8th - "From henceforth, you shall be like any other day."

I resurrect this little-thing-that-could-did to say: it's been eight years. I completely forgot to celebrate my Other Birthday this year.

If memory serves me correct (that is: if the search algorithms serve me correctly), the last time I wrote about it here was four years ago. I still remembered and celebrated it in a fashion in the years between then and now, but it was always just a quick post on Facebook and Twitter, with a link to whichever blog post I felt like sharing. There was one year when I celebrated it by getting a tattoo (it's been more than two years since I last got a tattoo, my goodness!).  And then there was an entry (that was cross-posted to Reddit) that gained some traction. Most recently, there was a conversation I had with the writer, my friend, Isa Garcia. 

But mostly, the homage that I've been making these days has been in my Every Day. I find myself in that glorious sweet spot where the work I do in my professional life, volunteer life, and personal life all sort of converge magnificently where I can advocate for education for the poor, mental health, and social justice. I remember starting this advocacy and people were just beginning to talk about depression and anxiety. Conversations were hushed and people chose to respond to my posts anonymously through private messages and such. Now I see it discussed more often and more openly. (Thanks in large part to the younger people who are taking over the world. I am in awe of them, truly.)

Eight years. It took me eight years to get to this place of contentment (yes, pandemic be damned). Sure, it could be better (I mean, pandemic, damn you), but all around me is Grace. I even go to Church regularly now! Oh, and I'm finally annulled! And I haven't completely ruined my child's life (yet, haha)! I mean, how can I not rejoice in the Lord? How can I not live my life with such gratitude? There is just so much of...*waves wildly* THIS. My heart is full.

I hold all this joy even as I look back to where it all began. The first time I wrote about my Other Birthday was a year after my confinement. Reading my words, I can remember how still-dark, still-sad, still-angry I was. 

Guess what? It's happened. It was a day like any other day. 

And it was the best way to celebrate it.

To Remembering, Un-Remembering, and Remembering Again. And all the nooks and crannies that exist between each phase.

Happy Other Birthday to me. To more extraordinary days, like any other day.

[Placeholder]

I don't know what to write, really.

There have been so many changes, it's hard to keep up. I don't know what all the astrological whatnots said about what is in store in 2018 for INFJ Scorpios who were born in the year of the Monkey. But take it from me, it's been full of changes.

I've left my job (the one I've had for almost four years), and now I'm eyeing another professional change (what that will be exactly, I'm not quite sure yet). All I know now for sure is: I know what I'm worth. I know what I can do. And I know I can do more. It took some enormous leap of faith to get here (Kierkegaard would be so proud), and while it is an accomplishment I know I fought for, the "here" also seems so uncertain. But it feels so...empowering?...to know that this uncertainty was by choice. If that makes sense.

We're about to leave our home (the one we've stayed in for almost four years — wait, an epiphany; more on that later). So I am surrounded by boxes and various piles of Keeps and Give Aways and Throw Aways (Gives Away and Throws Away?). I'm keeping so little, by design. I'm determined to enter my late thirties (turning 38 this year!) with less stuff and more purpose.

The epiphany: I realized that I started my former job and moved into this (what will be former) place almost at the same time. So moving homes seems like an adequate partner-event in terms of closing this chapter.

I really don't know what's about to happen for sure, and I panic a lot in my dreams, but in my waking moments, I am calm. And I plan. And I wait.

Well, 2018, while I have your attention, maybe I can also leave behind my marriage and get the annulment settled. Yes? Please?

Onwards and upwards, then.

When the World Was Pink

I have been told countless times that my daughter is almost exactly like me. We have the same expressions, the same interests, the same speech patterns. We have the same hair, the same laugh, the same chin, the same nose. We have the same love language (touch), the same temper (intense). She has my OCD and the same obsession with pink. We can both talk nonstop.

I see parts of her that aren't me, though. She is fearless. She is sure on her feet. She takes to swimming and running and all other physical activities like a natural.

My whole life is about her.

--

It is almost impossible to think of myself apart from being a mother; and yet it is this aspect—this non-mother-ness—that weighs heavily on me. As the annulment process reaches the next stage, reading all sorts of summaries of reports and testimonies, I realize that before that, I couldn't think of myself apart from being a wife.

For what am I—now—if you strip away my being a mother, a wife?

I am lonely. I am afraid. I am tired. I am confused.

I would like to have someone take care of me, ask me about my day, massage my head, my shoulders. I would like someone to tell me that my laughter lifts his/her spirits. That my laughter matters.

I would like someone to notice how my laughter has been hollow of late. How my eyes are sad. How he/she listens to me weep at night and stays up late to tell the ghosts to go away. To leave me alone.

I want to hear, "I love that you take care of me. But here, let me take care of you."

Just don't tell me you love me. I disbelieve it now if it doesn't come from my family and best friends.

--

I'm just tired. And in a few days, it will have been a year since.

And in that year, I will have been alone by choice. Too afraid and disgusted and walled-in.

--

Sometimes, my condition makes me doubt my own memories of happiness. I doubt if those happiness-es were real or just a by-product of my mania.

I do remember one moment when I was neither wife nor mother.

I was driving home from one of my classes in the dead of winter. The roads were miraculously clear and the snow was still. It was moments after dusk and the world around me was pink. The sky, the snow, the air—everything was pink. And the world was quiet and still. I opened my windows and drove home in silence. I didn't notice my tears and how they had all but frozen on my cheeks. I don't even remember why I cried. All I knew was that, at that moment, I was happy.

--

I go back to bed and nurse the abdominal pain that—contrary to what everyone said—didn't go away after I gave birth. (This PMS, unlike most of my relationships, though, is constant, reliable.) I close my eyes as this inchoate migraine has turned me photosensitive again. And my child love languages me calm. For now, I am only mother, for it is the one thing that makes sense to me. She whispers, "I love you," and for a moment, I forget how long it has been since I last heard that as a form of a lie.

Compassion and Empathy

Just a few hours ago, I had lunch with the yaya who took care of me and my siblings for about 6 years or so. This was during most of the 90s, so she had front row seats to the show that was my teenage angst. Wew. While we were talking about this and that, she said, "Parang bumait ka, a."

For some reason, I've been getting that a lot lately. And no, it isn't because I'm fantastically nice now. It's because I was THAT messed up before. Recently, I explained to some fairly new friends that I wasn't always like this. Things were very, very different before.

Another friend asked why and how I've mellowed so much. I told her that I had been through hell and back and that I literally almost died. Basically, I've been living my second life since 2012, and I am much more appreciative of what I have now. There are times when I feel like reverting to states of mind and being that nearly destroyed me, but the tug passes. Not without much effort, but it passes.

I am in that weird space right now, remembering that year (as well as the year that just passed), and I'm in a muddy mix of emotions. Mostly because I saw this video shared on my newsfeed:



My emotions are weird because, I can intellectually remember being sad and alone and ashamed. But I don't emotionally remember them anymore. At least not as much as I can feel how much happier I am right now. Don't get me wrong, I still remember the shame all too vividly. But I don't really feel the shame as intensely now.

