One thing you can count on...

...when you're in the supermarket and they start playing Peabo Bryson's Nothing's Gonna Change My Love You, at least one supermarket staff member will sing along. Very likely more.

Easter Sunday

Pushing my family to 8:15am Easter mass may have been difficult, but it was certainly worth it. It was also the children's mass which not only made it not just appropriate but actually shorter than the other masses today. The children were led out Pied Piper style to enjoy their liturgy separately from the adults and K and C willingly went, as these days they are wont to do. But when they came returned, K had a face.

"How was it?" I whispered.

"Not great," she whispered back, clearly underwhelmed by the experience.

Then she proceeded to deliver a hilarious impression, complete with accent, of the lady in charge of preaching the children's liturgy...

"Jesus rose from the dead to save us from sin - be quiet and sit down!... and the bunnies give us life because they multiply...Put that down or leave immediately!"

I swear I almost burst out laughing right in the middle of mass.

I guess you had to be there.

Where are all the great Beatles songs?

Christy Cook should have sung From Me To You. Amanda Overmier should have sung Hey Jude. David Archuleta chose well with The Long and Winding Road, but he could have also done The Fool On The Hill or Nowhere Man. Michael John should have sung All You Need Is Love, although I do like A Day In The Life. David Cook chose well with Day Tripper but I guess the judges were right. It was too much like last week. He could have sung Norwegian Wood.

I actually liked Carly, the tatooed Irish chick's choice of Blackbird but she could have also done justice to Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds. Brooke White should have sung Strawberry Fields like Sandy Farina or I Will. Jason Castro should have sung I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends like Peter Frampton did. He kind of has that goofy Peter Frampton quality.

Chikezie should have sung Get Back.
Sayesia was okay with Yesterday but Here, There, Everwhere would have also been a good choice. As for Ramielle Malubay, (who if I may say, doesn't seem to be hungry for this at all), if she really wanted to be upbeat, she should have sung any of the following: All My Loving or I Want To Hold Your Hand or She's Gotta Ticket To Ride or she should have stuck to her strengths with a meaningful ballad like For No One. Why has no one sung For No One?

Why aren't they picking them? I guess because they've never ever heard these songs before. Then again, who's coaching these kids? Why don't they have a Beatles mentor?

What about Nowhere Man? What about Golden Slumbers? What about Strawberry Fields or Penny Lane or You Never Give Me Your Money or my all-time favourite Paperback Writer?

Needless to say, I could go on and on and on.

Funniest IDOL quote for me

"I just found out that Ma belle is French. I thought it was English."
- Jason Castro

Sitting with the Amoy traders

Those who do not know Singapore tend to harbor all sorts of stereotypes about it. Some true, and some, just patently untrue. For instance too many people worry inordinately about chewing gum. Some will dismiss the city state unfairly as being a little on the sleepy side in terms of night life, something that may have been true when we first moved here in 2000, but is quickly changing, even as we speak. Other misconceptions? That it is a city with no sense of history or culture, that there is nothing to do here except shop, go to the zoo and the bird park, and eat. That it is a concrete, urban mall city devoid green.

And of course, that's not true at all. Back in 2002, at the height of SARS, we decided not to set foot in the malls for so long as the disease was at large. Instead we spent our leisure in the city's parks and reservoirs. With K and C just a wee age four and three respectively, we would pack our lunches and get them out in the fresh air, trekking or hanging out at the playgrounds. We would always eat at outdoor restaurants believing (and I still think rightly) that the better the air circulation, the safer we would be. Forget the Botanic Gardens, we traipsed around the nature reserves - Bukit Timah, Bedok, Lower Pierce and McRitchie as well as places like Sungei Buloh. But it was not just the parks. Unlike many cities in Asia, there are little pockets of green in unexpected corners of the city, as well as tiny slices of culture. Like the beautiful sculpture by the massive tree, suspended in mid-air of boys leaping into the river, right behind the Fullerton Hotel, for example.

Yesterday, I found myself arriving at my meeting in a shophouse on Amoy street much too early. And since I couldn't find an open coffee shop or eating house, I decided to sit on park bench and read my book under the trees beside the Amoy traders. Just another lovely sculpture in the city of Singapore.

Hanging in HK

Serendipity is one of my favourite words. M and I been planning this girls' mini-break to see C and her Vs, big and small, for months. It is a great break to enjoy such sustaining connections with two of a very small handful of female friends that I have who are constantly helping me defy, correct and outgrow my personal notions of female friendship, the result of too many imperfect experiences growing up.

It was going to be short but certainly sweet, as it always is. Just three days.

What I did not expect was to see J from the old days. But as fate has it, things worked out, and I was able to carve out some time. At the crack of dawn today, I snuck off to have a lovely breakfast and a very thorough catch up with J, all the while feeling that pleasurable rush of connection. As always, I am pleasantly surprised by how vital these kinds of friendships I have are. Despite not really having much time together, the few times we do get are always nourishing, always rewarding. It is such a satisfaction to talk shop and have our individual opinions, thoughts and insights confirmed by each other's mutual smarts and interpersonal acuity.

I am not the sort of 40-year-old wife and mother of two that builds vast numbers of friendships. So often, there is no time and truth be told, no real inclination. But every now and then, l am handed these tremendous gifts - people who don't need so much of you - just that slice of self I am able to give and it is, blessedly, just enough...and in some ways, even more than sustaining than the friendships I am able to tend to on a more regular basis.

The other gifts of this trip that is in itself already a great gift? Well, a great 55-minute hike up the hills of Hong Kong with C. Tremendous food. A visit (ok I'll be honest, two visits) to the fabulous H&M and HMV. A 15-minute visit to a city chapel and a truly beautiful Lenten prayers for just three HKD$. And finally the most adorable personality of little V.

And me being me, I feel at this point, amid all this blessed bounty, that I yearn to come home and share the largesse with my own T, K and C.

What every mom should hear...

C: "I wish every kid was like me...to have such a nice Mom like you."

[Am I a lucky mother, or what?]

Writing

In graduate school, the goal writers in the program had was to be able to make a living writing. That was the dream. I've achieved it to a certain extent. But there was also another dream - to write great fiction. I've written fiction - even good fiction. But great, full-length fiction? Not quite yet, I don't think.

Now it's time to make another dream come true.

"What would happen if I pricked this balloon...

...and it popped..."

Does anyone remember that priceless Sesame Street animated sketch? I'm finding it very useful as I talk to K and C about conscious decision-making. You know how it goes...

A little girl says in cause and effect steps, "What would happen if I pricked this balloon and it popped. That would scare my sister and she would drop the vase and then tell mother, and my mother would be mad and she would send me to bed without any supper...I would miss the chocolate pie Mother's making for dessert..." And there's this really funny audio "Pop! Whahahahah...Mommy!...tong tong tong tong tong Sally!" And then she ends..."Who wants to pop a nice balloon like this, anyway!"

I have told my kids about this as I come from an impulsive lot and while being impulsive has its joys and advantages, children need to be taught that an impulse is still very much in their control. Clearly, I have also spawned an impulsive lot.

We have been talking to K and C about impulses - about how there is in everyone a set of urges, triggers, knee-jerk reactions in the face of any specific set of circumstances. But as human beings, we must, in many cases, make the conscious act of choosing to follow the impulse or not. This means suspending the action for a moment and becoming aware, asking yourself - 'should I do this or not?'. It means thinking, 'If I do this, what would happen?', 'What would my mommy and daddy say?', 'What are the possible negatives that could happen and is there a chance that these would outwiegh the positives?'

I just wish I could actually show them the clip...maybe it's on YOUTUBE?

New favourite things

-Tennis lessons at night
-Reading non-fiction
-Recreating childhood comfort food
-Facials and massages
-Power walking first thing in the morning
-Doing weights in a class
-Staying home all day and not talking to anyone
-The Sun With Moon salad
-Ginger ale
-My new CD of assorted Woody Allen flick soundtracks
-Chopped cabbage,carrots, and beets mixed with dressed with olive oil and apple cider vinegar (don't knock it till you try it!)
-An apple, a pear, three dried apricots, a nectarine, all chopped up and dressed with lemon, a dollop of honey and grated ginger (ditto!)
-Magic miking after American Idol (a woman can dream, can't she?)
-Turning in early

Realisation

Not having seen any of the Oscar-nominated movies really takes the buzz out of watching the Oscars.

