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/

1 Year of Blogging and The Rewards of Writing

Narra, excited to receive Wanlu's DVD.

It's September 16.  This time last year, I started this mom-blog.  I had just given birth to Guijo and there was a dark cloud hanging over our household: there was death in the family, I was out of a job, Guijo was confined at the hospital, and all those things combined wreaked havoc on our psyche and our pockets.  And I felt guilty that I was on the verge of despair.  The adrenaline from childbirth had worn off, and my supply of happy hormones was depleted.  I couldn't talk to Oliver who was in grief and withdrawn; Narra was in her terrible twos, and Guijo was in his "feed-me-every-two-hours-round-the-clock" phase. The sleepless nights needed to be about something else besides fending off despair as it threatened to engulf me! So I started to write. So I could nurture a positive spirit. And how many people came to my rescue - from far away and from long ago, friends and family began to weave a web of support written in encouraging phrases left on my blog, on facebook, by email or by text.  And all those relationships left un-nurtured through years of neglect, started to come back to life.   Yes, a blog does seem like a monologue. But for me, it has served as an invitation, an opening for dialogue - a means to cultivate conversations.  

With my Uncle (Pa Toots) and Narra, enjoying Swensen's Ice Cream Treat.

I've had all sorts of reactions to my blog, really. Most friends tell me "ang haba mo naman mag sulat!" (what you write is too long)... in my defense, the last thing I wrote was a dissertation which took years to finish, so from my end, my blog entries are super short and quick (length is relative!), what can I say, words just flow.  The worst reaction I got was from an anonymous reader who left a 2-word comment that simply said "Shut up"- I deleted that remark for lack of constructive substance.  But other than that one comment, it's been a year of rewarding responses.  For instance, I have to thank Swensen's Ice Cream for giving us gift vouchers for Christmas!  That was a pleasant surprise!  I blogged about Swensen's when they opened, and I was thrilled to receive a message from them months later, expressing their thanks with a gift of free ice cream.   Right around the same time, I also received a message from Museo Pambata, saying they were touched with my blog posts and had a gift for Narra.  Just last week, a guy from LBC was at our door, and voila! There was a new DVD from Wanlu the Ventriloquist!  He read my blog post about him, and he asked for my mailing address so he can send a gift for Narra.  My daughter was excited to receive a package from the postman! And she's been watching Wanlu's DVD daily since. Now all these gestures, from strangers, are quite encouraging and heartwarming indeed.  I feel all the good vibes I send out, coming back to me in return. 

With Museo Pambata's Chie-Sales Roman, and my good friend visiting
from KL, Rowena Sy, and our kids.

The post that received the most response from strangers is my detailed account on the cost of giving birth.  Entitled "The Anatomy of My Hospital Bill", this post was difficult to write because I wasn't sure I wanted to talk about money.   My mother has done her best to try to turn me into a lady of good breeding, and she emphasized the need to be discreet. I hear her voice ringing in my head, and I had to fight it down with every sentence I wrote, and every figure and cost I disclosed. In my mother's book of proper etiquette, money is never to be discussed in public.  But I had to follow my gut, and listen to my conscience. I felt I could be of help to countless other mothers-to-be out there who were desperate for information.  I remember being pregnant, and awake until the wee hours, scouring the net for info. The question "how much will I spend?" rarely gets answered, and here I was, with an answer!!  So I am happy whenever I receive comments from other mothers. It validates my decision and silences my doubts.

Narra, receiving a bag of books and educational items from Museo Pambata.

But the most rewarding responses, I must say, are from close family and friends, from near and far,  past and present.  Even family I get to see regularly.  It is ironic how we can see people a lot without really getting down to the business of exchanging life stories.  At family parties, rarely do we get to pour out our thoughts, or get to share our joys, and hopes, and fears.  But now, with my blog, I find myself with more conversations, with my aunts and uncles. Also quite rewarding are words from far away, from childhood friends, old classmates from high school, former neighbors who've migrated abroad - all these loved ones so very sorely missed - when they write comments, it brings me profound joy.  I value the gift of being in touch, of remaining friends despite the time and distance apart.  

I have shed tears in the process of writing this blog. And I know that how I felt was conveyed through my words.  I have been told by family and friends that some of my posts made them cry.  I've written about death and loss a lot, and also love. And these kinds of piercing topics strike that part of us that feels the most pain - and joy.  And family, friends, and strangers alike - who read my blog - have made a difficult year more bearable, by simply accompanying me on this rough leg of my life's journey.  So here's to another year for this mother's blog, may my entries cultivate more conversations, and nurture relationships, old and new.  Thank you for reading!!!

This Time Last Year: On Guijo's Being 1 Yr. Old Now

Guijo's birthday cake, at our serviced apartment in Singapore.

