A Sneak Peek At Our New Kitchen

Smiley people: Oliver and Narra happily hanging out near the storage area.

I wanted to wait until the official opening or "house" blessing before blogging about the family's new kitchen, but I felt the strong urge to write about what's really getting us all excited these days. So here's a sneak peak at the new commissary built by Oliver's family.  It's still a work in progress, with a lot more purchases to be done, and construction to be completed. But the kitchen's been operational for a week now, and the staff are doing rounds of cooking to gain familiarity with the equipment and recipes.

  

One side of the cooking area.

I never thought I'd get excited about being in a kitchen - I'm neither a foodie nor a cook, but I find myself spending many hours in our commissary, never bored, and completely absorbed, figuring out how things work. I'm sure years of watching cooking shows on t.v. has something to do with my excitement.  From Wok with Yan in the 80s to all the various cooking shows on the Lifestyle Network in the 2000s, to today's Top Chef, Iron Chef, and Chef Rosebud's Quickfire (she's a good old friend from my high school days), I clocked in countless hours of contented spectatorship. Now, I get to observe all the action at close range, and for prolonged periods.  My being a researcher has something to do with it too, for I enjoy observing - and data gathering - these are the kinds of activities I engaged in while doing field work. I need to be familiar with what's going on, so I can be of use - ok, haha, definitely NOT with cooking, but with many other things. 

The cooking area from another angle.

I love bringing my children to the kitchen, so they can gain precious exposure in their formative years. I suspect this will be second nature to them, the art and science of food preparation - it runs in their blood. Oliver's mother is an accomplished cook, just like her mother before her, and what amazing kitchen stories there are, of their legendary cooking feats.  Our kitchen now is shiny and new, with recent technology - but the spirit that guides the enterprise is old, and deeply rooted in the family psyche. This is the kind of family that smokes their own meats; dries their own tapa; cooks their own chicharon fresh; cures their own hams; and bakes their own mamon.  I will teach my kids music, and literature, art and history, politics and performing arts - these things, are the endowments they will get from my side of the family. But cooking? Running a kitchen? Secret heritage recipes?... this is their heritage from their father's side. 

Oliver and Narra, with her Ninang Rina (at the back), and Tito Tonton.

In many ways, building the kitchen is a return of sorts, to family roots. The structure is built on family property, right across their ancestral home. I often catch snippets of conversation, with anecdotes of grandparents, and aunties and uncles and their quirks. And their childhood memories - of  the lovely rose garden of old, the pool that has long been covered up, and the dramatic driveway that led to it. I can only imagine what used to be there.  What I see now, is a modern structure, especially striking at night.  It's not even completed, but already, the building is a thing of beauty, with its crisp, clean lines.  We get to see the kitchen a lot at night, because the kitchen runs 24/7, and Oliver gets to visit it after he comes back from work.  Narra's always excited to come along, which I like! I'd rather have her observing real life situations, than being left at home watching t.v.  Here in the kitchen, she's learning that the world does not revolve around her.

A work in progress: the kitchen's exterior, partially completed.

Here, the world revolves around food. A lot of it.  We haven't even really started with our operations, and already, I find the volume of activity dizzying.  As I saw the supplies come in, and the pantry and freezers being filled up, I felt an adrenaline rush. It was exciting to see the once empty stock room come to life.  Even seeing the stock cards in the pantry was enjoyable for me.  My sis-in-law Winnie, however, has that headache on her plate, of figuring out inventory.

First batch of stock cards hanging in the pantry.

The storage racks aren't silent either. They've been making music, with the banging of pots and pans, and woks and  cauldrons as they come into use after weeks of waiting in the wings.  At last! There's fire on the stoves, and the kitchen is very hot.  Summer's upon us and the weather's unbearable at times, but for some reason, I find myself willing to stay in this very hot kitchen. I guess our personal thresholds for comfort are proportionate to the degree of our emotional investment in an activity. An olympic athlete can subject his/her body to all sorts of torturous pain in pursuit of a gold medal. Just as my aircon-loving sister-in-law Rina, suffers countless hours of heat in a high-fire kitchen in pursuit of quality food that meets her standards. She checks every lumpia, and every meatball, making sure they are the right shape and size, before they are even cooked, after which they are subjected to taste tests.  

Storage rack in the cooking area.

Aaaah. The perks (and pitfalls) of hanging out in the kitchen. I have had my fair share of temptation.  A kitchen in the early days of operation sure has a lot of taste tests.  It's a blessing in disguise that the tasks assigned to me are mostly outside the kitchen. Imagine if I stayed there longer and sampled more food! That would be a disastrous turn of events, from a dieter's point of view.

We bought a batch of these, to take home.

Soon, it will be show time! And not just a dress rehearsal. Curtain's up in a week's time. And I am counting the days. I'm so excited. And so is everyone else. The family/board meeting last night ended past midnight, and everyone's fired up to their share of the work as opening night approaches. We got a sneak peek this week, and we liked what we saw.