Interestingly, when I think about that year, I don't remember the sadness or the fear or any of that. I remember the things that got me through.

So much of what Monica Lewinsky said resonated with me, but of all the things she said, this was my favorite: "Shame cannot survive empathy".

And, like she said, this empathy can come from anywhere.

Aside from love from my family and friends (my goodness, my family and friends, THANK YOU), what buoyed me were the many private messages that near-strangers sent to me. I mean, I received messages of hope and encouragement and prayer and outright love from people I wasn't even close to. From people who didn't even know the whole story. I had people telling me about how other people were praying for me. It was amazing.

Meanwhile, some people whom I thought were really good friends—and I mean, REALLY good friends—kept away. Remained silent. Waited for me to reach out. They wanted to remain neutral, they said. Nailang daw sila. (Sorry that my misfortune made you ilang. Hay.)

They are no longer my friends. I cut all ties with them. And that's okay, I wish them well. I have already been blessed by so many with so much.

I've been pretty okay, actually. In fact, I dare say: I'm pretty happy. (Eek!) Ugh, someone actually had the audacity to ask if I was dating again because I looked so happy. (Like it isn't possible to be happy on my own. Like it isn't possible to actually want to be alone. Oy.) It's scary sometimes, this happiness. Since I'm more in the manic portion of the spectrum, I have to keep checking if I'm being overly hyper again, if this happiness is mania.

(Like, I've been overly productive at work lately and because of what happened in the past, there was a moment where I was scared I was being manic again. I wasn't. I just really love what I do, haha!)

But everything's been steady. I take my meds like clockwork. I get lots of sleep. I laugh—genuinely—a lot. So I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. (I'm okay!)

I just want to say thank to everyone who has been kind to me. Thank you for your compassion. Your kindness and compassion make me want to be kind and compassionate, too. Maybe that's why I'm kinda more mabait now.

La Decapitazione Dei Capi

BEHEADING OF THE HEADS

("La Decapitazione Dei Capi")

Written by Italo Calvino. Translated by Ubaldo Stecconi & Carmina Ma. Veronica Ll. Bautista

I arrived in the capital on what looked like the eve of a festival. Stands were being erected in the squares, flags were being hoisted, ribbons and palm trees were being raised. Hammers were banging everywhere.

“Is it your national day?” I asked the bartender.

“No, it’s for our heads of government,” he said, pointing at a row of portraits behind him. “It’s for them.”

I imagined it was their inauguration after an election. “New leaders?” I asked.

I nearly had to shout my short sentences to cover the din of hammers, loudspeakers that were being tested, squeaking cranes that were erecting gallows. The bartender shook his head; they were not new leaders, they had been around some time.

“Do you commemorate the day they seized power?” I asked.

“In a sense,” a customer beside me explained. “We have this celebration regularly: when the day comes, there they go.”

“Pardon me?”

“They have to climb up to the stands.”

“Which stand? I’ve seen many, at all crossroads.”

“One stand for each; our government has many heads.”

“What will they do there? Do they speak?”

“Not really, no speeches.”

“So, what do they do when they stand there?”

“There is little for them to do. They wait for the preparations, then the ceremony is over in a couple of minutes.”

“And the people?”

“We watch.”

The bar was crowded. The carpenters and handymen who were unloading the stands’ fittings from their trucks (axes, stumps, baskets) would come in to drink a beer and quickly go. I would direct my questions to somebody but somebody else would invariably answer.

“In short, it is a sort of re-election. They get confirmed in their positions, in office.”

“Not at all,” they corrected me. “You didn’t get it. It’s actually the end of their terms in office; their time is over.”

“And so?”

“So when the head no longer rules, it rolls.”

“Hold on, why do they have to stand on the stands?”

“So that we can have a good look at how the head rolls, springs in the air, and ends up in the basket.”

I was beginning to understand, but I wasn’t sure yet. “You mean to say the heads of your heads of government? They roll in the baskets?”

They nodded. They clearly meant beheading; the beheading of the heads.

I had just gotten there, I had not read the papers, I did not know a thing.

“Tomorrow then, all of a sudden…”

“It’s the rule; when the time comes…” they were saying. “This time, it falls in mid-week. Holiday. Nobody works.”

An old man added gravely: “When fruits are ripe, harvest comes; when the time comes for the heads, it’s beheading. Would you let fruits rot on the tree?”

In the meantime, the carpenters were going on with their job: scaffolds were erected, heavy guillotines were being tested. Stumps were firmly fixed onto the stands for ax-beheading. They were placed close to convenient prie-dieux (a man lay his head on a stump to check that it was at the right distance). Something like butcher’s counters were installed on certain stands so that the blood could flow neatly into the drain. Oilcloth was spread on the floor; sponges were ready at hand to wipe it clean from the splatters. The men were working cheerfully: some were laughing and whistling.

“You look happy. Did you hate them? Were they bad leaders?”

“Not at all!” The clients in the bar were looking at each other, surprised. “These ones were good, I mean to say, not worse than many others. You know what they are like: leaders, bosses, chiefs…When you get to the post…”

“I have to say I quite liked these ones, though,” another client said.

“So did I. Yes,” others added. “I have nothing against them.”

“Aren’t you sorry that they will kill them, then?” I said.

“This is not the point. The moment you accept to be a leader, you already know the end of the story. No hope can die of old age!”

The others laughed. “That’s too easy! After your nice spell in power, you shake some hands and go back home, as if nothing happened.”

Another said: “Oh that would be something! In that case, everybody’d want to be a leader! Here I am, take me, I’m ready!”

“So would I. And I!” many said, laughing.

“I wouldn’t,” said a man with glasses. “Not like that, that would be meaningless.”

“True. What sort of leaders would those be?” other voices added. “You can do the job only if you know what lies ahead, otherwise…What nonsense!”

The man with glasses, apparently the best educated among them, began to explain that power over the others is one and the same thing with the latter’s right to put you on the stand eventually, and bring you down. What authority would a leader have if he were not surrounded by this expectation? If you could not read the expectation in his own eyes every single moment of his term in office? Civil institutions rest on this double edge of power; there has never been a civilization that did not adopt this system.

“Hmm, I can give you some examples…” I objected.

“Real civilization, I mean,” the man with glasses insisted. “I’m not referring to those barbaric period which stretched over peoples’ histories.”

The old man who had spoken earlier about fruits proclaimed: “The head rules as long as it stands on the neck.”

“What do you mean?” the others asked. “You mean to say that if a leader doesn’t have his head chopped off at the end of his term, he would rule for the rest of his life?”

“This is how things went,” the old man confirmed, “in those times when it wasn’t clear that the moment you accept to become a leader, you also accept your beheading. Those who had power would cling to it…”

At this point, I could have objected, I could have given examples; but nobody would have listened anyway.

“So what did they do?” others asked the old man.