It was this time last year when Guijo was released from the Neonatal ICU. He was ten days old when he stopped feeding and became unresponsive all of a sudden. Red flag! We knew something was seriously wrong. We rushed him to the hospital where he stayed an entire week to complete the course of antibiotics to fight the infection that weakened his vulnerable little body.  I found that experience quite scary.  Nothing frightens a parent more than feeling their child go limp in their arms. It is a feeling I do not ever want to feel again.  So I am happy to report that since being released from the hospital last year, he's been reassuringly full of life, and malikot, and suitably noisy - with giggles and wails, and a lot of baby babble.  And now, he's enjoying to walk, and I have to run after him, and when I am on the verge of complaining about how tiring it is to watch him, I remember my prayers, uttered in earnest at the hospital chapel a dozen months ago. I prayed to God to restore Guijo to good health and make him strong and energetic.  

Asleep in his crib, with Singapore shophouses outside his window.

And that's the way he's been throughout the year. He is so strong, it hurts. He is so eager to wake me up in the mornings, he slaps me repeatedly on the face on good days... on less favorable days, Guijo finds the remote control and whacks me with it.  I wake up in pain, and in a terrible mood - until I see my son's adorable face, smiling from ear to ear with his four front teeth.  He lunges at me, for a hug and a slobbering kiss, which often results in an assaulting head butt, and a wet cheek for me... Of course this can be annoying, but it's hard to stay angry when I see him clapping excitedly at the grand event of my waking up.  He's really a morning person, my little Guijo. We can wake him up any time and he'll stir calmly, and smile.

Guijo's baby breakfast buffet at our hotel. Singapore, Aug. 19, 2012.

So for his birthday weekend, we took a trip to Singapore.  To get ahead of schedule,  we made it our strategy to wake him up early, and take him downstairs for breakfast before rousing the others in our group.  Feeding him is profoundly enjoyable. He eats whatever we bring to his lips. He reacts eloquently. He grunts assertively for faster returns of his baby spoon when he likes what he tastes; and he simply pushes food he doesn't like right out of his mouth the moment he decides it's not to his liking.  It's a straightforward process. Predictable and entertaining. Especially at buffets. He'll have cereals, eggs, yoghurt, diced fruit, bread, cheese, cut up pieces of meat, rice, porridge, oatmeal... and he'll be smiling unequivocally, to show he's in a state of gastronomic bliss.  It's a great way to start the day.  And predictably, he'll unload his tummy right after breakfast. We bring him up to our room, he's done with his business, we bathe him, get him dressed, and we're ready for an entire day of touring with no fears of messy trips to the toilet. He is a ray of sunshine in the early hours, I tell you!  Too bad, I can't say the same for his sister, who is NOT a morning person at all.

Guijo, succedding in waking up his sister and  making her laugh.

Narra is unbelievably difficult to rouse from sleep. She isn't easy to dislodge from her dreams... you can physically wake her, but her mind and spirit will still be elsewhere.  It takes time for her being to inhabit her body, and it's best to coax her back to reality with something sweetly sobering.  We assign the task of waking up Narra to Guijo, who can already pronounce his  sister's name. "Na" he says... "Na"...pause..."Ra"!!!... "Narraaaaaaah"!!!...he pulls her hair, he slaps her face, he plunks his hard head on hers and plants a wet kiss on her cheek, on our instruction. He will do this repeatedly, for as long as it takes (good thing kids have a lot of energy).  We will laugh, Narra will stir, slowly, and to our relief, she'd also laugh.  Only Guijo can get away with  waking up Narra without unleashing the exasperating little drama queen in her.  I'm glad they enjoy their special rapport.

Guijo and Narra, clowning around in the morning. Aug. 19, 2012.

Although sometimes, I feel like they gang up on me and get to enjoy a few laughs at my expense. At one of our dinners in Singapore, for instance, Narra pulled my hair as I was giving Guijo a drink, and my shocked squeal made them both laugh. Narra did this with impeccable comedic timing, eliciting hearty giggles from her little brother.  I am amazed at how they could conspire like this at ages 3 and 1! I shudder at the thought of what tricks and pranks they'd pull when they're older!  

My kids, having a few laughs at my expense.

This morning, it happened again. Guijo woke me up with a slap on the face and a mischievous grin that transformed into a genuine welcoming smile on his lips.  Then he woke up Oliver and Narra with their ration of slaps - fair is fair!  It was 5 am and still dark outside! I was about to get grumpy, then I saw the date flashed on our digital clock, and remembered that this time last year, he was strapped to an IV drip and was confined at the hospital, weak and vulnerable.  Between last year's sleepless nights full of worry and fears, and this year's hand-delivered wake up calls, I'd say I'm much better off these days. I'd pick the pains of having to deal with a robust child's heavy hand any day... though I am seriously contemplating sleeping with a helmet.  Guijo's just one year old and already, he packs quite a mean wallop.  I did ask God to make him strong and energetic. So I take the blows I'm dealt each day with a great deal of gratitude.

2011 Reconsidered: Remembering the High Points of a Horrible Year

House Blessing of our new condo. Blessed by Fr. Manny Serranilla
on December 8, 2011.

