That's All

I am poor. Aside from my family, my idealism is all I have on most days. If I stay, the system will slowly eat at that and I will be destroyed. It's not even up to me to choose not to be destroyed. Because for as long as I am here, I will choose to be angry.

Because being angry reminds me that I still stand for something. Something that It does not. Something that It is not.

But it is the same anger that will consume me.

I am verbalizing this not to justify my decision (which, in reality, will not really take effect for quite some time still) because aside from my family, nobody really deserves to know why I'm leaving. I am merely verbalizing this because I need to. For myself. So that I can be reminded that the die has been cast and that everything else that will happen hereon end - as awful or joyous as it may be - will only make this experience richer. Will make the end more meaningful.

For the chapter is about to end.

And I am at peace. And afraid.

Funny. When I started this chapter, those were the exact same things I felt. But I am different now. My priorities are different. Essentially, still the same, but different. It's just time. That's all.

Enough.

Image from: http://sonsoflibertyacademy.com/

Bullish Bullies, Full of Bull

Allow me this moment of despair.

I am at the point where I would much rather be a stay-at-home mom. It's not the work (although there are tons of it), it's not the long hours, it's not even the hardly-enough pay...

You know the trouble with having heroes? It's realizing that not only are they also human, but sometimes, they're the sort of humans you vowed never to be. It's that disappointment that's getting to me. So amazingly disheartening. I think more than what had happened, it's that fatigue from trying to understand context upon context upon context, only to realize that it really is a lot simpler than what I keep convincing myself. It's douchebaggery, plain and simple.

Ah, the disappointment.

Oh, I know. I shall rise to the occasion. I must transcend the politics. I must become better than That Bully. I'll get to that positive rah-rah stuff when I'm in a better frame of mind. Right now, I'm just so disappointed. So meta-disappointed, I'm existentially planking.

Please, just let me be at home. Let me take care of my child and my husband. Let me explore the gastronomical wonders that our limited pantry can offer.

If you woke up to this face every day, wouldn't you agree?

In her car seat, on our way to the grocery, 8 months old.

Soon, it won't be the anger that will make me leave. Nor that I stopped loving it. It will be because I love something else so much more. Ever so much more. It's just a matter of when.

Rituals

Every morning, I wake up at 4 to nurse Lucia one last time before I leave for work. The actual nursing lasts longer than the time it takes for me to get ready for work, and I'm out the door by 5:15. As I walk towards the gate of our compound, I often see the usual people milling about at that ungodly hour.

As soon as I step out of our building, I look to the left and the same jogger would be passing through. I turn right to go towards the gate, and already the school service is there, waiting patiently for our neighbor from the other building to sleepily board. Just a few more paces till the gate, I see the same old lady in mid brisk walk, always with a hearty "Magandang umaga!" since we always - so always, it's bordering on Twilight Zone proportions - seem to cross paths in such a way that we almost trip into each other.

Such is the automation of my early mornings. I can actually tell when I'm running late when I miss seeing any one of those people on my way out.

The past few days though, I have been ridiculously busy. So busy, in fact, that I've had to ask my husband to bring me to school later than usual. Lucia had been sick with a mild form of measles and I have been beside myself. I haven't been able to sleep well, eat well, do anything well.

Thankfully, this morning I was able to wake up just in time and do all that again. Lucia's on the mend now, so things are picking up. All of those morning elements were at play at again, and I knew I was back in the groove, my daily two-step with Early Morning back in motion. It might seem bizarre, but I did miss them and their unacknowleding acknowledgment that I am still on track, albeit barely.

Ah, but oh my, how the Fates do chuckle at my expense. I feel myself getting more ill as the day progresses. My head feels like it's full of sawdust, my nose is red from sniffling, I sneezed right before saying "good morning" to my kids, and I tripped ever so ungraciously in front of all of them. And it's only 8:27 am.

But no matter. At least I had my ritual this morning. I'm still alive. Albeit barely.

Achoo.

