An Amazing Old Man

Last week, my tutee gave me a pack of pastillas after we finished tutoring. He said it was from his dad. I asked where they got it and he said his Lolo bought it in Tuguegarao. Yes, his 82-year old Lolo did. I asked how his lolo traveled and he said casually, "by bus." I asked "with whom?" He said, "alone."

I was in turn aghast and astounded. An 82-year old going all the way to Tuguegarao on public transport -- a 12-hour ride at the very least. And he brings pasalubong for his apos to boot.

Amazing!

One rainy Sunday

It was one of those times that I wished I had brought my camera. Close to 12 noon today, I was dressed and ready to wheel to church when the heavens opened its (their?) taps and rain poured. So I decided to wait for husband to come home thinking we'd take the car to church. Meantime, I decided to play a few pieces on the piano. Pieces I learned in grade school and high school. New ones have yet to be learned. But how to when the piano has no fixture to allow a music piece to be propped up?

Then husband arrived and said, "let's go." I asked, "do we take the car?" He said let's just bring an umbrella. By then there was not even a shower and so he wheeled me to church. Our son followed a few minutes later, no umbrella with him.

As the mass proceeded, the winds made their presence felt. We in church felt the rain spray on us, the church being largely open on all sides unless the glass folding doors are unfurled. After some time, the ladies in brown (Mother Butler) closed the glass doors to shield the mass goers from the rain. There was a let-up and they opened the glass doors once more.

I couldn't keep my mind on the mass. The weather so reminded me of my days in Negros. To complete the flashback, I have this bad cold that made me really feel like I did when I was a child when it would rain hard and the floor on the corridor just outside my room would be wet unless the trapals (now referred to as tarpaulin) were drawn down. See the corridors were roofed but did not have solid walls on the other side. Instead grills allowed the air through. And rains too if the winds were particularly strong. As I saw the rain being blown inwards, I also recalled my grade and high school days in St. Scho because while the corridor had a solid concrete wall, it only reached so high and inevitably, rain would swish inwards when the winds were strong through the upper portion up till the ceiling. More often than not, I was sick then or had a very bad cold at the very least.

Oh for those days. Life was so much simpler then, not only because that was back in the sixties and seventies, but because of the age I was in: pre-teen to teen. Issues that had to be dealt with then were prom dates, what to wear, test scores, etc. These days, 30 plus years later, issues are graver. Illness in the family, rising costs, relatives of one's husband, etc. Receiving calls before six in the morning that didn't have to be made so early as to awaken-- the issue could have waited without any consequence. People then were so much more considerate, courteous, proper. Anyway...

When the mass ended, the rains and winds were way too strong so that only a handful braved both to go to their cars or, heavens, walk home. No umbrella could have shielded one from getting wet because of the winds. As people thronged to the inner portions of the church, away from the doors, in anticipation of the rains' letting up, I found the situation a tad ironic. There we were looking like evacuees/refugees in our parish church even as our houses weren't too far away and were in no way in danger. As people milled, the buzz of voices was stilled by the crash of glass. A frame suspended from the ledge on the second level of the church had fallen right smack on the middle aisle at the back, but as God would have it and in his wisdom and kindness, there was no one where it landed. I guess He thought "these people braved the storm to come to my house". So he spared us all.

We saw our neighbor who had brought her car. When she learned we hadn't, she offered to take us, but that would have been impossible because of my wheelchair. Too much hassle. Instead, we wangled a ride for our son who got the car and came back for us in it. Deja vu. Two weeks ago, the same thing had happened. We were stranded in church, our son went home with a friend and picked us up in the car.

Filipinos - Eaten

Yummy. Here are pictures of the pack and one Filipino. Brown Filipinos. Kayumanggi Filipinos. Not Mestizo Filipinos, not dark either. Yummy. Crunchy. Made by Kraft Foods Galletas, S.A.U.

A Mother's Life when her son is sick

When my son woke up with hives yesterday morning, my world stopped. It seemed like they were in almost all parts of his body: his torso, his back, his arms, his legs. Only his neck and face were spared. Gave him Benadryl and contemplated on staying home rather than hearing mass. He told us, my husband and me, that is, to go to mass.

While at mass, I did what I usually frown at when I see people doing it in church: text. I texted my son at regular intervals to check on him. At one point, while I was doing so, a hand patted my arm to say hello. This was during communion. The person who did this was on his way back to his seat. I smiled back. Later it occurred to me that perhaps he was thinking how rude I was to be texting in church. But who am I to feel bad if he did? I would have thought the same too, in the past. Now I know better than to judge.

