tall grass area. Now, there hardly is any room to run around the backyard since the owners decided to make it into a dump for residential occupancy. Really, the situation "down there" is quite the depressing site, that when my friends moved out there over a decade ago, I never bothered to go down there to check. Ever.
The eskinita is the only way that connects the inner cluster of lives out to society. It is actually quite the convenient path to take to revere discretion of the hustle and bustle of the jeepney route passing through 15th. On dry days, patches of wet area are scattered along the path. On wet days, the patches get deeper that sometimes, wooden planks are placed for the pedestrians. You see, along the sides of this hall of sorts lies the NAWASA meters for the entire community, most of which give off the occasional leak every once in a while, explaining the blotches of dark grimy water.
On bad days, you could catch a fat rat run across the eskinita carrying in its mouth a piece of bread or food from some nearby house. This rat is just one of the regular passers of this eskinita. Around 530-6 am, you could see school children who live "down there" pass through with their small bags. Early evenings, the entrance from the 15th is cluttered with residents eating isaw that the Muslim businessman readies by five in the afternoon. Late nights, you could be walking along with a few overtime laborers or some regular drunkards, still capable of walking their way home, with the stench of strong alcohol perfuming the entire stretch of the eskinita.
When I leave for Makati in the morning, I pass through this rundown eskinita to save our helper the hassle of waking up earlier just to open the front entrance to the 15th. At night, I creep my way through the back to save them the hassle of waiting up for me and unlocking the front entrance for the clinic. It's quite the rundown routine, but through time, you can see the scratches of weather and civilization breathe through its thinning walls. This eskinita is alive.
It's a metaphor for the lives of the people who live and thrive beyond its ends. "Up there" or "down there," we all have to go through it.
The back door to my mom's clinic in Cubao lies beyond this dark and stingy eskinita right beside two pawnshops and a Muslim general merchandise stalls selling cell phone casing and various trinkets. It's a few meters off the side entrance of the Murphy Market that leads to the dry market section selling kitchenware, slippers and pots. Numerous vehicles park right in front of the opening of the eskenita block the existence of such a secret passageway. If Araneta had its Gateway, this was the gateway of 15th Avenue.
Once you reach the end of the eskinita, you now have before you a secret garden of shanties, clothes hung to dry and random plants in random pots made of clay, tin and rubber tires. It's the looban, one of many in the area. But this one rested right in the heart of 15th Avenue. This would have to be the Residences (right above Greenbelt) of 15th Avenue. The way to our back door lies to the left from the end of the eskinita. It's on top of our staircase on which hang three sets of clothes lines, as we too have to dry our clothes and save on the electric billing.
When I was younger (than I am now,) I hardly passed through the eskinita. I always found it dirty and quite the scary way to our house. I would only pass there if I was with my mom, dad or an adult companion. I would always pass through the front entrance leading straight to my mom's clinic. Not until recently, when I began spending more time in Cubao, did I find myself passing through this portal almost all the time, to and from home.
Then, I did have friends who lived "down there" (the term I openly use to refer to the area down from our back door.) We'd play street games on the backyard when it wasn't so crowded yet. See before, there was half a basketball court there, a canal, and a semi-vast garden and semi-vast tall grass area. Now, there hardly is any room to run around the backyard since the owners decided to make it into a dump for residential occupancy. Really, the situation "down there" is quite the depressing site, that when my friends moved out there over a decade ago, I never bothered to go down there to check. Ever.
The eskinita is the only way that connects the inner cluster of lives out to society. It is actually quite the convenient path to take to revere discretion of the hustle and bustle of the jeepney route passing through 15th. On dry days, patches of wet area are scattered along the path. On wet days, the patches get deeper that sometimes, wooden planks are placed for the pedestrians. You see, along the sides of this hall of sorts lies the NAWASA meters for the entire community, most of which give off the occasional leak every once in a while, explaining the blotches of dark grimy water.
On bad days, you could catch a fat rat run across the eskinita carrying in its mouth a piece of bread or food from some nearby house. This rat is just one of the regular passers of this eskinita. Around 530-6 am, you could see school children who live "down there" pass through with their small bags. Early evenings, the entrance from the 15th is cluttered with residents eating isaw that the Muslim businessman readies by five in the afternoon. Late nights, you could be walking along with a few overtime laborers or some regular drunkards, still capable of walking their way home, with the stench of strong alcohol perfuming the entire stretch of the eskinita.
