Child-Friendly Weekend in the Heart of Manila: Loving Lucky Chinatown Mall

The squeaky clean facade of the new Lucky Chinatown Mall.

I guess we're just lucky.  Oliver and I love going to the heart of Manila, in bustling Chinatown, where there's a vibrant pulse, and an infectious frenetic pace; where a dizzying spread of goods on offer are stupefyingly cheap.  Divisoria is legendary for being crazy crowded, and its not well-known for being child-friendly.  But we're lucky.  Chinatown is the newest child-friendly destination on Manila's Map, thanks to the conveniences provided by the new Lucky Chinatown Mall.  It's a spanking new mall that sits dead smack in the center of Binondo. 

Above:Binondo Church, en route to Lucky Chinatown Mall.

Dragon-adorned gate/archway signaling our entry into Chinatown proper.

It almost sneaks up on you without warning.  Driving there, we pass through the usual landmarks: Spanish-era Binondo church, old Manila buildings, and dragon-adorned entrance arches welcoming us to Chinatown.  Parking used to be a problem, in the narrow and congested streets.  Just the thought of finding parking was enough to put me off in the past.  But not anymore. Lucky Chinatown Mall comes with several levels of parking.  While a shiny new mall may stick out like a sore thumb in the historic quarter, I for one, welcome it as an idea whose time has come.  The mall isn't there to displace Divisoria's distinct shopping scene - rather - it is there to supplement it.  I can imagine a symbiotic relationship between the sanitized experience offered by Lucky Chinatown Mall, and the grittier bargaining mecca just outside. 

The glass panels above the mall's main entrance.

"Let a Hundred Flowers Blossom.  Weed Through the Old To Bring Forth the New" so says a decorative decal posted on the grand glass panels above the Mall's main entrance.  It's a fitting Chinese saying, appropriate for this part of Manila, an area with the (unverified) distinction of being the oldest Chinatown in the world - established in the 1590s by the Spanish colonizers.  Don't get me wrong. I'm not in favor of huge malls popping up everywhere (a hundred malls blossoming in the city is a scary thought for me, specially from an environmental standpoint!) And I find it lamentable when a huge mall opens up and kills smaller businesses - those independent family-run stores that have more character and are more in tune with local culture.

The Mall's Main Entrance.

But something tells me this won't be the case in Binondo.  Lucky Chinatown Mall's target market, and the kinds of stuff they sell do not compete with the stuff sold in Divisoria. To begin with, their food and merchandise tend to be pricey upmarket brands (think: Apple Store, Bread Talk, Crocs, UCC, to name a few).  They certainly have a steady supply of buyers from the locale - rich Chinese who own businesses in the area. 

 A "street performer" stationed in air-conditioned comfort at the mall's main atrium.

For Oliver and I, the mall itself is not the final destination.  It is a jump-off point, a base camp of sorts, where we'd park our car (and our kids!), before running off to bargain country next door. Oliver would weave his way through the fruit stalls on the streets, and buy several kilos of ultra-juicy Sagada oranges, a heavy load he'd deposit in our parked car.  Our kids are happy at Lucky Chinatown Mall, and have plenty of things to do while waiting for us to return from our mad dash outside. At the main atrium by the entrance, there were entertaining "street" performers - you know those types that station themselves in plazas and busy boulevards abroad - decked in costumes and pretending to be statues, still and unmoving, until some money is dropped onto their buckets/hats/tip boxes to trigger some movement.  There's a section of the mall with stores for children's fashion, and they can also spend time at the toy store and bookstore.  There's also a very nice, new cinema; a gaming arcade;  and plenty of places to eat at (there are even promos for kids to eat for free on weekends at some restaurants).  

 Narra and Guijo enjoying their noodle soup.

Salmon Roe - Nido Soup.

The Chinese food at King Chef (second floor above the entrance) is fast becoming our favorite.  Narra and Guijo were so excited with their noodle soup they were standing on their seats - every bite was executed with flourish - strands were pulled off the bowl with a fork, and slurped inch by inch from end to end (for Guijo this is accompanied with clapping and foot stomping, and happy baby babbling).  Narra also loves fishing out quail eggs from the salmon-roe-nido soup.  She's also a fan of prawns so we ordered some for her, and when they arrived, they looked particularly appetizing! They lay on a bed of tea leaves, ensconced in a striking basket-like-wrap woven "solihiya style".  It was a gastronomic feast and a cultural experience.

