Mama and Papa Dearwums

When I think about my childhood, the first thing I remember is music. Mama and Papa met in a choir, and so a big chunk of my life was spent listening to them singing, making music together. I have about 40 godparents, an entire choir. Literally. That should say something.

Being the eldest, I was the one they ferried around to concerts and tours. I remember going from lap to lap of each choir member, all of them taking turns singing to me. I'd look at them during rehearsals either from underneath the keyboard stand, between Mama's legs, or clinging on to Papa's arm (which probably made conducting a little difficult for him, haha!). I'd fall asleep on Mama's lap to songs and laughter.

They started calling me Katinka during the world tour, and so most people who have known me that long (or who know me deeply), call me that. In fact, for the most part, I prefer being called that, especially in recent years, since it hearkens to days when life was safe and full of beauty.

When I was growing up, we'd have endless conversations about music, books, movies, faith, philosophy, family, tragedy, and everything else in between. Papa taught me how following my heart's passion will always be rewarded if I do it in pursuit of pleasing God.

Mama and I have our own language, and so most of the things we "talk" about aren't really uttered out loud. Our bond is more intuitive; most of the things I've learned from Mama, from graciousness, motherhood, partnerhood, womanhood were all passed through osmosis. I look like Papa (mostly), but people always say I look like Mama because she and I have the same expressions and mannerisms.

As a child, whenever I'd have a nightmare, I'd crawl next to Mama, my body finding the space her body has always made room for, and I'd promptly fall asleep. (I did this until I was in college, I kid you not.) Sometimes, when a nightmare was so bad and I'd be unable to move, I'd call out for Papa, and he'd come into my room until I fell asleep.

My brother Paolo and I used to constantly fight growing up, but when it was bedtime, Papa, tired from a whole day of teaching and a whole night of rehearsals would gather the two of us and tell us stories. We had Heeteehot and Hooteehat, shadow figures on the wall, who did all sorts of magical things. Paolo and I would forget about the day's silly fights and fall asleep ensconced in a world made by Papa's imagination.

Mama, on the other hand, would be the one who soothed us, made sure we were lacking in nothing, especially when Papa would be gone for months at a time for tours. While my friends had TVs in their own rooms, we'd only have one, and we'd watch TV with Mama. All the while, she would allow us to poke fun at her when she became overly emotional. (It really is the funniest thing ever.) My panic attacks started when I was 8, and I remember going to her closet to look for her clothes so that I could smell them. It instantly calmed me down.

When Mama was pregnant with my youngest brother, I was thirteen...and had chicken pox. And so I wasn't able to see Mama nor Jerome until he was already a few weeks old. That was hard. To top it all off, I had to spend my 13th birthday sick in bed. Papa used to bring me big bags of Skittles to comfort me (which explains my affinity for Skittles up to now). Jerome was the cutest baby ever, he was a delight to everyone. Up to now, I am honored that Mama trusted me with all the little things that came with having a baby -- changing diapers, preparing milk, feeding him, etc. By the time Lucia had come along, I knew how to do most of those things already.

Through the years, my parents, being human, had their own fair share of hardships. My parents, for all their attempts to shelter me, never really treated me like a baby (oh, but how I was...and still am!...babied).And so, I was never fully unaware of what was happening. They were always open and honest about what they were going through. Seeing how they are now, then, I am even more blessed at how far they've come.

"Oh, you're the daughter of <insert parent's/parents' name(s)>," has always been a refrain growing up, and so for a period, I rebelled against that, thinking that it was imperative to have an identity apart from them.

I thank God that I never succeeded in that.

When I look back now, I see how much I am a product of their greatnesses, their accomplishments. And their weaknesses, their failures. And all the beauty and grace that come with all of that.

Today, they celebrate 33 years together. I've mostly viewed them as parents, but being where I am right now, in my own version of parenthood, at the wake of my recent separation, I see them as individuals. A man and a woman who have spent lifetimes upon lifetimes together, still hopelessly in love, still funnily bickering, still wholeheartedly broken and whole at the same time.

They nursed me back to health by simply being what they've always been to me, with their unconditional love and support, constantly reminding me of God's presence. I could easily become bitter about relationships and marriage, but I find that impossible, seeing how wonderful their marriage is.

