Kontrapelo

Lunes. Tatahakin ko na naman ang kahabaan ng Aguinaldo Highway patungo sa aking opisina sa QC. Tinangka ko na agahan ngunit tulad ng dati ako ay nabigo. Alam ko na dadatnan ko ang mahaba at nakaiinip na trapik sa Imus, Cavite kaya't ako ay naghanda. Nagdala ako ng mababasang libro at ang aking munting iPod. Swerte naman at ang nasakyan kong bus ay may TV na nagpapalabas ng mga pelikula.

Ngunit hindi ako naging handa na makatabi ang isang babae na di mapakali. Sumakay siya sa may Dasmarinas bitbit ang isang bag at columnar notebook. Sandali pa lang nahihinto ang bus dahil sa trapik ay eto na maririnig mo sa kanya, "Tsk, tsk!" sabay halimukos ng mukha. Pag medyo nagsawa na siya kauulit niyan, papalitan niya ng "Ano ba yan!" o kaya "Hay naku!" Yan at yan ang tatlong pangungusap na kanyang pinagsasalit-salit sa buong tatlumpung minutong usad pagong sa pagtahak namin sa daan. Halos magkapalit-palit na ang parte ng kanyang mukha kahahalimukos.

Siguro nga at may mahalaga siyang pakay sa Maynila na kailangan niyang makarating agad. Pero, Lunes eh. Kumbaga, pangkaraniwan na kung babagal-bagal ka sa pag-alis mula Cavite, ay tiyak tatanghaliin ka ng dating sa iyong patutunguhan.

Nang di ko na makayanan ang kanyang mga komento at sa kanyang nakatutulig na mga palatak, ay minabuti ko nang makinig na lang kay Nina sa aking iPod. Ngunit, sa ibang paraan naman niya pinakita ang kanyang pagkabalisa, kanya namang paulit-ulit na kinalampag ang sahig ng bus sa pamamagitan ng kanyang paa. Isang padyak ang pinakawalan ko sa sahig para pigilan siya. Konti na lang at malapit ko nang pagsabihan ang babaeng ito. Kapansin-pansin rin pagtaas ng mga kilay ng aming mga katabi tuwing nagpapasaring siya.

Tama ang kasabihan na, di mo gamay ang mga sitwasyon sa iyong buhay, pero kung paano ang iyong reaksyon sa mga bagay-bagay ay maaari mong kontrolin.

Kung tutuusin, maswerte kami dahil nakasakay kami sa aircon na bus, nakaupo, komportable at may TV na nagpapaaliw. Dahil kung lilingon lamang ang babaeng ito sa labas ng bintana, mapapansin niya ang pagkahaba-habang pila ng mga tao na nag-aabang ng masasakyan sa ilalim ng init ng araw.

Samakatuwid, ang aral mula sa kwento ay hindi gumising ng maaga para di mahuli at matrapik, kundi, ang magdala ng iPod pangontra sa mga nega na mga taong alikabok mag-isip. Nakasisira ng umaga ng mga taong tulad kong naghahabol sa daan! Ang aga-aga! Tsk…tsk…

Just the Way You Did

It was the 19th and I was a day late for a visit. Maynard and I were discussing, as we walked to your new home, about death and how I wanted to be cremated. And he said to me, “Okay but will then bury your ashes in the ground.” I laughed.

I wondered why our culture still holds this practice. Why put a mark on the ground for the dead? The dead is here no more. Why spend so much money for a small piece of lot? Pay a caretaker to keep the plot green and weed-free? What good does it do?

These questions were gnawing in my mind as we finally reached your grave. A wave of sadness came over me as I put down the mums over your gravestone. I tried to light the candles but the wind was just too strong on the hill where we buried you a year ago. Heartbreaking scenes before your passing rushed through me. The earlier questions that troubled me were gone and were replaced by a far difficult question to answer… “Was there anything we could have done, I could have done to change the outcome of events?” I will never know.

When visiting the house I grew up in, I still half-expect you’ll be opening the gate once I buzz. Or you’d be busy preparing a meal for me. I need not say I want anything to eat. You knew what I needed. It came from knowing me --- all 28 years of it. Even to your last dying breath, you knew I needed you to be with me for my birthday. And so you waited before finally giving in.

I still find myself waiting for your voice in the mornings to wake me up for work. When you live with someone for so long, it’s impossible to change your reality so abruptly. I imagine you lots of times during family discussions what your reaction or what you would say had you been physically present. I swear I hear you sometimes.

