Voyage

Voyage. Journey. In progress. Do not let the checkered path stop or hinder you. Turn every adventure to a memorable adornment in your glorious and productive life. Let every block be a memory filled with gratitude and celebration. There is a time for sorrow and a time for joy. Let love soothe the former and multiply the latter.

Where are you going? Are you in a place where you thought you would be? When you started your voyage, did you know where you wanted to go? Do you like or accept the place where you are now? Why? Why not?

So many questions.

When I think of the present, I think of where I started and where I have been. I don’t know about you, but sometimes when I think this way, there are songs that play in my head, like Gordon Lightfoot’s “Beautiful” or Frank Sinatra singing "What Are You Doing For The Rest Of Your Life." Then in my mind there is a parade of people's faces to whom the songs apply. My heart softens and my mind recoils in tenderness.

My dearest mother and father come to mind everyday. Everyday to them, I offer my devotion and gratitude and to my sister Leah whose beautiful and exemplary life was cut short a few years ago but continues to inspire me everyday to do my best and make me check myself to be steadfast, brave, just and kind when the competition and struggle heat up. 

Mother's Day.

On Mother's Day, do not celebrate because you are a mother, instead give your children a reason to celebrate because they have a good mother. My mother is the reason why I celebrate this day. She was a most wonderful mother, the best God gave me and my brothers and sisters. She loved my father very much and he loved her the same if not more. My heart is filled with gratitude. 

I am happy.

Sometimes I have tears in my eyes because I am happy. I am happy because I love those I love and am loved by those who love me. I believe in angels. Some are living angels. I am surrounded by good people, gifted with a best friend and showered with gentle and kind acquaintances.

Unaffordable Care Act. On the left, top figure is my bi-weekly payment for my family's health and dental insurance. The bottom figure is the total cost. My mouth hurts. It is very painful. I had oral surgery, then a dental procedure. The other day, while I was brushing the unaffected area, I forgot about my surgery and accidentally ran my electric toothbrush on the surgical area. I cried and knelt in pain. I have six stitches in my mouth. My dentist is excellent, my teeth not so much, they are weak but throughout the years, she has done her best to give me a beautiful smile. Thank you.

I miss eating regular foods, especially salads. I am hoping I will lose weight but that would be a fat chance!

I attended memorial service for a friend who died last week. She was the executive who hired me as the first nurse in information systems department when we started our electronic medical record in 1992. I am grateful that our paths crossed. I also heard the devastating news that another friend of mine died suddenly last January. That's all I heard. For 5 years Heather and I spent every summer afternoon teaching our kids to swim and watching them grow up together. She was only 46. Rest in peace, my friend.

My children do not realize what and how much they do and achieve throughout their lives since birth, no matter how ordinary it may seem to them,  affect me tremendously. I am their ardent and ever faithful supporter and cheerleader. I also happen to be quick, loud and blunt when I know something will end up in pain. As they get older the latter becomes less effective. They are both headstrong and eloquent with their arguments and want to make their own way. I cried with joy when they walked and ran as babies before age one, when they started talking and enunciating and articulating words so early and clearly, how precocious they were, when they left home on their first day of school, when they graduated from pre-school and kindergarten. I was so relieved when my son graduated from high school after going through such challenging teenage years, that was an adventure, and sad that he did not want to attend the ceremony. He has matured and does his best to make me happy. I am so proud of him. His sister does not want to make a big deal with her graduation either. I had to demand that she purchase the announcements. She complained about the costs. She said that everyone who matters already know so there is no point in sending them an announcement. I am being selfish, I do not want to be deprived of this parental privilege again. She relented. 

The other night when my daughter came out of her bedroom in her prom gown she was so radiant and beautiful. I wanted to cry and I felt a pang of sadness that she and her brother grew up far away from my sisters and brothers, not knowing their Lolo and Lola well. Soon she will graduate from high school, with honors. She asked for $10.00 to pay for the stole and cord that will identify her as a member of the National Honor Society. She has brought so much honor to her school through Science Fair, University Interscholastic League competitions in Choir, Drama and especially in Journalism. I am so happy for and so proud of her. Everyday I have the best Mother's Day presents with me. 

I always expected my children to do well in school. I was not the most diligent student when I was young. I always did the minimum to be on the top 10. Watching my daughter's self drive and desire for excellence taught me a lot about her. I am in awe at her constancy and maturity. Once I helped her with a math homework when she was in grade school, she received the lowest score she has ever received in her schooling. She asked me never to help her with a math homework again. School is very competitive. The differences among the top 1% is a matter of a hundredth of points. It is a good thing the girls are all friends. 