When I leave for Makati in the morning, I pass through this rundown eskinita to save our helper the hassle of waking up earlier just to open the front entrance to the 15th. At night, I creep my way through the back to save them the hassle of waiting up for me and unlocking the front entrance for the clinic. It's quite the rundown routine, but through time, you can see the scratches of weather and civilization breathe through its thinning walls. This eskinita is alive.
It's a metaphor for the lives of the people who live and thrive beyond its ends. "Up there" or "down there," we all have to go through it.
Contact Lens
by Lieza
Back when my siblings and I were still young, my mom used to wear contact lenses. She found them so expensive that she gets too disappointed whenever one of it gets lost.
One stormy afternoon, while my mom and dad were waiting for a cab in Taft Avenue, the wind blew and one of my mom’s contact lenses flew (blew-flew-blew-flew…hey it rhymes!). So there was my dad, at the side of the dirty bangketa, irritated that he had to kneel down and feel the wet and muddy ground with his hands and see if my mom’s contact lens was there. My mom decided to let it go, and so they gave up the search…an hour later.
---
When my elder sister was only 5 years old, she saw my mom’s contact lenses and didn’t know what went into her mind that she ate one of it. My mom got mad at her and she never touched her contact lenses again.
Two weeks after that incident, one of my mom’s contact lenses got lost (again). She thought my sister ate it again and yelled, “ILUWA MOOOOO! ISUKA MOOO!” * while holding her mouth. She yelled at her over and over again, as if it would still matter if my sister brought it back.
Our helper approached my mom and said, “Ma’am, ito po ba yun? Tinapon ko po kasi akala ko kaliskis.” **
Until now, my mom still feels so guilty whenever we talk about the chronicles of the missing contact lenses. She wears eyeglasses now by the way.
-------
* Gag it up! Gag it up!
** Ma’am, is this the one you’re looking for? I threw it because I thought it was a fish scale.
Back when my siblings and I were still young, my mom used to wear contact lenses. She found them so expensive that she gets too disappointed whenever one of it gets lost.
One stormy afternoon, while my mom and dad were waiting for a cab in Taft Avenue, the wind blew and one of my mom’s contact lenses flew (blew-flew-blew-flew…hey it rhymes!). So there was my dad, at the side of the dirty bangketa, irritated that he had to kneel down and feel the wet and muddy ground with his hands and see if my mom’s contact lens was there. My mom decided to let it go, and so they gave up the search…an hour later.
---
When my elder sister was only 5 years old, she saw my mom’s contact lenses and didn’t know what went into her mind that she ate one of it. My mom got mad at her and she never touched her contact lenses again.
Two weeks after that incident, one of my mom’s contact lenses got lost (again). She thought my sister ate it again and yelled, “ILUWA MOOOOO! ISUKA MOOO!” * while holding her mouth. She yelled at her over and over again, as if it would still matter if my sister brought it back.
Our helper approached my mom and said, “Ma’am, ito po ba yun? Tinapon ko po kasi akala ko kaliskis.” **
Until now, my mom still feels so guilty whenever we talk about the chronicles of the missing contact lenses. She wears eyeglasses now by the way.
-------
* Gag it up! Gag it up!
** Ma’am, is this the one you’re looking for? I threw it because I thought it was a fish scale.
Freshman
by Manny
City lights hung low tonight. From a distance, a purple haze streaks across what is left of sunset. I squint my eyes to look at the yellow broken lines approaching and leaving me from the windows of the car. As beads of rain wash down my view, I see the yellow lines blurring, diffusing, and finally leaving.
I let out a sigh, and shifted my focus on the road ahead.
"Would you like to stop for dinner?" Mom asked as she began tapping the edges of the steering wheel, while slightly massaging the temples of her head.
"Yup. That would be nice." I smiled at her.
"Okay. Let's pass by some gas station convenience store for a quick st--"
"Mommy, wag naman dun..."
"Hmmm..okay, okay... how about St. Francis Square?"
"Better."
While we were negotiating the crawl from the Valle 5 area up to the Mega Mall jam, I remember how I always wanted the sound of rain beating against the car windows when I was still high school. I would unconsciously stare and listen to the drops of rain for such a long time until I see myself looking at me.
Then there would be silence.
College life left me with less time to continue that habit. Well, first of all, there was no need to drive me to school and fetch me anymore. My parents had an apartment rented just for me a few blocks from campus. Secondly, of the few times that they did fetch me from school for some reason or another, it never rained.
I am glad to see those drops sliding down the windows once again.
City lights hung low tonight. From a distance, a purple haze streaks across what is left of sunset. I squint my eyes to look at the yellow broken lines approaching and leaving me from the windows of the car. As beads of rain wash down my view, I see the yellow lines blurring, diffusing, and finally leaving.