This Episode was Brought to You by Death, Vampires, and the Word "Wee"

Just got home from the hospital.

Lucia has had a fever for the past several days. Two o'clock this morning, I noticed that she was especially hot and fussy. I decided to check her temperature and found out that she had shot up to 39.7. Before we slept, she was somewhere in the lower vicinity of 38, and I was already anxious then. So off we went to the ER.

We were in the ER for about 7ish hours. We had to wait for Lucia to pee in a wee bag (that's the actual medical term - and yes, it is just for pee, and yes, it is small)and the odds were against us. She pooped, and so we had to change the bag. She pooped again. Changed the bag again. When she finally did get to pee, the bag leaked. We were so happy when the wee babe finally peed into the wee bag, you'd think she was all but cured already. Wee!

As mind-numbing as nursing and consoling a sick child in the midst of all the other sick children, I think I shall forever be scarred by the drawing of blood from Lucia's wee finger (nope, not tired of the term yet).

A few facts: I am deathly afraid of blood. Almost as afraid as I am of spiders (and believe me, that's saying a lot). But Sick Lucia equals Clingy Lucia and I thought, if she was going to be a Plucky Duckie and endure that blood letting, by God, so shall I. Plucky Mommy.

The whole blood draining thing was horrific. (I realize the actual process is getting gorier by the narrative minute - and later, shimmering vampires will appear, stay tuned.) I guess it didn't take more than a minute, but the screaming and the tears were right next to my face and I couldn't help but cry along with her. Ugh, dear God, it was horrible. I was glad that it eventually ended. That we later found out that it wasn't dengue was just gravy by then.

***

As I was overdramatizing our ordeal, I noticed that across the hall, there were three people, and they were crying silently. One could hardly stand on her own and she was leaning on her brother (or so I assumed). A few minutes later, a priest arrived and they scurried behind the thin curtain that hid their loved one who had, apparently, passed away.

As I was overdramatizing our ordeal, someone in the other room had died.

***

Because we had stayed so long in the ER, by the time we had gotten the results of the urinalysis, our pediatrician had already started his clinic hours. So off we went to see him. He told us what we needed to do and off we went, our merry band of three (mama, dada, and yaya), with our wee babe.

As we were waiting for dada to buy the antibiotics, I received SMSs from two former kids of mine. They were both asking if it was true that a former co-teacher of mine had passed away. It was fairly easy to confirm the sad truth. He had indeed passed away - a few hours ago, it seems.

As I was overdramatizing our ordeal, someone I had known and used to work with had died.

***

Lots to be thankful for and lots to pray for. What a day this has been. And look, as of this writing, it is 2:22 PM, about 12 hours since the day began for me.

But I won't overdramatize that fact anymore.

Even if the darkness of my eyes could rival the very vampirish shimmer of another fellow who was probably up at the same time as I was; whose eyes similarly-half-opened like mine are right now.

Godspeed, Stranger in the Other Room. If the crying you left behind was any indication, it seems as though you were a good person and that you had a life well-lived. Enjoy the afterlife.

And goodbye, Gelo. Our last conversation centered around my telling you that I wasn't happy that you were leaving. This time, while I am not happy that you left, I'm glad that you are at least arriving at a much better place. You will be missed.

[Insert Onomatopoeic Expression of Exhaustion and Joy]

Real life has taken over, hence the silence. I don't think I've ever been this busy before in my life. And believe me, that's saying a lot.

Aside from taking care of a wonderful team of teachers this year, I'm also taking care of a wonderful bunch of kids. This year, I'm moderating the honors class.

Original image from here. The editing, well, that was me. ;p

At the beginning of the year, the very idea made my tummy twist into knots. I was in the honors class back in high school, and I'm afraid I wasn't the nicest student to my teachers -- well, to most of my teachers, at least. I was haughty and full of myself because I knew I was smart and I could survive by merely giving the barest minimum (except in English, of course). Ugh. If I were my student today, I'd hate me. Big time. So I really thought that being assigned to the honors class would be my comeuppance. That the spirits of Scorned Teachers Past would finally find peace of mind for their long-awaited retribution (oh, my poor Math and Religion teachers).

