(In our effort to be the best of what we can be, we reinvent ourselves and discover so many places we’ve never been to before.)
Just like a bird leaving its nest
as the winds begin to blow
I’m now about to take a big leap
to some place I’ve never known
Even if at times I’m reluctant to change
my friend has told me
how wonderful it is
that I have reinvented myself
I’ve always been a quiet girl
not willing to be heard
always accepting, never questioning
what it is that’s happening to me
But now I find myself
pouring my heart and soul
to someone willing to listen to me
asking questions never before answered
Trying things I’ve never imagined doing before
Writing classes I’ve taken as a challenge
Dancing before an audience
I no longer find embarrassing
Moving to a life where I can just be me
Flying high, I’m no longer afraid
I just close my eyes to wherever it takes me
I’m now about ready to go
where the wind blows
Monday, October 30, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
VIP: Very Important People
(As we continue with our search for a higher purpose, we stumble on a cause close to our hearts bringing us immense joy as we share and learn from one another.)
I received today my invitation to the fourth anniversary celebration of Hands On Manila, to be highlighted again this year by the Volunteer in Person (VIP) event. My mind focused on the letters VIP, an acronym most commonly associated with Very Important People. There are VIPs in any community, town, city or organization -- the policy makers, decision-makers, big time people! But who among us are the real VIPs in this volunteer undertaking?
I had my first volunteer experience with Hands On Manila in December, 2003. Together with other volunteers, we hosted the Breakfast for Streetchildren on Roxas Boulevard. It was scheduled for nine AM. For someone used to sleeping in on a weekend it took a little bit of a sacrifice to give up a few more hours of sleep. The all too familiar sound of my high school’s morning bell buzzed in my ear and I dragged myself and my daughter from underneath our cottony soft comforters. In a few more minutes, we were off in the cool comfort of our van.
We arrived at Jollibee and listened to our orientation as we waited for the children to arrive. Having done some charity work with rehabilitated street children before, I thought I was prepared for the experience. I was sickened by their sight! Barefooted and begging to be scrubbed, they walked sleepy-eyed into the breakfast room. Their stench filled every nook and cranny. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, I told myself, trying to apply my pilates instructor’s breathing technique, at the same time trying not to catch the smell of the children surrounding me.
I learned that some of them had not slept, selling sampaguita all night. I felt guilty not willingly giving up a few hours of sleep that morning. We mingled with them, and played games. We marveled at how they treasured their prizes, guarding them hawk-eyed, ready to pounce on anyone who might try to grab it from them. Breakfast was served, and I watched as one of them ate just half of his food. Wasn’t he hungry? I wondered. My heart bled as one of the facilitators told me he was taking the other half home to his family. I tried not to think how much food was wasted in my home.
Towards the end of the breakfast, I brought in the goody bags we had prepared. "Ate, may tsinelas ba sa loob, Ate?" one child asked. It started to drizzle outside. I was only too glad to include a pair of slippers and a raincoat in their bags. As we climbed back into our van, we realized how truly lucky we are to have all the comforts of life.
Kaya mo iyan
I have been teaching arts and crafts to street children at the Kaisahang Buhay Foundation (KBF) Center since January 2004. I started out with a group of volunteers but most of the time now, I am alone. Perhaps I have been remiss in reminding the other volunteers. Or perhaps they have become busy too. Sometimes I wonder if I should just give it up, but then who else will teach them?
"Gud apternun, Ate Minnie!" they greet me as I enter the room. It’s a different experience altogether as I stand in front of 25 to 30 children, all of five or six-years old. I’m transported back in time. I see myself in my kindergarten class trying to listen to what my teacher is saying, with eyes wide trying to watch every movement of her hand. I’m the teacher now, and I remind myself each time to make myself understood by the very young children.
I don’t remember each of their names, but I remember their faces. The wide-eyed girl who taps me on the arm asking if I brought coloring sheets for them. The boy whose eyelashes curl up almost touching his eyelids when he looks up to ask me if he’s doing his work right. The dark, chubby boy who, holding up his green caterpillar chain, excitedly shouts "Tapos na ako, Ate Minnie!" Even the girl who smiles pleasingly to herself, revealing black rotten teeth. And the boy who whines, "Hindi ko kaya, Ate!" to which I reply, "Kaya mo iyan!"
It’s quite a challenge to choose projects that are not too difficult for them to do, leaving them frustrated instead. But it’s very fulfilling to see the smiles on their faces after they've done something they thought they couldn’t do in the first place. Aside from developing their motor skills, we teach them to follow instructions while at the same time challenging their creativity. Some work faster than others, and a few are quite exceptional. But with a little bit of encouragement, we show them that, with discipline and perseverance, they can come up with artwork far beyond their imagination. Hopefully this will manifest in their later years when they dream and work to be whatever they want to be.
More importantly, they teach us to be more patient.
Sign your name
Although I’m a regular volunteer for KBF, I brought along my daughter and her group of friends one Sunday morning to Talking Hands as part of their school’s community service requirement. I can’t say which is more challenging.