“They had to behead their leaders against the leaders’ will, using force. Not even at regular times, but when the people really could not stand them any longer! This was before things were given some order. Now, the leaders accept it.”

“Of course they do,” cheered the others. “Can you imagine it if they didn’t?”

“Things are not as you say,” said the man with glasses. “It’s not that leaders are forced to accept their execution. If this is what you think, then you miss the point of our institutional system; you don’t get the real relationship between our heads and the rest of the population. Only leaders can be beheaded; therefore one cannot wish to be a leader without wishing the cut of the ax at the same time. You can become head only if you feel this calling; only if you feel that your head has already been chopped off the moment you get to your position of power.”

The crowd in the bar had gradually dispersed, they had all returned to their jobs. I realized that the man with glasses was talking only to me now.

“This is what power is all about,” he went on, “it is the expectation. All your power is nothing but the herald of the blade that hisses and neatly severs. All applause is nothing but the beginning of that final applause that hails the rolling of your head on the oilcloth on the stand.”

He took off his glasses, he wiped them with his handkerchief. I noticed that his eyes were filled with tears. He paid his beer and went out.

The bartender spoke close to my ear: “He’s one of them, look here.” He pulled a stack of pictures from under the counter. “Tomorrow, I’ll have to replace the pictures on the wall with these.” The portrait of the man with glasses was on top of the stack; it was an ugly blow-up of an ID photo. “He’s been elected to succeed those who are quitting the post. He’ll be in charge starting tomorrow. Now it’s his turn. If you ask me, they shouldn’t be told the day before. You’ve seen for yourself how he’s taking it. Tomorrow, he will watch the executions as if they were his own. They all do the same: at the beginning, they are disturbed, overwhelmed. The ‘calling’, what words he used!”

“And then?”

“Then he will learn to cope, like everybody else. They are so busy, they stop thinking about it until the day of the celebration comes for them, too. But then, who can read in the heart of a leader? They act as if they are not thinking about it.

“Another beer?”


---
Stecconi, Ubaldo, ed. Daydreams & Nightmares: A Fearless Anthology of Italian Short Stories. Manila: Anvil Publishing, 1996. Print.

30, When Rounded Off

Things that people said about me today (in order of diminishing frequency):

1. I am the bravest and strongest person they know.
2. I am Lucia's mother and they love Lucia, too.
3. I am their favorite teacher.
4. I am cute.
5. I have very nice teeth and they like my mouth.

Things I realized about myself because of what people have said about me:

1. I am incredibly afraid, though. And weak and tired from being strong. But thank you for cheering me on. It gives me courage and strength. But I am strong because of my faith, family, friends, and sugar. Lots and lots of sugar. Candy. CANDY.
2. I love that when people think of me, they think of my child. Having her was the single most defining moment of my life. (And it's her birthday tomorrow, so the fun continues! She also has nice teeth!)
3. God bless your little hearts and mercurial superlatives. I love you and I miss you and you will always be my children. (Special shoutout to my H2008 and A2013.)
4. I used to resent the word "cute" because I felt like it was a beautiful-that-could-have-been-but-sorry-no. Now that I'm 34 and old, I'll take it! (I still hope to be beautiful when I grow up, though. So watch out!)
5. I show my teeth when I smile, when I laugh. It's nice to know that I can do both often enough for people to see them. I hope for more things to smile and laugh about—apart from the jokes I make at my expense. (But I am SO funny when I'm angry/sad! Hay.)
5.1 Also, I resolve to wear more lipstick. I'm 34, damnit. I gotta make peace with makeup.

Onwards, then, to my last round-off-able-to-30 year!

Second. Seconds. Always.

"The day after Neil killed himself, you went to his desk, opened the official DPS book, and wept.

That's how it'll be for me today.

But I get it. I really do. And that's why today will be tough

-August 12, 2014. 7:37 am"

Yesterday, first thing in the morning, I found out that Robin Williams died of an apparent suicide.

For the rest of the day, I saw posts remembering and celebrating his work, his person. I spent most of the day either crying or stopping myself from crying. I couldn't believe that my beloved Mr. Keating had died the way Neil did. It might sound trite, but the first time I watched Dead Poets Society was the first time I fell in love with teaching. (And with Ethan Hawke. But that's a story for another time.) And then for quite a while, I used that same movie to teach poetry to my students. Every year. So, yeah. That movie meant something to me. He meant something to me.

I also saw numerous posts about depression, addiction, and suicide. I read an interview years ago where he mentioned that he had been battling with depression, too. So I have known about his struggles for a while now, but his suicide was no less shocking.

And everything just got too real. Everything hit a little too close to home. The past month...epic. Too close to home.

I struggled to get through the day. I managed to pretend long enough so that the kids wouldn't notice, but it was such a difficult, difficult day.

And then on my way home from work, I got mugged at knifepoint. Because, sure, why not?

I got off the LRT and started walking my usual route along EDSA (a walk that takes me from Taft to Roxas Boulevard where it's easier to get a jeep—yes, I do this every single damn day). Since there were so many people walking around me, I thought it would be safe to transfer my backpack behind me as my back was starting to ache. I suppose I wasn't walking as quickly as usual or whatever, but I suddenly felt a presence behind me. Just as I was about to turn around, I felt something sharp on my right hip. "Wag ka na lang lumingon para di ka na masaktan." ("Don't turn around so that you won't get hurt.")

I froze and in seconds, he was gone. Or rather, the knife was gone. He was just a knife to me, dreadful synecdoche. A cab passed by in front of me and I hailed it and got in. I checked my bag and realized my phone was gone. Perhaps my phone was the only thing he managed to grab in the few seconds he had me paralyzed. I think that's the only thing he took. I haven't really assessed the damage. I can't even look at my bag right now.

So, let's look at the last few weeks, shall we?

• My spouse has left, marriage is over. (Again, and for now, I'd like to keep it that way. There, there. It is what it is.)
• I got charcoal pumped into me. (Because, yes, again...I know.)
• Robin Williams has died. (I still can't quite explain why I feel this a little too keenly...or maybe I can and I just won't.)
• I was mugged yesterday. (Still surreal.)

But.

It's my 2nd Other Birthday today. And today I celebrate the fact that I did not die. Not two years ago, not a month ago, not yesterday.

I did not die. I lived.

I think, I need to change several things in my life right now (y'think?) and I will.

Tomorrow. I'll start tomorrow.

Today, I am afraid and wary of humanity. Too many. Too noisy. Too dirty. Too...there.

Today, I shall lie in bed. And read yet another article on Robin Williams. On depression. On suicide.

Or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll continue making airplanes out of old photographs with my daughter. (Hey, that's one way of getting rid of those damn pictures. And it was her idea. Burning photographs, so high school.)

Whatever. Sorry, I'm not making sense. I made it this far into this blog post, right?

Some guy had me at knifepoint for a few seconds. Big deal. (Actually, yes, big deal.) Now to get to these demons with their whispers. They never leave.

Today, I say to them, "I lived. I'm alive."

Happy 2nd Other Birthday to me.

