A few days ago, Mel and I celebrated our wedding anniversary. 13 years together. That's 156 months. Or 4,745 days. However you look at it, that's a long time! Not long enough to learn how to totally ignore each other's "quirks" (like always forgetting to flush or licking icing off OTHER PEOPLE's plates); but long enough to know our individual "weirdness" is balanced out by more important things.
Years after that fateful Saturday I took Mel's last name, I realize that being with a man like him for so long has changed me for the good. And the not so good:
1. I can belch audibly now -- something I didn't know how to do until Mel taught me how.
2. I'm hopelessly obsessed with getting rid of body hair -- freakishly so. He pushed me into it.
3. I can name all the basketball playing positions now. And after wondering for most of my childhood, I finally know what "travelling" is.
4. I have no drive to wash the car, check the oil or take my vehicle to the mechanic. I don't sweat over mechanical hiccups -- especially since my husband is only a call away when a flat needs changing or when the car battery needs resuscitation. I figure I shouldn't deprive him of the joy of "saving" me.
5. I can now hold my breath for roughly two minutes. That's how long it takes for the stink of Mel's flatulence to dissipate in a well-ventilated room.
No doubt about it -- my husband has been an important force in my life. His unwavering support helped me through hard decisions I had to make with my career, my health and my hair-dos. His prudence with money balances out my genetically-dictated tendencies to take out my tension/anger/frustration/menstrual cramp on my credit card. His love is constantly and flagrantly showered on our three children who we pray will grow up with his patience and my passion, his discipline and my drive, his body fat ratio and my intelligence quotient.
When I was little, I had to watch the end of "The Rat Patrol" because it came on before "Little House on the Prairie" and I hated ever minute of my wait. There was another war TV show they played in the 70s, "Combat" -- and I hated that too. Unshaven men shooting at each other, scattered blood and guts, comaraderie from living in the trenches were not my thing.
So naturally, God, in His Infinite Wisdom, wanted to teach me a lesson. He brought Mel who is the ultimate war movie guy into my life. His dad was a WWII veteran and a survivor of the Bataan Death March so war stories -- unshaven men shooting at each other, scattered blood and guts, comaraderie from living in the trenches -- were always discussed at the dinner table. Mel's "special alone time" with his father (remember, he's 10th of 10 kids) came when his dad would take him Cubao to see the latest war flick.
My husband can be very passionate when he talks about this film genre; and being the loving wife that I am, I share his enthusiasm in this as much as I share his love for basketball. Okay so it's in-one-ear-out-the-other enthusiasm -- but he doesn't really notice, so everyone's happy. To me, you see, if you've seen a World War II film with Rogelio De la Rosa in a USAFFE uniform, you've seen 'em all.
But all that's changed. A few days back, out of sheer boredom (and an overload of romantic comedies), I checked our DVD collection for a movie I have yet to see and scrounged up my husband's copy of "Band of Brothers". The series blew me away like a rampaging M4 Sherman tank! It. Was. Sooo. Good.
Since "Band of Brothers", I've seen "Black Hawk Down". Any movie where Legolas and Obiwan Kenobi have an exchange in a faux American accent is worth the momentary loss of hearing (the sound on that film was excellent -- loud, but good).
Today marks the first anniversary of my exodus from corporate life. A year ago today, I gave up what was a relatively lucrative career to find that which seemed to be missing in my life. Having worked immediately and continuously after college (I have never been "vacant" -- except for maternity leaves), I knew experiencing a life different from the one I had for the last fifteen years would add dimension to my existence. While a mid-life "career" change in unheard of (especially in my circles), I knew deep-down that it was what I needed to feel fulfilled.
I wanted to be clear in what were most important in my life and I wanted my actions/career/goals to directly contribute to that. I wanted to do everything I dreamed about when I was younger -- and make a living out of it (except for the burlesque dancing -- long story).
I longed to spend, not just quality, but quantity time with my kids. I wanted to be at home when stuff happened -- not just hear about it from my maids when I arrived home for dinner. For Carlo and Diego, I was at the office when my babies walked and talked for the first time. I only caught the replays. I wanted things to be different with Lisa.
