If Only I Were A Little Like You

I previously posted the following on my sky appreciation blog. I am re-posting it because it is the sentiment that is most apt for me right now. It's funny how at an age when I know who I am and what I want and do, there are some things said to me that surprisingly make me swell with joy. The other day, my son, upon seeing a photograph of my mother with my sister Leah on her lap, remarked "She looks just like you holding me!" In fact he remarked that every photograph of my mother holding anyone of my sisters or me when we were babies or toddlers look just like me holding him or his younger sister." That makes me very happy. I remember how as a rebellious teenager I told my mother that someday when I become a mother I will dare to be different and be not like her. She just smiled and replied "You will be different, you will be yourself, but you will have a child just like you." I looked at her knowing what she intended with that remark. She just looked at me and smiled, a kind of smile with pursed lips, her right eyebrow raised in amusement.

I will be fifty-five in a few days. It is my fortune to be second to the youngest among my siblings. I was born when my mother was at the same age I was when I had my second child. My position in our family hierarchy saved me from the tragedies of war, rebuilding lives and nation, house fire, with everything but my mother's Singer sewing machine lost, and rebuilding our home. I later learned to sew with that sewing machine. I was blessed with the love and care my parents gave me, complimented by the vigilance and protection of my elder sisters and brothers. Yet, if there is one regret I may have, it is that I waited much later in life to be a mother and lived so far from my parents. My children only saw my parents once. They were aged four and one respectively. My son remembers that visit. He especially remembered the monkey at a resort that scratched him. He remembers his grandparents. I am thankful, however lone numbered, I was able to give him those tender memories. As for my daughter she can look at the photographs. That is always a fun exercises. We remember  a naked infant chasing the ducks. Very adorable!

It is rare that I look at the clouds these days.  The one on the left is from my sister Leah's farm taken by my brother a few months before Leah was diagnosed with cancer. The photo on the right is the front of our house. One can barely see the roof of our house. I haven't been back to the home where I spent my teenage years, since my mother's funeral. Last year in February, my sister passed away. I miss my sister very much. I won't be able to phone her on my birthday this year.

July 12, 2012

As children we laid on the fields, my sisters and I. We looked up to the sky and imagined how it would be if we could fly. If there were clouds we made up stories. We laughed a lot and sometimes we remained still and listened to each other breathe. I did not tell them that I imagined a frightening image of a giant knife falling from the sky hurtling towards me. I just closed my eyes and held on to their hands for dear life.

If Only I Were A Little Like You

The world will be a better place

If only I were a little like you.

I will be of unwavering faith

Of elegant bearing and eloquence

And altruistic spirit, never forsaking.

The world will be a better place

If only I were a little like you.

I will be with great sense of humor

Inspiring and encouraging outlook

And enduring devotion.

The world will be a better place

If only I were a little like you.

I will have your brilliant mind

Your spitfire courage in quest for justice

And love for mankind.

The world will be a better place

If only I were a little like you.

I will laugh with all my heart

Be gentle and kind

Dedicated and true.

The world will be a better place

If only I were a little like you.

I will be nurturing and faithful,

Love deeply

And always be hopeful.

Instead I am me.

I thought I was brave,

instead afraid.

I thought I can speak,

instead stutter.

My heart overrules.

My clear mind clutters

You remind me that if I think less of I and me

And more of us and we

Then perhaps the world will be a better place.

Dedicated to my five sisters (who are a lot like our mother).

Gallery - Behance -  Google + - Society 6

How To Draw A Tree

 First, plant a tree...

I was not thrilled with this prompt. It is like asking me to draw an acorn or a leaf. However, instead of just picking out a few drawings from hundreds (actually little over a thousand is not an exaggeration) of tree drawings, I actually drew the image below for Illustration Friday's prompt!

TREE

This is Bojak Patikingkuting. He works at the abattoir at night and at the plant nursery in the morning. He sleeps in the evening. He likes to smoke marijuana and drink whiskey. Sometimes he gets confused. One night he went to the nursery to plant a tree... 8"x10" Pigment pen and ink drawing on 9"x12" Bristol Board. The term "bojak" is an aiming position in the game of marbles. As a kid, I was a "bojak" and "strike" expert. Below: Family trees:

Ten years ago, today, my beloved mother passed away. She died in my arms and my sister Freah's. We went home to the Philippines to take care of her for a month. All of my brothers and sisters went home and stayed with her for several weeks. That day, she was supposed to go home.  My sisters and brothers loved my mother but just as we thought no one else could love her more, our father did. It was so obvious my parents loved each other very much.

