it’s in quiet moments like today that i feel and yet miss your presence the most. i remember vividly the word of the doctor, ‘there is no heartbeat’, and yet here i am, ironically, listening to the sound of it, hearing it clearly as if you were breathing next to me.

i carried you in my womb for about eight weeks but i only learned about the pregnancy when you were 4 weeks old. i wish i had known earlier. i would have taken care of us better. i would have spent more time with you. i would have told you more stories. remember when i would talk to you in early mornings when you and i would wake up in the silence of dawn; at nights before we went to sleep; or at random times just because i felt the need to tell you what was going on outside your world. i thought it must be lonely for you to be alone in a secluded, dark place, and i wanted you to be comforted by my voice.

letting you go was one of the the most painful moments in my life. i knew that for others, it was very easy to dismiss the hurt when they considered you as just a tiny thing inside of me, not even a real human to begin with. in the field of medicine, i was merely a statistic in the common pregnancy mishap that is miscarriage. but you were to me a child who existed and touched my life in ways unimaginable to some.

you brought joy to my world. you showed me that i can be the mother that i hoped to be. you helped me be a better person. you proved that i was a person capable of loving without limits, without conditions. and i have come to realize that this is why i was to endure this pain. God knows that i have so much love to give in my heart that in spite of the misfortune on my first pregnancy, i would not be afraid to love another child just as much as i have loved you. you allowed me to perceive things in a different light. you taught me to see the beauty that thrives even in sadness.

i did not lose you. i prefer to believe that i gave birth to an angel. and you are that to me, my child, my angel. i will keep you in my heart. always.

‘it is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.’

once more i am reminded of this beautiful quote by dumbledore in harry potter and the chamber of secrets with the passing of maria corazon cojuangco aquino, more popularly known to the filipino nation as cory. she was the first woman president not only in the philippines, but in the whole of asia. that alone counts for something. and yet what she had given our nation and the world transcends the feminist role in an otherwise male-dominated society

cory was catapulted into presidency in 1986 via the peaceful power people revolution. i was only 8 years old at that time and apparently too young to truly understand the struggles that plagued our country. in truth, my naive self was a marcos loyalist, coming from a family of pure ilocanos. my uncle even served as a soldier for the marcoses during the tumultuous period of political unrest. we would get from him marcos stickers, banners and paraphernalia, enough to believe that the incumbent president was a good man. he was merely a victim of incessant politicking, rather than the perpetrator of unjust doings. of course, i never really knew about the martial law, the dictatorship and the corruption of his government that gradually erode the foundation of our society. needless to say, i was blinded by false loyalty.

years later, i would fully comprehend what cory meant to the filipinos and what she had done. she was the driving force of the people power movement even if she didn’t seem to be the most qualified person to do so. after all, she was first and foremost a wife to ninoy aquino (a political prisoner himself and the arch nemesis of marcos) and a mother to five children. but even then, she showed her character by being a pillar of strength to her husband when she could have asked ninoy to cease his political inclination in exchange for a quiet family life. instead she gave him her unwavering support even after his death.

when she was called to run for presidency in a snap election, she embraced the challenge of toppling the 20-year old dictator of a president, not for personal glory but because she knew this was the right thing to do. she could have easily opted for the easy road out. she could have gone back to the US with her children and sought political asylum but she chose otherwise. in the midst of the chaos and threats, she chose to be the brave leader and a beacon of hope for a people willing to fight and die for freedom. and this made all the difference. history tells us that it was this fearless choice of hers that restored our democracy.

cory was the president of the philippines from 1986-1992. when she stepped down from her seat, she once again showed us the person that she was. she was not gobbled up by power and fame unlike many politicians and celebrities. she remained the humble, unassuming, honorable lady that she was before she was elected in the highest office of the land. she chose to uphold the constitution and more importantly, to give the people their inalienable right to vote in a free election. the last state of the nation address of cory as president is a testament to the choices she made for the sake of democracy.