Bitten by the performance bug

Made my way to the school to watch the Arts performances the children put up for Arts' Week. K's class had put up a play about Mother Theresa and she was going to be the narrator. She had to memorise a long speech that included dates.Up until last night, she was worried about not being able to commit it to memory. There was also the fact that she left the speech in school. I suggested she rewrite it from memory on the computer and memorise that - which she did. I did not check up on her or test her or drill her. Whatever it was, she could handle it herself - I just said she should do her best.

And she did.

She was an excellent narrator - speaking slowly and clearly and making eye contact, when she could. Unlike the narrators in the other performances, she had no piece of paper. It was just her and the mike. She did a brilliant job.

Afterwards, she sat in the audience and I went to sit beside her. I hugged her and congratulated her and she hardly reacted. Her hands were cold. It seemed she didn't even see me. Could not even muster a hi for her Mom. In fact, she looked forlorn and woebegone.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She didn't answer. Just stared straight ahead at the performers onstage.

"What's wrong, tell me." I persisted, feeling anxious.

She was silent. Then she turned to me...

"After play blues" she whispered.

I laughed in relief.

"What am I going to do now?" she said like it was the end of the world.

A star is born.

What's going on

*K and I have started reading Elizabeth Enright's The Saturdays, which I still vividly recall borrowing from the Maria Montessori School Library in Pasay when I was 11. It's a wonderful story about these brothers and sisters who live in a brownstone in New York city in the 1930s. They each only get 50 cents pocket money a week, but they have the idea of pooling all their money together and taking turns to have an independent Saturday afternoon adventure.

*C is doing well in his handwriting therapy. For some reason, his cursive is much more legible than his print. Having therapy after soccer works. He's tired and in the mood to do quiet work.

*After the glory that was Ian McEwan's On Chesil Beach, I have allowed myself the guilty pleasure of Hotel Babylon by Anonymous and Imogen Edwards-Jones. It occurs to me if that much pilfering can happen in a luxury hotel, we should not be surprised that it happens in a government.

*Today I returned to hot yoga. This, after I tried (unsuccesfully) to get out of my still a year-to-go membership. It wasn't bad. Today's instructor was a far cry though from the instructors I had in 2005 who delved into the spiritual with their language, while facilitating the physical with their bodies. Today's instructor was all physical. There was no inspiring lecture about the spirit and the mind-body connection, which I sorely missed.

*We are planning for holidays and booking tickets. To my surprise there is a two week break in the last week of March and a gaping eight week hole for the kids in June. Perhaps it is time to go to the US.

*I am in a love-hate relationship with Facebook.

From a distance

After almost a decade of living outside the country in which you grew up, it is very easy to fall completely out of touch with what has been going on. Either that, or you slip into the pattern where recent political events serve merely as touchpoints in amusing cocktail conversations. It is sufficient merely to scan the headlines and
gather just enough of the facts to enable you to go through the motions of a debate that everyone acknowledges to be endless, even pointless. Eventually, you come to that predictably pat conclusion that things are "tough" or "complicated" or "not likely to be resolved in the near future." Living in Singapore, the distance is emotional and psychological and that breadth of space is so much more than the three and a half hours it takes to fly back to Manila.

It makes me wonder what people think...or if they think at all about the recent political problems in the Philippines (as opposed to thinking about those political problems that are not so recent). As a storyteller, I find it fascinating for its plot points - this story about a mouse ( a country mouse, by all accounts) caught in a trap that forces him to let his captors know where the bigger rats are. There are sexcapades in Hong Kong and "personal relations" and bribery at golf clubs, and more...

I am certainly far from the best person to explain what has been going on - for that, turn to The man with the mike under other Planes of Reality - who not only relates the situation more or less but also coolly comments on it, even while his reactive audience toss in their two-peso or two-hundred-peso views for all they're worth. She Rules also has a interesting take, an indictment on what people power has become. And this morning, I received a copy of the homily that was given at yesterday's mass for Lozada. Before reading it, I tried to predict its overall gist, and find I was not far off in my prediction. Once more, there is condemnation and a call to change. But from a distance, it sounds too familiar and unfortunately, rings as hollowly as a derivative pop song especially to someone who came of age during the first people power in 1986. It has made me ponder however. If I were at home now, would I have been at that mass? Very likely. Would I have been at that rally? It is possible. Would I be calling for change? And that is a question, to be sure.

Those in or out of the country who refuse to get drawn in, those who throw up their hands in exasperation or remain silent because they can propose no strategy or solution for what happens next, I feel give themeselves a convenient excuse. They say, it's a mess. What's the alternative? Who will take over? Corruption, especially excessive corruption, may make you feel outrage, but how can throwing out the regime be the plan, if the system itself is corrupt? How do we know that this won't happen again? And how are you sure that these tides of change the people are calling for won't be surfed upon or used and subverted by similarly corrupt elements?

All valid, to be sure, but these arguments ought not blind people from seeing the truth and condemning the wrong. It is very wrong. At the very least, shouldn't we be able to do that...condemn the wrong and uphold the truth?

Not to do so seems to me, to be just the same as saying, "It's complicated..." and letting those words trail off in silence. Some of us will refrain from taking a stance and leave it at that because we are fortunate enough to be in a position to do so, and from a distance to boot.

Mad wives

Every now and then, you get a chance to revive some long lost skill - it could be writing or scrapbooking or gardening or cooking. It might be badminton. Or tennis. But whatever it is, may you be so fortunate as to be able to find a small group of people who are already doing it. May they be vastly different from you in as many different ways as possible because difference spells excitement. May they have a measure of maturity as well as a measure of kindness, or at least sympathy. May they be funny and interesting and spirited in their achievements. They might be crazy but they are in a good way. They might hold this skill as important beyond all else or perhaps not that important in the larger scheme of things, but at least for that hour or morning or section of time, they focus and concentrate and the practice of that skill, whatever it is, is all that matters.

And may they accept your need and welcome you with open arms as I have been by my MWF mad wives...

Forgot to say

it was a happy valentine's day - an evening best spent at home with those you love - and if you're luck - great gifts!

More about reading

Growing up, I considered myself very fortunate to have at my relative disposal, the extensive girlhood library of my mother and her three sisters, assiduously maintained by my Tita G on the dark wood shelves in my grandmother's house on Espana extension. My Lola, so I've been told, would buy books by the boxful from school libraries and take them up to Baguio for her children's summer reading. (Something always struck me as wrong about that - why were libraries selling their books?). The books were like no books you can find today - Grosset & Dunlap editions of various series' - Nancy Drew, The Bobbsey Twins, The Dana Girls, Honey Bunch, and various one-off titles like Nobody's Girl and Understood Betsy and Family Shoes.

I recall spending Sunday afternoons among the dusty, yellowed volumes along with my cousins, trying to decide what I would "borrow" for the week. Sometimes, Tita G, who seemed to know her shelves like the back of her hand, would make a recommendation, sometimes she would leave us to our own devices. One of her most fervent recommendations was the Maida series.

She had three volumes in a dark blue green hardcover. Maida's Little Shop, Maida's Little House and Maida's Little School.

Despite their coy, cutesy titles, the novels were rich, graceful narrations about children who, it is very likely, no longer exist in this world. And that first story of the lonely little invalid rich girl, the daughter of a Wallstreet maverick, who decides that what will make her happy would be to keep a little shop and befriends the children of the town has lingered in my mind, even now that I am 40, as I am certain it lingers in Tita G's mind.

When it became evident that our K loved reading, we started doing what my cousins and I would do as girls led back then by Tita G. We started book hunts. What I found, however, was that many of today's books for girls, even little girls exhibit a certain precociousness and preciousness that I found myself resisting. I was uneasy about the inclusion of brands in the plots, the overly flippant, overly matter-of-fact characters and their excessively easy and accessible language. I also resented some of the characters themselves - seeming to be almost like imitations of characters on television. And I wanted K to experience the pleasures of rich, complex sentences. I wanted her to read about children who did not watch tv or play video games when they were bored. In fact, I wanted her to read about children who didn't get bored - whether it was because they worked or because they had so many activities of their own making, they had no time to be bored. I wanted her to learn about children who chose to be good, to be just, to be kind, to be generous not because it is right to be these things, but because these were the kind of children they were. So I thought back to the books I loved as a girl - and I remembered the Maida series.