I aimed to prove that I could work the washing the machine. That I could iron a pair of pants and make crisp folds. While I know I will always design a Microsoft Access database better than I could make a Sunday evening dinner, I wanted to show Mel I could create a meal that didn't involve deep-frying.
A year hence, I got what I wanted. I've become an entrepreneur with an exciting medium-term plan. I've seen Lisa through many firsts. And today, I just hosed maggots out of our giant trash can with expert skill.
I am feeling sooo complete right about now. :)
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11.16.2004
KIDDING
The cellphone service providers have launched fairly aggressive marketing campaigns targetting children. I understand the need to create new markets in a saturated and maturing mobile telecommunications market. Segmentation is key to maintaining a strong long-term profit showing. But there are questions I want answered before I start signing my kids up.
1. Are mobile phones really safe for small children? According to experts, "extensive research" has not established any conclusive evidence of a link between children's use of mobile phones and health problems. But then, the research was probably done in First World countries where a six-year old is five-foot-six and 180 pounds.
2. How can I locate my lost child using his mobile phone as a beacon? Even with a heirarchical cell structure, the best a GSM system can do is direct you to the cell site nearest your child. It could probably identify his location accurately in a well-covered area -- like Glorietta (where there are in-door micro-sites) or EDSA; but if the child is lost where sites are few and far between, the system would need to triangulate to find the user's position. Are the systems doing that now? Hindi pa yata 'no. And contrary to what the ad made some (e.g., Mavi) think, the phones they're selling with the "child starter kits" are not GPS receivers.
Don't get me wrong. I love technology. I love gadgets. I love mobile phones. I just think there are enough people like me to make telecom operators rich for years. There is no need to recruit my four-year old into getting his brains fried when the features they promise are iffy, at best.
Mel and I were driving home one night when a black cat crossed our path. As usual, Mel didn't even deccelerate and we missed the poor feline by an inch.
I felt I had to say something. "If we ran over the cat wouldn't it be like double bad luck or something?"
The love of my life pondered on this dramatically before retorting, "If I ran it over and it's guts were splattered all over the cement, who do you think had bad luck?"
I woke up today with a jolt. I found blood gushing between my b00bies.
"I've been shot!" was the first thing that came to mind. Did Mel finally reach his limit with my heartless jokes about his underwear (will get into details in a separate post) and decided to cut my heart out? Did someone I diss on-line or off find out where I lived and broke into our house with a gun last night? Am I still asleep and dreaming a very vivid slasher nightmare?
Upon closer examination, I found out the wire on my bra had gotten loose and punctured me in the b00b.
I guess my mom was right -- I should never wear a brassiere to bed. What she didn't tell me was this was so because the underwire on the thing could get loose, poke me, go through my rib cage and pop my heart!
(I have a band-aid on my cleavage -- I have a right to be dramatic.)
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11.01.2004
MOPING
Traversing the roads east of Metropolitan Manila now feels like being in Vietnam. During my first and only trip to that country, I remember walking out of the Grand Hotel in Ho Chi Minh to meet some colleagues for dinner on a yacht/boat/whatever. The docked boat was across the road (thus a 30-second walk, theoretically) but I missed it. All because I could not cross the four-lane street.
The mopeds.
A thousand of these things came at me from several directions at speeds which made me think I strayed onto the track at Le Mans. I stood frozen on the road side, in disbelief how I couldn't move when back home, I could play chicken with jeepneys and my pulse won't even spike. Now that cheap brands have flooded the Philippine market, I am reminded everyday of that moment I thought I was going to die a pedestrian in a Third World country that was not my own.
So, to everyone who drives a moped or is thinking of getting one, please heed these three simple reminders -- lest some irrationally irritable woman runs you over with her fairly large 4x4:
1. You can't drive a moped on a transprovincial highway if you have yet to grow hair on parts of your body aside from your head. I hear you need that to get a drivers' license. And you need a drivers' license to drive a motorized vehicle. A moped is a motorized vehicle.
2. You are not supposed to drive your moped on the extreme left of a highway (unless you are turning left). That's the "fast lane". And while I understand that 10 kph is your motor vehicle's maximum velocity, here's the thing: my four-year old can run at that speed after downing a bag of M&Ms. It ain't all that "fast".
3. A construction hard hat does not provide the protection of a good motorcyle helmet. Plus, you look hella dorky.
