Amelia.

It was the mid-eighties. We were a bunch of silly college students who all hail from the province, and were all passionate about discovering life in the Big City. Then one lazy weekend, Amy invited us to stay overnight at her place in Espana. We bought pizza and junk food, and we talked until the wee hours of the morning.

I still remember it vividly. It was almost dawn. The store across their house, was selling hot pan de sal already. We were lying on her bed.... still giggling and asking stupid questions about teenage crushes. Then out of nowhere came an announcement that was dropped on us like the twin sister of the Hiroshima bomb.

She sat there. Very composed and firm. She announced having retinitis pigmentosa... that she was going blind. Eden was silent. I was angry. I told her, ´ get second... third.. fourth... fifth opinion. I´m sure you will be cured.´

She smiled. There was no trace of anger or resentment. She said it was a progressive disease and there was no cure. She also said that if we truly were her good friends, we will help her find help to learn braille. I said, what? She smiled again, gently slapped my thigh and said for the second time, braille.

I was too proud to show my ignorance, so I didn't say anything. But the moment I arrived at the dormitory, I looked it up in the dictionary. There it was... braille: a system of writing and printing for blind or visually impaired people, in which varied arrangements of raised dots representing letters and numerals are identified by touch.

For months, years even, I struggled with the idea of Amy going blind. It was hard for me to picture her in my mind´s eye, as helpless, blind person. You see, among the three of us, Amy was the curious one. She always had brilliant ideas. More important, she was the matured one. We knew that she will go places.... that she will be Miss Big Time in no time... because for Amy, nothing is impossible.

The big C.

Just before New Year, my cousin sent me a disturbing email about her stepfather who has colon cancer and is terminally ill. He is on his last stage, and has probably a month to live.

Today, I received a sad email from an old friend and classmate. She told me that her husband is suffering from cancer. Ronny is a good and loving husband, caring father, and a funny friend. He's a very jolly person. So you can understand why I am in deep shock. The world needs more people like him!

Mid last year, my uncle was diagnosed of cancer as well. He has been in and out of the hospital since then. Last December 30, he was released from the hospital to spend New Year with his family. I chatted with him right after his cell transplant just before Christmas. I actually didn´t want to talk with him but I thought that it´s high time I conquer my own fears.

You see, a few years ago, a good friend of Hubby also succumb to cancer. I was so freaked out when I found that he had cancer that I begged off to see him while he was being treated. He had brain cancer so it went very fast.

When we went to his burial, I had to literally drag myself to his coffin. I didn´t want to see him there. I wanted to have good memories of him... the times when we had barbecue parties and were simply hanging around and making music together. But at the wake, I had to see him and say goodbye to him.

Needless to say, it cost me sleepless night. I couldn´t believe that our tall, muscular, and tough friend was shrunk to skin and bones. I barely recognized him. And although there was this tiny smile on his lips, all I could see was his pain and suffering etched on his forhead.


Tonight, I pray for all those people suffering from the big C. I pray for their families and friends. I pray for Mel, Ronny and their two adorable daughters. And I pray for all my friends...... especially the ones that I have hurt, and who have hurt me....

letting go.

In my life, I lost childhood friends, boyfriends, and bestfriends. Yes, it can be very painful when a relationship breaks up. First, there's shock. You know, like your friend has died. Then, there's this gripping grief that it's over.

Normally, we would ask ourselves, what went wrong? What did I do? We tend to blame ourselves. Then, we get angry and frustrated, and we punish ourselves by thinking that it's wrong to have a good cry to get the grief out of our system. This is especially true when the relationship was a really good one. When you've known each other practically all your lives, or if you grew up together, or spent important years of your lives together.

I've lost friends this year. Not just acquaintances but good friends. It makes me sad, of course.

But I knew that the friendship was over when we stopped talking to each other. I tried to patch things up, but I realised that I was just wasting my time because they have passed judgment on me -- as to what kind of person I have become, after moving to Europe.

I felt like a beggar really, pleading them to take me back. But who am I kidding? I was simply prolonging my agony. I know that instead of winning them back, I pushed them away when I tried explaining things to them. Truly, a waste of time.

Then, I realised something. I realised that I worry too much that I'll never meet new friends again because they were my good friends for a very long time. It was quite difficult for me to think that there'll be others but my sister kept saying that there will be!

I know that I have changed. My beliefs and worldview have altered. I know that. I have not only acclimatized, but have also acculturized myself here which is only logical because these acquired values and behaviours are necessary for me to live and survive here. It doesn´t mean that I have forgotten who I am and where I came from. But sadly, my friends don´t look at it that way.

Now, I feel completely resigned and surprisingly, I don't feel rejected anymore because if there is one thing that I have learned from this life, that would be that relationships/friendships end for all sorts of reasons, and it's hardly ever one person's fault.

Den Helder.

These photographs were taken today in and on our way to Den Helder to visit friends.... It's a lovely city. Only 45 minutes away (could be more, could be less... lol) from Amsterdam.




windmills, of course....

