Slow Down, You Move Too Fast

The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy)

Simon and Garfunkel

Slow down, you move too fast.

You got to make the morning last.

Just kicking down the cobble stones.

Looking for fun and feelin' groovy.

Hello, lamppost,

What cha knowing?

I've come to watch your flowers growing.

Ain't cha got no rhymes for me?

Doot-in' doo-doo,

Feelin' groovy.

Got no deeds to do,

No promises to keep.

I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.

Let the morning time drop all its petals on me.

Life, I love you,

All is groovy.

A little existentially out of breath. I feel like I've been chasing after other people's definitions (or expectations) of me, like I've been trying to keep up, but I've always fallen two (or ten) steps behind. I need to reboot and will a tabula rasa me into being.

I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm doing it anyway because I have to, I want to, and I must.

So I'm going to go inside my cave first to regroup.

Me on my new bed, in my new room, at my new condo.
All this new-ness! Might as well get to my new me.

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...

Onward Ho

I meant to write this earlier, while we were still back at Dalipuga, but we celebrated Nana's birthday and spent the next day panic packing then traveling to Cagayan de Oro. There was hardly any time to write. There was hardly any time to actually be sad.

Lucia, enjoying the playroom in Cagayan de Oro's Centrio Mall.

We spent the night at CDO because our trip to Manila this morning was ridiculously early. As soon as we landed, we got ourselves settled into the hotel. As soon as that happened, I went out to the wild streets of Quezon City to look for a place for me and Lucia. All that on foot. Yup, hit the ground running talaga.

But now that I've showered (and the shower here is HEAVENLY) and snugly in my pajamas (at 4:33 pm, I don't freaking care), I can feel the fatigue. And the sadness.

When we got to Iligan, I was a shadow. I had whittled down to my pre-college weight. (Yeah. Let's take a moment to just kind of embrace that idea. Kasi hanep e.) I was over-medicated, taking medicines in dosages that rendered me out cold for most of the day. And then when I was awake, I felt dead. My brain sounded and felt like the engine room of a ship (just pretend that engine rooms are capable of feeling). Every night, I'd stare across the bay, towards Dapitan, and I'd marvel at the synchronicity: Ganito pala feeling ng pinatapon.

I was sent there so that I could be taken care of, so that people could take care of my daughter when I was too out-of-it to do so by myself. But more than anything, I was sent there so I could recover in a safe place. And that's exactly what happened. I don't think I can ever fully be the person I was before, but that's okay. I'm still getting to know this new me, and I live in hope.

Hamming it up during Nana's birthday party, our last full day at Dalipuga

When I look at myself right now, I can hardly believe that the last six months had started with such sadness. I cannot thank my grandparents, our helpers, and my beloved sea enough. I had hit rock bottom and they were all there to make sure I floated to the surface safe and sound.

But oh, my sea. My beautiful, beautiful, beautiful sea. I will miss you so incredibly. You will always, always, be home. And I shall come back to you as soon as I can.

Our last sunset at Dalipuga.

I am extremely tired right now. I realize I had been going and going and going -- and there is still much to do before I officially start working on Wednesday. But for now, I'm going to be tired. A little sad. A little excited. A little headless chicken-y.

And I'm going to linger on these faces a little longer, the people who nursed me back to health. I hope I don't let them down as I start building my life again.

Till we meet again!

Tata, Manang Taling, Nana, Me, Daddy, Chad, and Lucia. Oh, and Dora.

When Getting Over A Bad Bout of Food Poisoning...

1. Wear headbands. How, that's totally up to you.

2. Jump on the bed.

3. Wear red lipstick.

4. Make a silly face.

5. Cry about it (for a while).

6. Do something sneaky (but try not to get caught).

It's About Time

"If there's one thing

In my life that's missing

It's the time that I spend alone

Sailing on the cool

And bright clear water...

...It's kind of a special feeling

When you're out on the sea alone

Staring at the full moon like a lover

Time for a cool change

I know that it's time for a cool change

Now that my life is so prearranged

I know that it's time for a cool change"

- Little River Band, Cool Change

At this precise moment, I can hardly feel my legs. I've just swum quite a distance from the shore of our beach while the tide was high and the waves were huge. I've come to love swimming against the current, feeling the tug of the shore, fighting against it. (I'm such a badass.)

Because I do love living out my metaphors.

...