Prawns  on a bed of cooked tea leaves, ensconced in a solihiya-weave cone.

After our satisfying lunch, the adults in the group (that's Oliver, myself, and his sister Rina with her personal assistant in tow) parted ways with Lola Mama and the children who stayed in the mall supervised by their yayas.  We strolled - or should I say sprinted - outside.  I couldn't help but appreciate the juxtaposition between old and new.  I saw the  real estate developments towering over the usual river of colorful umbrellas. As soon as we turned the corner - the salty-sweet-sour stench of grimy streets assaulted my nostrils. The cacophony of sounds accompanying the chaotic hustle of a classic Divisoria weekend unfolded before our eyes.  And that made me glad.  Manila is alive and kicking, and we are at its heart, and it beats to its own rhythm.  I felt like a tourist, visiting my country (even if I was just here recently).

Salted prawns on a bed of crunchy tea leaves.

One can tell the area is on the cusp of an urban development facelift.  "Welcome to Chinatown Walk" it says on a huge window. And already, the facades of newer buildings can be seen though they have yet to open their doors to the public.  Here's my hope: that we do not turn the Philippines into Singapore. I've lived in Singapore long enough to respect it, and admire it for all the things it has achieved as a country in such a short time, but I found myself missing the Philippines while I was there - I missed our vibe, our rhythm, our chaos - those things that slipped out of control - the small enterprises that sprout  from the ground and blossom in all corners... I missed those real things that develop on their own - unplanned - those entrepreneural expressions that are organic rather than organized.  It's not the new mall per se that excites me, but the fact that it is here, amidst all this!  This mall has made the gem that is Divisoria ever more accessible.  The mall is there, for a measure of sanity - and sanitized toilets; but it is not there to take the place of the real reason one goes to this part of town to begin with. 

A view from a back street:Lucky Chinatown Mall's Upper Parking floors.

So here's our plan: We will come to Lucky Chinatown Mall with our kids.  We will patronize the mall, by paying for parking, and doing our groceries there, and eating at their restaurants, and watching in their cinemas, and buying stuff we need from their stores - but we will also always venture outside, for those things they do not offer - those things sold wholesale by the dozen, for fruits and other merchandise that do not find their way to grocery stores.  

The new Chinatown Walk in the heart of Manila.

When my father first saw Manila, he was 6, it was 1950, his father took him on a long bus ride from Nueva Ecija, and he was enthralled with the stately old buildings in Sta. Cruz, as he walked by his father's side, wide-eyed.  Now, it is 2012, and I get to bring my young kids here - it's only a short ride away, and we land on a stroller-friendly air-conditioned mall. But just outside, one gets a whiff of the same spirit of commerce my father saw in 1950 - it's that indefatigable spirit that remains alive from centuries past, from the Chinese trading post the Spanish colonizers established in 1590.  Who knew a new mall can make one think of history?  

So friends and family in Manila, if you haven't visited yet - Chinatown beckons anew! Go! 

A Pleasant Drive to Animal Island

Cavite-Manila Expressway all to ourselves.

Sometimes, it's the journey that counts more than the destination.  This was the case a couple of weekends ago when we ventured a bit further down Roxas boulevard, and continued on to Cavite to visit Animal Island.  It was our first time to travel on the Manila-Cavite Expressway or CAVITEX.  Creatures of habit that we are, we tend to frequent only our usual stretch of Roxas, without any inclination to see what's beyond.  Sometimes, the nearer it is, the weaker the motivation to explore. I was glad  though, that on that particular Saturday we decided to try a new route. As soon as we were on CAVITEX  I was amazed at how quickly the scenery changed!  From urban pollution and congestion to wide-open space in a matter of minutes!  It felt surreal.  Ours was the only vehicle on the expressway.  It felt as though Manila Bay was unfurling its beauty for us, and us alone.   On one side of the road was the majestic horizon, where Manila bay flows into the wide open sea.  On the other side, was a stretch of water, where indigenous houses on stilts lined the coast.  The image of the fishing village triggered recollections from childhood.

Dwellings of fisher folk along CAVITEX.