Planning for Narra's Birthday and Remembering Last Year's Party at The Creamery

Narra's 2nd Birthday at The Creamery, May 2011 (Guijo still in my belly)

This time last year, I was planning for Narra's 2nd birthday. I was then in my 2nd trimester of pregnancy with my son Guijo.  We booked her party at The Creamery, an Ice Cream Parlor and Restaurant located at the ground floor of the Kids Universe in Mall of Asia. Adjacent to the resto was Cosmic Kids, a huge playspace several stories high, with all sorts of fun slides, wings, rides, trampolines, and foam and ball pits for kids to enjoy to their hearts' content.  We decided to treat our little guests to entrance passes to Cosmic Kids. Narra was chaperoned inside by her Lolo Walter (my dad) who seemed to enjoy the play space as much as (if not more than) Narra.

Narra and her Lolo Walter on the trampoline inside Cosmic Kids.

We didn't have a grand 1st birthday party for Narra, which is a common practice.  Instead we took her to Disneyland in Hong Kong. So for her 2nd birthday, we thought of throwing her a party, with our friends with kids as target guests.  The Creamery took care of nearly everything: the food, plus an ice cream bar, decorations, loot bags, games and hosting, prizes for the games, banners, and even a nice birthday gift for the celebrant!  It was completely fuss free for me. The only thing I had to provide was the birthday cake, and that was the kind of task I was only too happy to take care of. I ordered farm animal pop cakes from my high school best friend Bea of Pop Cakes, and she came up with the cutest cows, pigs, and chicks. I also got a fondant cake made for Narra, with a barn, and a little girl seated with farm animals.

Narra's farm-themed cake and Pop Cakes

Inside The Creamery there was a little barn, which they draped with colorful swags and festive balloons. It looked very cheerful. The servers dressed in animal costumes and facilitated games with the kids, and performed dance numbers.  Narra enjoys looking at the photos from her birthday and keeps telling me she wants it to be her birthday again! 

The costumed servers of The Creamery dancing with the kids.

This year, we're going to do things quite differently. We're going to do an intimate family gathering with first cousins, at my parents' house, where they built a tree house just for Narra - a nice, solid, professionally made one, with a sturdy ladder and handrails, and support beams holding up a platform made of solid hardwood (Yakal) - it's not a rickety shack, nope. It's a proper one - the kind I dreamed about when I was a little girl. I'm thinking of creating an activity for the kids centered on that treehouse. 

Narra waving as everyone sang "Happy Birthday".

We need to make things manageable and easy this year. Her birthday falls on a BIG weekend, when we'll open our business! We launch our first day of operations on May 5, and Narra's party is on May 6.  Thank God my parents agreed to do the hosting. That will take a load of pressure off us, and its a really big help.  I know they're happy to do it... they built Narra that treehouse with visions of having her enjoy it with her guests.  We're enjoying good times over at my parents house these days - it is no longer an empty nest, but a hub of activity, with the pitter patter of little feet, and gleeful noise from squealing and giggling grand children who animate the house during their frequent visits.  I did not have this kind of relationship with my own grandparents who lived far away abroad (for my mother's side) and in the province (for my father's side).   My kids though, have a lot of exposure to their grandparents, and get to stay with them when Oliver and I go off on trips. I want Narra to have a lot happy memories in her grandparents' house, and having a party there, is one good way to do it.

                                                                                          

Guijo's 7th Month and Cafe Ysabel's Chocolate Truffle Cake

Narra blowing out Guijo's 7 candles as he watches.

I use my son Guijo's monthly milestones as an excuse to engage in mini celebrations with family and friends. For his 7th month, I had my friend Kanami Namiki over to our house as our guest for dinner.  Kanami and I were classmates at the National University of Singapore, and she's currently in the country to do her field work research for her doctoral dissertation.  She's turning her MA thesis into a book and asked me to take a look at it, so we spent the entire afternoon talking about her research.  It was a very welcome break for me, talking academic stuff with a good old friend.  We decided to meet at a nearby hotel, found a quiet spot at the lobby cafe, and took our sweet time talking art and politics. The conversation lasted for hours, and before long, I had to get home for dinner, I invited Kanami over, and we stopped to buy a cake for Guijo.

The lovely Chocolate Truffle cake from Cafe Ysabel.

The cake I got was a Chocolate Truffle Cake from Cafe Ysabel which I bought at their outlet by the entrance of SM Hypermart at Mall of Asia. It had this lovely thick coat of chocolate ganache on the outer layer - so thick I had to poke the surface with a fork to help the candles slide in easier.  The sides of the cake was wrapped in a very attractive shell of chocolate with a maple leaf print. Narra loved to break it off in pieces.  Inside, the cake was dense and moist, and had more layers of ganache at the bottom, and in the middle, making each slice a decadent piece indeed.  The cake was so rich that even a thin slice offered much in taste and texture. Kanami took a thin slice, she's disciplined with portions which is why she maintains her slim figure (that and the fact that she's puts in hours of exercise for countless dance rehearsals). 

