How Ondoy lost and found me

Ondoy swept us off our feet (in a not so good way) and left us, well,... homeless. It has been a month since the Great Flood of 2009 and we are still picking up pieces of ourselves --- wet documents, soiled clothes, mold-infested books, faded photographs. My family has not yet returned to our humble home in Marikina. Renovation is still ongoing, and cleaning up is taking us ages.

Ondoy did not just get our stuff wet and muddy. Memories got erased and lost. I cried when I tried to salvage what were left from my photo album. Baby pictures all the way to my high school adventures were vanishing before my eyes.

But as we continued to sort through the debris of our lives, memories were found anew and resurrected too. Old letters. Old diaries. Old secrets. Old reports.

I found my Harrison Inner View Profile Report. In October 1998, when I was still a professor at the Assumption College, I took a personality test (maybe for AC to discover if I were a threat to their students). It was a general description of my character traits relating to the workplace. It determined suitability for a particular position, even suggesting what I should take as a career.

In summary, the report reads:

“Nilo is quite open-minded and reflective. He tends to stick to a task and persevere. Nilo is good at the implementation stage of projects. He is very creative and progressive. Nilo is very innovative. He is very capable of being tactful. However, he may often have difficulty being frank and/or getting to the point. He may hesitate a great deal to express his real feelings. He can become very evasive. He is extremely helpful and conscious of others’ needs. Nilo, however, may have some difficulty putting forward his own needs. For Nilo, doing work that benefits others/society is extremely important. Nilo has a strong intention to improve himself. He is extremely empathetic and warm. He is quite flexible and adaptable to changes. He enjoys planning.”

I remember reading the report in 1998 and getting amazed at how my spontaneous responses to a random set of questions created a picture of who I was.

In the Career Options part of the report, I was presented with jobs that suited my personality. Third option is to be an interior decorator. (Maybe because I wanted to become an architect when I was young). Second option is to be a child care worker. (Maybe because I really loved being around children). First option is to be a priest. (Maybe because I did not have a mean bone in my body).

More than 10 years after taking that personality test, what has become of me? Today, I am not an interior decorator. (Although I’m acting it out now that we are renovating). I am definitely not a priest. (There’s already one in the family). I may be called a child care worker. (That’s why the C in UNICEF is Children).

I found the report among the stuff of my wife, Aires. That was strange, I thought. Later, Aires reminded me that I gave it to her in my feeble attempt to let her know who I was. (Maybe hoping that she would give me her sweetest “Yes!”). I was not sure if she read it though. She would have said “No!” after finding out I had what it takes to become a priest.

I found the report at a time when I felt down and low. Reading it made me see who I was in 1998 and who I am now. Much has not changed, I must admit. It is not that I have stagnated. It is more of me being already robust as a person when I was still in my 20s.

I found the report at a time when I needed to figure out who I was. Reading it made me see that there was no need to do the figuring out. I just needed to remember that the Nilo who took the test in 1998 may still be the same person today. (How I wish I could say the same about my weight and waistline!)

But anyway, thanks to Ondoy. I lost Myself but found Me again.

Mud, wet, and tears

I believe in angels.

Just when I felt that I would fail to save my family from Ondoy's wrath, God sent his angels. And they came in the form of garbage men.

When flood waters reached waist-high in Marikina on that fateful Saturday morning, I swept Heaven into my arms and forced Aires and our two helpers out of Aires' maternal bungalow house.

About an hour earlier when we thought that it was just a typical rainy and flooded day in Marikina, Aires and I drove our two cars (our brand new City and Daddy's old Toyota) out of the village and unto higher grounds. We should have taken Heaven with us. But in our haste, we left him with the helpers who in our short absence frantically lifted stuff like albums and Heaven's things to higher and drier spaces in the house. Aires said that we could not just leave the house without turning off the main switch. Unfortunately, we could not seem to figure out how to cut power because we already tried all switches of the main circuit to no avail.

Aires and I were able to go back thankfully. I pulled out a fuse and everything went dark. There was no more threat of electric shock just as flood water reached our bedroom. That was when I said Enough! Out we go.

I carried Heaven. Aires was with the helpers. We only had with us a bag of Heaven's clothes. The water was getting higher, and the current stronger. About two streets away, a giant dump truck passed by. We hollered and asked if they were rescuing people. The driver bluntly said no. They were just passing by, he said. Aires pleaded for them to take us to where we parked our cars earlier. Thankfully, the driver relented.

Quickly, he and his mates scooped up two other families unto the truck's hauler. They took Heaven to the driver's cabin. Along the way, we saved another family who nearly got swept away by the raging waters. While traversing the short route, we saw how the waters made vehicles look like tiny toys, and faces of people on their second floors--- all surprised at what was happening.

When we got off the truck, I saw Heaven smiling. He must have enjoyed the short trip --- his first aboard a dump truck. One of the garbage men shouted to get Heaven off the truck. Surprised, Heaven started to cry but we managed to pacify him when we got him into our car.