I let out a sigh, and shifted my focus on the road ahead.
"Would you like to stop for dinner?" Mom asked as she began tapping the edges of the steering wheel, while slightly massaging the temples of her head.
"Yup. That would be nice." I smiled at her.
"Okay. Let's pass by some gas station convenience store for a quick st--"
"Mommy, wag naman dun..."
"Hmmm..okay, okay... how about St. Francis Square?"
"Better."
While we were negotiating the crawl from the Valle 5 area up to the Mega Mall jam, I remember how I always wanted the sound of rain beating against the car windows when I was still high school. I would unconsciously stare and listen to the drops of rain for such a long time until I see myself looking at me.
Then there would be silence.
College life left me with less time to continue that habit. Well, first of all, there was no need to drive me to school and fetch me anymore. My parents had an apartment rented just for me a few blocks from campus. Secondly, of the few times that they did fetch me from school for some reason or another, it never rained.
I am glad to see those drops sliding down the windows once again.
Plates
by Manny
Just as the waiter was going to serve my favorite, spicy chicken wings with thickly-cut potato chips, I caught myself glancing at the reflection that the immaculate plate had - it was me looking at me.
I was there for a like one, two seconds (until the sauce started flooding the plate)- yet here at the same time. It was like looking through a well and seeing someone else looking through the other end. I suddenly remembered that Looney Tunes episode where Bugs dug so deep into and through the earth, so deep that he eventually found himself in China. The earth is round. Even the plate says so.
"Hoy, bakit ka nakatunganga sa pagkain?"
I was? Gee, talk about being inside that well really deep.
"Hindi...may naisip lang ako..."
"Ah ganun ba...sige, let's eat na?"
"Sure"
I lit up a bit of a smile inside me as I saw my mom eat her all-veggie salad line-up. "Healthy food", according to her. Yet, when I last scanned the table, I saw two double-chocolate cakes for dessert and her usual pack of Malboro. Reds. Sometimes I wonder if she sees the note written at the side of those cigarette packs. It may shock her, hopefully.
Just as the waiter was going to serve my favorite, spicy chicken wings with thickly-cut potato chips, I caught myself glancing at the reflection that the immaculate plate had - it was me looking at me.
I was there for a like one, two seconds (until the sauce started flooding the plate)- yet here at the same time. It was like looking through a well and seeing someone else looking through the other end. I suddenly remembered that Looney Tunes episode where Bugs dug so deep into and through the earth, so deep that he eventually found himself in China. The earth is round. Even the plate says so.
"Hoy, bakit ka nakatunganga sa pagkain?"
I was? Gee, talk about being inside that well really deep.
"Hindi...may naisip lang ako..."
"Ah ganun ba...sige, let's eat na?"
"Sure"
I lit up a bit of a smile inside me as I saw my mom eat her all-veggie salad line-up. "Healthy food", according to her. Yet, when I last scanned the table, I saw two double-chocolate cakes for dessert and her usual pack of Malboro. Reds. Sometimes I wonder if she sees the note written at the side of those cigarette packs. It may shock her, hopefully.
Not Now.
by Omie
A child was named Kobe.
His Daddy and Mommy loved him so much.
They will gave everything to Kobe:
complete vitamins, nutritious food,
and of course, lots of toys.
His mom always talked to Kobe
and tells him to be a good boy when he grows up.
His dad bought him more toys
and played with him everyday.
But one day,
Someone called Kobe:
"you can't be with them anymore."
"but why?" asked Kobe.
"it's not yet time for you to be with them."
"But I want to be with them,
they would be sad without me."
"Not now."
So Kobe kept waiting,
to finally see his Daddy and Mommy
one day.
A child was named Kobe.
His Daddy and Mommy loved him so much.
They will gave everything to Kobe:
complete vitamins, nutritious food,
and of course, lots of toys.
His mom always talked to Kobe
and tells him to be a good boy when he grows up.
His dad bought him more toys
and played with him everyday.
But one day,
Someone called Kobe:
"you can't be with them anymore."
"but why?" asked Kobe.
"it's not yet time for you to be with them."
"But I want to be with them,
they would be sad without me."
"Not now."
So Kobe kept waiting,
to finally see his Daddy and Mommy
one day.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Gentleman
Monday, January 16, 2006
by Sandy
Last Sunday there were too many children in my son's Sunday School class, so the boys were made to go to a different room. The girls were left behind. My son didn't understand why the girls had to be left behind.