There are years that feel more triumphant than others, you file them in a special drawer in your brain, the one reserved for fond remembrances. Then there are the not-so-good years, the really tough ones you end up filing away in the drawer of disappointment - or worse - the drawer of grief.  More often, however, the years that pass defy neat filing, when the good and the bad are intertwined. 2011 had the makings of a horrible year. I cried many tears this year, more than at any other year in my charmed life. It was a year of great losses: I said good bye to family members who died; and I said good bye to DLSU, my home for half of my life, because my teaching stint had come to an end.   I want to file away 2011 in the bottom drawer of my mind, the one labeled "Years I Wish To Forget", but I can't - and I shouldn't. There are many blessed moments. And I am thankful I took photos of those happy times, so I can remember the good, when I feel overwhelmed by the bad.

Narra's 2nd Birthday. May, 2011.

At the start of the year I was ordered on bed rest for a month. I spent January lying down, when the viability of my pregnancy was in question. I kept praying that my son would hold on for dear life - that he would stick to my womb and grow! And grow he did! God answered my prayers.  By my second trimester my son's vital signs were strong, and I felt strong too, enough to travel around! We celebrated Narra's 2nd birthday with a party held in May, and traveled to Bangkok in June, and Pearl Farm in Davao in July.  Compared to my first pregnancy, when I felt so short-of-breath that I couldn't even walk through a grocery without needing to sit, this second pregnancy is a blessing! I was able to shop through Chatuchak market in Bangkok, for an entire afternoon. Childbirth was quick and easy, and our baby Guijo came out healthy and strong.  

7 months pregnant. Oliver and I had an 8-day break in Bangkok.

8 months pregnant. Pearl Farm, Davao.

When trials struck our family in September with the death of Oliver's brother, Owen; followed too soon by the unexpected death of his Aunt Boots in October, we broke the succession of funerals with twin baptisms! Guijo and his cousin Marco were baptized in October 23. And the next day, on October 24, I received my most cherished Wang Gung Wu Medal and Prize for Best Dissertation in the Social Sciences and Humanities from the National University of Singapore. My career may be in limbo at the moment, but the award is validation of my potential as a scholar. It is the biggest cash prize I have received in my life, and the biggest affirmation and recognition of the value of my original ideas.  How can I not feel inspired?

Guijo's Baptism, held October 23rd. Christ the King Church.

Oliver managed to complete an awesome house-building project through the last few tumultuous months of the year. In collaboration with his sister Riza, who is our interior designer and contractor, he renovated and furnished a condo unit we recently acquired. In just a few weeks time, the empty box with plain walls, was transformed into a thoughtfully designed, efficient, and elegant hideaway. We had our condo blessing on December 8, and we spent our holidays vacationing in our new home. We spent New Year's eve enjoying the panoramic view of fireworks from all over the metro, popping in concert, building up to an exciting crescendo as midnight approached. There, from our high-floor balcony, as we heard the explosions, I thought of how fireworks - with their sounds and blinding light - exorcise the demons of the past year, severing them from our system so they do not haunt us in the new year.  There, I allowed myself to feel like a kid, to watch the fireworks in awe and delight, despite the smog and pollution they caused. I allowed myself to feel hope and inspiration.  I said a peaceful goodbye to the year that passed - forgiving the year for the pain it brought, and thanking it for the many joys and triumphs too. 

Receiving my Wang Gung Wu Medal. October 24th.

2012, can you be a dear, and be a really, really, good year?

A Conversation With My Belly, Postpartum

9 mos. pregnant with Guijo. 2011

While executing a back bend during yoga class, I felt my shirt slide to expose a part of my belly. My first instinct was to try to pull my shirt up to hide my grotesque flesh, but my hands were pressed to the mat, carrying the weight  of my body. I felt trapped and in a slight state of panic. Then the instructor said, "Let go", "Open your mind and body", "Ease into the pose"... and I dutifully listened. "Stay there for five full breaths", she said. And I complied. And in those five breaths, I found myself thinking beautiful thoughts of gratitude directed at my body. I gave my belly a silent thank you speech. 

Thank you dear belly, for housing my most precious offspring -  my daughter Narra first, then my son, Guijo. Thank you for cushioning them with your protective layers of womb, and fluid, and fat. Thank you for adjusting your skin perfectly in tune with their needs: stretching just enough to give them room; but remaining tight enough to give them support.  Thank you for your contractions which delivered my children into the light. You generously expanded yourself to your very limits so that I may fulfill my destiny and become mother.  You quietly, gently retracted back to normal when the task was done, so I may lay my babies on your soft surface as I nourish them with my milk. 

4 mos. pregnant with Narra. Punta De Lima, Laguna. 2009.

I used to view your stretch marks as battle scars - but what an awful, violent metaphor this is! Giving birth is not a story of war. Rather, it is  a tale of cooperation, when everyone unites to protect the most glorious gift of life.  Your stretch marks dear belly, are my historic markers of peace - celebrating my milestones, of those moments when I accepted my vocation to nurture the lives entrusted to me.  

And how kindly I was treated by the world when you were fully on display as a womb with child. Strangers felt welcome to strike a conversation, and we received an abundance of pleasantries - in word and deed. Doors were held open, seats were given up, everyone rushed to carry our bags or push our carts - it is as though the world conspired to help us carry the weight of propagating humankind.  When you were in full bloom, you had the power to disarm even the most disenchanted folk. I've seen stern faces turn soft in your presence, I remember a surly security guard doing a routine airport check transform from strict-and-brisk to kind-and-gentle in a heartbeat! 

