Remembering Nene

Nene died in 2005. She died due to complications related to her diabetes. She was in terrible pain, I was told. She died in her hometown in Negros Occidental, while I was facilitating a workshop in Guimaras, just an hour away from Bacolod. I had been meaning to visit her after my workshop but I guess, she didn't want me to see her in extreme pain.

Nene, of course, is my yaya. One time in grade one, a classmate chided me for being disrespectful to my yaya, saying: "Why are you calling her by her first name Nene?" I said Nene means Nanay. Her real name is Fely. Nene said that when I was really young I would call her Nanay. She told me that she was not my Nanay but my yaya. I said I would just call you Nene then. And so she became my Nene, not yaya but still my Nanay.

I grew up telling friends that I have two mothers. Mama, of course, was there to ensure that we are healthy, finish school, and be upright. Nene was there to help.

Nene was there even before I became Nilo. She was the one who helped Mama and Papa come up with my name, Ni-Lo, after combining their names Nicanor and Loida.

I've always wanted to write about my Nene but I would cry so hard that I could not even begin with a decent sentence.

I'm writing now because I think Nene deserves it. And I hope to finish this before my laptop gets soaked with my tears.

My earliest childhood memory is waiting for Nene to come home after taking a leave. She went back to Bacolod to visit her parents. I would sit outside the door and wait for her return. And I remember vividly how I sprinted toward her when I saw her enter the garage gate.

Nene was there when I had my febrile seizures. She was there when I finished daycare and went to kindergarten. She was there everyday, bringing lunch to school from grade 1 to high school. She was there when I finished college.

Nene was there when I had my "skip-work" moods early in my professional career. She would tell me that people do make mistakes and that you learn from these mistakes.

Nene was there when I got married. She was hesitant, though, to go up the altar to join in the family picture, saying she would have a solo shot with the newlyweds later. She kept that photo in a picture frame when she finally retired and went back home to Bacolod in 2004. Aires and I went with her to Bacolod where we spent a few days before hying off to Boracay for our own vacation.

I saw her about five hours after her death. Her body was still a bit warm. She laid on a bed, her relatives were still waiting for the funeral parlor for her coffin. A few days later, my Mama, my four other siblings, Aires and I laid her to rest. We were the family she spent half her life with. She was 68 when she left us.

And in the 30 plus years she was with us, I learned that love knows no education. She would say that she finished only grade 6 but after taking care of us, she must have earned a master's degree already. She thought low of parents who had education but could not give love to their children. She had none but she gave us a lot.

I went to Bacolod last week for work. I had a few hours free to squeeze in a visit to Nene. I almost did not find where she was laid to rest. But a cemetery caretaker helped me out. Her remains were removed, I was told, when her brother died a few weeks ago.

I saw her resting place. She was with her parents. The tombstone reads: Felicitas Tadina. Just that. No birth nor death dates. Just Felicitas Tadina.

I will be back someday. I will know where she is. I will be back with a more fitting tombstone. "Here lies Nene, our Nanay. Felicitas Tadina: October 17, 1938 - March 30, 2005".

Go! Heaven! Go!

On Saturday, Heaven had his first public performance.

His school, ISYC, celebrated its annual grandparents' day. Students in each class performed for their Lolos and Lolas. ISYC had a cool theme of Original Pilipino Music. Songs from the 70s down to the last decade came alive as ISYC pre-schoolers jumped, jived, and wiggled to the tunes of Bongga Ka Day to Hataw Na!.

Heaven and his classmates wore jerseys, acting out the roles of cheerdancers. When it was their turn to perform, the stage went dark and behind the curtain, we could hear them being ushered to their places. And then it started; one by one, the children began to cry.

We were worried that Heaven was one of them. It was dark and an ominous curtain was in front of them. And imagine what the kids were seeing when the curtain slowly opened and the lights went glaring.

All the children had to do was to wave their pompoms. And Heaven did his part. He waved his pompoms until the music ended and curtains closed.

We were as proud as any parent could be. We were proud that he wore his jersey in time for the dance. (He did not want to at first.) We were proud that he waved his pompoms properly. (We were watching out if he would hit the classmate beside him.) We were proud that he did not cry. (He was just too sleepy after his first grand performance.)

One big cheer for the little fella!

So which one is Heaven?

Heaven turned three last July. He has been going to a toddlers' class at the Integrated School for Young Children (ISYC), a progressive preschool in Marikina.

Heaven's school is preparing for a big grandparents' day celebration. His class is performing a dance number for their Lolos and Lolas.