We had already found reissues of Understood Betsy but Maida was more difficult to come by. Finally, I found it on Amazon under the imprint Biblio Bazaar, it was a 2007 reissue of a 1909 book. A month ago, we read it together, chapter by chapter. I would not let her go off and finish it by herself. I wanted us to savour it together. It still reads like a dream.

Now she has gone back to rereading Harry Potter and Anne of Green Gables, but I have already ordered Maida's Little House. I am also in the process of buying Maida's Little School second-hand. Perhaps it might even be that old grosset and dunlap edition that Tita G has. And we wait till we can once again escape into that lush, charming, innocent yet wise world of children who are able to spend their days occupied by nothing more than the green nature that surrounded them as well as the fertile fields of their own imagination.

First Sunday of Lent

The kids were especially good in mass today. Even C. Maybe it was the readings. The first reading in which the serpent tempts the woman and she succumbs - aren't children always fascinated by that? And then the gospel where the Devil tempts Jesus in the desert. C seemed absolutely rapt with attention. And then there was the music. Great songs were sung by the 12noon choir, one after another, in waves of comforting melody. The last song You are Mine by David Haas, always moves me. Today, it seemed that the children were also, similarly moved.

After all, who wouldn't be moved by the verse that reads, "Do not be afraid, I am with you. I have called you each by name. Come and follow me. I will bring you home. I love you and you are mine."

K's voice was soaring and while C didn't sing, he read every verse along with the music, quietly and it seemed to me, reflectively. I have to confess seeing him like that sent a joyful thrill down my spine.

After mass, he leaned toward me and whispered, "Mom...that last song..."
"Yes?" I half-said, half-asked, waiting for what, I don't know.

Some kind of insight? A thoughtful epiphany straight from the innocence of a child's heart?

"That last song...
...It sounded like the song sung by Kermit the Frog."

I must not complain

when a job that was supposed to last a week, lasts two. I should be thankful instead that I can make a living in this manner, fairly easy enough. And it's not like I missed a huge lunar new year family reunion the way the graphic designers did. Nor did I keep excessively late hours. But yes, I am glad it is finished. I am glad to have a free week to look forward to and that tomorrow, I can have a massage. I am thanful and I am grateful. It is all good.

All of a sudden...

both my children are at ages that I clearly remember myself being. It has been giving me long and drawn out moments of disquiet, which I guess is to be expected at the age of 40.

For K's 10th birthday, she had two school friends over one Saturday. She had us make special strawberry smoothies to serve by the pool. Afterwards, they sat talking, listening to CDs and giving each other French manicures.

French manicures.

Today, C turned 9. Today, the second day of the lunar new year of the rat. It was auspicious.

Nine.

We celebrated as a family and took both kids to the Forest Adventure course in Bedok. It was a beautiful morning, sunny but cool and breezy, and the park by the reservoir was invitingly green everywhere you looked. The Adventure course cost 1M to build, so its website claims. They strung a series of rope obstacles high above the ground, each one connecting two huge trees in a grove, so children could make their way, while safely chained to cables and do a triumphant finish on a flying fox to the ground. C was very game, lithe and sure-footed as a goat, with a very strange fearlessness...as though there was absolutely nothing wrong with being up that high, walking tightropes from tree to tree. K, unfortunately, backed out pretty much at the get-set go and was in tears more due to the embarrassment and humiliation of the experience rather than any actual discomfort. Poor thing. I could relate.

Afterwards we drove back to Holland Village for a Mexican lunch at El Patio and then shopping for what is ultimately a joint birthday present to both - a wii. Back at home, there was a Spongebob sponge Cake(ha) with chocolate frosting and 9 candles. There was also a screening of Singing in the Rain which the birthday boy opted out of. Dinner was late - Black pepper crab, steamed shrimp and fried noodles and the tossing of good fortune Chinese New Year salad.

All in all, it was a good day. C's actual celebration takes place next week - a combat skirmish involving 15 boys and laser guns.

Laser guns.

I saw Singing in the Rain when I was ten.

Nothing like the wisdom of a child

"Being an older sister is like being an amatuer parent, except you don't have the job and the bills."
-K

Less than ideal circumstances

I had not planned on working at all through the Chinese New Year break, let alone this intensively. But as this is how things fell, I am making the best of it. Apart from CNY, there's also C's birthday to see to. The hope is I will be able to clear everything from my plate by midnight later this evening to be free to do fun, outdoor activities tomorrow. The other hope is that said food and entertainment establishments are open. We shall see.

It occurs to me to reflect that while much is made of the flexibility of the freelance life, there remains something to be said for leaving your work at the office.

At last a movie in an actual theatre

After nearly six days of working 12 hours each, I finally allowed myself a movie with T, just because we hadn't seen one in two months. This, after a steady diet of boxed TV series rented from the nieghborhood store, including Aaron Sorkin's now defunct Sports Night (which is actually pretty good), JJ Abrams' Felicity and one night riveted to Notes on A Scandal - a film you don't think you want to see, but when you finally do, you're glad you did.

Unfortunately, I lost the coin toss, and instead of Atonement, we saw Cloverfield. Fortunately, it was pretty good.

Sudden memory that made me laugh out loud

It's funny what pops into your head when you're madly trying to meet a writing deadline. At around five o'clock this afternoon, I remembered the Christmas party we had thrown for the yayas last December. Before the games and festivities, all the guests-of-honour were asked to introduce themselves, say how long they've been working in Singapore, and tell something funny about their job, where they work or their amo (employer).

When our own M gets her turn, she says with a straight face but smiling eyes, "Ako si M, seven years na ako dito..."

(beat)

"Walang nakakatawa sa bahay ng amo ko."

[Translation: "I am M, I've been here 7 years. There is nothing funny about my employer's house."

A little girl

just turned 10 can still wail like a three-year-old if circumstances conspire against her. Which unfortunately, they did today for K, when she lost her first mobile phone.

You wouldn't think so

but picking up a badminton racquet and playing a game after a year and a half of not playing is much more difficult than picking a tennis racquet for the first time and playing...

Not that I was actually playing tennis.

What is going on?

Remember how the new year is a new born baby and the old year is a doddering old man? Not 2007. 2007 was a herculean in strength, a marathon runner making split second time. But forget 2007, where is 2008 flying off to? This little babe is running clear across the tracks, and his chubby legs are surprisingly fleet. Why such a hectic, frenetic pace? Where are you rushing off to, baby? Didn't we just finish Christmas? But now it's Chinese New Year, and immediately after that Lent. And then the first quarter will be over and done with.

It's getting to feel like there is no time to do the things I need to do. Scratch that.
I am doing all the things I want to do and need to do in 2008, and so much more, no matter how fast it's going.

Sharing Shakespeare Tales

Wild tales are essential reading, the stimulus of a developing imagination, a resource in the tedium of day-to-day existence, sparking lasting pleasure and keeping alive the crucial capacity to daydream."
- Charles Lamb, 1802

I ran into the greatest thing while I was shopping for Christmas gifts over the holidays, Tales from Shakespeare, a very old book by Charles & Mary Lamb, [an extraordinary brother and sister team - whose exploits actually deserve a separate entry]. As it always happens when I go shopping, I ended up buying this for the kids. It was days before our trip to Switzerland, and somehow, I had a vision of us reading Shakespeare and sipping hot chocolate in a log cabin while snow fell onto a gentle blanket outside.

Due to the fact that the Lauterbrunnen flat had not only cable but wireless, this did not happen as easily as I had hoped. Spongebob Squarepants, even in German, proved a mighty rival to the kiddies' attention, and the fact thaTt T and I had our own tomes in tow (Anne Enright's The Gathering and T's The Troublesome Offspring of Cardinal Guzman by Louis de Bernieres). Still, we managed to wheedle them away with promises of great action and drama in MacBeth, which both K and C enjoyed much more than I thought they would.