7 mos. pregnant. Pearl Farm, Davao. 2011.

I thank you for letting me experience the world in a whole new way. Like when we went swimming in the sea and I had to discover a new sense of balance - it was like being introduced to buoyancy for the first time. In fact, you pushed me to re-learn everything - from the most basic things: to breathe, to eat, to sleep, to walk, to sit. You forced me to be humble, to listen to my body and to follow its dictates. I was kindest to my body in your presence. I ate well, and stayed away from smoke and dirt; and other poisonous elements (like anger and regret). 

Pregnant, I felt connected to Mother Earth as I never have before. I could feel the pulse of Pacha Mama resonating in my body, through you, my awakened belly. You were like a portal to other worlds.  I saw the world creating the world - chains of life-giving power: the earth bearing trees; the trees bearing fruit; fruit bearing seeds; seeds falling to earth; so the earth can bear trees... and on and on, I saw it all, how pregnant the world is, constantly. Is it just me, or do pregnant women really enjoy a heightened awareness, when all our senses open to the world more than ever before?

So I say to my belly: after all these gifts you've given me, what right have I to be ashamed of you? How could my first instinct be to hide you now? And think of you as grotesque? In my vanity, you have been transmogrified from "bearer-of-life" to "bringer-of-shame".  I am sorry, my belly. My mind has bad habits I've yet to break.  I was conditioned to think of beauty in terms of flat bellies covered by flawless skin, so much so that I felt compelled to hide you with my hands, even at the risk of me collapsing to the floor. My apologies. You are part of what I am now, for I wouldn't be a mother had you not been stretched to house my children.  I accept you for the mother's belly that you are. And I will take care of you, and nurture you gently back to the best shape you could possibly be in, by strengthening your muscles; and slathering soothing balms on your stressed surface; and getting you nourished with good stuff from within. And next time you peek through my clothes at yoga class, I won't lose composure in embarrassed panic! For we are a work in progress, you and I, companions on the road to recovery,  and that's a good, good thing. 

                           

Fontana Water Park and What I Learned From My 12-Year Old Nephew

Kuya Joaquin carrying Narra

There are some places that develop and improve over time, while there are others that just deteriorate. Fortunately, Fontana Water Park in Pampanga proved to be the former. When I first saw this Water Park a decade ago, I was quite impressed with it back then. Now, years later, it's even bigger and has more attractions! A decade ago, I was in my early twenties and full of thrill-seeking and adventurous drive. In the past, whenever I went to a theme park I headed to the biggest and most exciting attractions. The higher, the faster, the riskier a ride, the more I wanted it!  Now, I am in my mid-thirties, and already a mother of two tiny beings still in their diapers. Nature must have designed me to develop new instincts. I am now a nervous wreck. When I saw Fontana Water Park again, I saw it as an overwhelmingly big place full of potential dangers.  

Oliver, Mama, and I with Narra and Guijo at the entrance to the Fontana Water Park

Earlier this month, the Socorro - Carsi Cruz branch of my husband's family took advantage of the long weekend by renting 3 villas at Fontana Leisure Parks and Casino in Pampanga. As typical Filipino extended families go, we were quite a big group: 2 grandparents, 9 aunties and uncles; 11 nephews and nieces. While the adults played at the casino, the kids went to Fontana's Water Park. Guess where I went? I just had to go to the Water Park to make sure Narra would be ok. My husband and mother-in-law escorted us only until the entrance, then they went back to join the rest of the adults. There I was, the only aunt with a bunch of kids.

Ruby (aka Yaya Nene) taking Guijo's new stroller for a spin on the Water Park's grounds

I brought Guijo with me, and his yaya Nene pushed him around in his stroller. This is part of my "training" period, for myself and for our yaya. I have plans of traveling abroad in the near future, so I have to practice the art of touring with two tots. The only way to gain expertise is through experience which is why I take both my babies with me every chance I get. I'm hoping "inconvenient arrangements", when experienced frequently enough, can become "convenient arrangements" over time. Thank God Guijo is proving to be an easy baby to lug around, he slept through the entire affair and didn't add to my list of things to worry about!    

The Pirate Ship, a great section for young children

One of the first attractions inside the park is the Pirate Ship. Located close to the entrance, this shallow pool is perfect for small children.  I was quite happy to stay with Narra there. It was manageable. But I knew that I was being a cowardly hen by staying put. The park was huge, and there were more attractions waiting to be discovered. Narra's cousins were already at the big Wave Pool and I was depriving her of precious bonding time with them. So I moved my entourage out of the comfortable Pirate Ship, albeit reluctantly. With Narra and Guijo in tow, we headed deeper into the park. Oh wow! What an expansive terrifying terrain!

The Lazy River is a familiar attraction, I've seen it before, but it looks better now, perhaps because of the lush vegetation. The trees have grown more roots, and that adds to the appeal of the place. It also helps that the signage and barriers seem to have just received a fresh coat of paint. I love how the park feels well maintained.  There are also new rides, like the Three Giant Aqua Thrill Rides, an imposing, towering structure composed of spiraling giant slides a couple of stories high. 

