My Best Friend's Wedding and Why I Couldn't Stop Smiling

Tristan, the dashing groom, watching his bride,
Nona, as she approaches the altar.

There are days in one's life, very special days, when one couldn't stop smiling, even if one were to try really hard.  There's a kind of happiness that comes from deep within, so deep, that it taps into the core of the universe and energy flows in such abundance it cannot be concealed. The lucky person who feels such energy will exude an unmistakable glow, not just through smiling lips or eyes, but even through the skin. And when you are in the presence of such palpable energy, you will know it, feel it, and be inspired. This, dear friends, is why I love going to weddings, and how I gauge whether I've attended a really good one. I was just at my best friend's wedding, and I got to witness what I was hoping for - I felt it - that unmistakable feeling when you know destiny is being fulfilled. I am familiar with Tristan Jovellana's many faces, and I was anticipating a look on his face worthy of his wedding day. Oh how I basked in its light when I saw it! He was giddy-happy-proud-fulfilled-in-love.  And I, feeling profoundly connected to my dearest friend, tapped into his energy, mirroring his happiness and amplifying it further. I couldn't stop smiling too. What delicious energy it was to soak in!

My dad and mom getting to walk down the aisle. 

Tristan and Nona, the groom and bride, honored our family by asking us to take part in their wedding: they invited my parents to be Primary Sponsors (godparents), they asked me to be a Secondary Sponsor (candle sponsor), and my little girl was their flower girl.  My husband, Oliver was away on a business trip to Europe so he couldn't join us, but my sister Marion was able to come. Our family came full force for the occasion because Tristan is close to our hearts. He brought cheer to our home at crucial points - he's responsible for bringing to us a most beloved pet, my mom's dog Pirouette, who offered a decade's worth of joy and companionship to my parents when my sis and I left home to live abroad and they had to deal with an empty nest. He did stunning interiors for our new home, with his design touches always getting a lot of compliments from our guests. And when I lived abroad, he was one of the truest friends I had, who remained my constant anchor in the Philippines, always making time to meet up whenever I'm in town. His participation at my own wedding is unforgettable: I walked down the aisle to the sound of his beautiful voice - he was singing soulfully as I made my way to Oliver. My parents brought me to the altar, and so did Tristan through his song, accompanying me to the very last millisecond of my single days.  I wanted to share in his joy on his wedding day, as he did with me on mine.

My mom and dad, Walter and Sonia, Ninang and Ninong to Tristan and Nona.

And my parents, I am so glad they are ninong and ninang to the newlyweds. They were two smiley people on Tristan and Nona's wedding day. When they walked down the aisle for the bridal procession, they looked like a young couple on a special date.  Truth be told, both my dad and mom were not feeling well  - they were lethargic, fatigued, and sick before and after the event. But during the wedding and reception that followed, they were energized and in good spirits. A magical moment can do wonders. Even Narra, who acted up and refused to walk down the aisle at the start of the wedding, was already smiley afterwards.

At the reception, there were lovely details that made guests feel extra welcome. There were tiny picture frames functioning as place cards. Next to my photo frame was that of Oliver's and my daughter Narra's. Oh how I missed my husband! I remembered our own wedding day, and how he looked as I approached the altar. I remember how I felt, and what joyous energy coursed through my veins.  I remember how we smiled, our super happy smiles, so uncontrollable our gums showed. It's a mental picture I constantly replay, and it never fails to brighten cloudy days.

Individual photo frames serving as place cards (with photos of me, Oliver, and Narra)

To Nona, I have this bit of advice: always remember how Tristan looked on your wedding day.  There will be days in your married life when you would have doubts - on those dark days summon the memory of an important truth, that your husband declared his love for you on your wedding day, not just from the heartfelt vows he uttered at the altar, but from the triumphant exuberance he projected through every pore of his skin. A couple of weeks before your wedding day, Tristan visited me at home and we had a heart to heart talk, and I asked him about his fears regarding marriage - and he told me one fear - one that I feel if I share in public against his will is a beautiful betrayal he could forgive. Nona, he told me the most beautiful fear any woman would wish her man would say: he feared he might lose you.  Tristan, who used to be the center of the universe, the charmingly narcissistic and endearing megalomaniac who needed only himself to be happy, finally needed someone else for real, for good - someone he cannot bear to live without.  He found you.  And if you ever question the depth of his love for you, remember that he oozed with joy on your wedding day,  and was consumed with emotion as he said his vows. He exuded love, and electrified those close to him with his happiness. This kind of joy cannot be faked or forced, or performed. It comes from a sacred source and happens only by grace.

