My sister in the US sent me several balikbayan boxes weeks ago. My 13-year old son was looking through my skin care loot and asked, "What're these?" I went through each one, "Stuff to keep mommy beautiful. This is for removing old pimple scars. This is for sun protection ..." He interupts me, "Where the one for the fat?"
Harsh.
This week-end, I had my hair rebonded and cut shaggy. I said, "Look, anak, Mommy looks like an anime girl." He replies, "Not really. Anime girls are thin."
Ouch.
My son needs to start getting trained in more "creative" ways of telling women the truth. Eventually, I need to teach him how to dodge the classic relationship-enders, such as:
- Do I look fat? - Do you like my hair? - Do you like this outfit? - Who is prettier? Me or (ex-girlfriend)? - Will you still love me if I lose my legs (or breasts or other body parts from which she draws pride)? - If I die tomorrow, how long will you wait before you court another girl?
Goodness knows, my son's dad still doesn't know how to answer those. I should start training my son now just in case, that strain of cluelessness is carried in the genes.
Eons ago, I resolved never to be late for anything. And I have been very good with this personal rule so far (clearly, this rule is waived when I have to travel with and wait on 3 kids, 2 yayas and one very, very makupad spouse). I chalk up the vow (I once lived on "Filipino time" too) to Robert R, a true mentor, an ex-boss, and an ex-Major in the Swedish Airforce. I remember walking into his office seven minutes late for a one-on-one meeting. The man screamed at me: "You stole seven minutes of my life and I can never get it back!" Instead of mumbling "Chill, man" (my knee-jerk reaction), I took his outrage to heart. To this day, I see tardiness as blatant disrespect for other people.
I am sitting in an empty conference room. I am waiting for attendees to a meeting which should have started 14 minutes ago. I pity the next soul who comes through the door.
Over the last few months, despite the need to readjust to corporate life (yes, the slave has been recaptured), to the kids going back to school, to helping out Mel's family through the tragedy, to finally committing to building our dream house, I have been surprisingly calm ... freakishly zen. It took a journey of many ups and downs; but I think I am finally at peace with the world. Even in the gravest circumstance, I see hope. My sister continues to inspire me to reach for certain ideals I thought I have long abandoned. My husband and my kids make me laugh and keep me focused on what matters. I have found my center.
But then again ...
At the gym this morning, a guy was screaming at the top of his lungs by the women's locker room entrance: "Jane! Jane!". Five minutes into his repetitive speil, I walked out. 'Couldn't help myself -- I had to say to him, "Maybe she's still in the shower," and as soon as I turned my back, I mumbled, "... Tarzan."
Okay, so maybe I'm not quite there yet. (Non-Fiction)
PERMALINK
|
EMAIL ME
|
7.04.2006
LYRIC
A man pushes both the up and down buttons** and waits for the elevator. The heavy metal doors slide open and he points down:
Button-happy Man: Bababa ba? Guy in the Elevator: Bababa.
Tagalog is clearly as lyric as it is curious. I do not know of any other language where one can have a conversation by repeating a syllable. Do you?
** BTW, may the adults who still do that anguish in the fiery bowels of hell.