But, as history has proven time and time again, God's always in charge. His sense of humor is sometimes bizarre bordering on what-the-toot, but at least I knew he was at the helm.

Sure enough, my kids were everything I expected them to be. They were just like me

And more. But more. So much more.

It was tough to get them to trust me, but slowly, bit by bit, they let me in.

Yesterday, we came home from a 1.5 day retreat. The kids went through a series of activities that allowed them to confront their demons, contextualize their fears, and share parts of themselves with each other. Through it all, I was just an observer and, from time to time, a facilitator. But as they were going through their retreat, I found myself going through some form of retreat myself.

In the quiet of the evening, before I drifted off to (exhausted) sleep, I had a moment when God spoke to me, not as a mom. Nor a wife. Nor anything else in between. He spoke to me as a daughter, as someone he has always taken care of.

I'm not sure what he said exactly, for he didn't speak in words. But I felt his comfort, his reassurance, his promise that somehow, I will be all right. I've been so incredibly tired, but he promised that I will be well.

He also promised that my kids will all be well despite the enormous pressure they feel. Despite the fact that so many of them have more questions than answers. Despite how inadequate they feel at the face of being deemed the most intelligent of their peers. Because he loves them. Oh, how he loves them.

And by all things holy, oh, how I love them as well. Every single last haughty, silly, cranky, geeky one of them.

I have had only one other moderating class and most of them will be done with college after this school year. Oh, how I loved them, still love them, too. At that time, I didn't have Lucia yet, and so they really were the children of my heart. When I was asked to moderate this year, I feared that I might not be able to love them as much as I did my first class since I already had Lucia, but I have been proven wrong.

It seems as though every time I try to put limits on Love, Love (lovingly) kicks my butt. No such thing. There is no limit to how many people we can love, on how much we can love. Thank God, who is Love. :)

After the mass, one of the parents approached me and said, "Thank you for loving our sons." I laughingly replied, "Oh, but your sons are lovable naman po." And she said, "No, our sons. Kasama ka na rin po dun."

Ay, grabe. :)

Parents, thank you for sharing you sons with me. Kids, thank you for letting me love you.

And, God. Father. Thank you for letting me your daughter.

What's Making Me Happy This Week

So, yes. I’m still here. Incredibly busy.

Actually, let me say that again with a little more drama for emphasis: In. Cre. Di. Bly. Busy.

But as life was busily zipping by, Lucia turned 8 months. It’s less difficult to leave her to go to work now though (thanks, in large part, to “Manny’s” competence), but whenever I do get a chance to be quiet at work (shut up, Chaddy, I mean mentally), I do find myself wishing myself home and with her instead.

It’s supposed to get easier – and I suppose, to a certain extent, it is. But I still wish that we could go all socialist and get a heftier maternity leave. Thank goodness that I’m still able to keep Lucia exclusively on breastmilk (thanks, in large part, to very understanding co-workers who tolerate the zshuzshing sounds I keep making when I express milk). But deadlines and responsibilities are slowly eating away at my sanity.

Oh, and I have a heart thing. Nothing too serious, but it does make me incredibly tired much quicker than I want to. Bah.

*crickets* [This is me deliberately leaving the whole “heart thing” at that.]

But I digress. I honestly began this fully intending to focus on what I am thankful for, on what’s making me happy this week (an idea that I picked up and adore from Pop Culture Happy Hour). I find that if I do this, I can refocus on what is Important so that I can keep doing what is Important, Too. So here we go.

What’s Making Me Happy This Week:

1. Lucia can now sign for milk! Well, it isn’t consistent. I find that when she really, really, REALLY wants milk, she still relies on old faithful (meaning, crying), but when she’s, hmmm, peckish (if you will), she does do the sign for milk. She can also stand and cruise along by herself now. Wee.