Everything happened in just 30 minutes. But it was 30 minutes of wrong decisions and right timing. Aires and I learnt many lessons. Think fast. Act quick. Never leave Heaven ever again. And there are angels. Hail to ours.

Trick or treat

Beautiful eyes!!!

It knocked me out when Heaven squinted three times, flashing his "Beautiful Eyes" version. He just mastered his Yehey clap recently and I couldn't get over it. And now this!!! Heaven's new yaya was the culprit. She said that Heaven easily learnt the trick. It was not difficult to teach him, she said.

Hearing this was both a relief and a worry. I am happy that Heaven is learning new tricks. Yehey? Check! Beautiful eyes? Check! But I am also worried that he will pick up not-so-nice tricks along the way. Tantrum? Check! No-no-no? Check!

Aires and I will talk to Heaven's yaya this weekend to give her Heaven's syllabus for the coming weeks. She has been with us for only two weeks. We have managed so far to show her how and what to feed Heaven, how to help Heaven take baby steps, and how to do a daily diary of Heaven's activities.

Getting a trusted yaya has been one of the tricky things about wanting the best for Heaven. All we can do is to learn to trust and to continue praying that when we are not around, Heaven is learning the right tricks and getting the right treats.

A party for Heaven

After Heaven was born, I started planning for his first birthday party. I wanted to give him a party to top all first birthday parties. The eventologist in me began designing games and tricks that have never been tried before. It would be a blast for children and adults as well.

But GFC (global financial crisis) burst my revelry bubble. And much to my chagrin, I had to let go of my grandiose party for Heaven. Aires and I agreed that we would just have a simple celebration with our immediate relatives.

And so we did not plan for Heaven’s birthday.

But as Heaven’s birthday loomed nearer, we felt that we needed to share this celebration with friends and loved-ones who all became our prayer warriors during the pregnancy. We opted for a simple celebration but had to hold two parties in one day --- for friends in the morning and for relatives in the afternoon.

I had to let go of the desire to make a perfect birthday party. I just let Kenny Roger’s Restaurant’s party team run the show. It was still a blast. Birthday parties after all are not only about the games and the tricks and the party loot bags. They are about celebrating friendships and relationships. They are about celebrating the first year in a child’s life and being reminded that we have done everything to make sure that the child survives and reach his or her potential.

And so I wish my son a happy birthday. And to all our friends and loved-ones, a very warm “Thank you very much.”

P.S. I am still planning for that one big memorable party.

365 nights of Tatay-hood

One year ago, a very preggy Aires and I went to watch "Boses", a gem of a film by Ellen Ongkeko. We did not finish the film because Aires felt wuzzy. One week later, she would give birth to Heaven.

We took the risk of watching the film because we thought we had four more weeks to go before Heaven's arrival. We thought we passed all the tests and survived all the gruelling alarms. But no. Heaven could not wait four more weeks. He simply had to be born.

Next week, Heaven will be one year old. To say that this is a milestone is an understatement. He is truly a miracle, a gift from above.

Everyday, we can't wait to see what new tricks he has for us. He seems to be taking more of Aires' traits --- strong-willed, determined, smart. His Nanay claims, after all, that babies get 70% of their mothers' genes. But his charming demeanor, I dare say, is from his Tatay.

Even if he wakes us up at 5 am with his gibberish and blabber, I cannot help but be charmed by his early morning antics. He does his few standard stretches and rolls over me, commanding me to pick him up and start his day rolling. I get to put him to sleep --- not my favorite time with him because he gets most irascible just before he goes to lala-land. But his charm simply wins me over when he flashes a smile even with his eyes closed. As if saying: "Thanks, Tatay. Good night."

Who would have known that a night a year ago at the movies would set a year-long feel-good evenings with a rare gem that is Heaven?

Happy baby

Today, Heaven is nine months old. Another quarter to go and we will be celebrating his first birthday.

Last Friday, he went for his monthly check up. His pediatrician, Dra. Mian Silvestre, noted how happy Heaven as a child is. He is always ready with a smile, his eyes twinkling, his dimples captivating.

We heard mass today. Heaven was his usual happy self, smiling at other mass goers, playing peek-a-boo with a kind woman behind us. After the mass, children --- babies and teens alike rushed to meet the priest. The priest laid his hand on each child, giving his blessings.

I carried Heaven and greeted the priest. I did not see it but Heaven was apparently all smiles that the priest spent a few more seconds longer with Heaven. He said: “Bless you, my little angel.”

Indeed, Heaven is an angel to all of us. Indeed, we are blessed. Our constant prayer is for Heaven to grow up a happy person.

Heaven's time

Heaven's sleep time is at 8 pm. He wakes up at 1 am, groping for his Nanay. He helps himself to a feeding and then falls asleep again. He stirs at around 5 am and demands to be fed. He is fully awake at 6 am. Tatay gives him his dose of vitamin C and iron. Then off to his daily grind he goes.

