To Pepz, The Coolest Dad in the World (or as I Say the Kool-itest Ever)

I wrote this way back in 2008 and while some things may have changed, the sentiment remains the same....

 
THE other day, I woke up to the sound of my cell phone. It was my dad.
(My parents recently moved to Bataan -- Puerto Rivas, a small fishing
community, to be exact -- to serve as a pastor to a small Methodist
church there. (They've moved back to Quezon City and are busier than ever administering to a larger flock.)

       "We watched the sun rise as the fishermen came from the sea," he
texted. "We bought shrimps and are having them for breakfast."

       That's my dad, always finding something new to discover, always eager to
learn. It can get dizzying at times, but I must confess I've learned a
lot in the process.

       He's collected and done creative (posters and murals) things with matches, dabbled in the kitchen and produced delectable delights like adobong puso ng manok,
siopao (that we had to eat for a month because he got so enthusiastic
he whipped up a whole month's supply), he's succumbed to the lure of
Shopping TV and bought one of those chopping things to supply us with
chopped veggies and fruits galore, he's done the carpentry stuff and
fixed a few leaking pipes as well. But beyond the usual household
things, my father is relentless in his quest to learn new things.

       Let's see, there was a time when he  trained in Acupuncture and
Acupressure and I ended up with needles in my arms and hands to ward
off fever. Don't worry, I got my own back by sticking needles in
between his eyebrows and forehead. (They were used to cure a fever.)
From that experience, I learned to rely on massage and pressure,
instead of medicine, whenever I feel a headache or fever coming.

       From my dad, a staunch environmentalist, I learned to value the seeds
that come from the fruits that we eat. I don't throw the seeds, instead I've
learned to put them away so that we can plant them in the future. My
father is so infectious, that he has gotten my son to do the same
thing only worse. Naki now refuses to throw anything away and instead
lectures me by shouting, "Recyle, Nay!"  whenever I'm headed towards
the garbage can.

       At times, I think I'm the laid back type because my dad is so active,
so full of ideas that I get tired just looking at him pounding away on
his computer churning out books, sermons, songs, poems, recipes,
prayers and more. By the way, along with my mom, they have a column,
Bahay Kubo, every Sunday (morning edition, Una Sa Balita) in Abante. Right smack in
the political section, they're a breath of fresh air discussing seeds,
 the pleasures of planting and other environmental concerns.

       But perhaps one of the most important things I've learned from my dad is to never
let problems affect my life. From him, I've learned to try and look
for the things you can get from the hurting process and use them
positively. From him, too, I've learned to rely on prayers and depend
on love to see me through. Most of all, from him, I've learned that it
matters not if you are rich, as long as you have integrity and do what
is right. The Lord will take care of the rest. Amen to that.

     Happy Father's Day, Pepz!!

 

Blondie

Ever since he was a little boy, my son has been my No. 1 “hair” critic. He tells it like it is and has never   pulled back his punches. He has raged, he has ranted but he has never raved about it.  More often, he’s   been horrified or amused.  When I cut my hair when he was four, he would cry every time he so much as caught a glimpse of my short ‘do. Another occasion, he refused to talk to me for a week, except to say, “ang pangit!” and then point at my latest hair style.  His reactions have been so tragic and funny, I’ve actually chronicled some of them. (http://nanayninaki.blogspot.com/2011/04/hairy-discussion.html).

