Last Call of the Day

It was a call I had been reluctant to make. Our old bank had slapped charges and penalties for a mistake that our Flex vendor made. I have called and written them a letter back in December asking how they want us to correct the mistake but I somehow never got a response from them and they just continued piling on fees and penalties.

It's one of those annoying things that I needed to settle once and for all so last Friday afternoon, I made the call.

I don't remember her name. All I remember was that as I was explaining the situation to her, I mentioned that this issue is kind of like a thorn on my side that had been bothering me but I just have not paid enough attention to - kind of like a "squeaky door" (http://phlorschronicles.blogspot.com/2006_08_01_archive.html), I laughed because I thought she might not understand what I was talking about, but she started laughing with me. Before I knew it, we were talking like we have known each other for years and we were both just having a very pleasant conversation.

She apologized on behalf of the bank, removed all the fees and penalties from our account and advised me to just go to our branch and settle the amount in question so I can close the account. As she was working her magic on the fee reversals, I asked her where she was located and how her day had been. She told me she was in Florida. She said she appreciates my call because she had dealt with several difficult customers before me and she was really looking forward to the end of her day in about 20 minutes. I told her 15 minutes since I had been on the phone with her for about 5 and we both started cracking up again.

She told me she needed that laugh because she was at a point where she was just losing patience with whiny and petty people who tried to get away with things by saying ridiculous lies. She said it was refreshing how I told her of our situation with honesty. Instead of going home with tension, she will be driving home with a smile and maybe even laughter, she said, and she thanked me for being her last call of the day.

As we said goodbye, I thanked her for removing the fees and penalties. I thanked her also for the very delightful conversation and wished her a safe drive home.

I hung up the phone with a smile on my face, thankful for another gratifying encounter. That was my last call of the day, too.

PUNCTUATIONS

“A woman, without her man, is nothing.”
“A woman: without her, man is nothing.”

"The student said the teacher is crazy."
"The student, said the teacher, is crazy."

Notice how the punctuation marks change the messages? These use the same exact words, but with different use and placement of the punctuation marks, the thoughts change.

Michael Abramovitch introduced me to the book "Eats, Shoots and Leaves" a few years ago. It is where the examples above came from. The author, Lynn Truss, says punctuation marks "....are traffic signals of language: they tell us to slow down, notice this, take a detour, or stop." Punctuation marks enable us to deliver a clear message. Conversely, misuse or lack of it, blurs what we are trying to say.
The same is true with spoken words. We need to pay attention to our punctuation marks to deliver our messages clearly. We need to pause, stop, and breathe. They are traffic signals, indeed.

But there are other punctuations we have in our lives that we also need to understand.

How many times have we said "That's it! Period!" only to realize that maybe, our statements are not true or in accurate? How many times have we exclaimed and made a fuzz about some things not really worth getting excited about? How many times have we questioned things we did not fully understand only because we have been too stubborn or lazy or busy to even try?

We use a lot of punctuations in our lives. We think we believe things because we grew up hearing them. We react a certain way to certain things because that's how our parents reacted. We have declared a ''period" in many of our beliefs because that's how we have been conditioned, and for some of us, for the good or for the bad, we cling on to those periods. It's kind of like being born to one political party and sticking with it only because the family did so, not bothering to create our own views and convictions.

My friend and her husband of over 20 years divorced a few years ago. Before the divorce, both she and her husband took turns in coming to me and venting about each other. I had been honest with both of them and called them out if I thought they were out of line. They got mad at me sometimes, but they came to me anyway. What made me sad the most is how these two people who once loved each other and had children together could say such hurtful things about each other. Then I realized that for my friend, hurtful words were what she grew up hearing. She told me of how her mother would speak to her - putting her down, robbing her of self-worth, using cruel words to discipline her. I observed her do the same, not only to her husband, but also to her children. She accepted her mother's "period". She mirrored her mother.

But her daughter is different. This young woman observed, questioned, and decided that she would not be part of that cycle. Her mother's hurtful words made her careful of her own - making sure what she says build and not break, love and not hate, comfort and not hurt. She broke her grandmother's period and created her own.

The fact is, not all statements are permanent, nor are they always true. We have to be open to other possibilities, to other views, to other truths, and to other statements. We have to carefully observe, listen, evaluate and then form our OWN views. Things happen in our lifetime that should make us question some of what had been passed on to us, lest we impose the same archaic views on the generations after us. I would not be able to make a good life in this country if it weren't for the people who believed in racial equality and fought for it.