My good friend Kanami, with my children, Guijo and Narra.

Kanami's been one rare friend who's seen the last 6 houses I lived in as I transitioned from being single to being a mom. She's visited my homes in Singapore, Manila, and Batangas, and even my parents' old home, and new one, and now my house in Pasay.  We have an international friendship, really. We first met in Singapore, where we were supervised by Prof. Rey Ileto. We became close when we attended the Philippine Studies Conference in Japan, and I got to stay at her house and meet her family.  When I gave birth to Narra, she visited me in Batangas; We last saw each other last year, when I was pregnant with Guijo, and now, it's her first time to meet Guijo post-partum, in our new home.  It's a perfectly timed visit, we've an excuse to celebrate! 

My half-eaten slice of cake.

Aaaah, it had all the ingredients of a good day. A visit from a good friend. Great conversation about her scholarship and feeling inspired to start working on my own book manuscript. It was great getting to invite her to my home to meet my family, and ending the night with a yummy chocolate cake.  Guijo is growing up fast. He's now sitting up, crawling, eating solids, and doing a lot of baby talk. I sometimes need this monthly reminder to step back and take a good look at how much he's growing so I can savor these precious baby moments which seem to go by so fast. I can't wait for him to cut his first tooth, to start eating more, so he can actually partake of the cakes we buy in his honor. 

My boys.

Pinoy Piety: Highlights of My Holy Week

A penitent on Good Friday, along a national road in Pampanga.

It started with the Pabasa. I kept hearing the Pasyon being chanted in unexpected places.  Holy Wednedsay. I was at the Makati City Hall applying for a Business Permit, and as I made my way to the City Engineer's office, I could hear the unmistakable melody, a chorus of women singing, answered by a chorus of men, alternating in their delivery of the verses.  The sound wafted through the stairwell, coming from a few stories down. I skipped the elevator, and took the stairs, following the enchanting sound... and there they were, City Hall employees, appropriating office space (and work time), to fulfill a sacred vow to honor Christ.  Makati's Municipal Government takes pride in running the most professional of City Halls, and in many ways the City Hall has indeed clothed itself in convincing corporate garb - looking and feeling ever so efficiently run. On Holy Week, however, the veneer of professionalism gives way to a persistent piety so deeply rooted, it surfaces spontaneously in every available space.  This was my experience of Holy Week last week. I saw everyday spaces being made sacred by collective acts of sacrifice.  Everywhere I looked, I saw ordinary Pinoys  performing acts of devotion. And it touched me, to the core, and led me to prayer.

Makati City Hall employees turned an office hallway into a "backyard Pabasa"

Maundy Thursday. Oliver and I invited his family to join us for the traditional Visita Iglesia. We had an epic journey planned for the night, a pilgrimage to the most visited, and most loved churches of Manila: Baclaran, Malate Church, Binondo, Quaipo, San Sebastian, San Beda,  - and the relatively new church where we got married and started our Christian family, The National Shrine of St. Therese.  But even before we embarked on our official Visita (which involves visiting 7 churches), Oliver and I took our kids to a few other churches ahead.  It felt a bit like "holy cheating", like dipping your finger for a dollop of icing before the cake is served.  I felt like we were visiting churches too early, before the "right" time sanctioned by tradition.  It was good to take our little baby boy to churches early in the afternoon, way before the crowds swelled to impossible proportions.

We stopped at the convent of the Pink Sisters along 11th Street in New Manila. And a wave of nostalgia swept through me. I used to live on 11th Street, and this was where my mother often came to pray for big petitions - the kind that the were too big for a simple rosary at home.  From martial law in the 70s to coup d'etats in the 80s, to calamities in the 90s, this was where we went to pray for our country.  Just watching the backs of the contemplative nuns while they prayed was enough to inspire me to want to pray better. How instructive they were in their stillness.  I understand why our country's leaders choose to come here for discernment in tumultuous times.

Contemplative pink sisters "behind bars" where they can pray in peace.

We also visited Mt. Carmel church, and its hall of saints. I visited my patron saint, St. Anne, mother of Mary, and the patron of Mothers. I am one of those Filipinos with a legal name in my birth certificate (Nikki) that is different from my Christian name in my baptismal certificate (Nikki Ann). Oh my, these two identities gave me problems when I was applying for a marriage license with the City Hall using my legal name, and my church required that I use my Christian name for the papers to be signed in church.  Long story made short, I had to drop my Christian name "Ann"(and the priest gave me hell for doing that), so I am now just "Nikki" legally and officially. In spirit though, I will always be Nikki Ann, and I never will never stop praying to my patron saint, more so now, that I am a mother myself.

I brought my daughter, Narra Teresa, to the image of her patron St. Therese; and I also said a special prayer for my son Guijo (Guillermo Jose), in front of his patron St. Joseph.  I felt like I was visiting family, and introducing my children to them. Psychologically, Mt. Carmel was once "home", it was our family's parish church throughout my childhood years.  Visita Iglesia gave me the opportunity to touch base, and regain my bearings.