Recently, after moaning endlessly about my increasing number of white hair I just couldn’t hide them any longer, i decided to do something about it. I went to the parlor near our house and picked a nice dark brown color and agreed to some highlights as the parlorista said, it would help camouflage the whites. Call me naive or stupid, but I mistakenly said yes. The effects were, even to my standards, quite disastrous. To put it nicely, instead of a deep chestnut brown, my hair was so light, i didn’t need to buy a gift for the golden wedding anniversary we were attending the following day. I could, in fact, be the gift! Neither was my sister kind in her assessment. She said bluntly, “parang cross ka between Aegis and laos na Japayuki." (My apologies to both)

And so it came to pass that when we got home, my son looked up from his computer, smirked and then chortled uncontrollably. Thankfully, that was it and no other verbal reactions came forth. “Nag-mature na ata,” I thought to myself. My sister and I then tried to undo the damage by buying a much darker color and applying another round of chemicals on my hair and then, prayed for the best. No such luck. When I woke up, my hair was still as bright as sunshine. When my son woke up, he had another round of hysterics when he saw my new ‘do and said, “Well it was much better than last night.”  And I thought that   that was the last of it. 

Boy, was I wrong. 

 A week after that hair color disaster, we had dinner out and the truth was revealed. I caught a glimpse of my reflection bouncing back from a store. 

“Ang blondie!” I groaned in dismay. 

My son, the one  I had just treated to dinner twice that day, shook his head, and said,  “and I thought you'd never top  the melon head'. (the short hair I had that he said made me look like a melon.)

 

  He then followed it up with, “Why on earth would you want to color your hair?”

 In my defense, I said, “Ang dami ko na kayang white hair!” 

“’Nay,” he said, “Weren’t  you the one who told me that white hair’s a sign of maturity? Well, it's about time you acquired some."

Maybe I should just get one of those blue or pink wigs in Divisoria….

Ninong Mete?

Wakes and funerals are solemn occasions that make us pause to give
respect to those who have gone on ahead of us. But what if it turns
out to be the opposite?
       With All Saints Day coming up, I'm sure that most of us are preparing
to honor the dead. Here are a few snippets that really happened and
how they  so reflect the humor that can seep into the solemnest of
occasions and make them so vividly Pinoy.
       When My Lola Esyang (my dad's lola) died, we all trooped to Paniqui,
Tarlac for the funeral. I was a second year high school student then
and was quite transfixed by the events -- the crying, the rituals, the
beliefs, the stories. Still, I couldn't help feeling a little stifled
by it all until the funeral itself. My Lola Juanita (my lolo's eldest
sister) was quite bereft with grief and for the past days could do
nothing but cry. The funeral itself was no exception -- oh how she
cried, oh how loudly she wailed! When we got to the cemetery, her
tears grew even louder and she began to shout in earnest, "Inda, tuki
nyo ko, tuki nyo ko! (Mother, take me with you, take me with you!),"
growing more frenetic by the minute. My Lola Maria, who was standing
behind her and trying to hold her back, was making soothing noises to
calm her down. Still Lola Juanita continued to wail, until finally my
Lola Maria could no longer contain herself and pushed her slightly
toward the grave, "O tuki na ka! (Go with her then!)" Finally, we had
some peace and quiet.
        I'm sure you're well aware of the Pinoy's tendency to cry in front
of the coffin, right? Well, Ned's lola and her siblings were simply
unconsolable at his lolo's wake and stood there in front of the coffin
weeping and wailing at their loss. Nothing it seemed could stop their
tears until another sooo Pinoy tradition did. "O, picture!" someone
shouted. Guess what the three did? Stood up straight, stopped crying
before saying, "Teka! Teka!," fixed their hair and their faces and
smiled for posterity...
       And finally, another of Ned's lolos could be heard crying as he
arrived for the wake. From the kanto to the entrance of the church,
how loudly he sobbed. As he slowly made his way to where the coffin
was he continued crying non-stop until he reached it, stopped
abruptly, turned his head then asked, "Nino'ng mete? (who died?)"
       Classic Pinoy.

IRED after a day's work, I lay on the bed watching Linkin' Park in concert on MTV. Not exactly relaxing fare, I know, but the group's metal-rap music soothes me. All that head bangin', finger snappin' and foot thumpin' .... just perfect!

In the middle of my watching the music channel, my son barges in to get something, only to come to a screeching halt when he spies what I'm watching.