While we love our parents and value their input in our lives, we also have to understand from which lenses they looked at things. I grew up in a small community that voted for whoever the "padrino" said everyone should vote for. My parents, peasant farmers and poorly educated like the rest of the community, followed this "rule" without questions. When my older brothers reached voting age, they told our parents they could not vote for someone they did not believe in, regardless of what the "padrino" says. My parents were scared and did not understand at first, but they respected their children. They were of another generation. They were not well educated. They did not have a voice. Their children went to school, they asked questions, formed their views, found their voice, and used it.

We meet people along the way with different views. Do we listen to them or do we tune them out because they are different from what we thought they ought to be? Maybe the statements we thought were settled, defined and finished are really not. Maybe we should have more question marks than periods. Maybe once in a while, we could temper our exclamation points with a dash - a pause - and attempt to understand, not just shoot the opposing view down.

A statement, no matter how many times it is repeated, does not make its contents true. Its truth lies in facts. We need to scrutinize it to find the facts.

PERIOD.

Recalibration

Calibration - v. - to fine tune, adjust, correct or set.

I have bronchitis. I don't remember having had one before. It is annoying. I can't sleep well. My throat hurts. My stomach hurts (from coughing). My voice sounds funny and I can't sing.

It started as a sore throat on Monday last week, became what I thought was the early symptoms of the flu on Tuesday, got worse by Wednesday, even worse on Thursday (so I stayed home), I thought was better on Friday, but did not get any better by the weekend so finally on Monday, I went to urgent care and the doctor diagnosed me with bronchitis. He gave me three prescriptions: an inhaler, good ol' antibiotics, and cough syrup with codeine to help me sleep. In the meantime, he was worried about my blood pressure as it was unacceptably high (166/107) and after checking what over-the-counter medications (Mucinex DM and Sudafed) I was taking, told me to stop taking them as they were actually a dangerous combination. He also said he was surprised I was still standing.

So here I am, day 3 since I started with the prescription meds. I am feeling a little better each day. Yes, I am still annoyed with my inability to have a full night's sleep (I take the dosage he prescribed but it does not seem to work. Coughing still wakes me up). My eyebags are sagging more so than before. But then again, today, my voice is a bit more recognizable than yesterday and I know I will sleep better tonight, and even better the night after that and so on. I function, not at 100 percent, but that's OK.

I want to say that I hate being sick, but there seems to be something more to my bronchitis than just that.

For all of you who use a GPS navigator, did you ever notice that when you deviate from the direction that THAT woman is giving you, it gives a written message that reads "RECALIBRATING"? I believe that's what's going on with me. I am just going through a tune-up.

I have been running on 5th gear for quite sometime. Between work (that pays my mortgage), volunteer work (that pays "out of this world") and social obligations (that pays with lots of love), I have not had a lot of time to think of myself. I think my body had been saying something but I had been too distracted to listen, so it found a way to make me pay attention. Hence, bronchitis. Not that it made me stop completely. It did make me slow down, though. I went home early for a few days, actually stayed home one day, I cut down the activities I had committed myself into over the weekend, and I rested as much as I know how to.

I reflected on what is going on. It just hit me this afternoon.

The thing is, I sometimes forget that the world would still go on without me. I may have a lot of responsibilities but they do not need to take over my life. I need to refocus and find a way to manage my time better. I need to spend time to look at all the things I have committed to and evaluate what I can effectively do and what I need to give up or to delegate.

Maybe, when all is said and done, I just need to take a break, even take a nap - to refocus, to recalibrate. Even the most highly sophisticated machines need recalibration. How much more are our body parts? In our rush to accomplish things, we think of ourselves as super-humans and although we have, in the past, been able to perform miracles and surprise even ourselves, we forget we need to pause, to refuel, and to readjust, lest we head for a breakdown.

On a another level, in our own self-conceived invincibility, at the height of successes and triumphs, we tend to get too big for our britches and we forget that all we have, everything we enjoy, the things we have accomplished, the material things we have amassed - these are gifts, graces and blessings. Like the builders of the tower of Babel, we give ourselves all the glory and sometimes even forget God.

The truth is, however high we get, when we forget, God finds a way to show us how small we really are - how weak we really are. In His infinite wisdom, He cuts us down to size, and leads us to what is important; to what really matters; to where true happiness can be found. He tunes us up and leads us back to Him.

And so, my recalibration continues - of all the important parts: the body, the mind, and the soul. I will try to rest my body more; use my mind more creatively; and find time to pray more - and hopefully, be able able to sing my prayers, too.

In the meantime, I need to take my meds and go to sleep. Goodnight!