The long Lazy River's start-off point

The Giant Aqua Thrill Rides

I was happy to stay in the shallow section of the Wave Pool and to just keep Narra entertained with the tiny little fountains and small slides. But then, my 12-year old nephew Joaquin, approached us. "Tita Nikki", he said, "Can we take Narra to the Water Cottage? It's fun, I'm sure she'll enjoy it".  Oh gosh, I was unsure about leaving Guijo, but his yaya Nene assured me he was happily sleeping and they were comfortable in their precious shady spot under a tree. She didn't want to move him and disturb his peaceful sleep (mental note to myself: I really like this yaya).

So off we went to the Water Cottage which had 4 slides: 2 for kids, and 2 for adults. Joaquin accompanied Narra on several runs on the kiddie slides, which she enjoyed immensely. Then Joaquin put me on the spot: "Tita Nikki, can I take Narra on the big slide? I assure you it's safe". Er, em, ah, that slide up there? The one we can reach only after climbing several flights of slippery steel stair steps? Oh gosh, I was so unsure, and Joaquin (who is such an intelligent boy, and I mean in terms of Emotional Intelligence too) sensed my hesitation. "I'll go first Tita, then maybe you can go too, so you can gauge if Narra is ready for it, you can ride with her on your lap". Here's the thing, I trusted Joaquin's judgement. I did. Ever since I met him when I was just dating his Uncle Oliver I was already impressed with his maturity.  So I decided to go for it! We went up carefully, I was clutching the hand rails tightly with one hand, and Narra's arm with the other. I watched Joaquin disappear down the spiraling yellow slide, then it was our turn! I had Narra on my lap, and my hand on the push bar at the top of the slide. It was time to push off and let go. I was still hesitating. "Tita it's not that steep", Joaquin shouted encouragingly. 

Narra, Joaquin, and I, before going off to the Water Cottage where I re-learned to have FUN!

It felt like a scene from the movie Finding Nemo, I am Marlin holding on to the whale's tongue and Dory is encouraging me to let go. "How do you know nothing bad is going to happen?" Marlin asks Dory. "I don't!" says Dory. "It's Time to Let Go!" she shouts. And Marlin closes his eyes, hopes for the best, and lets go! They drop down the back of the whale's throat only to be thrust back out of the whale's body, shooting up to the sky through the blow hole. Wooohoooo!!! That's how I felt when we slid from side to side down the spiraling yellow slide. 

Joaquin asked if he can take Narra for a second run, just the two of them. I let them. He was right. It was not a steep slide. I was nervous as they made their way up. What if they slip? What if she looks for me and gets scared? What if...what if...? - Oh I was still unsure. "Trust me" Dory says to Marlin many times in Finding Nemo. Bottom line, I trusted Joaquin. He's an MVP champion baseball player circulating in international league circuits - he's in better physical shape than I am for crying out loud! I remembered myself at 12, when I was into gymnastics, and volleyball, and swimming, and how I carried my own toddler cousins too, in pools and parks, and on all sorts of rides and slides...and how my aunts and uncles trusted me with their kids. It's my turn now, to do the trusting. So I watched them slide down, and Narra was ecstatic! And it hit me! What if Narra is a cool kid and I am turning her into a nerd with all my fears? Do I really want that for her?  Maybe she's better off learning to be a kid from her cousins. For surely, I no longer know how to be one!!! 

Isabel, Sophia, Narra, and Joaquin at the Wave Pool

Then I remembered my father. My ultra-cool, super fun, responsibly risky dad, Walter. He never stopped knowing how to enjoy life with a childlike enthusiasm. He was in the military, a Navy pilot, which meant he knew about boats and planes, and he approached his training with a sense of play - as a chance to manipulate cool gadgets - a plane! a ship! He was also an underwater diver 50 years ago! when diving gear still looked primitive.  How did he raise me? To be adventurous. He'd take me to the deep end of the pool and encourage me to jump, and he'd always catch me. He'd instruct me to exhale, and drop down until I reach the bottom of a deep pool, and push the floor to return back up, all in one breath, and he'd be there the whole time, his reassuring presence giving me confidence to try things on my own until I become confident in my own skill. He taught me to do handstands by doing them himself at the age of 40! We'd do it side by side against the wall, making the white walls dirty with our shoes. And when I took up ice skating in the 1990's, he bought hockey skates and joined me for practice sessions at the old rink in SM Mega Mall, even if he was already in his late 50's. 

It's funny how Joaquin reminded me of my dad. How could 2 people, decades apart in age, be so alike?Because in my young nephew is a maturity beyond his years; and in my dad is a childlike wonder that was never knocked off him by life's many brutal blows. Both my dad and Joaquin have the precious secret combination of good judgement and a sense of adventure - these two ingredients combined is the recipe for FUN! They know how to have fun! 