Tristan, Nona, and my sister Marion.

Remember my wedding message for you both: Don't just rely on love to sustain your marriage, but rather, rely on marriage to sustain your love. When I lit your wedding candle I summoned all the best wishes and good vibes I could muster, and prayed that you would have a marriage that is truly blessed. Thank you so much for inviting my family to share in your big day. It was such a beautiful affair that all of us also felt beautiful! And I, with my post-partum body, can't thank you enough for making me feel happy in my own skin again with all that positive energy.  You gave me a precious few hours to relive the beauty and joy I felt on my own wedding day. Thank you, oh thank you.

On Halloween and the Trick to Having a Treat

Halloween cake pops from Pop Cakes

Every year, it has become a family tradition to go Trick or Treating at Acropolis where my in-laws Owen and Ging host a Halloween party at their lovely home. Last year, I came to the party well prepared. Weeks before the event, I ordered some Pop Cakes (thanks Bea!) - bite-sized dense chocolate cake balls artfully coated in Jack-o-Lantern, One-eyed monster, Werewolk, and Ghost designs. From the act of selecting a design, to picking up the cakes, bringing them to the party, and eating them of course! it was such a treat!  

My niece Julia, enjoying  her One-Eyed-Monster Cake Pop

Another thing I prepared in advance was Narra's costume. My sister Marion bought Narra a ballerina dress, a lovely toddler's tutu in baby pink, with ballet slippers to match. I had Narra try on the outfit way in advance so I could do alterations as it was still a little big on her.  The shoes, sadly, were too small on her. I bought her tights, and a headpiece, and I did several dress rehearsals so she would be comfortable in her fussy clothing. I had a really enjoyable time last year and my secret then was preparation.

With my nephew Mateo and my daughter Narra. Halloween Party 2010.

Then came this year's Halloween - I wasn't as prepared. My sister Marion again bought Narra a lovely new costume for Trick or Treating. On one of her trips to India, she got Narra an exquisite bejeweled dress, in rich hues of turquoise and burgundy, with gold threads. The fabric looked opulent. It was costume-y enough for Halloween, and was unique, I knew no other kid would be walking around the block with the same look. I tried the dress on Narra once, just to see if it would fit, and I also looked for gold shoes to match. I thought that was enough preparation. But alas, I did not prepare Narra enough. 

Narra, Guijo, and Mateo, right before Trick or Treating. Halloween 2011.

On the day itself, she would not wear the thing. She was screaming and kicking, and crying, and we had a colossal clash - an epic battle of wills and boy I did not want to lose! I was really tempted to bully my way to victory over my daughter when I took pause. I do not subscribe to the "might is right" principle - is it really worth it? Making my daughter cry over a costume? I engaged her in dialogue: "why don't you want to wear this costume?", I asked. "Masakit kasi, tsaka makati" (it hurts, and it's itchy) she said, and "I want to wear the ballet dress" she added.  I found out from her yaya that she tried on her tutu while I was out, and she was dancing around in her room joyfully pretending to be a ballerina.  Oh wow. I learned an important lesson. The costume is not the point - rather, it is the enjoyment one derives from being in costume that matters. If my daughter will enjoy herself in an old costume she is comfortable in, why force her to be in an uncomfy new costume she'll be miserable in?  

Narra and Mateo Trick or Treating at a neighbor's house. Acropolis Village, Libis. 2011.

It was a breeze getting her into her old tutu. Her cousin Mateo, likewise, happily donned his Superman costume from last year too. I am sad that the other costume went to waste, and my preparation was all for naught, but my frustration vanished in an instant when I saw Narra and Mateo clowning around as they excitedly waited to start trick or treating. 

I look at them and I'm thinking how weird it is that they've grown so fast in some ways, but at the same time they're still babies, they still fit into last year's clothes! I don't understand how that's possible... how could they have grown so little, and yet also grown so much? I'm trying to do the math and it doesn't add up. And then there's the simple math of additions: our family is growing, we have new babies joining our trick or treating entourage this year: Guijo and Marko!  

The cousins who are like brothers: Oliver and his son Guijo with Thunder and his son Marko.

Oliver would often recount to me how, growing up, whenever there was a need to be in costume, he and his cousin Thunder would be dressed as Batman and Robin. Sayang! If we were better prepared for this Halloween, we could have dressed our boys in coordinated costumes. Our group was halo-halo, or like a gado-gado salad,  a "mix-mix" of different characters: heroes, a ghost, a Disney princess, a ballerina, a strawberry (Marko), and a bumblebee (Guijo), and even an Octopus (my cuz-in-law Rakel). I'm thinking maybe next year Rakel and I can plan something and think of a creative way to get coordinated. 