Here we taught arts and crafts to hearing impaired people. We introduced ourselves with the little sign language our team leader taught us, and finger spelling that the girls were all too familiar with, and were each given our very own sign names. The girls thought this was so cool, and we communicated further through writing as we were paired off with them. We learned the hand gestures of some commonly used phrases, and later said our goodbyes using sign language.
This was quite an experience. This time we learned to not look at handicapped people as any different from ourselves. Whatever we can do, they can do, too, and God grants them strength to somehow make up for what they lack.
In each and every volunteer project I have joined, I have given up a little bit of my time to teach and share a part of my privileged existence. And in return, the experiences made me realize how much we can also learn from those less privileged. So, at this year’s event, as we Volunteer in Person, let us remember that the Very Important People here, our beneficiaries, are the very same people who keep us grounded and make us thankful for what we have.
I received today my invitation to the fourth anniversary celebration of Hands On Manila, to be highlighted again this year by the Volunteer in Person (VIP) event. My mind focused on the letters VIP, an acronym most commonly associated with Very Important People. There are VIPs in any community, town, city or organization -- the policy makers, decision-makers, big time people! But who among us are the real VIPs in this volunteer undertaking?
I had my first volunteer experience with Hands On Manila in December, 2003. Together with other volunteers, we hosted the Breakfast for Streetchildren on Roxas Boulevard. It was scheduled for nine AM. For someone used to sleeping in on a weekend it took a little bit of a sacrifice to give up a few more hours of sleep. The all too familiar sound of my high school’s morning bell buzzed in my ear and I dragged myself and my daughter from underneath our cottony soft comforters. In a few more minutes, we were off in the cool comfort of our van.
We arrived at Jollibee and listened to our orientation as we waited for the children to arrive. Having done some charity work with rehabilitated street children before, I thought I was prepared for the experience. I was sickened by their sight! Barefooted and begging to be scrubbed, they walked sleepy-eyed into the breakfast room. Their stench filled every nook and cranny. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, I told myself, trying to apply my pilates instructor’s breathing technique, at the same time trying not to catch the smell of the children surrounding me.
I learned that some of them had not slept, selling sampaguita all night. I felt guilty not willingly giving up a few hours of sleep that morning. We mingled with them, and played games. We marveled at how they treasured their prizes, guarding them hawk-eyed, ready to pounce on anyone who might try to grab it from them. Breakfast was served, and I watched as one of them ate just half of his food. Wasn’t he hungry? I wondered. My heart bled as one of the facilitators told me he was taking the other half home to his family. I tried not to think how much food was wasted in my home.
Towards the end of the breakfast, I brought in the goody bags we had prepared. "Ate, may tsinelas ba sa loob, Ate?" one child asked. It started to drizzle outside. I was only too glad to include a pair of slippers and a raincoat in their bags. As we climbed back into our van, we realized how truly lucky we are to have all the comforts of life.
Kaya mo iyan
I have been teaching arts and crafts to street children at the Kaisahang Buhay Foundation (KBF) Center since January 2004. I started out with a group of volunteers but most of the time now, I am alone. Perhaps I have been remiss in reminding the other volunteers. Or perhaps they have become busy too. Sometimes I wonder if I should just give it up, but then who else will teach them?
"Gud apternun, Ate Minnie!" they greet me as I enter the room. It’s a different experience altogether as I stand in front of 25 to 30 children, all of five or six-years old. I’m transported back in time. I see myself in my kindergarten class trying to listen to what my teacher is saying, with eyes wide trying to watch every movement of her hand. I’m the teacher now, and I remind myself each time to make myself understood by the very young children.
I don’t remember each of their names, but I remember their faces. The wide-eyed girl who taps me on the arm asking if I brought coloring sheets for them. The boy whose eyelashes curl up almost touching his eyelids when he looks up to ask me if he’s doing his work right. The dark, chubby boy who, holding up his green caterpillar chain, excitedly shouts "Tapos na ako, Ate Minnie!" Even the girl who smiles pleasingly to herself, revealing black rotten teeth. And the boy who whines, "Hindi ko kaya, Ate!" to which I reply, "Kaya mo iyan!"
It’s quite a challenge to choose projects that are not too difficult for them to do, leaving them frustrated instead. But it’s very fulfilling to see the smiles on their faces after they've done something they thought they couldn’t do in the first place. Aside from developing their motor skills, we teach them to follow instructions while at the same time challenging their creativity. Some work faster than others, and a few are quite exceptional. But with a little bit of encouragement, we show them that, with discipline and perseverance, they can come up with artwork far beyond their imagination. Hopefully this will manifest in their later years when they dream and work to be whatever they want to be.
More importantly, they teach us to be more patient.
Sign your name
Although I’m a regular volunteer for KBF, I brought along my daughter and her group of friends one Sunday morning to Talking Hands as part of their school’s community service requirement. I can’t say which is more challenging.