I had fully intended to continue our family forays into these wild tales as Charles Lamb calls them, once we got home, but discovered, much to my dismay, that the already beloved book was nowhere to be found.

"You must have left it at the house in Lauterbrunnen," says K placidly. I was disappointed, naturally. It had been a 10$ Puffin edition with a bright, green child-pleasing colour.

Last week, I went back to that particular bookstore in Plaza Singapura to re-purchase the book, and found they had run out of the ten dollar edition. What they did have was a rather adult Penguin edition for a formidable 21 dollars. The cover was dark, both in colour and in tone due to a rather frightening artistic rendition of MacBeth, which I knew would disturb my children's sensitive sensibilities. But I bought it, nonetheless. We now plan to follow MacBeth up with Romeo and Juliet. T would have liked to do Julius Ceasar, recalling his own youthful foray under the guidance of the beloved teacher Pagsi, but for some strange reason, the Lambs did not choose to retell this particular one.

I wonder rather nigglingly though whether it matters that my children will not be starting with Shakespeare itself, rather with these retellings, but am reassured both by my own experience and by the Lambs themselves.

After all, the first I ever knew of Shakespeare was through the plays I saw as a child with my parents - in Rolando Tinio's Teatro Pilipino in CCP's Little Theatre in Manila in the 70s. I have a vivid memory of my Tita Ella as Lady MacBeth. These productions were my first experience of Shakespeare, my stepping stones, and they were Tagalog translation.

Charles Lamb says in his preface, these retellings are intended as stepping stones to the plays themselves, but the stories themselves have powerful "ethical effect." And in whatever form, they are to be "enrichers of the fancy, strengtheners of virtue, a withdrawing from all selfish and mercenary thoughts, a lesson of all sweet and honourable thoughts and actions, to teach (you) courtesy, benignity, gernosity, humanity, for of examples, teaching these virtues, Shakespeare's pages are full." It's hard to argue with that.

I am reminded of mine and the Quintosian all-time favourite novel, A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, where the heroine, Francie's mother, Katie is advised to read to her children from infancy every day without fail, two pages a day each from the two best books in the world - the Bible and the plays of Shakespeare. By the end of the book, Francie and her brother Neely make it to college. Neely who doesn't even want to go to college, finds they are doing Julius Ceasar in his freshman english class and he knows it "backwards, forwards and upside down."

And I don't wonder that this isn't what led me to the idea of reading the kids Shakespeare in the first place.

It's Funny...

the thoughts that occur to you when you find yourself doing something you've only read about or seen in the movies. Adjusting my winter hat so that it would look nice yet still cover my ears and warm most of my head, it occured to me to wonder whether I could ever possibly look as beguiling as Ali McGraw in her winter hat in the movie Love Story.

40 is the best time to see

The Way We Were. I think so, anyway. How is it possible that I had never seen this tremendous movie until now? It's mind boggling. Faced with a very broad array of film options the day we flew out of Zurich, I knew that the trick would be making the right decision. I had twelve hours during which I would not be able to sleep - and none of the current hits appealed. But then I saw it and I knew, this was the right time and the right place for this particular movie great by Sidney Pollack starring Robert Redford who looks uncannily like Brad Pitt, and Barbra Streisand in all her unconventional gorgeousness looking like no one else but the luscious goddess that she was, is and always will be. Five minutes into it, and I knew, it was not just my type of movie - it was my movie. How I had gone so long without having ever seen it?

And yet I feel certain that I would not have understood it and appreciated it as much as I have been able to do so now.

So afterwards, after Robert Redford says, "See Ya Katie," and the strains of Memories start to soar, I sigh and wipe my tears and blow my nose and think...what shall I see next?

And that's when I find Funny Girl.

Hello Gorgeous!

I must have been Jewish in a previous life.

The inventiveness of a child

There is a kind of creativity that belongs solely to children. It is deft and exact in its perfection. I never fail to be amazed when I am confronted with this kind of inventiveness and yes, I must say with more than a measure of pride, it never ceases to amaze me how inventive my children are.

Fairly quickly into their first experience of snow this past holiday in Switzerland, K and C discovered, much to their dismay, that it was not all that easy to make a snowman. More to the point, it was nowhere as easy as their favourite comic strip snowman and snowball-building characters Calvin (& Hobbes) or Charlie Brown (Peanuts)had led them to believe. The snow on Pilatus mountain was feathery fine and would not scrunch. The snow on Tetlis was in large hard chunks. And on Mt. Rigi, the snow was ice.

But the backyard behind the house in which we stayed in the alpine village of Lauterbrunnen offered a generous expanse of knee-high snow that seemed altogether different. Maybe it was because this snow got more sunshine, I don't know. The children were thrilled. The day we arrived there, they insisted we simply stay home and veg and play in the snow. And that's what we did.

As they began attempts to construct their first snowman - K and C honed in a certain kind of texture of snow without which a snowman would be impossible to create.

"It's just a bit wet but not a bit melted," K explained to me. "It's called 'Core'" she said with utter seriousnes.

"Core?" I repeated.

"Yes, that's what I call it... Core"

K and C found sheets of "core" resting on dashboards of cars in the parking lot and lumps of it on the branches of the surrounding pine trees. They found it aplenty and hauled it in to our chosen snowman spot.

"Get the core; get the core!" They called to each other, unmindful of the blocks of ice that would occasionally fall with a crash from the nearby mountain falls. And whenever they found a supply of fresh core, say on the steps by the front door or by the fence - they squealed with excitement and delight. "It's core! It's core!"

And sure enough, "core" was the perfect texture for molding a snowman with a firm foundation - just as K had said.

As the one in charge of smoothing down and patting the snowman's curves for her strong and erect foundation (we named her Roxy), I too soon started calling for them to bring me more "core."

What can I say? Core was precisely what it was.

My first glimpse of holly

 

After years in my youth of drawing holly leaves and red berries copied off of yuletide images seen and remembered for countless homemade Christmas cards, I experienced a small but definite thrill of joy when I saw actual holly for the first time - the plant, the tree, the leaves, the berries.

How wonderful to all of a sudden know with certainty that this really really is what it looks like and that I had been drawing the right thing...

C the Eskimo

A ball in the snow
Originally uploaded by writerinresidence

Scene from Winter Wonderland

Kaylee on Sled
Originally uploaded by writerinresidence

Swiss Family C - 2008

Family
Originally uploaded by writerinresidence

The holiday's eight days were each and all more than ably planned by our own personal travel expert T - such that we had a taste of city delights, and to paraphrase the Osmonds, a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll, and a lot of death-defying rides in cable cars and alpine mountain trains.

We flew into Zurich and hopped on the train for Lucerne - just 40 minutes away. That first day, we did a walking tour of the city, feeding the swans and mallards on the lake, and crossing the old bridge across the river, seeing the lion monument and climbing a hill to a castle that offered amazing views of the lake, the picturesque city and its breathtaking snow-capped alps.There we spent three nights, taking day trips to the mountains - Engleberg for Tetlis - an awesome 3000m above c-level and even a lake cruise to Viznau so we could climb Mt. Rigi. Day 4, we transferred to the tiny town of Lauterbrunnen via Interlacken. T found a very well-priced flat just next to glacial falls. There we spent another three nights - including new year's eve - and went up to the alpine villages of Murren and Wengen. At Murren, we even went all the way up to the peak of Mt. Schilthorn for spectacular views of the trio of alps - Monch, Eiger and Jungfrau. On January 2, we ran for the trains for a day trip in the beautiful medieval town of Bern to see two bear mascots in the pits, finally ending up once more in Zurich and catching our flight home at noon on the 3rd. In all, three cities and four mountain villages.

The other good thing was being stress - (strasse!) free with no driving at all. As T rightly pointed out, the Swiss train system is excellent - clean, well kept and run frighteningly on the dot. And as we packed with consummate skill (just one roller and one backpack each), moving from spot to spot was fairly easy, giving us only the very slightest difficulty.