Our trick or treating entourage: 2 babies, 2 toddlers, 3 yayas, 4 kids, and 2 moms.
The rest of the family stayed at home.

While we were walking around the village, getting candies from house to house, we came across this cute barkada of young teens all dressed as different crayons. Their enthusiasm was infectious!  Their costume design was a hit, and people, young and old alike, were drawn to them. I saw in these girls something I really like: creativity and preparation; charm and energy; but also sensibility: they didn't go overboard, they used simple materials, and they were in comfortable clothes! Most importantly, they were having a lot of fun. I suspect they got more candies because they were spreading cheer as they were soliciting goodies.  They didn't need to execute a mega production number to be refreshingly different. They just thought of a novel costume idea, and enjoyed themselves. And that's the trick. 

A barkada of teens dressed as crayons.

To order Pop Cakes, visit:
http://www.popcakes.biz/

Receiving My Wang Gungwu Prize and Rekindling My Career Dreams

Prof. Rey Ileto congratulating me after handing over my Wang Gungwu Medal and Prize for
Best Dissertation in the Social Sciences and Humanities, National University of Singapore

Last Sunday, I received an award.  Like a slap on the face it woke me up.  I've been so immersed in my family life that I've put my career plans on the back burner and my passion for all things academic slid from hot, to lukewarm, to cold in the last few months. I recently obtained my Doctorate in Southeast Asian Studies from the National University of Singapore. It is a fact I am not conscious of most days when I am at home tending to my babies. But Sunday was quite a blessed day. I had a heartwarming afternoon tea with people who inspire me and I felt the dying embers of my career dreams being fanned back to life. I was reminded that while I am a mother, I am also many other things besides and I must nurture not just my children, but my own dreams as well.

It took me a long time to finish writing my dissertation.  Beautiful things happened to distract me: my engagement to Oliver; wedding planning; the actual wedding; pregnancy; childbirth; and child rearing. I kept trying to write my thesis in bits and pieces but couldn't quite bring everything together. Then, my mentor and thesis supervisor, renowned historian Prof. Rey Ileto intervened. He made me focus on my work, summoning me to Singapore in January, 2010 for a writing trip so I could be closely supervised. He made me sit and write, and he commented on and edited each section I completed, as I wrote the next section. It was intense. At first I found myself crying - separation from my baby Narra was difficult. But after a while, I became immersed in the world of my thesis and words began to flow and the bits and pieces I've written over the years were coming together.  I flew back to Manila fired up to write, but the moment I got home, caring for Narra distracted me from completing my task again. I flew to Singapore once more in late February, for another intensive writing trip. It was very clear to me what I wanted to say, and my mind was running faster than my fingers could type. I slept little for 10 days, to do the writing marathon of my life, with Prof. Rey coaching me straight to the finish line.  I submitted my thesis in early March and came home having accomplished my goal to submit all my requirements for my degree. I returned to Singapore for a successful thesis defense in July.  I was done!  Degree conferred!

I thought that was the happy end of my PhD story. But a year later, I received great news: my work received the Wang Gungwu Prize for Best Thesis in the Social Sciences and Humanities; the award came with a gold medal and a cash prize. This great news came at a crucial time when I needed it most: I was then pregnant and unemployed, and looking for inspiration. I was supposed to receive the award at the Commencement Exercises in Singapore in July 2011 - I already asked a Singapore-based friend, Basti, to buy my toga, and I was imagining myself marching up the stage in my doctoral garb, receiving my medal. I was a bit too pregnant for comfort though, and the trip for my graduation did not materialize. I gave birth a few weeks later, and was so busy with childbirth, recovery, and child rearing, that I was unable to arrange for the pick-up of my medal and check. Fortunately, Prof. Rey had a trip to Manila and he kindly agreed to deliver the "goodies".

Our small group having Shangri-la Makati's afternoon tea sets,

The day Prof. Rey arrived, my ever supportive mother and sister organized an intimate get-together to celebrate the occasion (Thanks Mom, thanks sis!) Since we were picking up Prof. Ileto at the airport at 1:30 pm, we decided on having afternoon tea right after. Our small group of 10 occupied a quiet corner of Shangri-la Makati's Lobby Lounge.  In attendance were people who played important roles in my thesis-writing journey.  They are also my sources of inspiration for getting my career back on track.