2. Chaddy requested for a shift in work schedule, and as a result, he can now spend early evenings with me and Lucia. He gets to give her a bath, play with her before bedtime, and just be silly.

3. I am a moderator to really wonderful kids. I braced myself by telling myself that they would probably be my karma since most of them were pretty much like me when I was their age (i.e. nerdy). But, I have to go back to that statement because I have not been an awesome enough human being to be having this much fun already and...well, they may be nerdy, but they were not as oh-my-god-I’m-16-and-I-hate-the-world (now reduced to the insipid and annoying term, “emo”...ugh) as I was.

4. Coffee.

Sorry, coffee is so awesome to me right now, it deserved its own paragraph. Thank you, coffee, for keeping me up long enough to do what needs to be done. Sure, my blood to coffee ratio is spinning around like a drunk figure skater, but as far as stimulants go, I’m glad it not only gets the job done, it’s also incredibly yummy.

5. I finally have time to read. Right now, I am (finally!) reading the third book in Patrick Ness’ Chaos Walking Triology, Monsters of Men. Lucia is usually out like a light by 8 every night, so I get to read for a few hours after that before I totally conk out (i.e. my blood levels get the better of my coffee levels).

So there! :) This was good! I should keep making time to just think about what's making me happy so that I can approach the Jabberwocky that is Stress with an attitude of Gratitdue and Humility. For God is good, and always is.

Till the next break in the insanity!

Barely, But Yeah

Still here.

Still alive.

Incredibly busy.

Incredibly blessed.

Hoping for a break soon.

But having a blast.

:)

A Thousand Words (Or So)

Ridiculously busy. Taking care of Duckie, a husband, a household, a year level, and a moderating class is a little overwhelming, but I am having a blast so far. Since I do nothing but talk during the week, thought maybe these pictures would suffice for now since you know what they say about pictures and a thousand words. ;)

Loving her new walker!

Had to get the remote control from her - too germy!

She loves making a mess during meals! :)

My little tootsie roll and her arm rolls. :)

Basta

The past few days have weighed heavy in my mind and in my heart. Certain things took place and they have discouraged me to the core. I mean, I've never been this disheartened before in my life.

Without having to go into the details (and you'll know why I have to do so in a few seconds...), I was basically told to shut up. Not completely, mind you, just on, oooh, you know, stuff that matter to me a whole lot. Yun lang naman.

My initial response was shock because I had hoped that it would never have to come to that, but there it was. Sadly, my usual recourse could offer no help for it was expressly forbidden from me.

Oh, dear friends who know me well, can you imagine how utterly difficult that was for me?

But enough of wallowing. Enough of sadness. Enough of SILENCE. I will not allow you (and yes, I am pointing both the hypothetical and the dirty finger at the not-so-hypothetical "you") to tear me down.

Available as a sticker at Red Bubble. Order here.

You made me doubt myself. Shame on you. But if I will not let your narrow mindedness deter me from my personal mission.

I've come to a decision. I'm staying. And I will not be silenced. I shall...hmmm... re-package. But I shall not be silenced.

DO YOU HEAR ME? I. WILL. NOT. BE. SILENCED.

Bakit? Basta.

Enough. Basta.

Because Silence IS Saying Something

Image from here.

Because I don't know what to say?

No.

Because I don't know how to say it?

No.

Because there's nothing I want to say?

NO.

It is simply because...I am biding my time and I am looking for the best way to say it. To process the enormity of my Rage. Disappointment. Sadness. Disgust.

Because I am too busy getting therapy via my daughter's smiles and my husband's all encompassing love and understanding.

Because at the end of the day, that's all that matters. And I have it. And I am blessed by it. And I am reminding myself that I am more than what I do not say.

Because silence IS saying something.

Manny

So obviously, I’ve been back at work. As a result, I haven’t been able to update much. Thankfully, since the time I went back to work, we’ve had help at home. The sister of our nanny came in the week before he did and helped us out. She was wonderful and though she only spent a few days with us, I miss her already.