Throughout the 1980's, we frequently passed through the old Coastal Road en route to Sangley Point in Cavite where my father was then the commander of the Naval Air Group.  When the Armed Forces was on Red Alert - which was often in those tumultuous times of frequent coup d'etats - my dad couldn't leave the military base, and we'd had to drive from Manila to visit him on weekends.  I remember the ride, done in still non-aircon vehicles, with the scent (or stench) of the sea serving as olfactory signposts along the way. Seeing this fishing village now, decades later, is quite comforting.  It is good to know that new developments further up the road - like the massive Mall of Asia Complex, among others, haven't completely displaced resilient pockets of older ways of life.  Beneath the massive electric lines, and billboards that dominate the skyline, these houses on bamboo stilts are visible expressions of our island Southeast Asian culture, a culture that tends to be overshadowed by the prevalence in Manila's streets of perhaps too many a fast-food franchise.   It felt good to be driving no more than 5 minutes from Manila, and not seeing a Macdonald's or Starbuck's at every turn (although the huge Jollibee billboard in the background was a a reminder that we're still just on the edge of city limits).  We were headed to Island Cove, to check out the zoo within the premises, called Animal Island.  To tour the place, visitors could either use their own vehicles, or ride the shuttle, or hire a horse-drawn carriage. Given that it was a hot day, we chose to use our own car.

At Animal Island: Guijo and Yaya Jen looking at an ostrich.

We drove by an aviary but decided not to stop.  We could have parked the car and walked around a bit if we wanted to see the birds up close, but we decided to continue driving around.  Animals like ostrich, sheep, and wild boar, were in confined in huge enclosures made of see-through wire fences.  Our kids enjoyed pointing at the animals from the comforts of our car.  At one point, Yaya Gigi, our new nanny, asked "Totoo ba yan?" (is that real?).  She was referring to a poker faced ostrich, with head held still, mouth closed, unmoving, staring straight at our car.    When we passed by the wild boar, and sheep, she didn't ask the question again. They were more obviously alive - munching away and flicking their tails.

The wild boar exhibit.

We finally rode up to Animal Island's Crocodile Farm at the far end.  We parked the car and walked up to the visitor's center, a spacious bungalow with a high ceiling and a thatched roof. It's walls are made of logs of wood - so it feels very rustic. There's a small store inside, sari-sari store like, with snacks and cold drinks for sale.  There's also a comfort room, that's on the shabby and neglected side.  To be sure, Animal Island is not pristine, and is overgrown in parts, and run-down in others.  It isn't going to land on the "Pride of the Philippines" list.  But it meets the objective of giving the public a space for observing animals.  Narra and Guijo were oblivious to the things I was looking at. They were looking only at the animals, and the fun stuff to play with.  While I was being a no-fun adult, looking at details.

The visitor's center for entering the Crocodile Farm at Animal Island.

There was a modest exhibit in the bungalow, and  there were also picture taking opportunities with a tiny croc (with it's jaw taped shut for safety), and a large snake (too big for comfort to carry near my babies).  There were a few wooden standees and a rocking horse made of wood that Narra enjoyed playing and posing with. 

Narra, my little butterfly.

Guijo, meanwhile, had no fear of touching the croc on display.  And he was likewise enthralled with the Iguana inside an aquarium.  Again, Yaya Gigi asked "Totoo ba yan?" (Is that real?).   It seemed to me to be a stuffed Iguana, the handiwork of a really god taxidermist.  Alive or dead I didn't like seeing him get too near it.  My fears intensified further when we proceeded to the crocodile pens.  I had this irrational fear that my kids may somehow fall into the water.

Guijo, the tiny Croc, and the stuffed Iguana.

It didn't help that many of the crocs were sunning themselves with their jaws wide open, with their sharp teeth displayed in full glory.  On the other side of the croc pens, is a little "island", more like a piece of land surrounded by a ring of water, called "Monkey Island".  It houses a few free-roaming monkeys.  I can't help imagine the scene in my head of monkeys being plucked by crocs jumping out of the water.  To be honest, this exposure trip to Animal Island was not boring. For me, it was unnerving. A certain mother's instinct kicked in, and I felt the sensation of protectiveness swelling from within me. I was on edge. Alert. Not relaxed, at all. I had my doubts about the safety features in the premises.  I was worried ostrich would spit, monkeys would scratch faces, horses would kick, crocs' jaws would snap, and dead iguanas would thrust their tongues out. 