I never failed to kiss my mother goodbye every time I walked out of the house. One day I was so angry. I walked out of the house without kissing her. From the kitchen, she saw and bade me a safe trip to my high school and a good day. I ignored her. I kept walking. The walk from my home to my school took about fifteen minutes. My classes started at 8:00AM. When I reached the school, I felt so awful that I ran back home. I saw my mother doing laundry and I told her that I came back to give her a kiss and I started crying as I apologized. I am sure she told me something very wise but all I can remember is the pain in my throat. I never left the house again in a bad mood.  I think I managed to instill that to my children. While they are American teenagers and quite different, they are very tender and loving, not because I tell them to be. When they were growing up, my husband and I continually told them stories of us growing up and mostly how wonderful their grandparents were as parents. Sometimes I feel so incompetent, especially when I compare myself to my mother. I console myself that American teenagers are the most challenging subjects. :)

My mother never saw an oil painting of mine. She saw my watercolor paintings and drawings. She used to scold me a lot because I drew all the time. She said I was so lazy and all I did was draw and play. She was worried that I drew a lot of house floor plans, hundreds, thousands of them! She was very worried :)

L to R: Basswood at the Blue Ridge Mountains, The Dell in England, Little Dot.

If my mother was here today, she would ask me why I am drawing pictures of ugly looking men like the one above. I did not mean to draw an ugly man. I don't know why I kept thinking of the city abattoir when I was drawing that man. I was also thinking of smoking marijuana, not me, but the legalization of marijuana smoking in two states. Okay, so I was thinking of a lot of things, plus I was doing laundry and I also baked two chicken pot pies. I was also craving for doughnuts so after months and months of talking about wanting to eat doughnuts, my husband and I went out and bought doughnuts. I woke up at five this morning hoping to eat left over doughnuts with my coffee while I worked on our project implementation, but my doughnuts were gone! Ooooh I was very upset but I had to work, so my husband said he will go out and get more doughnuts. He did. Yum!!! Thank you, honey. Tsup!

 How to draw a tree...

 

Trees Project on Behance

Gallery - Behance -  Facebook - Society 6

Good morning! Wake up, It's your Birthday...

Wednesday, June 16, 2010 10:27 AM

Good night Nene Cecil. Thank you for everything. I have two meetings tomorrow, a criminal case in the afternoon, and a deadline for the Supreme Court. Good night.

Happy Birthday, Son and Inday Leah

From the "Shed A Tear" collection.

My mind is agitated and my heart is healing and then breaking and then healing and then breaking.

Today, nineteen years ago, I was hanging from a trapeze. The obstetrician and nurses were running out of options and before they took out the big gadgets and the last option of rushing me to the operating room, they let me hang from a trapeze, the way the Indians did long ago, so I can deliver my baby. It did not work. My obstetrician told my husband that our son's heart and brain waves were strong and healthy, so they were avoiding an emergency cesarean section. They will use some gadgets and do some bedside procedures and if they don't work, then they have to rush me to the operating room. I have been in labor for 17 hours. My epidural anesthesia has worn off hours ago and I finally prayed that I would not die for I would feel horrible  leaving my husband with a newborn. I felt a huge sucking sensation. My obstetrician used the vacuum, the forceps and performed a fourth degree episiotomy that prevented me from sitting down for two months after delivery. My son was born. I was so exhausted I could not even lift my arms to touch him nor turn my head towards to kiss him. My husband said our son was so alert and just looking around. For nineteen years he has put me on the edge. He is the most loving, faithful, loyal and protective young man I know. When he was young, he did not want me to stand in the driveway in the evening because he was worried that people will drive by and hurt me. I listened to him so he would stop worrying. He makes me proud and happy.

Today, he shares his birthday with my sister Leah. True to her word and promise, my sister Leah celebrated Christmas with my sister Mercedes and then her birthday today. I could not call because I could not get an international line. I could not call her because she could not talk to me. She continues to struggle with cancer. 

My heart is bursting with pain. Sometimes tears fall like a mountain cataract because I am so angry that the kindest, most altruistic, most intelligent, brilliant and smartest of my siblings has been deprived of her brilliant mind. I am so sad. Dammit. I am sorry for cursing, but my heart aches. My heart cannot contain my love for my sister. It is the same with my other sisters and brothers and my sisterfriend. It is the same for my husband and my children. So here I am. I am so happy that my son and all of us here have come a long way from the growing pains and yet my anguished mind and my breaking heart is blinding me with tears. 

No amount of squiggling can relieve that sensation. I suppose I should be honored and grateful for I am awake and can write this... my sister cannot.

I really wish that love had real power...


P.S. When my son was a baby, I used to play Ella Fitzgerald's songbooks and I danced to this song while I carried my son and held his face next to mine.

A Mother's Love Has No Expiration Date

There are a lot of things I do not know in this world but, I do know these and I am sure, that my Mother loved me when she walked on this earth and I love her and I love my children.

The Bamboo Grove. Pigment ink on 12"x9" Bristol Board. Click on image to enlarge.