Late Friday afternoon, we picked up our actual nanny from the airport. I personally have high expectations since his sister was a dream. He was pretty shy and reserved at first. This is his first time away from home, so I can imagine how daunting the city was to him. He only had a few minutes to actually catch his breath though since we went straight to Bataan. Our best friends from Grand Rapids had flown in for a visit, and they were based there this weekend. So off we went on another adventure.

Our “manny” – since he’s a male nanny – was very friendly and very willing to help out. It was refreshing to have help and to actually be able to sit down and enjoy a meal with both hands, something I haven’t been able to do with Lucia in so long. The weekend was precious since we got to spend time with our friends and their children. Watching our kids interact with each other was really my favorite part.

The weekend could have been perfect except for one little hiccup. Well, it was more like a stenchy, truck driver-esque belch.

Early Saturday morning, “Manny” brought Lucia outside to the garden so that she could bask in the morning sun and I could eat breakfast. As I was preparing my coffee, someone approached me and chastised me for having a manny. Well, to be specific: she was angry at me not because he was male but because he was gay. It took me a good two seconds to realize that she wasn’t joking, that she was actually, rudely, letting me know I was a fool and a bad mother to have him near my child. As soon as I was able to find my breath, I calmly (as best as I could) told her that the fact that he was gay had no bearing in our decision to hire him and that it didn’t matter to me nor my husband.

Here’s a short snippet of what had happened (although the entire conversation couldn’t have lasted more than ten seconds). The exchange happened in Filipino and I shall provide a translation, but that’ll take away from the passive aggressive venom of the short exchange:

Person: Bakit mo naman hinahayaang ganun ang mag-alaga ng anak mo? (Why are you letting someone like that take care of your child?)
Me: Hindi naman po kasi issue sa amin yun. (It’s not an issue with us.)
Person: Dito kasi hindi pwede yun. Dapat hindi rin pwede sa inyo. (Here, that sort of thing should not be so. It shouldn’t be with you either.)
Me: Iba lang siguro kami. (I guess we’re just different.)
Person: Oo, iba. At mali. (Yes, you’re different. And wrong.)

The conversation ended there not because I wanted to remain respectful. I was just too flabbergasted at the brazenness of her bigotry. I had never before met her in my life and I was a guest. I’m trying to recall what had happened, and I’m still emotionally paralyzed because there are too many emotions battling for first place. I don’t know whether I should be angry, sad, or disgusted more.

When I told people that we finally found a yaya and that he happened to be gay, I got different reactions. Some people offered congratulations at finally having found one. Some found it providential (for many reasons). My parents thought it would be good for Lucia so that she’d grow up knowing and appreciating the different kinds of people in the world. But I also had my fair share of negative reactions.

Initially, I thought the reaction I got from, er, her was bad. (She said that it would be bad for Lucia to grow up with a gay person because, among many other caveats, he might molest her. I’m not even going to discuss how ridiculous and awful that was, but then, that’s who she is). On some level though, what happened last weekend was worse. I mean, she has always been like that anyway, so I wasn’t really surprised. But this stranger was exactly that. A stranger! I mean, I knew I’d be confronted with all sorts of questions once people find out about our gay yaya, but I didn’t realize I’d be thrust into the face of bigotry that soon. And that harshly.

And you know what? “Manny” is actually really good! I had the chance to spend the whole day with him today, and he’s very hard working and Lucia likes him! So there!

I didn’t realize that my taking on a manny will have an activist undertone, but it seems as though it will. But I’m glad I have a gay yaya, if only to show the world that such an attempt at homogeneity will make us all better individuals.

Bah. At least I won’t ever have to see strangers like that anymore. The other person, I will have to deal with for the rest of my life though. But frankly, and sadly, in the list of horrible things I have to deal with in co-existing with her, this isn’t the worst. But I must stock up on emotional, intestinal, and – I don’t have them but just for good measure – testicular fortitude even more now.

S I G H

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