Today, I visit you with Maynard. Over the year, us sibs have grown closer and relied on each other strengths. The trials brought about by your death awakened in us a need to be together. Our time together is no longer filled with bickering and arguments (well, not as many as it used to) but instead it is overflowing with stories, with life and with smiles. No matter how short the time we spend, we now make sense to each other. It is wonderful to belong. Your death has brought the family you so lovingly cared for a much tighter bond.

And there it was --- the answer to the questions troubling me. Why bury? My brother represented the answer.

Because as much as the piece of lot is a reminder of love lost, it is a reminder of so much love freely given and is a testimony of how that love reverberated through the lives of those who were left behind. Coming to your grave is a celebration of the life you have lived and the love that strands families, our family together.

Maybe I should rethink my stand on cremation. But only if a mark on the ground is a tangible representation of the marks I made in the hearts of those I love. Just the way you did it, Nanay. Just the way you did.

Coffee Stick Up

Finally! After one month of consuming designer coffee, pestering my friends for their coffee receipts and appealing to my officemates for free coffee, I finally got the most coveted Starbucks planner. Getting 21 stickers is no joke. It's either you consume 21 cups of coffee and palpitate through the whole holiday season or use your charm over your friends.

And I am not alone in this challenge. What great lengths have my sister gone through for a sticker?

Studied for an Anatomy exam from 6 PM till 2 AM = 1 sticker
Tutored a classmate on Zoology = 2 stickers
Approached a stranger in SB who didn't redeem his receipt = 2 stickers
Befriended the guard who collected receipts for her = 5 stickers
Have me for a sister to do her every whim = priceless
(for everything else...there's a Mastercard...hehe)

In this day and age of electronic-dom, you would think people would have no interest in it at all when having a PDA is the more in thing. Take me for example, am thumbing this article in through a Treo and managing my schedule with it is quick and easy. With the planner, uh yeah, you need to write with a pen with your incomprehensible writing. If I did that with this article, I'd be pounding my head on the keyboard trying to decipher my god-awful longhand. Or worse, I'd be going to a meeting tomorrow at 1 pm set for 10 am. Yes, that's how bad it is.

So anyway, I went ahead and jumped in the bandwagon. But now that I have the planner in my hands, I realize that it's really not much to look at after all. It doesn't even have the free drink certificates like last year, nor does it have the text that I liked reading so much. I admit though the leather cover with SB stamped on it looks cool (or hot depending on the coffee of choice). And the pen that goes with the planner actually works! But way cooler (or hotter) than that is the story behind getting the planner...the coffee experience.

It's the smell of competition on who will complete all 21 stickos first. It's about having an achievable goal. It's about seeing a friend smile over your sticker contribution, no matter how short-lived because he starts to annoy you again for another one when you haven't even finished your drink. It's the number of hours spent with a friend over coffee catching up on each other's lives. Finally, it's also about being able to donate to Spark of Hope (Starbucks chosen foundation supporting charities for people in need).

I am a poser designer coffee addict. I'd rather buy my own local arabica, grind 'em at home and brew my own coffee. But drinking coffee alone is no fun. My coffee buddies can attest to that. It's the people factor. It's actually the people you're with that make the coffee experience AN experience.

Same with Christmas...you may have put up the tree with all the knick-knacks and baubles, changed the curtains and the pillowcases to get that Christmassy feel but without the people you love the most to share the season with, it's not Christmas at all.

So this Christmas (*cringe* here goes the i-know-you're-gonna-say-some-advice line), make your SB planner fanatic friend happy by allowing yourself to get dragged to SB. The spirit of Christmas is in the giving.

With that said, I am off to get a 2nd planner! Sticker sponsor, anyone?

Still

Other than the floating slash flying sensation I occasionally experience when I dream, I have not been anywhere close to any actual out of body experience. However, last Friday changed that when I embarrassed myself by taking a dive on the sidewalk as I walked to the train to get home from work.

I was between two colleagues, talking about the recent construction of a building we were just passing by. Intent on spying on the development of the project, we were all looking up straining past the walls separating us from the construction site, when the ground ‘neath me, for a split second, vanished. It appeared a second too late and I saw myself careening onto the pavement, flailing arms and legs and all. I tried desperately to soften the impact of my fall and I fell on my left side first, bruising my palm and knee. Apparently, gravity still wasn’t through with me and I took a second severe dive to my right. All this time, my mind was silently shouting, “Shit! Shit! I’m falling! Do something!!!” probably the same words, only in Mexican, that Eric Morales must have muttered as he was forced to take the last fall in his final match with Pacquiao. In the background, I could hear the mortification in Ate E’s voice as she called out my name. E watched paralyzed and helpless. He could only assist me as I got up from the pavement, feeling mugged, beaten to a pulp and bloody. Gawd! 28 freaking years old and I still am not exempt from a toddler’s catastrophe!