The following is a re-publication of a previous post dated April 10, 2009. If you have been following my blog for a while, you may see a correlation of some incidents mentioned below with a comment my eldest sister posted on Moleskinerie.com on November 2009. Last week, I went to Facebook to delete my account since I seldom use it. I also do not understand the rationale for strangers asking me to accept them as friends from a mere invitation just because we have common friends. So I set about to discontinue some "friendships" but before doing so, I chatted up someone who asked to be my friend and who I accepted because we had the same surnames. She turned out to be the granddaughter of my Father's cousin, the one I mentioned in the following story. Needless to say, I still have my Facebook account.

A Summer Afternoon

"I am 10 years old now. I will continue attending E.T.C.S. I am graduating this year, and then I will have to go to Sum-ag. My younger sister will transfer and she will be the only one in our family who will not graduate from E.T.C.S. Inday Ched is going to U.P."

They are my father’s cousins and he is called “Bata Taguy” meaning “Child Taguy” but his wife is “Nanay Maring” meaning “Mother Maring”. They have datiles trees and I am free to climb them any time. Their house is about a 1000 feet from ours.

We moved here on my ninth summer. There was nothing around us except flat empty lots and rice fields in the horizon that blanket the foot of the mountain and the volcano, and giant bamboo groves. My bedroom window directly faces the cone. It’s dusty because the roads are not paved. I am too sophisticated for this place I think, but Mother easily brings my reality down to earth with a curt reminder of who I am.

In the summer afternoons after all the chores are done, we walk with her to visit Nanay Maring where they talk about their ancestors and their past and dreams, hopes and plans. I climb the trees pretending not to listen but I am eavesdropping. They say nice things about me and my younger sister and then they compare us. She is well behaved and I am full of mischief but Mother always tells them we are both good. We walk back home before dusk so we can tend to the garden and the ducks and chickens.

My younger sister and I follow our Mother or we walk along side with her. Sometimes I run ahead of them and pick up stones and throw them in the air and into the bamboo groves. "TOK!" I like the sound of the rock hitting the bamboo and the bamboo responds with "CREEEAAAHK", CREEEEEAAAHK" as they sway like old women with their backs bent. "CRACK" "SWISSH". There goes a broken dried up branch we called "kagingking". Mother used them as trellis for the climbing vines in her garden. We can hear the giant bamboos creaking as we walk. It's a beautiful melody with the wind blowing the upper leafy branches and the trunks creaking rhythmically filling the hot summer afternoon with what I called the bamboo grove orchestra.
The roads were lined with giant bamboo groves soaring up to a hundred feet or more up into the sky. They sway and bend and Mother mentions the bamboo’s ability to sway and not break and she uses it as a metaphor for an extemporaneous lecture on virtues. I sometimes just listen but most often say something irreverent or construct something illogical for argument's sake. Yet deep down I listened to every word she said and took them to heart. My younger sister who is the smarter and wiser of the two of us just looks at me and says my name “Ay Inday Ces” she would say, meaning that I sound too foolish and impertinent but being that she is younger she cannot admonish an elder since I am two years older than her! So she keeps quiet. Mother gazes at me and I see her smile. She has the gentlest of smiles and she stiffens her upper lip and narrows her eyes and raises her right eyebrow. She has not said anything at all and I keep quiet and smile with embarrassment. That gaze of hers, so strict and firm yet gentle and full of love, always kept me in check.

I can’t recall Mother ever screaming at me, I can only recall her laughter, her smile and her gentle voice. Many years later as she lay dying on her hospital bed, I sat beside her and rested my head on her lap. She gently ran her fingers through my hair and she murmured, “Why are you here?” I replied “Because I want to take care of you.” She smiled and asked “Who is taking care of your children and husband?” I told her they were okay and my husband was taking care of the children. “You flew here all the way from Texas?” “Yes” I said, and she smiled. “You and your sister came all the way from the US?” “Yes, I said” and added that all eight of us sisters and brothers did. She smiled. “You must really love me. I feel so loved.” So I told her that every one of us loved her from the moment we laid eyes on her when we were children until forever. She did not cry, neither did I. We were just talking.
My Mother had the ability to talk about deep emotions without the maudlin sentimentality. As philosophical as she was she believed a lot of time was wasted on words, she believed in deeds. So that evening was not yet her last, she ended the conversation with a command and advice. “Go home to your husband and your children. You belong to your family.” I opened my mouth to say something and she cut me short with a gentle shake of her head, and added “You have a different family now, still part of mine but for you to take care.” Mother asked for the date then she said, “It will be your sister’s birthday in four days, you must celebrate it”.

Two days after she died my sisters, brothers and I were mourning as we went to the dining room of the house where I spent my youth. My sister blew her candles and cut her cake. We celebrated my sister’s birthday just as Mother would have wanted it.

3/21/2010. 8:55 AM: Thank you for reading this very long post. I know your time is valuable and if you read this, I take it only to mean that you like me or love me, either way, I appreciate you very much. Now, did you find the five lizards, one spider, two butterflies and one bird? Just asking.