Postscript to Saturday Mornings....

My last post begs for a postscript so here it is.

Someone asked me at work why I was in a very good mood yesterday. I said because it was a Friday. That was only half true. The other half of it was - it was the Friday before I get to spend one more Saturday morning with Karen - only this time, we had more company.

It was a magical, wonderful, and emotionally enriching breakfast this morning. Four special women in my life - Karen, Kaye, Laurie (http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=412010300863) and Lita made it so. And no, we did not go to McDonald's. We had our hearty and filling breakfast at the Larchmont Bungalow (http://www.larchmontbungalow.com/) and spent hours reminiscing, catching up, laughing, sharing and soaking in each other's company. Karen was the first to arrive, followed by Laurie and as Lita and I were parking, we saw Kaye right behind us. After big hugs, kisses and compliments, we ordered from the really tempting menu items and prayed together before sharing our meal - thanking God for the companionship and the love present in that gathering. We were noisy but people did not seem to mind - who could resist the sound of earnest laughters among women who love each other? I took pictures but I was so stupid that in my excitement to view them, I managed to erase all of them! I don't know if any of the girls took pictures, but mine were gone. Nada. Kaput.

But my stupidity could not dampen the happiness I feel from the memories of this morning. I will make sure we do this again - sooner than later.

On another note, my apologies for making people cry. That was not the intention, although I have to admit that I was, myself, in tears and engulfed in so much emotion as I was writing that last post. I want to especially thank Carlo for calming Karen down as she was bawling her eyes out after reading my blog about her.

Top photo with Kaye; bottom photo with Laurie.

Saturday Mornings with Karen

When she turned 24, I left her this message: "I may not know where you are or what you are doing or who you are with, but today you turned 24 and I want you to know that I love you and I miss you and I am proud of you. I hope you are having a good birthday." She called me back and left me a message where she thanked me and told me she loved me and missed me, too - and I can feel the love and affection in her voice.

She was barely two years old when we first met. A wide-eyed hyper little girl who loved to play with water and run around inside the house naked. She was not quite speaking clearly then but I attribute that to the fact that she did not really have an adult to listen to. Kuya's (brother's) vocal chords had already been badly damaged by radiation; her grandma, Mama Benita, spoke English with a thick Ilocano accent, or sometimes just spoke in Ilocano (specially the swearwords) to her; and my sister-in-law, Manang Tessie, who is an ICU nurse, worked nights so she almost always slept in the daytime.

Her reaction to me was surprise at first and then followed by excitement. She saw someone to play with, horse-around, and talk to. And all those we did - and sing and dance, besides! I lived with them for a few months until I found a job in LA and eventually moved to an.apartment in the Hollywood area with my friend Rose. Within months, our one-bedroom apartment housed five women so eventually, Lita and I moved out to another place next to the Paramount Studios.

It was during those times, too, when my brother's health grew worse. His radiation treatment (for his cancer of the lymph node) had already shrunk his neck but now, a lot of other complications were becoming apparent including severe damages to his vocal chords, esophagus and tongue.

Realizing how important these formative years were for a child and wanting to compensate for my brother, I resolved to spend time with Karen every Saturday. We called it our date.

And so for a few years, my Saturdays started with me leaving Hollywood at 7am which took me to La Puente within half an hour or 45 minutes. Some mornings, Karen would already be up and waiting for me. Other times I would rouse her from her sleep and she would bounce out of bed, ready and excited for our date.

We started our mornings at McDonald's - every kid's heaven-on-earth! We would eat and then she would play - most often, she would play while eating - but what kid did not? After breakfast, I would usually take her to a park (we went to different ones) where I could actually play with her for the slides and swings were bigger. I would let her play to her heart's content and when she grew tired, we would go to the video store and rent cartoons or movies. Sometimes we would also take along her friend Marylou. We would be home around 9:30 or 10am. I would set the video for her and then it would be time for me and my brother.

Kuya and I would talk about family back in the Philippines - actually, I did most of the talking and he mostly just nodded or smiled or laughed. At this time, if he had anything substantial to say, he would write it down so I could understand. After time with my brother, it would be Mama Benita's turn. She would tell me stories about life in Cagayan and her struggles after the murder of her husband and how she traveled from town-to-town - she was a woman ahead of her times. I have heard her stories numerous times, but I honestly continued to be amused so I always listened to her as if it were the first time she talked about them.