At any rate, in one text message, my son assured me the hives were gone. I breathed a sigh of relief, we went home and had lunch. Around 2 p.m., the hives were back. My son drank Benadryl again. But he kept scratching and looking at the hives, his reflection in the mirror, etc. My husband said, "isn't that dengue?" I think the thought scared my son even as I reassured him that I didn't think it was dengue. He himself said "these aren't rashes." But I guess he was scared because when I asked if he wanted to go to the ER of Medical City, he agreed.

To speed things up, I decided I shouldn't go with them. If I did, I'd have delayed them. So off they went. The doctor in ER injected my son with Benadryl. And within minutes, the hives disappeared, the way chalk marks do when an eraser is passed over them.

Then it was 9 p.m. The hives were back. To a lesser degree, but they were back. I asked my son if he wanted to go back to the hospital, this time he said no. This time he drank Antamin which a cousin and a friend-dermatologist recommended. The hives subsided shortly. As he dozed off, I stayed awake. The TV was off, the IPOD was off. I wanted to watch out if he had difficulty breathing.

I got some novenas, prayed. I got his bible, read. I took a handful of my hair to check if there were frizzy strands, cut. I got the MIMs, read. I was doing anything and everything but sleep. Occasionally, he'd turn to me, smile, embrace and then go back to sleep. That more than made up for staying awake. At times I'd doze off and then suddenly awaken when he'd kiss or embrace me.

At 2:30 he began to scratch again. I applied holy water on the hives, even as earlier I had asked my husband to do the same. He awakened, went to the bathroom and listened to my suggestion to take some Skyflakes and Antamin. Before long he was asleep and our routine resumed.

A few minutes ago, he left for school. Though I told him he could stay home, he chose to go to school. He brought some antihistamines with him, just in case.

I hope and pray he'll be well soonest. If you happen to read this, please pray he recovers quickly.

Thank you

Sweet Dreams Are Made of These

So goes the first line of an eighties song. And what am I referring to?

The series of surprises sprung on me by friends, relatives,even the friend of my son. The list in random order:

1. Roli's sate babi - 3orders direct from Bacolod, skewers removed, with sate rice. Heaven. From my favorite female cousin, mama's side who planed in a few weeks ago. Thanks gid ha.

2. Atis - two installments, sweet, very sweet literally and figuratively. And a box of krispy kreme donuts and a buddy pack of meiji chocolates I haven't dipped my hand into yet and what else? Sa dami I can't remember. From my favorite Taytay confidante, my future wedding inaanak (pagawa na naman ako ng gown? anong color? pwede replay? joke lang, for you a new gown.)

3.a bottle of Bath and Body Works hand soap from my son's friend from his singing group. I love this boy -- gentle, soft-spoken but always alert and patient with my questions. Ang bait talaga. One morning he sent a message via multiply that he was giving me something, he posted a picture of it. But stupid me thought the picture was it -- these days that's done, di ba? Then when my son came home from practice that night, it was the hand soap in the flesh. I felt like a fool, but a happy, touched, sentimental old fool. My husband and son were wondering why the gift when there was no occasion. All these years they haven't learned about spontaneous thoughtful gestures from me? Duhh. Just kidding. But such gestures really brighten one's day -- the giver's as well as the recipient's, right? Oh well, I'll have to teach them some more by example. Or maybe the examples number so many they no longer notice? Hmmm...

4. Puto - yesterday, my tummy was grumbling but I didn't know what to eat. Dyspepsia symptoms? Motilium then? Nah. As I typed on while wondering what to eat, the doorbell rang. In came the maid with a black plastic container with very white PUTO. Courtesy of my sister. Yahoo.

5. Filipinos. Have you eaten brown Filipinos? White Filipinos? Dark Filipinos? Whaaattt? Canniba!!!! Have you forgotten how years back a ruckus was raised against a confectionery for naming his chocolate creations "FILIPINOS"? Back then I asked my friend who was traipsing the world to get me one of each flavor - Chew and that friend know why--my husband likes dark, my son white, I like milk chocolate. But she failed to find any. Today, the sister who brought me puto gave me a pack of brown Filipinos from another sister who just planed in from Spain and the US. I surmise she got it from the former as the blurb on the pack is in Espanol.

So have I eaten a Filipino? Not yet because I want to take my first bite with my husband and son, neither of whom is here now. The son is out in a GK village teaching a first year high school student for NSTP in lieu of ROTC. Husband is working hard at keeping fit. So maybe I should spare him an added ounce by depriving him of a Filipino. Whatchathink?