Here we taught arts and crafts to hearing impaired people. We introduced ourselves with the little sign language our team leader taught us, and finger spelling that the girls were all too familiar with, and were each given our very own sign names. The girls thought this was so cool, and we communicated further through writing as we were paired off with them. We learned the hand gestures of some commonly used phrases, and later said our goodbyes using sign language.
This was quite an experience. This time we learned to not look at handicapped people as any different from ourselves. Whatever we can do, they can do, too, and God grants them strength to somehow make up for what they lack.
In each and every volunteer project I have joined, I have given up a little bit of my time to teach and share a part of my privileged existence. And in return, the experiences made me realize how much we can also learn from those less privileged. So, at this year’s event, as we Volunteer in Person, let us remember that the Very Important People here, our beneficiaries, are the very same people who keep us grounded and make us thankful for what we have.
Monday, October 16, 2006
A Tribute to My Mother
(Our parents have a great influence in our lives... we have Daddy’s girl and Mama’s boy. I am who I am because of my mother.)
I never once imagined or thought of my life without you. Now, you’re not well and I find myself reminiscing. I will always remember you in the lessons I learned from you.
You taught me to always look my best. I remember wearing pretty dresses with petticoats and ribbons especially made by Mary Esteban even just for Sunday mass. Party dresses were made even more special. Even as I grew older, you made me wear the finest dresses by Lorenzo. I will never forget that New Year’s Eve when I cried as you wouldn’t let me go out unless I wore the long dress you ordered for me. I guess you just wanted me to look the best I could ever be. You made me feel special as you excitedly helped me pick out my wedding dress, a simply elegant white gown designed by Malu Veloso with beads and sequins scattered on my long veil, softly glowing as I walked down the aisle illuminated by candle lights. I looked beautiful on my wedding day only because you chose the best artist for my hair and makeup. Most importantly, you taught me never to neglect myself even as I was already a wife and mother.
You taught me the joy of cooking. I remember helping you prepare our annual Christmas dinner since I was a child. I would mash sausages for your galantina until they were very fine, dice potatoes and cut chicken inch by inch, chop onions until tears fell from my eyes and mix these with other ingredients until my arms ached, careful not to mash them for that perfect chicken salad. I patiently drained each can of fruit cocktail and watched you prepare your own natilla, mix them together and crown your salad with swirls of cream, peaches and bright red cherries. I remember going with you to market during one New Year we spent in Baguio. I helped you prepare our meals, some of them very rich that Reggie couldn’t get out of bed one morning from all the food he ate. Of course, who can forget your special lengua, tender to the bite, melting in your mouth as it mixed with the flavors of white wine, mushrooms and capers. But I also marveled at how you could turn a simple soup into something very delicious.
I eventually took it up on my own, attending cooking lessons, the first one given by Tita Leni as her wedding present to me. I experimented with dishes, mixing instant tortellini with my own sauce until you passed on to me your pasta maker. I now truly enjoy cooking new dishes as I prepare our annual New Year dinner. You make me feel proud as you tell everyone each time that I’ve turned out to be a better cook.
You taught me to be independent. I remember you sending Vikki and I off on our first trip to the United States just before college. Although you made sure we had a place to stay, we were still left to plan our day, asking our aunts to help us book our tours, take us to the bus station and pick us up when we returned. I will always remember roaming around Disneyland by ourselves, at times separating from each other when we had our petty fights. We kept clicking away with our cameras only to discover upon our return that most of our pictures resembled post cards, with neither of us in them.
You taught me the value of education. I remember going to the University of the Philippines against my wishes even if I wasn’t accepted in my program of choice and was sent to the campus in Manila. I knew you only wanted the best for me. I stayed on but decided to pursue my other passions after I graduated. You became proud of me as I followed your footsteps and topped my airline training course. You became proud of me as I joined a group art exhibit with a few of my paintings, one of which prominently displayed and illuminated by the entrance, after having attended summer workshops, one of them with Tita Carol under the late Ibarra de la Rosa. You became proud of me when I finished my Interior Design classes with flying colors and applied what I learned in decorating your home, building my own beach house, designing Twinkie’s condominium and starting Booboop off on her renovation, choosing colors to match each one’s personality. You became proud of me as I now share my talent, teaching arts and crafts to underprivileged children. You became proud of me when I let you read my vignettes, each one written straight from the heart after attending a very enjoyable creative writing workshop. In everything I pursued, you made me proud of my small accomplishments.
It’s funny how you even approved of our boyfriends not by their looks but by their intelligence. And this is why you highly respect Reggie and have a special bond with him as he can outsmart you with his charm and intelligence.
You taught me hard work and perseverance. I remember burning the midnight oil as I studied for exams in college and finished my plates for my interior design classes even as I was too tired. I drank black coffee, cup after cup, savoring its heavy aroma as my eyelids became heavier partially covering my eyes like window shades. I demonstrated the same zest as I worked in a mortgage banking firm in the United States and at the New Zealand Embassy on my return, giving me confidence as I got promoted on both occasions. I continued to give my best as I became actively involved as a Parent Coordinator for Rianna’s batch in school and organized two major events, her Junior Prom and Graduation Dinner which she truly enjoyed. What better assurance can I get than when she approached me before she left the dinner and said “Thanks, Mom! That was so cool!” In all these, I realized that hard work pays off.