Around 1 or 2 pm, Manang Tessie would wake up and I would spend an hour or so with her - kept her company and conversed with her as she ate lunch. Karen would either be napping or watching some other programs on TV at this time. I would leave for home around 3pm, usually tired, but happy.

One Saturday, I convinced Manang Tessie to allow me to take Karen home to our apartment in Hollywood. My roommate, Lita and I bought her a pair of overall shorts. Manang always bought her signature clothes but we can't afford that, and I did not see the point nor the difference, so we got Karen something cheap, but cute. The overall shorts were for playing and getting dirty - she loved it. So we had a very nice visit and she was exhausted by the time I took her back to La Puente that evening.

She was very comfortable in those overalls and always wore them almost as soon as they were out of the laundry. One day, while playing at home, the overalls ripped and Manang Tessie laughed. Karen cried when she heard her mother. She said "Tita Phlor gave this to me!" and started crying her heart out, being hurt on my behalf. Manang had to apologize to her to appease her. Oh, how Karen loved her aunt! Manang told me about this later that week.

By the time Karen started school, our dates had become less frequent. She had enough activities to keep her busy, but both she and I looked forward to those "dates" and so I came every other Saturday, doing the same routine we had been used to. As she grew older, had more friends and more activities like dance and music lessons, it was not essential for me to come regularly anymore. My involvement with her centered on helping and planning activities for her birthday parties; attending recitals, competitions and performances; or driving them to places where Manang Tessie did not drive to - like Las Vegas or San Diego. I would also later take Karen to her first snow experience in the mountains, to Raging Waters and to Universal Studios. I wished I could spend more time with her, but during those years, I was also figuring out my own new life in LA.

When Kuya's health took a turn for the worst, I helped out by spending nights in La Puente on evenings when Manang had to work. I eventually quit my job and stayed with them for a while. One day however, situations changed. Manang's cousin had arrived from the Philippines and was staying with them. I also learned that Social Security would pay someone to help take care of my brother. Armed with these new information, I told my sister-in-law that I will go back to LA and start looking for a job. She was hurt, felt I was turning my back on her and abandoning them. She stopped talking to me. I told her while I understand how she felt, I had to start thinking of myself - of my own future. However, I promised her and my brother that I would continue to come every Saturday and help out.

Those were different Saturday mornings. I would greet Manang but she would only look past me and then head on to the next room. On good days, no doors would slam. On bad days, there would be a slam or two. Karen would come and would tell me everything that happened during the week and everything that her mother told her about me. I told Karen that her mother did not mean what she said - that she was hurting and tired and had a lot of things to think of - a very sick husband, an elderly mother and a young daughter that she had to take care of. I tried my best to explain that when people hurt inside, they can say hurtful things that they don't mean, even about people they love.

And so for months, I came every Saturday and would continue to greet Manang whether or not she responds or acknowledges me. I took care of my brother, spent time with Karen and Mama Benita just the same.

One day, the ice thawed and Manang started talking to me again. Shortly after that, one cold December morning, Kuya passed away. It was one of the most painful experiences I have ever witnessed - as I was with Manang as she had to buy and negotiate for Kuya's coffin, gravesite and services - all while she was grieving and her heart was breaking.

After the funeral, the novena, and all the Filipino Catholic rituals, I saw Karen and Manang less and less. I came when they called and needed some assistance, but other than that, I would come for ocassional visits or just during birthdays and Christmases.

Karen was growing up fast and she and her mother developed a wonderful closeness that all mothers and daughters should have - a relationship built on love and friendship. I always thank Manang for doing a great job with Karen. Manang and I have become very close as well - not just sisters-in-law but more like real sisters. She knew I loved her and that I would always be there for her, for Karen and for the members of her family who have since arrived from the Philippines. One call and I was there.

Part of Karen's growing up were growing pains - relationships with boyfriends - all of whom I met and on some, I had to bite my tongue so as not to hurt her- because I saw she was already hurting. Karen wore her heart on her sleeves and was in some unhealthy relationships - but I stopped myself from butting in. I just assured her that I was there if she needed me. So I watched on the sidelines as her relationships came and went.