It's an old fishing village..... and like any other coastal city, there are lots of boats, yachts, and ships.

People are warm and friendly. They also love the outdoors... like this one, hosting a kiddie birthday party outside their home ......

Den Helder is known for its beaches, beautiful sand dunes and lakes too.......

This is one place in Holland where horses & would-be equestrians go for a little walk on the beach

Our old friend Mickie and daughter, cuddly Em.............

And of course, his wife Mommy Res.

On our way back, we met a fold of Highland kyloes, the oldest known cattle breed which dates back as far as the 12th century. We walked right in front of them. Such beautiful animals.... huge, too! I took several pictures, except that they didn´t come out well because I was quite nervous and my iPhone camera didn´t have a flash. A few years ago, during a trip to Scotland, I heard about these rare kyloes and hoped that we see some along the way. We didn´t. And well, what do you know?! I never thought I´d be seeing them here!!! lol

Don´t you just love weekends? I know, I do! ;)

Post reunion syndrome.

Going away for 10 weeks was perhaps a much needed vacation but it was long and went very fast. So when I got on the plane last Sunday, I only had wonderful memories of my stay.

I saw and spent a lot of time with people that I haven´t spoken to for more than a decade. I discovered that Gina is not a bitter widow at all. On the contrary, she is wise, caring, and funny. Then there´s Ali who had always been brutal and straightforward. But hey, he´s also a very good father and friend. And yes, he´s adorably funny, bright, and honest.

I was also amazed to see that majority of my highschool female classmates became these proud, gracious, accommodating and beautiful Stepford Wives. (Nope, they're not horrifying .... just the beautiful part!) How did they manage to stay slim and beautiful?! I also discovered that Patrick, Vivian, Memen, Menchie, Bunx, Bruce, and especially Nena were the true driving force behind the success of our 25th Homecoming.

So as I entered my house, I was confronted with another kind of reality. It was bizarre really. Well for one, most of my plants died. Grrrr.... I spent so much time keeping them alive during the winter months! My front and backyard need a real cleaning up --- I could almost hear Tarzan shouting now. hahahahaha Then there´s this pile of unread mails, newspapers, TIME and other magazines that I have to read and dispose. The plumber has to come and fix the drainage again. The kitchen is... oh well, don't let me even get started.

The next day, I was ill. Yes, I had been ill since Monday and it's Sunday again today. But being ill is not always bad. It slows down the mind and prepares the body again for the next hurdle.

So yes, I'm back again and this much I know. I had a great time in Sorsogon. Attending the reunion was the best part of it. Actually, it was not just attending The Reunion.... because we had rehearsals in the beginning. Then, the dinners, outings with the family, and then there were those post reunion get-togethers that dragged on for weeks! Everybody was making excuses to see everybody again. We actually became ONE big family. I loved it!

And there's more.... The kids are now bff ... as in, best friends forever. It's cute, isn't it? hahahaha

An Affair to Remember.

Our 25th Alumni Homecoming is just a few weeks away. Former classmates who started organising the affair since 2007, are now glitch checking and fixing to make sure that attendees will have an affair to remember.

As for me, I had been playing and singing songs from the early eighties. Funny, I never thought I would still be the same sentimental fool I was when I was in high school. But here I am, no longer dreaming about The Greatest Love Of All but still humming Barry Manilow's "Somewhere down the road.... our roads are gonna cross again... " hahahaha

I know, it's strange. I mean, who would have ever thought that we, the reckless idealists, rebels without a cause, and hopeless romantics.... the wide-eyed, easily intimidated teenagers running after the pig .... the innocent looking yet deceitful teenyboppers who would rather play jolens (marbles) and eat banana cue than attend classes..... the Nancy Drews and Hardy Boys who were more concerned of outsmarting the teachers than actually understanding the lesson, are coming home a quarter of a century later to meet old friends, walk down the memory lane, see what we have become, and pay tribute to the school that made us what we are today?

Yeah, such big words as pay tribute and walk down the memory lane, it's almost sickening. To think that we were nothing but juvenile delinquents who bluffed our way through high school. So pinch me. Because if I were dreaming, I think it's high time I wake up. lol

Meren.

When I was in grade 4, Ma put me in a public school. It was inevitable. I was driving the nuns at the Catholic school crazy. I hit one with a ball. I sneaked in their private chamber when nobody was watching. (It was there that I found out that they shave off their heads because I saw them without their headdress! What is it called anyway, the cloth that covers the head? A habit?? LOL) I went swimming at the school´s pool with my sisters, while waiting for our driver. In other words, I was a problem child. HAHAHAHAHA

So my parents decided that it was time for a change. There were only 3 elementary schools in my hometown then. And because I was behaving badly, I was put in the school were the poorest of the poor in our hometown send their children. The school where children go to school wearing slippers. The school where children line up for free bread during snacks. The school where children have to work in a workshop, in the event that their family can no longer afford to send them to highschool.