Apart from all those alps, these were the high points, pun intended: there was a terrific sled ride on Mount Pilatus, a terrifyingly treacherous sled ride down the slopes of Tetlis' surrounding hills all the way down to the town of Engleberg, during which we actually opted to park the kids' sleds and take one each on ours. Finally, there was a nicely manageable ride down from the Allmend hills to the village Wengen. There were also the real pleasures of a lake cruise and a hardy snow mountain hike - in particular the 55 minute jaunt down Mt Rigi.

Now, it's onto the next adventure of the new year...

Intrepid travellers

Zurich Airport
Originally uploaded by writerinresidence

Just got back from taking the kiddies on their first trip to Europe - more specifically, three cities in Switzerland,including daytrips to four villages in the alps. Lots of sightseeing, running for trains, and trudging about in snow - all in minus degree weather. And they were about as hardy as we were...troupers on the trip, with hardly any complaints.

Guess it's true that the apples don't fall far from the tree.

Wishing comfort and joy to one and all

IMG_Xmas
Originally uploaded by writerinresidence

this Christmas...

...and the time and space in the day to relish
a spot of silence and contemplate the joyous miracle borne
unto the world!

Noel!
Noelle

Testing the boots

IMG_log
Originally uploaded by writerinresidence

At this point, we had no idea we still had a couple of hours of trekking...

Flashback 2007: New Digs

 

Flashback 2007: Tagaytay

 

Flashback 2007: Highschool Reunion

 

Flashback 2007: Panning Rice in Sing

 

Flashback 2007: Hanoi

 

Flashback 2007: Bali Trip

 

From the treetops

As it happens, we had nothing scheduled today. No errands. No classes. No social doings. It was glorious to sleep in and have a lazy breakfast and pad around in our pajamas, just puttering around. When eleven o'clock rolled around, we decided to get ou and do something physical. C said, "You don't mean hit someone, right?"

We decided to kill two birds with one stone and break in our Switzerland boots by going for a trek at McRitchie and doing the famed treetop walk. K was reluctant - she had done this already. I was somewhat game. The menfolk were eager. So we set off in our gear and caps. The day was surprisingly sunny yet cool. When we entered the forest trails it was 1:00. There were sightings of flying squirrels and monkeys. We had braved the heights of the treetop bridge. We had trekked by streams on trails of rock and mud. The boots held up. And so did we. There were many discussions. There were many jokes told. We sang excerpts from Once on this Island and Sponge Bob Square Pants. We did multiplication tables. There were breaks for water and gingerbread cookies. There was a pebble in one boot and a bit of a tantrum from C who didn't like us singing because it "scared away the nature."

Two and a half hours and apparently 7 kilometres later, we emerged, hot and sweaty but feeling virtuous. Virtuous and starving. Fittingly, that's when it began to drizzle. We climbed into the car and went for a very late lunch at Billy Bomber Burgers in Marina Mall - in our hiking gear and boots and all.

Just another day to be grateful for...of family fun this Christmas season.

Joke on the run

Christmas vacation. We've been watching DVDs. First Akeela & The Bee which I thought was great. Yesterday, we rented and Karate Kid and Clash of the Titans. And then there's Boggle in the evenings - the kids are pretty good, and will sometimes even beat T, on occasion.

And the runs by the canals continue - not every day but frequently enough. Today, K joined us. And C came up with a joke that I thought was pretty good.

Question: What did the Daddy cannibal say to his son, after they went for a morning run?
Answer: See, this is how you get a-head!

Oh the weather outside is frightful...

You would think we'd be used to this after eight years in Singapore - a grey, wet Christmas...

My daughter, the savvy fashion shopper

Sunday night inside a fitting room at Bebe in Vivo City...

ME: Does your Dad know you're with me.
K: Yes, I told him I was going to go to you. He said, 'You're going to Beh Beh,' - (Laughs). He doesn't know it's Beebe
(I laugh and try on a dress that's 70% off)

ME: Well?
K: I like it, but how much is it.
ME: It's $XX...
K: (shocked) What?!>!
ME: (sheepishly) But it used to be $XXX!
K: Hmmm, but how do you know they're not just saying that it used to be $XXX?

[Beat in which I think about this]

ME: Because they're not allowed to do that.
K: But what if it's just marketing?

[Beat in which I think about this]

ME: The first question is does it look good.
K: (Looks at me thoughtfully] It looks good.
ME: OK then. It's 70% off and it fts and it looks good and I need a Christmas dress...
K: It's your money...

My nine-year-old daughter walks away. I pause in the fitting room, wondering if it really is Beebe as I have no idea...

Mom & Son Run

We awoke early this Sunday to bond and run as only a mother and son can. Since I got a new pedometer, I gave him my old one. And that gadget was enough to get him excited about the exercise. woke him at 7:30, and we hit the road, walking over to the connector park by the creek, five minutes away.

The day was cool and bright and lots of people were out, which surprised me, considering it was Sunday. It was green and breezy and we managed to spot a number of colourful birds - one was blue with an orange bill, and there were a couple of cranes. "This is nice," my son murmured as though to himself.

At first, C was reluctant to do more than walk. "I can't run," he said, "I get tired..." So we broke it up into manageable bites. I told him, "Let's just sprint for 10 counts, and then walk, and then sprint again for ten..." He was amenable, and by the time we reached the end, we were running for 15 counts. We also managed three sets of 10 squats. He clocked in 5780 steps - about 3.5 km - 40 minutes of walking. I was very proud of him and he was very proud of himself. So much so that he's game to do it again tomorrow...

What can happen at 40

I'll admit, I was up late last night working and didn't turn in till 2am, so it could be that, too. But I awoke easy and fresh as a daisy to my daughter's bday greeting and a number of sms messages wishing me a happy day. Needless to say, I had to drag a greeting out of C - he who tried three times before he got it right (Goodmorning, Mama, I love you Mama, oh...Happy Birthday Mama). After doing the suburban wife thing and dropping T off at the train, I popped over to M's house where she made me her own version of the Popover Cafe breakfast and we hung out till eleven.

Drove back home to change as T was taking me to lunch. Decided on a white blouse and proceeded to have a rather happy afternoon - a festive birthday lunch, Christmas shopping on Orchard Road, various errands and coffee with a friend outside Borders Bookshop. Last but most important thing on the agenda before dinner out with the kids was to attend 6pm birthday mass at St. Ignatius. I was even early. When I knelt down on the pew before communion, I happened to look down at myself and noticed something odd with my sleeves, in fact, with my entire top.

All of a sudden, the blood rushed to my head and I was flushed with the most embarrassing realisation. Pretty much the entire afternoon, I had been wearing my nifty white blouse - inside out.

This does not bode well...but it was a happy day, anyway...

I've learned my lesson...or have I?

Three weeks. A total of 46 periods.
And now it's over, and I have learned that teaching just isn't my thing.

The other day, an administrator from a business school asked me if I would be interested in teaching Business Communications. "This would be different," he said. "Your students won't be in high school. They'll be motivated adults. And it would be just one class a week."

Hmmmm.

Not so kiddie observation

Upon hearing Carly Simon's You're so Vain for the first time, K pipes up from the backseat:

"This is a dumb song. Of course, the song is about him - she's singing to him!"

Speaking of which, K also proved her pipes and got selected to be part of the Singapore Children's Choir. Her audition piece was "Happiness" from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown

From the canteen uncle

As I was buying my daily bottle of green tea, I fell into conversation with the canteen uncle. He asked me how I was doing. I told him.

"You know I was a teacher, also. In 1962. They paid me $350 a month. I gave up after three months."

Lessons at School

I accepted a spot of school relief teaching, substituting as instructor for as yet, unhired English teachers. There is a 7th grade class of Japanese and Korean non-English speakers reading 2nd grade English. There is a 9th grade class whose members shuffle in to the classroom but whose eyes glaze over at my every utterance. And there is an angry eleventh grade class who insist on delving into their own irrelevant opinions when they are asked specific questions about an assigned text that they have not really paid attention to. It is thankless and exhausting work, and while I am able to do it, every fibre of my being reacts against it.

It is fitting also that during this period, what is is playing in my DVD player are episodes from Seasons 1 and 2 of Beverly Hills 90210.