When it was time to go, I felt relieved. On our way out of Animal Island, we saw this view of Manila's skyline.  We were on the opposite side of Manila Bay, and we could see our side of the city in the horizon.  It's hard to believe I live so near the bay, just a block down from the water!!  It is a daily fact I tend to forget when I'm negotiating lanes with buses and jeepneys.  We lingered a bit, on the intersection, to take in the view of our home from a whole new vantage point.  I could imagine how astronauts feel when they see the earth from space.  Haha - ok, it's no comparison. But it was a cool feeling, to see theshore from the angle of the sea, when one's used to seeing things from the angle of the shore.  So back we went to Manila via CAVITEX again.  We drove by the sea, in the wind, with the sunroof open. And had a pleasant drive. 

A view of Manila on the horizon. From the other side of Manila Bay.

"The King and I" in Manila, Something Wonderful

Narra, posing with the elephant and the King.

My mother loved musical theater and made sure my sister and I grew up exposed to her favorite Rodgers and Hammerstein classics such as The Sound of Music, Carousel, Oklahoma!, South Pacific, Flower Drum Song, and of course, The King and I.  These are shows we've seen over and over at various points in our lives.  In the 1980's, these titles were borrowed from the Betamax rental shop a few streets  away, and watched in succession.  Later, they were borrowed in VHS - then on Laser Disc in the early 90's - then on VCD at Videocity in the late 90's until it became cheaper to just buy our own DVD's, or even better - to just download them on our computers.  It is as though we domesticated new technology and confirmed their official residency in our homes through a ritual-like viewing of time-honored classics. Now, in our effort to take a piece of home with us, wherever we go, we find these family favorites in our mobile devices: Ipods, Ipads, and Iphones. It is amazing how these shows, produced in the 1940s-50s, continue to remain relevant through fast-changing times.  A few weekends back, my family had the chance to experience some Rodgers and Hammerstein magic, yet again, in another format: live, on stage, at Resorts World Manila's Newport Performing Arts Theater.  It was Narra's turn to get to know The King and I.

With Narra and Guijo...and an elephant.

I was excited for my daughter.  My sister and I eagerly anticipated her turning 3 so she could be old enough to meet the age requirement to gain entry to the theater.  Last year, the Sound of Music was playing at Resorts World, and we lamented the fact that we couldn't bring Narra with us.  This year, I could take her at last - but I couldn't bring my 1-year old Guijo with me! My poor baby boy, he could already sense when he's being left out! Good thing my supportive parents offered to watch him.  My ever resourceful folks made a career out of maximizing their Resorts World membership cards, and they strategically accumulated enough credits to redeem a complimentary stay at Remington Hotel across the street so that they can enjoy playing with Guijo at their hotel room, while we watched our show.  So I felt as though both kids had a special night out. Narra had a girls' theater night with me and her aunts and grand aunts, while Guijo had an exclusive date with his grandparents.  

Boy's Night Out at Remington Hotel: Lolo Walter watches Guijo.

When we watch something familiar, something we've seen repeatedly since childhood, we get a chance to take stock of how we've changed.  Our perspectives shift over time, and we notice things we didn't pay attention to before, or understand old scenes in new ways.  Take the musical, the Sound of Music, for instance.  As a kid, I could relate to My Favorite Things, and the Do-Re-Mi song, and I Have Confidence.  While my mother, if I remember correctly, could most relate with the song I Must Have Done Something Good.  Last year, when we watched the Sound of Music live, I found myself tearing up at the song Climb Every Mountain.  I had a particularly difficult year, full of trials, and the lyrics hit home. "When God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window"... how many times have I heard that line uttered by Maria before?  I've lived a charmed life of open doors for most of my life, until last year, when for the first time, a door that mattered to me dearly, closed without warning.  Many lovely people quickly came forward offering me precious windows of opportunity soon after.  So that scene, when a distraught Maria sought her Mother Superior's counsel, struck a chord, like it never had  before.

Narra and her aunts. With the Serranilla sisters, and our family's        
"patron of the arts", my sis Marion, who bought all our tickets! Thanks sis!

