COMING UP!!!

Oh, Motherhood!

It is the most rewarding, yet difficult job of all. This morning I had but a moment of warmth and joy. I have it each time I wake my youngest (my older boy is already up and reading when I come out of my room) and I see him asleep, one of two angels somehow entrusted to me in this life. I slide into his bed, appreciating the warmth and enjoying the sleep-smell of him. It's heaven. Then he raises his hand to cradle my chin or grasp at any part of me in greeting, before he draws me into a hug and a kiss. This little ritual is a thing of joy and I wish motherhood were all about that.

But it isn't. About a half hour later everything changed. As I told them about dinner with the family tonight in Alabang, the little one's face clouded. "But I have violin lessons! I want to come home first." But there was no time for that. He withdrew and was cold and we had breakfast in this atmosphere of emotional sludge, which then drove me to not only eat a croissant (I've been off bread for some time), but to dunk it violently and repeatedly into a demitasse of rich Valhrona chocolate.

I have been struggling with an increasingly hectic schedule for them. They have Kung Fu lessons after school, which they love, but twice a week was feeling a bit much, because there are violin and flute lessons for the younger one, and now there are violin and extra lessons for the older one, who is preparing for high school entrance exams. Take away Kung Fu then. No, they protested. Okay, two hours Monday and no more Wednesday. We thought that was a good compromise but they came home too exhausted and announced "Two hours on Monday is too much because we also had P.E. today and it was really tiring." So they woke up tired and grumpy this morning.

So, now we're calibrating again to find a balance somewhere, but something has to give. This morning was a give moment and I expect more of it until we find the right mix of rest, activity and recreation, a healthy breathing in and breathing out.

In the meantime, I am hurled back and churned out constantly by the emotions that accompany life changes and difficulties, and I have to remind myself that the croissant and chocolate help nothing, least of all my middle-aged thighs.



PHOTO

Writing and Technology

I don't know about you, but I feel like years of working on a computer--and I use the term loosely--seems to have rewired my brain.

I used to be more creative. I read the articles I used to write and get somewhat depressed at the quality of the pieces I churn out today. My pieces were so much more pictorial before.

Technology changed that. I'm seeing image upon image all day and I guess I am just not creating them internally or as vividly as I used to, back when I wasn't spending so much time online.

It's not just that. The mistakes I make today I never used to make before. I think of a word, keep typing, and then freak out to see that I typed something else all together. I was better at thinking, writing and creating before the internet. I was also more precise. Today, words elude me. Yes, okay, part of it is age, but I suspect that online time has dulled my creative brain cells.

I've tried writing longhand again (even the quality of my penmanship has suffered from lack of practice), but the world moves so quickly online that I feel the process just delays everything. Today, I skip issues I would have written about before, just because I'm not that quick a thinker and the younger writers are just more adept at thinking, writing, and pressing the send or publish button. I just can't keep up.

So, I think I'll just make an effort to journal more, by hand, try to spend less time online (that's getting harder and harder to do, yes?), and just do more things away from the computer. We really need to make an effort to live more, don't we?

Rizal at 150

This year,  I thought it was time to make an effort towards connecting my children with their history and their lineage. When I use the word "lineage" I don't mean it in a haughty, blue-blooded (yeah, right) way.  I believe that to be judged by blood is a thing of the past and today, what truly counts is a life measured by deeds.  Having said that, I also don't think it's right to ignore one's heritage, the way I tried to, because I just felt that if people found out I was a Rizal descendant, I would simply fade away in comparison. 

Maria Rizal

We are descended from Maria Rizal.  Her son, Moris, was the father of our beloved grandmother,  Fe Arguelles Cruz, whom we fondly called Lola Ba (short for Lola Taba, I kid you not), which later morphed to Mamoo.  Moris was nephew and student to Rizal.  For the longest time, Mamoo kept a letter of Rizal's to Maria, telling her of her's son's progress during a summer spent with him in Dapitan. Every so often she would show us this letter and tell us other stories that were passed on by her grandmother and father. (translation here) The letter has since been donated to the Ateneo.

This letter was the only true connection I ever felt I had with Jose Rizal, whom Mamoo referred to as either Lolo Jose or Lolo Rizal.  I can count on one hand just how many Rizal family reunions I have attended, but now that I have my own children,  I feel it's time to hear the stories again and inspire them to find the Rizal in them, as every Filipino should.

This year, I brought my youngest son, Jose Andres (yes, named after both heroes because I thought it was a good way to put all the discussions to rest), to two events: the visit of President Aquino to the Rizal shrine at his residence in Calamba and then the family celebration at Fort Santiago at night. It was a full day!

We started our day early, as the invitation specifically said the President would arrive at 8 a.m.  We were there well before and were very happy when the President arrived ahead of time as well.

President Aquino arrives at the shrine

Raising the flag

Laying of the wreath.

President Aquino does a brief round of handshakes with the family.

