Curlicues

Where I currently live right now has a balcony that lets me see a good part of the city. Down below, I can see people, going about their daily lives, walking up and down the street where I live in, oblivious to the fact that someone was watching over them, while they meandered along their, well, literally little, lives. Ever since Manila had the ordinance that discouraged smoking in public places, I assumed that people would resort to their little balconies such as mine for some “quiet time”, flicking their ashes down, unbeknownst to the little ant-sized denizens of the city.

I know I did. (Or at least, I tried to.) I don’t smoke, but I can. There was one time when I bought myself a 10-stick pack of Marlboro Lights just to see… for the next two weeks, I’d smoke a stick a night, looking for that “calming”/”de-stressing” effect that’s supposedly gotten from smoking… Inhaling the smoke, blowing it out, waiting for that “nicotine high”.

I actually never got any... :-p

To be perfectly honest, all I got was a bitter, nutty taste in the mouth, a painful burning in throat, and to make matters worse, diarrhea. This was actually true, when my friend Antoine took me out for Indian food (and afterwards coffee and smokes) some years ago. I swore it off after that, because it ended up so bad, I had food coming out of both ends of me.

eew.

For the longest time, I’ve equated smoking with pain and loss, it seems. Significant men in my life are smokers, or have been at some point or another.

My father, used to be a heavy smoker, he always claimed that smoking helped him think, and helped him concentrate, especially when he  was making his plans (he’s an engineer). He did it in semi-secret, though. He didn’t want my auntie, his older sister, to know, because it was a sensitive issue and she was always concerned about his health. Well, in my 14 year-old sense of idealism, I decided to tell on him so that he would stop. Well, he got mad, and gave me the cold shoulder for a week, or so (but it seemed much longer for me.).

My grandfather, who I love dearly (and still miss terribly), had emphysema for most of his 70’s to 80’s (he died at 83). He was a “stress’ smoker when he was in his college to middle age, probably from all the stress of raising a brood of eight, and from working many jobs. Well, when he got really sick, we took turns at the ICU. It was painful for me, because I had seen him in pain. He had become reduced to a mere shell of a man in his last days, and whenever his face would contort in pain from all the procedures they did on him, it tore at my heart.

And a boy…who I gave my heart away to, and would probably never see again, he was a smoker too. The curlicues of smoke that gave him an air of enigmatic mystery have been burned in my memory, an ephemeral testament to the pain and hurt that a secret, unrequited love could only sow in a foolish girl’s heart.

There was a time I’d puff on a stick when I was “upset”,  inhaling deeply, to get that feeling of relief, which I never ended up with anyway. Still, the act of inhaling became an act of frustration, something that was done because words would not be able to articulate one’s pain…

-----

 But there’s none of that now.

Smoking has never been pleasurable for me.  Also, my vanity requires that I keep my lips in the same “crimson” color that they are, that my teeth remain unstained and intact, that my skin goes without a wrinkle before its due. Or that my hands not have that sticky smoky smell…

Of course, you’ve been told of the health risks and have seen the problems that it can lead to, but this is just my take on the whole smoking thing for now.

-----------

My father doesn’t smoke anymore, by the way. He’s stopped since last year, ever since he got diagnosed with DM. He is on maintenance meds and is on an absolute health kick, so I couldn’t be happier.

love,

S. 

The big oral exam

The best place to study would be poolside, where I live. There's a good breeze (So not Manila
-like), and the people pretty much do their own thing all the time.

I'm kind of feeling the willies over the oral exam tomorrow. I have the tendency to talk really fast when I'm nervous, and to begin with, I already talk fast to begin with, be it in whatever language or dialect. It's almost, well...manic.

:-p

One time, I had a supervisor who wanted me to tape my interviews with patients, and I found out some surprising things about myself, I.e. I tend to talk (a lot) with my hands, and that I shouldn't wear a dress and that among others, I shouldn't be too, well, perky (because I usually am.haha)

And an important thing to note was that I shouldn't be wearing a skirt with a hemline above my knees, and that pants are better becAuse they make it easier for you to run when you need to. Oh, and that I shouldn't stAy within "grabbing" or "kicking" distance from the patient.

