In the movies, when a character is highlighted because other characters noticed that she was suddenly different than her "usual self"; they would often asked, "is there any particular reason that you seemed to be smiling today?"
And she answers, "nothing really."
But for the most part, as an audience, we know there is.
She had a phone call earlier.
She saw something a while ago.
She received something from last night.
But here I am, I feel different today. I can say lighter, not necessarily happy, but definitely I feel good.
And my mind contains nothing.
There was no reason.
I am astonished that it was a reasonless feel-good feeling.
I was about to sleep one night after coming home late from work when my uncle awkwardly broke into my room and asked me to get up and help my mother, who was in the bathroom.
When something similar happens in the past, especially when my mom was newly diagnosed with cancer, it means health concerns come up now and then. It puts the brakes on my tracks and makes my heart skip a little because my mind directly goes to “what could be wrong again this time?”
I knocked on the bathroom door, just next to my room, and found my mother half naked. She threw up and messed on her clothes. She then asked me to get her new clothes. As I was making my way to her room, my mind started to scan the information. It began analyzing (This is the nurse in me—making differentials. Albeit more often than not, it is crossing to the other side beyond facts and reason—which is adding some unnecessary stories and frills).
She popped out of the bathroom, clad in house clothes (a duster) over a summer tee for the first time after wearing baggy and insulated clothes during winter and spring.
My hero has gone old…
The white tee clung tightly to her shoulders, which were sticking out noticeably. And the shorter sleeves highlighted her sagging arms, not just because the muscles had shrunk immensely, but it appeared that the cancer and the treatment had sucked all there was to it.
The once sprinter of New York City’s streets and subways, moving seamlessly and swiftly between people and construction work, with a work bag and a grocery bag in tow, is now using a cane and literally taking one step at a time, with a 5-minute rest in between half flights of stairs, or transferring between train cars, or walking several blocks.
Living in a fast-paced city like New York, I didn't notice that she had grown old. When you are right in the middle of a highly capitalist system like the US, you are forced to focus more on the job or jobs for the next month’s rent, the week’s groceries, and hardly look at each other to see beyond.
But when a crisis hits, and life unfolds as it’s meant to— (that doesn’t really care about your plans, preferences, or feelings)— then you stop, look, and eventually listen. With all ears and all your attention, all of it.
Right now, I am trying to absorb that I am in the time of my life in which my mind is stuck in my 30s— where I can go and do whatever I put my mind to, where anxiety does not exist in my vocabulary- but now in my 40s, my body can feel that life is adding years to it, and so is my mother at a much greater rate.
I have never thought that this day would eventually come, but here it is… here I am, here it is.
On second thought, now that I look back, I think it was better that way, that I didn’t catastrophize and overthink this moment too much. Maybe it helped that I was in an era of my life when I was doing the things I was passionate about, and it coincided with a time when the world was still mostly interacting with life around them rather than with the World Wide Web reduced to a screen on their palms. And so then it just felt like I had just woken up, and my mother had gone old, no transition, no in betweens. Or probably there was— like when she intermittently complained of knee pain, then after a few sessions of therapy, she was back to her “baseline”, able to take stairs. Or that she tripped in the bathtub, but it was a mild one; then she’s back to her “normal.” Or that she would rant about being so exhausted after going to three grocery stores during the day, and then, after a few hours of rest, she would jump back to the kitchen and cook.
Over the last five to six years, I failed to notice that her body has continually set new norms and baselines.
Whenever I come home from work or after running some errands, and look at my mom closely, I point out to her the things she needs to be doing— like reapplying the moisturizer I bought more frequently, or supplementing her meals with drinking Ensure if she has these bouts of appetite loss, or that now is the time that she should wear all her nice and beautiful clothes that are just collecting dust in the closet.
I wonder if I am suggesting that with her in mind, or if it's me who is uncomfortable with how she looks now…
Maybe, just maybe, it’s the latter.
I was not ready. And I think nobody really is when life throws some curveballs.
At the dawn of this journey, when being with an aging parent suddenly transitioned into caring for an ill aging parent, I was taken aback. I wasn’t ready for that huge blow. But I am surprised that from that moment to this, I am okay.
Not that there weren’t any sadness, loneliness, anger, grief, and resentment. And certainly it wasn’t purely happiness, laughter, forgiveness, bliss, excitement, joy, wonder, and bittersweetness either, not at all.
But I guess it was the lovely blend of these things that made it okay. At the back of my mind, as a human being, I wished it would have been more than okay. But it’s just the mind talking, always aiming, always reaching for something more and better than what is.
But since I thought that I would be worse, that I wouldn’t be able to handle it, this okayness right now that I never thought possible is a miracle to me.
Heroes Die Young
Probably a lot of the heroes we get to know and study in the history of the world died in their prime; or, if some did pass in old age, they were behind the curtains or out of the spotlight, and we didn’t get to witness how life was slowly taking them away. And so what’s imprinted in our minds are images of these vibrant men and women of our histories, projecting a sense of courage, passion, and vitality.
Now my hero, my mother, is aging before my eyes. It’s here, unfolding.
Unlike the newborns who seemed to grow so fast, in the case of our (aging) parents, it’s taking its time. The life force inside is intelligent, like that, because the mind (and ego), with all the personality, identity, and everything it has built over the years here on earth, will definitely find it challenging to accept both to the person who is aging and the surrounding loved ones witnessing it.
In my mind, she is still the sprinter and walking GPS of New York City. Just now, with pepper gray hair, some wasting here and there, and a cane— literally taking one step at a time, walking the chaotic and hustling streets of New York, as it has always been.
Am I in denial? Maybe. But I continue to serve what is needed in every moment. That’s the very least I can do. Will I be able to move past this? I don’t know. Will I be okay? I don’t know. I guess I don’t know is a good place to start. The beginning of the path, where sometime somewhere, I will come to know.
Her (our) body knows how to grow old, give it grace, and the rest will take care of itself.
I was just sick last month with a cold, and two months later, here I am sick again. The sad and weird thing is that I have to do a mental note and say to myself, “Nico, please allow yourself to be sick.” WTH?!
The reason is that I observed that my mind and body are still in constant motion internally— having the urge to produce even at a limited capacity (like finishing the book I need to finish, writing for the blog, even for just one paragraph, updating my financial spreadsheet since it’s the end of the month). Because there’s this watchdog I made up, making sure to check all the boxes I myself came up with.
Is there any other way to live in this American Modernism, specifically the New York type of speed? Or am I left with the option to actually leave this place and way of life urgently?
Is it possible to overtake these larger societal, economic, cultural, and political systems I am relying on with just my innate intelligent system taking care of it, and expecting to regulate itself with these mountains to climb or fields to till? I feel it’s like going against this ravaging river, or is it a suicide to even do that?
Or do I end up going with the (destructive) flow of the river until it finally subsides, and find myself thrown in a place it chose for me in that moment? Is this man-made way of living (or not?) even capable of slowing down? Or since it’s man-made, therefore isn’t its nature to be greedy and wanting more?
Man is more than the sum of his parts…
The moment I woke up on Friday morning feeling unwell, the first thing that came to my mind was, “I hope I can get well in two days or less, because I have work next week. It will be such a waste to spend my days off in bed…”
Every fiber of my being, and even working now only as a part-time (both a deliberate decision and circumstantial, coincidentally), if you cut me up, you can find mostly “work” and not too far is “finances”, italicized, in bold, not to forget underscored. It once crossed my mind that maybe if I am passionate about the job that I have, I don’t mind going. But looking at the people on the subway early in the morning on their way to their jobs, you can sense they are looking forward to clocking out and calling it a day. Passion has left their being, and all that remains are dead eyes that read as J-O-B or something within the capitalistic system, such as consumerist culture. Because the bills are lining up behind, or because what is, is not good enough. It has to be more, it has to be better, it has to be higher, it has to be longer, or it has to be the maximum, the highest, the best…
If the effect of this American modernism invades every part of me, will that “more than the sum of me” be affected, too? Or is that more-than-the-sum-of-me (soul, wisdom, consciousness?) remains untouched and can redirect me to what really matters?
Then I heard myself.
It is one of those moments when you actually listen to yourself. Not with your mind, but something way past it. Because I know when I don’t— I can feel my body protesting, getting mad, and burning up inside that the poison of betraying oneself is finally making its way deep down the bones. My language of wanting to magically get better in two days or less, where my mind processed and understood, but my body surely didn’t. That Friday, for example, my body naturally wanted to lie down on the bed after a day of a mild fever, plus a cough and cold. But something was pulling it.
My body is a machine running at an average of 100 miles per hour daily, then stops abruptly. The pressure and energy that remained from that operating system did not disappear as soon as the machine stopped. That amount of energy needs to be displaced. And energy, by its nature and design, is to be released or transformed by any means. But now the machine is broken. I tell you, that energy doesn’t care; it will always find a way to flow, to move. With that scale of energy trapped in that drained machine (which happens to be our bodies), you can expect to hear and feel weird, scary sounds and sensations, as if it will explode.
It was my mind.
It was the force that pulled my body from trying to rest and go into a deep slumber. It instructs my body to rest; I can hear it literally giving an order through a silent monologue between my ears while lying in bed. Ironically, in my world right now, it keeps it awake— wanting to consume and produce more— to scroll one more time for fun, to read one more page for another good idea, to watch one more episode, to write one more paragraph, to check the bank account one more time, to make a to-do list, all the while giving a command to rest?! How ugly, cruel, and horrendous can that be?
What has my mind become in this modern-day US I live in?
Every night, during these sick days, there was a civil war going on the moment I lay down to hit the sack. My body wants to be switched off, but it can’t, or a more accurate picture— sleep mode, but still downloading, applications still running…
I feel like it’s the body that carries more of the more-than-the-sum-of-me than the mind. The body is always communicating with us. But since it conveys the messages through feelings and sensations, and it’s not much of a help that modernism has trained us to use our analytical mind ninety-nine percent of the time, to a point of overthinking and overanalyzing, the message gets trapped. But I am certain it will find a way to get through, bypassing the critical mind, and will manifest in this three-dimensional reality that we are living in, in the form of insights, those aha moments, miracles, serendipity, or magic.
When has eating been about counting calories or having rules?
If there is one thing I am grateful for in doomscrolling, it is that I learned how others live their lives. That the French are unapologetic in eating their regular butter (not the low salt, low fat version) in the morning, or that in Spain, they closed their shops for siesta a little after noon, or that in some convenience stores in Japan, they can carry a premium quality pre-packed food and hot meals that are beautifully bundled and served in store.
Two weeks ago, I had to buy lunch outside because the fridge at my assigned facility wasn’t working, and my food spoiled. I ordered whitefish salad in a toasted bagel at a nearby deli. The attendant scooped the salad, which appeared to me to be good for three people, and he shoved everything in that BIG of a bagel. I almost puked when I saw my blown-up sandwich. Instead of enjoying my lunch outside of work, I ate just to fill my empty stomach from a 9-hour fast since my breakfast in the morning. I filled swiftly as I could. That’s what happens when you’re coming from a stressful fast, not your choosing, and you are thinking about the work that needs to be done after your lunch. I’m shoving an ugly-looking bagel into my mouth, just to get my break out of the way and for me to keep moving through my day.