He gets his power breakfast at 6:30 --- a serving of mashed potatoes and carrots and blended boiled salmon. His favorite, though, is banana. He eats five to six times a day. He feasts on mashed and blended broccoli, celery, squash, chayote, brown rice, boiled beef, with beef broth on the side. On a good day, he sleeps about 1 hour in the morning, and two hours in the afternoon. He gets cranky around 5 pm. Expressed breast milk keeps him happy for a while as he waits for his Nanay to go home.

After a good feed, he grimaces and goes berserk as he makes his dump. He gets to do this twice a day.

He guffaws. He grunts. He whines. He snickers.

He can roll. He can sit. He can crawl. He can stand with a little help.

He does his razzing sound with gusto. He yelps in glee. He always has a ready smile. A happy child he visibly is. He likes being read to and croons with you if he hears you sing a song. He loves going on a road trip and hates staying in his playpen.

Heaven is almost nine months now. He is healthy and has never been terribly sick. He has almost completed his vaccine shots. He is well on his way to catching up with other kids who went the full term.

Indeed, time flies fast. But every second with Heaven is time well spent.

As high as it goes, slash, as low as it goes

I got sick this week… again.

On Easter Sunday night, aching joints got me a bit worried. I dismissed the pain at first because I was still proud of what I did the day before.

On the morning of Black Saturday, I finally forced myself to do a bit of a cardio workout, jogging around the UP oval in a slow pace. I used to do five laps around UP. My objective was to complete one lap without stopping or without resorting to walking. I went home with a big grin, thumping my chest and telling Aires that I did it. I finally did it.

But come Sunday, it did me in. My legs felt heavy and I started walking with a slight limp. Still, I thought, no pain, no gain.

To my horror, I got feverish shortly after midnight. I did not tell Aires that I was sick. There went my chest-thumping. But call it female instinct, Aires woke up asking if I were sick. I defeatedly said yes. I was absent from work for two days. But because I had tons of reports to do, I gulped as many pills I could to get myself back to at least 80% working condition.

I did a presentation to my colleagues, peppered with horrific coughing. They took pity and did not ask hard questions.

Last night was terrible. I could not get a good rest because I was barking all night long. I finally went to see a doctor today and found out that my pharynx and tonsils were already swollen. But the worst thing of it all, my blood pressure was measured at 130/100.

I did not feel that I had high blood pressure at all. I would have not known anyway how it actually feels. I never had it.

And so, Google it, I did. And here’s a wake-up call for me. “Unless it becomes severe, hypertension isn’t an illness or disease you can feel. You’re not sick. Instead, it’s a condition of risk. It’s like driving 90 miles per hour wherever you go. You’re fine, your car is fine, everything is great --- until you crash.”

I do not even know what the paired numbers mean. Google, again. “The two numbers are as high as the pressure goes when your heart pumps during a heartbeat, then as low as it goes between heartbeats. In short, the numbers mean ‘as high as it goes, slash, as low as it goes’.”

One way to interpret these numbers is to get their sum. “A sum between 221 and 230 is elevated but doesn’t require medications in most. Sample BP in this range are 145/85 and 130/100. If you’re at increased risk from atherosclerosis (obese, smoker, abnormal cholesterol, family history of heart disease), you should be treated. Some physicians now call the 211-230 range “pre-hypertension”: You’re heading towards genuine high blood pressure.”

Mine is 230. Obese? Getting there. Smoker? Nope. Abnormal cholesterol? Don’t know yet. Family history of heart disease? Yes. Age? 36. Candidate? Likely.

I jogged. It was a high high for me. I got sick. I plunged to a low low.

Not a waste of time

On Palm Sunday, we went on a road trip from Antipolo, Rizal to Paete, Laguna. We meant Aires, Heaven, Lola Lily, and me in one car; and Aires’ brother Kuya Archie, his wife Ate Lyn, her cousin Daniel, and their daughter Raniel in another.

We left Marikina at around 6:45 am after fetching fresh-from-the-oven Pan de Amerikana pan de sal. We took the Marcos Highway route going to Boso-Boso. After the busy intersection near Cogeo village, it was scot-free from then on. We rolled down the car windows and finally had fresh air.

We wove through the paved road, enjoying Sierra Madre, the mountain range covering much of central eastern Luzon. Our first stop was the Santa Anunciata Parish in Boso-boso, a century-old church built by Jesuits. We reached the village at around half-past-seven. The Holy Mass was scheduled at nine. So we had our own breakfast picnic by the church. Our picnic found us spreading our bounty on top of the car.

The mass started later than we expected. Churchgoers were asked to line up outside the historic church, re-enacting Christ’s triumphant entry to Jerusalem. The Church was jampacked, so noted the visiting priest.

In his homily, he lamented that Christ died because the Jews believed that his was a life that could be wasted. He applied the concept of wasting in how Filipinos practice their faith. “We are a nation of short-cuts. We think that completing a whole mass is a waste of our time so we leave after receiving communion. We do not fulfill the observance of Holy Week because it is a waste of our energies.”

