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! ;)

Study!

Dear Batch 2013,

Get off your lazy asses and study.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So get off your lazy asses and study.

(I love you.)

Embracing the Unknown

I first fell in love with Narnia when I was about 14. We had a house guest from England who stayed with us for quite a while. When he left, he gave me and my brother books as parting gifts. He gave my brother The Brothers Lionheart (which still remains to be one of his most favorite book of all time—and yes, it's pretty awesome), and me, The Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe. After reading that book, I devoured all the other books in the series and have read them hundreds of times since.

Most people know how big a Narnia geek I am. In fact, I'd venture to say that that's the biggest kind of geek I am. There's just something about those books that evolve along with me, each time I read them.

I've talked about this before, and when I brought it up then, it was really more in the context of encouraging my kids to move forward to create a bigger and better world as they graduate from high school. But when I looked back on that story, on that image specifically, something else began to click.

//

Anyone who has followed this blog closely will know about the horror that was 2012 for me. More than the events that took place, I see the real misery of that year being borne from the fact that it was so...dark. I hardly knew what was going on and I was mostly sedated, unable to move away from the darkness of continuous sleep.

(Note: If you don't know the characters or the back story of Narnia, the next part might be a little confusing for you. Perfect! Go read the books now! Hehe.)

The Last Battle is the final book in the Chronicles of Narnia. Unlike the other books, this one is much darker. For one thing, Narnia is a changed place. It has been 2500 years since it was created, a lot of animals no longer speak, and the worst of it all, Aslan has not appeared in ages, leading most Narnians to doubt his existence. In his absence, all sorts of stories come to life.

An ape named Shift and a donkey named Puzzle chance upon some lion skin and Shift, being the "smarter" of the two, tells Puzzle (the "dumber" of the two) to wear the lion skin. Shift tells Puzzle to pretend to be Aslan, and through this pretend-Aslan, Shift ends up getting everything he ever wanted. As his desires expand and deepen, Shift's manipulation widens its territory. To increase their profit, Shift goes into an agreement with the Calormene, the people of the neighboring kingdom. Shift basically sells the Narnians into slavery, and he does so because he makes the Narnians believe that "Aslan" told them to do so. The lie becomes even more complicated when Shift tells the people that Aslan and Tash, the violent god of the Calormene, were one and the same. From being "Aslan", Puzzle then becomes "Tashlan."

After much conflict, the "friends of Narnia" (Digory Kirke, Polly Plummer, Peter Pevensie, Edmund Pevensie, Eustace Scrubb, Lucy Pevensie, and Jill Pole—people from our world) finally appear. But by that time, the situation is already dire.

And then finally, the real Aslan comes. But by the time Aslan arrives, many had already begun to doubt his existence. Aslan then erects a doorway and asks the people to go through. Those who believe in Tash and subscribe to what they think is Tash's doctrine of hate and violence, get scooped up by Tash in the darkness beyond the doorway, never to return. Those who believe in Aslan are brought to this vast emptiness. This darkness.

But instead of fear, this darkness brings something else. In the darkness, the people feel safe. The people are then encouraged to go "further up and further in". In the darkness, they take feeble steps to go deeper into the darkness, just because of the promise behind Aslan's missive. And with each brave step up and in, this new place—New Narnia—expands. Soon enough, they begin to see what they were helping create: rolling hills, fresh flowing water, great trees, beautiful sunlight; all because they trusted Aslan to go "further up and further in" into the darkness.

Meanwhile, one of the Calormene is still outside, on the other side of the doorway. Despite the horrific cries that he heard from his countrymen, he bravely steps inside. And he gets into the New Narnia. He didn't stop believing in Tash, he didn't suddenly begin believing in Aslan, but he is able to get in. Why? Because Aslan saw his heart, that what he did in the name of the god that he knew, he did in truth, he did for good. That young man believed in the existence of Good, and though he worshiped a god who had a different name, he still did what was Good. And Aslan saw that.

This is the illustration that came along with that narrative.

Everything about that chapter in the book speaks to me. Trusting in the darkness. Trusting that my God and his promises are greater than the darkness. Taking feeble, fearful steps into the darkness, and knowing 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). That people of different faiths can come together and not be separated by the names we call our God.

