How are you?
How are you?
How are you?
How do I explain the nuances that hold together the varying degrees of sadness and anger and hatred and happiness (there are pockets of it, yes, for there is Lucia) and...and...ennui? Will I rate myself again? How do I explain that a 2.97 is vastly different from a 2.96?
This morning, I got an email from my best friend. She didn't ask me how I was. She just described how she was feeling, showing me how she was feeling exactly the way I was. Her empathy allowed me to feel less numerical. More human.
But now I feel a little less human. So.
2.34, 5, 5.489, 4.39, 6.9, 2.09, 4.87, 4.88, 3.89.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Saturday, July 19, 2014
Snippets, Volume 3.824
She doesn't remember much.
Just that damn tube up her nose going to goodness-knows-what part of her body. Dispensing charcoal directly into her stomach. It was painful and uncomfortable enough to rouse her from her stupor, long enough to beg that they remove it.
She couldn't see anything. Or, she doesn't remember seeing anything. She just knew that it was so bright.
"Please, get it off! Get it off!"
Someone—a woman, the nurse, most probably—kept cooing, "Sandali na lang, sandali na lang..."
At one point, someone's thumb rubbed her brow. One of her last charitable acts would be her assumption (hope?) as to who that was.
But perhaps it was the nurse who kept saying, "Sandali na lang, sandali na lang..."
Sandali na lang.
Pero ang tagal na.
Just that damn tube up her nose going to goodness-knows-what part of her body. Dispensing charcoal directly into her stomach. It was painful and uncomfortable enough to rouse her from her stupor, long enough to beg that they remove it.
She couldn't see anything. Or, she doesn't remember seeing anything. She just knew that it was so bright.
"Please, get it off! Get it off!"
Someone—a woman, the nurse, most probably—kept cooing, "Sandali na lang, sandali na lang..."
At one point, someone's thumb rubbed her brow. One of her last charitable acts would be her assumption (hope?) as to who that was.
But perhaps it was the nurse who kept saying, "Sandali na lang, sandali na lang..."
Sandali na lang.
Pero ang tagal na.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Of Sleeplessness, Of Dreams, Of Nothing, Of...
The First Dream
(Billy Collins)
The wind is ghosting around the house tonight,
and as I lean against the door of sleep
I begin to think about the first person to dream,
how quiet he must have seemed the next morning
as the others stood around the fire
draped in the skins of animals
talking to each other only in vowels,
for this was long before the invention of consonants.
He might have gone off by himself to sit
on a rock and look into the mist of a lake
as he tried to tell himself what had happened,
how he had gone somewhere without going,
how he had put his arms around the neck
of a beast that the others could touch
only after they had killed it with stones,
how he felt its breath on his bare neck.
Then again, the first dream could have come
to a woman, though she would behave,
I suppose, much the same way,
moving off by herself to be alone near water,
except that the curve of her young shoulders
and the tilt of her downcast head
would make her appear to be terribly alone,
and if you were there to notice this,
you might have gone down as the first person
to ever fall in love with the sadness of another.
(Billy Collins)
The wind is ghosting around the house tonight,
and as I lean against the door of sleep
I begin to think about the first person to dream,
how quiet he must have seemed the next morning
as the others stood around the fire
draped in the skins of animals
talking to each other only in vowels,
for this was long before the invention of consonants.
He might have gone off by himself to sit
on a rock and look into the mist of a lake
as he tried to tell himself what had happened,
how he had gone somewhere without going,
how he had put his arms around the neck
of a beast that the others could touch
only after they had killed it with stones,
how he felt its breath on his bare neck.
Then again, the first dream could have come
to a woman, though she would behave,
I suppose, much the same way,
moving off by herself to be alone near water,
except that the curve of her young shoulders
and the tilt of her downcast head
would make her appear to be terribly alone,
and if you were there to notice this,
you might have gone down as the first person
to ever fall in love with the sadness of another.
From The Art of Drowning, University of Pittsburgh Press, 1995
---
The winds are unwelcome visitors tonight and I find myself sleepless in their presence. I've been mostly asleep since Monday morning, sleeping away the last remnants of that which I had hoped would take away some of the pain. Maybe that's why I'm so awake right now. (But so very tired.)
They did not.
Perhaps when I am much older, at the brink of (natural) death, I will look upon this evening with a sigh. Now, all that sigh are the winds that tell me terrible things are being wrought all around me. And inside of me.