Me, explaining: It's better to move the boys than the girls because boys are stronger. You have to be a gentleman.
Miguel: I don't want to be a gentleman.
Me: You mean that if you are in a train and you are sitting down and there is no other seat left, you will not give your seat to a girl?
Miguel: I want to stay in my seat.
Me, thinking fast: What if you are an adult and mommy is a lola (grandma), and we are in a train and there is only one seat? Will you let me sit down?
Miguel: I will let you sit down
(I smile)
Miguel: ...and I will sit in your lap.
Me, appalled: But Miguel, you're an adult! You will not sit on my lap as an adult, will you?
Miguel: Then I will sit down, and YOU will be the one to sit in my lap.
Mwahahahaha!
by Sandy
Last Sunday there were too many children in my son's Sunday School class, so the boys were made to go to a different room. The girls were left behind. My son didn't understand why the girls had to be left behind.
Me, explaining: It's better to move the boys than the girls because boys are stronger. You have to be a gentleman.
Miguel: I don't want to be a gentleman.
Me: You mean that if you are in a train and you are sitting down and there is no other seat left, you will not give your seat to a girl?
Miguel: I want to stay in my seat.
Me, thinking fast: What if you are an adult and mommy is a lola (grandma), and we are in a train and there is only one seat? Will you let me sit down?
Miguel: I will let you sit down
(I smile)
Miguel: ...and I will sit in your lap.
Me, appalled: But Miguel, you're an adult! You will not sit on my lap as an adult, will you?
Miguel: Then I will sit down, and YOU will be the one to sit in my lap.
Mwahahahaha!
Smells simply glorious
Monday, August 16, 2004
by Sandy
My son threw up on me last night.
Well, not exactly. He threw up on my hands. I forgot that when a kid has a cough, DO NOT give him a cup of milk just before going to bed. He awoke 30 minutes later with a coughing fit, sat up, and promptly threw up. Luckily most of the stuff ended up in my hands instead of on the pillows.
Little bugger went right back to sleep right after that. And me? Here's the best part of my job description: wipe off puke from bed, take off pillow cases, wipe son's face and hands with soapy facetowel, dry him off, soap and wipe the bedsheet, wash pillowcases, hang out to dry (the pillowcases, not the son), wash yucky facetowel, spray disinfectant on stinky bed. Yadda yadda yadda.
You know the routine. And all the while the little angel is snoring on the bed.
Thing is, I really feel that this is the essence of parenthood. That when your child is sick in the middle of the night, who else should he throw up on but mom? Last night was a mild episode; when he was younger and really sick I'd have him in the rocking chair with me all night and he'd throw up on my chest at 3 am. Smelled simply glorious. All the way to my undies.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not being sarcastic. Well, ironic maybe. It's just that I know of a couple of single parents, and unfortunately - perhaps through no fault of theirs - they never got a chance to raise their kids. In other words they never got the privilege of carrying the smell of their son or daughter's vomitus at 3 o'clock in the morning. Doing so says something of your bond, or so it seems to me.
So if anyone picks up a faintly nauseating scent on me today, don't wrinkle your nose. It's my badge of motherhood, and I carry it with pride.
by Sandy
My son threw up on me last night.
Well, not exactly. He threw up on my hands. I forgot that when a kid has a cough, DO NOT give him a cup of milk just before going to bed. He awoke 30 minutes later with a coughing fit, sat up, and promptly threw up. Luckily most of the stuff ended up in my hands instead of on the pillows.
Little bugger went right back to sleep right after that. And me? Here's the best part of my job description: wipe off puke from bed, take off pillow cases, wipe son's face and hands with soapy facetowel, dry him off, soap and wipe the bedsheet, wash pillowcases, hang out to dry (the pillowcases, not the son), wash yucky facetowel, spray disinfectant on stinky bed. Yadda yadda yadda.
You know the routine. And all the while the little angel is snoring on the bed.
Thing is, I really feel that this is the essence of parenthood. That when your child is sick in the middle of the night, who else should he throw up on but mom? Last night was a mild episode; when he was younger and really sick I'd have him in the rocking chair with me all night and he'd throw up on my chest at 3 am. Smelled simply glorious. All the way to my undies.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not being sarcastic. Well, ironic maybe. It's just that I know of a couple of single parents, and unfortunately - perhaps through no fault of theirs - they never got a chance to raise their kids. In other words they never got the privilege of carrying the smell of their son or daughter's vomitus at 3 o'clock in the morning. Doing so says something of your bond, or so it seems to me.