When I told my friend, a freelance tattoo artist, about this story, about the picture that came along with it, he immediately told me he wanted to work on putting that image on me. And who was I to refuse? :)

So aside from having the privilege of having an incredible artist give me this tattoo, aside from him completely getting the story (and all its many aspects), I was also blessed to have been able to spend 2 1/2 hours with a really good friend of more than a decade. He and I were talking about the many ups and downs we've had in the years we've known each other, and looked at where we are now. We talked about Kierkegaard's "leap of faith", while holding on to the "objective uncertainty" (part of my back piece, now that it's complete), how we've both become kinder to ourselves, to the world around us, and how we're more conscious of our roles in the bigger scheme of things.

I'm very blessed that these tattoos of mine have been "gifts", a physical manifestation of how my friends sympathize with me, empathize with me. Whenever I tell my story, their impulse is to capture my re-emergence with an image, and their art stays with me.

Left shoulder, center, then right shoulder, now completed.

On the right shoulder. This picture doesn't do  the art work justice. There are so many
fine details that just speak of my friend's genius. 

But I also think I'll be done with tattoos for a while (you can heave a sigh of relief now, Mama). It's a way for me to end this chapter of my life; much like how chapters in books end with an illustration. This Manila trip has been so cathartic on so many levels, and these tattoos were part of my process of healing.

When I return to Iligan it will be the start of a new chapter. Maybe of a new book, altogether. :)

Thank you to all my friends who were generous with their offers to tattoo me, who listened to my story, and who still continue to love me despite my brokenness. I love you, all. And I shall miss you dearly.

Happy Hurt

And on my last week here in Manila, I find myself booked solid. The trip is winding down, and most of my goodbyes have been said or will be said in the days to come. I can't really say goodbye to everyone I want, but it is what it is. I console myself with the belief that I'll return soon enough.

Yesterday, my friend brought me to a museum, nay, to an experience. It was one of the best, if not the best, museum experiences I've ever had. Words, music, these have always been part of my life, and I've always been involved in them in one way or another. But this sort of art -- sculptures, paintings, installation pieces -- these are the kinds of art that dwarf me.

I was like a kid in a candy store, oohing and aahing at every chance. Here were some of the amazing things we saw.

I regret not having been able to get the names of the artists. I was just so mesmerized by the pieces themselves, and I felt like I had to consume everything in one go. It had been ages since the last time I went to an art museum, and my head was spinning. I was just so overjoyed at everything -- from the pieces to the architecture to the weather (beeeeeyoootiful), to the smiles from complete strangers who were also walking around in awe.

Most thrilling of all was seeing my friend's pieces as part of the gallery in the museum. It was almost surreal. I mean, I've known her since we were 13 years old, so it's an unimaginable kind of joy to see her pursue her passion and have such a rewarding experience. I mean, just look. They're incredible.

The artist and my friend, Steph Lopez. She's extremely
camera shy. Good grief.

And then today, I received a private message from a former co-teacher. She told me how she hoped that I would return someday. I had the heartbreaking task of telling her that that simply will not happen anymore. That beautiful (and painful) era had finally come to a close.

...and when I wrote those words, I realized...I meant them.

Without my knowing it, I had finally made genuine peace with my departure. Naively or not, I believe that it ended just when it should have; in less than favorable circumstances, but it happened.

And you know what? I'm okay. In fact, I'm better than okay. I'm in a really good place now.

It still hurts when I think about how much of myself I gave to that school and how it all came to a grinding halt, but I own that pain now. I own it so much, I get to dictate how that pain will fuel me. The pain tells me that those years were good to me. That pain tells me that I am leaving behind friends, not just colleagues. That pain tells me that my students shall always be with me, wherever I go. That pain tells me, that I still have a heart that beats, that inasmuch as it can feel pain, it is also capable (and ready) to feel joy again. And I have no resentment, no ill-will. Just gratitude.

I am alive, am I not? And so gratitude abounds.

Funny how happiness also hurts. Funny thing, pain. Someone told me that pain was just a pulse, and he was right. It is a pulse that is indiscriminate and infinite. And I gladly accede to the enormity of its silent, steady, meaning-changing, minuscule beating.

But oh, how it hurts. And oh, how it heals.

Before leaving Iligan, I told my doctor how scared I was because I was finally feeling happy. "I almost feel guilty for being this happy. I'm so scared of happiness. I think I've forgotten how to do happy."

And she said, "You don't do happy. You are happy. Never feel guilty for being happy.  Look at the year you just went through. You earned that happiness. You deserve that happiness."

In a week, I shall be gone again, and Manila will once more leave me in tears. But oh, how tears cleanse. And dare I say? It shall be happy tears this time.