For her college graduation, our present for her was a trip to Chicago. We (Lita, Ely and I) went our way and she went the other way - with her friends in the windy city. It was funny how we were together but hardly saw each other as we would leave when she was still sleeping and she would come back to the hotel when we were all fast asleep. I think she only spent one meal with us when we took her and her friend for lunch at Weber's in downtown Chicago. But that was the kind of relationship we have. I let her be. I don't get in her face. She knows how much I love her and she comes to me when it matters.

Many times, out of the blue she would call or leave me a message just to tell me she loves me and misses me, or that she was thinking of me. She knows how to make my heart swell with affection and I love her more for that.

Karen is a grown woman now. She is back in school working towards an MA in Occupational Therapy at USC. She is also in a wonderful relationship with a guy we all love - Carlo. But I still miss her and my Saturdays mornings with her.

So this Saturday, we will try to rekindle that magic by having breakfast at the Larchmont Bungalow - a little more grown up place - maybe even a bit pricey - but hey, she is worth it. Besides, if we decide to, McDonald's is just a couple of blocks away!

The Power of Music

Mama Gloria, our 93-year-old neighbor held my hand as we prayed yesterday. Her left foot was perched on a small bench and is swollen after a fall a week ago that sprained her ankle. When all the praying and singing and petitions were over, I grabbed my guitar and sat next to her again - and I started singing old Tagalog songs and she started singing with me. She still remembered the words and the smile on her face was so beautiful that there was that visible glow. Her daughter, upon noticing how happy she was started giving her more food and she ate with gusto as she listened and hummed with me. I sang some old "harana" songs which reminded her of her youth as men serenaded her in courtship. She was happy, all of the people there were either singing with us or smiling with us, and so I continued strumming along from harana to Filipino folks songs to just some funny songs, until I had to leave for another commitment.

A few of years ago while I was visiting my relatives in Monterey, I was singing to little Mya while I held her. I sang songs I heard from my mother as she cradled my youngest sister and later on her grandchildren to sleep. Tia Miling suddenly stood up and joined me in singing and dancing with Mya. My cousins (her children) were surprised as they have not seen their mother do that - ever! Sing and dance!

When Tia Miling had a seizure in 2009, I rushed to see her in the hospital. She was speaking uncoherently, did not recognize some of her children and grandchildren but she knew me and heard me when I came and whispered to her. I talked to her in Tagalog, hummed a few melodies to her and joked with her. I came because we thought we were losing her - but she fought back and eventually was discharged to rehab and then home. I bought her an MP3 loaded with Filipino folk songs when I came back to visit again. It made her really happy to listen to them. The melodies took her back home.

Music has an amazing healing power. It soothes and reinvigorates. To children who need the assurance of love and to old people who long for comfort, music is an elixir that no drugs could ever match.

And so I continue to sing and to play, despite the imperfections of my voice and musical skills because when music comes from the heart, the imperfections disappear in the background - only love - through music - comes through.

Perspective

As a child growing up in the barrio in the outskirts of Manila, my world evolved around our modest home, the street where we lived and the immediate neighborhood - an area about half a mile wide and deep - but at that time, it was the whole world to me. The road was unpaved, and the neighborhood kids played in the middle of the street. There were hardly any vehicles that pass through except for the carts pulled by carabaos (water-buffaloes) when they come home with their masters at dusk - and so the street was ours. We would play until our respective mothers called us or when we got hungry or somebody got hurt and all of us ran home so that we won't get blamed. Those were wonderful times. Everything was where they should be and I was home.

Then one day, I wandered about 100 feet away from my world. I chanced upon the main street that was called "Calle Real" and I was enthralled by the many activities that were going on - the people rushing and hailing jeepneys and buses to go somewhere, the headlights from the seemingly countless vehicles that were wheezing by. The energy that I experienced both scared and excited my even then healthy curiosity. I discovered there was a whole new world outside my home. That was the first time my perspective changed.

Since then, I had been filled with awe at new places, situations, people and things that came my way.

In 1975, I was priviledged to have taken part in a scholarship program that gave me the chance to travel to Canada. I remember writing everything that happened in my letters to my mother. I described to her the amazingly beautiful places, the trees, the lake, the camp, the Stoney Indians, the French and Anglo Canadians, the horses, the mountains, the snow on top of the Alberta rockies, the flowers, the canoes, the cold, the parka jackets, the long johns, the sleeping bags, the communal shower, the big cities, the woman bus driver, the Hungarian Jewish family who hosted us one evening and told us of their journey from persecution, and many things that were new to me at the time. And my perspective kept on changing and widening.