The image of St. Anne, patron of Mothers, my patron saint.

Later that evening, we went to Baclaran with Narra (we left baby Guijo), and caught the solemn procession as the Blessed Sacrament was exposed. Thousands of people were there, on their knees.  I was surprised to see so many flat LCD screens mounted on the church's posts.  Apparently, it's been a while since I was last here. My mother has prayed here in the "prescribed" way of the folk a few times, making her way down the aisle from door to altar on her knees,  as is the custom.  I even joined her once, though I forget now what it was that we were praying for.  Baclaran church encourages a kind of piety different from what one observes at the Pink sister's convent where the pious seem to solemnly surrender their troubles and their will... there is an air of acceptance, and quiet contemplation of God's will.  In Baclaran, prayers are muttered with urgency, with faces scrunched up in earnest, in heartfelt supplication that God may grant what is so fervently requested.   

Procession of the exposed Blessed Sacrament, Baclaran church.

The separate building outside the church dedicated for candles offered to Our Lady of Perpetual Help is one clear indication of Baclaran's special place in people's minds. It is a church where intercessory prayers are deemed even more efficacious.  I felt all sorts of heat inside that building. Physical heat from the flames from so many candles; Human heat from too many people converging in the same place; and the heat of burning faith.  If lukewarmness is the work of the devil, then he's nowhere to be found in Baclaran where even silent prayers are rendered audible by transparent gestures and postures. People touch the images of saints with hands that are heavy with hope; they bow their heads and close their eyes, as though to beg; Everything about their stance screams "please, please, please, Oh Lord, please". Empowered by such fervor, I found myself doing the same, scrunching up my face, and with eyes closed, I too, said my own desperate "please, please, please, O Lord, please".  We had Narra with us in Baclaran, but she fell asleep. Oliver and I took turns carrying her, and it was a welcome burden. Bearing her weight added a sense of sacrifice to our trip.

The annex outside Baclaran church (a view of one side of the long room)

Later, even after Narra woke up, we still ended carrying her most of the time.  The task of getting from Point A to B had become more difficult as we ventured deeper into the heart of Manila, and deeper into the night. We went to that beautiful old church in Binondo, at the end of Ongpin street in Chinatown.  There was a sea of humanity inside the church, a sea fed by several rivers flowing from various directions. It is funny how this makes a lot of sense to me - having this much people in this place - after all, this is Divisoria country, the heart of commerce, where every day is a "crazy sale day".  I found the church "abuzz"...I could still hear the buzz in my head as I write this... the noisy, active, energetic bustle of a busy, excited crowd.  I had a prayer book in my hand, and I strained to hear myself pray. I imagined myself shouting inside my head so I could hear my own prayer, that's how noisy it was.  

Beautiful Binondo church, abuzz with activity.

The church in Binondo is plugged into a network of historic churches in close proximity, which pilgrims can easily navigate by foot.  You can tell by the choreography of the crowd, that they are here by habit, following a sacred sequence to fulfill their panata, or devotional vow.  We didn't have a specific sequence in mind - we just followed the herd - and found our way without having to use our GPS or google maps. We just went were the people were... which meant ending up in Quiapo. Here, I felt something different. Yes, it was also crowded, and frenzied - but it was also Christ-centered, most especially on Christ's suffering. You could tell that Quiapo church was home of the Black Nazarene. The devotees here exhibit a certain sturdiness and propensity for physical hardship and suffering. If, in most churches, people walk to the altar - here I saw people kneeling, and even laboriously crawling on the ground;  We saw pilgrims who walked the streets barefooted, from great distances - and on grimy Manila pavements too! We saw groups of people wearing special edition t-shirts, some were really cool, with graphic art featuring Jesus (one striking design had the word "Saved" written on the back; with an artistically rendered and powerfully moving image of Jesus in the front).  In Quiapo church, I felt solidarity with Jesus - I saw people participating in his struggle for our salvation - there were many acts of sacrifice and suffering.  There was an air of remorse and repentance that was distinctly peculiar to Quiapo church.

A penitent, crawling on the ground, with kneeling companions.

From Quiapo, we headed to gothic San Sebastian, which loomed large in the distance as we approached it by foot. The glorious architecture outside, was echoed inside, as the crystal chandeliers, the shiny altar, and vaulted ceiling inspired awe.  From the depths of suffering in Quiapo church, I felt my spirit soar in San Sebastian.  Narra looked like she entered a castle.  There was an image of Christ with his crown of thorns, and it seemed to me, to look like a triumphant Christ, the Redeemer and Savior.  The church was of course, full to capacity, but there were no devotees kneeling their way to the altar here.  The vibe here, is very different, almost glorious.

Narra and I outside San Sebastian church, enjoying its Gothic facade.

Inside San Sebastian, the chandeliers and altar, lit up.