Awake

Most co-sleeping parents know this: In an effort to make your little punkle fall asleep, you have to feign sleep yourself...but sometimes you pretend so well, you—well—fall asleep.

This usually happens with me and Lucia, except that a few minutes after she falls asleep, I usually wake up. Something about naps in the middle of the day makes me uncomfortable. I'm afraid of midday naps. Because (deep breath):

If I nap, I think I won't be able to fall asleep at night. I have insomnia (without my meds, I can go about two days on two hours' worth of sleep) and so if I'm un-sleepy at night because I had a nap, it makes me panic. And when I panic about not being able to fall asleep, I won't fall asleep, and when I don't fall asleep, then I'll be grumpy. And when I'm grumpy, I become hyper-aware that I am so I'll be friendlier/more hyper than usual at work to overcompensate. Which will exhaust me. Which will make me want to take a nap. But I know I can't, so I won't. But it'll frustrate me, so I'll be grumpy. And then <insert loop>.

Lucia's a fidgety little thing and she likes to mindlessly prop her leg up on my leg or snake her hand into my shirt's armhole (I know, it's strange) or put our noses together until she falls asleep. I coo and hold her tight and stroke her head or back and all this quiets her until she falls asleep. But her fidgeting actually soothes me, too, and so I end up falling asleep.

Then I wake up minutes after, in a panic, checking if I'm too un-sleepy for tonight's bed time.

That's where I am at this point. I still feel tired and I would like to take that nap, except...there's work tomorrow and I know I have to sleep properly tonight so that I can do the ten million things I need to do tomorrow, for the coming week.

And so now I'm thinking of my lists and sub-lists and tangential lists and oh-by-the-way lists, and I'm already exhausted. I'm thinking of the people I need to contact, the people I can't avoid (but want to, desperately), the people I want/need to speak to but can't and how I'll need to handle that, and I'm already exhausted. But I can't sleep now because if I sleep now, I won't be able to sleep later and if I don't sleep later it'll be SO HARD to do what I need to do this week. Because there are people and things that I want to be rid of (but can't) and...I'm already exhausted.

—

Pardon me. It's the long weekend, I think. Coming out of a long weekend is always tough.

Meanwhile, Lucia needs to wake up in about 35 minutes or else she'll be too un-sleepy to sleep by tonight's bed time which will mean I will have to stay up along with her and when I'm up past a certain time I get grumpy in the morning and <insert loop>.

Goodbye and Thank You, 2013

Lucia and I have been back here at Dalipuga since the 23rd. Chaddy couldn't take time off from work, so he had to stay behind in Manila, which is sad, but at least we are spending quality time with Nana and Daddy. It feels good to be back again. I like that the only agenda is to enjoy each other's company and the world around us. (And eat lots and lots of fresh fruits and fish!) I didn't realize things had been that frantic and fast-paced in Manila, so I'm grateful to be here.

This time last year, I was also in this room, typing a year-end post. 2012 was so awful for me and so I was looking forward to 2013. I wanted so much to leave that year behind.

In hindsight, 2013 was still a difficult year for me. It started with plans that had to be made, set aside, and then re-made. But it was a transition year for me—for us. And so while it was difficult, at least it felt like I was moving. Like I was progressing into something. So many things happened this year (I mean, behold the photos below), so I'm a little tired this time around. But it's a happy kind of tired.

We started the year with us here in our beloved Dalipuga. I was still in the process of recovering from my episode, so I was still raw, still reeling from all that had happened. I didn't really know what was going to happen—I didn't know if I was going to stay here, if I was going to get a job. All I knew was that I was still alive, and so something had to come of it.

Scenes from our beloved Dalipuga-by-the-sea.

Late January, we had to make a quick trip to Manila. It was a difficult trip to make because of how things were between me and Chad at that time. We were still transitioning into our separation, and so we were looking for ways to co-parent and co-exist. But towards the end, we were able to find solace in the fact that we were still friends. That friendship was what helped us through the challenging months ahead. I felt like giving up many times, especially with the stuff that we had to confront this year—some of which were quite serious and...persistent—but our friendship always pulled us back together. It may have been on different levels this year, but we never really stopped loving each other.

With all that had to be done, though, I managed to catch one of my favorite bands ever, Stars! (I still can't believe they came here!) In the first few weeks after I left the hospital last year, I would listen to them constantly. No, seriously. All. The. Time. They gave me such great comfort. Songs I had already loved before suddenly became more relevant to me, so I clung to every lyric like my life depended on it. Seriously. Being able to see them live was huge for me. Watching them felt like being hugged by an old friend.

Staaaaaars!!!

When we got back to Dalipuga, things started to unfold really quickly. Amazingly, I got a job again, but it meant having to go back to Manila. After months of healing, it was time to get back to the real world. I was looking forward to it, but I was so sad to leave Nana and Daddy behind. They had done so much for me and Lucia during our stay. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't have gotten better, that much is for sure. They nursed me back to health in ways I never even knew I needed. We left the day after Nana's birthday, so I'm glad we were able to say goodbye to all our dear relatives and friends here, and also to spend this special day with our Nana.

Home.

After about half a year of quiet, solitude, and rest, it was quite an adjustment to get back into the routine of working regularly and, well, just being in Manila again. But, as always, my parents came to help me get my bearings back. I wouldn't have survived the abrupt change had they not come to the rescue. They made sure I had everything I needed. But more than anything, just having them around was already more than I could have asked for.

It was painful to be so far from them when everything in 2012 happened, so finally having them with me felt like a long overdue embrace. Actually, it was like being gathered. Like all my broken pieces were gathered in their arms and they made me whole again.

Looloo and Loola with Lucia.

And I know this might not seem much, but around this time, I got myself a new pair of Chucks. Those of you who have known me a long time would understand why this is such a big deal for me. I had a hard time letting go of my old ones (obviously), but it felt like it was time I got new ones. Well, it was time to get new ones a long time ago, but this year, I finally did it. Those Chucks had long ceased to be just about shoes, and so the metaphor proved itself to be true as I definitely got rid of old things and welcomed new things.

Finally.

One of those "new things" was my job. After being in the throes of teaching and studying English for almost 10 years, being in the publishing industry felt strange and, well, natural. (Strangely enough.) I'm still amazed at how lucky I am to have gotten this job. I get to do what I love and I get to work with pretty awesome people. There are a lot of things about it that are foreign to me, but I love that I'm learning new things again.

A lot of hard work, but also a lot of fun.

Hosting the company Christmas party, and golly gee, I won best in costume! Hahaha!

Another metaphor that went full throttle this year was through getting myself new tattoos. Um, a whole bunch of them, actually. I wanted to highlight important people and events in my life, and so as the changes were unfolding this year, I wanted to keep track of the things that remained permanent. There are stories on me now, and each time someone asks, I tell it to them and share my gratitude for things that have happened to me, for people who have remained with me.

Too many stories for a caption. If we see each other, I'll tell you about each one.