During a general rehearsal, one father was heard asking around: "So which one is Heaven?", looking at the toddlers performing onstage. Alarmed, our yaya approached the inquiring dad, pointed to where Heaven was, and asked sheepishly why.

Inquiring Dad quipped: "My daughter keeps on complaining how Heaven is so kulit. But look at Heaven, oh but he's so tiny!"

Apparently, Heaven's classmate everyday talks incessantly about what Heaven does in class.

Should we be alarmed? We may have to wait for the next parent-teacher conference to quiz Heaven's teachers about his classroom behavior. The last meeting we had with Heaven's teacher was full of encouraging comments about Heaven's cognitive development. The only worrisome remark was Heaven's penchant for doing things his way.

So, we started repeating stories about sharing and learning to wait, constantly reminding Heaven to be more gentle with his classmates. And the last time I checked, no toddler has been kicked out of school yet for being too independent or too expressive or too bossy.

I spy

One evening, Aires and I played "I Spy" with Heaven.

"I Spy" is a great guessing game, especially when travelling. It can be played many ways. "I spy something green." "I spy something big." "I spy the letter A."

Ours was different. When I said: "I spy Mickey Mouse." Heaven immediately responded: "I spy Donald Duck. What do you spy, Nanay?" Nanay Aires replied: "I spy Daisy Duck." To which, Heaven quickly retorted: "I spy Pete."

"Pete, who?" we asked. Pete is a Clubhouse character we are not familiar with.

Our "I Spy" became a word association game, more like "what belong together in a set?" Midway, we would change and lead him to another set. "I spy Superman" for super heroes. "I spent Agent Oso" for shows on Disney Junior. "I spy Justin" for a list of Heaven's classmates.

It went on and on. Aires suddenly shifted and said: "I spy Scotty." Without batting an eyelash, Heaven responded: "I spy James." I was dumbfounded because I could not immediately find a connection to Aires' Scotty. And Heaven beat me to it. Of course, Scotty and James were American Idol contestants.

Aires took it to another level when she said: "I spy Willing-Willie." Just to check if Heaven is exposed to TV shows other than the Disney Junior shows we allow him to watch. In a blitz, Heaven said: "I spy Babaeng Hampaslupa."

Gotcha!!!

We made quite a ruckus. Aires and I laughed our heads off. "So you are watching what you are not supposed to watch!" we told Heaven.

Heaven then said: "I spy Babaeng Hampaslupa no more!" Which was true. Babaeng Hampaslupa stopped airing many weeks ago.

When it was to sleep, I said: "I spy Heaven sleeping."

And Heaven said: "I spy wake up Heaven." Darn! This is a game I can't ever win against Heaven. I simply can't spy what goes on in his beautiful mind.

Febrile

Heaven, you can say, is a miracle baby.

That's why we drop everything if Heaven gets sick. He's a breastfed baby, so he bounces really quickly from coughs and colds and what have yous. But he got from me, of all things, a vulnerability to febrile seizures. When his fever goes really high, he goes into convulsion fits.

He had an episode last year just before his tigdas hangin (roseola infantum) rashes showed up. I knew first aid, having seen how my siblings suffered episodes when they were young. But when Heaven went limp in my arms, after giving him a quick sponge bath to lower his temp, I panicked and thought that I lost him. I rushed out of the house, barefoot, hailed a tricycle, and went to the nearest ER. It was the longest five minutes of my life.

When Heaven was out of any real danger, the ER doctor even managed to kid me about all the drama. Drama ka diyan! I wanted to shut her up with a 1-2-3. Heaven stayed at the hospital for almost a week because of this mild infection.

Heaven had fever again early last Monday. He was out partying with us during the weekend. he must have picked up something along the way. We skipped work to be with him, and made sure that there won't be drama this time. His fever was on and off but mercifully stopped after two days.

Aires was also worried that I was absent from work.

Work can wait. Our son can't. I can deal with backlogs at the office. I can't deal with another febrile backlash at home.

Heaven goes to school

Heaven went to toddler class this week at the Integrated School for Young Children, a progressive school near home.

Nanay took him to his first day. Tatay went on his second day. We both feel proud that Heaven behaved well, played with toys, was friendly to his classmates, and responsive to his teachers.

After school today, he quipped: "Ang galing ko no, Tatay!" "Yes! You are!" I said. That's positive reinforcement but I hope he doesn't get swell-headed. Because, we still have a looooooong way to go.

A month ago, good friend and former colleague Atty. Any Saguisag said: "Can you believe it, Nilo? I will be 40 soon and have a daughter in college."

