The affair

"Peter Pauper."

What a funny name for a press…but that's what it says right there. "Peter Pauper Press, Fine gifts since 1928."

Peter Pauper press designed my new journal, with a design called "Sparkly Garden Journal", with its "fun, fresh, floral design and softly lined pages invite you to pen your wishes, whimsies, dreams and plans"… Aside from the cutesy floral cover with the gold and sparkles, I liked that it had "160 lined pages, an elastic band place holder, acid-free/archival paper, a binding that lies flat for ease of use and an inside back cover pocket"…which was my favorite shade of pink.

Je t'adore! J

I wanted to get a Moleskine, but it's price was a little steep for now, and I wanted to be "whimsy", and not at all like Poppa Hemingway (who, according to the jacket cover used Moleskines for his work). Anyway, I'm happy with what I bought…including the Psychiatry book which I read on the boat ride home (it was an overnight trip), for some parts of the ride anyway.

The other day, my cousin Chris told me that they'd be leaving for Cebu, to see a boat launch at my cousin Lemuel's shipyard in Cebu, as well as to visit my little cousin Nate, and see the Cascades and the Lettermen. I only had a day free before I was going on duty at the hospital, I figured, after a couple of minutes of thinking, that I need to go, 'cause I never seen a boat launch before.

So I went. And now, I'm here, riding a boat home, all by myself because I still had work tomorrow. J

Writing in my journal in the "tourist" cabin of the boat made me feel like blogging. I was sitting on the top bunk, sipping coffee from out of a paper cup, writing into the new journal. I had paused intermittently to get instant noodles ('cause I didn't get to buy any dinner), to make a few phone calls, read from the Psychiatry book, and just plain think. Also, I didn't want to seem too dorky, AND my leg kept falling asleep from being folded and put under my backpack so I could use it as a makeshift table.

Anyhow… it wasn't too full. Just a few families, some couples, some mommies with kids, and not many traveling singles.

There was a family of five, three siblings and their mother and father. They each had their own thing going. When they got settled, the dad took out papers and started checking them. The mom made sure everyone had their thing together and the siblings (they were my age) lined up along the walls (near the portholes, which probably had some cell signal) and promptly did their own thing.

The eldest girl took out her blackberry and was typing into it…(blogging, perhaps? :-p), the other girl took out a Max Lucado and started reading, and the older boy looked at the pictures in his SLR. They were nice, joked with each other occasionally. One of the girls asked me at the ticket place if this was where people bought tickets for the Dumaguete boat. I nodded my head, smiled, as if I was an old pro with the Cebu crossing. (It was my first time, of course, but it wasn't a big deal.) And the other girl watched my bag while I went upstairs to get noodles.

There was a guy (with his wife/girlfriend) who looked an awful lot like my ex, but taller-ish, skinnier, darker, chubby-ish with a half-baked goatee even. :-p Honestly speaking, had this happened a year ago, I would've turned my head to get a second look, but now, it really doesn't bother me anymore (and I say this without a trace of hurt or bitterness. Lol).

Anyway, after I bought the chicken noodle dinner, which cost about 3 times the amount it would usually cost on dry land, I had to look around for a place to eat it. The boat didn't have any tables or chairs, just bunk beds. I had to settle for a bunk bed near the window…where there was a bit of a sea breeze going. There was a crew member who was texting away, the only other soul I had for company. I had to eat the noodles standing up, with a flimsy little fork.

Never mind that it was a high-salt, high-calorie, preservative-laden meal, it was better than nothing… maybe better than eating piaya with water.

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Trip Pictures

Basilica Minore del Sto. Nino. Usually, a lot of people would be lining up to get to the image of the Sto. Nino of Cebu, but since we went to mass early in the morning, there wasn't that many people yet, and it was still pretty empty.

The Sto. Nino del Cebu. Many people make a pilgrimage, and this is a must-visit place, when you're in Cebu. Especially if you're Catholic.

The Intentional Tourist. Ok, even though I've been here many times before, this was the first time I've ever had my picture taken at the Basilica entrance. After-church pic, at the façade. :-p

The funny story in the morning paper. The taxi driver had a tabloid lying around, which I borrowed. Check this out….sometimes, I think they run out of things to talk about that they don't bother checking the info. Eclemsia. Bring it on. Lol.

Fog-driving. To get to the Tsuneishi shipyard where my cousin worked, we had to cross over a mountain to get to Balamban (the site of the boat launch). At some points, we passed through foggy areas…which were cold and chilly, and pretty cool. Our ears popped too, because of the high altitude.