Some things didn't change, though, and I'm glad for it. My friends—family, really—were still (and always) there. They kept me sane (literally and figuratively). Ever-loyal and amazingly loving, they made sure I felt loved at all times. They listened to me. They understood me. They protected me. They accepted me. And, well, they fed me. Hahaha!

From my adventures with Steph (Escolta, rallies, and museums, oh my!) to my pig-out and laugh-out sessions with my girls (my darling, darling, darling girls), to play dates with old friends and their families, I surrounded myself with all of their positive energies, and it helped me get better.

With my person, Steph.

With my Diyosas and our men. And our food. Always.

Met in college, friends for life. Us and our families. And look, I'm holding two cartoon sperm cells (which I made myself) and a huge drawing of the female reproductive system (which I asked someone else to draw)!

I also had a lot of online support this year. Friends and strangers (amazingly!) would send me private messages, telling me that they were praying for me, rooting for me, wishing happiness for me. I was overwhelmed with all the unsolicited love. I actually have one reader who messages me whenever I fail to update this blog for more than a week; just to check if I'm okay, if I'm still alive. Really, you're all amazing and I feel so blessed and humbled by all your thoughts and prayers.

Another incredible addition to my life is yoga. I mean, seriously, why didn't I do this sooner?! People say I've lost so much weight. In fact, I can probably do those Before And After pictures now with my old clothes, but I won't post any pictures of those. It isn't that I'm not happy with this sorta-achievement ha. It's just that...(don't laugh)...I didn't do yoga to lose weight but to gain (naks) inner peace (double naks, but—and because—it's true). So hurray for losing weight, but I'm glad I finally found something that is good for all aspects of my health. I've attributed so many positive changes in my life to yoga and I'm sooo glad I've finally gotten around to actually doing it.

(Oh, okay, okay, hurray din for getting rid of all that weight. Haha!)

But mostly, what helped me keep it together—aside from continued medication and therapy—was Lucia. Every major decision I've made this year was because of and for her, and I have absolutely no regrets. I mean, each decision has brought me to where I am now, and I am very happy.

One of those decisions was to live within walking distance from where I work. (It's a rather pricey neighborhood, so it was quite an investment to rent a place there. Thank God for raket and my parents.) Thanks to living and working barely a five-minute walk from home, I get to have lunch with her every day and go home to her immediately. I'm not too tired to hug and play when I get home and my weekends are actual weekends now. Dear God, I cannot stress how thankful I am for that fact. I could actually spend weekends with my family.

Lucia went to the corner for the first time this year. (She's been to the corner many times since.)

But she more than makes up for it, all the time.

This year, Lucia and I celebrated our birthdays quietly and simply with Chaddy. Yolanda had hit the Philippines just a few days prior, and so we wanted something simple and quiet. I've never really been a fan of superduper huge parties, so I was more than happy with Chad's homemade dinner. (He cooked me breakfast and dinner for my birthday. *hee*)

Birthday surprise from my adorable co-workers.

Assembling the punkle's birthday gift.

SISsy gave me a Dalek dress for my birthday. It came with Doctor Who post-its!

We also celebrated Chad's birthday simply and decided to spend a more meaningful time together. It was also a great occasion for me to show my cheesy skills, haha! Thankfully, Chad isn't a fan of superduper huge parties either, so he loved my silly little video kathingy.

At this point, we shared our progress with all our family and friends. We let them know that we were no longer pursuing our separation and, instead, decided to begin the process of fixing our marriage. It was so humbling to know that everyone was happy for us and had been praying (and will continue to pray) for the two of us. It was such a blessing to hear that even though we went through a rough year, they were still there for us, cheering us on. Chad and I have been going to therapy for a few months now, and we are both very blessed beyond measure.

Our baby, our everything.

My baby.

In the midst of all those changes, August 13 came along. I went through some great anxiety as the day drew near, but on the day itself, I decided that we celebrate it. After all, it was also my "other birthday." Instead of being the day I almost died, it became the day I lived, in spite of it all.

I guess that day was pretty much what my year was (in the same way that August 13, 2012 was pretty much what 2012 was). This year was the re-appropriation of a lot of things: my marriage, my career, my sneakers (:P), my life.

I am grateful that I am ending this year with my family intact. This time last year, I was resolute and resigned. I thought my marriage had ended after a catastrophic depressive episode. But now, a year later, I have Chad and Lucia with me. God allowed us to find each other again.

The year ahead will be challenging. Lots of changes are going to take place at work, Lucia's going to start going to school (gulp), and therapy will continue for me and Chad. But I'm looking forward to a fresh start and a continuation of all the progress we've made this year.

Happy new year, everybody. Here's to 2014!

Write!

A friend I met in kindergarten (yes, kindergarten!) messaged me a few days ago, asking if I could talk to one of his students.

His student is a Creative Writing major, graduating from university soon. He said she was unsure about what to do after school and so he asked me to talk to her.

Jasper (a girl named Jasper!) emailed me this morning, telling me about her passions, her worries, her concerns.

Here's a portion of what I told her:

I understand how you feel about wanting to do stuff. We're all kettles filled with water, percolating. And now here you are boiling, not knowing whether you'll be used for tea, coffee, or...childbirth (in some far off land where people still give birth inside their homes...).

The thing is, expect to keep percolating for a while. Put yourself in a warmer. Pour some of yourself out bit by bit. But also remember to refill from time to time.

Metaphors aside, here is the truth: First order of business, get a job. Any job. Don't be confined to options that just pertain to your degree. Get yourself out there and learn. No, not necessarily learn, just...be. Just Dasein in the most Heidegger sense of the word. You may settle for drudgery, but make sure it is drudgery that will not drain you of your passions. Make it drudgery that will teach you that all things—even drudgery—will enrich you. 

If you want to write, you'll need to experience life first. The drudgery will keep you afloat. Create on the side.

If you do manage to find work that will let you create, know that you may not always be given the freedom to create what you want. It may be a case of creating something that a client wants, that a boss wants. Do that, too. This will give you perspective, make you less self-centric. Be self-introspective (by way of juxtaposing your Self with The Other), but don't ever allow yourself to be self-centric. Conceited creators get boring really fast.

But keep creating. Creating for an audience is one thing (the lure of fame can be intoxicating), but if you lose sight of creating for your Self, you will lose your Self. 

And don't rush things. I'm 33 years old. I've come to terms with my writing. The writing I do for a fee (and by now, I am able to ask people to pay me with good money...I mean really good money, it's ridiculous) feeds me and my family (I'm married with a child, yes, you can have a family even if you "just" write). But the writing I do for free, that's what keeps me human. That's something I've learned in my 14 years of freelance and full time writing. Sometimes there are demarcations (this one I do for "free", this one I do for a "fee"), but then there are moments of blissful Venn diagrams where I get to do both. And that's because I allowed the process to unfold. I waited this long to be "trusted", to build a roster of clients.

Long enough, also, to know when to not care about clients and when to give heed to them. 

At the same time, I did work. Actual, back-breaking work. That's just how it is. But even those struggles fed my writing.