"Linkin' Park???!!!" he said incredulously as he looked at the screen before training his eyes on me.

"Yes," I answered tentatively, wondering what the fuss was all about.

"Linkin Park," he declared, still with that incredulous look, "You???!!"

"What's wrong with them?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said. "But you!" he pointed out, "Classics....."

So this is what I get for playing Beethoven, Mozart and the rest of the classics gang all throughout my pregnancy!

Seriously now, my girl friends and I were discussing the weird way women behave when they are pregnant and ended up laughing like crazy.

Take for example--my cousin. She would walk around the market everyday because she suddenly developed a taste for the smell of fish. She would shudder, on the other hand, whenever her hubby was around because she hated

his smell. A friend would regularly order pansit but would watch the cook like a hawk to make sure that he only put in one small piece of liver. If he as so much as put in another piece, she would get angry and refuse to eat. Another cousin, developed a taste for Choc-nut and refused any other form of sweets and would throw a tantrum if she ran out of it.

I know I drove my mom and Ned bonkers with my request for Corn and Crab Soup. "

Yung Royco ha," I specified, not knowing it was not out in the market anymore. My mom must have bought four different brands. When I tasted each one of them, I ended up in tears because it wasn't Royco.

Being pregnant can produce some really funny situations but being a mother can get you into some more. Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers out there, this issue is specially for you.

By the way, Naki loves crab and corn soup.

Ps and Qs [The Art of Being Polite]

"Thank you." 
I swung my head around to check if I'd heard right. Was that my son? Was that actually my son 
bidding the waitress thank you? The waitress came to our table with a vanilla shake and gave it to my son.
And i heard it again, "thank you," he said, and with a smile. I nearly fainted.
Years of nagging him again and again to never forget his pleases and thank yous had finally worked.
It had become automatic to him. So, why am I so overjoyed?
Here's the column I wrote eons ago that would best illustrate why......
      *********


DON'T you just hate it when people forget to say thank you?
       I mean, it's such a simple thing to do. You see someone drop an
object and you point it out to them. They pick it up and that's it.
Not a wave, not a thank you, not even an acknowledgement.
       It's sad, right?
       We were at a party recently when my sister-in-law was tasked to give
out printed copies of the order of events. She went from table to
table distributing the sheets of paper, smiling all the while. When
she came back to our table, her smile had faded  and she seemed upset.
       "Wala man lang nag thank you sa akin," she said, quite puzzled. "Can
you imagine that?" she said. "Except for our relatives, " she pointed
out, "there's more than 12 tables here and not even one of them
thanked me."
       I completely understood her. Thank you. Two words. Two such short but
meaningful words. It means you care. It means you appreciate others.
It means that you acknowledge the help and value of other people.
       I go berserk whenever my son forgets to say those two words.  Never
ever, I rage at him, forget your Ps & Qs (Please and Thank yous).
"Kahit wala ka nang matutunan sa akin," I lecture, "Basta lang wag
mong kakalimutan mag-please and thank you!"
       Whether it's something big like a friend lending you money or a
security guard opening the door for you, don't forget to say thank you
with a smile. You'd be amazed on how two little words can spread a
whole world of cheer.
       