View from the Bus taking us to the site. They normally didn't let outsiders into the shipyard, it was just on certain occasions that they let people into the grounds. There was a hodge-podge of people there…construction workers, engineers, Japanese bigwigs…and families all milling around to see the boat off.

Trust me, it was a huge boat.

I totally liked how everyone was all watching in seeming awe at the ship. The construction worker I asked said that this was one of the rare times they got to see the fruit of 2-3 month labor.

That's my littlest cousin Nate, with my cousin Lemuel. Engineers wear these orange hats, he said.

Tugboats ease it out, at first…

It was actually quite massive. The little tugboat looks so…little next to it.

It was quite cool actually. Three cheers for the dudes who built it!

The Wishes

It's funny how many memories one can have tucked away in sheets of paper and snapshots tucked away in long-forgotten boxes and luggage...(I'm currently making my medical textbooks "more accessible" by placing them in the new bookshelf my father designed for me. It is a hulking behemoth, no doubt. Yet, I don't think it'll  be enough for all my books. I have a lot. 3/4 of which I got from medical school.)

 I found some pictures, journal drafts (and other journals from med school) and a bunch of letters... it was quite enjoyable sifting through my "junk" as Pops would call it... treasures galore.

  

Speaking of Medical school, here's a snapshot of me and my friends, one afternoon in August  (it was my birthday, and we had a bit of an "eating party" <--that's what we actually called it.)  This was my second year in medical school, and our first year in that beloved apartment on  D.B. Ledesma St.). I think I just turned 24 in this one.  This was in better times, when we were  still relatively "less-stressed". (I miss them.)

Clockwise from Left: Chappie, Audrey (Aui), Pettie (Chules), Marizel (Epal!), Myself, Aileen, Karen (Tita K) and Leida. August 13, 2005.

And this one's a polaroid of when we were kids...I think I was 5 then. This was the afternoon the playhouse made of Nipa for the roof and woven bamboo walls was delivered to the house 

(my father designed one, and had a carpenter make it)...or was it when my Aussie and Canadian cousins were in town for a visit? :-) Anyway, this held a lot of memories, this playhouse, we even slept on it during some lazy afternoons in the summer.  I think it got damaged during one of the major typhoons of my childhood (although Dumaguete rarely has any).

My cousins, brother and myself, with the Playhouse. 1987.

Oh, and I found another picture of my grandfather, pulling a goofy face. This was during one birthday get-together...where the trend was to wear red so that we could look good in pictures (and besides, red is for good fortune, right?). My lolo loved to laugh and tease...and this just shows it. :-p

Lola and Lolo, Lolo's birthday. February 2006(?)

And then there was a nice surprise...in my planner during freshman year of med school, I found a letter from a guy friend who used to write me letters. He had clean, pretty handwriting, a little small, but very legible. It was a simple, and straightforward friendly letter, wishing me well. 

When I received it years ago, I felt that it was just an exchange between two people who were meant to be just friends. Maybe I was immature then, and maybe I did not like to think that in exchanging letters people were obliged to fall in love, that it could not be love, but just a transient feeling of tenderness, because of the seeming exchange of gentleness on paper.

Perhaps...there was something wrong with me, but he did summarize it for me, when he said, "We can't choose who we love." He was always just going to be a friend, and if I wasn't going to fall in love with him, then it wasn't his fault. He was a capital guy, and still is.

Anyway, that's being too dramatic now...my point in starting all this was that we find things that remind us of moments we have had in the past that helped make us who were were now. :-) So, here were some lines from his letter which I liked, which I would like to share here. (I didn't ask for permission, because, as another friend of mine said (and I'm paraphrasing), Letters, once given, become the property of the recipient. 

Or something to that effect. :-)

" For my parting words, I leave you these...I wish you happiness that you could only read from books. Happiness that would make you all giddy and fuzzy inside. Too happy that you'd hate yourself (in a good way of course)... I wish for you to finish your studies and be the doctor you want to be. 

 I wish that you'd wake up everyday with a smile on your face, know that you are in your path and you are doing your purpose. I wish that people around you would see how special you are, how great you are... I wish you wisdom and strength, patience to go through life.

 Finally, I wish you love...Someone to sweep you off your feet. Someone to take care of you. Someone deserving, kind-hearted, a good soul. Someone relentless, tenacious, in good cardiovascular condition (don't smile).

 In short, somebody who'd be your Prince Charming in Nikes..."

Ok, so maybe the last line was just for comic relief. :-) It was a joke, me liking guys who had nice shoes. It was just a quirk, by the way, for a while, I had a thing for guys and their footwear.