And so, Mamadearwums, Papadearwums, on behalf of Paolo and Jerome, we, Mimitoonghee, Oshobowbow, and Uthemoomee, forgive you (for all the mistakes you think you made), we thank you (for all the mistakes you think you made), and we honor you (for those mistakes you think you made, made you human, allowed us to be more forgiving of our selves for our own mistakes). We ask that you never change, that you continue being an inspiration to us and to everyone who has come into your lives.

Happy anniversary. I'd like to say my brothers, sister-in-law, and I (and Lucia!) love you more than you love each other, but that's an impossibility. We come pretty close though, I assure you. God bless you both always.

Heart Songs

This morning, I had to take care of a few things with Lucia's dad, so I got to be with Lucia for a few hours. As soon as the car door opened and she saw me, she yelled, "Mommy!" And then she pointed at herself and said, "Baby!"

Such joy.

/

I spent most of the afternoon working on another project that was graciously given to me. I was tasked to translate several kundimans (Filipino love songs) for an album that a couple of friends of mine are involved in. These aren't just any songs, mind you. These are time-honored classics, using a language that is all too foreign to me (embarrassingly).

It was difficult and humbling. There are so many nuances to the words that are just near-impossible to capture in English. I found myself reading the lyrics on their own first before going on ahead and translating the whole song. (Okay, Google helped. Somewhat.) I had to feel the cadence of the words, the lyricism of each word as it melted into the next. And then I found that I wasn't translating the words, I was translating its message. Being where I am in my romantic life, well, I could tell you that I had no problems talking about loss, desperation, longing, and every nasty (okay, most were beautiful) little bit that comes with love. (Who me? Bitter. Scoff medicine please.)

Behold, an excerpt from Kung Hindi Man by Nicanor Abelardo:

Irog sandaling dinggin ang aking pagtangis
Irog sandaling tunghan ang humihibik
Kung di man nararapat sa iyong dikit
Isang sulyap mo lamang, Aliw na ng dibdib.

I anticipated a lot of difficulty (which I did have), but I wasn't expecting to finish the whole line up in a day. Maybe it was the conduciveness of the environment (I wrote in the studio of my friend who was sculpting beside me the whole time), or the fact that I fell in love with Tagalog (all the way being deathly afraid of it), either way, I'm done with the initial draft.

I fell in love with a language I hardly speak, and when I do speak it, I butcher it to death. I fell in love with days gone by, when love lasted, when utterances of eternal love were mostly true. I fell in love with images of a country I only see in books, from stories from my Nana. I fell in love with the heart of a people who fall magically, tragically in love.

/

When I was still a teacher, this would often be my prayer:

"Thank you for your gift of language, with which we may convey what we mean. But thank you still for the futility of language, that we may appreciate that meaning far outweighs any language we are capable of speaking."

/

My child, who only uttered two words, but whose love -- so enormous that it took away the sting of not being with her -- is so true. So pure.

The struggle to understand and repackage the heart songs of a people who are in danger of extinction from memory. (Live on, live on, ghosts of our pasts! Live on!)

Not having to speak at all, as my friend and I were both ensconced in our own worlds of art.

Finishing the translation, being enthralled by language, and then realizing its futility.

Falling in love with Love -- it's promises, illusions, foolishnesses, hopes, languages, meanings.

/

...Such that this entry is a bunch of seemingly incoherent paragraphs. But you get what I mean.

I Don't Know What To Do With My Hands

Halfway through the plane ride, I was already crying. I held Lucia close, making sure she couldn't see my face. I kept whispering to her, "Be a good girl, okay? You have fun while I'm away. You eat lots. Laugh a lot." As our plane descended, the cabin lights dimmed so that we could see the lights of Manila more clearly.

When I saw those lights, I started heaving, clenching my fists, shutting my eyes, but the tears kept falling.

As we approached the baggage carousel, I saw the sea of people. Several flights arrived at the same time, and there was a massive crowd. And yet, in the sea of unfamiliar faces, I saw a familiar face (which reminded me how small Manila is, despite how large it is...you know what I mean), someone who is very dear to me. I hugged him, not believing my luck. Then I saw another good friend, I hugged her and we cried. And cried. And cried. I was happy to see her, I was terrified to be back. I was relieved to have seen someone whom I knew loved me without judgment. And I was tired of keeping my emotions in. There was a man who was taking pictures of our mini reunion, but I didn't care. Another friend appeared. Rinse, repeat. If only those people knew how much it meant to me to have seen them. It was almost as if the Lord let me see them, to comfort me. To remind me that even in this place of horrors for me, there are people who love me, whom I love.