‘…I could have done all those things that win wide acclaim, exiting as grandly as any president could wish. But while my power as president ends in 1992, my responsibility as a Filipino for the well-being of my country goes beyond it to my grave. A great part of that responsibility is to do the best I can today, according to my best lights, while I have the power to do it…’

it’s so easy to take for granted the democracy and freedom that we are now enjoying. but i hope that cory’s death will serve as a reminder for us to value these things even more. it’s the most we can do to show our eternal gratitude to cory aquino, and because this gift of freedom enables us to make our own choices that ultimately define who we are.

rest in peace, madam president.

i re-read old love letters from raj dating back 1998. needless to say, i got nostalgic and sentimental.

i am glad to have lived in an era when handwritten love notes were not yet a taboo and was a widely accepted method of declaring one’s love (or admiration) to another person. i received an ample amount of them in high school (ahem, ahem) and wrote some myself but i saved none of them. there was nothing worth keeping anyway. in contrast, i’ve kept almost all that raj gave me in the big box that held his gift for me on my 20th birthday. i managed to bring the box, along with all the letters inside it here in the US after returning from my trip to manila in 2007.

raj’s love letters are a testament to how love blossomed between two college friends, strengthened by the test of time and traveled across many distance. there were letters and post cards from and to singapore, malaysia, japan, manila and the US from 1998 up until today. 10 years (and counting) of solid relationship documented through love letters. a handful of them were when we still in the platonic stage and the letters contained entertaining but seemingly meanderings of a bored mind and yet, there was something sweet and special hidden in between the inconsequent lines, that maybe only i can decipher in a way that only i can truly read raj’s mind.

i am excited on the prospect that years and years from now, our children might get to read these love letters. i hope that when that time comes, they will not only be moved by what we two share, but more importantly, i hope they find inspiration from us to love in every way possible.

dear gian,

you are only a couple of days old – too young to read, much less to understand the content of this letter. and yet here i am, the over eager, first-time aunt, writing as if you could.

your aunt gizelle and i shopped stuff for you yesterday, presents for your grandma to bring when she flies to new york next week to see you and take care of you. i and your uncle raj bought you ralph lauren white shoes and overalls (too preppy, your aunt gizelle said although i convinced her to buy you a blue vest to match with a plaid polo shirt which is also preppy in style). i also bought you a red hawaiian shirt so you can welcome the summer in aloha fashion even if it’s still a few months away. your aunt gizelle and i were trying to outdo each other, each trying to be the cooler aunt. i must say though that i have conceded to her. she would probably win the title. she has the money to buy you stuff while i live pay check by pay check. plus your aunt gizelle is the smartest in the family and i pray that you get those genes. so where does that leave me? what do i know?

i know that you were born on the first day of spring in 2009, after a long and hard labor. this alone is an omen, a good one ,that you will bring joy and sunshine to every one around you, but most especially to your mom. and i want you to be proud of this moment in your life. you are the spring.

i can tell you stories about the day you were born. how it took almost a day for you to see the light of day, or dawn to be precise. my stories may not be as personal as the account that your mom would give you nor as dramatic as your aunt tin would say. but it is as detailed as it can possibly be nonetheless. i lived up to my role as the family secretary on that day. everyone in the family was texting me (in case texting becomes obsolete when you grow older, it’s how we send messages via mobile phone), asking for update on your mom’s status. i, in turn would text either your mom or your aunt tin after which i would relay the message to the family. oh, how my fingers were overly used from texting that day. i knew that your mom had to take epidural because she can no longer take the pain. i knew that she wasn’t allowed to eat and she survived on IV alone. i heard your mom while she was in the delivery room. your aunt tin called me for about twenty minutes and put it on speaker even though it wasn’t allowed and so i was able to listen to your mom’s ordeal. i heard the hospital staff counting in intervals, instructing your mom to breathe in and out, and to push, and then silence. later on, i would find out that your mom passed out every time she pushed. i knew that it took you so long to come out because it took about almost two hours before i finally got the second call from your aunt tin to inform me that your mom had finally given birth and she too sounded so tired as if she delivered a baby herself. and then i learned, you were born 7.2 lbs. apparently, you were too big even as a baby. and i would want you to remember this in the years to come, whenever someone or something make you feel small.