Standing: Oliver and Guijo, Walter Briones and Narra, me, Prof. Ileto, Rep. Tonchi Tinio, Art Hilado.
Seated: Dr. Trina Pineda Tinio, Sonia Serranilla Briones, and my sis Marion Briones.

Of course there's Prof. Rey Ileto my mentor whose investment in my training is as great as his hopes for my success. I feel the weight of expectation in his congratulatory handshake and I do not want to let him down. Then there's Dr. Trina Tinio, my contemporary at NUS who was also supervised by Prof. Ileto. She is my role model for balancing the professional and personal: she is now Senior Vice President at FEU, while being a super mom to Marko, and supportive congressman's wife to boot! Her husband Rep. Tonchi Tinio inspires Oliver and I to think beyond our own family's concerns, to always try to make a difference, to take an active role in trying to fix this country. And then there's Ninong Art Hilado, Oliver's travel buddy, and our principal sponsor at our wedding. Art is the consummate traveler, having been all over the world many times over! Name it, Zimbabwe, Vanuatu, Burkina Faso, even Antartica!...if it's worth seeing, he's probably been there.  Nowadays my children have become my world, and Art reminds me that the world is my home.  Art is also a true theater enthusiast, and has seen Moro-Moro plays. For this reason, he read my thesis! (the first person I know who voluntary read my long thesis for leisure - everyone else did so as part of their job description).

My ever-supportive parents (and lovely flowers from the Tinios).

And then there's my parents Walter and Sonia Briones. They are my role models for great parenting. They are encouraging without being pushy; supportive without being indulgent; principled without being rigid. They become proud and disappointed in healthy doses, just enough to keep my striving for excellence a most enjoyable and rewarding process.  And my sister Marion, with her graduate training in literature, history, and peace studies - she was someone to talk theory with! And her collection of books provided me with an instant library of relevant stuff I needed. She may not have pursued a doctorate, but I sometimes feel like I am walking in her footsteps, traveling down her "road not taken" whenever I am leafing through her books. 

Oliver with Guijo, me with Narra.

To round up the group that afternoon, there's our family of 4: Oliver, me, Narra and Guijo, my daily source of meaning. Oliver has been greatly supportive of my academic life, caring for our baby so I can go off on my writing trips; and moving from our house in Batangas (close to his work place) to our newly renovated house in Manila (close to my work place). He did this at great expense and effort so I could pursue my passion. I intend to repay his loving sacrifice by getting my career back on track.

Narra, my "mini-me"

Narra is like a sponge now, absorbing everything. She is also like the unblinking eye of a camera, she captures images and commits them to memory even if she has yet to learn the words for what she sees. I want her to witness more days like these, celebratory, triumphant!

Since that inspiring afternoon tea a week ago I've been hatching a plan in my head. I am envisioning my next career moves, and I am gaining more clarity on what I want to do next so I could best put my academic training to good use. I have to thank Wang Gungwu for allowing me the great honor of being a recipient of his award.  The NUS website describes the Wang Gungwu award as one given in recognition of research achievements of graduate students.  What would anyone donate such a huge sum of money to recognize new researchers? Why invest in them at all? Why was I given prize money for the work I did? I could only hazard an answer: because like newborn babies, young scholars need nurturance. Thank you Professor Wang. We've never met, but you play a pivotal role in my life. Your encouragement is giving me the confidence and inspiration I need to do more research and produce new knowledge. Your award has re-ignited my passion for scholarship and helped rekindle my career dreams.

Our Son's Baptism and The Precious Gift from his Dying Uncle Owen

Yesterday, our son Guillermo Jose was baptized and became a Roman Catholic. As holy water was poured over him, his parents and godparents surrounded him, and laid hands on him, covering him in a mantle of faith, hope, and love. I felt the energy of the holy moment course through my veins. I was excited, enthused, elated!! At last! We've wanted this baptism to take place earlier, but it had to be postponed twice on account of the deaths of Oliver's brother followed by his aunt. With the delay came a greater desire to have our son receive the sacrament. After attending wakes and funerals the family needed a break from tearful goodbyes, a baptism was such a welcome change, it felt like a "reset button", a chance to start fresh. 