So with the King and I, I was curious to see how I would see this musical now.  If this was a few years ago and I was still writing my dissertation, and taking my graduate courses on Southeast Asian history, art, and politics.... oh dear, I would have scrutinized the show from a post-colonial angle of vision and would have probably cringed in my seat throughout the show.  But that night, I saw the musical not as an academic, but as a teacher.  I could relate with Mrs. Anna's anxiety at having to teach children who spoke a different language.  Some 11 years ago, while on break from  our graduate studies in Spain, my sister and I taught English at a summer soccer camp in Valencia. Yes, it was a soccer (or should I say futbol) camp that had the special attraction of offering English lessons sandwiched between football drills. My sister got to handle the teen-agers, I was assigned to the energetic little kids ages 5 to 8.  Woohoo!!  They would all shout "Nikki! Nikki!", and crowd around me, when I arrived. And while I knew how to teach, and knew how to speak English and Spanish - oh dear, their energy overwhelmed me - going to work daily required a lot of courage.  So when Mrs. Anna was singing the line "I whistle a happy tune, so noone would suspect I'm afraid"... and she faced the King's many children, I just had to chuckle.

It was also the first time I saw The King and I as a wife.  And from this angle, of being a married woman, one song in particular, stood out - and I swear, it seemed like I heard it for the first time, even if I've watched The King and I countless times before.  It was a song sung by the King's head wife, Lady Thiang, as she asked Anna to help the King.  Entitled "Something Wonderful", the verses went:

This is a man you'll forgive and forgive,

And help protect, as long as you live...

He will not always say

What you would have him say,

But now and the he'll do

Something

Wonderful

You'll always go along,

Defend him where he's wrong

And tell him, when he's strong

He is

Wonderful

He'll always need your love

A man who needs your love

Can be

Wonderful

I couldn't help but think of my wonderful husband Oliver, who was not by my side because of another business trip.  His crazy-busy workload and packed travel calendar isn't something I take against him.  He needs my support and understanding, and that's wonderful!  I do what I can to make sure he doesn't have to suffer the consequences of absence, for I only know too well, the depth of sacrifice and the pains of separation the overseas Filipino worker feels.  Not that Oliver is an overseas worker, though it can feel that way at times, when he's gone half of the time even if he's supposed to be Philippine-based.  So I protect him by seriously investing my time in some painstaking storytelling.  Whenever he travels, my children will hear stories of where he went, and what he did. They will see pictures on the internet of the hotel where he stayed, and see on a map the path his flight took.  We anticipate his arrival with a countdown. Narra keeps asking why he needs to be away, and I tell the truth - the long version: about the nature of his work; the effort it entails; why he does it; and the rewards we get to enjoy; ... how much he misses us while he's gone; how tired he must be upon his return (and why we should smother him with hugs and kisses).  When we watched The King and I, it was my birthday weekend, and Oliver was so sorry he missed my special day.  But it was so easy to forgive him... especially since...

...Now and then, he'd do something wonderful. 

Like when he'd ask me to travel with him.  Last year, when I was 7 months pregnant with Guijo, he invited me to join him in Bangkok.  I had a week to rest my aching back and throbbing feet, and slept as he worked away.  After work hours, we'd go on lovely dinner dates.  It was something wonderful. The year before, he took me to Bali.  At least once a year, he takes time off, extends his business trip a few days, so we can spend time together. So where are we going this year?

Oliver and I, in Bangkok, while I was 7 months pregnant with Guijo.

The night we returned home from watching The King and I,  an email was waiting for me at home. It was from Oliver, who was coincidentally in Thailand at the time.  The email contained my birthday gift written in a sentence: "Come with me to Barcelona". Woohoo! Viva España! It's a chance to return to a country I briefly called home ten years ago - a foreign place - the first country overseas I lived in on my own... Spain to me, is what Thailand probably was to Mrs. Anna.  A strange place where you become the strange person.  That's how my brain works: a musical premised on the adventures of a European lady who traveled in Asia, makes me think of my experiences as an Asian in Europe.

And Lady Thiang's song, expressing love for her king, makes me think of my own husband, and those things he does, that are just wonderful.

I Hope All Dogs Go To Heaven

Kira outside our home in  Lipa, Batangas. 2009.