I thank God for giving me good children, a most loving husband, a good family through birth and marriage, for surrounding me with good people at work and friends who are kind. My throat and my surgical site in my mouth hurt like hell from crying. I am so happy. I love my family and friends. I love being a mother and wife. Most of all I love my mother so much and I am forever grateful.

God is good. Thank you.

However, college expenses are going to make me impecunious.

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My Mother

When I read these verses, I think of my mother the way she was to my father, to my brothers and sisters and me, to her friends and our neighbors; the way she led her life, and how she taught us. Her strong faith led us through so many difficult times and lifted us with hope and gratitude. She remains a blessing me today and forever. The things I do, I do well to continue to honor her and my father. Happy Mother's Day to all the good mothers. 

Proverbs 31:10-31

New International Version (NIV)

Epilogue: The Wife of Noble Character

10 [a]A wife of noble character who can find?
    She is worth far more than rubies.
11 Her husband has full confidence in her
    and lacks nothing of value.
12 She brings him good, not harm,
    all the days of her life.
13 She selects wool and flax
    and works with eager hands.
14 She is like the merchant ships,
    bringing her food from afar.
15 She gets up while it is still night;
    she provides food for her family
    and portions for her female servants.
16 She considers a field and buys it;
    out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.
17 She sets about her work vigorously;
    her arms are strong for her tasks.
18 She sees that her trading is profitable,
    and her lamp does not go out at night.
19 In her hand she holds the distaff
    and grasps the spindle with her fingers.
20 She opens her arms to the poor
    and extends her hands to the needy.
21 When it snows, she has no fear for her household;
    for all of them are clothed in scarlet.
22 She makes coverings for her bed;
    she is clothed in fine linen and purple.
23 Her husband is respected at the city gate,
    where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.
24 She makes linen garments and sells them,
    and supplies the merchants with sashes.
25 She is clothed with strength and dignity;
    she can laugh at the days to come.
26 She speaks with wisdom,
    and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
27 She watches over the affairs of her household
    and does not eat the bread of idleness.
28 Her children arise and call her blessed;
    her husband also, and he praises her:
29 “Many women do noble things,
    but you surpass them all.”
30 Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
    but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
31 Honor her for all that her hands have done,
    and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.

Footnotes:

1. Proverbs 31:10 Verses 10-31 are an acrostic poem, the verses of which begin with the successive letters of the Hebrew alphabet.

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Gone Fishing

Lindol, from the Disaster Series

I was away from work for nine days. Yes! Yes! Yes! I was on vacation and I did not go anywhere. I tried to be as lazy as can be. I watched a lot of news. I read the newspaper. I read news flashes on my phone. I drew a lot. I only mopped the floor once, I dusted once. I did other chores. This morning I baked. My laptop is still restoring. Surprisingly, I find it very liberating to be detached. Oh I have other devices but I prefer my MacBook. It has been restoring since last week.  This was the second restore, it is a long story and right now I do not want to be angry and irritated at Apple so I will skip the explanation. Lucky you!

This morning, I was relabeling some of my posts. I found this draft. I don't know why I have not published this before. This post makes made me laugh. I chuckled at its arrogance, overconfident stance, don't-care-attitude, and its wickedness until its tenderness melted my heart. Here goes:

This is going to be long, and if you don’t feel like reading, I understand. Do as you wish. I have been blogging for a long time; I have reached a point where I do as I please. Rather arrogant, you may say, on the contrary not, for what I post and how you react to it does not influence how I view your blog and you. Unless, I don’t like you, so in that regard, who cares? It can’t be helped.

I don’t sell anything, I am not trying to be published or be famous. I am not looking for a job or a paid project. I blog for fun, for a few loved ones. My favorite and best reader passed away two years ago, my sister Leah. I miss her everyday. I don’t give a rat’s ass if only ten people read my blog. I never claim to be an artist or a writer. I just paint and draw, and the Viking thinks my writing is verbose. I don’t tell a lot of people I blog or paint or draw. I blog because I enjoy what I do – formatting, rearranging, editing, rewriting, erasing, deleting, so on. I can just read my own blog, in fact I do a lot of times. I rearrange things and gadgets, headers. How many times have I changed headers; hundreds of times. I like doing that.

The only thing I desire is for someone or anybody not to lift and plagiarize my stories, and rewrite them. But then again, intellectual property thieves probably read my blog.

Everyday, I read a lot, I listen a lot. Sometimes I give advice when asked or even when not. I work a lot, I hurry up a lot, I meet a lot of deadlines, I attend a lot of meetings, I conduct a lot of consultations, I cook, I do laundry, I re-prioritize a lot, I change course midstream a lot when problems arise, I am prepared to stay late at work a lot if I need to fix something, I am prepared to forgo sleep if my children or the Viking are sick…or if I am on call.