Its funny watching yourself do an interview on video. On can never really be aware of their own little tics until they see it for themselves. Oh, and another useful thing I learned from that was that...the angle from the left suits me better than the other. Haha.

----

it is the first year anniversary of my grandfather's death today, and I've been meaning to write something special about it. I was going to do it the other night but I didn't get to becAuse I was crying. Nd I was tired from work. But mostly, it was because I missed my grandfather so much.

I wasn't with him when he died. I was 2 hours away at the hospital where I worked then, and I had just done my first 24 hour shift when my cousin Chris called to tell me that Lolo was indeed gone. I was just quiet at first, but when it finally sunk in, I had to cry. And not just cried tears, I sobbed like a big kid. But I could not apologize for what I was going through that day, that big loss that I had felt in my heart. My grandfather, the kindest person I had ever known was forever gone, and I had never had anyone close to me die, and leave me like this.

I stayed in the doctors quarters for most of that morning (luckily I didn't have any patients that morning), and just lay motionless, wallowing in the finality of my loss. My friend Ivy called me after I texted her (she lost her dad at an early age, and she understood). I called another friend as well, someone I felt I could talk to about anything then, and he just listened while I talked about what I had felt. He had never met my grandfather, of course, but I felt much much better after I talked to him. I recall that he teased me about it, it almost felt like he was just patronizing me. But in the end, I felt a whole lot better after hearing his voice, I almost felt like I was home.

Losing people we love is never easy...they have become a part of us, in such a way that when they die, it's almost as if a part of your heart was also taken away.

------

I grew up with a lot of love, I suppose. And I have a lot to give. And I'm very thankful for that.

-----

(I miss you, lolo.)


----

Happy Sunday everyone.

Love,

s.

Consultant rounds

This morning, I felt like an intern getting ready for consultant rounds.

The new doctor on board was starting rounds in a few hours... I had to get my act together earlier than planned to make notes and do rounds on the admitted patients of the day.

He was a practicing pediatrician, and had a private practice in one of the nearby towns. Only in his mid-thirties, he had finished his training in one of the busiest hospitals in Cebu and had been practicing privately for about 3 years. He had his own clinic at his house, and told me that he had gotten medical equipment from Bambang in Manila, because it was cheaper there.

He looked younger than his real age, probably because of a young countenance, and his choice of work clothes of jeans, sturdy Skechers and a polo shirt. He completed the look with a pediatric stethoscope with fuzzy animals as trimmings. I was taller than he was, and i was wearing a pencil skirt and sandals, so i presumed I looked older.

But that doesn't matter, I was looking forward to doing rounds with the new doctor. A bit nervous to begin with, because I knew that he had had training (and was probably used to terrorizing juniors) and that with him on board, I was going to have to be on my toes more often. Still, I welcomed the opportunity to learn. It was so refreshing, really. After months and months of working in the set-up that I did, I was hungry for something new... someone to discuss cases with, someone to learn from.

With my notes in hand, we went around with rounds, and he gave me some pointers on this, pearls on that, and anecdotes on similar cases that he had had. Admittedly, I thought I was going to "tiptoe" around him, like I would my seniors and mentors, but it was good, actually. The morning rounds made me miss going back to school, and learning. As much as my job is as comfortable as it can get, I feel that at this point in my career, I need to learn all I can.

(Even if it hurts. the knees. and breaks the heart. occasionally.)

----

Interviews in a few days. *sigh* Here we go again. :-)

To be perfectly honest, I have a lot of things on my mind...about training and life besides. I don't even know where to start to talk about it. Which is totally uncharacteristic, because I do love to talk about things, and write about things. But now, I'm in state of being dazed and confused. And I can't even put my finger as to why. Perhaps all the things happening lately...the feeling of wanting to be good enough...the anxiety of the interviews...wondering whether you've made the right choice....wondering if you've made a mistake... the dread of not being chosen...

I'm not perfect, ok? But i'm willing to work on getting to be as good as i can. 

The list is seemingly endless.

I miss Lolo. really. He always knew the right things to say to me...

--------

Deep blue funk, begone. I don't really need you, right now.

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.)

------

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

-------------

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.)

------

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.

:-)
--------
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.