Wednesday, July 14, 2010

THE IV / JULY 15,2010 =)

When I was a child, I used to wonder how on earth my parents got together. Mother and Father were as different as night and day, their interests as different as black and white.

Father would often joke, “Gumimick nga kami ng Mommy mo nung Friday!”, to which we would all react, quite surprised, “Talaga?! Sa’n kayo nagpunta?”

Laughing, he’d reply, “Ako, sa Glorietta. Siya…ah…ewan, sa simbahan yata.”

Wahahaha. Nice one.=D

Now, I never really understood how their dynamics worked (although the vast difference in their temperament and personalities did make for some pretty “interesting” conversations). When I was young, I tended to think of love and marriage in terms of rainbows and roses. I used to think marriage ought to be about two people who finished each other’s sentences, who walked hand-in-hand everywhere they went, who loved the same things, who hated the same things. Marriage ought to be about people who did everything together. My parents weren’t like that, and I used to wonder, actually, how they could’ve lasted as long as they did. I suppose with friendship and puppy love as the only real benchmark for human relationships, I tended to think back then, well, if you didn’t like doing the same things, you’d look for other people to call as friends, right? Why on earth would you marry someone whose tendency is to go East when your clear preference is to go West?

Then I met the Hubby, got married and all of a sudden, kaboom!

I realize now it’s because you don’t really start out thinking that you live on opposite ends of the spectrum, or worse, that you may actually live in parallel universes. When the relationship is new, you find yourself willing to try just about anything. So you’d eat pesto for the first very time and declare it really good (even though in your mind, you’re practically eating grass). Or you’d take thrice a week tennis lessons (even though you know deep inside that you only enjoy tennis while planted horizontal on your couch as you watch Rafa deliver death by forehand). The list is endless, of course, but the point is this. As you try to learn more about this person who caught your fancy, you would inevitably want to take part in the things he/she enjoys. To get to know him/her better, I suppose. To find out if you’d enjoy doing the same things too, maybe. And because you technically still live in different houses, there really is never enough time to try out everything. This Friday, we would do what you want. On Saturday, let’s try out what I enjoy. Your friends, for the most part, declare you missing-in-action. For the most part, hopefully, they also understood.

The thing is, in the process, you find out that there is more to this other person than the things he/she likes doing. Things like ambition. Like diskarte. Like a sense of humor. Like kindness. Like love of family. Like love.

And then you decide that you like enough of what you see.

So you make the leap of all leaps.

You get married.

To have and to hold. From this day forward until death do you part.

Thing is, after the wedding inevitably comes the marriage, and you find yourself settling in a place where you have all the time and freedom in the world to do “couple stuff”. And, initially, you do try to still do everything together. Until you begin to realize after the nth tennis match, that hitting a yellow fuzzy ball really isn’t your thing and that you’d rather just stay home and read a good book. Until you begin to realize after the nth pasta dish that, unless it’s the hotdog and ketchup variety, pasta does not really float your boat and that all you really want is good, old sinigang.

So your world begins to open up again. Of course you have to make sure that you do enough together on a regular basis (otherwise, you run the risk of ending up as two mere boarders forced to live in the same house), but, really, after a while, you realize that it’s OK to meet up with other friends who genuinely love tennis as much as you do. After a while, you decide that’s it’s really OK to eat out with other folks who, like you, find real comfort in a plate of Aglio Olio and a good round of crostini with spinach dips. After all, it would be a sad, sorry life to live if you had to give up everything you used to enjoy when you were single just so you could do "only the things you can do together with your spouse".


The point, I suppose, is this. Even as you open up your world to include other people again, you inevitably go home.

A boyfriend/girlfriend is there as a gimmick bud (with benefits) who can technically be replaced when the going gets tough (or boring)—which is why a husband/wife ought to count for something more than a hobby-mate.

Every cliché in the book is practically true.

More than just someone to do things with, your spouse is your anchor. Your north. Your light in the darkness. Your rock.

Never mind that you now occasionally play tennis with other people or that you now get your pasta fix with someone else. The thing is, these people and you, no matter how good your friendship is, go your separate ways at the end of the day. So while they commiserate with you in times of trouble and toast to you in times of success, at the end of meal (or the game, for that matter), they go home to a life separate from yours with its own set of worries and its own set of celebrations. They go home to a life where your stories are only incidental and someone else’s concern is king.

Only your spouse is bound to you in a way that makes your worries his/her own (whether he/she wants it to be so or not). Only your spouse is bound to you in a way that makes your success his/her own. He/she lives your life like you do, in the same way you live his/her life. There is no escaping it. And, no, it is not an automatic grant that magically comes with that little piece of paper that you signed. Beyond legalities and societal expectations, it is borne out of a deep sense of personal commitment.

To be each other’s anchor. Each other’s north. Each other’s light in the darkness. Each other’s rock. Every single day. No matter what.


Beyond finishing each other’s sentences, beyond walking everywhere hand-in-hand, beyond choosing to be on the same side of every argument, beyond loving the same things, beyond hating the same things, beyond doing everything together, that is the essense of marriage.