I don’t smoke, I don’t drink, I don’t shop for clothes as often as I used to. I don’t gamble. I have a rather boring life. In fact I bore myself, like right now. Why the heck am I writing this? Ah yes! I remember. I blog, because I can.

I like a few people. I love fewer people, still. I try to be amiable, friendly, and helpful. People confide their secrets to me after getting to know me for five minutes; like in the elevator or at airports…they tell me their childhood experiences, their income, their marriages. I listen and honestly try to be sympathetic. Actually, if I trust or love the person, I will confide in them too but I very rarely do that. I think people see a sign in my forehead and it says “I will listen.” If there is a crowd and someone seems lost, she or he approaches me from the crowd and asks me for directions. Old people do this a lot. They look everywhere I see them looking and they see me and then they approach me.

Orphan

“Excuse me, where is Gate No. 38?”

“Well, hello, it is right in front of us ma'am. You are at Gate No.38.”

“Ah, thank you. Are you going to Minneapolis too?

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Oh thank you. Me too. May I stay close to you? I am traveling alone.”

I eye this woman. I think of old women who carry bombs or work with others to pick my pocket or drug me but this woman seems so frail. If anyone will use her as a human bomb, then humanity really sucks. Besides I am pretty sure this woman is not a terrorist. I just know. I do not say yes or no to her. I look at her and notice she is carrying a very heavy red bag.

“It seems like you are carrying a very heavy bag.”

“Ah yes, they are gifts for my grandchildren.”

“I wonder if there is a bowling bowl in there. It looks very heavy”

She laughs nervously. She tells me what’s inside the bag.

“Ah that’s nice. Your grandchildren will be happy.”

We board the plane. I let her go ahead of me. She can hardly carry the bag. I offer to help. She refuses to let me carry it. She can hardly walk. I am getting agitated. I feel so sorry for her and now I am mad at the invisible family member or members who asked her to carry the bag of gifts. I do not insist. It turns out she was sitting on the same row of seats, right across the aisle from me. I stow away my bag. She can’t lift her bag. I offered to do it for her.

The bag almost ripped my shoulder! It weighed about fifty pounds!

“Oh my God! I am mistaken, you are not carrying a bowling bowl, you are carrying five bowling bowls.” I smile at her. She smiles back. “Let me know if there is anything I can do for you, okay?” I read a book.

“Thank you. I am going to the Philippines.”

I reply “Ah, me too.”

“Oh good! Are you flying Northwest?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Me too.” Now she is smiling.

“My flight number is … (I forgot the number)”

I reply “That’s my flight too.”

Now she looks up and takes a deep breath. “Thank you. May I tag along with you?’

I think about how this woman will delay me or slow me down. That is why I always pack lightly, so I can run when I feel like it. I reply “Yes, let me know if you need anything.”

She continues “I am going to Manila then to Bacolod.”

“That is a long flight for you.” I tell her. “Is anyone meeting you?”

“No. I arrive at midnight in Manila and then my flight to Bacolod is at five in the morning.”

At this time I think about living a life of a criminal. At what point does a conman strike at their prey? I shake my head and clear my mental cache.

She continues. “Where are you going?”

“We have the same final destination. I am going to Bacolod.”

This time she gathers her hands in prayer and looks up to the heavens and closes her eyes. “Thank you Lord! You have sent me an angel.”

I am so embarrassed. A while ago I was thinking how I could proceed if I were a criminal and now she is thanking the Lord for sending me as her angel.

“I live in Sugar Land with my daughter. She is a nurse. She works at (the same place I used to work).”

“Ah, I used to work there.”

“Are you a nurse?”

“Yes.”

Okay, this woman is just beside herself now. She thinks she can trust me. She happily tells the next passenger, another elderly woman. They are both happy and giddy and the other woman asks me if she can tag along too. She is taking the same flight to Manila.

I love my solitude when I travel. I have an invisible shield around my personal space, yet somehow someone knocks and I reconsider and take down my shield. I do not speak a lot or even look around. I read and write or read and sleep or read and chew gum or read and chew on something bit by bit so that my right mandible makes constant movements visible through my temple which my children find very annoying.

We land in Minneapolis. The women are fussing at their things, bags, envelopes, purses. My goodness! I can see many opportunities where these women could get robbed or have their purses picked without them knowing a thing. Instead I stand around and watch them fuss at their things rather protective as if by some unknown force I am now acting like a quartermaster or a troop leader. Why do I feel responsible for these women?

They continue to fuss. I finally approach them and gently remind them that they are exposing themselves to opportunities for disaster. They stop and look at me. I am now acting like their travel manager. I instruct them to hold on to their passports, their papers and their purses and get out of the way. They are standing in the middle of the path. Some cultures have a knack for doing this. How many times have I bumped into a horde of Japanese tourists because they will walk and then stop in the middle of the path whenever they please? So I have mastered the art of snaking around Asians at airports. I am only talking about Asians here because that’s where I fly, to Asia, most often through Japan.