From San Sebastian, we proceeded to San Beda. It was our last stop for the night, and by then, our night was reaching its climax. The street leading up to San Beda was completely blocked for vehicles and completely dedicated to pedestrians.  The vibe was exuberant!  There were groups of youth cheering!...and dancing! as they made their way to the beautiful church in San Beda. There were  vendors selling tempting treats (all of us in our group noticed the "crispy chicken skin chicharon" cart parked right by the entrance).  It was our last church for the night, and we were happy to have completed our task of visiting 7 churches. 

A gay bunch heading happily towards San Beda, with cheering and dancing!

The beautifully decorated ceiling inside San Beda church.

We ended our prayers before the stroke of midnight. Narra, who was sleepy and lethargic earlier that night, was recharged by the energy in San Beda. It was a peculiarly fitting way to end a rewarding journey through Manila's classic Visita Iglesia trail.  I was happy to expose Narra to her cultural heritage. I was very satisfied with what we saw on Maundy Thursday. 

Narra and Oliver, at the end of our Visita Iglesia. San Beda.

Little did I know, that there was more to see on Good Friday. We had a trip to Pampanga, planned out. A not-so-religious vacation at Fontana Leisure Parks and Casino. On our way there, we saw so many penitents along the road: flagellants with bloody backs; and "Christs" carrying their crosses, on their way to being crucified.  We ended up spending the afternoon watching The Passion of Christ. Even though we all knew the story, we were still glued to the screen, wincing in pain, and looking away when we couldn't bear to see Jesus suffer some more.  This made me think of the penitents we saw on the road, who partake of Christ's suffering by subjecting themselves to physical pain.

A penitent's bloody back from flagellation.

It didn't seem to me as though there was a lot of pageantry and fanfare, or spectacle - nope.  With or without an audience the penitents were performing a sacred vow, an act of devotion, a personal panata offered to God.  I was moved by their sacrifice.  I have seen documentaries on television painting our practices in an unflattering light, as a form of juvenile fanaticism, a folk Catholic practice on the brink of being a vice, rather than a virtue. I know that most of these traditions and devotions are outside the Liturgy; but they are commendable in cementing our piety, in leading us to deep prayer, and in keeping our church animated with a burning exuberance.

Good Friday, on the way to the "Crucifixion", as the clock approaches 3 pm

I have dreams for my children, that they will grow up steadfast in faith, and rooted in their Pinoy culture.  I don't think it will be hard to achieve this.  I am sure they will learn proper doctrine and practice from Religion teachers in Catholic school; and they will learn folk beliefs and practices from the streets.  Pinoy piety is alive and well, and thrives everywhere, inside and outside churches, vibrant and ever so relevant.

Our Family's Epic S&R Sale Experience

7 am, lining up at the parking lot.

How far are you willing to go to buy stuff at discounted rates? How much discomfort are you willing to suffer? And what would motivate people to brave long lines and huge crowds? I soon found out my new threshold for "shopping pain tolerance" when I took a shopping "stress test" of sorts, at the recently concluded S&R Member's Treat sale.

My family (and by that I mean the family I was born into) has enjoyed S&R Membership since it opened a decade ago, and when I was still single, I had pleasant shopping trips with my mom and sis, getting stuff at S&R sales always towards the end of the sale, when lines are no longer crazy, and the crowd is no longer vicious.  That was our paradigm - avoid the crowds, and enjoy the experience.  We didn't think in terms of what we missed, or what items were grabbed early by shopping savvy early birds who got there before us.  We savored what discounts were still available without the stress! We tend to see the glass half full instead of half empty, I guess.   So imagine my culture shock at my family (this time I mean the one I married into), at the extent to which they were willing to expend energy and effort to exploit a sale.

Guijo and Narra on a shopping "research" trip at S&R (with their Ninang Rina)

It started with research trips. A week before the sale, my husband Oliver, and his sister Rina, together with my Mom-in-law Mama Rubi, met up at S&R Fort Bonifacio branch, for a focused scan of what items were needed for our family business. They methodically scoped the warehouse, row by row, deliberating carefully. Weeks back, they've done their tour of other shopping hubs, from various warehouse Depots to Divisoria - they know the going rates for stuff, so they know which kinds of bargains are pounce-worthy. Models were chosen, prices were noted, discounts were projected, quantities were decided, and a shopping plan (division of labor) was designated. Oliver and I were assigned to go to S&R Pasay branch, near our house; My sis-in-laws Rina and Ging were going to take S&R Fort Bonifacio branch.  Part of the plan was the preparation of staff to assist us, and vehicles to transport our projected purchases.

The queue closer to the entrance. 2 hours more of waiting.

On the day of the sale, we got up early and made it to S&R by 7 am - and to our surprise (or dismay!) the huge parking lot was almost full and the line to the entrance already snaked its way halfway around the lot, with a few loops to boot!  Other shoppers had the foresight to bring umbrellas. I took a mental note for the next sale! So while our staff lined up, I crossed Macapagal hiway to buy a few essentials: snacks, candy and gum, water, and coffee. We had breakfast while in the queue.  When we approached the entrance, we found out that each member was entitled to one shopping cart only, and we had 3 membership cards, so we planned out how to deploy our 3 carts. By 9:30 am, we were at last admitted inside the shopping warehouse. Oliver immediately queued up our carts on one of the check-out lanes, and we began our fatiguing trips, back and forth, to load up our carts. Our bigger items, we ordered separately for pick-up outside the warehouse. 

