for my husband

Today is the 20th year since we first decided to be together. in between, we have gotten apart but eventually decided to be together.

I met you at 15. we were kids back then and we wanted to change the world. i admit that what attracted me to you is directly proportional to your aversion against me. it was like a challenge. you will not even speak to me when we end up together for more than an hour inside the organization's office for two hours, alone. since the classes has already been suspended because of the typhoon. not a word was uttered between us. your taciturn self adds to the mystery of you.

but now, after 20 years, after 2 crazy children, after a gazillion of history of cans and cannots, of happiness and sadness, of love and hate. i want you to know, i love you.

you might never ever be able to read this. but then i want it out there. i love you.

open letter to rude people who asked me what happened to me... why did i became fat

dear insipid person,

i am sorry. i should not resort to name calling. i know it is rude but i hope you realized that you just asked me a really rude question that probably do not deserve an answer.

do you really expect an answer anyway?

or do you expect me to just grunt and say,'well, shit happens'?

or do you want be to tell you that

after i turned 15, my taste buds suddenly turned haywire and realized that i have been missing a lot of flavors for not eating a lot when i was younger.

or do you expect me to tell you that i probably have hyperthyroid problem that makes me become fat even when i hardly eat.

or do you expect me to tell you the truth?

do you want me to detail to you that i started to be sexually molested at 6? or maybe even earlier, but fortunately did not remember.

and that for a time it just kept happening.

there was a time that i thought it was just me. i am the type.

a sexual molester would go around choosing prey, let say, in a bus. out of all the other female passenger, he would choose me. like it was written in my face.

and that only when i started gaining weight did it lessen and lessen. until it hardly happens anymore.

the truth is, i am still afraid. sometimes, even with the protection of my motherly body, my wide waist and my big built, they still stare. you have to understand, i know their stare. i can feel that they see the thin, scared person inside of me.

and i shiver.

to zak

To my little boy Zak,

you are the second born of a second born daughter. we share the same fate. we will always be the spare child. the other one. the funny, crazy one. i know Ate Zoe is going to be a tough act to follow but do not despair. you have the charm to spin us all around.

never let your being the second born make you feel second in anything else. never let your being the younger child, make your other sibling receive more, get first priority, get first pick. you have to settle this yourselves and learn to defend yourselves not with your brawn but your wit.

I hope i'd be able to teach you that you do not have to act strong all the time. that crying is not discouraged just because you are a boy. i hope you will grow up comfortable in articulating your feelings. and that the words i love you will be easy to utter.

I love you.

Nanay

to zoe

Dear Zoe,

you always asked me if i love you the most. i always say yes, because i do. i do love you the most. one day, i may not answer it as swiftly since Zak is already growing up and he might one day ask me the same question, and like a true mother, i will also say that of course, it is him i love the most.

when that time comes, i hope you understand that both answers are not a lie. they are what mothers are supposed to say and supposed to make you feel. i can see that in the near future, you will question my integrity, my choices, my decisions but i hope you know that when it comes to the question of loving you, i will always give you a truthful answer.

you test me now, at four. all the things i have read on how to rear a child sometimes go out to the door since you already know all the buttons to push. i know it is my fault since i gave you those buttons. i hope you know that when i push back, it is not to hurt you. but you should understand that in life there are rules you have to follow. i hope that i can impart to you this rules. and impart to you their value. but i also hope that if you decide to break these rules, you must know that there might be consequences but there could also be a new way of doing things that you might discover.

as you grow up, you will eventually learn that we, your parents are not impeccable. we will sometimes be at the opposite sides of an argument, but let not are arguments make you think that our love for you is in question. i hope that i will learn not to stop you from saying what you feel and what you think and i hope that you will learn not to lose sight of the topic at hand.

one day, you will see us a old fashioned traditionalist and have lost sense of culture and politics, i hope you will have the audacity to show us your politics and teach us your culture. since we will always want to know you.

I love you.

Nanay

visitor

you do not live here

just visiting

so do not forget

there are certain decorum

for visitors

wait to be invited to seat

to be asked if you want coffee

and converse only on surface matters

do not disturb the status quo

please

your act may create chaos after you leave

do not be too comfortable

even if you are told to feel at home

this is not your home.

my mother's story

My mother was born in a time of war. It was the 40's and the Japanese has already occupied manila. all she remembered of the war was how the american soldiers will give them candy when they call them joe and how her mother used to give them the food from her plate. these were also her only memory of her mother. her mother died before the war ended.

Maybe this is what made her become the mother she was. sacrificial but at hard at the same time.

i have never thought her as weak though i knew she had weaknesses. i grew up knowing her as the go-to mother in the neighborhood, one of the main-stayers in the school along with the other moms, organizing alternative PTA's (since we don't really have an official one), and the sane, matter of fact, voice of reason among her friends.

we never really had a perfect relationship. i know she felt i was the test that she had failed most of the time. she, for me was the one holding me back. but deep inside i always knew why we could not get along. we are so much alike. opinionated and colorful. hard and real. we wanted more from each other than what we both could really give.

when i became a mother in 20o7, a year before she passed, i have understood her better but at the same time, had more questions i wished she could have answered.

today is supposed to be her 72nd birthday. we would have brought her a cake. she would have like that. though she might act nonchalantly like she always would since she scarcely want attention.

She may have left us but she is within us, my sister and i, for she made us who we are. may we not forget.

photo credit:Gustav-Klimt: Three ages of Woman, Mother and Child

revisiting

(artwork by Vincent Van Gogh)

revisiting old cafe's

and half forgotten alleyways

of the street of your heart

the scent of it

leaves a wanting

that cannot be satisfied.

how the past can be rekindled

by old smells

old taste

and same dark alleyways

why did you dare go through this road?

isn't the streetlight offering a safe haven

enough.

but a longing heart

forgets

the meaning of the word.

the dimness of the night's stars

adds to the allure of the moon

daring.