And BE with people. Not just like-minded people. Just, people. Learn from them.

Also, write what you know. Imagination fueled by YOUR reality, that's the stuff of amazement. I'm bi-polar, and for a long time, it debilitated me. Those emo drivels cum suicide notes were realities for me. For a time, I didn't want to medicate because I thought my demons were my muses. Learn to distinguish between the two. 

So now, the writing I do for a fee—script writing, technical/textbook writing, editing, fluff pieces for magazines—I am now comfortable with; enough not to label myself as a sell-out. BUT! I also write about my own struggles with my bi-polarism, my family, my daughter, my memories of pain. I don't do that for a fee (although someone wants to publish my drivel, the stuff I blog about [which still appalls me], so let's talk again in a few years...) and so I don't have to (always) worry about my audience or pleasing anyone, and that is mighty cathartic. 

Keep writing. Have a journal. Blog (if you want to try writing for an "audience"). Just keep writing.

Get a mentor. The mentor doesn't have to be a writer. But let the mentor know you through and through. Let the mentor love you enough to be harsh with you. Let the mentor see you grow. Induce you to grow.

Read. For pleasure, for learning. And everything in between. (As an aside, Stephen King's On Writing is perhaps the best "writing" book I've ever read...and it's a memoir. Get your hands on that, if you can. I don't even necessarily like the fella, but that book has been dog-eared and marginalia-d to death by me.)

I'll stop at this point because I want to give you enough space to add on to this listicle (of sorts). 

---

I was writing to her, but it felt like I was writing to myself when I was young, haha! Writing that email allowed me to look back and be extremely grateful for all that has happened. Goodness, has it really been 14 years???

Best of luck, Jasper! Good times ahead. :)

Happy Halloween!

This was my first time to actually wear a costume for Halloween. All the other occasions that had me in costume was for some geek quiz show, so it was fun to just dress up for laughs.

Didn't have to think it through too much since I'm basically a lot like her anyway, so yeah, jinkies, I came as Velma.

It was nice to have something to smile about that day. Goodness knows I needed something to make me happy, even for just a little while.

Chunkified for Later

It starts in the chest.

Somewhere. Not the heart—too cliche. Somewhere in the middle. I suppose that's my diaphragm. I imagine it being this mini atomic bomb mushroom and since that whole visualization thing from Lamaze is still in my head, I try to do away with that image. I replace it with a vision of Superman (seriously) carrying the bomb safely out of Earth. Superman throws the bomb miles and miles away into the great nothingness and I watch it (yes, I've become Superman now) as it explodes safely away from everything that matters.

That's what happens when I encounter something that's troubling. Sometimes, I am able to process the massive wave of emotions and ride on it, hanging ten safely back to shore.

Sometimes, though, I need more time to process things, so I take them in chunks. I take the situation apart, appropriate the categories for each chunkified emotion and set them aside for future consumption.

—

A former student of mine died last week. He wasn't just a student, he was my kid, part of my first ever moderating class. He died. He's dead. He's no longer with us. 

Saying these things ought to make it more real to me, but it still feels strange and painful all at the same time.

There are moments when I look to my right, and I see the memory of him. We used to carpool every day and we shared the back seat. He'd always be on the right, I'd be on the left. And so now, whenever I sit on the left side of anything, I shall always think of him.

He was a quiet boy in class, was never an aggravation. He was my beadle, so I managed to speak to him every day. Such an efficient boy, hardly ever absent.

He was more troubled than he led on, but that's how he is—was—he didn't like to be a burden to anyone. 

How I wish he had unburdened himself to someone, to anyone, to me. But.

—

I'm watching some kind of slow yet (definitely) un-quiet implosion take place. I vacillate between wanting to help and getting hit by shrapnel. I suppose I should just stay away.

—

Lucia will be three in a few weeks. She's growing so fast. There are times when Chad and I will just say (to ourselves, to each other), "Ang laki na nya." One of us would say it first, and then the other would say it, even if it was said just moments ago. As if the repetition would somehow slow the process.

But she is growing and blossoming and...I still wonder how I will ever become worthy of being her mother. She says things that blow my mind, does things that make me tear up with pride, and understands way too much. 

We decided to hold off on the play school/daycare since she's looked after by either me, Chad, or the yaya during the day, but next year, she'll be starting school. I am excited and fearful and, goodness...let's chunkify this emotion. Let's deal with this later.

My baby. Ang laki na nya.

—

I am happy where things are and where things are headed. 

I'm not going to Pollyanna this thing though. I am fully aware of the extraneous variables that need to be addressed, need to be removed. But things are where they are due to hard, ongoing work and prayer. And I am grateful. Ever so grateful.

—

And everything else.

—

His anger came from the stomach.

Rest in peace, Billy. Rest in peace, Kurt.

Self-Worth

And so continues therapy. I've been focusing on building life skills. Hay.

1. This would never have happened had we not moved back there. 

My therapist and I were trying to revisit certain events, trying to pinpoint when the sadness began. For me, it had always been clear. That wasn't the difficult part.

I've been apologizing for what I did, for what happened, as unclear as those events are to me right now. (It's amazing how hazy some parts of last year's events are; it's like my brain is consciously prohibiting me from remembering everything.) Part of all this process is my having to come to terms with the things I did to myself and to others and owning up to all of that. Apologizing has been a difficult exercise in humility, but there is a certain calm that descends upon me after the act of apologizing.

That still isn't the difficult part.

I don't think I've been fully forgiven for everything—certainly there is still enough pain and anger to go around—but I've also consigned this to the whole process.

Still, not the difficult part.

What this process has granted me is this realization though: I deserve to be forgiven. I have enough self-worth to desire that now. But yeah, process.

The actual difficult part is expecting that somehow, I would be apologized to. I want an apology. From her. I can only apologize and take responsibility for so much. But this happened as a direct result of other things, and I feel like I ought to be apologized to as well. I mean, I can be allowed to feel this way, right?

And the hardest of all this is the knowledge that that person will never ask for forgiveness. I know that much about her. And so begins another process (and the most difficult part of all): that of forgiving her when she doesn't want to be forgiven, when she doesn't even think she has to be forgiven.

2. "It's a condition, you don't have to keep saying that you're sick. You're being treated now."

I try to be upfront about my...condition; not that I owe anyone a thorough explanation. But I feel like I ought to warn people closest to me (not just by emotional affinity, but also by physical proximity) that there are reasons why I can't do or can't participate in certain things. Or why I have to do some things a certain way. 

Most of the time, I'll poke fun at myself first. Sort of call out the elephant in the room so that people won't get too uncomfortable. I'm always so worried that I might make people uncomfortable to be around me. I don't want to be THAT person, you know? But I'm also slowly learning that finding the funny in the situation is different from making fun of myself—because I think it allows other people to make fun of me, and sometimes it gets really hurtful. 

Not that a lot of people are making fun of me. It's just...

Let's just put it this way: If I had cancer, you wouldn't be telling me to up my radiation therapy just so I'd be less cancer-y, right? 