You taught me unconditional love. Even as words were not exchanged, you let me feel your love every time I read each card you gave me on every occasion. I want you to know how much I love you too. I can vividly see you standing at the bookstore, reading countless cards until you picked the right one with the words you wanted to say. I am angry at myself for not remembering where I placed them or did I even keep them? I just hope they will resurface one day among my piles of paper. I remember how you made me feel special as you personally baked my wedding cake, an old-fashioned fruit cake richly aged with brandy. I remember how you traveled to the United States to be by my side as I delivered Rianna and patiently played with Gino even as he jumped on your back and pulled the rollers off your hair. You even gifted me with strands of pearls twisted and clasped together with multi-colored stones set in gold. I felt so proud wearing it as I returned to work after my maternity leave. I have passed on this love to all my children, loving each of them dearly regardless of their achievements. I nurture and guide them, teaching them to follow their heart and be the best of what they want to be. And even as my marriage failed, my counselor reminded Reggie that he loved me because I let him be just himself.
You taught me to have great determination. I saw this in you as you recovered from your stroke. You refused to believe your doctor when he told you it will take some time before you could walk again. Even as you crawled on your knees and pulled yourself up against the wall each time you stumbled, you never lost hope. You proved your doctor wrong! And even as you are now on maintenance medication and at times you do not feel well, it’s amazing how you still manage to keep yourself fairly strong by engaging in what seems to be your form of exercise - cleaning your own house.
You taught me to be strong in times of trouble and to fight and stand for my rights. You worry that I might suffer the same fate as yours. Life is all about choices. I choose to be strong as I go through my marital breakup, seeking counseling for my own healing, accepting each other’s mistakes and moving on to become a better person. “Remember you gave me a book entitled ‘7 Habits of Highly Effective People’?” You may not know it but that book made me even stronger as it taught me how to keep myself deeply anchored on my values. You continue to make me see what is right and wrong and to rightfully hold on to my dignity.
You taught me forgiveness. Even if it took some time for you and Papa to become friends again, I see that love you once had for him when we’re all together each Saturday night. You continue to care for him, making sure you prepare a special dish for him and serve him at dinner. You have learned to accept his daughter, sending her gifts personally hand picked by you and inviting her to join us on special occasions. I have chosen to forgive Reggie and myself for all our faults but there is still that longing for complete healing which only God can give.
You taught me to enjoy life’s little pleasures even as we continue to age. I am so happy that we now manage to spend short vacations together. Baguio will always be your favorite place but you completely surprised me when you decided to join us in Boracay. I will always appreciate the fact that even if you never really enjoyed the beach, you agreed to come to be with us. Shopping for trinkets was your favorite pastime and you even made me feel like a special child once again when you gifted me with the very pretty sarong pants. Again, you made me look my best! I hope one day you can come with me when I visit Rianna in Cornell so we can bond again and share everything that’s special to us.
It’s funny how people say I’ve turned out to be the most like you. I just wish others would accept us for what we are and not what they want us to be. If people were to ask me what I want to change in me if I were to be reincarnated, I would say “Nothing!” Everything I learned, I learned from you. I am who I am because of you.
I never once imagined or thought of my life without you. Now, you’re not well and I find myself reminiscing. I will always remember you in the lessons I learned from you.
You taught me to always look my best. I remember wearing pretty dresses with petticoats and ribbons especially made by Mary Esteban even just for Sunday mass. Party dresses were made even more special. Even as I grew older, you made me wear the finest dresses by Lorenzo. I will never forget that New Year’s Eve when I cried as you wouldn’t let me go out unless I wore the long dress you ordered for me. I guess you just wanted me to look the best I could ever be. You made me feel special as you excitedly helped me pick out my wedding dress, a simply elegant white gown designed by Malu Veloso with beads and sequins scattered on my long veil, softly glowing as I walked down the aisle illuminated by candle lights. I looked beautiful on my wedding day only because you chose the best artist for my hair and makeup. Most importantly, you taught me never to neglect myself even as I was already a wife and mother.
You taught me the joy of cooking. I remember helping you prepare our annual Christmas dinner since I was a child. I would mash sausages for your galantina until they were very fine, dice potatoes and cut chicken inch by inch, chop onions until tears fell from my eyes and mix these with other ingredients until my arms ached, careful not to mash them for that perfect chicken salad. I patiently drained each can of fruit cocktail and watched you prepare your own natilla, mix them together and crown your salad with swirls of cream, peaches and bright red cherries. I remember going with you to market during one New Year we spent in Baguio. I helped you prepare our meals, some of them very rich that Reggie couldn’t get out of bed one morning from all the food he ate. Of course, who can forget your special lengua, tender to the bite, melting in your mouth as it mixed with the flavors of white wine, mushrooms and capers. But I also marveled at how you could turn a simple soup into something very delicious.