The ceremony at the Rizal Shrine was short, sweet and well-organized. When we got to the second floor of the house, my mother immediately took my son to the window and told him to pay attention, because on the 200th year celebration, it would probably be his turn to participate in the program.  At that moment I felt my task as a mother was done.

It's enough for my son to get a glimpse of what it means to be descended from the Rizal clan. It does not bring a sense of entitlement or superiority (heaven forbid), but a sense of responsibility to make sure that there is continuity in the family. Last night an aunt said that it was time for the Catholic Church to apologize for its transgressions against Rizal and the people of Calamba who were evicted from their homes during his time.  Another relative spoke about the work that needs to be done do document all the writings and work of Rizal, making sure that everything is in place, well-preserved and cared for. And who painted the house green? ;p Different family members had their own ideas of what project they might take on. 

It is not for me to say how my children will choose to participate in this part of their heritage. It is enough for me to make the connection.  What is important is they know it is there as just one part of who they are, but the rest of the work, of laying down deeds as their life's work, that is all up to them and no amount of blood ties will matter then.  In the end, it is what we do with our lives that makes us who we are. Everyone has Rizal in them. Everyone.

I loved being able to share this moment with my son on this day in history.

I am happy to be connecting with Rizal as an adult again. I have been living with so many questions about who I am as a Filipino, and what my deeds this far in my life have amounted to. His 150th year has roused me from inner lethargy. I hope this time the journey is more lasting.

Words

We don't often think of the true meaning of words. We tend to use them casually, without a thought as to what they truly mean. Worse, we adapt someone else's definition or idea of it and leave it at that, no questions asked.

I have a friend who was always told (by her husband) that she had no compassion and that she was cold.  She asked a therapist or two if that's what they thought and they looked at her and said she was quite the opposite. Her husband, who considered himself King of Compassion(that he uttered these words to her speaks volumes), equated compassion with gushing, tears and dramatic emotional displays.  Well, that was not her forte.  But it didn't mean that she wasn't a deeply feeling and compassionate person. I like to point out that it was her compassion that made her stay in a marriage that was full of lies. She just kept trying to understand her husband, give him space and time to heal his wounds and change on his own. If she were not compassionate, she would not have been able to stay as long as she did.

How many words do we spout, carry and use inappropriately?  How many have mislabelled and wounded others? Your idea of what a word means isn't always what it is. Your perception does not make a word, so be mindful when you speak.

Words create worlds, but they can also be weapons that degrade the human soul.

Bohol Files 4: The Forest

On our way to the Chocolate Hills, we passed a beautiful stretch of road.  It was lush forest on either side. Aaaaaahhhhhhh....just lovely! I commented on it and our driver said the forest was man made! Whoa!

I realized I was of the thought that man damages the environment.  I had never seen such a positive expression of man's contribution to it. This was awesome. If I remember correctly, our guide said the trees were planted some time in the Eighties.

This is what we noticed about Bohol, in general. People tend to live with an awareness of going with nature rather than against it. Of course there are pockets that show otherwise, but for the most part, there is a good healthy blend of man and nature.

What a hopeful stretch of road.

It's How We Roll

I watched a rather silly film called "Hall Pass" recently. It's about two mid-lifing men who get a hall pass from their wives: a week off from their marriages to get everything out of their systems. The men are total flops and are proven to be total losers in the dating game. The women inadvertently do better. This made me think of how different male and female sexuality truly are.

I read before that women's orgasms really happen in the brain, but I have to say it's not really the brain. It sounds so terribly corny, but for a woman it starts in the soul.  So, if you're inattentive, spacing out, not listening, being a flake, not holding your own, don't expect us to want sex. It just doesn't happen that way. Women are turned on by engagement. When we are seen, heard, spoken to, appreciated, heart to heart and soul to soul authentically by our faithful lovers, that is the hottest thing.

Perhaps I speak for myself, but rippled abs don't do it for me.  In fact, men who spend too much time trying to do the macho turn me off.  Men who are engaged in life and truth, who have integrity, are gentle and kind and are not led by their hormones and emotions, are not dazzled and dazed by superficiality, who find beauty where others can't--these are the qualities that turn a woman on, so much more than muscles or wealth.

For a woman, the way to sexual intimacy is an all-terrain ride. Sorry, but that's just the way it is. For men, the close proximity of flesh is all it takes. For us, it goes further back. Are you present when we're together? Do you see me? Hear me? Are you interested in what I'm saying or are you nodding off absently? Every meeting and coming together is a building block towards better sex. We need for the invisible connections to be vivid, strong and present, and then we want to take it to the next level. But if all we see is disinterest or physical need and nothing more, a good read might be more enticing.

And that is just the way it is for us, especially as we grow older and come into our own. Sexual intimacy happens way outside the bedroom first. Every encounter with our partner throughout the day, in every way, will determine our enthusiasm and desire for more later on.

Yup. That's just how we roll.