I wish I have the exactitude to define, delineate, and analyze this mess. Timelines are meaningless. It is what it is.
It is
death
brokenness
incomplete thoughts.
---
The winds are unwelcome visitors tonight and I find myself sleepless in their presence. I've been mostly asleep since Monday morning, sleeping away the last remnants of that which I had hoped would take away some of the pain. Maybe that's why I'm so awake right now. (But so very tired.)
They did not.
Perhaps when I am much older, at the brink of (natural) death, I will look upon this evening with a sigh. Now, all that sigh are the winds that tell me terrible things are being wrought all around me. And inside of me.
I wish I have the exactitude to define, delineate, and analyze this mess. Timelines are meaningless. It is what it is.
It is
death
brokenness
incomplete thoughts.
If you were to see me, you might fall in love with my sadness.
But beware,
nothing good has ever come of that.
But beware,
nothing good has ever come of that.
Monday, July 7, 2014
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Suddenly, Finally, Motherhood
March 2008
The snow is slushy outside. I go to Rite Aid because I need moisturizer. But really, I go to buy a pregnancy test. I end up buying three. The cashier smiles at me. They are always friendly here.
April 2008
I buy lip gloss and three pregnancy tests. The cashier smiles. I buy gum.
May, June 2008
I just buy one test, each time. The cashier says, "It'll happen, honey. It'll happen."
September 2009
Who the hell am I kidding?
January 2010
Ah, well.
March 2010
The nurse tells me I'm pregnant. I cuss at her, thinking it is a bad, bad, bad joke. I projectile-ugly-cry. She asks if someone will be with me during the pregnancy. I explain I'm married and that I'm actually crying tears of joy.
March 2010
I hear my daughter's heartbeat for the first time.
July 2010
I bleed. We worry. I go on bed rest. But all is well.
November 2010
- Birthday nyo ngayon, ma'am?
- Ang cute naman! Sabay kayo ni baby!
Until...
- Ay, birthday nyo pala kahapon? Sayang 'di pa umabot.
Until...
- I can see her head!
Until...
- She needs a C-section. The baby's head won't go down.
Until...
- Congratulations!
Until...
- Ma'am, you're in the recovery room. You're okay. The baby's okay.
November 2010
My own mother is explaining why my breasts are hurting like they have never hurt before. "Your milk is coming in." The pain is excruciating.
I breastfeed for 22 months.
November 2010
I see my own mother, asleep on the rocking chair, my daughter in her arms.
January 2011
I go back to work. Another co-teacher who had also just given birth walks into my cubicle. Together, we cry.
February 2011
I am typing a script with my right hand, my left hand is cradling my daughter, making sure she can still comfortably suckle my breast.
April 2011
One whole month with just my daughter.
December 2011
I am exhausted.
2012
My daughter gives me reason to live. My mother makes sure I remain alive.
January 2013
My daughter is growing too fast.
May 2013
My mother flies in to help me and my daughter settle into our new home. My daughter gives me reason to live. My mother makes sure I remain alive.
December 2013
My daughter is growing too fast.
January 2014
My daughter kisses me and says, "I love you." She is old enough to know what it means now. And she says it. And means it.
May 2014
My daughter is growing too fast. She gives me reason to live. My daughter is Tarzan-clasping my left leg. She giggles. Perhaps in her dreams we are swinging on trees, catching moonbeams. She said she wanted to climb a tree to get the "crescent moon", right before she drifted off to sleep.
May 2015
It's just me and my daughter now. There is motherhood, and there is single motherhood. It defines me and refines me. There is so little but she gives me so much. She tells me about her day and says, "We have a good life, Mama."
The snow is slushy outside. I go to Rite Aid because I need moisturizer. But really, I go to buy a pregnancy test. I end up buying three. The cashier smiles at me. They are always friendly here.
April 2008
I buy lip gloss and three pregnancy tests. The cashier smiles. I buy gum.
May, June 2008
I just buy one test, each time. The cashier says, "It'll happen, honey. It'll happen."
September 2009
Who the hell am I kidding?
January 2010
Ah, well.
March 2010
The nurse tells me I'm pregnant. I cuss at her, thinking it is a bad, bad, bad joke. I projectile-ugly-cry. She asks if someone will be with me during the pregnancy. I explain I'm married and that I'm actually crying tears of joy.
March 2010
I hear my daughter's heartbeat for the first time.
July 2010
I bleed. We worry. I go on bed rest. But all is well.