It will be over soon.

Easy like Sunday morning - not!

After a late 3am night, we roused ourselves early as we needed to have the kids at the church for the Christmas pageant rehearsal. Trust K and C to actually want to be in the church Christmas pageant.

Unfortunately, even after more than three reminders and a goodly number of threats, C was being stubborn and moving on his own personal time. So what did we do? We left him. And when he realised it, he wailed at the top of his lungs loud and long - and we heard it in the lift on our way down, and even when we landed. In fact, a number of neighbors looked up wondering what was going on. Big sis K took pity on her brother and rode back up to pick him up.

He whimpered throughout the car ride. And in unspoken agreeement that I suppose comes with 15 years, T and I spent the trip talking as though he wasn't there, relating anecdotes about all the people we know who were left behind - on vacations, at school, etc...just because.

These are the lessons that have to be taught.

-o-

For the first time, we had ourselves a spot of brunch at Jones Grocers in the new, hip complex on Dempsey Road, enjoying eggs and sour dough toast alongside our chosen sides of bacon, sausage and sauteed mushrooms. To drink, we had fresh apple juice, iced chocolate for the kids and flat whites for us. Couldn't resist the grocery and bought German salami, Australian back bacon and a loaf of the sour dough. Unbeknownst to me, T also got us a batch of rocky road marshmallow nougat. I resisted the temptation to make purchases from "the largest fromagerie in Singapore" - as we just stocked our cheese section the day prior. But the whole time, I kept thinking about how this kind of approximated our long ago forays at Zabar's and that fateful day in 1991 when I first tasted prociutto and cherry cheese struedel.

-o-

The other high point was dropping in at the Red Sea Gallery next door and finding a gathering of large and beautiful Dao Hai Phongs - my absolute favourite Vietnamese painter. While I was disappointed to learn that he had actually had an exhibition there in September and I missed it (goodness knows my head was buried in work), I was happy to pick up the book so now, I have it to go alongside my "New Town"...

What can I say; it made me very happy.

Making a good home

As we are going through the stress and mayhem of setting up a new household in new premises, this idea keeps running through my mind; the idea and the way the idea is most often associated with being an exemplary woman. An exemplary woman is a nurturing wife and mother who makes a good home for her family.

I know many exemplary women in this way. But I do not see myself as one of them - not in this particular way. Nevertheless, I believe I do "make a good home" for my family. I am not Martha Stewart or Nate Berkus. I am not a domestic goddess. I don't know my carpets from my drapes, but I know what I like when I see it. I do not have all the right kitchen cutlery or flatware, but I know my way around a kitchen and can devise pretty good eats when I choose. I am not obsessive about the house and its accessories - but I do enjoy my home. Is it possible then to make a good home, without actually making a good home? I like to think so.

- o -

The lights guys came yesterday, and we were talking about changing the fixtures. We wanted to change our living and dining room lights to energy saving, but we were told we couldn't with the existing mechanism.

"You can, but you have to call the company in to reprogramme the light switches. But then you'd have to kill the dimmer function, which many people like. It's good for setting a scene..."

I told him. "I don't need a dimmer to set a scene. I can make scenes without it..."

What's happening in the village

Is it me, or have prices gone up at Holland Village?

Last night, we popped in for a Mexican dinner and ice cream only to find that our long-ago favourite Chachacha was serving dishes that were significantly reduced in size, almost by a third, T and I estimated. Plus, gone were the generous sidings of salad, refried beans and salsa that usually accompanied each entree. The food was still of acceptable quality though it was hard to focus on that because the service was definitely spotty in places. We were disappointed as it had always been a family haunt. I guess it's true; you can't go home again.

For dessert, we braved a new ice cream spot - COLD ROCK - which essentially involves you paying somebody to painstakingly smush various toppings into two scoops of ice cream - at a hefty dollar per topping. That racks up to about 5 dollars for the smallest "kiddie" serving, and includes only one topping. In my case, as I chose peanut M&Ms;I got exactly eight.

Sigh.

When we tell K that it's her bedtime...

...and she hasn't yet done all she wants to do, or perhaps she still feels there is more that she wants to do, though she doesn't quite know what, she says:

"What? But I don't feel fulfilled yet!"

How early the search begins...

Make sure this is not you

Someone who looks in the mirror and sees the person that she never ever wanted to be.

Let the chorva begin

I am inspired. Thanks to the swingiest sister in town, I have the push I need to do what it is I am certain I am meant to do for the rest of my life.

Idea for fiction

There's absolutely nothing wrong with a man having madonna-whore complex, for so long as he is able to find a woman who is perfectly happy being a madonna and would never deign to be a whore. There are, after all, such women.

Is it reasonable to believe a well-adjusted man with the madonna-whore complex would recognise that his whoring days are over and be quite able to live all his days making chaste and honourable love to his pristine princess?

Finding Halloween

K and C are big fans and I'm not sure how they got hooked on it so intensely. They are a distant cry, it seems to me, from D, M and E who decided this year that they would sit Halloween out and just go out and buy their favourite candy.

K was one and a half and C was six months old when they first donned identical pumpkin costumes and we all hopped into a car to do trick or treating within the walls of the Corinthian Gardens subdivision - that's Manila-style.

We then moved to Singapore - and that year, they had two Halloween events. At the first K was a rabbit and C was a cat. At another, they were Woody and Buzz from Toy Story. The following year, Snow White and a Power Ranger. Then Superman and Wonder Woman. But it takes certain cunning to find Halloween in Singapore, a country which is decidedly un-American. You have to find it in pockets.

For years, we relied on a rather large American enclave in one of the posh multi-towered condominium complexes on the East Coast. Due to the fact that we had friends in the building, we lucked into that party bringing food to a potlock supper that would culminate a mad rush and tearing up and downstairs or via the elevator to the various apartment units that were taking part. I imagined it to be the kind of hi-rise halloween that you might have in cities like Manhattan.

And then we hit the motherload in Woodlands, the neighborhood that surrounds the Singapore American School. As it's close to the border of Malaysia, it's a major trek from our part of the city. But for so long as you have company, it's worth it once you get there.

This year, we dragged the M's from the kids school. Now here was a family as unconventionally American as we are. Mother M grew up in Montana and left the US for Paris as soon as she finished college. Her children are French American - though they haven't lived in the US for any extended period of time. After spending the last five years in South Africa, they were starved for Halloween. So we went together. My Halloween-hungry kids and hers to the strangely surreal Woodlands neighborhood that is practically a scene from ET. The roads were dense with trickortreaters of every age. In the spookily dressed houses, the candy givers were sometimes Filipino maids, sometimes Chinese owners but most of the time, they were American expats all dressed up in costume, complete with cocktail or wine glass in hand - offering up their measured amounts of candy, lest there be nothing left by 7pm.

We made good time and had a good run, filling our plastic pumpkins with sweets and then chowing down on KFC at the community centre. Needless to say the two witches and the two black goblins were happy Halloween campers.

Their mothers were happy too.

Stay in the room

Marital troubles. It appears we have come to that age where this is more the norm than the exception. I am hearing more and more stories of surprising break-ups, infidelities or just plain old vanilla disillusionment. I guess I understand. Nobody tells you how hard it is - and really, they should. That way, at the very least, you're prepared.

In a recent Oprah episode, Jennifer Aniston showed a clip of a short film she had directed for a series sponsored by Glamour based on real women's stories. In the scene, an elderly man sat in a hospital room,holding the hand of his wife who was in a coma. A nurse on duty marvelled at the longevity of this couple's marriage.

"45 years. We should all be so lucky."

The old man replied, "Luck had nothing to do with it."

"Excuse me?"

"Making a marriage last has nothing to do with luck. It has to do with just staying in the room."

It's a heartening thought. But it does take a lot of work - and sometimes, you need more than just sheer, dogged will.

For my part, I like to rely on two very simple things: sex and laughter - preferably in simultaneous doses.

Both are good focusing distractions that serve to remind you in small but powerful ways that life and the world are so much bigger than your problems.

Making a move

I can't believe I'm going through this again.