I eventually took it up on my own, attending cooking lessons, the first one given by Tita Leni as her wedding present to me. I experimented with dishes, mixing instant tortellini with my own sauce until you passed on to me your pasta maker. I now truly enjoy cooking new dishes as I prepare our annual New Year dinner. You make me feel proud as you tell everyone each time that I’ve turned out to be a better cook.
You taught me to be independent. I remember you sending Vikki and I off on our first trip to the United States just before college. Although you made sure we had a place to stay, we were still left to plan our day, asking our aunts to help us book our tours, take us to the bus station and pick us up when we returned. I will always remember roaming around Disneyland by ourselves, at times separating from each other when we had our petty fights. We kept clicking away with our cameras only to discover upon our return that most of our pictures resembled post cards, with neither of us in them.
You taught me the value of education. I remember going to the University of the Philippines against my wishes even if I wasn’t accepted in my program of choice and was sent to the campus in Manila. I knew you only wanted the best for me. I stayed on but decided to pursue my other passions after I graduated. You became proud of me as I followed your footsteps and topped my airline training course. You became proud of me as I joined a group art exhibit with a few of my paintings, one of which prominently displayed and illuminated by the entrance, after having attended summer workshops, one of them with Tita Carol under the late Ibarra de la Rosa. You became proud of me when I finished my Interior Design classes with flying colors and applied what I learned in decorating your home, building my own beach house, designing Twinkie’s condominium and starting Booboop off on her renovation, choosing colors to match each one’s personality. You became proud of me as I now share my talent, teaching arts and crafts to underprivileged children. You became proud of me when I let you read my vignettes, each one written straight from the heart after attending a very enjoyable creative writing workshop. In everything I pursued, you made me proud of my small accomplishments.
It’s funny how you even approved of our boyfriends not by their looks but by their intelligence. And this is why you highly respect Reggie and have a special bond with him as he can outsmart you with his charm and intelligence.
You taught me hard work and perseverance. I remember burning the midnight oil as I studied for exams in college and finished my plates for my interior design classes even as I was too tired. I drank black coffee, cup after cup, savoring its heavy aroma as my eyelids became heavier partially covering my eyes like window shades. I demonstrated the same zest as I worked in a mortgage banking firm in the United States and at the New Zealand Embassy on my return, giving me confidence as I got promoted on both occasions. I continued to give my best as I became actively involved as a Parent Coordinator for Rianna’s batch in school and organized two major events, her Junior Prom and Graduation Dinner which she truly enjoyed. What better assurance can I get than when she approached me before she left the dinner and said “Thanks, Mom! That was so cool!” In all these, I realized that hard work pays off.
You taught me unconditional love. Even as words were not exchanged, you let me feel your love every time I read each card you gave me on every occasion. I want you to know how much I love you too. I can vividly see you standing at the bookstore, reading countless cards until you picked the right one with the words you wanted to say. I am angry at myself for not remembering where I placed them or did I even keep them? I just hope they will resurface one day among my piles of paper. I remember how you made me feel special as you personally baked my wedding cake, an old-fashioned fruit cake richly aged with brandy. I remember how you traveled to the United States to be by my side as I delivered Rianna and patiently played with Gino even as he jumped on your back and pulled the rollers off your hair. You even gifted me with strands of pearls twisted and clasped together with multi-colored stones set in gold. I felt so proud wearing it as I returned to work after my maternity leave. I have passed on this love to all my children, loving each of them dearly regardless of their achievements. I nurture and guide them, teaching them to follow their heart and be the best of what they want to be. And even as my marriage failed, my counselor reminded Reggie that he loved me because I let him be just himself.
You taught me to have great determination. I saw this in you as you recovered from your stroke. You refused to believe your doctor when he told you it will take some time before you could walk again. Even as you crawled on your knees and pulled yourself up against the wall each time you stumbled, you never lost hope. You proved your doctor wrong! And even as you are now on maintenance medication and at times you do not feel well, it’s amazing how you still manage to keep yourself fairly strong by engaging in what seems to be your form of exercise - cleaning your own house.
You taught me to be strong in times of trouble and to fight and stand for my rights. You worry that I might suffer the same fate as yours. Life is all about choices. I choose to be strong as I go through my marital breakup, seeking counseling for my own healing, accepting each other’s mistakes and moving on to become a better person. “Remember you gave me a book entitled ‘7 Habits of Highly Effective People’?” You may not know it but that book made me even stronger as it taught me how to keep myself deeply anchored on my values. You continue to make me see what is right and wrong and to rightfully hold on to my dignity.
You taught me forgiveness. Even if it took some time for you and Papa to become friends again, I see that love you once had for him when we’re all together each Saturday night. You continue to care for him, making sure you prepare a special dish for him and serve him at dinner. You have learned to accept his daughter, sending her gifts personally hand picked by you and inviting her to join us on special occasions. I have chosen to forgive Reggie and myself for all our faults but there is still that longing for complete healing which only God can give.