Lucia's dad picked us up from the airport, and as I was about to leave them, I held Lucia close, looked at her for one last time, and said goodbye.

In the cab ride to my friend's house (where I will stay for the week, while Lucia is with her dad), I somehow managed to stop crying. But I felt like throwing up the entire time. I saw the dirty streets of Manila, the multitude of people, the many changes in the city's landscape (had I really been gone that long?), and just peoplepeoplepeoplepeoplepeople.

As soon as I arrived at my friend's place, she and I hugged, and we both cried. I heaved so badly, I found it difficult to breathe. All she said was, while stroking my back, "It's all right. You're safe now, you're safe now, you're safe now."

My arms still ache from the whole day of carrying Lucia at the airport. Traveling is so stressful for her, and so I had to keep carrying her, keeping her close. Now that she's gone, I don't know what to do with my hands.

It's only for a week, I know. Still. This is the first time I've been away from her since the basement. God bless Lucia's dad who patiently answers every SMS I send. "There's nothing to worry about," he says.

I don't know what to do with my hands.

I'll be meeting up with old friends, touching base with them, saying goodbye. The last time we left for Iligan, we didn't know that we were going to move there, so I took for granted the whole saying goodbye thing. In a way, it's good that I'm back, so I can do the proper thing, and move on.

My friend is a sculptor, so I watch her create. Right now, she's working on a piece that's based on me. It's a figure of a woman with a pouch, like a kangaroo. She's calling it Ma'amsupial.

...And my child is not with me.

I don't know what to do with my hands. I don't know what to do with my hands. I don't know what to do with my hands.

"Balik kayo agad a!" - Nana

Today, the most amazing thing happened. My little princessita, my little mine-mine-mine-child (she actually says that now, dear God), my little first child/apo/apo-sa-tuhod on both sides, actually shared her toy with a newfound friend in church.

Lucia and the little girl, Sam, were running around the parking lot, squealing with glee, taking turns with the toy, holding hands, speaking some language I don't understand. (Sam would break out into Bisaya and English, Lucia in Taglish [Where did she get that kaya?], and yet they both understood each other perfectly.)

When they had to part ways, she didn't throw a fit, she let out a hearty, "Good bye! See you!" and then we went home. Little things like that make me realize that my little baby is slowly -- but surely (huhuhu!) -- growing up.

She's grown leaps and bounds here, developing at a pace I can only marvel at. For one thing, she's huge now. Like, I seriously cannot carry her for long spells anymore. But she's also so...aware of everything. I wonder if she knows we're leaving. She keeps kissing her toys and little objects she's made hers (little figurines, cups, anything). Sometimes she even tucks them in (with a blanket, a throw pillow, or a paper towel) and says good night to them. She keeps going to her usual haunts around the house, playing pretend. She has actual stories in her mind now, and watching her act them out is pure joy.

Last night, I had to put her on a timeout for the very first time. It was difficult because she's just so darned cute all the time (even when she's annoying). It was heartbreaking. But it was also difficult because...I wanted to laugh because she was being so melodramatic about it. [Again, where did she get that? :P] This being her first time, the timeout lasted a little less than a minute. I wanted her to know what a timeout was and for her to know why she had to be on it. She nodded her head afterwards, kissed me to apologize, and graced me with an uneventful night.

Hopefully, when we get to Manila, her routines will stay in place. But if she's going to be anything like me, she'll be looking for the fresh air, the huge garden, the sound of the waves, Nana and Daddy's voices...it'll be really difficult to leave this place.

But it'll only be for a month (in fact, a little less than a month), and we'll be back. All my anxieties have been leading up to this point, and now, instead of wanting to avoid it, I just wanna get it all over and done with. I'm looking at our bags and we're all but finished packing. Hay. I pray that this trip will be fruitful and will be a continuation of the blessings we have received thus far.

Okay, it's not all that bad. I will get to be with friends again. When we left, we didn't know that we were going to settle here, so I kinda took the whole saying-goodbye thing for granted. Now that we know we'll be living here for a while, I'm determined to meet up with as many friends as possible, to say my goodbyes. And, of course, to give the most painful and lasting goodbye that I have to give.