I replied: "When it's my turn, this will be my version --- Can you believe it? I'm 40 and my son is in pre-school."

Lessons from Handy Manny and Bob the Builder

It can't be done.

I have heard this so many times from so many different people. But the optimist in me just can't accept that things can't be simply done.

Today, when things don't go the way I hope they would, I just remember Heaven and his favorite characters, Handy Manny and Bob the Builder.

Handy Manny and his talking tools would sing, "We can do it one step at a time."

Bob the Builder and his crew would sing, "Can we fix it? Yes we can."

Here I am wishing that adults like me would get to watch Handy Manny and Bob the Builder.

So tonight, I pray and believe: "We can fix it. Oh yes we can. One step at a time."

And it also doesn't hurt to wish I have my own talking tools and machines.

Mommy talk

I have talked to many mothers in remote barangays. Mothers as young as 15 and as old as our dear Lola's.
I have talked to them about how breast milk is best for their babies; why they need to see the midwife at least four times when pregnant; why it is safer to give birth at a health facility.

I have talked to them about the number of children they have or wish they have. I have talked to them about their eldest child and their youngest one. And those in between.

I have talked to them about how best to take care of their health. How best to take care of their children's health. How best to take care of their family's health.

In the past year, I have talked to these women about family planning.

In Tarlac, I met an Aeta mother, Nanay Carolina, in her 50s. She is a barangay health worker.

When I asked about how many children she has, she said "Nine!" Her eldest is 35 and her youngest is 12. She was proud and told me how all her children grew up well. When asked what she meant, she said her children are upright and good. All of them had gone to elementary school. But not one completed grade 6. She hopes her youngest does.

Most of her children are married now. When asked how many grandchildren she has with each of her child, she said the most is two. "I talked to them about family planning," she said in Filipino.

"Had I known before what I know now about how to plan a family, I would have planned my own."

"My husband and I did our best to raise our children but it had been very difficult. We remain poor up to this day."

If she were to talk to other couples about family planning, how would she convince them? "I would tell them about my story. I would tell them how it broke my heart to see my children hungry and sharing what little food we had. I would tell them that planning a family can help them escape poverty. The fewer children they have, even the most meager resources would seem enough to live a comfortable, healthy life."

I was speechless. I was there to talk to women about what they know of family planning. I was there not to lecture about family planning. But there she was, a tiny Aeta woman --- weaving answers to my questions, unaided, unguarded. She talked about being poor, being healthy, and planning a family, all in one breath.

And priests everyday talk about how population and poverty have no co-relation at all with reproductive health. They claim that RH is really about abortion.

I have talked to many mothers in remote barangays. Mothers as young as 15 and as old as our Lola's. I have talked to them about how breast milk is best for their babies; why they need to see a midwife at least four times when pregnant; why it is safer to give birth at a health facility.

I have talked to them about the number of children they have or wish they have. I have talked to them about their eldest child and their youngest. And those in between.

I have talked to them about how best to take care of their health. How best to take care of their children's health. How best to take care of their family's health.

To my mind, all these talks are about reproductive health. And not once did I ever talk to women about abortion.

P.S. I don't have any marital problem.

Time-out

Heaven is now two years and nine months old. His communication skills are said to be advanced for his age. He speaks in complete sentences and with the right tenses.

"Tay, may itatanong ako sa iyo." or "I have an idea." or "Lola, pinagalitan ako ni Tatay." or "Nag-wo-work si Nanay."

Sometimes, I forget that he is only two. That when he throws a fit I catch myself chastising him as if he is already of age.

Terrible two. Yep. We've heard about this dreaded stage a lot from friends and relatives.

Heaven's terrible two tantrums can get, well, really terrible. He hits. He kicks. He grunts. He orders me to stay away from him. "Doon ka sa door." "Outside ka!" Thankfully, he hasn't gone public and made a scene---wailing, arms flailing.

Today, we had a small fight about what Blue's Clues episode he would watch. He balled his fist and threatened me with a 1-2-3. He tried to kick my in my shin. He growled at me. He threw a book at me. And of course he cried.

I usually have two solutions for situations like this. Diversion or time-out. But it's difficult to do diversionary tactics when Heaven is already crying.

So I let him cry and called for a time-out. Our time-out is Heaven being left on his own and me keeping a safe distance away from him. This time-out lasted 10 minutes. He cried for real the first few minutes. But the next part was what I call the drama howl. Just pure waaaahhhh without the painful emotion.