I came from a Philippine household where mealtimes are special, whether in ordinary or celebratory days — (1) food is home-cooked, or something grabbed from the OG classic places the family has been getting food from for years, or new and upcoming that family or friends vet, (2) shared at the table with endless conversations with laughters that reaches your bones and travel beyond the doors, and (3) eating to nourish and for pleasure, together.
Right now, eating is just a task I need to check off because I have to. Even if I am not hungry, because “it’s lunch time”, I would still put food in my mouth, and it’s not a good feeling. “I need to eat because after lunch, I need to round the floors, so I would need some fuel to do that, or else I may end up having a headache because of hunger...” etc., My mind follows a programmed routine or scans the possible scenarios, thus coming up with an action based on a habit or a future that only existed in my mind.
I miss the days when I take my time to eat, not because it was recommended by a scientist or a health coach I found on social media, or it prevents chronic diseases from developing, but because that is our nature.
I miss the days when I could eat what I wanted, and as I grow older, I still eat not with restriction but with wisdom. Not because eating in moderation is a rule I have to remember every single day, but because I trust that my body knows it all too well. And eating the “right” kind of food comes or will come naturally to me.
Where to go from here?
There were a handful more aside from my job and eating. Those are just two that I noticed the most recently. Thinking about it now, as I am writing this, those are nothing special or something like a fork in the road where a turn can dramatically change the course of your life. It’s the daily, moment-to-moment encounter with life that, and as you grow older, you realize that these are the things that matter more than ever before.
I know that my New York run has ended, it’s time to go, but not yet.
When I was younger, I was the type of person who dared to give up things I worked hard for, for something I knew in my soul that I wanted.
The not-yet part didn’t bother me as much compared to when I was in the Philippines, where we are used to waiting, just like the farmer patiently waiting for the harvest season.
But now, being here in a highly capitalist country like the US, especially living here in New York City, one of the megacities in the world for the last eight years or so, waiting is not in the language. It’s something next to impossible.
I don’t know if the girl-who-dared still lives inside of me, maybe she is. But the American modernism and highly individualist culture are highly entrenched, so I would need to do an MLK or a Jose Rizal to rise above this way of living (or not). The thought excites me, as a person who is (was?) at one point, passionate and romantic, but right now, I am exhausted, totally!
Where should I go from here is a question I keep asking myself every time I wake up in the morning.
I can daydream all day about a future and a way of life I want for myself, but I am here, right now.
Recently, I listed on a piece of paper the things I am currently doing. I can say it’s a mix of living a life right here and now, and things that I think would propel me to the future I want for myself. I was overwhelmed to see that there were quite a lot on that list. I think it’s a list borne out of a system I am living in this season of my life— to do more, to be more.
I just finished watching the Korean series, Dr. Romantic. It ran for three seasons, 16 episodes each. I am drawn to its main protagonist, Master Kim, who has a romantic view of his profession as a doctor and medicine itself. In the series, you would wonder why a triple board-certified surgeon like him is working in a remote countryside hospital. As you follow the story, it may appear that circumstances during his heydays were not in his favor; therefore, “forced” him to be an outcast. But later in the finale season, in one of the most endearing scenes, where he was seen as rarely vulnerable, he admitted to Nurse Oh,
To be honest, I holed up at Doldam Hospital because I am sick and tired of the way of the world…”
But even then, even when he was sick and tired of how things are, he kept pushing through because, as he taught his pupil resident doctors, “Don’t give up on the question of why you live and what you live for because when you do, that’s the end of romance.”
In a capitalist and highly individualistic society like the US, can romance thrive?
Epilogue
I am not going anywhere, at least for now.
The turn of things from old to new is at an incredible speed. What if I thrived given this? Maybe yes or no.
My definition of thriving at this moment is not to produce more, but to cut off the things that limit my natural capacity to grow. To flourish is to just live. Being alive doesn’t only mean you're breathing, otherwise we would just be fine lying on our beds thinking the same things, doing the same things, and feeling the same things.
The sun always rises in the east and sets in the west every day. It does the same thing every single time. On paper, this looks like boredom, but this is life, too. And maybe the sun that lights up the world, and can see the world come to life, is something it enjoys the most. In other words, the sun is just doing what it’s designed to do; naturally, it shines (pun intended) because it does what it does best.
I cannot live in the future; I can only live right here and now. I am exhausted from the way I am living right now, but I can only rest, then sooner stand on my two feet again in the here and now. To move where I want to go or find what I live for and why, and maybe then, maybe this weariness will not matter as much.
The first time Cuba, the country, ran through my consciousness was when I watched the film ‘Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights’ in 2004. I was in college, taking up Nursing, but dreaming of becoming a writer or a performing artist, whether in movies or theater. (And honorable mentions were this fantasy that I was a cool girl who plays the electric guitar, or someone who dances like butter, melts, and grooves in the right directions.)
And so I was into these dance-themed movies in the late 90s and 2000s, including the ‘Dirty Dancing’ movie franchise.
Havana Nights is my second-favorite in the movie franchise.
Three things that appealed to me in that movie were: the setting— Cuba in the 1950s, the local (Cuban) style dancing (a lot of hip swaying, free, intuitive, rhythmic body movements, intimate interactions between partners), and the romantic encounter in a country foreign to one or both leads.
Since then, Cuba has been on my radar to visit someday.
Travel - A Chance To Be Another Version of You?
I am currently watching the Korean series ‘Encounter’, which Netflix recommended. With Netflix, most of the time it’s a hit or miss, but I’d always go with the feelings I’m having while watching at least the first episode.
But hey, it was Cuba, and two foreigners in this chance encounter overseas? I am definitely seated!
When you are visiting another place, especially on a solo trip, there’s this subtle nudge that manifests naturally as if you are being summoned to become another version of yourself.
Without the familiar environment, people, and circumstances, the habitual mind and body you carry with you during travel break their hold, and you will find yourself feeling (sometimes this will come about in retrospect) different or being someone else.
I used to travel alone a lot, in the provinces, in far-flung areas of the Philippines. Stripped away from familiarity, comfort, and conveniences, I get to be another version of myself that’s freer. Or are there really versions of us to begin with? The better version or the best version, you choose. Or is it that I was unmasked by travel (without me doing the heavy lifting, thanks to travel!) to reveal who I am in that moment?
I prefer the latter, plain and simple.
The Chance Encounter - A Moment For Romance
Two different people having a chance encounter likely have different motivations, as one or both of them stepping into a new place for me is a fertile ground for a bit of chaos (yes!), and magic.
I see chaos in this setting as the process, a reaction that is happening in your graduated cylinder when you pour in all the chemicals. And at the end, pouf! The magic happens.
Without your familiar environment, you don’t see the chaos and the conflict that arise here and there as interruptions. Still, rather than part of your journey, and most likely your response to that is almost always “it’s okay.”
Jin Hyuk, after almost being hit by a taxi carrying So Hyun in Cuba, ended up breaking his 28-year-old camera as a result of the accident. But he just settled and said, “It’s okay.”
It’s not the type of “It’s okay” response where you’re actually screaming the opposite inside. (Like when your boss asks you to stay for one more hour because of some hiccup, for example, by default you say yes, when what you really mean to say is Hell no!”) It’s the kind of okay that means “I was inconvenienced, yes, but I am in travel too, so carry on.”
The cosmos is then saying, “Oh, then maybe let’s continue from here, and see what can be made out of this…”
The heart cracks open.
And love finds its way from you and to you.
“I had only learned love through books. ‘Ahh, this is what love feels like…’” - KJH
I bought and wore this almost-100 % wool coat this spring!
Ihad a headache just staying in my room when the 80s hit New York City last week. My room doesn’t know the middle ground; I think it has something to do with the insulation or how it is laid out in our apartment unit. It gets extremely toasty and stuffy when it’s warm/hot and terribly cold that your hands must stay hidden under sheets or your butt, because it’s so uncomfortable even to type on your phone.
My room has two big windows that let light in, especially in the morning and during the golden hour.
When a fellow Filipino interviewed me for my very first job in New York, I remember him saying, “I like my seasons here. I am enjoying it.” Maybe it was his way of helping me assimilate into this totally new culture and living conditions.
But after nearly a decade of living here in New York, I still can’t get used to the four seasons. It’s a pain coming from a girl who lived on the Philippine islands, a country in Southeast Asia near the equator, where I only knew drought and super typhoons for the last thirty or so years of my life.
And so, as a non-New York native from the tropics, I could be the last person to be considered an expert on what to wear, especially in the in-between seasons. Still, since that is my struggle, I have built, iterated, and experimented on what works or not.
From owning a lot of pairs of varying degrees of thermal underclothes, buying several outerwear jackets (I was thinking then that I should have one jacket for each bracket of temperature), including purchasing a heat-tech pair of pants that ended up being donated, to shrinking my closet to what is essential, and at the same time beautiful.
This list is for the see-saw weather (like how are things now as of this writing in New York City) and for those who are cold-intolerant like me—
When I first came here, some twenty years ago, I was thrilled to see that my mother had a lot of thermal undergarments like long johns, leggings, and long, thick socks. So I tried to put on just a one-piece under my denim pants while the weather was in the 20s to 30s, and I was freezing to death. I didn’t enjoy touring the city on my very first ever New York winter. The reason? She has an abundance of things, however, of such terrible quality! I remember one time, my legs looked like a German sausage for fitting into 3 long johns plus thick socks under my denim jeans, lol.
Let me put it out there that layering is still the magic key. But now I learned (the hard way!) that layering the right kind of fabric makes a lot of difference.
The Trifecta to live by for this article:
Understanding the body
Layering with an understanding of the fabric
and Beauty
Understanding our bodies
Our bodies have an innate temperature-regulating system. In other words, it doesn’t need an instruction from you for it to adjust its internal temperature depending on the need to maintain its balance.
Cold receptors are far more numerous than heat receptors and are just located underneath the epidermis, while the heat receptors lie deeper in the dermis.
We can say that we are way too sensitive to cold rather than heat, looking at anatomy and physiology alone.
The most sensitive parts to cold temperatures are the head and face, the neck, the lower back, and the extremities, like hands, wrists, and feet.
On the other hand, heat dissipation from the body is affected by its water content and sweating. Sweating is the body’s cooling mechanism. It is generated through sweat glands, and the majority of them are found on the face, cheeks, feet, hands, armpit, and groin area.
Layering with an understanding of the fabric
I became curious about fabrics just recently. Though exposure to kinds of fabric is not novel to me, as my grandmother was a seamstress and my mother was an industrial engineer who worked in the textile industry. As a kid, I saw a lot of textile scraps of different types all over our home in Manila. And when my mother shops for our clothes, I observe that she usually looks for the label where the materials and care instructions are listed.
But since that realization dawned on me about why I stopped using and living with beauty, including beautiful things, the transformation, or more like coming home, was as easy as cold turkey.
One thing I can say is invest in clothes made of natural fibers. Because, since obviously they come from nature, they do have the inherent sophisticated capacities, like our bodies. It includes breathability/comfort, temperature regulation, and natural anti-bacterial properties.