Only now, do I allow myself to grieve.  Monday it was, when we were told the incomprehensible news that our dog, Kira, just died.  We just went to the grocery. She was barking as usual. She ate her dog food as she normally does.  When we were gone, she too, left - for good. She took a nap, and didn't wake up.  There wasn't even time to say good-bye, and thank you, and sorry.  And I did not grieve then.  I had a job interview the next day, and had to prepare my teaching-demo.  I realize now, how good I am at blocking off emotions, and focusing on what I need to get done.  I proceeded with my day as though nothing had happened.  But today, I release what I blocked off yesterday, and as I write this, I feel not only Kira's loss, but all those other dogs I've lost in my life.  In some ways, the heart learns with practice, like all other muscles of the body, it has memory, and it toughens up over time.  It becomes strong and resilient - but not numb.  The pain is still felt.  I know the drill. I will cry and mourn, and it will pass.  I will add her to the list of souls to look for in the after life.

Kira and I, both pregnant. Lipa, 2009.

When I told Narra the news, she asked: "Is it the mama dog that died?".  She sees our dogs as a reflection of our family configuration: there's a papa dog, mama dog, and baby dogs.  "Yes"..."the Mama died".  And I felt it in my gut.  Kira was my canine counterpart. I was pregnant when Oliver got her as a mate for his German Shepherd.  Soon, she was pregnant too.  After I gave birth, she too gave birth to 6 pups.  We were both first time moms.  When Kira came, she was this beautiful creature, agile and strong, and so smart! She was trained to follow commands, not just to sit and shake hands, but also to jump up the fence, and to patrol it! She'd strut on our wall, a vision of poise, confidence, and balance.  Oh how we admired her! She reeked of youth and energy.  After she gave birth though, her body sagged, and breast feeding her brood seemed to take its toll.  I commiserated with her then, and saw in her, a bit  of myself and what I was going through.  I remember this moment, I sat on the steps outside the house, and just looked into her eyes, and told her "hang in there, Kira, it will all be fine", she was resting, her loose tummy collapsing to the floor as she lay on her side.  

Kira, patrolling our fence, on command. 2009.

Dogs giving birth.  They seem to be a recurring fixture in my life line.  SANDY.  In Spain in 2001, my sister Marion, picked a stray dog and made her family, we called her Sandy (after the scruffy dog in Annie).  She turned out to be pregnant - and that was a headache - we looked for a new home for her and her pups, and found a Filipina friend with a farm in Denmark! The day before the road trip to her new home, she gave birth! To 4 puppies. But apparently 3 more puppies were left in her tummy. She was slowly dying from the complication.  We ran to the vet, she was operated on, our savings from teaching English all summer disappeared in a flash. Dog and puppies, and all our belongings were packed in the car, and we began our road trip from Spain, through France, and Germany, to the the north of Denmark! Aalborg it was, where our friends Cynthia and Erik agreed to take in Sandy and her puppies.  I was bottle feeding the puppies on the road, while hand-feeding Sandy who was recovering from her operation.  One puppy died in my hands, he was the runt in the pack and simply didn't want to open its mouth to feed.  I couldn't offer life to a creature who didn't want to live. We buried it on the side of the road somewhere in France - or Germany. When we arrived in Denmark, I had to leave her there - the dog for whom I felt so much love.  She was barking hysterically when I turned around and walked away.  We had a long road trip back to Spain - and I saw the rest of Germany, Austria, Italy, and France through teary eyes. 

Kira's pups, 1-day old. 2009.

COLLETTE. Christmas day, 2010. She was pregnant, and had just given birth to two puppies.  We couldn't find a vet anywhere, it being Christmas eve.  Collette, our smart and bubbly poodle, had given birth before and she was an excellent mother. She'd lick her pups and feed them.  But something was wrong.  This time, she didn't even lift her head. She didn't open her eyes. I tried to coax her to fight to live.  By midnight, she was gone. She left us her Christmas orphans, and we tried to keep them warm and desperately tried to get them to feed.  They didn't make it through the night.  It was a very sad Christmas.  My parents are still caring lovingly for Collete's kin that's left with us.

I can only imagine how Oliver feels about losing Kira.  He has his own life stories of great connections with his canine companions, stories that are only his to tell.  I talk to Oliver about everything - almost, but death and loss always leaves me tongue tied.  I never quite know what to say to him, or how, or whether I should even bring it up. So I keep quiet. Because it seems the right thing to do when one has no words of comfort to offer anyway.  There's a void. A gap. A hole. An emptiness. There's an empty spot where she used to sit. There's death. She's not just a dog, she's family, and she's gone.  