In a little less than a week, my daughter and I will move back to Manila. I've incredibly landed a good job, one that puts me in a different field, but one that I've always loved nonetheless. I still have to make final living arrangements, but everything about settling down is within reach. And so, I've been slowly saying goodbye to this place, bit by bit. To do that, I've been out swimming almost every day.

From up above, in our room, I can see the sea floor. I can see where the rocky shore ends, giving way to the spiky corals that house the tiny fish and numerous sea urchins. From up there, I know that eventually, there will be a portion of seaweed-y sand, safe enough to walk on. This is where I usually end up. Like I've said before, I've always been afraid of the sea, despite my being in love with it. But from up in our room, I also know that there is a glorious patch of white sand. It's about half a mile from the shore though (maybe even further), and I had never ventured that far on my own. But I know it's there because I can see through the clear waters from our room on the second floor. (Ano ba, metaphor na naman.)

The past few days though, Lucia's dad has been here for a visit. He has no fear of the sea (or its creepy crawlies) and through him, I was able to ascertain that the area where the white sand is isn't as deep as I had feared. Still, it was a formidable distance from the shore, and I wasn't sure if I was strong enough to swim that far.

But my daily swims have allowed me to really get to know our beach. I realized that, even while under water, I know exactly where I am, where I would be when I surface. I know where to stop and catch my breath. I know which parts to avoid (from experience, a nasty sea urchin managed to snag me last week). And eventually, I did manage to get to that bit of white sand.

A few hours ago, I swam to the white sands, on my own, during the high tide.

There was no thundering applause for this accomplishment. The sea creatures did not do a Disney medley for me. My arms and legs were exhausted from the effort (Chad said I took in breaths in the most unladylike manner, so maybe that's also why I was so tired), and so I couldn't even do that arms in the air, we-are-the-champions, eff-yeah pose. Except for the rushing of the waves, all was silent. Time duly spent alone, in the midst of the cool, bright, clear water.

But now it's time for a change.

Time to go back to the city, to its noise, to its people. Because, despite the little girl inside me who is cowering in fear, I (have to) think that I am strong enough to live out the rest of my life now.

And I am out-of-this-world scared crapless.

Starting from scratch as a semi-single parent at the age of 32, recovering from a nervous breakdown, with absolutely nothing. I don't think they make name tags big enough for such an assignation. But that's me. Good ol' Katinka.

But nobody can tell me that I can't swim against an onslaught of huge waves now. Nobody can tell me that the tide is too high. Nobody can tell me that there are too many sea urchins. (And if I get bitten, what the hell, I'll just pee on myself again.) Nobody can tell me that the white sand is too far.

Well, they can. And the voices in my head certainly are. And they can tell me I will fail. But then, they would be wrong.

Ah, but my metaphors have worn me out for today. I think I'll nap a bit. Or nuzzle my daughter's neck. Or have some ice cream. (Actually...yeah, ice cream.)

Because it's okay to get tired and rest. And have ice cream. And pizza. Lots of pizza.

Sorry. I'm moving back to Manila in a week, and I'm scaredexcitedohmygodwhatamidoing.

But it's time. Things are definitely changing. And they should, because, with hardly my noticing, I have changed. A lot. It's time that the rest of the world catch up with me, apparently.

So, here I come, Manila! Allons-y! (Of course, I just had to.)

Beautiful

Okay, so I don't necessarily think I'm ugly. But I've never really fully liked the way I look. I make a lot of jokes about my height and my weight (I'm a little teapot, short and stout...). I think my cheeks are too chubby. My smile is crooked. I wish I had more flawless skin. And dear God, hello, wrinkles.

But lately, I've been getting a lot of compliments. It's still jarring sometimes, being called beautiful every day. My first instinct is to deflect (and I almost always do), but then good breeding dictates that I say "thank you"...and then I promptly change the topic. When I think of "beautiful" I think, Lucia. My mother. Stars. The sea.

Every time I get complimented, I still feel surprised, amazed that such a thing was said to me.


I've seen, been in, and participated in so much ugliness. And sometimes, I resent that I am (passably) pretty. I feel like it takes away from my credibility as a human being. So I've always put more premium on being charming. On being smart. On being on the defensive.

Because, in the past, I feel like my looks have gotten me into a lot of trouble, given me more responsibility than I can handle, or given me the kind of attention I do NOT want to have.

And so, despite my thinking that I've been at war with myself because I don't like the way I look, I've actually hated myself because the rest of the world likes the way I look. (I think.) I've been called pretty, cute, and now, beautiful, and I've always thought it was the world's way of getting something from me. I've been warned about being "too pretty", that I should be careful, that I should be more aware of how my looks affect the people around me. And hence, the resentment with the way I look.