I must have looked like a fright. I did a quick inventory and found all limbs are still intact. No broken bones, no sprain. Other than, my right elbow was sorely bruised with a major wound, my right hip sported an ugly scrape and whatever was left of my ego flew across EDSA and was run over several times by oncoming vehicles, I was alright. Shaky, yes, but okay. Thank God my face didn’t hit the dirt! Yay for me!

I felt like crying because of the pain, but I found myself unable to. Not because I was too embarrassed. I meant at that point, I guess ate E and E would have excused such reaction after being terrified. But no tears would fall.

Over coffee, hours after that incident, I told E that I wanted to cry but just couldn’t. And he said that it was okay, and at this age, we were prone to cry more because of emotional hurt than the physical beatings we take. Whoa. E, is that you?

During the whole ordeal, at the back of my mind, I could hear my mom reprimanding me from such stupidity --- funny how you are able to hear your mother’s voice above the noise of life. Don’t get me wrong, my mom loves me. But when I was a kid, she’d always go ballistic if I get bruised, wounded or hurt. Making sure I was well cared for is top priority. She’s actually worried and it materializes by her venting out on me her frustration of being utterly helpless to watch over me and protect me 24/7. I guess that goes for all moms.

I remember that when I was still learning how to ride a bike, I’d get lots of bruises. In order to avoid the wrath of my mom, I’d be in my PJs when she gets home from work to cover up the marks.

So here I am, age 28, wounded, living in my own house far from the lectures of my worried mom. Still, there’s no escape. She’s still the voice in my head.

The Long Commute

I know I complain too much about the long commute. Maybe I don’t recite my lamentations for everyone to hear but my thoughts about commuting have spilled over to pages and pages of word documents or my phone memo pad.

Truthfully, commuting is no problem for me. It’s really the traffic that I loathe. Take away traffic from the commuting equation and I will be fine. Yes, the length of time is still a concern but through the months, I have found things to fill my idle time.

There’s Sudoku. To save on money with me buying inquirer daily just to get to play Sudoku, I bought the game book. Armed with pencil and pens (whichever is working), I try to answer a difficult puzzle in a trip. Unless the constant jolting movement of the bus makes me dizzy, finishing a puzzle or two is no problem.

There’s the mp3 player. I would like to take this opportunity to thank my sponsor, who I will call Stranger, who took pity on me and gave me an mp3 player. Thanks so very much! Music helps calm me down and makes the trip less stressful.

If you have a bathroom book, I have a commute book or reading material as well. Reader’s Digest is high on my list. It provides a buffet of topics from health to adventure to laughter to drama.

Watching Deal or No Deal. Yup. I get to catch the news, telenovelas and fantaseryes on the trip home. Deal or No Deal is by far the most entertaining, no-brainer show on TV today. Just pure fun. At least I don’t get frazzled with the traffic while I silently cheer, “Lower, lower” for the stressed-beyond-belief contestant. You have to hand it to Kris Aquino and the mysterious banker who has a fetish for chinitas.

To escape it all, I can always catch some zs, which I do often when going to work in the wee hours of the morning. I just make sure that all my stuff is tied to my arms in hope that no one loots me off.

Commuting alone also taught me to have courage. It strengthened my belief that I can be alone, and I can be okay. I know it’s not a life-altering experience but with commuting, you set yourself out for a lot of variables beyond your control --- the unpredictable traffic, attitude of fellow commuters, the time you can get a ride, the weather and your state of mind. You only have your disposition and your judgment to get from point A to point B. It’s no picnic commuting on a rainy night when the traffic is so bad with me nursing a fever.

But you know, each night, what greets me is the night sky bursting with thousands of glittering stars. Maybe He placed me here in the suburbs because He knew I would always appreciate the awesomeness of His creation. He just needed an audience.

The long trip is worth it. The stars are worth the wait.

Lucky Coin

"Penny, penny give me luck 'coz I'm the one who picked you up..." or so the line goes...I chant this line silently to myself every time I chance upon a coin on the sidewalk.

One morning as I rode the bus to work, a family with two kids sat across me. The little boy couldn't contain his excitement when he found a one peso coin on his seat. He showed it to his mom who couldn't care less and scoffed at him. I watched their exchange amused by the scene... the jaded mom and his hopeful son.