In the movie “Shall We Dance”, Susan Sarandon’s character delivered one of the most profound lines I’ve ever heard in cinema. It was definitely not foremost in my mind when I took the leap, but the moment I heard it, it struck a chord because I appreciated the truth behind it.

To the question, “Why is it do you think that people get married?”, she replied:

“Because we need a witness to our lives. There’s a billion people on the planet. I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you’re promising to care about everything. The good things. The bad things. The terrible things. The mundane things. All of it. All the time. Every day. You’re saying your life will not go unnoticed, because I will notice it. Your life will not go on unwitnessed, because I will be your witness.”

When I was a child, I used to wonder how on earth my parents got together. Mother and Father were as different as night and day, their interests as different as black and white.

Then I met the Hubby.

Took the leap. Got married.

Today, four years to the day I walked down the aisle, I finally understood.


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Happy 4th anniversary, Sweetie! Here’s to more years of noticing and witnessing. Kahit na ayaw mo na kumain ng pesto at ayaw ko nang mag-tennis. Haha. ;p

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

CELEBRATING MOTHER / MAY 25 OF EVERY YEAR =)

Every year, celebrating my parents’ (separate) birthdays has always been special. Except for one year when Father’s party was cancelled in deference to Lola Thelms (who was then at the hospital), end-May and mid-December have always been earmarked for clan celebrations in House Better.

This year wasn’t any different, save for the fact that for the first time in years, we didn’t have a camera on hand (oh, yes, I do want to kick myself for not having one ready). That said, I suppose I would have to write this blog the way I used to write blogs before I discovered I could actually append photos to them—I would just have to attempt to recreate everything from memory with as much detail as possible. =)

For as long as I could remember, I looked forward to Mother’s birthday celebrations. Typically held on the last week of May, it was the literally the culmination of summer for me. I anticipated it not just because birthday parties are always happy occasions, but because I always looked forward to the other tradition that everyone else looked forward to every time the end of May rolled along.

When we first moved to House Better, Mother did away with the usual ornamental plants, flowers and Bermuda grass. Having been born with a dominant practical gene from Noni’s side, she, instead, had carabao grass and all sorts of fruit-bearing trees planted in the garden. Never mind that they didn’t particularly go well with the Spanish villa theme of House Better. Roses, no matter how beautiful, wilt. With fruit-bearing trees, well, at least you get to eat the fruit.

And so it goes that we had a dwarf mango tree in one corner, a santol tree somewhere in the middle, a langka tree on one side of the backyard and a guava tree (the traditional ones that yield small fruits for sinigang) right outside Bro I-gue’s bedroom window. Somewhere in the garden, we also had rows of calamansi and siling labuyo. At a certain point, we even had rows of bananas and papaya trees. Oh, yes, I lived in a real-life Farmville when I was a kid (which probably explains my current fascination with the darn game, haha).

Anyway! I digress. =)

Mother’s birthday celebrations always coincided with the full-blooming of those trees—never mind that their flowers start sprouting at different points in time. The anticipation inside me bubbles up and grows as the flowers of the mango and santol trees slowly give way to small green fruits until they finally grow into a multitude of big, yellow orbs that dot the green foliage. Somewhere in the garden, the banana hearts slowly peel, layer by layer, to reveal the small fingers within that eventually grow into either long, yellow latundan (or were they lakatan?) or into stubby, fat and brown saba. By then, the papayas would also have ripened, and the langka fruits would have been heavy and fragrant, ready to fall off the tree. The guavas, if I remember correctly, seem to be available year-round so they’re really no biggie to us kids, except for that one year when Father—with his typical naughtiness—brought home several giant guapples from one of his trips (guapples weren’t as widely available back then), and tied them discreetly with straws to the branches of the guava tree. I remember how loudly I laughed when Tita Thelms rushed excitedly up the guava tree only to guffaw herself silly while perched up on the ladder when she discovered that the guavas were “fake”. =D

Every year, we’d wake up to hear the dirty kitchen abuzz with activity as Mother cooked one of her signature dishes (one year, it could be roast beef with mushroom gravy, another year, it could be roast chicken, another year, it could be mechado, etc., etc.) to match the staple soup, steamed crabs/shrimps (high impact, low stress, she says, haha), inihaw na liempo or BBQ, manggang hilaw with bagoong, etc., etc. In the far, hidden end of the backyard where the dirty kitchen was built, the maids would also be busy firing up the charcoal grill, peeling the mangoes, chopping onions and tomatoes, even as they remain on their toes, ready for Mother’s further directions.

Us kids (along with Father) knew better than to meddle in the goings-on in the kitchen at that time. It was literally a no-fly zone: no kids AND Father allowed. Haha. Bawal kami makigulo at panggulo lang daw talaga kami. =) Instead, we would eat breakfast leisurely until the party tables and chairs were delivered. That was our task: to set-up the tables and chairs (which have since evolved from the wooden folding chairs and tables of yesteryears to the plastic monoblocs of today) under the trees, careful to choose the right spots. Our objective was to provide protection from the noontime heat while minimizing the possibility of having the guests bonked on the head by a wayward falling fruit.