So, yeah. 

Must make sure I don't let people think it's okay to make flippant comments about my medication or my condition. Must stand up for myself. Must stop being so nice. Must allow myself to defend myself. I've been apologizing and existentially genuflecting to people I've wronged for so long. 

Oi, but Katinka, you did not hurt every single blessed person on earth. (Sorry, yes, I'm talking to myself.) So do Bob Marley proud and get up, stand up, stand up for your rights. (Okay, I'm singing the song in my head now. Sorry, I've just let you all inside my head. This is a confusing place. You may step out now.)

I need to learn to say stop. It's not funny anymore. I don't appreciate being spoken to like that. I don't appreciate having my awful life events become fodder for some mindless banter. (Rinse. Repeat.) Sorry. I mean it.

(Goodness. And to think I was such a you-know-what when I was younger.)

3. I've come so far and I feel like I'm almost in a good place, but this...this is holding me back.

Sigh. But THAT's for next week. Still so much to do. But, process. Process.

Baby Steps

Step 1, State the Obvious:
I haven’t written anything down in weeks.

Step 2, Establish Context:
I’ve been busy with work and Lucia, but mostly, I’ve been busy making sure that my wits are about me.

Step 3, State Present Conditions:
Tired. Un-hungry. Lonely. Confused. Excited. Afraid. Overwhelmed. Noisy. Sad. Angry. Ambivalent. Doubtful. But most of all, un-hungry.

Step 4, Use a Photograph to Show How You Are:

Photo taken by friend and former co-worker, Adam David.

Step 5, Assure People:
I’m okay.

Step 6, Don’t Lie:
I’m functioning.

Step 7, Explain:
Despite feeling incredibly alone (and lonely) most of the time, I find that I need to that weightlifter thing—the squatting, the sudden inhaling, the grimacing—to be well enough to cater to the needs of a toddler who’s so smart and energetic, I have to wonder if my womb is, indeed, a petri dish; so meticulously and perfectly formed is she.

Step 8, Emphasize the Brighter Side While Cleverly Underscoring the Sadness of It All:
Well, at least I don’t have lupus.

Step 9, Reassure to Segue Into a Close:
But I’ve been through worse. I’m recognizing all my feelings. I’m calling them out. They’re not faceless phantoms. And yes, I’ve been through worse. Onward, Christian soldiers. Much love.

Step 10, State Your Name:
Katz

Outtakes

Today, at work:

Click on the picture to get a better look-see.

My co-workers and I did a mini photo shoot to participate in Library For All's (LFA) campaign to make books easily accessible in third world countries. (We were supposed to explain why we supported LFA, hence, the sign says, "Because we know what it's like NOT to have access to books.") These didn't make the cut, but I thought they were still pretty kickass.

It was a fun little break from the usual stuff I do (although the stuff I usually do is also fun). Best of all, it was for a cause that was dear to all of us. Do check out LFA's site to know how you can help (and participate!).

Pictures are by Adam David and that shy fellow beside me is Charles Tan.

A Month In...

This week was tough, to say the least.

But there are some things I realized:

1. My support systems are intact. “Do you want company or do you want to be alone?” Alone. “Did you sleep well?” Ish. “How are you?” “How are you?” “How are you?” (8 am. 12 nn. 8 pm.) “Have you eaten? Are you lying? Stop lying, start eating.” … “Let’s go to the Great Unknown. Holding hands tayo.” Let’s.
2. I actually love my job. I’m learning so many new things, meeting so many people, making new friendships. I’ve had a tough week, but I didn't want to miss work because I like what I’m doing, and I actually really like the people I work with.
3. There will always be assholes out there (hiding behind Nice Guy clothing), but I realized I still want to believe in the best in people because…I interact with so many people who strive so hard to be the best they can be. (And sorry, but there really is no other way to describe those sorts of people.)
4. In spite of my tendency to leave people (wondering) because I withdraw within myself  when I’m sad, distressed, overwhelmed, or having an episode – people don’t leave me. While some not only let me walk away (and do things to make sure I will never want to go back), the people who really love me stay. Because they know I need them to be there. And so they stay. They just refuse to leave, they refuse to give up on me. (And besides, I’m never too far away, just within myself.) And when they say they love me, they really love me. They really, really love me. I don’t know why, I doubt if they know either, but they do. Because they know me better than my pronouncements about wanting to be left alone. (But they keep a respectable distance. Thanks, everybody.)
5. “You’re not your usual bubbly self. What’s wrong?” And to that I said I was just having a bad day. But hang on – so my de facto is bubbly? Yay! I’ve been so afraid that my de facto was, well, Eeyore. You have no idea how relieved I was to realize this. I've been so afraid that I bring people down.
6. My best friend is still my best friend. Our relationship has had many incarnations in the 10 years we’ve known each other: friend, boyfriend, husband, ex-husband, co-parent…but he’s still my best friend. And he still looks out for me and our daughter. And to him who has every right to say “I told you so”, who has been nothing but gracious and supportive, to him I say: thank you.
7. And finally, my truest love is my truest joy. Lucia is growing and growing and growing. And she’s so smart. And curious. And loving. And happy. And dimply. And giggly. And she is my world. And as of this moment, I'm still her favorite person in the world (because Pocoyo isn't a real person).

So this week was tough. But that's okay. I'm okay. I'm actually really, really okay.

Life Change Units

So out of the 43 listed life events in the Holmes and Rahe stress scale, I am going through the stress of (listed in order of grabe-ness):

1. Marital separation 
2. Personal injury or illness 
3. Change in financial state
4. Change to different line of work 
5. Trouble with in-laws (although I only have trouble with just one of them)
6. Change in living conditions 
7. Change in working hours or conditions
8. Change in residence

Whoo. Each one comes with its own corresponding "life change units." Adding all of mine together, I am, according to the scale, in "moderate" risk of illness.

Except that, well, I already am ill. Kinda. Sorta.

But I'm okay. Our new condo is now livable thanks to the tenacious and mad shopping skillzzz of my mom, work is less confusing now, and I think we're closing in on the solution to our yaya problem. 

So, yeah. That's my update for now. But mostly, I'm okay. Just really busy. And really...

An Update and a Message

It's useless. I've tried to start this entry a total of 6 times already. Fact of the matter is, I can't really write about anything right now because I am either one or all of the following:

1. sleeping
2. waking up
3. being happy
4. figuring things out
5. lounging
6. freaking out
7. talking
8. watching something
9. doing prep work for the new season (script writing begins again soon)
10. swimming 
11. playing with Lucia
12. putting Lucia to sleep
13. teaching Lucia new stuff
14. getting fat/trying to lose weight
15. removing stickers from walls

So there. I'll find something more concrete to write about soon. Well, real soon. I'll be getting the last of my pre-planned tattoos tomorrow, perhaps the most important one of all as it is something my brother and I had been planning for a while now. Stay tuned for that na lang.