November 2010
- Birthday nyo ngayon, ma'am?
- Ang cute naman! Sabay kayo ni baby!
Until...
- Ay, birthday nyo pala kahapon? Sayang 'di pa umabot.
Until...
- I can see her head!
Until...
- She needs a C-section. The baby's head won't go down.
Until...
- Congratulations!
Until...
- Ma'am, you're in the recovery room. You're okay. The baby's okay.
November 2010
My own mother is explaining why my breasts are hurting like they have never hurt before. "Your milk is coming in." The pain is excruciating.
I breastfeed for 22 months.
November 2010
I see my own mother, asleep on the rocking chair, my daughter in her arms.
January 2011
I go back to work. Another co-teacher who had also just given birth walks into my cubicle. Together, we cry.
February 2011
I am typing a script with my right hand, my left hand is cradling my daughter, making sure she can still comfortably suckle my breast.
April 2011
One whole month with just my daughter.
December 2011
I am exhausted.
2012
My daughter gives me reason to live. My mother makes sure I remain alive.
January 2013
My daughter is growing too fast.
May 2013
My mother flies in to help me and my daughter settle into our new home. My daughter gives me reason to live. My mother makes sure I remain alive.
December 2013
My daughter is growing too fast.
January 2014
My daughter kisses me and says, "I love you." She is old enough to know what it means now. And she says it. And means it.
May 2014
My daughter is growing too fast. She gives me reason to live. My daughter is Tarzan-clasping my left leg. She giggles. Perhaps in her dreams we are swinging on trees, catching moonbeams. She said she wanted to climb a tree to get the "crescent moon", right before she drifted off to sleep.
May 2015
It's just me and my daughter now. There is motherhood, and there is single motherhood. It defines me and refines me. There is so little but she gives me so much. She tells me about her day and says, "We have a good life, Mama."
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Changes and Constants
It's been a while because I didn't know how to write about the last few weeks.
They've been tough. No worries, not another episode. I've just been exhausted and I feel like I've lost some kind of rhythm.
Decisions were made, though, and that gives me immense comfort. But: The future is uncertain again, changes are afoot again. That part, not so comforting.
But if there's anything that the past two years have taught me, it's that I shouldn't dwell in states of ennui and discomfort anymore. That there is something I can do. And I should do it. Well, I've done it. And now we're waiting for the chips to fall where they may.
And so as things start to change around me again, I take comfort in these:
1. Things may be changing, but some (not all though) of those changes are happening because of our decision—for what would be best for me, for us as individuals, and for our family.
2. While I don't know what the end result of those changes will be, there are still constants in my life. I cling to those.
So, onward ho!
Trust the darkness. Trust that my God and his promises are greater than the darkness. Take feeble, fearful steps into the darkness. Know that the more I trust that Voice in the darkness, the further in I allow myself to go into that darkness (and thus, the bigger my New Narnia will be).
To new things, then.
They've been tough. No worries, not another episode. I've just been exhausted and I feel like I've lost some kind of rhythm.
Decisions were made, though, and that gives me immense comfort. But: The future is uncertain again, changes are afoot again. That part, not so comforting.
But if there's anything that the past two years have taught me, it's that I shouldn't dwell in states of ennui and discomfort anymore. That there is something I can do. And I should do it. Well, I've done it. And now we're waiting for the chips to fall where they may.
And so as things start to change around me again, I take comfort in these:
1. Things may be changing, but some (not all though) of those changes are happening because of our decision—for what would be best for me, for us as individuals, and for our family.
2. While I don't know what the end result of those changes will be, there are still constants in my life. I cling to those.
So, onward ho!
Trust the darkness. Trust that my God and his promises are greater than the darkness. Take feeble, fearful steps into the darkness. Know that the more I trust that Voice in the darkness, the further in I allow myself to go into that darkness (and thus, the bigger my New Narnia will be).
To new things, then.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Thank You for Tantrums
Lucia just had a massive tantrum.
See, she wasn't able to take her afternoon nap. So she was crying and flailing and snotting and...it was pretty bad.
So, against her wishes, I gave her a bath, dressed her up, brushed her hair, and carried her. She was kicking and screaming and snotting (sorry, can we make that a real verb now?) the whole time. But I cooed and insisted and I'm still bigger than she is (although I think I only have a few more years of that). I rocked her back and forth and in 10 minutes, she was asleep.