But. Maybe I am getting more beautiful as I grow older. And maybe, that's okay. Because, I think, what people really see is happiness. And happiness begets beauty.

So, here is my attempt to come to terms with the way I look: I embrace my happiness wholeheartedly. And, okay, I am beautiful. Maybe not in the physical sense, (sorry, still really struggling with accepting that), but holistically. Because...

...my daughter must grow up knowing that...

I love my stretch marks, they're battle scars, and I've emerged victorious.

I love how my breasts show signs of 20 months of breastfeeding, because, seriously, it was the most superheroic thing I've ever done.

I love how my biggest scar is a monument to my biggest achievement and the bestest birthday gift I ever had. (I was in labor on my birthday, Lucia was born the day after.)

I love how the dark circles and the wrinkles show how I still wake up in the middle of the night, just to make sure she's sleeping soundly.

And I love that this new and better definition of beautiful is because of how my body has transformed since becoming a mother. And that she is my happiness. And this happiness has come to define how I am beautiful.

So for the sake of my daughter. Okay, for my own sake...I'm, er, beautiful.

I'm beautiful. (There.)

Deal with it, Universe.

Because I need to deal with it, too.

Catch Up

Pre-production for another season of that TV show I write for began a few weeks ago, and so I have been incredibly busy for a change. I can't complain entirely, because it feels good to be productive again. And to have some clear purpose. 

More changes are a-comin', but I don't want to jinx it yet. So, in lieu of that, I give you snapshots of the fun I've been having in between all the frenetic writing I've been doing these past few weeks. 

We celebrated Easter, my favorite holiday. :)

She gets more and more comfortable with the camera.
Most of the time, I don't have to tell her to smile na.

I still get anxious sometimes, especially when work becomes a bit overwhelming,
so I take walks by the sea to calm myself down.

With a view like this, it's hard not to calm down.

The days are getting warmer, so Lucia and I have been spending more time in
the water. We're both actually a little sunburned by now. :)

It got so hot one morning, even Nana ventured out with us.

Since we're in Mindanao, the power goes out often. But Lucia always manages
to cheer us up with her antics. Here she is, saying goodbye to the sun.
(It was sunset.)

Sometimes, I like it when the power's out. The house gets really
pretty in the shadows.

And somehow, it never really gets too dark.

Being with Lucia always makes me happy.

And I'd like to think she's very happy, too. :)

Reverence

Steph has been one of my longest and dearest friends. She was my maid of honor. She is the godmother of my daughter. But before all that, we were young girls together.

I met her in the middle of an asthma attack in the front seats of our school bus. I was new to the school and I was having some painful adjustments to the "big school" environment. I wasn't exactly friendly (I know, right? ME?!?) so I was wary about starting conversations with people. But she was so tiny (smaller than I!) and she was wheezing like an old woman. I said, "Are you okay?" and she just nodded. We spent the rest of the long ride home in silence.

We saw each other again in the hallways and we would say hi. Later on, she auditioned for the drama club when I was president. I don't remember what she did, only that she looked so sad and vulnerable. I could say she was beautiful (still is, incredibly), but there was an effervescent quality to her beauty; if you blinked, it might vanish, and so you wanted to look at her and just look, and look, and look.

We finally became classmates during our senior year and that's when the cab rides and long afternoons (which turned into late nights) at each other's homes started. Little by little, I realized that this tiny, silent, and white creature was much, much, much more than her porcelain-ness. She had been through so much and managed to stay unbreakable. Fragile, but unbreakable.

In college, people immediately noticed how quiet she was -- perhaps because we, her friends, were so noisy compared to her. We used to rib her about her demure ways, but really, she was all our alagain.

She was the refinement to my crassness. The delicate to my rough. Still is. But oh, how this woman is strong.

She left her job to become an artist. And not just any artist, a sculptor. (Because, seriously, how many sculptors do YOU know?) She left simply because she wanted to start doing what she loved to do. Crazy, right? My dainty friend, who constantly fretted about having "dirt" on her face, got down and dirty with wire, resin, epoxy, and other things I'm afraid I'll just name wrongly. She has since sold many pieces, been commissioned for museums, and goodness knows what else (because she is always too modest to talk about it).

Tomorrow, she will have another exhibit, called Reverence.