That morning at Fontana Water Park my 12-year old nephew coached me gently and patiently in the art of having fun. His presence was reassuring and I relied on his judgement. He taught me to relax, to trust myself, to trust Narra, to trust another person to handle Narra. Right after that exhilirating slide in the Water Cottage, we returned to the Wave Pool to join the rest of the kids. Narra wanted to be with her caring Ates: Sophia, Julia, Bianca, and Sabel who were all good to her. I let Narra go. I allowed her to play without me hovering around. I stayed a good distance, with my camera trained on her, just so I can keep watch. The camera allowed me to zoom in on her, to focus on her, while allowing her the freedom to discover on her own, what kind of kid she is. And when the kids wanted to go to the deep end of the Wave Pool, I put down my camera, and joined them. I wanted to relax, but I also needed to constantly be alert and responsible, I am a parent now after all and kids must be under constant adult supervision.  I let Narra ride the waves in her cousins' arms. I was just nearby, also riding the waves, going with the flow, still on alert but with a difference this time. Like my father, I was being a parent and actually having fun!

Narra surrounded by cool cousins: Sophia, Bianca, Joaquin and Julia

For info on Fontana Water Park, visit:
http://www.fontanaleisureparks.com/fontanaweb/recreation/recreation.html#

On Siblings and Being Raised To Love Each Other

Today, October 19th, marks Guijo's second month since he was born. It's a day of joyful hope. Yesterday, October 18th, we laid to rest Guijo's grand aunt, Tita Boots, sending her off on her journey into the after life, with a shower of flowers on her grave. It was a day of mourning. Between yesterday and today, I find myself thinking of the future, I look at my children and I have a speech forming in my head. I want to tell them: "One day, papa and I won't be around and you two will be the only family you've got.  Grow up leaning on each other, inspiring each other, and always loving each other well". 

The moment I found out I was pregnant with our second child, I had new hopes for Narra. I wanted her to be as good an ate to her brother, as my own sister Marion is to me.  Whenever my sis and I would fight when we were growing up, she'd always say how she was conditioned to give way to me, to protect me, and take care of me, from the moment I was born.  I was born prematurely at 7 months, and had to stay inside an incubator for 54 days. This image of me, so fragile and small, must have been imprinted in my sister's mind. I feel her protective instincts kick in when anyone tries to hurt me in any way. I remember her getting angry at people who crossed me, in grade school, in high school, all the way to graduate school, and even recently, when I had an issue at work, oh she was fuming mad at my colleagues, she was even more affected than I was. My sister is also very generous - whenever she'd go shopping for herself, she'd also buy for me. Shoes, clothes, bags, make-up, Ipod, plane ticket, theater tickets, Pilates class pass...name it, if she got herself one, in all likelihood, she got me one too (oh yes, I am very lucky).

I think this has to do with how my mom raised us: everything is shared. No one eats a chocolate bar or drinks a can of coke by herself.  Everything is partitioned so that each family member gets an equal share. When my sis was 5 years old, and I was 2, she received a small red box of Sun Maid Raisins. She wanted to eat it so badly, but I was sleeping so she couldn't share it with me. She kept taking a peek at me to see if I'd wake up. Growing impatient, she opened the box of raisins, sat next to me, and popped one into my partially opened mouth - I chewed on the raisin even while sleeping! So my sis happily got to eat her raisins while sharing it with me. This is how deeply internalized our family rule on sharing is, that even when no one is looking, and even if the intended recipient would neither feel the benefit of getting her share nor the deprivation in not getting it, my sister still felt compelled to honor the spirit of the rule.  

Another principle my family lived by was that of "maximum togetherness" (a coin phrased by my dad).  For instance, if we are at home, we wouldn't be locked up in our own rooms. Everyone would converge in one room and stay together. My sis and I each had our own rooms, but we would pull our mattress to another room, whether the master bedroom, or one of our rooms, so that we could sleep together. We must all eat together, all the time. Even a snack at an odd hour would attract other family members. When my sis became addicted with red-eye budget plane tickets, and bought them in abundance, one after the other, it meant many days of being brought to and from the airport at unholy hours. It also meant converging around the dining table for a pre-flight, or post-arrival snack. Even when there's a driver, or when taking a cab would be far more convenient, my dad and mom still bring my sister to and from the airport every time (this means every week), and if I'm around, I join in too.  On a normal day, we converge for meals at breakfast, morning merienda, lunch, afternoon merienda, and dinner. Growing up, we also used to pray a lot, noon Angelus, evening Angelus, then after dinner, we all kneel in front of the altar for our daily rosary.  Narra and Guijo are part of this "maximum togetherness" whenever Oliver is away on a business trip and we get to sleep in my parents' house. My old bedroom becomes the locus of activity when my kids are around. Everyone hangs out in the room - dad,  mom, and sis - they all come to my room to watch tv, to sleep, to pray!  Narra has been designated as the rosary distributor and collector before and after prayer, and she loves it.  And she is all too happy to sleep between her grandparents and Ninang Marion, allowing me to concentrate on caring for Guijo through the night. Packed like a can of sardines, we sleep side by side in one room, even if we live in a spacious home. Pinoy style upbringing, I say! Life is short, time is precious, "maximum togetherness" allows us to seize the opportunity to express our love for each other while we have the chance.