i can share stories about your mom. after all, we were only a year apart and i spent my growing years with her. we were inseparable as kids that when she was sick, i was too. and i think that this is why i was under the weather when you were born. maybe through some divine intervention, i had to endure her pain too just like when we were kids. maybe the universe asked me to bear some of your mom’s pains while in labor. and it didn’t matter at all. this you must know, your mom is a brave woman to have you under normal delivery. she who is afraid of roller coasters, of needles, of blood, of birds tolerated all the pains with all the courage she can muster. and i want you to remember this in the years to come, when the time comes when you have to be brave too for your mom.

i can tell you about harry potter and his adventures as i would do with my own kids. your mom is not a voracious reader like me nor your aunt gizelle but this doesn’t make her any less of a person. after all, she can tell you a hundred other things which i don’t know anything about like math stuff or singing or cooking. but i would love for you to read the harry potter series and to learn about parallel worlds that exist within us if we dare to imagine. because i want you to find comfort and solace in them when you think your world is constricted. because i know these books will teach you a thing or two about friendship, but more importantly about how his mom’s love saved harry potter time and again. and i want you to be reminded all the time of a mother’s eternal and unconditional love, like that of your mom’s to you.

and finally, you ought to know that you will always be welcome in our home wherever we are. you must know that your uncle raj and i have been nomads in the last few years. we do not know yet where we will be when you are old enough to recognize who we are in your life. but our home is your home, wherever we decide to build it. and that you can stay with us whenever you need us. i may not be the cool aunt personified, but i am a family just the same. and always will be, remember that.

so i guess this is long enough. there are plenty other letters to follow, i am sure. but for now, i hope that when you close your eyes your angel would allow you to see glimpses of us from the other side of the world – palm trees, mountains, cool breeze, chickens, puppies running around, your grandpa (or dad as he would like to be called) playing poker online, your grandma cooking pancit palabok, you great grandma in the farm, your aunt gizelle writing her thesis (or maybe playing her video game), your uncle raj watching tennis, and me writing this letter.

with much love,

aunt g

my sisters and i have vision problems. we all wear glasses/contacts. genetics. my mom wears glasses too.

my sisters and i are iron deficient. genetics. my mom says she too had to take supplements when she was younger. now she’s high blood. and we could suffer the same thing when we grow older.

my sisters and i have dark circles under our eyes, which no amount of sleep can diminish. they’re like the eyes of east asians, although we are from the far east. genetics. look at my mom’s eyes.

my sisters and i have too much clothes. and i say genetics too. (yes, mother.) recently, i had to force my mom to clean her closets so she can give me some space to put my clothes in. lo and behold, she keeps even the oldest of clothes. i managed to convince her to throw or donate at least a box of them. i felt like i was from the ‘what not to wear’ tv show, digging through her pile of clothes and deciding whether or not they are worth keeping. i still have to go through her other closet and i bet she wouldn’t even notice that some of her clothes are missing if i throw them away. she has that much clothes, enough to last more than a year without washing a single piece. she always tells me off from shopping too much but she does too. of course, she will not admit it. and she’d say she only buys from ross. so now i know where i get this innate itch to spend money on clothes. i am after all, a my mom’s daughter.

today is my aunt’s wedding – second wedding at that. i assume she’s in early 40’s. she was divorced to my uncle who is jobless and is, according to rumors, on drugs. my aunt is a relative from my grandmother’s side while my uncle is a relative from my grandfather’s side. confusing eh? but no, my aunt and are uncle are not relatives so there was no incest there. i don’t exactly know how long they have been separated from each other but my aunt has apparently moved on. good for her, i say. unfortunately, it doesn’t seem that my entire clan feel the same way i do.

when i arrived here a couple of nights ago, my aunt was having her bridal shower. my mom commented, ‘talagang kina-career nya ang pagpapakasal’. there’s no direct translation in english but it’s enough to say that the remark is unfavorable to my aunt’s wedding. many of my relatives are also not keen on attending her wedding for reasons i do not fully comprehend. maybe they are conservative and believe in the sanctity of the first marriage. after all, we are all filipinos whose culture is against divorce. maybe  it is this double standard thing and if it was the other way around, if it was my uncle who’s getting married, they would see it in a positive light. or maybe, it’s just my aunt per se. after all, my other aunt got a divorce and re-married and not so much has been said about it. in fact, her husband has been warmly welcomed to our family even his kids to his first wife.

as for me, i am sincerely giving my best wishes to my aunt on her wedding day and beyond. i truly wish that her marriage will work out this time. because i want to believe in second chances. not only for my aunt but for the more important people in my life:

- for my ate. i hope that she will not stop looking for the happiness and love that she and baby gian truly deserve.