My rule of thumb is that, like when I am to buy a non-whole food (those that come in packages like boxed cartons, plastic bags, canned, or bottled, e.g., bread, milk, tomato sauce)—
the fewer the ingredients, the better
have an idea of what the ingredient is, doesn’t need a tight Google search
and can pronounce the stuff listed on the label
For clothes, right now I am investing in just one kind of natural fiber in a piece of cloth. That’s my thing lately. Or a combination of two natural fibers. If there were an added semi-synthetic or synthetic material, I would say my allowance is below 5%, and it’s there for a particular purpose, like for comfort/function (e.g., to be more lightweight, quick drying) and durability/performance, especially for outerwear. But of course, this is not something carved in stone. Feel free to experiment based on your needs. In my experiments lately, natural fibers have my vote!
Major Plant-based natural fibers—
Cotton
Hemp
Linen
Piña (from pineapple fiber)
They are known for breathability and a lightweight feel. These garments are worn close to the skin, can be used as everyday clothing, and are good as base layers for transition periods like late spring to summer, and summer to early fall.
Major Animal-based natural fibers—
Wool
Cashmere
Silk
They are known for their natural insulation, which provides warmth while remaining breathable. These garments can be used as base layers during in-between seasons (spring/summer, fall/winter) and especially in the winter.
And The Most Important of ALL— Beauty
Seasons themselves are beautiful, and it felt natural to match this with the things that I do or use.
Before, I just grabbed my fleece-lined sweatpants and hoodie and put on my down jacket on a chilly spring day to run some errands, like picking up some groceries. One, I was too lazy to dress up, and I was thinking, it’s just an errand, not something like I’m going to a brunch with friends in a cozy restaurant in BK. But I know I want to dress up, I want to put on some tinted lip balm and wear my favorite block-heel black leather boots (I love the sound it makes against the floor when walking).
For me, the laziness was not natural, but the feeling of being beautiful is.
As they say, it’s not really bad weather, you just don’t wear the right kind of clothes.
I thought it would be effortful to dress, especially in this season of multi-polar we have in New York City, but ever since, I have placed greater value on beauty than ever before; it was just fun and felt so good!
Here is my personal take on living with four seasons in a single season, while applying what I wrote above—
My Essential Three:
Scarf - type depends on the temperature bracket, but these days, I just bring the lightweight ones, as it does the job even if the temperature drops a little.
Socks, or footwear that covers the ankles and/or toes, if you’re not in for closed shoes)
Button-down shirt/cardigan - for really chilly days, I bring a wool one; for warmer days, a cotton cardigan will do, because it gets cold in the subway or if you’re in a building/establishment.
The Yet Chilly to Actually Chilly Days
This is where I really layer. I opt for cotton as the base layer and build from there.
For top:
Base layer - I opt for a cotton shirt. I have this from Uniqlo.
Middle layer - my reliable wool cardigan, I have a brown one from Muji. But I have been eyeing this bright red color.
(Just under the outerwear) - If it really feels wintry, I’ll have the super lightweight and thin puffers
Outerwear - I’ll have my wool coat/blazer— this is kind of similar to what I have. Or how about this linen coat? I am still on a hunt for a trench coat, but I like this one so far, or another thicker down jacket, and a scarf.
For bottoms:
I usually wear cotton shorts under my denim jeans if it’s really chilly
Footwear:
loafers, sneakers, or my leather Mary Janes (without socks on)
Accessories:
I want to try the softness of this cashmere beanie. Right now, this is my partner to have some wool warmth on my head.
The Yet Toasty to Actually Toasty Days
I still have on-hand layers in this type of days as I commute and use the subway, where it can get cold a lot of the time.
For top:
Base layer - Cotton shirt, dresses— I have something similar wrap around dress from Banana Republic
Outer layer - this classic cotton button-down shirt or this relaxed cardigan over my base layer, or sometimes it’s just in my bag, and a silk/cotton scarf
For bottoms:
Denim pants, shorts/skirts
Footwear:
sneakers, this strappy sandal looks very comfy and chic, great for some Central Park strolling or a picnic
Accessories:
This baseball cap was something I saw on a passenger while in the subway, and I find it cute and youthful.
The Chilly plus Toasty in a day
For these types of days, I bring/wear my essential three plus accessories:
roomy light canvas bag - to house my extra layers if the weather gets warm later in the day
Lightweight Umbrella - I have this foldable umbrella from Muji. It’s super lightweight and reliable even for heavy rain showers.
paper/fabric fan or compact hand-held rechargeable fan - I still prefer the paper/fabric fan, but here’s what my nieces (a toddler and infant) are using right now.
This coming week, based on the weather app, are true spring temperatures. But of course, as we say in Filipino, ‘weather weather lang’ - meaning there’s no guarantee, as it changes all freaking time!
There’s no good and bad weather; what remains is the person who knows how to dance with it.
I had arrived for the nth time and finally moved to New York City at a time when I no longer wanted to be here. The wanting and yearning have long passed.
And here I am, living in the city for almost a decade now, which was once a daydream.
How am I living?
I Had The Right Love At The Wrong Time…
I was nineteen going twenty when I first set foot on American soil. The smell that welcomed us upon disembarking from the plane was a familiar scent as we landed at John F. Kennedy International Airport in the spring of 2004. That scent has always been in my memory.
For my whole life, members of the family have gone back and forth overseas, and that closely-acquainted scent was wrapped in the balikbayan boxes that came with them. These boxes contained the love and sacrifice of the people who left their homeland in the guise of food, clothing, shoes, watches, soap, perfumes, and the like.
More than two decades ago, it was my first time seeing America, and New York at that! The city I’d only seen in the movies and series, which was peddled as somewhere romantic and dreamy, was then in front of my eyes, and I was breathing its air. “Finally, at last”, I muttered to myself.
The honeymoon stage of me and New York City was tied with my being a tourist, a transient traveler. I have been just a visitor for the next ten years since my first arrival. As a tourist, I naturally looked for the beautiful things, especially the ones I saw in films, and recreated them in my mind with me as the main character. That short-term high kept me coming back. It was addictive to some extent. Now, in retrospect, I think that it was one of the (minor) reasons why I kept postponing settling here.
But eventually I did.
I moved when I was about 30 years old. Still young, nearing prime, however, that woman version of me has experienced a season of her life, albeit short, a path of her own choosing, and not her mother’s. Thus, in the process, her own truth revealed itself as a human being, as a woman, and most importantly, who she really is, and not as someone in relation to a person or a thing. That was, I believe, a fundamental part of why I am in this “right love at the wrong time” kind of situation with New York City.
An End of A Season
The years in between have been full of “I want to go back! Please let me go home!” But I have already risked a lot, and sort of built something here… (whatever that means; and I built with the exception of being alive), “what then should I do?”
I was a coward for letting it hang for a couple of years, just complaining in my bed at night, crying endlessly, but then waking up at 5 AM the next day, ready (or not) to work. It was a state where it was (still) “not too bad, maybe I could stick around, maybe there is a chance.” Maybe New York will become a place I look forward to seeing, just like how it had always been before coming here.
And the pandemic happened.
But it was not COVID, despite my working as a bedside nurse at the time, that became the turning point. It was because of that one night,— a freak accident changed the course of my life in the next few years that followed.
Debilitating anxiety and panic had plagued my system, which I never in the world thought I would be experiencing.
The accident did not crack open my head, but a crisis certainly lets our own wisdom break through, shutting off all the unnecessary noise, and focusing on what is essential and our truth right in that moment.
For me, it was that my New York run had come to an end. And it happened a long time ago.
I knew that. But when you are stubborn, Bathala, the gods, and the universe will make a way for you to decide, or a lot of the time, in my experience, it has been decided for me. The life force in action pulls you to participate in this dynamic universe, so your stay here will be a worthwhile one.
If you know what or where you're headed, the how doesn’t matter that much. But to this day, I still overthink about this, but not as much. I can tell you, the heavy lifting will be done for you.
The Funny Thing and Paying Homage
Heavy Lifting strikes just in time. When you reach the age of forty as a woman, life starts because you eventually listen to it. (I can hear my spirit talking like this— “Oh god! Finally, she’s listening!”) The intuition and wisdom within unravel like never before. It will definitely tell you what to do that comes from a place of knowing beyond the analytical mind. Second-guessing yourself does not exist in that realm.
Relocating here was a choice I was influenced by, but leaving New York is mine.
Now I am set to move to another place.
On paper, I am giving myself a couple of years. But I trust the magic of the life force in and beyond myself that it will be taken care of, because I am ready.
Here’s the caveat, though: whenever I walk the streets of New York recently, I see the romance, the magic, and the dreamy city I had seen in films I watched as a teen and experienced as a tourist more than two decades ago.
I see its beauty one more time.
The city that made the 19-year-old me feel that I could be who I wanted to be.
That vibrant and full-of-life energy of New York City in the spring of 2004 had fueled the kind of dreams I can dream, and one of them is the possibility of being a writer.
Now, I am seeing once more the charm of its more than a century-old subway system, and not so much of its inefficiency and filth as a commuter.
I look past the feeling of overwhelm and see the vibrancy of the diverse sea of people pooling on the streets of New York one more time.
I get to look up after such a long while, gaze at the city’s skyline, and be inspired and sit in awe once again, rather than being alienated and scared about what’s up and ahead.
The city that made the 19-year-old me feel that I could be who I wanted to be.
That vibrant and full-of-life energy of New York City in the spring of 2004 had fueled the kind of dreams I can dream, and one of them is the possibility of being a writer.
Now, I am seeing once more the charm of its more than a century-old subway system, and not so much of its inefficiency and filth as a commuter.
I look past the feeling of overwhelm and see the vibrancy of the diverse sea of people pooling on the streets of New York one more time.
I get to look up after such a long while, gaze at the city’s skyline, and be inspired and sit in awe once again, rather than being alienated and scared about what’s up and ahead.
This came as a surprise to me now that leaving New York is a done deal, but it definitely carries me through with the burden of going to my job.
Does that mean I will not leave the city? No.
This chapter has ended, but I will revisit this place, the moments I spent with it, from time to time.
But, I would like to pay homage to this city, which I fell in love with once. NYC has taught me to embrace my idiosyncrasies and hate it at the same time.
When I left the Philippines almost 10 years ago, I was not able to bid a proper, albeit temporary farewell. I felt that my other foot was still there, while I was preoccupied with the busyness of making a life here in New York.
Now, I want to say my farewell. I don’t know if it will make a difference, but I want to say my thanks to New York City in my own way. And probably, that is the wisdom helping me to propel myself forward to the new chapter by taking it all in, whatever is in front of me right now, until I reach the end of this chapter.
I was in a state of shock after spending overtime (yet again) at work. It was like my spirit had left my body, and whatever residual energy I had was just enough for me to go home. I was able to walk and “know” which way to go, and which subway to take, because my brain was running on autopilot.
Exhaustion to describe it for me is an understatement; burnout may be closer. Yesterday, I wasn’t that tired physically because somehow, I learned to stay in the clear in situations that demand analytical thinking. It was more spiritual; my spirit is in the infirmary.