There was a period in my life, when I was so into writing letters (and getting them). I wrote not just to talk about things, but to know about things. My best friend, who was studying Korea at the time, as well as Mother Gay, one of my closest friends were my regular correspondents.

 There was just something comforting and soothing about scratching lines out on paper about it, I suppose. I like white paper and my Parker fountain pen for writing, for instance. It makes me feel like Jane Austen...and makes me think of writing for posterity. :-p

It was like, well, blogging… in that it was personal, and that your were anticipating a feedback, the only difference was that it was a long drawn-out process. You had to wait for days, weeks…or even months for the Philippine Post to get you your mail. J 

 I haven’t written a letter in a long time, by the way. The last I wrote was an eight-page letter to someone (but it wasn’t a love letter or anything scary like that), but all the same, I have no idea what became of it. I don’t know what became of it. I didn’t put a return address. :-p Because it was a semi-secret thing, I really can’t expect anything to come out of that endeavor, now, can I?

(By this time, the dog had probably eaten it. Which is sad, 'cause it was honest and simple, and probably the only one of it's kind for a very long time.)

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Thank You for that letter, Bo. I hope you’ll find your happiness too. This thank you is long overdue. :-p

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Have a nice day, everyone. I best be taking my leave. I got work tomorrow. Here’s to you uncovering and rediscovering your memories in your boxes at home. J

~ S.

  

The biggest heartbreak

I have an hour to "steep" in before the billing office opens...

It's too short a time to read "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" and really enjoy, and it is too long a time to just watch TV.

The best choice to spend it? Why, blogging, of course.

How have all of you been? Me, I've seen better days, but life is like that, it's a series of ups and downs and happy moments and sad...a collection of moments that paint us a picture of our human experiences.

Lola and Lolo, out on the porch with their Sunnies. January(?) 2010.

Thanks for all your heartwarming messages, I was really touched. I suppose I've gotten over the hurt of losing my grandfather, but I will sorely miss him. There is a pang of sadness everytime I think about him, but I've consoled myself with the fact that he was old, and emphysema was giving him a hard time, and after all that pain he had to go through, it was time for a much-needed rest.

The emptiness and loneliness haven't sunk in, yet, as the family house is still filled with people coming in and out, visitors that stay for a while to share pleasantries and reminisce over coffee, and the family gets together for dinner every once in a while.

My cousins and I have come to the surreal state of thinking that it seems that Lolo is just sleeping somewhere, and that things will go on, like he was still there, that reassuring presence that everything was going to be fine. My littlest cousin Nate believes that Lolo will one day come back in a space ship. He goes to mass in the afternoons with my Mommy Tit and asks her to pray that Lolo will come back.

We are all coping, I suppose.

I have no idea where Lolo would be, and I have no firm belief in spirits wandering around, looking over their loved ones, but sometimes I like to think that his memory and his love will be like a reassuring presence, a force you can "call on" when you need it. (Now my eyes are misting over, without my meaning to.) I suppose this little hollowness that I feel will be filled eventually as I grow older...or if it doesnt, it becomes a permanent part.

For the most part, I feel very lucky to have had the coolest grandfather any little girl could ask for until I got to my ripe old age of 28. In my eulogy, I said that there were only two things that could really break my heart, and those were funerals and goodbyes. At that afternoon's funeral, as we celebrated my Lolo's life, I mused to the audience that this was probably the biggest heartbreak of all, because it was the funeral of my one and only, coolest lolo, and it was also a last and final goodbye.

Speaking of heartbreaks, my grandfather was there for me during a recent one. I was a bit younger back then, and just sitting out quietly on the porch with him one afternoon, I decided to tell him about how it was like to be hurt and disappointed and angry it was over things that go wrong. He just listened quietly, my Lolo was like that. Always calm, reassuring, and never judgemental. He'd never scold, and my gosh, he was always effective anyway. He always knew what to say, and his words of advice were always effective.

"It is ok," he said, and he told me that things like these did happen, and that someday, I was going to be happy again. (He was right.)

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My grandfather was a great person to talk to about different stuff. He always came up with great advice. School decisions, financial advice, relationship advice, you name it. One time, when I was watching him in the ICU, I brought my laptop along and told him stories, showed him pictures, and gushed about so-and-so...I think he was entertained by my antics and anecdotes because he'd smile and laugh along too. :-p

I don't remember exact quotes, and i can't say anything verbatim, but all I know is that he was a good person. He thought the world of his family (8 children, and 14 grandkids in all) and was always concerned about integrity and doing things the right way. He was a religious and spiritual man, but he never imposed that we strictly follow tradition. Yet, we'd always find ourselves being together for the holidays, and even participating in the long walk of the Via Crucis when Holy Week came around (it was a long walk).