And so he enjoined all who dared to listen not to look at our faith as a waste of our precious time. And so he took his time and finished the mass shortly before 11 am.

That kept me thinking also whether going on a road trip to Paete is a waste of time and energy. But when we got out of Boso-boso and unto the swerve-and-swell of the highway, I left behind the “short-cut-waste-not” mindset and enjoyed the long drive, passing thru Baras, Rizal.

After an hour of up’s-and-down’s, of loops-and-bends, of motor bikers on a thrill ride, of birds chirping in trees and on electricity wires, we reached Tanay, Rizal. Here, we planned to eat at Basnig sa Kamalig, but we didn’t know where it is. Aires and I did a little online research and saw rave reviews of Basnig sa Kamalig. We asked a tricycle driver and he gladly pointed us to our way. “Just turn right and cross the bridge.” So we turned right and crossed the bridge. And there was Kamalig!

Famished and thirsty, we all excitedly got off our cars. And so did about 20 other people who got off from three other vehicles. “We have company,” I thought. Better order quickly so we would not have to wait long to satisfy our growling stomachs.

Inside the restaurant, I had a funny feeling that something was amiss but we were all dying to have a hearty lunch so we ordered bulalo, chopsuey, bicol express, kinilaw and lots of ice cubes. The funny feeling didn’t leave me so I went out of the restaurant and gave it a second look. The sign read “Saro-saro sa Kamalig”. I crossed the street and asked a young man where is Basnig sa Kamalig. He grinned and said: “It’s on the other side of the town.”

So after almost two hours of breathtaking scenery, we landed where we should not be. Is it a waste of our time after all?

The restaurant was not as fancy as we imagined it to be. It looked like your typical roadside beer joint. But the food was great, especially the bulalo. It was a feast. Likewise for the flies that also wanted to partake of our festive banquet.

By the time we gulped the last of our ice-cold drinks, it was already past two o’clock. Our next stop was the town of Paete in Laguna where we planned to have merienda at Exotic Restaurant, known for its weird array of frogs, snakes, and stingrays.

Another hour or so after, we found ourselves buying stuff from a Paete handicraft and woodcraft store. We were tempted to go and see Caliraya Lake which we learned is just 30 minutes away from Paete, but we finally decided that would be another road trip for the family.

We spent a restful merienda at Exotica where we had Halo-halo and Fried Frogs --- not the best combination but we were still full from our Kamalig fare. We left Exotica at around 5:30 pm. The sun was getting ready to go down.

We decided to take the busier route via Morong-Teresa-Antipolo. If anything happens, we thought, it would be easier to fix stuff in this populous area.

We got home at eight --- tired but satisfied nonetheless. It was not a waste of time after all.

To belong, to decide, to believe

I have many friends but I keep a select few.

I will do the work just don’t bug me about it.

I want to be assured always that I am loved.

My officemates and I took a personality type test called the Fundamental Interpersonal Relations Orientation-Behavior(FIRO-B) invented by William Schultz in 1958. We were given a questionnaire that asks about how we relate with other people. The results looked at three categories: inclusion, control, and affection.

“Inclusion” refers to the degree to which a person associates with others in a social setting. “Control” talks about the extent to which a person assumes responsibility, makes decisions or dominates people. “Affection” means the degree to which a person is comfortable sharing his or her thoughts and feeling with others. For each category, two scores appear ranging from 0 to 9. One score refers to an expressed need. Another score refers to a want.

For inclusion, I got a paired score of 7-1. This may be interpreted to mean that I often express the need to be with friends but if I have my way I may opt to be just in the privacy of my own home. For this test, I got the label: Now You See Him, Now You Don’t. My Ateneo friends are surely nodding their heads now.

For control, I scored 6-2, clinching for me the label: Self-Confident. A self-confident person is someone who can do the job really well but prefers not to be bugged about it. Tell me what you want and I will deliver. Just don’t pester me about my progress from time to time. That pretty much sums up how I work. I will get the job done. I will make it happen. Just let me do it my way.

For affection, I got a high score of 7-6, an optimist. Not the one who always see things in the positive light. An optimist, according to Schultz, is someone who expresses the need to be loved and desires this very much. At home, this means that I always need to hear the words, “I love you.” At work, this means that I always need to be told, “Great job!”

I am totally amazed at how my seemingly innocent responses to the questionnaire get to paint a complete picture of my personality. It also helps to know what the scores tell about my colleagues. Today, we see one another in a different light. So instead of getting bothered by a reaction from a colleague, I get to count from one to ten and understand why.

We may all be different but we all want to belong, to decide for our own, and to believe that we have value in this world. It's a bit a shame that I have to take a questionnaire just to be reminded of this.

Out-of-office

Nilo Yacat is out of office.