We are always feeling our thinking.
This is one of the things I understood and stayed with me when I went deep dive into the Three Principles. And since like clouds, thought passes, feelings are the same. They are temporary and fleeting energy in motion that transforms once we think of a different thing.
When I sat down in the subway, I told myself, “Please, don’t forget this feeling.”
Most of the time, we wanted to only feel good or to break away from unwanted feelings as fast as we could. But I realized that it’s these experiences we try to get rid of are the ones that carry us to the dreams we want to pursue and the kind of life we want to live.
Essentially, they are one and the same.
The very same night you want to get over with is the very thing that transforms into the day.
With my eyes closed, I marinated that spiritual atrophy in my body while I was in a corner of the subway. Let it be felt into my bones, and then hopefully it will make its way to the deepest of my being. Because if I let it slip by listening to good music or watching something funny in that moment, for example, I will only stay where I am. My spirit is stuck in the infirmary for I don’t know how long. She will be there on the bed staring by the window (just like the patients I visit every day) and wondering what could be…
Back in the Philippines, I was big on keeping my shoes cleaned and polished. Nanay (my grandmother) wouldn’t let me wear dirty school shoes or wrinkled uniforms. That was just unthinkable. Even if my things are years and years old, they look new and chic because they are neat and clean.
I first came to the US when I was 19, in 2004. The first thing my mother told me was that “hindi ka dapat mag-alala dito, kung ano ang suot mo, ano ang hitsura mo dahil walang pakialam ang mga tao dito.” (You need not worry about how you look, what you wear; people here don’t really care.)
And true enough, in the subway, I saw a bunch of people with unpressed clothes, literally just jumped out of bed, and were ready to work. Or backpacks that were peeling off, and sneakers that definitely need some tender loving care.
When you are part of this bigger system, I think it is inevitable, to some extent, to adapt to the kind of lifestyle it manufactures as a byproduct of the intersection that makes the system run—such as economics, politics, sociocultural, and a lot more.
However, I also think that sooner or later, there will come a time when the internal wisdom will always break through. It will reveal the values you truly hold, which evolve with each season of your life you’re into.
As for me, after stopping to use and live with beautiful things, I am now being called upon by the goddess of beauty, and I take notice of the beauty around me again.
Starting from where I am, it’s cleaning my shoe collection. First stop: sneakers.
Here I will share the method I used in sprucing up my white trainers.
What You Will Need:
Warm water
Measuring cup
Clean towel
Basin/clean container
Dishwashing gloves (I used our old/worn-out, but it’s up to you if you want to grab a new pair)
Mask (optional) for the strong smell of the mixture.
Baking Soda (any brand, but this is what we have at home)
Vinegar (I have this brand of distilled white vinegar)
Clorox Whitening Bleach (this is what I found in our neighborhood grocery)
Hydrogen Peroxide (check your medicine, first-aid cabinet)
Miss Mouth’s Messy Eater Stain Treater (optional)
Nylon Brush
Spray bottle
THIS WAS HOW my sneakers looked. I bought this more than two years ago, and probably washed it, or actually, I only wiped it twice. I did not have time to sit and tidy it properly, so I found it difficult to remove stubborn stains.
But using this method, and with patience, you will be surprised by the result of how it will turn out. I am certain that you will be excited to wear your sneakers again and take care of them better moving forward.
Remove the shoelaces and set them aside.
Using the (dry) nylon brush, brush off excess dirt from the canvas sneakers.
Wear your dishwashing gloves to prepare the solution.Fill the basin with at least 4 cups of warm water, and mix 1 Tbsp of vinegar, 1 Tbsp of baking soda, and 1 Tbsp of Clorox Whitening Bleach. Stir to mix it thoroughly.
Working on one shoe at a time, dip the nylon brush in the solution, and gently scrub the canvas in circular motion. This really makes a difference in cleaning the shoe rather than the back-and-forth motion. Apply the solution until the entire shoe has been treated.
Put the hydrogen peroxide (and) Miss Mouth’s Messy Eater Stain Treater (this is optional; if using, the ratio is 3/4:1/4) in a spray bottle for easy use.Wait for 1-2 minutes, then spray the hydrogen peroxide (or the 2-part solution) on all treated areas.
Using the nylon brush, rinse the first shoe completely and remove the baking soda residue on the canvas. Then rinse the second shoe.
If there are stubborn stains, scrub them thoroughly with the nylon brush. Then spray with hydrogen peroxide (or the 2-part solution) before rinsing.
Dry the shoes preferably in open air under the sun. Or you can put it by your window.
Soak the shoelaces for 5 minutes in the vinegar, baking soda, water, and bleach solution before rinsing them thoroughly. You can lay them flat or hang them dry.
If there is baking soda residue after overnight, just wet or dip the nylon brush with water, and brush off the residue.
THIS IS HOW my white sneakers look after 3 days of drying.
It is such a happy thing to see my white sneakers coming back to life after giving it its much-needed tender loving care.
And since it’s in a much better condition right now, it naturally redesigns how I tend to it moving forward (same with my other possessions), without me having to lift a finger or forcing myself to do these things.
ONE OF THE many things that I stumbled upon in my life that I enjoyed so much was being a fangirl. And when I do, I fangirl hard!
It belonged to my youth, that shining and blinding era of my life. Fangirling during this time made it even more exciting and memorable. Because the highly animated hormones in the body were coupled with a gaze that only looks for fun, interesting, and, of course, romance, without guilt and overthinking. Such as when nostalgia hits these days, it brings a familiar sense of rich, deep comfort and warmth.
The Songbird Landed In Our Home
IT WAS IN the year 2000, I was sixteen, turning seventeen, about to graduate high school, and Windows personal computers were slowly being welcomed in the households of middle-class families. Ours was secondhand, uprooted from my mom’s office if I remember it correctly.
ISP Bonanza was the prepaid scratch-off card we used to connect to the World Wide Web with a dial-up internet. I was naturally gifted with how a computer works, something I understand intuitively without reading a manual. With no Google search to teach me how to download a picture, I did, and made it my wallpaper.
Asia’s Songbird, Regine Velasquez, has landed in our home.
My regret as a fan was that I wasn’t able to watch, in my opinion, one of the best live concerts the Philippines has ever staged, R2K The Concert, with her standing as the creative and stage director.
But I made sure I bought the R2K album with any leftover school allowance I saved each week. Wiping the compact disc before popping it in the player, her voice echoed in our living room whenever I cleaned the house, or just hanging out with a much-needed break after a week’s worth of classes.
It didn’t stop with R2K; I even bought a CD rack to house my personal collection of all her studio albums (OPM and covers), including the OSTs of all her movies. I know the “B-side” tracks of these CDs, the lesser-known songs by public like the back of my hand.
Some of my personal favorites are:
The Long and Winding Road (cover)
Music and Me (cover)
The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face (cover)
Giliw (original)
Suntok sa Buwan (original)
Kaligayahan (original)
Sabihin Mo Lang (original)
My Heart Still Wishes For You (original)
Bukas Sana (original)
Tanging Mahal (original)
Sana Nga (original)
Sana’y Laging Ganito (original)
True Romance (original)
Love Me Again (original)
These are the songs I keep coming back to, not just as a listener, but also as a trying singer in my own right. I have attempted my versions of these songs, in my own bedroom, a lot of the time in the shower, and sometimes even on the streets walking by myself.
For me, her renditions may sound simple most of the time, less of the fancy runs and riffs (okay… there’s the belting), but she understood the song, not intellectually, not even by the lyrics, but something even beyond that. Such as that if I happen to not understand English as a language, for example, but when she sings Love Me Again, I can feel that she’s begging for something for one last time….
Before I Knew What Romance Is Like, I Had A Glimpse Through Her Films
THAT MONTAGE OF Cristina and Vince played by Regine Velasquez and Aga Muhlach, respectively, in Baguio City had me smiling while watching their movie Pangako Ikaw Lang inside a movie house. Sana Nga was playing in the background, sung by her no less. Her soft, delicate, and romantic interpretation of the song took me into a lightness of being, yet my heart was full. And if someone had come along in my life right then, I’d have felt ready to share this fullness with that person.
I was muttering to myself, “Oh, so this is what it feels like…”
My regret as a fan was that I wasn’t able to watch, in my opinion, one of the best live concerts the Philippines has ever staged, R2K The Concert, with her standing as the creative and stage director.
But I made sure I bought the R2K album with any leftover school allowance I saved each week. Wiping the compact disc before popping it in the player, her voice echoed in our living room whenever I cleaned the house, or just hanging out with a much-needed break after a week’s worth of classes.
It didn’t stop with R2K; I even bought a CD rack to house my personal collection of all her studio albums (OPM and covers), including the OSTs of all her movies. I know the “B-side” tracks of these CDs, the lesser-known songs by public like the back of my hand.
Some of my personal favorites are:
The Long and Winding Road (cover)
Music and Me (cover)
The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face (cover)
Giliw (original)
Suntok sa Buwan (original)
Kaligayahan (original)
Sabihin Mo Lang (original)
My Heart Still Wishes For You (original)
Bukas Sana (original)
Tanging Mahal (original)
Sana Nga (original)
Sana’y Laging Ganito (original)
True Romance (original)
Love Me Again (original)
These are the songs I keep coming back to, not just as a listener, but also as a trying singer in my own right. I have attempted my versions of these songs, in my own bedroom, a lot of the time in the shower, and sometimes even on the streets walking by myself.
For me, her renditions may sound simple most of the time, less of the fancy runs and riffs (okay… there’s the belting), but she understood the song, not intellectually, not even by the lyrics, but something even beyond that. Such as that if I happen to not understand English as a language, for example, but when she sings Love Me Again, I can feel that she’s begging for something for one last time….
Before I Knew What Romance Is Like, I Had A Glimpse Through Her Films
THAT MONTAGE OF Cristina and Vince played by Regine Velasquez and Aga Muhlach, respectively, in Baguio City had me smiling while watching their movie Pangako Ikaw Lang inside a movie house. Sana Nga was playing in the background, sung by her no less. Her soft, delicate, and romantic interpretation of the song took me into a lightness of being, yet my heart was full. And if someone had come along in my life right then, I’d have felt ready to share this fullness with that person.
I was muttering to myself, “Oh, so this is what it feels like…”
My regret as a fan was that I wasn’t able to watch, in my opinion, one of the best live concerts the Philippines has ever staged, R2K The Concert, with her standing as the creative and stage director.
But I made sure I bought the R2K album with any leftover school allowance I saved each week. Wiping the compact disc before popping it in the player, her voice echoed in our living room whenever I cleaned the house, or just hanging out with a much-needed break after a week’s worth of classes.
It didn’t stop with R2K; I even bought a CD rack to house my personal collection of all her studio albums (OPM and covers), including the OSTs of all her movies. I know the “B-side” tracks of these CDs, the lesser-known songs by public like the back of my hand.
