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.