Everytime I see my Ateneo friends, they tease me about my out-of-office message. They think that all I do is travel outside Manila. To them, my out-of-office message means “I can’t be reached so don’t bother at all.”

But to me, “out-of-office” simply means it is time to get dirt on my boots. It is time to see what is out there, what is really happening, what is the purpose of all the pencil-pushing and keyboard-ticking that I do when I am “in-office.”

Last week, I went to the province of Sultan Kudarat for my first project monitoring mission this year. It has been a while since my last project visit. Last year, Aires was pregnant and I had to limit my travels to be with her, if possible all of the time.

Together with a new colleague, Nogel, I visited a remote village called Midtungok, almost three hours from the capital city of Isulan. Midtungok is a village of about 1,550 people, mostly Ilonggo-speaking Christians and a few Manobos. The village center is at the foot of rolling hills and mountains. Around 50 other families, mostly Manobos, live on the mountain slopes.

In July last year, a flashflood swept through the village, destroying crops and properties and submerging houses for days.

When we were all getting ready for Christmas last year, the villagers of Midtungok had fled their houses, hiding in the forest or cowering in fear in evacuation centers, after a band of rebel soldiers attacked and ransacked houses.

The rebels strafed houses and fired at the elementary school. One big hole in the wall of a classroom is now covered by a cute flower cut-out colored paper. Medicines and the only blood pressure apparatus were taken from the health center. Cattle and poultry animals were snatched away. For three days, the rebels put the village under siege. When a military strike finally arrived on Christmas day, the rebels had already gone ahead, leaving a note on rice sacks saying: “We will be back.”

How are the villagers now? Many have tried to rebuild what was damaged. But two Manobo families stay at the health center (all 14 of them) because the women are still afraid to go back to the upland. Two of their neighbors (Manobo fathers) were killed during the attack.

How are the children? The grade 6 students are graduating this March. And many of them now want to become policemen, policewomen or soldiers. “To fight the rebels,” they said rather cheerfully.

But the younger ones carry the brunt the worst. I met one family who has a two-year old son named Ronron. Their house was near the riverbed, where the rebels took camp. When they fled, little Ronron saw men in fatigue uniforms barging in houses with high-powered guns. The family stayed overnight hiding in the forest, with just bamboo trees protecting them from the cold and from gunfire.

Today, Ronron clings fearfully to his mother every time he sees a man in fatigue uniform, every time he hears banging sounds.

Then, I learned of the story of a Manobo woman named Langini Gamboa. She gave birth on that fateful Christmas day but died during the siege because of excessive bleeding. Her husband, Efren, could not take her to the nearest health center for no one would look after their children and they could die amidst the gunfire should he take everybody down from the mountain. I wanted to meet Efren and the surviving children but we were not given clearance to go to the periphery of the village. It saddened me that I could not, in my capacity as a development worker, reach out to them.

It breaks my heart, knowing that peace has remained elusive in Mindanao. I tear up because I have spoken to Muslims and Christians in other villages in Mindanao who have learned to live peacefully with each other. All they think each day is how to till the land, and what to feed their children. And yet, we hear of news stories about gunfire and crossfire, of displacement and evacuation, of children missing school and losing their parents.

If peace were an office guy like me, then he has gone out-of-office too long.

Why I forget things

You did not lock the car,... again. You forgot your celfone,... again. You left your wallet,... again.

My wife, Aires, nearly did not marry me because of my forgetfulness. As far as I can remember (pun intended), I have always been forgetful about where I placed an object or what's the name of the person who just greeted me or what I should have done that was so simple that it embarrassed me to death to know that I simply forgot all about it.

I have long accepted that I may just be built this way. But Aires still could not reconcile how a seemingly intelligent creature like me could be so absent-minded.

A few years ago, I tried to improve memory retention. I kept a Nilo shelf where I put all my stuff. I tried posting on the door things that I should bring for the day.

To not lose important objects, I chose not to part ways with them. Take for example my wedding ring. I have not taken off my wedding ring for a number of years now. I am afraid that I may forget where I put it and eventually lose it.

But why do I forget things? My mind works like a comic or film strip. I see flashes of images. Most of these images are "fast-forward", my imagination of what is next for me. When I park the car, my thoughts are not about parking but about taking the elevator and going to my office. When I get off from work, my thoughts are not about taking my lunch bag with me but about taking the elevator and going to the parking. I call this state the Next-Step state. My mind is filled up with images of what will happen next that I fail to focus on what is happening at the now state.

Aires tells me to do a last-minute scan. Before I leave one scene, I spend a moment to scan the setting for things that I may leave behind. Sounds easy... How I wish I can always remember to do this before the fast-forward images flood my mind.

http://www.memory-improvement-tips.com/forgetfulness.html

Seven year trip

We reached the Lucky Seven which could have easily been the Dreaded Seven. But our marriage has been a blessed one despite all the struggles through the first years when we did not know why we had difficulty bearing a child.