Our carts on queue, and our assistant's stool to sit on.

It took us another 3 hours of queueing up at the check-out counter. That gave us ample time to buy and claim big stuff, and have Oliver and our driver make one trip to our house to unload, and come back for us, for a second trip. I had enough time to scour the warehouse without having to negotiate congested lanes with a heavy and bulky push cart.  It was very tiring though, to lug stuff back and forth countless times. Oliver was on the phone coordinating with his sister, and to our delight, we all got exactly what we were assigned to purchase - everything on the list they made was successfully acquired. 

Inside: "Bumper to bumper", just like Manila's traffic.

Now, you'd think after 6 hours of punishing queueing, the Carsi Cruz family would feel inclined to rest - haha, NO. Oliver decided to go to the gym right after (with me in tow). Surprisingly, I did a pretty good workout. I guess I had a lot of leftover adrenaline from our olympic shopping experience. While we were at the gym working out, Oliver's sister Rina, went back for a second round of everything! She spent the morning shopping for our joint business; and the afternoon for her other business and her personal stuff at home.  And that's not the end of it, after such a long day, the siblings met for dinner and had a marathon meeting that lasted until midnight.

Batch 1 of our purchases. 

While it was a challenge for me to keep up with my husband's pace, I did manage to do my share of the day's work AND care for my kids in between errands. I fed Guijo and Narra throughout the day, and brought Narra with me to the family meeting, without her yaya, so I was able to feed her dinner, change her, and lull her to sleep while the meeting took place.  Somehow too, I was able to continue to breast feed Guijo despite my busy sched. I don't know how it works out, but it does. I feed him before I leave, and as soon as I return, and when everyone's already resting, Guijo and I enjoy our precious bonding time as I feed him throughout the night.

Someone had the gall (a man) to tell me once, that I'm lucky not to be doing anything because I am a housewife now, that I am not "working". Sigh. It's just sad that only remunerated work gets acknowledgement, that's the sad, sad truth for women all over the world. I swear, though, that on a day like this, a crazy sale day like this, I'd be happy to give that ignorant fool the chance to be in my shoes and let's see if he'd last through the night, and fare with as much grace, and give as much tender care as I did! Hah!

The True Value of American Dollar Bills in the Philippines: A Warning

The "small head" fifty dollar bill refused by banks in the Philippines.
Photo source: http://people.ku.edu/~kaf/pmoney/frn.htm

If a US dollar bill with a "small head" lands on your hands, beware. It's worthless in the Philippines. No bank would change it. No money changer would accept it. Not even the black market foreign exchange stalls in the sleaziest parts of town would trade it.  So I write this blog entry as a form of public service to fellow Pinoys who are still in the dark. If you have "small head" bills in your possession, toughen your hearts - be ready for heartbreak when you try to convert them here in the Philippines, or elsewhere in the developing world for that matter. They aren't worth a singkong duling.

Gone are the days when having dollars is a safe bet. I remember back in the 80's and 90's, when my parents would hold on to dollars as though they were lifesavers to keep us afloat when a currency crisis hits. I remember wads of dollars, tied with rubber bands, hidden under the bed. Hahaha, I know, I know, it sounds primitive. But there were 9 coup d'etats that year, and we were always ready to take flight at a moment's notice, so everything had to be transportable. Even our stash of cash.  Those days of political crisis, the preferred currency to stash was  the revered US dollar. GONE ARE THOSE DAYS. A dollar bill in your hand can be worth less than a wad of tissue to wipe your bum.  At least the wad of tissue is clean and can get the job done. The "small head" bill isn't even good enough for that. With so many versions and innovations on the design of US notes, banks and money changers have adopted policies on which kinds of bills are acceptable or not, and the public isn't always abreast with the latest standards.

Narra received a 50 dollar bill from a relative (thanks Tito! in case you're reading this) who was visiting from the US, and she was excited about it. I took her to the bank yesterday, with plans of opening her own little junior-saver's account with her own little passbook. I wanted to deposit all her cash gifts in her name, so she can grow up cherishing the rituals of saving. When I got to the bank, the dollar bill was refused. That was BDO. So I called my other bank, Citibank, where I had a dollar account. They said they accept old US bills for as long as I deposit it to my account and not encash it. So off to Citibank we went. And when we got there - "oh no!" said the bank officer when she saw the bill - "we don't accept this kind, this is older than the old version we accept" - huh? what? duh? come again? errrrrr? are you kidding me?  When is an old bill considered older than old? How infuriating. Apparently, bills published prior to 1991 are too old indeed. Those of the 1996 series are borderline cases - they must be in good condition - crisp, clean, and with no tears. If a 1996 series bill has the tiniest tear, it may be refused. The newer the series (2003) the better. Now is this fair? For banks to refuse to change money?