As we approach our eighth year in Singapore, we have come to another moving point. Blame it on the volatile and rather unique real estate market and the en bloc phenomenon. All things considered, I guess I can't really complain.

And yet the whole tedioous business of weeding and throwing things out, packing, sorting and arranging I find, not surprisingly, exceedingly stressful. Combine this with the even more detail-oriented fixing up and deciding on tile and paint and drapes and shelving, and I'd just as soon walk away from the whole situation.

Most women are not like me. Most women love it; they even thrive on it. They relish the choices - vacillate, ruminate, visualise and strategise. They consult, research and make detail-oriented decisions. Most women get a kick out of all of it.

As it turns out, here as well as in other situations, I am afraid I am once again simply not like most women.

Are you still the person you were in highschool?

Or perhaps a better way of putting it would be: how much of the person that you were in highschool remains in you today? I hazard a guess that the average adult still carries about 60 percent of her highschool self, personal baggage and all, whether or not she even realises it. And much of that dynamic continues to guide her present actions.

Which in itself wouldn't be so bad assuming that you liked yourself when you in highshool. I did. Did you?

One way to do it...

All the years T had of schooling were at the Ateneo, with the exception of his MBA. As for me, I never had formal instruction in catechism until I started high school at St. Theresa's college and of course, the Ateneo which requires its students to take 18 units of theology, apart from its hefty 16 units of philosophy - which includes Philosophy of Religion. But my children, K and C aren't likely to have that chance. Now that they've both received the sacraments of reconciliation and commmunion, we are opting to ease them out of the formal catechism classes. Instead, T and I are undertaking to homeschool them every Sunday. Between the two of us, we felt pretty confident we would be able to give them a solid religious foundation.

Today, we tackled the Sunday gospel - the parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector at the same time we gave them a brief on structure of the Liturgy of the Word. The kids were attentive and had much to say. In just over 30 minutes, we did a lecture, discussion and quiz, and finished in time for dinner of tuna burgers.

It sure beats dragging them to Saturday class.

Reconnections

Once again, I must marvel at the miracle of the internet, if only for the wonderful way it brings me back in touch with people from many lives ago, as far back as the first grade. It seems fitting that all this reconnecting takes place just a few weeks after seeing New York-based C and her kids after not having seen each other for
six years.

First, despite the fact that FACEBOOK irritates me, I am grateful that my gradeschool classmate M was able to find me. She, who I had not seen since we all graduated in the 7th grade at good old Maria Montessori Cooperative School. M is/was/is one of those children who look ageless - at age 10. Back then, she already had a womanly face as well as a good measure of womanly wisdom. She had a great spray of black hair, every strand of it sprang out in finely coiled kinks and her eyebrows were already arched in perfect parentheticals.

Today, she has a blog to keep her folks back in the Philippines updated on her own little family - a husband and an adorable daughter - now living in Seattle. I was heartened to see her familiar face - seemingly ageless - and enchanted to see her baby girl who looks very much like her, and yet not.

Like me, she turns 40 at the end of the year. We have exchanged emails - summarising our life stories, which are still intensely and mutually fascinating, even in their very broadest strokes. And as I read between her lines, I still have a very strong sense of the person that she is - how she still has so much of the girl I used to know, the one who could braid her hair in a manner of seconds, sew like a goddess of domesticity and sing along to Air Supply, and look, even at age 13, disapproving and school-marmish at many of my childish antics. It is good that she found me. One of the little gifts this month has had to offer.

But that isn't even the end of my story. Just days away from our mini-online reunion, I was sitting at the PC and who should pop in to IM-chat with me but D. The story of D is also an amazing one. When I was in the first grade, D was in kindergarten and was "best friends" with my cousin J. Then she got moved up to first grade, and we became fast friends. She was very fair and sandy-haired due to Caucasian grandparents, and we were such good friends that I even invited her to spend my birthday with me and my family at my house. Interesting that I don't recall specific conversations, though I remember quite clearly the spirit and the authenticity of our friendship - how we always had so much to talk about, so much to share. Our friendship lasted just one year, as she soon moved to the US, and we lost touch completely.

In 2003, I found her through her architect cousin, and after the initial thrill of reconnection, we have maintained "chatting" contact. Anyway, D now lives in Sunnyvale - she is a scientist in Silicon Valley. She too has a husband and a daughter.

When she popped up, I told her about M, whom she also remembers. Perhaps they will get together soon. But D also wanted to tell me something. How she had been thinking about me recently. I asked her why.

She asked me if I recalled the movie Sky Riders. "Don't you remember that movie?" D asked me. I had to admit I was drawing a blank. She continued, "It's about these hang gliders, who save these kidnapped kids held for hostage in a cave?" The description stirred a very faint bell. I told her it sounded vaguely familiar.

"You told me to watch that movie."
"I did?"
"You told me it was a great movie and at the time, it was showing at Rizal Theatre, and you told me to ask my folks to watch it."
"Back in first grade?"
"Yes. It is a great movie. The hang-gliders make a daring rescue."

I waited, not quite sure what the point was.

"I saw that movie because you said it was great, and it got me interested in hang gliding. It's the reason I took hang-gliding lessons."

"You took hang-gliding lessons? You mean as an adult?"

"Yes.

"And have you rescued anybody?"

"No, but I did marry somebody. I married my instructor and we went flying in the Andes mountains, and that's why our daughter is named Andes."

I started to get it.

"Marrying someone is a kind of rescuing," I said.

"I just wanted to tell you that. And that I had thought of you. Because we just got a copy of Sky Riders"

I makes no real difference in the world to know this, not really. But I was glad D told me. It was yet another unexpected gift.

Good game

T invented it to make the traffic jam pass during the trip to the airport. Let's invent jokes, he said. One of us would give a topic and another of us would make a joke.

C: Cannibals
K: A little girl cannibal says, "Mom, can we ask my friend Janice for dinner?" Mom cannibal says, "Sure. Why don't you ask Jessica, too?" Little girl cannibal says, "We already had her for dinner."

[I thought this was pretty good and she made great time, too.]

K: Elephants
M: A wife elephant makes her husband breakfast in bed - a tray of peanuts. But she spills it all over the bed. The elephant husband says, "Tusk Tusk Tusk."

But it was T's joke that got C laughing all the way till immigration.

T: Santa Claus came out to find his sleigh hitched to 12 elephants. He is mystified. He turns to his elves who come out of the Clause house naked except for their shirts. Then he yells: Not elephants! Elf pants!!!

C had some good ones too, but we suspect they came from one of his joke books...

The facts of life

My children now know the facts of life. Funny. Late last year, K asked me and I told her everything. I told her woman and a man's body fit together like perfect pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, and in this way, the man is able to plant a seed in the woman's body. She did not seem at all mystified by this, so I thought that was that. Today, we're walking up the stairs and she mentions reading a chapter in a science book that we apparently own - on how babies are made. She tells me she read it and now everything is clear. I said, what do you mean, it wasn't clear when I told you about it? She said, "Yeah, the jigsaw puzzle. But you didn't say what parts. I mean, I was thinking it might be the arm pits." I had to laugh.

Of course, that got C asking, so T told him straight out. "The daddy and the mommy get together and hug really tight, and the daddy's penis goes into the mommy's vagina and the seed gets planted." Non-plussed, C did not blink an eye. Then he piped up, "How does the baby get out, then?" I answer. "Most of the time, the babies come out through the mommy's vagina, but sometimes, the doctor can cut open her stomach and the baby gets out that way."

And that's when they said, "Eeeeeeew." Go figure.

Sidetrip Home for Fun and FOOD

There were no plans for this trip, but things fell together quite nicely and we made a quick getaway home. Two separate nights in Manila bookended a three night, four-day trip to the beautiful Bohol - which is now officially my favourite place in the Philippines. The first night we consolidated families and had dinner at the always delicious CAFE BOLA - the brainchild of cuisinartiste Gaita Fores, the little bistro specialises in Pinoy comfort food. And a comfort it was, indeed.