Meanwhile, this:

Congratulations for reaching the end of this school year. I'm sorry that it had such a confusing start; it was mostly my fault. Know, though, that I am in a much better place now. And like I promised, everything is all right — most especially all of you. I wish I had been there to usher you all into the last phase of your high school lives, but you have done gloriously without me. I couldn't be prouder. But though I have been far away, know that you were all always in my prayers. Your resilience and strength of character have seen you through. 

Here's to a well-deserved summer. Hang on to your seats, things'll pass by really quickly from here on out.

Make sure you always disinfect! ;)

Study!

Dear Batch 2013,

Get off your lazy asses and study.

And if we ever spent more than 5 minutes together, you will know that I say that with much love. And seriousness.

I know most of you have colleges already (and if you don't, you soon will, don't worry) and for most (if not all) you've all but clocked out already. Sentimentality has taken over your drive to push yourselves one last time, and what the hell, tomorrow's a holiday, so you have time, right?

So, okay, play that video game, watch that YouTube video of people shaking ridiculously, agonize over what she meant when said ____, plan what to pack when you go to Boracay. Go ahead.

But make sure you find time to get off your lazy asses and study.

If there's anything you kids taught me, it's to stick it out, just a bit more, even when it becomes difficult. Especially because it's become difficult. You stick it out and give it your best because, dash it all, it will be worth it.

I mean, that's why I stayed long enough, just to finish the year with you guys. YOU guys helped me do that. So now go and help yourselves do that, too.

So go on. Procrastinate one last time, but pick up a book, a notebook, hell, pretend-group-study with your friends. Because konti na lang. How you, as a batch, handle these last few days, will define who you all are.

And in my book, your definition is awesome(sauce). You hear?

So get off your lazy asses and study.

(I love you.)

A Cup of Kindness Yet for Old Times Past

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to mind? 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And auld lang syne! 

For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne. 

We'll take a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne.

One of the last sunsets of the year here in beautiful Dalipuga.
This shot was taken yesterday.

And so the end of the most brutal year of my life is coming to a close -- and I cannot be happier. Lest the cup of thanksgiving be tainted with the bitterness of this year's experiences though, I would like to part with 2012 on a somber yet cheery adieu. (But good riddance, 2012!)

You need only look through this blog's archives (and add to the 22,000++ views -- thank you, avid followers!) to know how difficult this year has been. But I urge you to concentrate on the last few entries instead so that you can know that I am ending with a thankful, humbled, and thoroughly changed heart. 

Highlights of my year have been many.

Seeing my (grown up) boys again!

Being stage mother to Lucia's first stint as flower girl!
She didn't need to hold my hand to walk down the
aisle! What a pro!

Taking Lucia's to her first international trip!
Yummying it up in Hong Kong!

Mama visiting us in July! Seeing her beloved sea again.

Having good times with colleagues and
saying good bye see you soon.

Celebrating our birthdays together!

Coming back to Dalipuga where my true healing began.

Lucia spending her first Christmas at Dalipuga.

Surviving Pablo unscathed, enjoying this sunset
the day Pablo left.

Going ukay-ukay crazy! (This dress was only 12 pesos!)

Undertaking new projects, one of which being doing nail art
on myself! Haha! (Actually, the true victory here is that I can do
this now because my hands don't shake as much since
having been able to wean off my more powerful meds.)

Finally getting a tattoo of Lucia's name to commemorate my
second lease in life, my mini victories over my mental depression,
and the fact that Lucia is Lucia! :D

Looking forward to my new life as a single mother to this
beautiful girl. I mean, come on, look at that face!!!

Gaining a lot of strength from reading my old loves,
most especially C.S. Lewis.

Also, in the spirit of new beginnings, I'd like to look back in order to move forward by saying a few things. (Few? Me? Haha!)

1. A heartfelt thank you and I love you to my ghels -- Sara, Joanne, Joepi, Leslie, Joyce, Jean, Joy, Eedee, Jana, and Steph. I have known you strong women since my girlhood and you have seen me through everything. I cannot remember nor tolerate a major life event without you in it. You have given me the space I needed and the grace and unconditional love that I did not deserve when all was unraveling and coming back together again. Through everything -- every single blessed thing -- you have been there for me. Lucia is blessed to "inherit" you girls. I have nothing but utmost love for all of you (and your respective spouses and partners!).
2. Thank you to yayas past and present, but most especially to Elsie, our current yaya. I cannot even begin to tell you all how much they have helped me, especially when I had to be away at the hospital for almost a month. Elsie, in particular, has loved Lucia as if my daughter were own. Elsie is patient, kind, and fabulously tireless. Many times she has also been yaya to me.
3. Thank you to my former colleagues who have given me the privacy and silent support that I oh-so-needed. I have received many private messages of hope and support, even in the face of not knowing the whole story. All I know is, they have been praying for me. See where your prayers have brought me! I am eternally grateful. And to the true friends I made while I was teaching (you know who you are)...THANK YOU. I know that you are all going to be my friends forever, even beyond the ending of this particular chapter in my life.
4. My many, many, many children, old and young, I love you! You are all growing with such awesomeness (and speed, huhu!) and I am proud of all of you, beyond belief. Your virtual hugs, jokes, and the mere fact that you tolerate my bad puns (hehe) have brought me much joy and strength.
5. To Lucia's father, thank you for being Lucia's first love, for being there for her, especially when I wasn't there, for taking care of me when I couldn't take care of myself, and for taking care of everything else. I am sorry that things had to turn out this way between us, sorry for the hurt and anger I brought upon you, but I look forward to being the best co-parent with you, as these new circumstances would allow. 
6. My parents, my brothers, my grandparents, and the rest of my family have been AWESOME, you guys. Mi familia, you have given me space and support in right measure, and I have never been in doubt of your love for me. When things hit rock bottom, you were there. The Lord has blessed me beyond my infantile understanding of his existence through all of you. Thank you. I would never have achieved this peace and happiness without you.
7. My darling, beautiful, blessed Lucia, the love, joy, and light of my life -- I cannot even begin to tell you how you brought me back to life. Everything about you gives my life purpose and meaning. I promise to do my best to make you happy for the rest of my life. You are my laughter, my tears, my shivers, my giggles, my curling toes, my wriggling nose, my poorly-painted toenails, my look-at-me-mommies, my crackers with jam, my duck walks, my silly grins, my sparkly eyes, my kissy necks, my trips on lawns, my fearless ledge walker, my goofy utterances. My all.
8. And to you, Kuya Jess. My God. My goodness. Your goodness. I am in awe. "Great is thy faithfulness, morning by morning new mercies I see. All I have needed thy hand hath provided." I shall use my meager understanding of why you should find favor in me as fuel to my attempts to start this new life you've given me. I balk at the life I have ahead of me, but you shall be here. All shall be well. 

2012 wasn't so nice for me, but I raise this cup of kindness for ALL old times past, good and bad, hoping that kindness shall beget kindness. :)

"So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be." - Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

I've figured out how it could be though. All by the grace of God. Go I. 

Happy new year, everybody! L'chai-im!