So if anyone picks up a faintly nauseating scent on me today, don't wrinkle your nose. It's my badge of motherhood, and I carry it with pride.
Love Letters
by Marlon
After a friend’s father died, he noticed something strange about his mother. A few days after the funeral, his mother went to the salon (she rarely did this). She had her cut and colored. After that she went shopping for new clothes. My friend’s mother started to “bloom”. Soon she announced that she will be traveling. On the day of the departure, my friend confronted his mother. He asked her why she changed so much, why now after his father died, did she not love his father. His mother told him gently, that she loved his father very much but he was also a very difficult man. This was not apparent to my friend. Now she needs to do something for herself. She told my friend that when she leaves, he must look under her bed and get a box. When my friend finally opened the box he found love letters, a lot of love letters. Thinking it was love letters from his father to his mother, he read them. He was surprised that the love letter came from a Spanish man. Her mother met the man while she was studying in Spain during the early part of her marriage. The relationship did not flourish because she chose to come home, back to her husband. My friend’s father.
After a friend’s father died, he noticed something strange about his mother. A few days after the funeral, his mother went to the salon (she rarely did this). She had her cut and colored. After that she went shopping for new clothes. My friend’s mother started to “bloom”. Soon she announced that she will be traveling. On the day of the departure, my friend confronted his mother. He asked her why she changed so much, why now after his father died, did she not love his father. His mother told him gently, that she loved his father very much but he was also a very difficult man. This was not apparent to my friend. Now she needs to do something for herself. She told my friend that when she leaves, he must look under her bed and get a box. When my friend finally opened the box he found love letters, a lot of love letters. Thinking it was love letters from his father to his mother, he read them. He was surprised that the love letter came from a Spanish man. Her mother met the man while she was studying in Spain during the early part of her marriage. The relationship did not flourish because she chose to come home, back to her husband. My friend’s father.
Saucer Eyes
by Marlon
When I was four years old we moved to a house by the river, most of the area around the house was still a forest and the only way to get to the house from the main road is through a gravel path beside the riverbank. At that time, the path had no lights and it was a good 50 meters long. One night my mother and her cousin stayed out late to watch a movie. Coming home, they had to walk very slowly trying to stay in the middle of the road. It was pitch black and the only light is from the night sky cutting through the treetops and some reflected ambient light coming from the river. Midway, they were stopped in their tracks because of strange lights blocking the path. They lights were small pairs of cold shiny spots. The whole path was blocked. Pairs in varying heights and brightness were “staring” at them. As my mother would tell it, they were as big as saucers. My mother and her cousin were so scared they stood frozen for some time. Then mustering courage they walked inched by inched, all the while reciting Psalms 23 (“The Lord is my shepherd…”). When they got close enough to the lights, they realized they were cow’s eyes. Yes, cows. Their eyes glow in the dark. We never did find out who left that many cows that night, on the gravel path, on the way to our house.
When I was four years old we moved to a house by the river, most of the area around the house was still a forest and the only way to get to the house from the main road is through a gravel path beside the riverbank. At that time, the path had no lights and it was a good 50 meters long. One night my mother and her cousin stayed out late to watch a movie. Coming home, they had to walk very slowly trying to stay in the middle of the road. It was pitch black and the only light is from the night sky cutting through the treetops and some reflected ambient light coming from the river. Midway, they were stopped in their tracks because of strange lights blocking the path. They lights were small pairs of cold shiny spots. The whole path was blocked. Pairs in varying heights and brightness were “staring” at them. As my mother would tell it, they were as big as saucers. My mother and her cousin were so scared they stood frozen for some time. Then mustering courage they walked inched by inched, all the while reciting Psalms 23 (“The Lord is my shepherd…”). When they got close enough to the lights, they realized they were cow’s eyes. Yes, cows. Their eyes glow in the dark. We never did find out who left that many cows that night, on the gravel path, on the way to our house.
My Mother’s Veil
by Marlon
On the day of my parents’ wedding, my mother’s girlfriends convinced her to go to the beach one last time. The wedding was in the evening so there should be plenty of time for one quick all-girls’ outing. They had so much fun that they forgot about the time. My mother almost never made it on time for the wedding. After the wedding she discovered that in the rush she wore her wedding veil backwards.
On the day of my parents’ wedding, my mother’s girlfriends convinced her to go to the beach one last time. The wedding was in the evening so there should be plenty of time for one quick all-girls’ outing. They had so much fun that they forgot about the time. My mother almost never made it on time for the wedding. After the wedding she discovered that in the rush she wore her wedding veil backwards.
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