You taught me to enjoy life’s little pleasures even as we continue to age. I am so happy that we now manage to spend short vacations together. Baguio will always be your favorite place but you completely surprised me when you decided to join us in Boracay. I will always appreciate the fact that even if you never really enjoyed the beach, you agreed to come to be with us. Shopping for trinkets was your favorite pastime and you even made me feel like a special child once again when you gifted me with the very pretty sarong pants. Again, you made me look my best! I hope one day you can come with me when I visit Rianna in Cornell so we can bond again and share everything that’s special to us.
It’s funny how people say I’ve turned out to be the most like you. I just wish others would accept us for what we are and not what they want us to be. If people were to ask me what I want to change in me if I were to be reincarnated, I would say “Nothing!” Everything I learned, I learned from you. I am who I am because of you.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Good Luck, Rianna
(When we finally accept the realization that we have to let go of our children, we can only pray that God will be on their side.)
I count the days ‘til you are gone
hoping that it will never come
I gave you wings and taught you how to fly
it’s time for me now to let you soar high
I wish it could be only just a while
until I see again your sweet smile
I’ll miss your warm body
beside me each night
your face against your blanket
as I kiss you goodnight
I lay myself now to sleep
holding back tears from my eyes
I can only pray to God
every day that you are gone
for the Lord to always be by your side
and to protect you from harm
to free you from loneliness
to guide you in your new journey
I shall now trust the Lord
in letting you pursue your dreams
in making you use your spiritual gifts
in the area of your heart’s desire
I shall now rest in peace
knowing this is God’s plan for you
I’ll count the days ‘til you return
when we can be together again
as we joyfully celebrate the holidays
and share your wonderful experience
Until I see you again
Good luck, my dearest Rianna
I count the days ‘til you are gone
hoping that it will never come
I gave you wings and taught you how to fly
it’s time for me now to let you soar high
I wish it could be only just a while
until I see again your sweet smile
I’ll miss your warm body
beside me each night
your face against your blanket
as I kiss you goodnight
I lay myself now to sleep
holding back tears from my eyes
I can only pray to God
every day that you are gone
for the Lord to always be by your side
and to protect you from harm
to free you from loneliness
to guide you in your new journey
I shall now trust the Lord
in letting you pursue your dreams
in making you use your spiritual gifts
in the area of your heart’s desire
I shall now rest in peace
knowing this is God’s plan for you
I’ll count the days ‘til you return
when we can be together again
as we joyfully celebrate the holidays
and share your wonderful experience
Until I see you again
Good luck, my dearest Rianna
Monday, October 09, 2006
So Long
(As we take on the role of doting mother, we wish that our children could forever be with us until we realize it’s time to let them go.)
This is a poem to my daughter, Rianna
whose confidence, independence and brilliance
never ceases to amaze me
Two fingers in her mouth and
blanket tucked inside her hand
quietly waiting for sleep to come
Excitedly waving goodbye
as she joined other “bunnies”
for the first time
Glancing at the audience
while delivering her yearend speech
She continues to show these in her later years
packing her bags
as she goes off with her peers
Bringing back memories
from summer camp to soccer camp
It’s now a few weeks before graduation
a few months before college in a foreign land
I now realize that for all that she has shown
we all know that it’s hard to let a child go
So I say this to you before you go
I can only pray that you will be fine
Until next time
you will always be on my mind
My dear daughter, Rianna
This is a poem to my daughter, Rianna
whose confidence, independence and brilliance
never ceases to amaze me
Two fingers in her mouth and
blanket tucked inside her hand
quietly waiting for sleep to come
Excitedly waving goodbye
as she joined other “bunnies”
for the first time
Glancing at the audience
while delivering her yearend speech
She continues to show these in her later years
packing her bags
as she goes off with her peers
Bringing back memories
from summer camp to soccer camp
It’s now a few weeks before graduation
a few months before college in a foreign land
I now realize that for all that she has shown
we all know that it’s hard to let a child go
So I say this to you before you go
I can only pray that you will be fine
Until next time
you will always be on my mind
My dear daughter, Rianna
Friday, October 06, 2006
The Sentimental Tourist
(Even as we try to forget our past, we sometimes hold on to fond memories long before they are gone.)
“Do you still remember our old house, Gino?” I asked my son, then eleven years old. We drove down the street and toward the end of the road he pointed to it beaming from ear to ear as if having just won a guessing game and with his still boyish voice excitedly shouted, “That’s our house!” There it was, 2139 Toronto Street, a charming little house we rented from Dr. and Mrs. E.E. Saulmon, looking exactly as it did when we left it five years ago. Of course none of it looked familiar to my five year old daughter, Rianna who was only a year old when we returned home. But to us it unleashed an avalanche of wonderful memories.
The big tree on the left side of the driveway reminds me of bags and bags of leaves raked during autumn. I see myself again disappearing through the familiar latticed porch leading us to the front door as we went home each day. I see the bedroom window from where I peeked out each morning to check if the school bus had arrived.
My husband and I left for the United States in 1985 with our two and a half year old son and settled in Falls Church, Virginia. It was a close fifteen to twenty minute drive to Washington D.C. where he was to take his Masters in Law at the Georgetown University. My daughter was subsequently born there in 1987 and so it was home to us for over three years.