Every single year, for reasons I could no longer remember, us kids and Father would always have a discussion as to where the tables should go.

Eh, last year, that’s what we did, eh di ba….”

Eh, mainit diyan mamaya….”

Eh…….”

Hahaha! Hay! ;D

I suppose because of the series of third quarter storms, a good number of branches inevitably get cut off by the raging winds, so much so that by the time next summer came along, the branches would have grown back in different directions, effectively rearranging the patches of shade under which we can set up the tables and chairs. And so, year after year, we would set up tables…..then rearrange them……then rearrange them again. Success came only in the form of plaid rental tablecloths finally being laid out on the tables; it was the clear signal that an agreement has already been reached to everyone’s satisfaction. (Buti na lang, hindi kami ang assigned sa kitchen! Haha. ;p) Setting up the citronella candles on each table was the final touch.

By around 11:30 am, uncles, aunts and cousins would slowly be trickling in, by family, by batch. By then, the food would have been laid out on the buffet table. The electric fans would have been set up in strategic locations in the garden. Mother, Father and us kids would have been squeaky clean, fresh from the shower. There would have been no trace whatsoever of the stress and chaos that was House Better earlier that morning. It was time for celebration. =D

Over lunch and tons of food, chatter would be incessant, laughter boisterous. Never mind that, back then, we actually used see each other practically every week at Eduardo’s. There would always be something new to talk and laugh about. During birthday celebrations, however, the decibels always seem to go up several notches higher. Haha.

And so it goes that we would while the day away, practically glued to our seats, getting up only to either get more food or something to drink. Lunch would slowly give way to after-meal coffee which would then give way to afternoon merienda until it was finally time for Mother to blow out the candles on her birthday cake.

My siblings, my cousins and I looked forward to the ceremony because after the candle has been blown and the pictures were taken, we were—finally!—allowed to take and eat as much of the sugar flowers on the cake as we want.

The blowing of the candles had an entirely different significance for the adults, however. It signaled open-season on the fruit-bearing trees. Some would end up on stepladders. Others would reach for the makeshift “sungkit” that Lolo Danding once made out of bamboo and wire, as the others stood by holding out their shirts/skirts, ready to catch the fruits as they fall. Still, others (usually Tito Art) would literally climb up the trees to either shake the branches or pick the fruits by hand and throw them down to the people waiting below. Celebrating Mother’s birthday was literally harvest time in House Better, and the freshly-picked fruits went into sando bags along with packed food from whatever was leftover from lunch. Lootbag! Mother-style. Hahaha. =)

This year, we celebrated Mother’s birthday—as usual—with a lunch party at House Better. Same rituals on food preps and table set-ups—except that all the trees (save for the Santol) have been uprooted, at one point of another, by the different super-typhoons that have ravaged Metro Manila in the intermittent years since we were 10 years old. That said, even the Santol is no longer the same. The years, I suppose, have finally caught up with it. It still bears fruit, but the fruits are decidedly fewer and much smaller (closer in size now to the local santol fruits compared to the Bangkok santol-sized fruits it used to yield). The fruit trees have also since been replaced by bromeliads, euphorbias and other ornamental / flower-bearing plants. Even the banana that sits in one corner of the garden is now of the ornamental variety. With the kids all grown-up, I suppose, Mother has learned to tame her practical side and allowed herself to finally pursue those that she really loves for no other reason than just because she enjoys them. As she added each year to her age, her garden evolved along with her.

For this year's party--with the fruit trees gone and a new generation of kids running around Eduardo’s and House Better--I suppose a new tradition needed to be put in place. It came in the form of plastic inflatable pools that were set up under the Santol tree which kept the kids entertained all afternoon and the adults free for lunch, for coffee, for merienda, for never-ending stories, for boisterous laughter, for catching up on each other’s lives.

While the details may have changed, some things will always remain. Life. Family. Love.

Happy birthday, Mother!


May you live long enough to celebrate your 50th Golden Anniversary (even if walang renewal of vows, haha), to see Maia, Raya and Siobe dance on their 18th birthday, to see them walk down the aisle, etc., etc.!

Love always,
T&T =D


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I typed this on Word but refrained from posting it to my blog until I have fine-tuned it. Last Thursday, my siblings and I woke up to a text from Father telling me that he rushed Mother to Makati Med because she was experiencing chest pains. Thursday afternoon, we were told that tests have confirmed that she had a mild heart attack and that an angiogram would be necessary to confirm the extent of the potential damage on her heart. She had the angiogram early Friday morning which confirmed that an angioplasty was necessary (but that thankfully, a bypass was not). We always complain about work stress, but we now know that nothing compares to the stress of having one of our parents in the hospital as everything hung on the balance.


Mother is home now, and thankfully, much better, but that was quite a scare. So may I just reiterate: Happy birthday, Mother! May you live long enough to celebrate your 50th Golden Anniversary (even if walang renewal of vows, haha), to see Maia, Raya and Siobe dance on their 18th birthday, to see them walk down the aisle, etc., etc.! We love you! Mwah! =D