Kira, I am sorry I was unable to say a proper good-bye.  If I had the chance, I'd say sorry I neglected you. I'd say thank you for spending time with us. I'd say I love you for being the inspiring and beautiful specimen you are. I'd say, I will miss you, and always remember you, like all our other dogs, wonderful creatures all, who came into our lives and made us better people.  You were a very good dog, and deserve, in every way, to be in heaven.  So, I guess this is it. Good-bye.

On Turning 35 and How I Celebrated My Birthday at Mystic Brew

Birthday Moment at Mystic Brew, with an old friend, and new dreams.

It is said that we go through a maturation process that follows a 7-year cycle.  Physically, the human body is believed to undergo a process of cellular regeneration that is completed in 7 years.  Like snakes shedding off old skin, we grow a new set of scales to protect us for another round of exposure to life's elements. At 7 we shed off baby skin and we become children; at 14 we shed off childhood and enter into puberty; at 21 we shed off puberty and enter adulthood... we explore the world, and champion revolutions; at 28 - we shed off our being vagabonds and become settlers: we settle down to work, no longer in adventurous experimentation, but towards gaining expertise - and stability; at 35 - we become established in our ways, and become part of the establishment we rebelled against when we were 21. We become conservative in our ways, and in our views.   I first read about these stages in an Osho Zen book entitled "Maturity"  - a serendipitous purchase at Power Books bought when I was 21. I was then leaving Manila, to study and live abroad to start my great adventure romancing the world.  I read the book cover to cover, and promised to return to it every 7 years.  When I returned to the book at 28 - I was contemplating marriage, returning home, and settling down - and the book helped me figure out my plans. So here I am now at 35. I am reading the book again.  It felt like conversing with an old friend. So much so that it made me want to do exactly that on my birthday. I called an old friend, and celebrated my day with a life conversation.

With Tristan: birthday conversation at the table of unlimited potential.

Oliver was away on a business trip.  If he were in town, I would've celebrated my birthday with him and our kids, for sure! But he wasn't in town. And I didn't want to do a "family" celebration without him - it wouldn't feel right - it would feel incomplete. I was going to wait for his return for a belated celebration so we could all be together.  My sister was away on a business trip too, so even my old family of four wasn't complete either! I spent the daytime with my parents and children - the two people I came from - and the two people that came from me. It was lovely being with them, as always - since we are together a lot, us 5 in this loving configuration of 3 generations. But by night time, I wanted to do something different on my special day. I called my best friend from college days, Tristan.  He was at his cafe - the one he owns - the one I haven't had the time to visit because it is located far from my routine paths. It's called Mystic Brew. A magickal name for a magickal place.  And over generous servings of ginger-laced coffee, we had a wicked conversation, about being 35.  

It is believed that the association centers of the brain come to their peak efficiency at around this age - so this is when the creative process of the mind is arguably at its most active.  Associations - or connections - how things are related - our minds are able to perceive them better - we get a clearer sense of how things work - we understand a lot more now, about individual parts and how they relate to the whole.  At 35, I am seeing connections - between past and present, present and future.  It is a time of great insights, and revelations.  I understand my parents now, and the choices they made, like I never have before. Especially those of my mother, my dear mother whose depth of sacrifice I am only just coming to know fully.  All these new discoveries, I was dying to share with my old friend.  

A powerful corner, outside Mystic Brew, a spot where time stands still.

With Tristan, I have eloquently outlined my ambitions from 21 to 28 - at the height of our friendship - we've spun the fabric of our dreams thread by thread, in each others' presence. Like an unfinished weave left hanging on the loom, are our life conversations, they are continuing projects to be completed only at death. Through the length of our friendship we've seen how new colors worked their way into our designs. Oliver started out as a single thread, that found his way into my life's pattern, a thread that soon dominated the picture, then Narra came, then Guijo, defining threads woven in interlocking stitches. I cannot speak of my life, without speaking of them.  Some old colors are slowly disappearing from view, the green thread that was once the main color in my life's design, the thread of my story with  De La Salle, has frayed and weakened, and I am deciding whether to snip it off, or pull it out, or to work it back into my story, with bullish determination to repair what was ripped apart, and to fight for an old dream with tighter knots this time.  Either that, or I let go of the old dream, and celebrate the start of new ones, embracing new colors to weave.  Tristan has an eye for design. With him, I step back to see the big picture of my life, to see the patterns - those recurring, those changing, those emerging. We deliberate. It is a great activity for a birthday - specially a birthday that falls on the 7-year cycle.  To appraise one's unfolding life as a work of art in progress.  I was glad I wasn't at some buffet, or swanky restaurant, or surrounded by so many family and friends that the quality of conversation suffers from the quantity of loved ones present. I was happy to be at Mystic Brew for an enchanted cup of healing friendship.  