Some of my cousins and me, for Christmas. December 2010. (The big tarp at the back is the family collage my cousin Chris had made.)

My cousin Lemuel remembers fondly how, when he brought his girlfriend Pat to meet Lolo for the first time, he was in his hospital bed, and with a twinkle in his eyes, he asked, "So, do you two have an understanding, already?" (He wanted to meet her, and promptly called her to his room). Val, doesnt always come to visit because of her condition, but Lolo is always concerned about her. My brother Dondon is normally reserved, but he and lolo always have long conversations (he was good with people)...Laurie is away in the US, but Lolo always sends his concern for her...Christo, was always around for Lolo, he was the designated driver...Russell got the first ever scolding, because one afternoon when we were kids, he took a slingshot and shot one of Lolo's chickens (that was the only time he ever raised his voice at us, the rest of the time, we were spoiled. No belts, no yelling. ever.)

Ginggay remembers him to be a warm person who was always entertained by her stories about Mindanao, which she told with gusto (at 6 years old, considering she's never been there).Ruville, one time had a one-line role in a school presentation. My Lolo travelled a considerable distance by bus just to see her perform, in her itty bitty kindergarten dress, "F is for Fresh Flowers..."He was proud of us, like that. Angerae, a nursing student right now, went to lolo for advice, career and otherwise, and she said that he always was right. She also remembered that he loved to laugh, and would even play practical jokes.

 Angel's favorite memory of him was that in the afternoons, he'd ride his bicycle, his straw hat on his head, his scythe with the wooden scabbard would be at his side, tied to his waist with a bit of rope, or that he'd be pulling the carabao/cow along (he had some when we were younger), Jesse Rex, would house-sit whenever Lolo was away for check-ups, always the good boy, Miguel would entertain Lolo with his antics, and Nate, well, he probably spent the most time with Lolo.

Lola and Lolo and Nate. January (?) 2010.

They were close, and even without saying much to each other, he and Lolo were like best buddies. He was very affectionate with Lolo, was very thoughtful, and would just come up and stroke Lolo's beard and say, I love you Lolo, or "I miss you Lolo", in the loving and innocent way a child shows his affection. Lolo would brighten up whenever he saw him come home from Cebu or even when he was smuggled in the ICU when Lola was still admitted.  Although he was the youngest (at 4), he was never wanting for a grandfather's love.

:-)
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It was an hour well-spent, I suppose. I'll always miss my grandfather, I suppose, but it sure does help to be able to talk about it to people who care. It's a good way to cope and adjust, my easiest way how.


Thank you.
:-)

at the cemetery, July 17,2010.

Piece of Me (July)

I Like: that there will be changes happening in the next few months...it'll be a time for regrowth, discovery, and maybe even new trepidations. I look at it from the point of view of someone who has not much to lose...and a whole lot to gain.

I like silence, and the fact that it helps people think. Songs playing in the background brings memories and distracts people from finishing their tasks.

I like that my cousin put up her router here in the living room, so while we do the vigil, we can still write about things...well, at least for me, anyway. I'm blogging again, after a long hiatus. So many things have happened in the past two weeks, I just didn't have the time to just sit down and say what I feel.

I was working on the 10th of July, at the hospital when my cousin Chris called me up on the phone to tell me (in such a serious tone) that Lolo had indeed died a few minutes before. It was six in the morning, and upon checking the phone, I somehow realized that maybe it was going to be bad news. When I left last Friday, he was  in the ICU and weaker, but I thought he was still going to be around when I got home from work.

The last time I saw my grandfather, it was 8 in the morning, and I was telling him that I had to go early 'cause I had to catch the bus to work...he smiled and waved goodbye. "I'll see you Sunday, ok?" I said while leaving.

It turns out, that was the last time I'd ever see him alive. Chris told me that he had died quietly, no fuss, no rough CPR. It was just as well...

I lost a patient that morning too...and I cried for both. I couldn't help it. It was an intense sadness, a profound loss that I could understand was crippling if i didn't deal with it. Talking it out with a friend helped. I didn't need to be comforted, it was more of a feeling to share, a need to sort out how i felt...and to remember my grandfather. I didn't have any family around that time (work does that)...the tears would come later.

(I liked having that friend around, even if it was an incidental thing.)

I don't like: Having to say goodbye.

I want you to know: That I might need to take a tab of Valium in a few hours to stay calm (and keep some handy for Lola.)

I plan: to sing my solo as best as my emotions would allow.