Aires and I aren’t exactly two peas in a pod. We are poles apart on so many things. I am laid back and carefree. She is structured and on-the-dot. I worry about what others feel. She speaks her mind. I love books. She digs horror movies. I abhor shopping. She adores bargains. I have no money acumen. She is a finance wiz.

Physics says that’s the way the law of attraction works. Like poles repel. Opposites attract. But in Marriage 101, a balance must be reached at one point when opposites also need to play opposites and like poles become allies.

When Aires became pregnant, we had to move in synch with each other. I had to journey with her through her ups and downs. She also had to give way when I was the one needing a steady hand.

The journey is not over though. After Heaven was born, we continue to play either likes or opposites. I want Heaven to be exclusively breastfed; she does this remarkably but sometimes feels like giving up. She demands full attention when Heaven is with us; I sometimes stray away. She sometimes has to spend more time with work; I cringe when Heaven needs her so badly that he cries his lungs out.

This week, we celebrate our seventh year as husband and wife. We also celebrate Heaven’s seventh month. It’s a double seven celebration that’s one for the books. What a journey it has been!

Prescription for cough and colds

I got sick last week. My guts turned queasy. My head ached. My coughing worsened. I had rashes all over my hands. I got feverish.

Last year, despite all the tension and difficulties with Aires’ pregnancy, I did not get sick. I had to dig down within me all the strength I could muster to make sure that I was there for Aires. But my body finally gave in last week.

To make it worse, Heaven also started coughing. By Friday, we took him to his pediatrician. Thankfully, Heaven had no symptoms of pneumonia. His nostrils were not flared. His breathing was not laborious. There was no need for antibiotics. The only prescription… continue breastfeeding. Aires’ breast milk has all the antibodies that Heaven needs to fight the colds-causing and cough-inducing virus that seemed to have plagued my office.

You see, Heaven goes to work with me everyday. Our office has a special nursery-breastfeeding room. Here, Heaven stays when he is asleep or feeding. But last week, many of my officemates were down with the flu. Heaven may have gotten a sniff of the bug either from an officemate or directly from me.

But other than the occasional coughing and hatchoo’s, Heaven seemed to be weathering the storm really well. His nose was not clogged with mucus at all. His eyes looked a bit gloomy but his face still lit up when it was time to play or feed. He also slept soundly.

Now… if only I could share with Heaven his mom’s breast milk…

For Heaven's sake

My wrist has been aching for weeks already. I do not know exactly why.

I went to a clinic to have it checked. The doctor asked if I had “trauma”. Hhhmmm. What could be traumatic in carrying a 4.7 kilo six month old baby? It sounds so un-fatherly if I sprained my wrist for carrying my baby. So… No. I did not sprain my wrist for carrying Heaven Czar.

The doctor checked my fingers, asking: “Does this hurt? How about this one?” My wrist aches, not my fingers. If I extend my thumb outward, the pain explodes around the wrist area. She made a splint to immobilize my left thumb. “Do not carry your baby yet,” the good doctor reminded. I would also need to have my left hand x-rayed and see if there’s any indication of a fracture.

For two days, I sported the splint and this got people asking. “No. I did not injure my wrist for carrying Heaven Czar,” I kept saying to those who asked. The x-ray results ruled out fracture. So what could be causing the pain? A muscle tear? A torn ligament?

Aires was concerned but also frowned on my wimpy state. Both of us could not afford to be sick. We know that Heaven Czar needs us to be in the best state of mind and body. Just like with my left hand. When my thumb got immobilized, it was difficult to do stuff like driving or changing Heaven’s diapers. Without a healthy me, it will be difficult for Aires to keep things going smoothly especially with and for Heaven.

This pain has gotten me thinking about my sordid state of health. I have gained weight. I now look fatherly with this stump around my waist. I vowed to go back jogging or hit the gym again. But I have not yet still fulfilled my promise.

To get me back on track, Aires simply said: “For Heaven’s sake.” This would surely get me going now.

Our moon

The moon
some nights ago
lit my sky
but I wonder
if you saw
its brilliance.
Your moon
must have been pale.
What with the storm
that too soon came.
Or the sea
that has kept us apart.
So tonight I wish
a glance you spare
and see...
my moon, my sky
are yours as well.

Ang ating awit

Maraming awit ng pagsinta
ang dati nang nalikha,
ang atin ba'y
tapos na?

Marahil ay hindi pa.

Dahil patuloy pa rin
ang paglikha,
ang paglapat ng tunog,
ritmo at halina.

Sasaliwan pa marahil
ng gitara o piyano.

Maaari ding sabayan
ng biyolin o pluta.

Di pa natin batid
kung gaano kahaba ---
kung may pasakalye
o may korong inuulit sa tuwina.

At ang titik...

Paano nga ba itutugma
ang mga salita sa tamang nota?

Basta.

Sapat na sa ngayon
na sabay tayong
lumilikha.

At umaasang
sabay nating aawitin
kung ito ay nalikha na.