I can't help but smile thinking of how genuine, how real the joy of the son in his treasure. I remembered that I too just the other day picked up a peso on a jeep. As it turned out, that peso was a blessing when I was a peso short of my fare. Life's little blessings indeed.

Now that I'm older and supposedly wiser, I find that I have less moments of simple joys. My life seems distracted and uncertainties seem to hang over me like a dark cloud that I fail to see it's beauty. How wonderful it would be to see beauty in the eyes of the child in the raw. Unpretentious. Unintentional. Accidental.

Oftentimes, the longer we process what we see, our critical self takes over, taking apart the totality into tiny pieces--- judging each piece by piece until we can no longer appreciate it.

09062006

Writer-Wannabe

I want to be a writer. Back in my grade school days, I would spend my summer poring over books of poetry and re-writing ‘em all in my alma mater script on the blue and red lines of my pad paper. I only wanted to perfect my penmanship back then, but the rhythm and rhyme of the poems before me made an indelible mark in me.

Fast forward to college applications… I was contemplating whether to put on my UP application Journalism or Biology. My lolo (bless his soul!) advised that I can be a good writer without having really studied it. You see, Lolo reads my writings and probably surmised I have no talent for it so why spend thousands of pesos? Har har. And really, I thought of me unable to get in the HS paper (I think they found out I only know 250 words, prepositions, conjunctions and articles included), so I figured writing wasn’t really for me.

With the odds against me, I accepted defeat and wrote Biology in my application form. Only, I ended up in Computer Engineering…probably had something to do with the campus of choice. In CoE, the only words I needed to know were: if, else, then, switch, main, void --- not really a wealth of vocabulary I tell yeah. But at least you get to invent words such as: name1, name2, num, etc. And become bestfriends with the underscore. The closest I got to writing an original work is when I had to write a freaking algorithm for a machine problem, which doesn’t really help if you’re setting your sights on the Palanca.

Today, I give. I no longer have stars in my eyes. But I still write. I write for the sake of writing and to keep my sanity.

Of Leaking Brains

The trouble with these long hours of bus rides to and from the suburbs is that I have too much idle time in my hands. Unfortunately, I have a leaky faucet for a brain that just won’t stop working. My neurons have a tendency to work overtime with only the passing scenery to distract it.

Sometimes, I get lucky and score a bus with the TVo on showing the local morning show. Else, I would alternate reading a book, sleeping, over-frying my brains or listening to music.

Yes, I sleep on the bus. But I say, sleep at your own risk lest you wake up bereft of all your personal belongings. I have been taking the bus for a little over 90 days already since I opted for suburban living (well, that’s a nice way of putting it) and am glad to report that have not met any mishap yet --- unless, someone grabs my PDA now as I thumb this article in.

You can only read so much in the bus. I have had the bad luck of getting on tired, old, wobbly buses, such as the one am riding on now, that will surely make you green. For sure, you’ll gag if you so much as look up the ceiling and down the floor a couple of times. The pill of choice? Nodiz.

But not so long ago, I finished One Minute Millionaire by Mark Victor Hansen and Robert Allen while being stuck in the gong gong qi che going to work for 5 hours, the day after Milenyo struck. I finished the book, slept, listened to my mp3 player and still no office in sight. Times like those can make you go crazy. 5 hours of forced silence! It was no wonder that I couldn’t stop talking when I reached the office.

Listening to my mp3 player (uh yeah, no ipod for me) while riding on the bus is sometimes an ordeal for me. You see, I can’t help but bob my head to the music, tap my feet or snap my fingers and yes, even sing along --- which is really difficult in public transport when you’re causing too much racket. That makes me wish I have my car again and sing my lungs out as I drive through the busy streets of the metro.

However, with the skyrocketing oil prices, am having second thoughts driving my car again. Not to mention the huge traffic am sure to meet along the way. No sirreee. Well, I guess am on my way to becoming a professional commuter. Do they have PRC license that goes with that?

When my brains start shifting to 4th gear, am in for a ride. Thoughts from Christmas past, an old flame or what food to eat when I get home, goes through my mind. Now thinking of the mundane stuff is a comfort. But sometimes, I stall and hit the huge bumps in my memory lane when all the drama of my life decides to haunt me. My life isn’t worthy of a soap but like everybody else, my drama matters to me. When caught off guard, especially on PMS days, my seatmate on the bus can probably catch me with tears rolling down my face. Oh yes, I have PD (psychological disorder). Well dang it, try these long rides and see if it won’t make you loony.

Can somebody please get the plumber and fix my leaky brain?