There's something we must remember about the nature of paper money as "legal tender" or a medium of payment allowed by law and recognized by a legal system to be valid for meeting a financial obligation. A US $50 dollar bill is legal tender in the US, and must be accepted there. Back home in the Philippines, which is its own independent country (Mabuhay and Inangbayan!), Philippine pesos are legal tender here and US dollars are not, which means the green currency can be refused. I can get mad all I want at the banks and money changers in the country, but by law, they are not obligated to accept US legal tender if they don't want to, after all, this land is NOT an extension of the US of A.

Now, before you think I am mad at the Tito who gave Narra that bill, let me set things straight - I treasure this gift and will keep it safe in her scrapbook for sentimental reasons. Many collectors are keeping their "small head" bills as they are becoming harder to find in the USA. I read a coin collector's forum, and followed their discussion on the perceived value of these rare bills.  I know the feeling of wanting to hold on to old designs of money. I was studying in Spain right before they converted to the Euro, and I diligently collected pesetas for posterity. The lovely thing about my coin collection is that the coins featured different parts of Spain. Every place I visited, I made sure to acquire and save a coin - and now, I have a way to relive my journeys through Spanish regions each time I view my collection.  I wish I also saved old 2 peso bills (the blue ones), and the old 5 pesos (with Bonifacio), and the old 10 pesos (the brown ones).... money of my childhood. Sigh, 10 pesos used to be my daily  baon in kindergarten.  So just like these pesos I feel sentimental about, many American citizens are becoming sentimental about the old "small head" bills from decades back. 

The updated "big head" version that's more widely accepted.
Photo source: http://people.ku.edu/~kaf/pmoney/frn.htm

The rest of the world, however, with no emotional attachment to things American, have no use for them.  From Cambodia and Myanmar, to Tanzania and Kenya - "small head" bills are systematically rejected. So what do you do if you have a wad of "small heads"? Look for US-based relatives and friends, and ask if they can take these dollars off you - or if they can exchange them for big head dollars that actually have value to you. They can use the "small heads" in the US where it is legal tender.  But for fellow Pinoys, please don't carry them with you as travel money elsewhere in the world - you may end up very, very frustrated indeed. 

And if family members and friends are planning to visit from abroad, do them the service of informing them beforehand to take only "big head" dollars with them. Because it's unfortunate when someone with a big heart gives a cash gift with a "small head" - for the value of the gift can be severely diminished,  in monetary terms, or otherwise.

At Maynilad's Office on World Water Day

How appropriate. We spent World Water Day at Maynilad,
settling our water bill issues.

Yesterday, I wept in exasperation. Today, I feel mature. Between then and now, I did what I do best: I researched and reflected. In figuring out how to proceed with a huge bill slapped on me by Maynilad, I decided to conduct due dilligence. I read up on Maynilad's history and current situation, on the water crisis and the relevant legislation involved; I looked up the different NGOs and interest groups fighting for consumers' rights. I interviewed people, and found out that tampering is a common practice in our area, and "professional tamperers" peddle their services to everyone. I analyzed the situation and had reason to believe that Maynilad may have a point when they claim that water was stolen from them by the previous occupants of our house. What do I do now? Knowing what I know?  I prayed and discerned the dictates of my conscience.

I decided what kind of person I wanted to be, and what example I want to give my children. Today, I brought Narra with me on my errands, and made an adventure out of the task of settling our water dsipute.  Having her around as audience to my deeds helped me clarify my objectives. My goal was to do what was right, to be a model citizen, and to behave with dignity and grace in dealing with others.  We cannot control the situations we find ourselves in, but we can control our response to our situation. So I chose to approach my day with a positive attitude, and let my daughter put a smile on my face as often as possible. Isn't that supposed to be one of the benefits of being a parent? That we have our kids to bring sunshine into our lives when grey clouds hover over us?

Self-taken: Narra and I goofing off at the Maynilad office.
 Waiting while spending quality time with my daughter.

Today, I decided NOT to be a victim. I also decided NOT to be that person who says: THIS IS NOT MY FAULT, therefore THIS IS NOT MY RESPONSIBILITY.  I realize that Maynilad has such a big problem in their hands. A lot of the water services they provide is non-revenue, that is, pilfered or wasted through tampered meters, illegal lines, and underground leaks. They decided to do something about it by changing to new meters, and collecting old meters, testing each of them for tampering. This process is tedious, and takes a long time. It just so happens that by the time our old meter was tested, and findings of tampering from 2006-2009 were released in 2010, we had moved into the house.  We became liable for the illegal acts of the previous occupants.  While I initially found this to be unfair, I can understand why Maynilad can't simply strike out our under-collected bills just because I said "I didn't do it! I didn't live there when it happened".  Water was stolen, someone has to pay. A chorus of voices demand that I do not pay! That "it's a matter of principle", that I "should not let them get away with it".  Drowning those voices out, I have to act the way I see fit.