Some of my personal favorites are:
The Long and Winding Road (cover)
Music and Me (cover)
The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face (cover)
Giliw (original)
Suntok sa Buwan (original)
Kaligayahan (original)
Sabihin Mo Lang (original)
My Heart Still Wishes For You (original)
Bukas Sana (original)
Tanging Mahal (original)
Sana Nga (original)
Sana’y Laging Ganito (original)
True Romance (original)
Love Me Again (original)
These are the songs I keep coming back to, not just as a listener, but also as a trying singer in my own right. I have attempted my versions of these songs, in my own bedroom, a lot of the time in the shower, and sometimes even on the streets walking by myself.
For me, her renditions may sound simple most of the time, less of the fancy runs and riffs (okay… there’s the belting), but she understood the song, not intellectually, not even by the lyrics, but something even beyond that. Such as that if I happen to not understand English as a language, for example, but when she sings Love Me Again, I can feel that she’s begging for something for one last time….
Before I Knew What Romance Is Like, I Had A Glimpse Through Her Films
THAT MONTAGE OF Cristina and Vince played by Regine Velasquez and Aga Muhlach, respectively, in Baguio City had me smiling while watching their movie Pangako Ikaw Lang inside a movie house. Sana Nga was playing in the background, sung by her no less. Her soft, delicate, and romantic interpretation of the song took me into a lightness of being, yet my heart was full. And if someone had come along in my life right then, I’d have felt ready to share this fullness with that person.
I was muttering to myself, “Oh, so this is what it feels like…”
She was singer first before an actor, and so in all the characters she played, I can still see more of Regine, than who she was playing; which for me did the magic on the big screen. I can see that it was “Regine” who’s being all charming and giddy while in character opposite her male leads.
In these stories, I saw myself trying something I’ve never done before like Sam in Wanted: Perfect Mother, or giving up on big things for one great love like Francine in Kailangan Ko’y Ikaw, or standing up for what I think is right like Anya in Dahil May Isang Ikaw, or loosening up oneself when the right one comes like Katherine in Ikaw Lamang Hanggang Ngayon, or pursuing love even in unsettling circumstances like Alex in Pangarap Ko’y Ibigin Ka.
I was spoiled as a fangirl that Regine dominated concerts, movies, and even prints, (she was a favorite covergirl during her prime) which some of my favorite things as an introvert.
However in 2010, I stopped following her journey. Or should I say I decided to stay as a mere spectator, far far away from where she’s at, from being too close for so long.
The Songbird Announces Her Retirement
I HAVEN’T REALLY updated the songs I listen to these days. And hers are the ones I come back to once in a while.
Recently, I found myself devouring on repeat her cover of the OPM classic, Ikaw Ang Lahat Sa Akin, particularly her live version during a concert with Martin Nievera in 2003 at the Araneta Coliseum.
And Youtube popped in a video recommendation— Regine Velasquez announces her retirement.
It’s seldom that I watch interviews of hers in the last 15 years or so. Seeing this conversation, she’s still Regine— the humble, unassuming Philippine music icon that she is, but she’s also different. Sometimes she was trailing off what to say, or holding back, and sometimes second-guessing her answers. I sensed that the confidence she used to have, now has some cracks. Certainly it comes with age too as I experience it myself. Nevertheless, as I was watching her, I am still blinded by her presence. She is still that artist who doesn’t know she is. But it just shows, by the extent of whether it is love, pain, or hope that a person experiences even in solitude when s/he listens to her sing.
A career spanning of four decades, she celebrates it with a “last big solo” concert by the end of this year.
I shared with my mother that I missed being a fangirl. It brought joy to my youth, to my life, and the nostalgia of it was one of the things that carried me through when I had those seasons of the dark night of the soul.
I guess it’s a call to be a fangirl one more time, and relive that time of my life with still for me the voice to beat— the enchanting Songbird one last time.
Regine may leave from me as my adored singer, but her songs and my memories as a fangirl of hers will stay with me for as long as forever.
The Higher Intelligence Behind Our Bodies (and that includes the Mind)
Even at the height of your anxiety and panic
For fun, I typed a question into the Google search bar and an AI app about the body’s inflammatory process. (No serious reason for this specific topic, but probably it’s one of the most common processes in the body).
It’s up to you to read the content of the images above, but let me save you time and make your life easier— if you look into the details, the inflammatory process is highly refined and complex, or in other words, a sophisticated system.
I cannot fathom that that sophistication is a built-in feature inside me. You can probably only hear that with the latest technology or app that comes up now and then.
But my body has it?!?
My big but is that I think it did not answer my second question.
What is behind it?
When we have a cut, this inflammatory process takes place.
When we have the flu, the same takes place.
How does it know that the rush of blood should go to the injured right foot and not to the left?
How does it know that there is actually an excess in mucus that needs to be released through the nose or mouth when we’re having the flu?
Another example outside of the inflammatory process, let’s say, during pregnancy. How does our body know that the nose should go above the mouth and not on the forehead when a baby is growing inside the mother’s womb?
How does our body know that there should be an increase in activity in the gut right after eating lunch?
As an outsider looking in, this appears to be an automatic response because of how rapid and readily available the response is for each recognized pattern or stimulus.
However, this innate system is way too far from just being automatic and reactive to whatever is being fed to it.
It has intelligence beyond what the intellect can explain.
Maybe the intellect can describe the processes in the body that this intelligence facilitates to accomplish; these systems and functions are just a mere representation of the innate intelligence within, but it’s not it.
Imagine this for a moment: you are on an out-of-town trip, an off-the-grid adventure. To get to your destination, you are using Google Maps. It automatically detects traffic, closures, and rerouting options. You, as the driver of the car, follow each turn and recommendation. Until such time as the signal is no longer present or the place hasn’t been geotagged yet. Google Maps cannot function without it. Though advertised as sophisticated and reliable, but not sophisticated enough to go back to the basics of maybe relying on what the moon and the stars say for direction, or suggesting to you to call a friend to help you navigate the way to your destination.
But our innate well-being system knows that. It doesn’t rely on some signal. It is the most sophisticated and reliable system there is; it knows what to do, where to go, and how to do it.
And if the usual pathway has problems, in healing infections, for example, it will always find a way. It adjusts. It’s always there. It adapts. No exceptions.
And the good news is that— This is not a separate intelligence for the body alone.
***This is also available in our minds.
Our bodies and minds are one and the same.
Since we are always feeling our thinking, our anxious thoughts can be felt in our heart palpitations, our restless legs, or stomach upsets, among others.
This highly sophisticated and reliable system for healing fractures, growing babies, and turning an acorn into an oak tree is also ever present in the mind. Whoever you are, wherever you are in your mental dis-ease journey, or no matter how long you have been suffering, it always exists, always will, and always has.
This innate higher intelligence behind everything is reliable. Why? Because it’s already there before you. It’s already there before you become aware of it, and even if you’re not.
Your innate mental well-being continues to exist even if you are innocently blocking it.
It exists even if there are so many labels that you have innocently become one of or someone has identified you with.
Innate mental wellbeing will never be out of reach because it’s within you.
It will never be used up. You can be tired, exhausted, burnt out, traumatized, severely anxious, panicky, or you feel like you’re losing your mind. But our innate mental wellbeing will never be used up, because it doesn’t rely on anything else.
After all, it is it!
A pendulum may seem to get too far, and you can try catching it to bring it back to the center. But it always goes back to the center no matter what. And you don’t even have a choice, because that is how it is designed.
When Did I Stop Using and Living With Beautiful Things?
Hint: greener pasture
THIS WAS ME in our ancestral house in the Philippines.
Beautiful things surrounded me before it was renovated, shortly after Nanay (my grandmother) passed away.
There was a wide panel of tall jalousie windows in the living room, where individual slats cut through the sharp rays of the morning sun, giving our home a warm embrace. This was combined with tall ceilings through which the hot summer air can freely flow inside, while we take our siesta at 2:00 p.m. on our banig (traditional handwoven mats) or folding bed.
Mid-century tiles covered the floor, giving it a chic-vintage look at least in the 90s-00s, which, by the way, I didn’t appreciate at that time. I was embarrassed with how ours looked compared to my classmates’ house, which had the then-trendy shiny, white, plain tiles.
Hand-woven curtains of different styles and textures that were changed at least every month, depending on the mood of my grandmother, were hung on the windows.
And not to forget that our house’s furniture had its own clothes. These were hand-knit table runners, pillow cases, sewn and hand-embroidered kitchen and table napkins that were all made by Nanay. These were even hand-washed and iron-pressed no less, including our clothes, even our handkerchiefs, and underwear! Now that I'm writing about it, how I miss the hankies that were carefully selected by Nanay in Divisoria ( a local retail and wholesale market).
Aside from bringing hankies to school, my shoes were always shined and polished to the T.
I would also take pride in our furnishings, which were made of actual solid wood from the likes of the Narra tree. It was the kind of fixture that was really heavy to move around and shuffle. You don’t worry that it might break, once you step on it to use as an elevator to get something way over your head. Again, this was something I was shy to show my classmates back in high school. I felt that their couches, which had thick cushions, elaborate designs, and loud colors (by the way, they were hard to sit on!), were superior to the ones we had. In my mind, their chunky-looking sofas were equal to being expensive, thus I thought we were poor. Lol.
One more thing, we also had an extensive collection of beautiful China dinnerware and glassware that, of course, were only used on special occasions. Or worse, (typical among middle-class families), these were just for display, something to brag about for the visitors to look at.
And if I may add, I was about three years old, my sister and I were already wearing couture clothes. Our dresses were carefully and thoughtfully designed and sewn by Nanay.
How. F*cking. Beautiful. Was. That?!
Now, when I look around with what I have and where I am, I frequently ask myself, “Where did all that beauty go?”
The Proverbial Greener Pasture
I JUST FINISHED decluttering my closet, on top of my mom’s, and it wasn’t a one-time big-time purge. I have had several attempts, which started when my mom got diagnosed with cancer last year. It was a deliberate decision to clean her bedroom because it had almost become a storage room, with just enough space for sleeping.
Since I was working and looking after medical/hospital-related things and cooking food for hospital visits, it took me a total of a little over four months! Sadly, I wasn’t able to video-document the entire cleaning, but everything was vivid in my memory, and here I am writing about it.
Tall kitchen bags began to pile up outside my mom’s room. She is usually stubborn in disposing of unused stuff of hers, with all her “just-in-cases” and the “it’s a waste just to throw them” excuses. However, for the very first time, I got an easy yes and no from her. When you are faced with a crisis, the mind clears up naturally (as it always does), and the wisdom just breaks through.
I managed to toss away close to 50-60% of our belongings—an accumulation of living our lives here in the “promised greener pasture” of the US.
…but the pasture was full of clutter, disposable things.
I MOVED TO New York City almost a decade ago, and the one thing you will never fail to miss because you can feel it penetrating your body is the speed.
Everything is moving so fast. And so are things.
Years ago, my mom would tell me whenever we were walking home at night, to spot furniture we could get from our neighbors because they were likely throwing stuff in “really good condition.” And she was right!
Every week, nice-looking, “fully functioning” (as written on paper by prior owners) appliances and trendy furniture were up for grabs! You can tell that these things were inexpensive; thus, it was easy for them to toss away even with barely noticeable damage, or as trivial as they found something more pleasing that suited the aesthetics better. That was never heard of in the Philippines, at least in my generation, in our household, especially. Since we had beautiful pieces at home, we kept them as long as forever, or we repair it ourselves.