Upon my return from Canada, I was given the opportunity to work with out-of-school youth and got to know how lucky I had been - despite our own poverty - because I found out that a lot of people were even poorer, not only in their temporal needs, but moreso in their emotional and spiritual necessities.

As Mrs. H., my mentor and benefactor, ( I will write about her separately) trusted me with more responsibilities, my perspective continued to grow even more. We travelled the whole province of Rizal building hope for the young, engaging prominent citizens and politicians to create organizations that took care of the welfare of the youth in their respective communities. We scoured the fields and mountains and the lakes to find young people to give opportunities to, to give hope to, to give life to. And I saw hope in hopelessness. I saw promise where there was once none.

Then working with the refugees of Southeast Asia gave me yet another perspective. In the mountains of Bataan was a transient community of Americans, Filipinos, Australians, Norwegians, Japanese and a sprinkling of other nationalities all working together and helping the victims of the Vietnam war and Pol Pot's wrath in Cambodia. PRPC (Philippine Refugee Processing Center) or the camp as we called it was a community of between 30,000 and 40,000 Vietnamese, Cambodians, Laotians and Hmongs - men, women and children - all refugees - all looking and hoping for a new life.

We lived there and we worked there and together we created a transient culture - one that accepted, respected, valued and integrated the many different cultures intermingling together. It is gone now, but the memories, the people, the stories, the faces and the feelings are still very much on my mind and in my heart.

Even now as I have settled here in Los Angeles, I keep myself open to different perspectives that come my way. I savor my trips to the ethnic stores and take pleasure in observing what they sell, what people buy, how people look and poke and talk; on what people eat and why; on the differences and similarities; on the abundance and richness of what each person, culture and race brings and how all these come together in this generous country of immigrants.

With these acquired perspectives, I have learned to talk, to soothe, to comfort, to confront, to argue and to deal with peoples. I have learned to truly appreciate our differences, empathize with their situations and understand where they are coming from - and when I do not understand, I respect and accept.

It is my hope that we all continue to look for and discover different and wider perspectives and thereby enrich our lives even more.

If Only.....

How many times have we heard people say "if only...." as if everything depended on it? How many times have we, ourselves, used the same expression to mask our shortcomings?

If only I had more time. If only I were taller or thinner or smarter. If only I were stronger or faster or younger or older. If only I were a different gender. If only I was born rich. If only I can speak better. If only I was more graceful...if only...if only...

"If only" is wishful thinking people often use as an excuse. "If only" makes us wallow in self pity - it leads us to unrealistic scenarios and makes us feel worse than we already do. We cannot live a life based on this premise. We need to face our own reality and deal with it, head on. We have to own up and play the cards we are given. We should not be looking at the other side of the fence and wishing "if only I were there" thereby ignoring where we actually are and missing out on what could have been because we were focused somewhere else - then we say "If only I paid more attention..."

Mother Theresa believed that God will not give us a load we cannot carry. Although she may have later that said she wished God did not trust her so much, she dealt with and carried all the burdens she was given with everything she can muster, up till the end - and look at what she has accomplished!

How do we deal with our own reality?

We were poor but our parents encouraged us to go for higher education. My brothers all supported themselves through college but the two older girls were assisted by Nanay's little store and Tatay's farming. I was the only girl in the family who could not go to college immediately after high school. My timing was off. My older sister was in her last year in college and my father's landlord sold the farm to the developers so there was no more farming - the source of tuition money. I was sad, but I did the next best thing - I did odd jobs until I eventually found a permanent job in the factory. At 16, I learned how to operate the industrial sewing machine - a skill that is still useful to this day. I hated the job and I was better at helping organize the union, writing petitions, advocating for a newsletter and entertaining during company parties than meeting my quota at work. But I cherish the time I spent there for it enabled me to go back to school, make a lot of friends and develop my self-esteem. I did not have the time to feel sorry for myself as I was too busy finding ways to make my situation better - and life did get better.

The thing is, I am thankful for all the difficulties I have experienced. It has made a better person out of me. It instilled in me the virtues my mother spoke of and lived by - hard work, resilience, patience, prudence, respect and trust that God provides the rest. He did, and still does.

Now, if only I could stop blabbering. But that's another blog.