The Journey

I was talking to someone one day about my trip to Las Vegas a few weeks ago. She told me how she never had the desire to go there. She also mentioned that she does not want to waste the time to travel to a place she was not interested to visit to begin with. I was curious. It also made me think, why do I spend four to five hours to go to Vegas? I don't gamble - oh, OK, occasionally I allow myself to play up to $40, but it's hardly a reason to go there. I watch shows, but I could do that here in LA, too.

Then I realized it was not just about the destination, really. It's mostly about the journey. We travel a lot. But regardless of where we go or the mode of transportation, we have the most fun during our journey. There is something about being together, sharing the road and sharing our thoughts that makes the experience meaningful.

When I last traveled to the Philippines with my sister Gigi in 2007, we started talking and laughing as soon as we sat down and buckled up in the plane. In that 16-hour journey across the Pacific, I think we only stopped when one of us fell asleep or one of her twins needed something. We were laughing at the stupid movie, we were reminiscing, we never ran out of things to talk or laugh about. It was the quality of time, the bonding that happens when you are together with someone in a small quarter. That's what it is all about.

In 2009, my two older sisters and brother-in-law came for a visit and with other relatives, we took a 16-day sojourn through 10 (11?) states and Canada. In those 16 days, we enjoyed each other again. We got to know each other again. We bonded again after years of separation. We got to know Gigi's kids and they got to know us. As we shared the sights and the beauty of mother nature along the open road, as we shared our thoughts, as we shared ourselves, we found how much love we had for each other, we saw how similar our senses of humor were, it brought to light how our shared genes and values made us a family - and it was wonderful.

Yes, it is about the journey itself - wherever our destination is or whatever the form of transportation we take, it is the company that seems to make the journey matter. Yes, I think that's why I go to Vegas among other places - that's why I like to travel.

It's like life. Our final destination is the same - death. But it is the span of time between our birth and death - it is THAT journey that matters - who we journeyed with, what we saw, what we did and what we learned; who we met, who we loved, what we experienced, what we shared - and how we LIVED!

Yes, it is about the journey.

I thank you for being part of my journey.

Remembering Nanay

It is my mother's birthday. She would have turned 89 today. In May this year, it would be 23 years since she passed away and the thoughts of her leaving us so early still causes a tingling pain my heart; it still makes me cry. Her memories make me happy and sad at the same time. She was a remarkable woman who provided us with a foundation built on love, faith, hard work, prudence and perseverance.

Without her knowing, her wisdom has tempered my careless nature. Her gentle reminders instilled in me a judicious way of living, of living within my means, and of saving for the future. I love my mother and I feel her presence inside me, in my thoughts, in how I view things, in how react to things and people.

We miss you, Nanay. You did a great job. We feel your love, even now. We know you are smiling down on us.

Thank you and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

The Scents of Spices

A few years ago, while participating in a creative writing session, the facilitator asked us to close our eyes and to smell the items she was passing around. As I reached for them with eyes shut, I realized they were different spices--cloves of garlic, onions, bay leaves and a number of other aromatic and pungent ingredients. After all the spices were passed and sniffed, she asked us to open our eyes and instructed us to write whatever came to mind, without concern for grammar or format. And so I wrote as my mind wandered back in time.

I wrote about my childhood memories of fiestas and weddings and birthdays and all other special celebrations when our community got together, worked together and prepared a feast together.

I remembered the women of my barrio, descending to the place of celebration. They came in droves, armed with their kitchen knives, cleavers and cutting boards. I could see the instant make-shift open-air kitchen constructed by the men. I could visualize the toldas (tents) springing up, the work tables being set up, and the women finding their own "stations" as they chopped, cut and gossiped.

The other men would busy themselves with butchering the cow, pigs and chickens while the children watched in awe. Some kids even helped in plucking fowl feathers. There would always be the unofficial chef, and everyone asked her how she wanted the meat and vegetables cut; how much spices to put in the large talyase or kawa ( a huge wok usually 3-4 ft in diameter) set in a temporary stove, made out three large stones fueled by firewood.

There would always be a pig skewered in a large bamboo pole and cooked on a makeshift rotisserie where it would take 6-8 hours for the lechon to come out exactly how they wanted it. For us kids, this was always the most exciting part. The cook would usually give us the pig's tail or would allow us to pinch the pig's shiny red and delicious ear.

Before the sun sets, the smell of spices would fill the air.

Tired of playing and watching, children would ask their mothers for food and would usually be treated to a piece of tutong smothered with pork fat which was especially preserved and prepared for them.

Life was good. It was simple. It was provincial, but it was real. There was a sense of community, of oneness, of fellowship, of bayanihan. Nobody had to ask for help. Help just came, because that was how it was supposed to be. Those were happy days. Those were the memories brought back to me by the scents of spices.