The baptism was held at the lower chapel of Christ the King in Greenmeadows, the very same church where just weeks earlier, we held the wake and final mass for Oliver's brother Owen.  My thoughts went to Owen as we, the parents and godparents - and all adults present - were asked to renew our vows and profess our faith.  When Owen was fighting cancer, he turned to his faith for strength. He started inviting the family to join him to go to church to attend mass. He proudly professed his faith, in his emails, text messages, and the speeches he gave on bearing witness to God's providence. In his final hours, he held on to his rosary for dear life. In baptism, candles represent our being enlightened by Christ and we are encouraged to keep the flame of faith alive.  Owen's faith was a raging fire towards the end of his life. He is my daughter Narra's godfather, and though their lifetimes overlapped only ever so briefly, he already played a role in her Christian formation.  She was learning to speak, and learning to pray as he was fighting cancer, and one of the first things she learned to pray for, was his recovery. She would utter each night before going to bed: "Jesus, Mama Mary, Bless ninong Owen na gumaling siya" (that he gets better), her pudgy baby hands in prayer pose, with an earnest expression on her face.  Said by a toddler barely two years in age, I imagine a prayer to hold a different kind of power in its purity.

Guijo in his Christening clothes. A vision of precious purity and innocence.

Purity. It is one of the aims of baptism to wash away original sin. This is one reason I dressed Guijo in white even if it is no longer required by the church.  I was looking at him in his Christening clothes, and I was thinking, what an absolute angel!  And that thought, of an angel, triggered another memory of Owen.

When Guijo was born, Owen was in bad shape and in great pain, but he took the time to write this welcome message for Guijo:

Subject: Welcome home, Guijo!

Nikki & Oliver, now is best time for me to send my congratulatory greetings
since I feel much better in mind & body. It was a dreadful 4 days from
Tuesday. Then things turned around friday evening just after Guijo's birth,
before midnight. I fell asleep on the bed--a first in 3 mos. This morning,
I did my stretching exercises, ate half a hash brown for breakfast, coffee,
prayed my rosary b4 taking another nap. Joey Benedicto and wife came for a
surprise visit and joined the family for noon mass. Wow. Guijo's birth was
my lifeline. His guardian angel and mine are twins joined at the hip so to
speak, so we both have 2 each, 1 more than everyone else. I beam
w/happiness for you both and Narra, knowing that 4 makes you a much happier
family than 3. The future holds a lot of promise. Hang-on because the ride
is about to begin for your family of 4. Welcome home, Guijo!

This message made me want to cry, for many reasons. It pained me to read how he had been reduced to such a state that eating half a hash brown was already something worth reporting. Owen was the consummate gourmand, he pursued good food with great energy and passion. He took us to many buffets - my first trip to Spirals when it had just opened at Hotel Sofitel was thanks to Owen. The last buffet we went to was at a Japanese Restaurant at Diamond Hotel, it was a yakiniku-grill-all you can concept and we had a small function room just for the family, and Owen ordered away, authoritatively outlining all the things he wanted - I remember him ordering the largest scallops I've ever seen. He already had cancer then, and was undergoing treatment, but he was sturdy as his appetite was strong. 

A photo with four generations: My Lolo Vicente De Lima and Lola Norma De Lima; My dad Walter;
My sister Marion; and I with Narra and Guijo (carried by yaya Ruby).
Christening Reception at Sambo Kojin, Greenhills.

Yakiniku buffet - my last kind of buffet with Owen - is the first kind we have with Guijo. Our Christening reception was held at Sambo Kojin Japanese-Korean restaurant. We didn't have any of the usual party fare: no invitations, balloons and decor, nor cake and giveaways. There was only one item on the program - to eat, together. I was happy to see my families there, both the one I was born into and grew up with; and the one I married into and mourned recent deaths with. All are Guijo's kin, celebrating his arrival. And then there are our friends, people who are permanent fixtures in our lives, also welcoming him into our social circles.  He is welcomed with a shower of gifts - material, monetary, and spiritual... everyone wishes him well.

Of all the gifts Guijo received that day, one stood out as the biggest in size, the most expensive in monetary value, and the grandest and most memorable in the execution of its delivery: it was a gift from my sister-in-law Ging, Owen's wife and widow, and Guijo's ninang. She casually told me that she had the gift for Guijo transfered to our van directly. She said it so casually, with no indication of how special it is. We only found out when we got home and saw this huge box being brought to our living room.

Oliver unwrapping the gift handpicked by his dying brother for his newborn son Guijo.