No more school bully-phobia

In grade school, I dreaded the first day of school. Not because of the new teacher. Not because of the new subjects. I dreaded the first day of school because of a classmate who made my school life less than perfect.

He was my school bully. There I was, a tiny grade schooler with skinny arms and legs --- scared but trying hard to put on a brave front. But unlike the bullies of movie stuff, my School Bully did not grab my packed lunch. Nor did he beat me up to the pulp. His bullying was more of the verbal kind. He threatened to give me a beating. He said he would wait for me at the school gate and knock me out cold.

The threats got worse every year. But because he never lifted a finger, they felt empty and, well, less threatening. But in our sophomore year, I finally fought back. Call it teen testosterone but one fine school day, after he kicked my knapsack, I kicked him on his shin, when our teacher was not looking. He freaked out and wanted to end my life then. Fists did not fly but his expletives were a-plenty. He dropped his old “I will be waiting for you at the school gate” line. But I was unfazed. “Square tayo,” he challenged. “We can’t do squares. There are just the two of us. Squares have four sides and four corners,” I smarted. He threw me back a quizzical look. He simply did not understand my retort in straight English. “Let’s just get it on. One-on-one.”

Back then, I realized the best way to win a fight is to speak in straight English.

There was no buzz in school about the challenge. Come off time, I marched fearlessly to the school gate. Of course, my loyal friends were there as my cordon sanitaire. But School Bully was nowhere to be found.

He was absent the next day. When he showed up, he looked sullen and defeated. I saw him crying that afternoon. No matter how I hated him, I still asked “What was wrong?” He said sheepishly that our school adviser told him that he would repeat the year if he did not put his act together for the last grading period. He did not want to be a repeater. His mother after all was a teacher in our school and it would be a big shame if he failed a level.

I could not remember vividly what happened next but I knew after that short chat he stopped bullying me. He passed the sophomore year and we were classmates again in our junior year. In third year, he called me the “Boss” and obeyed me when as class president I would assign simple tasks to him like cleaning up the board or throwing out the garbage. I also started helping him out with his assignments.

But one time, our Social Studies teacher left the class a seatwork. We were supposed to read a chapter from our book and answer two questions. I did mine quickly and School Bully-turned-Obedient Classmate asked for help. I asked him to try answering the questions on his own first and I would edit his work later. No expletives this time. No life-threatening remarks. School Bully answered the questions and I edited his work.

But when we had the same class the next day, our teacher called School Bully’s attention and asked him if he was the one who answered the seatwork questions. He said yes but our teacher did not believe him. She said that there was only one student who could answer in straight English and that student was me. I raised my hand and reasoned out that I edited School Bully’s work but the substance was all his. But School Bully’s notoriety preceded him and Social Studies teacher judged him based on this.

School Bully was humiliated. I thought he would go back to his old ways and threaten me once again. But he just clammed up and became disengaged as the months progressed. He had no close friends and he started being absent more frequently. He dropped out completely and had to repeat our Junior Year. When I finished high school, School Bully was left struggling to complete his third year. I just learnt later that he did not continue into senior year.

Fast-forward to 20 years later. School Bully’s mother died last week. My best buds and I paid our final respect. One of them joked about me meeting my all-time fiend once again. Twenty years later, I was bigger, taller, and heftier than him. I could easily outbox School Bully but it was not time for “Revenge of the Nerd”. Former classmate and School Bully welcomed and thanked us for remembering his mom. He said he was sorry but he could not remember our names. When I told him who I was, he said how could have he forgotten. It must be the hair style, he joked. I am now sporting the skinhead-don’t-mess-with-me look. He introduced me to his relatives as the school’s “first honor.”

School Bully is now a real estate broker, selling condominium units. He got my mobile number and asked if he could contact me in the future for a sale. One of my best buds told him that I already bought a property and that I was not a condo-type of guy. He did not insist. We said our prayers and condolences and left.

As I walked away, a burden was lifted off my shoulders. Although there was a part of me that wanted to be obnoxiously proud, the other part told me to say goodbye to my School Bully-phobic years. We all had bullies in our lives. We could have been bullies ourselves. But as I learnt, there is a story for every bully. It is a story worth knowing. The simple act of reaching out may turn a bully into a softie.

An answered prayer

Today, we celebrate Heaven’s sixth month. We welcomed our firstborn on 26 July. A year ago in January, we learnt that Aires was finally pregnant. We were ecstatic and anxious then. Today, we look back at an unforgettable year --- for all the up’s and down’s, for the long wait, for all the tears, and for all the smiles.

Heaven has brought us not only joy but also a realization, a reminder that God indeed answers your most fervent prayer --- at His own terms, by His will. Many times, Aires and I found ourselves asking God: “Why?” We did not know then His reasons but when we learnt to lift up everything to Him, He answered our prayer when we least expected it.

Today, we are simply thankful for our own bundle of joy and God’s work of miracle. We are halfway till Heaven hits his first year. Each day brings us closer to finally singing a Happy Birthday song. Till we get that chance, we keep saying our Thank You’s to God for our answered prayer.