I want Narra and Guijo to grow up close. To think in terms of "we", instead of "me". I want to free my kids from the debilitating interpretive framework of sibling rivalry. My sis and I never felt the need to compete for our parent's attention, never. We were treated as a common unit, the sisters who got everything equally, and shared everything they received. I am in awe at my mother for how she did it, how she emphasized the importance of sharing - impressing it upon my dad, my sister and me. My dad supported my mom's efforts, but I think my mom is the source of this family ethos and my dad picked it up from her. My mom came from a family of 12 children, and everything was shared among them. My mom's relationship with her siblings is characterized by a lot of sharing and giving - no fighting or squabbles, no shouting at each other, just a lot of caring. According to legend, even a piece of hopia was sliced in 12 parts so everyone gets a taste.

I wanted Narra to learn to share with her brother even before he was born. We organized her bedroom and turned it into a nursery/playroom. I took out her old crib, and bouncer, her infant carrier, and blankets, her towels, bathing bed and tub, her old toys and books, we prepared them for Guijo and she repeatedly mentioned how she would share them with him. I already conditioned Narra to think in terms of "us four", instead of just "us three".  Her bathing companions became 4 rubber duckies: Papa Ducky, Mama Ducky, Ate Ducky, and baby ducky. Even her food was given to her in sets of 4. I would look for grapes of decreasing sizes - Papa grape, Mama grape, Ate grape and baby grape...and slice apples and oranges, and cheese and bread, all in the same manner.  It helped Narra internalize the new family configuration, and it also improved her appetite - she was more receptive to food if they came in the guise of a family of four.  She is now called "Ate" by everyone, all the time. It is her new identity and so far she owns up to it proudly. "Ate na ako" (I am an Ate now), she would say. It is an identity that hinges on the existence of Guijo. She cannot be an ate without him as her little brother. Today, Oct. 19, we celebrate not only Guijo's second month of existence, but also Narra's coming of age (at the tender age of 2!), of her becoming Ate Narra.

On the last night of the wake for his mother, my cousin Thunder muttered, "di ko alam ang gagawin, mag-isa lang ako" (I don't know what to do, I'm all alone). Of course he was surrounded by loved ones, his wife and kids, aunts and cousins...but I know his meaning.  He already lost his father, and now his mother...and he did not have a sibling. There is no one left of the nuclear family he was born into.

So I look at Narra and Guijo. They are hanging out, and seem to be getting accustomed to each other's presence. Guijo's eyes are just learning to focus, and he stares a lot at Narra - I think he is beginning to recognize her features, he is learning that she is his sister, I saw him reach for her to touch her face - and this got me so excited. I want to say to him: "One day Guijo, when you find yourself troubled, reach out to your sister for help, she's your Ate, she's got your back." And Narra too, often reaches for Guijo, grabbing his hand. "Hold onto your brother", I want to tell her... "he will be there to hold your hand when I am no longer around."

The Difference Between Caring for Baby Girls and Boys

The  photo above shows our first born baby girl Narra having an enjoyable bath. We thought we'd have the same experience with our second child, our baby boy Guijo. We were excited to give him his first bath and we were enjoying the process, that is, until.... he sprayed us!!!  It took a few more swift, sudden spraying incidents before I learned to never ever let my guard down again.  With Narra, I could just have her lying on her back on the bath bed, and I didn't worry about her peeing, but with Guijo, hah!, I now have a few strategies in place so I'd always be ready to dodge. 

First method: blocking! Always have a washcloth or lampin (cloth diaper) on top of his launcher whenever he's on his back for bathing or diaper changing.  Second method: redirection! Turn him to his side when washing or wiping his bottom - this will redirect his urine's trajectory to the walls of the tub and away from his face, or yours. Third method: direct contact! When it's time to clean his privates and covering him with a washcloth or turning him to the side just won't work, hold his "lil pututoy" down while cleaning the area.

Learning to care for a baby boy when you've become accustomed to caring for a baby girl is akin to learning to keep your arms up defensively to cover your face in boxing - it takes practice and getting used to - you need to develop a constant consciousness to never let your guard down or you'll get a beating.  I remember waking up in the wee hours of the morning to change Guijo's diaper - and I became complacent. It happened so fast - I had to change not just his diaper, but also his booties, mittens, and blanket, as well as the pillow case nearby - I had a changing mat under him of course - but the thing with penile trajectories is that they can have an unpredictable reach. 

The household I grew up in only had baby girls and never baby boys, so my mother had little advice to give on the subject of caring for a boy. My Auntie Eva, who raised 3 boys herself, gave me a few helpful pointers on Pinoy-style care for baby boys: first, she thought me to position the baby's penis downwards during diaper changes so that the baby doesn't wet his navel or cord stump; second, I should regularly massage my baby's balls! - apparently, as Filipino folk practice goes, conscientious mothers rub their hands to warm their palms, and gently cup their baby's balls and push them upwards towards the belly in the belief that doing so would prevent hernias, and prevent the balls from becoming "luslos" (an aesthetically unappealing condition of having sagging balls). A third prescription came from another relative, my Auntie Myrna, who taught me of a specific hold for carrying boys, holding them upright, one hand on the crotch, and the other supporting the upper body. This carrying position has the same objective - to prevent "luslos" and hernias.