- for my best friend mel. i hope that she too will find the man that would complete her and be a dad to maia.

- for my best friend bong. i hope that he finds the permanent cure to his broken heart.

i want them all to fall in love again and to be loved more than their worth. i want them to get their second chance at love and to be blessed with happiness and contentment. i want them to experience what i have in my life with raj. i want all the best for them and nothing less.

i don’t know which is worse: waking up alone or going back to an empty house.

i swear i had my so-called subway moment yesterday when i was on my way back from work to my sister’s place. technically, i wasn’t going home to an empty apartment because my sister was there. but of course, it wasn’t the same as having my husband’s presence.

i drowned myself with love songs in my ipod. it was cathartic in a way. once more, i played joshua radin’s winter, which was very thematic not only to what i felt but also to the gloomy weather outside:

…the walk has all been cleared by now
your voice is all i hear somehow
calling out winter
your voice is the splinter inside me
while i wait

and i remember the sound
of your november downtown
and i remember the truth
a warm december with you…

all the while, i was thinking of those previous months when raj was there to welcome me after a long day of work. he loved to hide in the little corners of our apartment until i found him. one time, i can’t find him and even after several pleas, he won’t come out from his hiding place so i left and went to the park across our building, stayed there for a good 10 minutes. when i went back, he was in the kitchen already and we laughed about it

sometimes, we played boggle or scrabble after dinner. sometimes, when he was busy with his writing and i can’t barely open my eyes, i slept in the living room which was adjacent to our computer room/work station. then he would just wake me up when he was done.

i miss those times. i miss raj. but he’ll be back soon.

raj and i decided to partake in our church’s charity project for the holidays. this was our way of thanking the Lord for all the many blessings we have had this year. the activity was very simple: from a christmas tree, we were to pick a paper ornament which has the sex and the age of a random child. this child would receive a gift from us. raj and i got one for each of us. i initially wanted a toddler but raj reasoned that an older child would appreciate more what we would give. so i picked a girl aged nine and raj, a boy aged eight.

last week, we went to toys r us to buy the gifts. it’s usually easy to find something for a girl because we are more responsive and appreciative *ahem, ahem* than guys. i thought of buying my girl a hannah montana or a high school musical item but decided against it because i wasn’t even sure if this girl have access to popular media. i also considered the tales of beedle the bard but that would mean imposing my j.k.r obsession. in the end, i bought a stuffed hello kitty. how can a 9-year old girl resist a cuddly hello kitty, right? even if my girl turns out to be a tomboy, she can use this stuffed toy when sleeping at night.

on the other hand, raj took long in finding a perfect gift for his boy. he was considering giving a shirt instead of a toy. but i convinced him otherwise. i told him that an 8-year old boy would rather get a toy for christmas. i hope i was right. after looking through most of the racks, he settled for an electronic baseball game. we also bought batteries to go with the toy.

gift-giving is what makes this holiday a celebration itself. i hope that through this blog, i can inspire others to share their blessings to the less fortunate, especially to the children.

a couple of weeks ago, raj and i watched live-in maid, or cama adentro which is its original title. the film, set in argentina during the financial crisis in the country in 2001, revolves around the complex relationship between the employer beba (played by norma aleandro) and the helper dora (norma argentina). beba who spent much of her family’s wealth into failed businesses, is struggling to make ends meet. amidst her glamorous lifestyle which she cannot easily give up, she signs up to sell mud packs. dora, on the other hand, remains loyal to beba even while she patiently waits for her long delayed salary . dora eventually leaves bebaaand tries to find another employer.

the beauty of the movie lies in the subtle depiction of how the lives of the two characters have been influenced by one another. after all, dora’s 30 years of service amounts to almost half a lifetime of companionship. and indeed, we see in the end how their employer-employee relationship has transcended into friendship albeit unconsciously.