We are on our first visit since we came home and we are tourists now. George Washington Parkway, the scenic route, was our preferred route then into Washington D.C. during weekends as it would take us straight into the city. It was a sight to behold in autumn’s splendor as the trees burst into vibrant hues of red, orange and gold transforming the landscape into a vast mural. However, when we landed jobs all in the Georgetown area we crossed Rosslyn Bridge straight onto the heart of Georgetown, M Street. It is a weekday now but hey, we’re not on our way to work anymore.
We joined hundreds of other people in our hunt for that ever elusive parking spot. We finally found one pretty much in the center of “The Mall”, where all the monuments stand. With cameras slung around our necks, we walked miles from one monument to another, taking snapshots never before taken. The Tulip Library made up for the relatively seeming drabness of the trees along George Washington Parkway as the flowers were at the crest of their loveliness during springtime. My children were lost in a sea of brilliant colored pretty, pretty flowers as I captured what was my favorite city during this season. We managed to catch a few of the remaining cherry blossoms around the Tidal Basin as they clung to their branches for the last few remaining days.
We stopped in silence for a few minutes at the Vietnam War Memorial and continued on with our trek until we were tired and weary. We didn’t realize there was so much more to see so we got our schedule organized for the remaining days. One day was reserved for visits to the Air and Space Museum, the Museum of Natural History and the Holocaust Museum, our choices from the many museums to choose from. We also scheduled a visit back to a more familiar site, Hains Pointe, to once again view “The Awakening”, a colossal sculpture of a man seeming to rise from the dead, his face, an arm, a hand, a foot and a knee jutting out from the ground. We were disappointed though to learn that the White House tour had already been discontinued.
Another day was yet reserved for a trip down memory lane where we showed our daughter places close to our hearts… the Arlington Hospital where she was born; St. James Catholic School were our son studied; St. James Church where we observed Sunday mass; Great Falls Park where we celebrated our children’s birthdays under one hot summer sun melting the cake and bursting balloons; the Bernard P. McDonough Hall at the Georgetown Law Center where my husband spent hours pursuing his Masters degree; the Georgetown University campus where my husband’s graduation ceremonies took place; the DRG Financial Corporation office building on 21st Street where I once worked which was now the Embassy of Venezuela; and the Washington Harbour where we spent some cool spring days. The children had once again a glimpse of their lives five years past in a foreign country, which were to me the best years of my life.
We were to return again in another five years to celebrate my parents-in-law’s golden wedding anniversary as one of my husband’s brothers had settled in Virginia. We no longer were the once eager tourists we were before but we found ourselves going back to 2139 Toronto Street. Sadly, it was no longer there. A new development had risen in the area with more upscale homes dotting the neighborhood. I wondered what happened to our neighbor Mrs. Brown, a very pleasant old lady who welcomed us into the neighborhood with a bottle of champagne and gave my daughter her very first teddy bear when she was born, brown with a red ribbon tied around its neck… the very same teddy bear she hugged and kept her secure all throughout her first long flight home.
2139 Toronto may no longer be there but Falls Church, Virginia and Washington D.C. will forever be in our minds. It’s not about monuments and museums visited by millions of tourists each year. For me it’s all about memories of barbecues spent with friends at the park and our backyard; of sandwiches shared with my husband over lunch at the Washington Harbour on a cool spring day as our offices were just two blocks apart; of apple picking trips to Culpeper where thousands of red apples shone from trees, transforming orchards into a virtual Christmas; of outdoor concerts at Reston Park, one of them by George Benson; of Washington’s Redskins football team Superbowl victory parties on M Street; of a sea of dried leaves waiting to be raked during autumn; of braving the cold winter standing in line one night outside Blues Alley, a bar in Georgetown, to watch Noel Pointer perform; of braving a snowstorm that descended upon us all too suddenly and caught the four of us sharing what was inside my son’s lunchbox, a peanut butter sandwich and a bag of chips, throughout the eight hour ordeal; of snowmen and countless snow balls formed during less severe winter days; of “Dandy”, the Valentine cruise we took with friends down Washington Bay in our finest dresses and tuxedo suits; or of just simply concocting our own fixings at our favorite Fuddruckers hamburger joint.
I can just go on and on reminiscing those wonderful days. The pictures I kept of 2139 Toronto will always remind me of all these precious memories. I hope to return to Virginia again one day and maybe even live there once again but in the meantime, I will just be a sentimental tourist each time I revisit.
“Do you still remember our old house, Gino?” I asked my son, then eleven years old. We drove down the street and toward the end of the road he pointed to it beaming from ear to ear as if having just won a guessing game and with his still boyish voice excitedly shouted, “That’s our house!” There it was, 2139 Toronto Street, a charming little house we rented from Dr. and Mrs. E.E. Saulmon, looking exactly as it did when we left it five years ago. Of course none of it looked familiar to my five year old daughter, Rianna who was only a year old when we returned home. But to us it unleashed an avalanche of wonderful memories.