The Memory Keeper's Daughter and My Brother

In my other blog I wrote about it and my cousin made a comment on it. Suddenly, a rush of emotions flooded my being. I remembered my brother...

Jun was mentally retarded. Being 6 years younger than he was, I never saw him as a baby. That sounds so inane but I particularly felt bad about it when a sister brought over an album and I saw his pictures as a baby, looking very normal: chubby, cute, normal. I felt bad that I missed those months, years, whatever time that was.

My father who's 91 keeps blaming my brother's yaya for his retardation. According to him, she had epilepsy and possibly dropped him during one of her convulsions, damaging his brain in the process. Looking at my brother's pictures, where he appeared very normal, I am inclined to think my father may be correct. What a pity. I'd have had an older brother.

Way back my father would rationalize that perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that my brother was the way he was because had he been "normal" to the end, he might have been a killer, a drug addict, whatever. What made my father think that? My brother was the only son in a family of 7 so my father feared he'd have been spoiled rotten by our mother. But was that likely with my father around? And who knows for sure?

Anyway, going back to the pictures, a number of them evoked memories because by then I had been born and was old enough to relate to him. But I didn't relate to him too much because being the youngest, I guess then it was more of me being the baby rather than me looking after anyone. I did reach out to him sometimes, would take his hand which he'd hold tight in his. I did this because I saw an older sister, the one closest to him, do the same. So you can imagine how relieved I was that one of the pictures in the album showed me, then a pre-teen, I think, tinkering with his hair while he sat on his wheelchair, smiling but I guess, oblivious to everyone. But he did look happy.

How I wish I were around when he was normal, if indeed he was. How I wish I had reached out to him more often, when I was growing up. How I wish I were a better sister. But it's too late now, he having passed away when I was in high school, back when I was 17 and he, 23.

My only consolation is that hours before he passed away, we had visited him in the hospital. He looked so calm and peaceful then breathing better following a tracheotomy. Not once did I think that would be the last time I'd see him alive...

(Sorry if there are errors in this post, I am not ready to reread and correct, but I did want to share how I feel...)

The Local News

I absolutely hate it when able-bodied men and women beg, steal or borrow because they're too lazy to work.

Just now, on TV, it was reported that a young lady's purse was snatched by three men. Later at the police precinct, to her consternation, she discovered that the three men were her neighbors. How disgusting, absolutely disgusting. The reason one of them said, "Biglaan". Not premeditated. Oh really now? One time a snatcher was caught and his reason: walang makakain. No food? Why don't they find work? Sloth or pride? Another said his wife was pregnant. So why not find work? What kind of example are these men setting for their children, unborn or already alive? That crime pays?

Darn...

Suicide

Suicide is Painless

Through early morning fog I see

visions of the things to be

the pains that are withheld for me

I realize and I can see...

[REFRAIN]:

that suicide is painless

It brings on many changes

and I can take or leave it if I please.

I try to find a way to make

all our little joys relate

without that ever-present hate

but now I know that it's too late, and...

[REFRAIN]

The game of life is hard to play

I'm gonna lose it anyway

The losing card I'll someday lay

so this is all I have to say.

[REFRAIN]

The only way to win is cheat

And lay it down before I'm beat

and to another give my seat

for that's the only painless feat.

[REFRAIN]

The sword of time will pierce our skins

It doesn't hurt when it begins

But as it works its way on in

The pain grows stronger...watch it grin, but...

[REFRAIN]

A brave man once requested me

to answer questions that are key

is it to be or not to be

and I replied 'oh why ask me?'

[REFRAIN]

'Cause suicide is painless

it brings on many changes

and I can take or leave it if I please.

...and you can do the same thing if you please.


Back in the seventies, this song became a hit. But all I knew of it was the refrain "Suicide is painless, it brings on many changes, and I can take or leave it as I please."

Even as I had posted the lyrics, I still hadn't read the lines. But...

What brings on this post? No, I'm not contemplating the idea. Rather, I would like to reflect on the issue, a friend's son having taken his life exactly a week ago today. I knew the boy, he was quiet and polite. Weeks back, I saw him in their house, called to him as he sat on the stair steps. Upon hearing me, he called my name, stood up and walked to me, bent to give me a kiss on the cheek. We small talked, I told him I'd been seeing his friend frequently, he said "talaga?" Then we bade him goodbye, after which, perhaps, he went back to his lonely perch on the stair steps.

I'm glad if but for a minute or so, I had reached out to him. At least, somehow, I don't have to say "sayang I didn't."