Goodbye for now, Dalipuga. Next time, I'll be writing from Manila (if I get to write at all while there). Hopefully, I'll still be sane there. Let's all cross our fingers shall we?

See you again soon, Paradise!

Excitement, Anxiety, Anticipation, Gah

It's been a while, I know. I've been having a rather difficult week, but at least it seems as if it'll end productively, at least. (Cross your fingers.) The reality of transitioning into this new phase of my life is proving to be difficult, as expected, of course. Still. Difficult. I guess that's why I've been silent. I'd like to keep this blog free from the vitriol that usually comes out of my mouth when angry. (Oh, but the effort to remain prudent! Kill me now.)

In two days, we will be in Manila and I have a ton of things to do. Sorta. I think. I'm overthinking things again, and I'm getting a little overwhelmed with everything I need to do. I've had to take my anti-anxiety meds again recently (I was able to stop them for about two weeks) because of our impending visit. And everything that comes along with it. Everything.

At least I have work coming my way, something that'll keep me involved. And it's creative work, too, so I'm looking forward to it. I love it when these projects fall onto my lap, just when I need them. Also, I'll have some kind of work waiting for me here for when we come back. Nothing major, just this and that to help manage our stuff here, but at least it'll keep me busy.

I'm really looking forward to seeing my friends again. But I'm glad I won't be spending more than just those few weeks back in Manila. It'll take a while for me to find comfort in living there again.

In the meantime, I shall keep these images in my mind to keep me sane. Dalipuga, my darling, we shall be back soon.

T Minus Seven Days

One more week left in paradise.

We're all busy with this and that, the everyday life of paradise has its own share of errands and To Dos. In the last two months, I've come to find comfort in them. Next week, we fly back to Manila and I have to cram all sorts of activities and important meet ups in a month.

And I can't tell you how much this fills me with...anxiety. Oh, sure, I'm excited to see my friends again. In the past two months, close friends have had to satisfy themselves with quick online messages with my reassurances of my well being. I'm looking forward to actually touching base with them. But I'm also filled with dread, being back at the epicenter of where it all begun to unravel for me is not something that is exciting for me. I hope I've healed enough here to be strong enough for the gravity of Manila.

I think I am.

But I'm coming back to Manila a changed person. I don't know how this New Me will take to Manila.

But I'll be okay. I'll find a way to be okay. I think my friends will make it a point to have some sort of meet up with me every day, just so I won't be alone during the day when Lucia's with her dad.

I just hope everything goes smoothly. I hope everything falls into place. I hope whatever needs to be finalized gets finalized. Because as refreshing as these past two months have been, and inasmuch as I've begun to grow some roots here, I know I can't go on with the rest of my life just yet, unless all this is finalized. I'd really like to start my 2013 already. Hopefully all that needs to be settled gets settled. Amicably.

Guh.

I'm Okay!

I am. Just a little busy, sort of. Prepping myself (psychologically, mostly) for our visit to Manila. Fixing legal papers. Keeping up with Lucia.

I'm also a little verbally constipated. But I'm okay. Mostly. I'll write soon. But I'm okay.

Her (Italicized)

Lucia, her yaya, and I will be coming to Manila on January 21 to visit Lucia's dad and his family. While there, I intend to visit my own friends, reconnect with them, belatedly celebrate the holidays, and perhaps settle some legal matters while I am there. I am excited to see my friends but...

...I'm also afraid of relapsing into my depression. Now that January's well on its way, I've been having mini bouts of anxiety just thinking about our return. The proximity to all my triggers is filling me with dread. I haven't been able to sleep well these past few days, and last night, I had a full blown nightmare (but no, not a tsunami nightmare again).

I'll miss the sound of the sea that constantly surrounds me. The air. The birdsongs. The flowers. But mostly, I am anxious about having Lucia be with her. I dare not bring myself to see nor speak to her, ever again (unless painfully necessary), but I know it will be unavoidable for my daughter to have to interact with her. And as a mother, I just want to protect Lucia from all that which broke my spirit, and it pains me that I cannot do that in this instance. Oh, I know Lucia is made of sterner stuff and that she at least genuinely loves my daughter (in her way), but...oh, how can I explain this without sounding like an awful human being? I can't, so I won't. I just...really am so anxious over that.

But it's just for a month. It's just for a while. And then we can go back to our beloved sea. I just wish...but no. 

Never mind. Don't mind me. I'm just rambling. Just my racing thoughts, nothing more.