The big tree on the left side of the driveway reminds me of bags and bags of leaves raked during autumn. I see myself again disappearing through the familiar latticed porch leading us to the front door as we went home each day. I see the bedroom window from where I peeked out each morning to check if the school bus had arrived.
My husband and I left for the United States in 1985 with our two and a half year old son and settled in Falls Church, Virginia. It was a close fifteen to twenty minute drive to Washington D.C. where he was to take his Masters in Law at the Georgetown University. My daughter was subsequently born there in 1987 and so it was home to us for over three years.
We are on our first visit since we came home and we are tourists now. George Washington Parkway, the scenic route, was our preferred route then into Washington D.C. during weekends as it would take us straight into the city. It was a sight to behold in autumn’s splendor as the trees burst into vibrant hues of red, orange and gold transforming the landscape into a vast mural. However, when we landed jobs all in the Georgetown area we crossed Rosslyn Bridge straight onto the heart of Georgetown, M Street. It is a weekday now but hey, we’re not on our way to work anymore.
We joined hundreds of other people in our hunt for that ever elusive parking spot. We finally found one pretty much in the center of “The Mall”, where all the monuments stand. With cameras slung around our necks, we walked miles from one monument to another, taking snapshots never before taken. The Tulip Library made up for the relatively seeming drabness of the trees along George Washington Parkway as the flowers were at the crest of their loveliness during springtime. My children were lost in a sea of brilliant colored pretty, pretty flowers as I captured what was my favorite city during this season. We managed to catch a few of the remaining cherry blossoms around the Tidal Basin as they clung to their branches for the last few remaining days.
We stopped in silence for a few minutes at the Vietnam War Memorial and continued on with our trek until we were tired and weary. We didn’t realize there was so much more to see so we got our schedule organized for the remaining days. One day was reserved for visits to the Air and Space Museum, the Museum of Natural History and the Holocaust Museum, our choices from the many museums to choose from. We also scheduled a visit back to a more familiar site, Hains Pointe, to once again view “The Awakening”, a colossal sculpture of a man seeming to rise from the dead, his face, an arm, a hand, a foot and a knee jutting out from the ground. We were disappointed though to learn that the White House tour had already been discontinued.
Another day was yet reserved for a trip down memory lane where we showed our daughter places close to our hearts… the Arlington Hospital where she was born; St. James Catholic School were our son studied; St. James Church where we observed Sunday mass; Great Falls Park where we celebrated our children’s birthdays under one hot summer sun melting the cake and bursting balloons; the Bernard P. McDonough Hall at the Georgetown Law Center where my husband spent hours pursuing his Masters degree; the Georgetown University campus where my husband’s graduation ceremonies took place; the DRG Financial Corporation office building on 21st Street where I once worked which was now the Embassy of Venezuela; and the Washington Harbour where we spent some cool spring days. The children had once again a glimpse of their lives five years past in a foreign country, which were to me the best years of my life.
We were to return again in another five years to celebrate my parents-in-law’s golden wedding anniversary as one of my husband’s brothers had settled in Virginia. We no longer were the once eager tourists we were before but we found ourselves going back to 2139 Toronto Street. Sadly, it was no longer there. A new development had risen in the area with more upscale homes dotting the neighborhood. I wondered what happened to our neighbor Mrs. Brown, a very pleasant old lady who welcomed us into the neighborhood with a bottle of champagne and gave my daughter her very first teddy bear when she was born, brown with a red ribbon tied around its neck… the very same teddy bear she hugged and kept her secure all throughout her first long flight home.
2139 Toronto may no longer be there but Falls Church, Virginia and Washington D.C. will forever be in our minds. It’s not about monuments and museums visited by millions of tourists each year. For me it’s all about memories of barbecues spent with friends at the park and our backyard; of sandwiches shared with my husband over lunch at the Washington Harbour on a cool spring day as our offices were just two blocks apart; of apple picking trips to Culpeper where thousands of red apples shone from trees, transforming orchards into a virtual Christmas; of outdoor concerts at Reston Park, one of them by George Benson; of Washington’s Redskins football team Superbowl victory parties on M Street; of a sea of dried leaves waiting to be raked during autumn; of braving the cold winter standing in line one night outside Blues Alley, a bar in Georgetown, to watch Noel Pointer perform; of braving a snowstorm that descended upon us all too suddenly and caught the four of us sharing what was inside my son’s lunchbox, a peanut butter sandwich and a bag of chips, throughout the eight hour ordeal; of snowmen and countless snow balls formed during less severe winter days; of “Dandy”, the Valentine cruise we took with friends down Washington Bay in our finest dresses and tuxedo suits; or of just simply concocting our own fixings at our favorite Fuddruckers hamburger joint.
I can just go on and on reminiscing those wonderful days. The pictures I kept of 2139 Toronto will always remind me of all these precious memories. I hope to return to Virginia again one day and maybe even live there once again but in the meantime, I will just be a sentimental tourist each time I revisit.
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