Republic Act 8041, or the Water Crisis Bill of 1995, was created to address a real crisis (as the title suggests). Section 8 on Anti-Pilfering describes the various circumstances in which theft and pilferage can be established.  When a meter has been tampered with, for instance - the actual meter itself is already admissible as evidence for pilferage, and having a tampered meter in your possession has its corresponding penalties.  There is logic behind empowering water service providers like Maynilad with more teeth to run after subscribers with tampered meters. If the subscriber is guilty of tampering - the penalty is only too well deserved. Now, if the subscriber found with a tampered meter is like me, innocent (who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time), the penalty may not be as deserved, but MUST be applied equally nonetheless. It's a simple and just formula: let the ones in possession of a water line be wholly responsible for it.  

I believe in the logic behind this kind of thinking.  I believe, when it comes to the environment for instance, that those who find themselves dealing with the problems of pollution, garbage disposal, and deforestation, can't say "we didn't do this to nature, this isn't our problem" - nope - we can't say the damage was caused by the previous generation, and we can't pass the mess for the next generation to clean-up. Whoever  is here right now, is responsible. Fair enough, I think. 

Narra, playing while our final bill was being computed.

I just feel sad for this country, and how it has bred too many thieves, that water is stolen at such a grand scale. I am mad at the previous occupants of our house for stealing!  Tess, the friendly Maynilad officer who handled my complaint told me that many people pay huge penalties without a fuss.  Why? I asked. "Because they're guilty, the knew they did it so they don't put up a fight", she said. "Not like you", she continued. "You looked really shocked".  Wow. That surprised me. I didn't realize I was transacting at the desk for criminal offenses, that our account actually had pending cases, serious offenses punishable by law, including imprisonment of 6 months to 2 years.

Thank heavens the people at Maynilad did not treat me like a criminal. They only treated me with courtesy, patience, respect and understanding - especially when I was in a state of shock and started spitting out arguments in a hissy fit (though still with my dignity intact).  I requested for a reprieve, and guess what? They gave it. From 56,000 - I was able to contest a number of items, which were stricken off the bill - some 13,000 worth. So we were down to 43,000. I was negotiating a 50% discount - I told Maynilad we should share the responsibility. They failed to inform us in a timely manner, which resulted in injustice - had they been prompt in their investigations, the REAL perpetrators would have had to pay... but because of their 2-year delay, I ended up being charged. So I asked that we split the bill. They had a counter-offer: 30% off the bill, and 12 months installment for the balance, interest free.  I took it. Graciously. 

Then they told me, "okay, here's your payment slip, please go to the nearest bank to pay". Huh? Why can't I pay at the Maynilad office? Wierd isn't it? And downright inconvenient too.  I felt sad again, for this country, that the practices of theft, and doctoring of documents as a result of "lagay" or bribery is so prevalent that a service center isn't allowed to accept cash.  It's very, very sad that the Maynilad Area Service Centers are NOT payment centers. I asked if I could pay by credit card, which would be one big convenience. Nope. They don't have a credit card swipe terminal. Sad, again. 

Narra, pretending to fill up a cash deposit slip at the bank, as we paid our bill.

So Narra and I had to pay at a bank, and had to return to show proof of our payment of the 30% down payment.  It hurt to withdraw money, and to part with it for a crime we did not commit.  But I know Maynilad is on the verge of financial ruin because of rampant stealing. So I do my little part in addressing a big, big problem.  It somewhat feels unjust. But you know what? It's World Water Day, a day when we should think about the value and importance of water. Believe you me, I thought about water A LOT this last 24  hours. I feared losing it. I also understood that water is a basic right for EVERYONE, and not just those who could pay, so I can't even feel very angry at the poor people who tap lines illegally to provide for their family's needs. In my impossibly perfect world in a parallel universe, water is free for all and used responsibly by good citizens.  But alas, I live in this world, where water is a finite resource, where distribution is privatized, and the use of water is measured in cubic meters with corresponding costs, and where freeloaders enjoy the benefits without giving due payments to those who invested in the costs. 

So I'm a little poorer today. But what I lost in money, I gained in peace of mind.  I can sleep knowing I solved a situation for my family, and really resolved it this time, and not just delayed it or passed it on to someone else down the line to make it their headache. Nope. Yesterday, I was drowning in worry over this matter, today it's water under the bridge.

The personal IS political, and my personal water woes made me miss talking about Intro to PolSci topics I used to discuss in class, and thinking about the law, rights, interests, justice, and good citizenship.  I will be thinking a lot more about water and the challenges of urban water management in the months to come, I am sure. 

Happy World Water Day Everyone!

Related Post: On Disputing Maynilad's Water Bills

http://nikki-mama.blogspot.com/2012/03/today-i-just-want-to-weep-on-disputing.html

Link to R.A. 8041: Water Crisis Bill of 1995

http://www.chanrobles.com/republicactno8041.htm

World Water Day Website:

http://www.unwater.org/worldwaterday/