The last time I rocked my child to sleep was almost a year ago, under the trees, in our beloved Dalipuga.
I had a helluva week. And you'd think the last thing I'd want is a tantrum but...that was just what I needed. Thank you. :)
It's nice to know that my little headstrong, bullish, persnickety punkle still needs me from time to time. Because God knows I need her all the time.
See, she wasn't able to take her afternoon nap. So she was crying and flailing and snotting and...it was pretty bad.
So, against her wishes, I gave her a bath, dressed her up, brushed her hair, and carried her. She was kicking and screaming and snotting (sorry, can we make that a real verb now?) the whole time. But I cooed and insisted and I'm still bigger than she is (although I think I only have a few more years of that). I rocked her back and forth and in 10 minutes, she was asleep.
The last time I rocked my child to sleep was almost a year ago, under the trees, in our beloved Dalipuga.
I had a helluva week. And you'd think the last thing I'd want is a tantrum but...that was just what I needed. Thank you. :)
It's nice to know that my little headstrong, bullish, persnickety punkle still needs me from time to time. Because God knows I need her all the time.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
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>.
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>.
Monday, January 6, 2014
Cold Nights. Hot Showers. (And God Bless the Maoris.)
I just took a shower.
It's a cold night.
But I always take a shower before bed, even when it was the dead of winter back home in Grand Rapids.
Lately, when it's cold and my OCD tells me that I must, must, must take a shower no matter what, I've been thinking of the basement.
—
Whenever I take a shower, I chant—either in my head or out loud (especially when it's cold)—"I need to be clean, I need to be clean, I need to be clean..."
—
In the basement, the water was always piping hot. The basement, true to its stereotype, was always cold. The cold seeped into our bones.
All of us patients were sorta just floating through the place (always wishing that tomorrow would be the day we would get out), so we were usually just hugging ourselves. We were doing it for warmth, but the cold made a good excuse to bolster our efforts to shield ourselves from each other (protect each other from our selves).
—
When I stepped out of the shower, shivering and dripping, I remembered the basement.
—
My showers were always luxurious. The water was always scalding, which I loved. I'd stand under the shower and wait for the warmth to get into my bones.
Never mind that there was a nurse, watching me. Making sure I wouldn't hurt myself.
(Well, it was only during the first week anyway.)
—
Still.
Those showers were pockets of time when I didn't hate where I was.
—
Mostly.
—
Sometimes, I wish I were back in the basement.
—
If only for those showers.
—
I'm all right. I'm just a little tired. And I miss those showers.
And sometimes—sometimes—I miss the basement. If only for how safe and predictable it was.
—
It's a cold night.
But I always take a shower before bed, even when it was the dead of winter back home in Grand Rapids.
Lately, when it's cold and my OCD tells me that I must, must, must take a shower no matter what, I've been thinking of the basement.
—
Whenever I take a shower, I chant—either in my head or out loud (especially when it's cold)—"I need to be clean, I need to be clean, I need to be clean..."
—
In the basement, the water was always piping hot. The basement, true to its stereotype, was always cold. The cold seeped into our bones.
All of us patients were sorta just floating through the place (always wishing that tomorrow would be the day we would get out), so we were usually just hugging ourselves. We were doing it for warmth, but the cold made a good excuse to bolster our efforts to shield ourselves from each other (protect each other from our selves).
—
When I stepped out of the shower, shivering and dripping, I remembered the basement.
—
My showers were always luxurious. The water was always scalding, which I loved. I'd stand under the shower and wait for the warmth to get into my bones.
Never mind that there was a nurse, watching me. Making sure I wouldn't hurt myself.
(Well, it was only during the first week anyway.)
—
Still.
Those showers were pockets of time when I didn't hate where I was.
—
Mostly.
—
Sometimes, I wish I were back in the basement.
—
If only for those showers.
—
I'm all right. I'm just a little tired. And I miss those showers.
And sometimes—sometimes—I miss the basement. If only for how safe and predictable it was.
—
And then there's this:
Years ago, Chad and I learned that Maoris say hi by touching noses and foreheads. Since then, we've called nose rubs "Maori Hi." We've passed on this term to Lucia, who asks for it now and then.
We were supposed to take our usual end-of-the-day picture, but before I could set it up, Lucia asked for a Maori Hi. I didn't know that I pressed the video button.
She must've known today was tiring. Good night, everyone! :)
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
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. |
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!
Friday, December 20, 2013
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. :)
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. :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)