I want to say to someone special: Life just won't be the same without you, Lolo. We'll miss you.

"Losing Face"

Experiments are always best done in controlled environments…

Like getting drunk, for example.

:-p 

For my nephew Mikoy’s going-away party (he’s 22, and going back home to Adelaide), there was a family get-together, and one of my nephews (not a kid anymore, definitely), Myles, suggested that we get some drinks. My pop and uncles were drinking Red Horse and Emperador brandy, and we didn’t want that. Mixed drinks and Tequila were suggested. I was cool with that, and even though I was a 1 or 2 beers kind of girl, I was open to idea of drinking other things.

(And besides, is there any other environment as “controlled” as a family party? I thought so, too. LOL)

So we went out to get them, Lala and Popoi did the picking, I got the food. (They did the mixing too when we got back to the house.) We went for a drive around the city before we got home, and we saw that it was a “full” night, everyone was out doing something.

It was all ok at first, we were just talking and eating and catching up. And then there were more and more shots, and the mixed drink started to taste like juice. (And I drank it like juice... i.e., “More juice please!”). I just sat there, and I was just quiet and smiling. I remember my cousin Yakee jokingly saying, “It’s not a good idea to get Fannie drunk…she’s not fun anymore.”

Actually, I was quiet because I was taking note of the whole “dissociative” experience…it was a nice, calming buzz at first (the initial chest constriction which I always expect when I first drink, which I likened to using a bra that was too tight, had come and gone), and then things started to get more “fun”. Or loose, actually. Jokes were funnier. The “juice” was tastier. The breeze was cooler. My eyes were more loose  in their sockets (it was fun to roll them around every few minutes. My muscles felt weak and tingly. And I kept thinking that smiling was easy and yet I was starting to lose feeling in my face.

I think I was still pretty sensible. They tried to grill me a bit about “boyfriend” matters, but I just kept mum, no long-winded speeches on loves and heartbreaks and all that hullaballoo. “Nothing to tell yet,” I said, and turned to Myles (who has a girlfriend) and passed the pressure. :-p They told me to drink water and pee. But I didn’t feel like doing any of those, so I didn’t.

When it was time to go home, my pop, seeing that I was [slightly] hammered, asked me if I could still make it to the car. “Why did you have to drink that much?” he asked (I didn’t get to see his face, I remember I was looking at the ground I was walking on). “It’s cool, pop, I’m ok.” And I walked to the car (straight, I hope) and plopped in the back, and slept until I got home.

“Can you walk?” my father asked when we got home.

“Sure Pop, I’m fine.” And I did walk out the car and upstairs to my room where I changed and then got in bed. I probably wasn’t that drunk yet, because I can still remember thinking about being dizzy and my face being numb.

I did call someone, and said something like, “I can’t feel my face.” I forgot what else that other person said, but it was something about drinking water.

I just wanted to lie in bed and sleep. I remembered thinking, “How can people be more fun, much less have sex in this state?” before I dozed off. Haha.

And then it was morning.

LOL.

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I don't think I've ever gotten so drunk to the point of vomiting, even at my “ripe old age.” I almost wish that I had a party girl phase where I’d get hammered at night and wake up in the morning with a major hangover, just so I can write about the experience. :-p

The best I could do was just get “woozy”, and then I’d stop...and that would be at the second or third bottle, if I ever did. It was more fun getting a laugh watching your friends “have fun”.  (I’m not writing defensively because there is a slight chance that my mother might wander online and read this, and would probably overreact and think I was a wanton drunk at the mention of me drinking beer, but I am writing it like it is because it’s the truth.)

(Uptight, much?)

I didn’t get to the point of vomiting ‘cause by the time I was supposed to, I couldn’t even stand up and retch.

(This is probably one of those cases where it is on the pathetic side to be able to say that you had kept all your mental and cognitive faculties intact while everyone else didn’t... and you’ll only find out about it now. haha)

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Also,  it gives me a 70/50 mm Hg reading.

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Ok, this was embarrassing. :-p

~ S.

Now

i don't like death.

or thinking about it.

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My father sat me down earlier, and told me how it was like when he was taking care of my grandmother before she died. He probably didn't mean it intentionally to address my present confusion, but it was good. Death for everyone is an inevitability, I know, but still I feel that I don't know what to do about it. I've seen death many many times, but I'm afraid I won't know what to do if it happened to somebody I loved.

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I finished "The Hurt Locker".

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Which makes me ask, why do we do the things we do? Why do we love the things we love?

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Homoioteleuton...

...doesn't explain the cardiac pitter patter i get when I talk to someone I like. It just defines it, though.

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