I wanted to reason out with him but I knew that wouldn't work. So I just let him cry. Then like the prodigal son he was, he ran to me still crying and said: "Sorry Tatay!" He cried his heart out again. For real. And in between his sniffs and snuffles, I told him there was no need to get angry at Tatay had he just waited for Tatay to find the Blue's Clues episode he wanted to watch.

We ended up watching Bob the Builder instead. Shall I expect him to behave like an obedient angel the next time? Nope. Despite his winsome vocabulary, Heaven is still two. He is stilled ruled by emotions, not by logic yet. But come to think of it, a lot of us have not yet outgrown our own terrible two's.

The journey of Lakbay Buhay Kalusugan

Less than a year ago, I left UNICEF and became part of the HealthPRO family. It was a move that was both exciting and unsettling. But when I learnt that I would be working with long-time partners like Probe Media Foundation and friends from the arts circle like Eyna Villar and Lakan Bunyi, I quickly adjusted to this new work environment.

It was May 2010 when we started dreaming about Lakbay Buhay Kalusugan (LBK), our response to the request of the Department of Health for a unique health promotion campaign. A 20-page proposal was drafted and revised many times. A "slice-of-life" illustration was drawn by a young artist, depicting what LBK would look like. A 15-slide Powerpoint presentation was turned into a winning Prezi presentation. The Prezi sealed the deal and LBK got the nod from the powers-that-be. A scale model or diorama was designed to sell the concept.

But to make LBK work, we needed a bus. We sent proposals to prospective sponsors. There were no takers at first. But when we met with Victory Liner, the stars conspired and LBK was set in motion. Victory Liner said yes in a heartbeat. We got our bus! Private sector and media partners came knocking one after the other.

In December, we had a motley group of supporters who believed in the project. In January 2011, we saw our bus, a second-hand model tagged as Bus #1804. In February, we had it disassembled and refurbished into a mobile clinic. And fresh from the factory, the bus rolled into Barangay Sta. Juliana, Capas, Tarlac for its maiden voyage --- bringing information and services to 358 Aeta fmilies, approximately 1,092 men and women, including 119 pregnant women, and over 300 boys and girls.

It took a crew of about 150 doctors, midwives, nurses, barangay health workers, local officials, drivers, community volunteers, soldiers, and artists to make LBK happen in Tarlac. But all the hard work paid off.

In between, we managed to stage an interactive health exhibit, and produce a catchy campaign song, radio spots, videoke songs, and video segments. The communication package is yet to be completed but there is time to get all these under wraps before the next LBK trip.

We saw, that despite the meager resources, we managed to bring smiles to the faces of children, men, and women. We hoped that we were indeed successful in making health fun and health information memorable.

Purists will ask for a scientific assessment. We will do that. But let not indicators dampen the unique experience the LBK gave us.

The best indicator of success that we heard so far came from Dr. Jeanette Lazatin, the assistant provincial health officer, who called the shots in Tarlac. "LBK is not just yours, it is ours," she said. When a local health official embraces LBK the way Dr. Lazatin did, we know that LBK truly is a journey worth taking.

And this journey has just started.

Care Divas: We care for these divas

It has been almost 3 years since I last saw a PETA play. Coming back to the PETA Theater Center to watch Care Divas and root for old friends brings me a sense of pride. It is this pride that I wish to share with my wife, Aires (who knows almost nil about my PETA days), and with Heaven in the years to come.

Seeing Melvin, Buddy, Dudz, Vince, Tita CB and the rest of the cast perform made me proud that I was molded the PETA way. Hats off to Liza Magoo for a brilliant script, to Vince for songs that make you laugh and weep, and to Tita Maribel for a superb direction.

Care Divas is about a group of caregivers in Israel who just happen to be all gays. During the day, they dutifully perform their roles as medical attendants to sick old people. At night, they don the most outrageuos costumes and perform as the musical group, the Nightingales, whose ultimate dream is to land a stint in a big club in Tel Aviv. Amidst sporadic bombings and under the watchful eye of immigration police, the caregivers move from one employer to another, for others with luck, for most without luck --- spurred by a common dream of helping the families they left behind in the Philippines. They get a break in Tel Aviv but not in the way they imagined it to be.

To say that Care Divas is simply a play about gay people is outright discriminating. Yes, I am sure our gay performers had a blast doing these roles but more than this --- they gave a different twist to the plight of overseas Filipino workers. "Hay, naku! naku! Harang talaga!" As Vince's songs relay --- human spirit triumphs over any obstacle.

Watch Care Diva and marvel at the triumphant spirit of Philippine theater. It is after all not just your ordinary gay play.