The gift is a sleek MacLaren stroller, grey in color with orange accent details (colors Oliver absolutely loves). It is a generous gift on its own. But what makes it even more special is the fact that Owen himself chose it, ordered it online, had it shipped from the US before he died. There's a delivery sticker somewhere on the box, it had an order date - he got it way before Guijo was born. I thought the email welcoming Guijo was the one concrete thing from Owen that I could pass down to Guijo.  But apparently, that wasn't the last. Even with him already gone, Guijo gets to receive a gift from his uncle.   Buying that stroller was a task initiated by Owen - getting it to Guijo was thanks to Ging - husband and wife still working in tandem to continue the tradition of thoughtful gift-giving their family is known for.  Thank you dearest Ging, my son's beloved ninang, for that very generous gift! For how you perfectly executed its delivery! For what it stands for! 

"4 makes you a much happier family than 3" said Owen. And last night, as I began writing about Guijo's baptism, the little boy regaled us with a new set of antics we haven't seen before. He started to smile at us for real. Prolonged, responsive, appreciative smiles - not the sporadic, accidental kind that comes and goes and lasts for brief seconds. Narra was ecstatic at her newfound talent in making her brother smile. Oliver and I were equally elated. Yes Owen, our ride has begun. And we will hang on, not only to each other, but also to precious memories, of you. And most importantly, our Christian family will hang on to our faith, as you have, when the ride gets bumpy.  

Related Post:
2 Deaths in 40 Days: Mourning the Loss of Family
http://nikki-mama.blogspot.com/2011/10/2-deaths-in-40-days-mourning-loss-of.html

A Filipino Baptismal Celebration

http://nikki-mama.blogspot.com/2011/09/filipino-baptismal-celebration.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."

An Afternoon in Paco Park: Contemplations on Choosing a Final Resting Place

The Historical Marker at the entrance of Paco Park.

The old mortuary chapel, now a popular wedding venue.

A few weekends ago, Oliver and I left the kids at home and headed out for coffee. We needed to have a serious conversation about preparing for the future.  Oliver's brother Owen had just died, and his passing away forced opened a series of flood gates, and we drowned in questions to which we had no ready answers. We drove around Manila and stumbled upon Paco Park, an old Spanish-era cemetery built in the early 1800's. It was hauntingly beautiful.

The elevated promenade above the old cemetery niches.

That Sunday afternoon, there was a wedding going on in the park's little stone chapel, the garden was quite deserted, however, so we had the place to ourselves. We walked up centuries old stone steps to get to an elevated promenade which offered a panoramic view of the layers of niches neatly embedded in the cemetery's concentric walls. From inside the chapel, a choir was singing "Anima Christi", and the lyrics reduced us to silence. A wedding is such a hopeful ritual, sanctifying the union of strangers who are drunk with love, transforming them into a family. How peculiar to hold it in a place as sobering as a cemetery.  On some level, however, it is profoundly fitting to tie the knot in a place like this - after all, both marriage and death symbolize something permanent, final.

"Cadena Perpetua", my mother says of marriage - you are linked (or chained) to each other for eternity. That afternoon in Paco park made me think about marriage, family, and death - where will my resting place be when the call of death arrives?  Both Oliver and I would want to respect each other's wishes when it is our turn to confront the inevitable. This can only be done, however, if our wishes are known.  While taking care of arrangements for his brother's burial at Manila Memorial Park, Oliver considered buying memorial plans for us. The family just bought adjacent lots, and plans on building a mausoleum. Details like allocations, design lay-out, and even "positioning" are now being discussed... incredibly awkward topics that need to be addressed so construction could begin. 

The conversation we started that afternoon in Paco Park was revived again today, and became even more pressing.  Sadly, suddenly, shockingly, an aunt - Tita Boots - died two days ago of a heart attack, and Oliver, once again, had to go to Manila Memorial Park for burial arrangements. While there, he gave me a call, and we had one of the weirdest conversations ever - so morbid, it could only be carried out with humor.

"Babe", he said, "I'm buying 2 memorial plans for both of us". He sounds excited.  "I'm now an expert on caskets, there are nuances to picking one, what color, what finish, what kind of door - single or double, for half or full viewing", he chuckles as he explains. "I've scrutinized the burial packages available, I'm choosing for you, just go for the upgrade if you're not happy with it", I laugh at the word "upgrade"... and knowing his penchant for picking the good stuff, I asked him "can I get a downgrade instead and get a cash refund for the difference?" True enough, he confirms:  "hindi siya mura ha! (but it's not cheap ha!)... It's my Christmas gift na!" he laughs. "Yehey!"- I reply sarcastically, we both laugh.  