The selection of handcrafted wands made by Tristan himself, on display.

Tucked in an inner street, in an inner village, in the outskirts of town, Mystic Brew is like a pilgrimage site - much like an enchanted cave in Banahaw, a delicious little secret spot revealed to the worthy traveler who braves the long journey.  It is an antidote to the gripping cookie-cutter consumerism of branded chains and global franchises. It is a coffee house full of spirits; where one can easily believe that an empty chair is reserved for the resident muse. Mystic Brew dares to dabble in magickal arts - with no less than a selection of wands on offer on the shelves of the charmed curio shop in the cafe. The wands are custom crafted by Tristan himself with his own hands.   Tristan recounted how a curious customer approached him, and asked in earnest: "Are these wands really magic?"and "Do they really work?"... funny questions these are, with serious answers.

At 35, says my Osho book on "Maturity", one starts believing. One turns to the great traditions anchored in the past. Whatever the religious persuasion, one grasps for faith - and seeks the truth in the Vedas, in the Koran, in the Bible.  One is no longer an anarchist, and begins to seek order.  One becomes conventional as one is enveloped with a desire to protect the life they've built.  So I turn to tradition for protection.  I go to church and rely on old prayers I used to utter with my grandmother and mother as we knelt side by side on church pews - I extend the chain to Narra and teach her to kneel by my side, to take my place, as my mother takes my grandmother's spot, and I take my mother's. I teach her about the miraculous lives of of Jesus and the saints, stories I adored as a child. And I also teach her to say "tabi, tabi po", like most Filipinos are wont to do, to ask permission from spirits as we pass through grass and trees. And I tell Narra to behave because Santa Claus is keeping score. I am a believer. In a Roman Catholic doctrinal sense; in a folk-Filipino-Southeast Asian-animist sense; in a fictional-literary Western sense in the tradition of Santa Claus, Peter Pan, leprechauns, mermaids, and will-o'-the-wisps.  My children shall drink from the cup full of my Mystic Brew of beliefs, my very own unique blend.  

A ghostly apparition in my cup: Do you see it smiling?

At 35, I am a wellspring of conventional views, I am the transmission belt of common beliefs and popular culture, and I find myself telling my daughter fairy tales I once found politically incorrect.  There was a time the idea of Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty, and Snow White made me gag, when I was 21 and mad at the powerful hold the Disney franchise had over our collective imagination. Now at 35, I am less combative, less rebellious, less revolutionary. I let Narra wear her flower girl gowns so she can pretend to be a Disney Princess. I will not deny her this - her right to be a child! I let her believe fairy godmothers cast magic spells, and mermaids can walk, and beasts can become handsome princes with a true love's kiss. I followed the Harry Potter series, the book and the movies, and found Tristan's wand shop brilliant!!! All his references to Harry Potter in his menu find an appreciative audience in me.  I am 35. I've run out of cynicism and angst.  I see the ghostly apparition in my coffee cup, and I imagine it to be greeting me Happy Birthday, and I smile right back. 

With Mystic Brew co-owners Algerome and Tristan.

As I said my good-byes, Tristan's new best friend, and co-owner of Mystic Brew, Algerome, gave me a birthday gift to bring home.  A room and linen spray he crafted himself and sold at the cafe.  In a world of mass production and mass consumption, I found it special to savor things made my hand by people I knew.  Even the herb on my pasta was planted in the backyard, and picked fresh to put on my plate.  Every sip from my Mystic Brew cup cured my disenchantment with the world. I believed in magic. And that's a good feeling to have on one's birthday.  

If you're looking for a homegrown enterprise with lots of character, make time to venture to the interiors of Las Piñas for some inspired coffee and imaginative food.

Their facebook page:

http://www.facebook.com/MysticBrewPH

Their official website:

http://www.mysticbrew.biz/