lola inda

s. Friendship. That's what we teasingly called my Lola Maria when the ICU waiting room at the Manila Doctors Hospital overflowed with her guests.
    Two weeks ago we rushed her to the hospital because she couldn't breathe. The culprit? Hika. She developed asthma this year, the year she turned 90 and boy did she complain about it. "Kung kelan matanda na ako," she grumbled. 
    Not a big fan of hospitals, my lola (or Inda as we call her) wanted to go home right away. Unfortunately, her heart was not up to it yet, taxed heavily by the asthma. The visit to the ER resulted in a prolonged stay in the ICU.
    The unspoken fear of everyone who visited her was that she could so easily slip away from us. One doctor was so surprised when he learned she was 90. He told her that she should be happy 'coz she was evidently way past the limit. Not to us who love and treasure her. You see, my lola can get very makulit but that's all part of her very cute package. She's one strong woman and boy, is she still sharp. As my auntie says, Inda remembers everyone who owes her something and she specially remembers when it is she who owes somebody something even if it's only a bottle of Royal Tru Orange.
    To go back to that Ms. Friendship thing, everyone but everyone who learned she was sick rushed to the hospital. Maybe it's because of her old age that everyone was overly concerned or maybe it's just because she's genuinely loved. 
    Children, grandchildren,great-grandchildren, pamangkins, neighbors, her boarders -- we all came flocking to talk to her, to give her comfort, to offer prayers and mostly to exchange stories about her. I think it was we who gave each other more comfort though, Inda was more concerned about throwing off all the tubes they had inserted in her body. And oh, how upset she was at not being able to go to the toilet on her own!
    Strong, determined -- that's the Inda I've always known. She who has raised four kids and taken in many more. She who has lived through and gave birth during a World War. She who fought valiantly so that her husband would accept the Lord and her religion.  She's not one to give up without a fight and I know this is one that she won't lose. We've promised her everything -- her favorite food, her favorite flowers and told her we intend to throw a big party for her. "Jollibee, Inda," we  teased, "para may mascot at baka isama pati si  Aga Muhlach." 
    Well, the doctors said today that she's moving out of the ICU to a private room. Prayers are most welcome.
    
    

Addicted to [Chinese] Movies

After watching two movies at the ongoing French Film Festival in UP Diliman's Film Center
 (http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=592967429), I suddenly remembered the days when Sky Cable was not too greedy and the Chinese Channel was included in their regular package and I was hooked on nothing but Chinese movies.....

"THERE'S something wrong with this picture, 'Nay," my son, Naki, pointed
out as Ned and I were watching Charlie's Angels on HBO one Saturday
night.
       "Huh?" I asked puzzled. "What?"
       Smiling very broadly, Naki said, "You're not watching Chinese movies!"
       Guilty.
       For the past few months I've been obsessed with Star Movies Mandarin.
From the time I wake up to the time I go to sleep, I'm tuned in to the
Chinese channel. No, I don't speak Chinese nor do I understand it but
I can read subtitles and am discovering a new world of movies aside
from Hollywood and the local scene.
       As a certified TV addict, I was getting tired of the same old movie
fare on the English channels and chanced upon Love On A Diet starring
Andy Lau and Sammy (forgot her last name).  Love, in any language, is
still love and very entertaining to watch. So, I sat there entranced
for the next two and a half hours as I watched the two Hong Kong
superstars playing two very healthy (as in fat) individuals trying to
lose weight and in the process falling in love with each other.
       I was hooked. Day in and day out, I'd tune in to watch more movies
and discovered other action (and triad) genres and more. Already a fan
of Jackie Chan, Chow Yun Fat and Jet Li, I'm now a devotee of Ekin
Cheng. Not to forget Andy Lau, Jordan Chan, Edison Chen, Daniel
Wu.....and the list goes on and on. I've gotten hooked so badly that I
even watch "Movies in the Making" without English subtitles and
watched an entire Andy Lau concert (no, he didn't sing a single
English song).
       The thing is, while my husband nearly dies laughing whenever he sees
me glued to my Chinese movies, I have found an ally in my son. A fan
of AXN and Japanese anime, he's bent on studying the language so that
he doesn't have to read the subtitles anymore. He also happily told me
the other day about a comedy he watched, Happy Ghosts. Yup, on the
Chinese channel.
       Poor Ned! With only two television sets in the house, he has to wait
for Naki and I to start snoring before he can tune into BBC and the
rest of the news.
       Well, the other night, Ned woke up to me still watching TV. "Ano'ng
pinapanood mo?
       "Ha?" I answered,"Hindi Chinese," I added defensively.
       "E ano?," he asked sleepily.
       "French."