Haha. The hopeless romantic in me interprets his gesture in the most flattering light - he loves me so much, he'd want to lie next to me forever? I thought when we exchanged vows, we only promised 'til death do us part' and we're free to choose separate "accommodations" afterwards! We tried to keep the conversation light with humor. But I found myself teary-eyed.  I want to be buried with family, for sure, but how can I think of "family" without my dad, mom, and sis? 

I am still in denial about a certain truth I instinctively know, that marriage and childbirth are so life-changing they've changed what the word "family" means for me now.  Of course a word can hold multiple meanings, but one meaning would tend to be privileged over all others. What family means to me now, first and foremost, is Oliver, Narra and Guijo.  I love this new family we started, I am awash with gratitude for this precious, picture-perfect family God blessed me with. But something hurts, deep inside. For 3 decades I thought of family primarily in terms of that 4-person unit that made up our happy Briones home.  For the past 3 years, I mentally appended my new family to my old one, from a circle of 4, to 5 with Oliver, to 6 with the addition of Narra, to 7 with Guijo's arrival.  I deluded myself into thinking no transition was necessary from old family to new, that the two were seamlessly welded in a continuum.

The question on what I would choose as a final resting place however, sends my mind reeling with the painful truth that the two roads to eternity chosen by my two families diverge, and I could not travel on both roads without splitting myself in half.  Oliver is looking at coffins and plans for us to be buried at Manila Memorial Park. My mother bought a vault at the spanking new National Shrine of St. Therese Columbarium, a modern resting place for cremated remains of the departed. Four urns can be accommodated in each vault. I am welcome at either resting place. So Oliver asks, if something happens to me, what are my wishes? He will respect whatever I choose.

I know that before I got married, when Oliver's family came to my house for the pamamanhikan, it was a symbolic ritual, a transfer of rights - from my family to his - I was being taken into his family with my family's consent, because we asked for their blessing. What was being brokered was a lifetime of memories.  When I was "given away" by my dad at the end of the aisle on my wedding day, these were part of what he was giving away: the exclusive right to Christmases and other holidays and where they will be spent - and even where I will be laid to rest when God calls me back to Him. By virtue of marriage, I have an invitation to the Carsi Cruz plot in the cemetery. Will I say yes to the invitation?

At my wedding, being "given away" by my parents.

My mind goes back to my wedding day and how joyously I said "I do" to being bound to Oliver. I was bursting with happiness, in a spiritual way, to the core of my being. Walking down the aisle felt like walking into the light and seeing everything clearly because I followed my heart to commit to a future with him.  We got married on 08-08-08 because 8 means infinity,  symbolizing forever. 8 also looks like a chain, "cadena perpetua" - as my mother would say. I recall an unusual thing we did at our wedding  - I walked down the aisle to a song sung a capella by my best friend Tristan. The lyrics went:

Take and receive Oh Lord, my liberty

take all my will, my mind, my memory,

All things I hold, and all I own are thine,

thine was the gift to thee I all resign

Do thou direct, and govern all and sway

do what thou will command, and I obey

Only thy grace, thy love on me bestow,

these make me rich, all else will I forego

And as I replay the scene in my head, of me walking down the aisle, and how at that moment, I understood the meaning of this song at a much deeper level than ever before, it becomes clearer to me where I want to finally be laid to rest.

That afternoon in Paco Park, we were at a cemetery, and there was a wedding, and I remembered my own wedding, and how Oliver and I held each other in a tight embrace as soon as we were pronounced man and wife. It felt like coming home. While at Paco Park I had a mental picture of us, together for a very long time, in life...and in death. I saw an image of our children and grandchildren visiting our graves - we are side by side, their Papa and Mama, their Lolo and Lola, in this beautiful family mausoleum made of bricks. I know my place is by my husband's side. 

2 Deaths in 40 days: Mourning The Loss of Family

I am struck by the way events repeat themselves. The good and the bad come in discernible patterns, especially in my husband's family. Death and Life, occurring in batches.

In the early 1970's, the Socorro sisters Mama Rubi and Tita Boots gave birth to baby boys just months apart. For Mama Rubi it was her 5th child, Oliver. For Tita Boots, it was her first born, Thunder. Oliver had his own big brother, Owen who was ten years older, and he found another brother in his cousin Thunder.  They are very close, best friends. Fast forward 4 decades later, and the pattern of simultaneous pregnancy has been repeated twice since I joined the family just 3 years ago. 