i lived in a culture where having a live-in maid is acceptable in society, and being one is a honorable way of survival . in fact, the term filipina became synonymous to domestic helpers way back in the 1990s due to the influx of migrant workers employed as maids abroad.

growing up in manila, we always had a maid at home. as soon as one left, there was an immediate replacement because both my parents were working and therefore needed someone to help them out. the maids we had were often distant relatives from our province so my parents knew them in a way. it was easy to find them. my mom just had to go back to her hometown and pick one herself. or when she didn’t have the time to do so, she would contact one of our immediate relatives in the province, send some money and a maid would be ours to keep. they were usually young, some of them fresh high school graduates, who grabbed the opportunity to go to manila the first chance they got.

our maids did the household chores – cleaning the house, cooking, washing the dishes, laundry, ironing. they took care of my sisters and me. on some occasions, they even helped us with our school projects.

we had always treated our maids as family members and called them ‘manang’. this is the ilocano way of showing respect to female elders. my mom never referred to them as maids though. once she overheard me introducing manang to my friends as our maid, she pulled me in a corner and told me that we were never to refer them as maids. instead, they were ‘kasama sa bahay’, literally translated as house companions. politically correct, my mom was. (but for the purpose of this blog, i am referring to them collectively as maids. apologies to my mom).

our maids were treated with kindness and respect, the reason they usually lasted longer than usual. and they left not because they were unhappy or unsatisfied but because they were either getting married or going abroad. they had their own bedroom in the house; ate their meals the same time as we did, and; used whatever was in our house. they were allowed to take sundays as their day-offs and in the summer, they can  go back to the province for a month. apparently, summer was my least favorite time of the year because that was when my sisters and i had to do the chores by ourselves although my mom limited us to the simple ones like sweeping the floor, dusting the furniture and washing the dishes. my grandma once criticized my mom on how we were raised. she said, ‘your kids don’t know anything (on being domesticated) but to read books. what would their in-laws say?’, to which my mom replied ‘i raised them to be educated, not to be maltreated by anyone’.

i really never became independent of a maid until i turned 21 years old and i never had one since then. of course, i do miss having a maid from time to time especially when i get lazy (more often than not) to do the household chores. but really, i can live without one. contrary to my grandma’s claims, i am raised well enough to run my own house, thank you very much.

i recently finished mitch albom’s for one more day. i’m not really a fan of this author’s books although i have read and enjoyed his two previous works  tuesdays with morrie and the five people you meet in heaven. what egged me to purchase for one more day is its story about the son seeking redemption from his mother. in a way, i was hoping that this book would made me honor and celebrate my mom even more. it did not disappoint

charles benetto, the main character in for one more day lists the times that his mother stood up for him and the times that he did not stood up for his mother. if i were to do the same, i know that there would be a million times that my mom was there for me in a heartbeat without questions nor judgment. sadly though, the list of the times that i did not stood up for her would be a long one as well – times when i have wounded her whether deliberately or not; when i have failed her as a daughter; when i should have fought my way to her but didn’t. but through it all, she found me and brought me back home.

my mom married at a very young age. she was only 22 years old when she had me. she could have been someone else had she chose differently. she could, or would have been a doctor. she could have gone to the US earlier and be with my grandparents. there could have been greater things stored for her. but she would always tell me that she does not regret marrying my dad at an early age because she has us (her daughters) and she would not trade us for anything in the world. this definitely tops the list of the times my mom stood up for me.

i became independent from her when i was mere 17 years old. we could have shared more memories together had i not been too stubborn to move away from them but the story of my life was that i did. one of the many times when i chose not to stand up for my mother. and yet conversely, this was also one of the times that my mom stood up for me even though i knew in her heart that i was making the wrong decision. in the end, she let me go and be the person that i wanted to be without preconditions. and for that, i would always be grateful to her. i would not be who i am now had she not supported even if it pained her to see me turning my back from her.

i hope i would not have to beg someday for the chance to be with my mom for one more day. but in all certainty, i plead to all the gods for her to be my mom again in my next lifetime.