I don't know if I will pass for a conscientious mother by Pinoy folk standards... I sure have a lot to learn. I thought that after having seen Narra through infancy in the recent past, raising Guijo would be a walk in the park.  Not so. There are differences between caring for baby girls and boys, and I am feeling like a rookie all over again.   

Our Baby's Circumcision: A Mother's Point of View

There is a wealth of information on neonatal circumcision available online, and there are robust debates on the pros and cons of subjecting babies to the procedure. Despite the availability of info, I found myself lost and confused and unsure about making a stand on the subject, and I was all too willing at some point to just leave it up to my husband to decide for our son.  Before giving birth, I just pushed the topic aside - but a day after Guijo arrived, on August 20, when Guijo was a day old, our pediatrician Dr. Pia Lorenzo, asked us THE question: to clip or not to clip?

I asked Doc Pia many pertinent questions, and fortunately, I was given a lot of straightforward and relevant answers which ultimately helped me form a stand. By the end of our conversation, I was convinced to go for the circ. The next day, August 21, 24 hours before we were discharged from the hospital, Guijo went for his circ, and I watched the entire procedure from preparation to recovery.  I wanted to make sure I was nearby in case I was needed for breast feeding to comfort him.

One of the questions I asked Doc Pia was: how will the procedure be done? She gave a comprehensive explanation of various methods available in the US (I won't mention them all here), focusing on the Gomco method which will be used on Guijo.  Neonatal circumcision with the use of a Gomco clamp is usually quick and effective and results in very little bleeding. In addition, Doc Pia explained to us that after the procedure, they will take some time for exposing Guijo under a lamp and his wounds would be dry before we take him home.

Who would do the procedure? was my next question. Doc Pia highly recommended our gynecologist Dr. Theresa Henson, as someone who does the procedure perfectly. This was very reassuring news for me. I already trusted Dr. Henson with my life - so as far as I was concerned, if anyone was going to touch our "family jewels" it would be her! Dr. Henson had a very well established practice and had a spotless reputation which was cultivated through years of exceptional work. Circumcision is an elective cosmetic procedure, one that has an aesthetic dimension, as well as real medical risks. We needed someone precise and authoritative.  Truth be told, part of my decision to go for the circ was influenced by the knowledge that it was Dr. Henson who would do the procedure. I trusted her a great deal. If I waited until my son was a pre-teen to do the procedure I wasn't sure if I'd meet a doctor with whom I'd share the same level of trust.

How will my son be handled? Dr. Pia assured me that careful research went into the handling of infants before, during, and after the circ. Everything was studied, how to swaddle them in ways that best provided reassurance and comfort.  I saw this for myself when I watched them prepare Guijo for the procedure (see photo above).  They first swaddled his upper body snugly, to inhibit hand and arm movement, but also to make him feel secure.  They elevated the upper body slightly, and his legs were positioned in a spread-eagle, using folded swaddling blankets tucked firmly under a specially designed board, as restraints.  He looked snug, and securely positioned in place.  Then he was moved to the circumcision room where the operation took place. There was a glass panel from which I could view the proceedings. In typical Dr. Henson fashion, she wielded the Gomco clamp expertly, and worked fast. When the actual clipping took place, Guijo cried and immediately, a pacifier with sugary water was put in his mouth, and I saw him suckle at it vigorously.  He stopped crying in an instant - the diversionary tactic worked! Guijo seemed more focused on the taste and new sensation offered by the pacifier. It was around 11:05 am when they started, and by 11:15 he was being transfered back to the nursery. It was done quickly and I'd say Guijo was handled perfectly. He was exposed under a lamp for a couple of hours, for drying time and recovery.  Afterwards, I was summoned to breast feed him.

When Dr. Pia examined Guijo the next day to clear him so he may be discharged from the hospital, she inspected the circ and said it has healed really well, it looks really good, and it was done perfectly. A week later, when we rushed Guijo to the hospital for an infection, we were worried the circ had something to do with it, but all the doctors who took a look at him that week (there were around half a dozen of them), were uniform in their assessment that the circ was done really well, has healed completely, and is in no way whatsoever related to the infection Guijo had, which was from the Staph Aureus bacteria, a very common bacteria which infected his cord stump.  Whew!

On a lighter note, Dr. Pia told us she's seen a lot of penises in her pediatric practice, and not all circs are created equal - some are prettier than others - and according to her, those done by Dr. Henson are some of the prettiest ones around! This brings to mind the traditional summer time practice of gathering the village boys by the riverside where they would form a line, be made to chew on guava leaves, and their tips would be clipped one by one, quickly and efficiently - with little regard for aesthetics. It's a rite of passage that many parents wouldn't deny their kids. I hope my son doesn't hold in me in contempt for denying him his spot on the chopping line - but in case he questions my decision one day, I'll tell him that if one were decided on going for a circ, might as well do it pretty, precise, and (relatively) painless.