Nanay would mend clothes, pillowcases, and other home accessories. On the other hand, my uncle repaired the heavy fixtures, such as our dining chairs, coffee table, and sofa, and even electronics, like our two vintage fans. Those were probably even older than me. We did what we did, I think. After all, the elders didn’t have disposable income just to buy (1) out of whim, (2) because of small damage, or (3) because we wanted something novel in the house.
Working as a healthcare professional in the US, I wouldn’t say I actually have an extra layer of my income to burn, but it definitely skyrocketed in contrast to what I was earning in the Philippines. With that amount of money flowing into my bank account, I was buried deeper into the system of endless working and a lot of thoughtless buying; rinse and repeat.
The greener pasture I came after became full of pretty, trendy, nice, perfect-looking but cheap things—lacking personal value and meaning in the name of trend, money-saving techniques, and convenience.
I guess that’s when I stopped using and living with beautiful things…
The Thing With Beauty Is That It’s Not Perfect, But It Always Attracts
WE ALL HAVE seasons in our lives, and now I am in the season where I am being summoned by beauty one more time. It’s a great time in my life.
The decluttering was the vehicle used by the goddess of beauty to make her apparition to me. I found the jewelry owned by Nanay and Tatay (grandfather) kept by mom all those years and haven’t used them. The chills in my spine when I discovered that the stained wrist watch of Tatay is 80 years old now from the time of purchase. I learned from my mom that he has this habit of engraving or writing dates on the back of things. What a beautiful sight to see that engraved date!
The jewelry of Nanay looked dated, but when we cleaned it, it reclaimed its full glory.
Since I donated all my ugly bags to Goodwill, the goddess of beauty replaced them with all quality leather goods (handbags and wallets) I found in my mom’s closet. Some of them were a bit dull in color and scratchy, but seeing the wrinkles and holding them emanates the thoughtful craftsmanship from the artisan.
I am now in my 40s, and it’s the perfect season to be reacquainted with beauty.
For me, a woman’s beauty in all its essence will only flourish from 40 onwards; there’s no other way but this.
As long as she knows and decides to come back to what is beautiful, and that she remembers that she is.
Now that I do remember what beauty is and being surrounded by beautiful things again, it makes me want to create more of these things.
May we not forget this manifestation of divinity in us, and live our beautiful days.
You shouldn’t take anything for granted; you once prayed for this moment to come…
Alighting from the subway, a day after the first blizzard in New York City for this year’s winter, I painfully walked on the platform, because it was time to work again, coming from a four-day break.
From a whiteout view from my apartment window for two days straight, it set my whole being back into Christmas-season mode, then to a sight of a sea of people wearing black coats, black bags, dark shoes, and, not to mention, even dark-colored water tumblers two days later.
As I made a few steps while looking ahead, my eyes read the sign, ‘42nd Grand Central Terminal.’ It felt like I had come out of my body and was seeing myself walking on autopilot. I did not even need to look at the ground because my body knew when to lift my foot for the stairs in front of me, leading to the connecting subway ride.
Like a billowing smoke emanating from behind and trying to swallow me, this thought popped up in my head, “You should be grateful, because there was a day when you were praying for this day to come.”
And this guilt that comes at me in all shapes and forms, for as long as I can remember, surfaces once again, making me think that I did something wrong. Again.
We should/must be grateful…
ATTENDING SUNDAY MASSES was a requirement in a Catholic school where I studied for elementary and high school. We had mass cards, and every Monday our religion teacher checked each student to see if we had attended the Sunday mass the day before. It’s a way for them to see whether we actually heard a mass, because it had to bear our parents’ signatures. It doesn’t matter whether I like to attend mass or not. And maybe my religion teacher wasn’t interested in knowing that either.
A theme that always pops up in the priests' sermons is the attitude of gratitude toward everything in our lives, good or bad.
But there is a stronger message around it—that is, if you have taken for granted what you have, whatever is in front of you, it can be taken away by life, by God.
For me, this is a straightforward message to the brethren. It seemed harmless at first, but keeps on haunting, especially when you are confronted with dissatisfaction, anger, loneliness, or disappointment with your circumstances or your life. If a grateful attitude is practiced, then you shouldn’t feel, be allowed to feel, or even entertain these feelings. Because if one is grateful, it is assumed that there’s no winning or losing (or, as they say, you already chose to be on the winning side), hence these emotions cannot exist longer than they are supposed to.
“No good or bad, experience, they are all just experiences.”
If we are following the logic of the sermon's teaching, since you are a grateful person, you are marked safe. Nothing (or less) will be taken away from you. Because you lived your life with gratitude for everything.
If you are ungrateful (or not really ungrateful, but the kind who has a lot of complaints, “if-things-could-be-like-this-then” kind), then the reverend footnotes the stories in the bible to show things can be shaken up for you—things or people were stripped away because they were taken for granted.
And to make it real, not just something that exists on a piece of paper or from some distant past, he would tell stories from his own life. Or, if not his life, he would deliberately choose to narrate the story of a famous person, whose life, when heard by churchgoers, can only comment on just one thing, “What a waste… I don’t want something like that to happen to me…”, and go home only with regret and guilt after the sermon.
Now, it becomes closer to hoNow, it becomes closer to home— “losing what I have is a possibility if I am not grateful.”
Be thankful that you have food on the table, even if you don’t like it, because there are people who are starving and in famine…
Be thankful that you still have a home, a shelter that you can call your own, because there are people who don’t…
Be thankful that you have a job that feeds you and pays for everything, even if you hate it now, because there are people praying for the exact job you have…
Be thankful for what you have right now, because you once prayed for this at a time when you badly needed it….
Be thankful now, because you don’t want to be in a place where it’s all gone. And that you wish you should’ve been more grateful…
The mouth says thanks, but the heart is full of fear.
Should there be fear in gratefulness?
Is Honesty The Best Policy?
MY MOTHER HAS BEEN been recently diagnosed with cancer. And a common conversation around this situation is that you should be grateful, cherish every moment, and not take anything for granted.
To which I definitely agree. Because when you are in a race against time, every moment counts. And for me, in many aspects of our lives, we must live a life of gratitude. After all, we came here with nothing at all, and now we have collected things, formed relationships, and gained life experiences. So it’s a very small thing to ask, or I think we need not be asked if we are truly to be grateful for everything.
However, don’t you owe truthfulness to the other person, to life, and most especially to yourself? I think it’s not fair to force yourself to live in a place of gratitude all or most of the time because someone said you should be, or because they said being grateful brightens things up, or you fear of potentially losing people, jobs, prayers, and dreams because you're taking them for granted by being ungrateful.
I remember that night, or just a few days after the cancer diagnosis was broken to us. The lines, “You should still be thankful that your situation is just like that, unlike…” — was it then inappropriate to feel otherwise?
My (trained) mind was already scanning the positive things to be thankful for in that situation. But there was rage inside me. My mind diluted this rage into confusion, then the innate wisdom of ours broke through, pushed the rage back a little, and dealt accordingly with what’s in front of me. And the state I was brought to by our innate intelligence wasn’t being grateful in that situation, either.
It was more about silence, listening, maybe a few comments in conversations, and a lot of just getting things done, like which treatments to go for.
“I wish I had spent more time, I wish I hadn’t said that…,” “I wish…,”— was it then inappropriate that I nagged my mom about the things she had to do, like eat and ambulate, during a critical period of her recovery? Just a few (f*ck*ng) days post-surgery, to be exact? Should I have been gentler and more patient with her, since I am also a nurse?
Was I not allowed to feel exhaustion and burnout? Hence, was it inappropriate that I skipped hospital visits (one of the few things) to rest and gave in to some luxury, like going out, or even breathing for a while?
Did I take her needs for granted? Was I an ungrateful person? Did I take her for granted?
Maybe no, maybe yes to others, no to one. Or maybe yes to all.
We will all come to know the answers to these kinds of questions (usually) in the end. And by the end, it could mean different things. In my case, maybe when she’s gone, maybe in my own ending, or there could be another kind of ending(s) I don’t know yet at this point.
But we could never know that. Is there a way to know? Who knows if we regret the things we did or didn’t do in the name of being grateful? Just because the others did, does it follow that it becomes true for us as well?
What if the end will take care of itself?
What if we can take care of it? Whatever mess, grief, regret, should-haves, could-haves, yearnings, longings, hatred, sadness, punishments, and all the consequences that the future brings because you chose to be honest in that moment?
That you resented your parents, were unsatisfied with your job, weren’t happy with your relationship, wanted another home, didn’t like where you were living, were selfish, were disappointed with how your life turned out, didn’t like your body, said hurtful words, were unkind, or were full of shame in yourself.
What if you can take care of all of that? Not now, but in that exact moment when it asks you to.
If we can’t, then we can’t. Does it fear me, like to experience the wrath of God from the father’s sermon (“Who is this ungrateful child?!”)?
Yes, of course! But I would like to remind myself that fear follows the thought of the unknown, such as the question “What will I do? Will I be okay?”
Losing a job for me is unthinkable right now, and at the same time, I want to express how I feel and what I think about it in this season of my life. Now, since there is a question, I know I will seek an answer sometime in the future if I happen to lose this job. Either because I had too many complaints, too much yakking, or to put it bluntly, I was ungrateful, period. And then, for some reason, a force of nature decided to strip this job away from me.
The future me will take care of that question.
And the present me today, I decided to express whatever is inside of me for what it is, who I am, and not what I ought to be seen as.
Then I will truly be grateful.
Honest or Grateful?
I don’t want to say ‘thank you’, then followed by ‘despite/in spite of’ or a lot more, like several explanations after that. It looks to me that I am trying to convince myself more than the other person in the room.
I am sounding not thankful at all. Because if I examined it closely, I know I am not.
I want to say thank you, period.
I want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I am grateful not because I should be, nor because there’s a fear that I will lose something if I have taken something for granted.
I am grateful and want to express my thanks because it’s the most natural state to feel, to be in when something is given to you, when something is going well in your life, or when your prayer is granted. I don’t want to force a grateful attitude when things aren’t going well, or I am in an unwanted situation, just because I have to, to ease the guilt.
I do understand that an attitude of gratefulness can shift perspective by tremendous proportions, unburdening one’s shoulders of suffering or what he thinks is suffering.
However, I don’t want to deny myself of that truth, at least for me…that at that moment, I happened to be not grateful.
But I was honest.
Not because it’s the best policy, not because some god is watching, or someone is watching.
But because I believe it’s a door to be truly grateful without a bunch of explanations.
Just this wave of feeling and being, that words aren’t needed.
What do I do? I am so happy today, how can I continue writing that piece...
BEFORE STARTING THIS POST, I opened the draft that I am very adamant about finishing because I want to write about this struggle I've been having for quite a while now. My spirit has been in the infirmary for about two weeks now. And the article was about it.
Even when I was down with the flu last week, I tried to write and add my thoughts to that essay, but I still haven’t been able to complete it.
Then I happened to start watching the series on Netflix, titled ‘Idol I’, which I just finished in two days! It’s a romantic drama, with little mystery around the themes of criminal law and idol culture.