It was called something else in its inception, but she decided to go with "reverence" because the pieces all represent people and events that she thought had mostly gone unnoticed. See, she has a heart for those things because she thinks (and this is me psychoanalyzing her here) she goes unnoticed. Or that when she does gets noticed, it's only because she's beautiful. Or when she does gets noticed for being beautiful, people don't take the time to see what truly makes her wonderful. 

And so instead of asking for people -- someone -- to notice her for the right reason, she goes on ahead and pays homage to people, events, and things that she thinks need to get noticed.

When I told friends about what happened to me, how I suddenly had to stop teaching, the only job I had ever truly loved, they were sympathetic, they consoled me, they told me I was going to be all right. Steph? She did all that...and made a sculpture for me. 

That piece you see on the cover? That's Ma'amsupial. 

It's one thing to have someone sympathize, empathize, with you. It's a whole new level when someone ingests your pain and your heartache so fully, that she lives them along with you. Fights them along with you. Incinerates them along with you. And then with their ashes, creates something so beautiful that, well, just about rivals her own beauty. 

So please, come to her show. Her pieces are amazing, believe me. But come because the real show is the person who is often gone unnoticed. And if you look really closely, you'll see what an extraordinary human being she is. And then maybe reverence shall fall gently and silently upon someone worthy that night.

I love you, Steph. You are incredible.

Changes Afoot

We've been getting a lot of power outages these past few days. Actually, they come every day now, and they last about two hours. Some major change is underway, road construction and electricity reroutings in preparation for the international airport that's about to open about an hour from where we are.

The power outages are a bit of an inconvenience, but, like many Filipinos, we've come to adjust and adapt to these occurrences, and so now we're more or less nonplussed when they come along. We've learned to anticipate them such that when they do happen, all it elicits is the obligatory hay naku.

In a way, I feel like this much of the time. A kind of rerouting of my energies. For one thing, I've managed to make an actual friend here, the guy who does our hair at the salon downtown. He actually took me out one night and I actually had fun sans Lucia (which is an odd thing here in Iligan). He lived in Manila a long time, and so he speaks Tagalog with ease. I can't tell you how comforting that is for me. I'm also thinking of getting into a dance class of sorts -- of course, I'll have to look for one first, but I really want to get into that. Also, I'm slowly opening myself up to new possibilities, new people. I still panic from time to time, what with all these "changes", but those are minor power outages due to incoming improvements.

International flights to Happyland. Can't wait. :)

Homage

So I have new tattoos agan. :)

Most of my tattoos have chronicled my personal struggles and my attempt to overcome them. This morning, I got two new ones to pay homage to the people who have, time and time again, without fail, given me the strength to do that.

When I was a kid, whenever I'd get lost in the crowd, or whenever I'd lose sight of my parents, Papa and/or Mama would whistle this tune so that I'd be able to find them. Whenever Papa would come home from work or a concert, he'd whistle the tune as he walked through the door and then us kids would come to play (no matter how late it was). When we got older, and started living in Grand Rapids, Mama or Papa would whistle it, meaning it was time for dinner. (Being able to have dinner as a family was a treat because by that time, Papa could spend more time with us, having cut down the number of his engagements.) The tune would always make me feel like a kid again, safe in the home that my parents made for us. As my brother put it, it was like a homing beacon. My brother thought about tattooing the whistle on himself (and he already has), and I thought I'd do the same.

Also, I can't whistle. :P The permanence of this tattoo shall
hopefully make up for it. ;)

The other tattoo I got was a small daisy on my wrist. Mama planted a bunch of daisies outside our home office and she would look at it and it made her calm. I remember how attached she was to those flowers and since then, I've always thought of her whenever I see daisies. They're pure and dainty, but what I like most of all is how they open up when the sun's around and close up at night. They open up to absorb all that is good in the sun and then close up to protect themselves during the cold night. My mom's like that, see. She opens herself up to the sunshine, but in the darkest of nights, her instinct is always to protect.

I made it small, so my mom won't freak out so much, haha.
Love you, Ma. ;)

I put the whistle on my left arm, so that it is visible when I shield myself with that arm. That tune protects me, reminds me of what makes me strong. I put the daisy on my right pulse, to mirror the placement of my daughter's name on my left pulse. I like the idea that on my right is the woman I want to become, and on my left, the woman I am responsible for becoming.

It is difficult, especially since these last few months, to live so far away from my parents, my family. But the distance was nothing compared to how majestically they came to my rescue when I needed them most. I am who I am because of my family, and I pay tribute for all that they are.

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! ;)