My parents probably thought that in that school, I will learn about getting along with people. That I will learn how to behave. That they will teach me to be a person. That I will realize that I behaved badly in my previous school.

That school is Burabod. And whether or not I have learned my so-called lesson, is still a mystery to me! LOL

In Burabod, I made a lot of friends and "enemies". They were all curious why I go to school with ribbons, black shoes, white socks, laced hankies, and trimmed nails. They were laughing when recess came, and I took out my hotdog sandwich & lemonade. They were all amused with my bag, my pencil case, books, and notebooks. I felt like a complete idiot.

But in Burabod, I also met Meren. We were in the same class. We instantly liked each other. We played some games together and danced in the same Dance Troupe.... climbed trees. ... ate pan de coco together......and dreamed about the future! Sometimes, she was at my place. And sometimes, I was at her place. She wanted to be an architect. I don´t know what I told what I wanted to be! LOL

That was back in 1977. We were in grade 4.

Thirty-one years later..... we found each other again. She lives in France. Happily married and has 3 children. She writes poems and takes lovely pictures. She looks gorgeous and has the body of a supermodel (I am so green with envy! LOL). We are catching up again.... giggling and being naughty again just like back in 1977.

Friendship.

My highschool classmate and friend Menchie wrote a very nice blog about reconnection. It touched me and made me feel homesick..... make that Menchie-homesick! HAHAHAHAHA

I was actually planning to blog about marriage. But I guess, friendship is also a sort of marriage, minus the wedding that is! So I am going to talk about it instead.

Friendship..... what is it actually? It sounds so trite and banal, I could fall asleep right now! ha ha ha!

Kidding aside, I believe friendship is the marriage of two (or more) people who have different upbringing yet are drawn by a common interest, dream, frivolity, background, and sometimes even by the same nemesis! Menchie and I however never had the last one. hahahahahaha

I used the word marriage because in many ways, it is a union of people who do love and care for each other (minus romance... although we all know that friendship can reach its zenith in marriage because the bond is closer). But the camaraderie, commitment and demands are just as exciting and precious.

But it´s true what Menchie wrote in her blog. Eden, Mel, Cherie, Menchie and I are re-discovering and reconnecting again through blogging. Sounds odd, but true. And that´s the beauty of cyberspace. You are only an iota of a second away from each other..... or in our case, a blog away.

From Norwich to Hengelo.

My English friend Alice and her 7-year-old red-head daughter Maia came for a visit last week.

I´ve known Alice since 1995. We were both government scholars in Java. She was with the Royal Ballet in London, who trained both in Europe and the Martha Graham dance school in the U.S. An excellent dancer really. And there I was. The Filipina music scholar who wanted to learn everything about gamelan music.

What really brought us together, was not the similarity and/or difference in our character or ethnic background, but our fascination for indigenous music and dances. You know what they say, musicians are frustrated dancers and dancers are frustrated musicians.

I never really understood that phrase until I did my field research in Ifugao in 1990. It was in Ifugao that I discovered that gong players and epic singers are also dancers. That is the beauty of non-western culture. Because in non-western societies, to be a fine and respected musician would mean to be well-versed in movement, singing, drumming, reciting poems and folk tales, and understanding the philosophy behind it.

Apart from her dance performances, I don´t really know Alice very well. I've always thought that offstage, she was arrogant and snub, stubborn and self-absorbed. But at the same time, I was a great admirer of her work. I think I am one of the lucky ones who had the privilege of seeing her perform. Because when she dances, Alice reveals passion, vitality, ectasy, rage, and brilliance.

However the Alice that I met last week was not the worldly-ambitious-fierce-and-graceful-as-a-feline that I know. Last week, I met Maia´s mother. A domesticated Alice. Somehow, Alice managed to set her `self` aside and be mom first. They have a very special relationship; too perfect in fact. Maia behaves both like a child and an adult.

I completely adore her. Everytime she would ask a question, she sounded like a university student. At the same time, she would grow extremely bored & insecure like a lost child everytime Alice and I are engrossed in our discussion.

I also noticed that Alice habitually motivates her daughter with mind-boggling problems. She patiently explained things and concepts that were quite difficult to grasp. And most of all, I was impressed to know that Maia is learning to play chess and piano. Somehow, Alice managed to make her daughter be interested in things that she herself is not and will never be interested. hahahahaha

I am not however surprised that Maia is a very intelligent kid. Her father Tony is a university professor in England. Besides, Alice herself is also an intellectual. She had written many things about almost everything.... from contemporary dance to cultural anthropology, to music and movement and the Japanese taiko drums.

After they left, I had a sad realisation. I realised that neither Alice nor I continued to pursue a career in our respective fields where we´re both extremely good at. I consoled and tried to convince myself that we both are making a difference in this world in our own special way. Alice the great wise mom who volunteers at a local school to teach music and movement; and I ..... the teacher who inspires (according to my students, that is! hahahahahaha).

We still love indigenous cultures. In fact, we plan to travel to Brazil someday and perhaps, study about the newly-discovered tribe close to the Peruvian border.