Brothers Owen and Oliver became fathers just months apart...Owen welcomed his 4th child Mateo; Oliver, his first born Narra. Two years later, another repetition: Thunder welcomes his son Marco just a few months before Oliver welcomes his son Guijo.  There were plans to hold Marco and Guijo's baptism at the same time, and to have a joint celebration when Guijo turned one month old - but plans had to be postponed because of sad news.

Owen with Mateo, June 2009, around the time he
announced to the family that he had cancer.

The family lost Owen on September 5th, after his 2-year battle against lung cancer.  The family mourns his loss deeply, and hasn't recovered yet.  Today is the 40th day since he died and there was a dinner gathering tonight among family and friends in his honor.  Marco and Guijo's baptism was planned the weekend after Owen's 40th day - next week supposedly - but as events are wont to repeat themselves - plans had to be postponed again, because of more sad news. The worst repetition imaginable: another death in the family.

Happy times: Macau 2007.
L-R: My husband Oliver, My Mother-in-law Mama Rubi,
My Cousin-in-law Thunder, and his mother Tita Boots.

Last night, Tita Boots died, all of a sudden, without warning... too fast, too soon.  She had a heart attack, was brought to the hospital, and didn't make it through the night. Oliver rushed to the hospital to see Tita Boots being subjected to CPR - he arrived in time to hear difficult questions he'd been asked just weeks before: do not resuscitate? He called me to say he was going to the hospital to visit Tita Boots...his next text an hour later said we were losing her... then it was over, she was gone.  

And we're going to repeat all the rituals of mourning all over again - wake and funeral ... today is Owen's 40th day dinner ... and we will have another one in 40 days for Tita Boots. The prospect of grieving another loss weighs heavy in my heart... I physically feel the pain in my chest as my heart constricts - for my husband Oliver, for my cousin Thunder, for my sister-in-law Ging and her children, for my mother-in-law who had to bury a son, and now a sister.  

I am an in-law. I am the newcomer in the family, and among the adults, I know Owen and Tita Boots least. I feel like a stranger with few rights to mourn - after all, the shared memories I have with them is nothing compared to the storehouse of memories blood relatives have accumulated through the decades. And yet, I feel the deep, sharp pain of loss - the kind felt by real kin.  The day I exchanged vows with Oliver, they became my family, and the day I got pregnant, my relations with them became cemented for eternity... in my children, the blood lines of their family and mine are forever intertwined. And the day Owen died, I felt it in my gut - I lost the closest thing I ever had to a brother even before I had the chance to get to know him better, I mourned the loss of a possible future with him, of having him as Narra and Guijo's uncle, of having him as my "kuya", the big brother I never had - or almost had.

And then there's Tita Boots. I know little about the details of her life: like where she studied, what she did before she retired, her love life - the big details, I don't know these. But I will miss her a lot because she was there throughout my journey into motherhood - all the important events of my life in the last couple of years were celebrated with her. She came to my house for the "pamamanhikan" before I got married, she was there at the wedding, and when I got pregnant, she gave me maternity wear; when I gave birth both times, she was there at the hospital to welcome my babies to the family - and my last photo of her was taken just a month ago, when she visited us in our hospital room when Guijo was confined.  She was there at Narra's baptism, and I assumed she would be there at Guijo's...

Tita Boots at Oliver's Birthday Celebration, 2009.

Tita Boots at Narra's Christening Celebration, 2009.

My last photo of Tita Boots. She and Thunder visited our
hospital room when Guijo was confined at The Medical City.
September, 2011.

I stared at my Excel File with Guijo's baptism guest list, I stared at the entry that said "Tita Boots" - "confirmed"... and I couldn't bring myself to rectify the entry now that she died all of a sudden - I couldn't get around the pain of reducing the family head count - if only Owen and Tita Boots could be there, for the baptism, for all the birthdays to come. I now think of Guest Lists in a different way. They are not just a way of figuring out logistics: how many seats to reserve, and how much food to prepare. It is not just for the practicality of party planning for me now. After having to deal with 2 deaths in 40 days, I look at a Guest List as a celebration of life, a wonderful, beautiful enumeration of loved ones who are Here! Present! Alive! 

Oliver was inconsolable this morning and I had no words of comfort to offer. But I did have a way to reach into that part of him that sees the light in the midst of darkness. I have Narra and Guijo, and their precious innocence. These children, so full of promise, so full of vigor - offer a powerful antidote to the specter of death. They bring inspiration and hope, and intoxicating happiness, even in times of grief.  

Good bye Owen, good bye Tita Boots. Thank you for welcoming me, and my children to the family. See you at our family reunion in heaven someday.