The pursuit of happiness

Heaven cries when he has to fart. He cries when he is hungry. He cries when he has had enough of the bedroom. He cries when his diaper has had enough of pee too.

My wife, Aires, and I are slowly learning his distinct cry for a distinct reason. The worst crying comes when he has too much gas and needs to fart. This can go on for quite a while. No amount of cooing and singing can immediately calm a colicky baby.

Our quick-fix was to breastfeed him. Think of band-aid on a punctured rubber tire. But we learnt that crying does not usually mean it is time to feed.

When Aires returned to work, we tried leaving Heaven at home for one day with expressed milk. He howled for hours, we were told. I heard him crying over the phone and I found myself crying also. But parenting is an on-the-job training. We have learned not to get stressed when Heaven wails.

Sometimes, Heaven cries without really crying. I call it his “staged” cry. He goes “Eeeh! Eeeeh!” I check his stomach to see if he has gas. I touch his diaper to see if he needs a change. When all signs say nothing is wrong, I get back at my little boy and tickle him to lala-land. He goes berserk, his “staged” cry becomes guffaws, and I hear the most magnificent sound of all --- his laughter.

Last Christmas, I dared my relatives to make Heaven laugh for 500 pesos. But the catch was they had to do the mission without touching him. My nieces and nephews took turns making funny faces and weird noises. My relatives did everything imaginable to make Heaven laugh. Heaven was ecstatic. He was all smiles. But the baby laughter never came. Aires and I left the Christmas party with a happy child and with my 500 pesos.

When Heaven cries, we try not to cry with him. But when he smiles, we cannot help but smile at and with him. And when he laughs, we know that the pursuit of happiness is ours for the taking.

Mission impossible

Twenty years ago, I left high school and left behind 10 years of my youth. But I took with me the rare friendships I gained through all those years. When I remember my school, I think not of my scholastic achievements but of the many adventures I had with my barkada.

Our high school barkada came to be because of our Citizens’ Army Training (CAT). We were a motley group of crew-cut shaven officers. Adam Buenaventura was corps commander. What a giant leader he was! I was his vice corps commander. Osmond Chiong was N-3, Erwin Valenzuela was N-5, Henry Odulio was adjutant, and the list went on and on. We were a fine crew and we dreamt of reaching the CAT inter-school military contest finals. Naysayers said it was a tall order and a mission impossible. Training for this military fest brought us closer and our barkada bigger. Adam steered us to the school’s finest finish in the CAT inter-school competition. We did not win the crown but we knew deep in our hearts that we were excellent.

Right after high school, we kept in touch with each other --- celebrating birthdays, spending out-of-town swims, and keeping track of early adulthood escapades. First bottles of beer. First trip to a girlie joint. First you-know-what.

We had girls in the barkada. And we would spend Saturdays hanging out at their houses --- their parents just all too nice to have us come over. Through the years, we lost touch with several of our friends but we kept a core of barkada who would be there during the best and the worst times of our lives. In weddings, baptisms, funerals. Not necessarily in that order.

We set the 30th of December for our annual barkada Christmas party. I missed several occasions but I could proudly say that our barkada has never missed celebrating this annual party --- whether there were only four or 24 who year in and out would reminisce about the good ol’ days of high school.

We had our last at the Monfort Bar and Grill in San Miguel by the Bay park. We opened invitations to other batchmates. It was a blast.

This year, we hope to make it a batch reunion party. This, we know is a tall order to accomplish. But we heard about the same stuff when we competed for the finals of the CAT military fest. Wait for my year-end account and then we will know if we again accomplished a mission impossible.

New Year surprise

A year ago, we knew not that Aires was already pregnant. The news came as a surprise. What a surprise it was!

Now, Heaven is almost six months old. Had he been born full term, he would be 4.5 months. He has grown from a teeny tiny premature baby to a terribly expressive and active infant. He coos and goes eeeh-aaah. He can hold his head up high and stand on his sprightly legs. He can clasp his hands together. He loves going out and enjoys a lot of chat time.

He is exclusively breastfed and has not been sick except for one bout of post-vaccination fever. He turns to Aires for his feeding time. He turns to me for his playtime.

It has not been smooth-sailing for Aires though. She had to return to work when Heaven was four months old. Heaven goes with us to work and stays at my office’s nursery room. Aires drops by three times in a day to feed Heaven. Thank God for breastfeeding blouses that have helped Aires do breastfeeding more comfortably.

There are no regrets at all. We are not spending for infant formula. We are sure that Heaven won’t get hospitalized in his early years. He is strong, healthy, and amazingly responsive.

Breastfeeding is hard work. But like with hard work, the results are rewarding. We are eager to see Heaven’s next developmental milestone. Will he finally learn to roll over? Will he finally learn to follow the Close-Open song? Will he finally utter Nanay or Tatay? We just can’t wait for the next surpise.