At any rate, since learning of the incident, I have experienced a whole gamut of emotions: sadness, pain, anger, confusion. I have shed tears for the boy and his family. Questions have cropped up in my mind, probable answers - speculations really. What drove him to do it, I wondered? I still wonder till today, seven days later, and while initially it seemed so easy to come up with probable answers, now I hesitate to think I do. Because I don't. Some believe they know the reason, they theorize; but then again, they cannot be sure. How could they? Only God and the young man know for sure, and as so many have said, God is a loving God, he forgives. He accepts. He continues to love. So who are we to do otherwise?

Still the issue begs for answers. Why are people driven to commit suicide? What is it in this world that drives them to do it?

Last Saturday, a cousin and I talked about the issue, and among other things, she mentioned how ironic it is that some people who are very sick go through all sorts of measures to get better, to prolong their lives. Then here is a boy, 24 years old, who's physically healthy but decides to end it all. Being myself physically disabled, I've actually asked "couldn't we have exchanged spinal cords before you jumped off to your death?" after I learned of some people jumping off buildings to the cold ground, thus snuffing out their lives. So why do they do it? Problems, issues, too big for them to handle? So how come people with seemingly bigger issues and problems are able to cope? I don't know.

Years back, the Catholic Church refused to allow people who died by suicide into the church. The Church has since changed its mind and grown compassionate. Years back, when Jimmy Ongpin took his life, some priests said something had possibly snapped in his head when he decided to pull the trigger. Years back too, a batchmate took his life in the cemetery, possibly because of similar circumstances as JO. He wasn't guilty of any crime ; just possibly he had been used but didn't have the right connections to get out of it the way his confreres were able to. I don't know.

Was he being wise in doing what he did? Was he being fair to himself and his family by doing what he did? One can only speculate.

The suicide of my friend's son is so close to home that I have become more enlightened in the sense that I now think it is not fair to speculate, to judge. A quiet acceptance of the suicide per se seems called for, along with compassion and understanding. No answers will be forthcoming in this life, only God knows and yet he cares.

After typing the above paragraphs, I finally decided to read the lyrics of the song. Is it possible that the 30-year old lyrics, more or less, reflect/encapsulate what goes on in the mind of people who do it? The lyrics, yet again:

Suicide is Painless

Through early morning fog I see

visions of the things to be

the pains that are withheld for me

I realize and I can see...

[REFRAIN]:

that suicide is painless

It brings on many changes

and I can take or leave it if I please.

I try to find a way to make

all our little joys relate

without that ever-present hate

but now I know that it's too late, and...

[REFRAIN]

The game of life is hard to play

I'm gonna lose it anyway

The losing card I'll someday lay

so this is all I have to say.

[REFRAIN]

The only way to win is cheat

And lay it down before I'm beat

and to another give my seat

for that's the only painless feat.

[REFRAIN]

The sword of time will pierce our skins

It doesn't hurt when it begins

But as it works its way on in

The pain grows stronger...watch it grin, but...

[REFRAIN]

A brave man once requested me

to answer questions that are key

is it to be or not to be

and I replied 'oh why ask me?'

[REFRAIN]

'Cause suicide is painless

it brings on many changes

and I can take or leave it if I please.

...and you can do the same thing if you please.

Reflections/Recollections on a Homily at a Wake

Last night I attended the mass for the son of a dear couple, who passed away at the young age of 24. The homily the priest delivered was one of the best, if not the best I've heard in a long while, especially at a wake.

One thing I recall clearly is what he said about "buds" dying, in reference to the youth of the deceased. He said God gathers even those buds and makes them perfect in the garden among the full-blown flowers in heaven.

He also mentioned how people would say to the bereaved family that the death of a dear one is "God's will". He clarified how not everything that happens is God's will, but may be born out of decisions man makes because of free will. I am always amazed at how people blame God and ask how He can allow evil to prosper when the evil actually stems from a bad/wrong decision made by the one blaming God. Just because that bad decision resulted to misfortune, the person blames God? But when the bad decision turns in favor of the decision-maker, he takes all the credit? Something wrong there.

When one goes to a wake to comfort the bereaved, words are never enough. Sometimes, they are too much even if they are well meant. Sometimes, silence, a comforting shoulder, one's presence, a tight embrace are the best forms of consolation one can offer. Sometimes,too, the bereaved family becomes the source of acceptance and strength of those who come to console - a reversal of roles, admittedly, but it happens. Maybe the bereaved family draws strength from the immense grace they are showered with at such a difficult time. Yes, maybe, they do...