I sat in my chair this morning, ready to continue writing the other article, but I teetered! I was having a hard time putting the words in because the emotions I was feeling inside were not the ones that piece needed. I am still reeling and giddy, and haven’t gotten over the last two days of watching the series.
I rarely listen to music when writing, but this time around, I grabbed and stuck the uncomfortable generic work headset I have, and my hands mindlessly moved to play the easy-on-the-ears music playlist on my YouTube feed. Totally not me at all!
And just like that, my spirit is discharged from the infirmary for now…
Two Different Persons
THE POWER OF STORIES we tell ourselves can transform our human experience in ways without even having to move a needle. One thing I quickly realized from these seemingly polar-opposite experiences (just because they came one after another) is that it’s as if I am living two separate lives. It is so surreal, yet it’s true.
Because I felt it.
One day, it was gloomy, heavy, dark, and stuporous. Then, there’s the flutter, the lightness, the warm embrace, that feeling when streaks of the sun come in the window at 10 am, the sight of confetti, that expansive sensation inside that made me turn on the player and dance at midday at home.
I am not dancing to the rhythm of the music I am hearing, but to my heartbeat, pounding steadily. The outside was moving itself, syncing with me, not the other way around.
What a day to be alive! I don’t need to be two people to be living two separate lives. They are one and the same through me. Sometimes when we are deep in one story, we can’t recognize that the magic of stories is available to us.
When I went through, in my opinion, a severe case of disordered anxiety and panic a while back, I tried too hard to get rid of them. Only when I got better and was pulled back to shore, to what seems like a drowning nightmare, did it dawn on me that in order to create again, I, as a writer, for example, have to be back where I just escaped from— the chaos.
Don’t Forget These Feelings
MAYBE, IN ONE ESSAY that I am going to write between now and the future, I will sound like a philosopher or someone enlightened and say that thoughts just come and go. They don’t mean anything, and neither do they take them so seriously. That is reserved for another time.
For now, I will say to not forget these feelings, all of them. Label them not of anything, something like ‘fleeting’, ‘temporary’, or ‘just passing by’.
This is not a time to be a philosopher and question the existence of these feelings, nor a scientist and just an observer of what’s going on behind them.
Remember these feelings in moments that ask you to. This is the time to be just a human, an ordinary human, and devour all of these.
Today, I stopped midway through, before taking another spoonful of rice and talking to my mom, and quickly vibed to the music in the background…
I danced to the rhythm of my heart at 2 pm, at the peak of New York City daylight…
I wrote with music on….
I sang karaoke as a hopeless romantic before wrapping up this essay...
What do I do? I am so happy today. How can I continue writing that piece...?
Body wants to heal itself, and is very capable, and then... There is work
Iam sick today, it’s the second day. I skipped work yesterday, good thing I am not scheduled to work today. But I think I am having binat, or a relapse of symptoms, because the body feels I am in a hurry to get well, because I have to work tomorrow.
I was venting out that I feel like I am having a relapse, or that I thought my symptoms were just getting started. My uncle interjected and told me to just take the medication that has been sitting on my table for two days now.
I know and feel that my body is healing and doing its best inside. Something I cannot see, but I can feel. However, I also feel I am pressuring her to get better because I keep checking the calendar and am hypervigilant about how I am doing inside.
Why is there this guilt feeling that it’s wrong to skip work to stay home and recuperate?
What happened to us?
Why did we end up this way?
I used to fear my body a lot recently, and especially now that I am in midlife, a transition period for women, where there are physical changes going on. But later, I realized that I lack a deep understanding of the body, thus I fear her.
I remember one time I messaged my mentor when the family learned that mom had cancer, “How can you have faith in your body when you fear your body?”
It makes sense that you don’t trust something that you fear.
I think the first time the body as a living entity came into my awareness, and not only as something I have and use, was when I was studying in elementary school at a Catholic school. We were taught that the body is sacred and is a temple of God or the Holy Spirit. Though I didn’t think I fully understood that concept at such a young age, it has given me a feeling that I have to be responsible for it, or else there would be consequences. As a young person, the idea of consequence means that you did something that shouldn’t have been done. Thus, you are bound to do everything right for the body coming from a place of responsibility and fear of consequences.
However, over time, through reading and experience, I have come to recognize the body’s own wisdom and innate intelligence. Once that understanding deepens, you get to see that it has always been in our favor. Fear slowly dissipates. But we get in the way most of the time, blurring the clear, non-second-guessing solutions available to us from our bodies.
Since, it has its own system, in other words it has its own universe, that includes a ‘timeline’ that is totally different from ours.
Right now, the relapse is a nudge from her that tells me to rest more, because it’s still doing the repair and renewal.
Yes, the job needs to be done in this strawberry world we live in, but can you actually just bring your spirit to your work and do the job?
Marami akong o kaming naging address dito sa New York, dahil hindi naman sa’min ang bahay. Malaki ang New York at hindi lang ito ang New York City na alam ng lahat, pero sa tinatawag na boroughs ng NYC karamihan ng mga tao ay naninirahan sa apartment. Sa ibang salita hindi sa kanila ang bahay, nangungupahan lang— isang pansamantala.
Convenient sa ibang banda dahil hindi ko responsibilidad ang pagpapaayos ng mga tulo sa bahay, butas na kisame, baradong banyo or kahit minsan ang pag shoshovel ng nyebe sa tapat ng bahay. Kung ang landlord mo ay nakatira sa parehong gusali, malamang sa malamang s’ya ang gagawa noon. Ang dapat mo lang gawin ang ireport ang lahat ng nabanggit sa taas sa may-ari ng bahay o gusali. Isa pa, kung sawa kana rito or gugustuhin mong lumipat sa kung ano mang rason, magagawa mo ito nag dali-dali. Kung meron mang itong “kahinaan”, ay pareho din— ang pagiging pansamantala nito. Isang transitional house, at hindi kailanman magiging tahanan. Hindi sa’kin ang bahay. Hindi kailanman magiging akin, at dahil dyan kadalasan walang kapalagayan ng loob.
Isang address lang ang kabisado ko kahit saang lupalop ng mundo mo ako dalhin. At ayun ang Rd. 4.
Itong address na ito na ang kinakabisado ko hindi pa man ako nag-aaral. “Kapag halimbawa nawala ka at tinanong ng pulis,” naalala kong sinasabi ng aking lola habang binibihisan ako ng isang magandang bestida bago mag-simba, “saan ka nakatira, anong sasabihin mo?” Ang isang murang-edad na paslit ay sasagutin ng kumpleto ang address namin sa Rd. 4.
Naabutan ko ang Rd. 4 na nagsimula sa “gate” na gawa sa yero hanggang naipagawa ang bakal sa bersyon nito, mga palantadaang umaangat ang aming buhay kahit papa’no.
Ang Rd. 4 lang ang sumusunod na dapat may bangketa sa harapan ng bahay at hindi isagad at sakupin ang daanan na ginawa para sa pedestrian tulad ng ginagawa ng karamihan ng aming mga kapitbahay. Kaya naman ang tapat nito ang aming naging tambayan hindi lang ng aking mga naging kalaro pero pati ng ibang mga bata dahil nga sa malaking espasyo sa bukana nito.
Ang tapat ng Rd. 4 ay natatamnan ng malalagong puno ng malunggay. At uulitin ko na Rd. 4 lang ang merong ganitong halaman sa kahabaan ng kalye dahil ang aking mga lolo at lola ay mga Ilokano, hindi pwedeng mawala ang malunggay sa bersyon nila ng bahay kubo. At dahil dito, ang Rd. 4 ay nagiging source ng nutrisyon ng aming mga kalapit bahay. Pero ang pinaka paborito kong eksena ay kapag nakakahuli si Aki (ang aking tiyuhin) ng mga kapitbahay na pumuputol ng walang paalam sa puno. Sa una, magagalit siya, masisigawan ang tao, pero sa huli ay ibibigay din naman niya ito at dadamihan pa niya ang tangkay at sasabihin “Hindi kase kayo marunong pumutol ng tama, kumatok lang kayo at ako ang puputol para hindi mamatay ang halaman!” Tapos, hindi pa man siya nakakababa sa pader, meron ng kapitbahay na kasunod na humihingi at ihahalo daw niya sa kanyang tinola.
Meron akong matatawag na playground sa labas ng bahay, pero dahil nadisenyo ng maganda ang aming bahay sa Rd. 4, ay meron din ako sa loob ng bahay. Meron kaming malawak na bakuran kung saan pagpasok mo ay makikita mo sa kaliwa ang daan na napapaligiran ng mga alagang halaman ni Nanay (aking lola), at ang iba dito ay namumulaklak. Sa dulo nito ay ang altar ni Mama Mary, at may sarili itong bahay o kanlungang bato. Naaalala ko noong kami’y mga bata pa, at isa-isang napapalitan ang aking mga milk teeth ng mga permanenteng ngipin, umaga iyon at kagigising ko lang, dinala ako ni mama sa isang paso kung saan namin itinanim ang nabunot kong ngipin kinagabihan. At pagkakita ko sa ibabaw ng paso ay mayroong balumbon ng perang papel. Ako naman ay syempreng tuwang tuwa at, napagbigyan ng tooth fairy ang aking hiling.
Sa kanan naman ay mas malupa kumpara sa kaliwang parte ng bakuran na sementado. Narito namamalagi ang aming aso, ilan sa mga alagang tandang at inahing manok, puno ng papaya, niyog at saging. Dito ako naging saksi kung limliman ng inahing manok ang kanyang mga itlog. At sa madaling araw, gigisingin ako ni Aki, upang masaksihan ko ang unti-unting pagbiyak ng itlog ng mga mumunting inakay habang hawak hawak ko ang flashlight.
Sa pagdaan ang araw, magiging kalaro ko ang inahing masungit at matapang dahil gusto kong hawakan at ilagay sa aking kamay ang isa sa kanyang mga sisiw na nakasunod sa kanya.
Ang dalawang puno na hindi kailanman pinataob ng kahit anong bagyong dumating ay ang aming puno ng niyog at saging. Hindi namin kinailangang bumili ng coconut oil sa palengke o grocery, dahil sa Rd. 4 ay hindi kami nawawalan ng supply nito. Kada mahal na araw, isang tradisyon sa aming pamilya na gumawa ng patupat (isang Ilocanong salita na ang ibig sabihin ay kakanin), at gaya ng ibang kakanin sa ibang parte ng Pilipinas, hindi mawawala ang gata ng niyog bilang ingredient. Itinataon namin ang paggawa ng langis sa mahal na araw sa paniniwalang may basbas ito at maaaring nakakagaling. Samantala, habang nasa bubong si Aki at pumuputol ng dahon ng saging, nakaabang naman ako sa baba upang sumalo. Pagkatapos nito ay ididisinfect namin ito sa pamamagitan ng pagpapadaan nito sa apoy, matapos ay pupunasan at handa na para pambalot sa patupat. At kung sinusuwerte, meron pang kasamang bonus na bunga ng saging na iniihaw namin o nilalaga bilang panghimagas.