As fate would have it, we land from one end of the terminal and the flight to Japan/Manila is at the other end. I ask the women if they need wheelchairs or ride at the terminal cart and they proudly refuse. In the meantime there’s the red bag with five bowling balls. She insisted on carrying it. I told her to please let me carry it or sling it through my wheeled carry-on and she can hold on to the handle. I promised to walk very slowly. She relented.

What normally would have taken me five minutes to walk, took me half an hour plus a stop at the restrooms for twenty minutes. Thank goodness, they layover was two hours. Still, I was very surprised to have exercised patience for these strangers. I helped them board and get situated in their seats for the flight to Japan. They were sitting on the same row. I told them I will check on them to make sure they walk around to prevent circulatory problems. The women thanked me and one of them asked if I was visiting my family. I told them I was and I went to my seat. For five minutes no one sat next to me. Then a Korean woman (she had a Korean passport) with a small baby sat down on the window seat. The baby was fussy and the mother looked agitated. I tried to be unfazed. I wonder if the baby will throw up on me. Oh my God, he better not, I thought to myself.

About fifteen minutes into our flight, a man gently taps me on my left arm and kneels beside. “Excuse me; will you please exchange seats with me? That is my wife and child.” I was starting to get annoyed but I look at the young mother looking agitated and nervous. Not knowing where he was sitting, I replied “Of course.” I went to a row of three seats and there was a woman sitting on the window seat. I sat on the aisle seat next to an empty seat.

And so that was my short-lived career as a travel chaperon. In Manila the elderly woman stayed beside me. In Bacolod, she said goodbye. From a distance, I saw her off as she met her very happy and excited family in Bacolod. She talked to them and then they all looked in my direction. I smiled at them and one of the women clasped her palms in a prayer gesture and bowed her head towards me. I nodded at her.

In the meantime, no one met me. I make a phone call using a rotary phone at the airport.

“Hello! I am here! Hahahahaha!”

“What? You did not tell us when you are arriving. Stay there!”

“I can take a taxi.”

“No! We are picking you up.”

My sister arrives at the airport with her driver. She asks me if I wanted to go home first and freshen up. I told her, no. We went directly to my mother at the hospital. My mother was so happy to see me as I was I to see her. She asked me about my flight.

“Let me tell you about this woman, my goodness! She was carrying a very heavy bag. Now why in the world do families ask their elderly relatives to carry those heavy bags full of chocolates and grapes that they can buy here?”

My mother looked amused as she attentively listened to my story, my hands gesticulating everywhere. Then I told her that I brought a bag of her favorite Hershey’s Kisses. She laughed and told me I could have bought them there. I told her I knew that, but I wanted to carry the chocolates all the way from Texas to her.

I stayed with my mother for two weeks until she died. The last time I went home was for my father’s funeral. Once again I stepped into the threshold of my childhood home; a new orphan.

My mother died twelve years ago.

Esperanza

Esperanza. Pen and ink on 14"x17" Bristol Board. I did this drawing for my younger sister Lynette, who is the youngest in our family. I drew yellow bells, also known as Esperanza which was our mother's name.

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How To Tattoo A Banana

Yesterday was my mother's birthday. She would have been 95.
Happy Birthday, Nanay. I love you and miss you so much!
Thank you for teaching me so many good things!
Thank you.
Tsup!

Banana Plants (Genus Musa) illustrated March - April 2010

When I was a little girl, my mother had a small grocery store. I remember the farmers delivering basket-loads of bananas. I remember sitting on the stairs on the side of the store which led to the second storey of our house. The stairs ended on a balcony. I sat on the top step with bunches of native bananas and munched on them until I was full. I would then throw the peel out into the street in front of our house at passers-by, hoping they would slip. Okay, so I did not say I was a good girl. I was very naughty, in fact. My mother found out about my ape-like antics and made me pick up all the peel and apologize to our neighbor who was hit by a peel as she walked by. We called the bananas "native" because they were grown by farmers who did not supply the giant marketers like Dole and Del Monte but the local merchants. These were the different species of bananas, they were very sweet, small and their skins were easily blemished. They were unlike the Cavendish bananas that were harvested while they were still green and then shipped to the U.S. The bananas we ate were never gassed in ripening rooms. They were organic.

Anyway, this post is about tattooing a banana:

Eventually, the banana gets eaten. My son did not want to take a photo of me holding the banana so I had to take my own goofy photo. :) It is now time to bake banana bread.

The End!

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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).

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