Sa Rd. 4 ako namulat sa arts and crafts. Ang pundan ng unan namin ay gawa sa quilted na mga retaso at may silk screen prints sa ibabaw nito. Ito ay naging negosyo ng aking mga magulang nung kami’y maliliit pa. Bukod pa dito lumaki ako na panay gantsilyo ang ang aming mga table runner gayundin ang damit ng iba naming muwebles sa bahay gaya ng salas. Ang aming kurtina ay customized o hand-sewn at ito ang aking nakita na ginagawa ni Nanay. Bago ko pa man “pag-aralan” ang mga parte ng sewing machine noong high school, alam ko na kung paano ito patakbuhin kahit na ang pag trouble shoot. Parang isang painting ang imahe ng aking lola habang tahimik na nananahi sa may bintana ang aming bahay sa Rd. 4.
Isa sa pinaka na-enjoy ko na klase noong high school ay ang home electronics, kung saan nagtuturo ang aking guro ng simpleng konsepto ng energy at electronics na ginagamit sa bahay. Gustong gusto ko ito, dahil bago pa man kami mag practicum sa mga wiring, ay naiintindihan at alam ko na kung paano siya gawin. Dahil Rd. 4 ang aking naging technology lab. Sa murang edad na walong taong gulang, pinapakita na sakin ni Aki kung paano magbaklas ng radyo, at t.v., gayundin ang electric fan. Nang ako’y lumalaki tumutulong na rin ako sa paghinang ng mga metal at pagkabit muli ng mga wiring. At nung maging parking space na ang aking playground sa loob ng bahay, pinatulong din ako sa pagkukumpuni ng owner type jeep ni Aki. Kaya hanggang noong ako ay nag kolehiyo, ako lang ang umaayos at nag rerepair ng hardware ng aming personal computer.
Ang Rd. 4 ang naging tahanan ang ilan sa aming mga kamag-anak na galing probinsya na gustong makipagsapalaran sa Maynila. Maraming pinalaki ang Rd. 4 na mga tiyuhin at pinsan ko. Habang naka-abang ang tila marahas na mukha at mundo ng Maynila para sa promding kagaya nila na nangangarap, sila ay nagpapatuloy dahil alam nila ang Rd. 4 ang magsisilbing kanilang kanlungan matapos ang isang mahabang araw. Dahil dito ang nagkaroon ako ng isa sa mga maituturing kong mga unang naging “kaibigan” sa katauhan ang aking mga tiyuhin at matatandang pinsan kahit ako’y musmos pa lamang.
Ang Rd. 4 ang inuwian ko nung aking first graduation, hanggang makapagtapos ng kolehiyo. Ang naging saksi nang dumalaw ang aking unang manliligaw. Rd. 4 ang nagkanlong sa pagod kong katawan matapos ang dalawang araw na board exam. Rd.4 ang nakarinig sa aking pag-iyak sa mga hinaing ko sa hirap ng pag-aaral, sa una kong heartbreak at mga rejections sa pag-apply ng trabaho.
Ang Rd. 4 ang nakakita sa aking mga unang pagsusulat ng mga ninanis at mga pangarap ko sa buhay.
"Babalik ka pa ba sa Rd 4 neng?! Wala ng babalik dun. Hindi na dapat nating balikan yun!"
Nang marinig ko iyon mula sa aking tiyahin na kausap sa telepono sa kabilang linya, may gumuhit na punyal sa aking dibdib.
Hindi ako makakarating dito kung wala ang Rd. 4.
Hindi ako magiging ako ngayon kung wala ang Rd. 4.
Hindi ko malalampasan ang ilan sa mga pagsubok ng buhay kundi dahil sa mga magagandang karanasan ko sa Rd.4
At para sa akin, hindi lang siya address, kundi aking naging tahanan sa loob ng mahigit tatlong dekada. Hindi lang ito lugar sa Maynila, hindi ito isang pansamantala lamang, magbago man ang anyo nito o mawala man sa lupang kinatatayuan, ito’y panghabang buhay.
Body wants to heal itself, and is very capable, and then... There is work
Iam sick today, it’s the second day. I skipped work yesterday, good thing I am not scheduled to work today. But I think I am having binat, or a relapse of symptoms, because the body feels I am in a hurry to get well, because I have to work tomorrow.
I was venting out that I feel like I am having a relapse, or that I thought my symptoms were just getting started. My uncle interjected and told me to just take the medication that has been sitting on my table for two days now.
I know and feel that my body is healing and doing its best inside. Something I cannot see, but I can feel. However, I also feel I am pressuring her to get better because I keep checking the calendar and am hypervigilant about how I am doing inside.
Why is there this guilt feeling that it’s wrong to skip work to stay home and recuperate?
What happened to us?
Why did we end up this way?
I used to fear my body a lot recently, and especially now that I am in midlife, a transition period for women, where there are physical changes going on. But later, I realized that I lack a deep understanding of the body, thus I fear her.
I remember one time I messaged my mentor when the family learned that mom had cancer, “How can you have faith in your body when you fear your body?”
It makes sense that you don’t trust something that you fear.
I think the first time the body as a living entity came into my awareness, and not only as something I have and use, was when I was studying in elementary school at a Catholic school. We were taught that the body is sacred and is a temple of God or the Holy Spirit. Though I didn’t think I fully understood that concept at such a young age, it has given me a feeling that I have to be responsible for it, or else there would be consequences. As a young person, the idea of consequence means that you did something that shouldn’t have been done. Thus, you are bound to do everything right for the body coming from a place of responsibility and fear of consequences.
However, over time, through reading and experience, I have come to recognize the body’s own wisdom and innate intelligence. Once that understanding deepens, you get to see that it has always been in our favor. Fear slowly dissipates. But we get in the way most of the time, blurring the clear, non-second-guessing solutions available to us from our bodies.
Since, it has its own system, in other words it has its own universe, that includes a ‘timeline’ that is totally different from ours.
Right now, the relapse is a nudge from her that tells me to rest more, because it’s still doing the repair and renewal.
Yes, the job needs to be done in this strawberry world we live in, but can you actually just bring your spirit to your work and do the job?
I have been learning Nihongo (Japanese) for almost a month now. If there is something I find easy about learning the language, it is how it’s pronounced and spelled; when translated into the English alphabet, there isn't much difference. There are no silent letters like h’s or t’s. Or in some instances, where you have two or more letters at the end of a word, but you don’t actually say it, or it sounds different from how it’s spelled, like roux, for example.
The rest are challenging, so my brain needs a 180-degree rewiring after being used to Filipino, my mother tongue, and American English, my second language for so long.
This morning, I told my tutor that I am slowly getting it that their verbs usually come at the end. The same goes for their articles, conjunctions, and prepositions that fall after the object or subject.
But my biggest pet peeve, which gives me an unsettling feeling (and I shared this with her as well), is that she is writing the English sentences or the English alphabet translation of the Japanese characters in lowercase.
In my world, I thought only Gen Z did this, and I'd ask, ‘Why are they being so lazy?’ Wearing my teacher hat, ‘Please do not do this on long-form writing, at least...’, because I couldn’t stand it. And now here I am spending an hour of my life on weekends to see this.
I learned that in Nihongo, there are no upper- or lowercase rules in its written texts to mark sentence beginnings or proper nouns.
My world is shattered. But in a good way.
“It’s not carved in stone…”
Recently, my mom was diagnosed with cancer that has metastasized. It initially affected some of her physical mobility, and she’s gone through surgery and lately another round of hospitalization due to the horrible side effects of her oral targeted therapy, as they call it. Our calendar over the last several months, if it were an album, would be full of photos of hospitalizations, endless doctor's appointments, DIY physical therapies, nagging, difficult conversations, introspection, reflection, and some funny moments as I look back.
If you ask, she’s okay now. However, we haven’t gotten to that part of the re-evaluation process yet. That stage where she’ll have repeat tests, repeat everything to get the result, ‘THE paper’ that officially says she’s cured of it. But when you look at her, for me, it’s as if she doesn’t have cancer or went through all of that. Or I think she has moved past it. It’s done.
The other day, I skipped my Japanese classes to accompany her to another doctor’s appointment. I usually engage her in conversations while waiting to be seen, because her blood pressure tends to go up due to her anticipatory thoughts of what the doctors will say.
But the other day, she told me, ‘You know, Nico, lately, I am more relaxed when we see doctors, and even when the nurses capture a high BP reading on the machine, I don’t worry that much either. Because I know what’s causing it. Finally, everything you’ve been telling and teaching me has slowly sunk in.’
One thing I remember telling her is this— “Whatever your doctor says, take it with a grain of salt. If you happen to talk to all the doctors in the world, I would argue that they differ in opinions. And so, which then is ‘true’?”
This somehow changed the trajectory of how she navigated the next few months, carrying a cancer diagnosis on paper. “Now I understand”, she continues, “ when you said that ‘it’s not carved in stone.’”
Imagine if that conversation never happened, she would definitely have different thoughts going on, thus a different reality, consequently a different lived experience. I cannot say what could have happened was bad, and the opposite, that she may have become sicker. I don’t know, and I don’t think there’s a way to know that. Or, if she is currently way better, because she listened and chose to take this path. But what I can say in retrospect is that, even standing at that crossroads at that time before making a step further, two (probably even more) realities exist at the same time.
See Things Differently and See a Totally Different Thing
Imagine yourself in a castle, and you have lived there all your life. It is the only way you know how to live life. And let’s say with some twist of fate, you are thrown out of this bubble, and you discover that there are actually women outside the castle who sport short hair. Or that eating by hand exists, and it’s not punishable because it’s part of the cultural practice of a group of people that live on the same planet as you are.
I once hated my Filipino accent whenever I spoke English. And even when I tried harder to sound buttery smooth, it would never come out as such, and probably never in a thousand years. That inadequacy was even more pronounced while I was living in the Philippines, where speaking English fluently is king in many aspects. I always see myself at the bottom of the pyramid.
When I moved to the US, especially here in New York, a melting pot of immigrants, my level of proficiency suddenly rise few notches without me lifting a finger. Moving to a country where immigrants are expected to speak English in public or work spaces, I can hear and even unintentionally rate fluency (coming from the Philippines, an ESL country, where Filipinos place a premium on locals who are fluent English speakers, especially those with American-sounding enunciation).
Then I began to see my Filipino accent and non-fluid conversational English differently. Suddenly, I am not alone, and there are people below my proficiency level.
But the total game-changer for me was when I began to see something entirely different when I read (or watched, I cannot exactly remember) Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, a Nigerian writer, who said something about accents. Nigeria is an English-speaking country. I believe it is the official language inherited from its time as a British colony, unlike the Philippines, where Filipino is our official language. She says that having a non-American accent while speaking English just means that a person is bilingual or can speak more than one language.
That cemented my decision not to adopt the American accent. It’s liberating.
Later on, I learned from a Filipino historian, Zeus Salazar, that language carries culture. And so living here in the US as a minority now means to me that if the American way of living can get tiring and exhausting, I know another way of living.
Lowercase paragraphs usually annoy me because I am so used to the system it came from. Now I know there is another reality that practices it. A hint at another way of living my life that is possible for me right here, right now.
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