I gave up my usual Ceaser salad with bagoong balayan and went for two items on the specials board: Lechon Kawali and Kang Kong salad - a sparkling medley of crispy roasted pork bellies atop freshly steamed morning glory, onions and tomatoes, lightly tossed with garlic-laced vinegar. But I didn't stop there. I also ordered something the chef christened Fiesta rice - a cake of fried garlic rice topped with equal rows of chopped salted egg, smoked tinapa, tomatoes and chicharon. No surprise, every bite was heavenly.

The next morning, we hopped aboard Cebu Pacific, which was surprisingly painless and wonderfully on time and flew to Bohol. The first day was easy - just a day spent on the beach - with both meals had at various restaurants on the Alona cove strip. We spent the afternoon snacking on the sweetest lanzones imaginable - all the while digging our toes in the stand and viewing star fish. Dinner was at a turo turo - where friends V and C pointed at various things we wanted grilled - pork barbecue, roaste pork, and squid - which we also had cooked in inky adobo style. And the veggie dish was fresh seaweed!

Second day was touristic - the blood compact first, and then the marvelous chocolate hills of Bohol. I told K and C that the hills were actually alien pods that will hatch in the future and the Philippines will be the first alien colony. From the hills, we drove to the Loboc River and had lunch on the riverboat - and after that, the tarsiers, which we fed with beetles. The final stop was at the marvellous Bee Farm - but rather than take the bee tour, we contented ourselves with buying foodstuff from the bee shop. Honeyed peanut sticks, honeyed chocolate covered polvoron (it gives polvoron a delightfully irresistible edge) and my find of the day: Tableya dark chocolate honey spread - like nutella - but oh so much more. I bought not just one but two jars!

Dinner was a birthday party for little V at the Amorita resort where we stayed - and here, the food was amazing...I went totally pinoy with chicken-pork adobo - stealing a bit of K's sinigang na baka. The rest of the dinner party had the array of pasta dishes - alio olio, bolognaise pesto and fettucini carbonara - all more than competent. And for dessert - chocolate cake!

The following day, we rose at the crack of dawn to take a banca out to open sea to chase the dolphins. On realising that we weren't going to be in for breakfast, I ordered packed sandwiches to take on the boat with us - scrambled egg and bacon on toast with a dollop of mayonaise. The dolphins were truly amazing - and from there we went to the marine sanctuary at Balincasag island and had the best snorkellig experience. We were on the precipice of a coral reef, after all. So the sights were spectacular - the aggressive clown fish, the anemone, exquisite Angel fish, and below, schools and schools of some kind of flounder.

For lunch, we went to the Genesis Diving Centre Pizza House for delectable thin crust pizzas topped with salami, olives and onions - but not before M and I had massages on the beach, upon landing from the banca trip. As the children built their sand cities, we chatted and while snacking again on lanzones, finally ending up at sunset in the Amorita's infinity pool.

The grand finale meal was at the fabulous Ananyana resort - just 20 minutes away - and it was a fine dining extravaganza - M had pork ribs, T had a wonderful chicken dish, C had grilled swordfish - I stuck to pinoy and had the grilled bangus with mango salad - every morsel of which was sweet and tasty. Dessert? Chocnut ice cream!

On that last morning, after a buffet breakfast that included fried danggit, longanisa, rice, tomatoes, salted egg and champorado - plus hot tableya chocolate, we had a final bathe in the calm pool like waters of Alona beach - and then it was time to leave.

But the eating was not over. We met up with S quite fittingly at Shakey's - and had garlic and cheese thin crust pizza as well as manager's choice and chicken and mojos and sarsi. Then met with C and her brood and had a long catch up over dinner at the inimitable Via Mare! Binagoongan Baboy, lumpiang sariwa, sinigang and bibingka - plus guinumis for dessert!

Back in Singapore, I am now in the midst of detoxing for all the apparent and not so apparent reasons...but hey, every bite was worth it. I come from a wonderful country.

The Accidental Book Buyer and Multi-tasking Reader

...Unfortunately, when you go out on errands, the bookstores beckon and are just too tempting for words. For words...while ostensibly shopping for a birthday gifts for my sisters, I picked up:

With Bold Knife And Fork by MFK Fisher, the late food critic for the New Yorker.

Wallflower at The Orgy by Nora Ephron who I just saw on Oprah talking about the perils and triumphs of ageing.

Terrorist by my all-time favourite John Updike. Usually, I favour his short fiction, but I started this novel and got past the third page...so I picked it up.

And I still haven't finished Michel Faber's The Apple which is both pleasing and dismaying. His stories of whories makes me feel that my very recent and yet unpublished "Recollections of an Older Bride" is somewhat redundant. Sigh. I am halfway through the Smiley book on the novel - Gigigaga, go for it - it's fun as fun but willl also just get you out there buying more books. And who has the room?

So much to read, who has time to write?

Back in the heat of it

The trick to managing the absence of structured hours and a formal office lies in rising early.

After three days of sleeping in till the shameful hour of nine am ( I don't count getting up at ten to 7 for five minutes to say goodbye to the kids before they go on the school bus), I managed to get up with the kids and even have breakfast with them. After which, I checked emails, prepared snail mail and headed out the door for exercise, errands and a hodge podge of meetings.

Managed to take two yoga classes. One was a restorative yoga class which was a bit too gentle for my taste, foolishly causing me to feel myself equal to a HOT 1 class - that's 90 minutes in a heated room! Thanks to a new instructor, I was able to modify and adjust and as Burt Bacharach would say, make it easy on myself. I wouldn't have been able to that with H or J. It felt good, for sure, but it was rather dismaying to see that I've lost quite a bit of my yogabilities.

That's what stopping for eight months will do, I guess.

Big discoveries and small triumphs

The big one for the week is the new Jacob Ballas Children's Park at the Botanic Gardens. What a great play place for kids aged 0-13. We went for the second time today. I fetched the kids from school, right in time to see C in prime soccer play. I also had the chance to touch base with the mom of K's best friend at school, which was really nice. We packed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches - before you misunderstand, I mean two separate sandwiches, one peanut butter for C who eschews the classic combination and jelly solo for K who, believe it or not, does not like peanut butter, not even in chocolate. We went into the maze, into the sandbox playground and up into the tree house. We also did the bridge and the life-size nature puzzles. I must admit the kids are a little older for this park which I would say is perfect for ages 3-6, but they love it just the same. The other nice thing is right across the way is our track - so from there, we can quite easily go for a run or shoot some hoops for so long as we remember to bring the ball.

The small triumph is that my advice to C paid off. He's been going through tough times at school, much of it, it seems to me, is due to his intense desire to be liked by his peers. The result is he tries too hard and likely puts them off. It is something I understand and recognise all too well; it doesn't take much for me to flash myself back to third grade which was a constant tug-of-war of gal pals. I told him to change his tack - to withdraw and try out the people he doesn't know that well or even people he doesn't think he likes. I suggested he try going on his own more so he will discover that he enjoys his own company. I told him that when others see that he enjoys his own company, they will start seeking it - because he is fun to be with.

"You think that will work?" He asked, doubtful.

I told him to try it and see. And what do you know...it did. When he came over to me this afternoon, there was a little fellow was tagging after him who piped up to me, "C played a really good game! Good game C! I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" My son said, "See you tomorrow," and then grinned at me.

I am letting myself feel pretty good about that.

Tough Love

After two weeks of working at home - I've vowed not to say I'm not working, because what I'm doing? mothering while fitting in cash jobs and fiction is work - I'm rediscovering why I have worked at job these past few years.

It's because being a mother at home is the hardest job at all. It is. I always knew that cognitively but here I am facing it as a day-to-day reality, and to say that it is a challenge is putting it oh so very mildly. There is great satisfaction in getting dressed and leaving the house and having a day that's bisected neatly into morning, lunch hour, afternoon, coffee break and so on. A job gives you structure and everything fits nicely into slots. But mothering?

Mothering has no structure and my personality demands it while simultaneously not knowing how to create it. I know how to advise a junior writer and make suggestions about an article. I know how to collaborate with a graphic designer on a layout. What I don't know how to do is tell my daughter how not to get aggravated by my son when they are playing a game, even though he can be intensely aggravating. I don't know how to reprimand my children in a positive way so they get the lesson I am trying to impart without the anger and irritation. And I don't know how not to get worked up nor how not to lose my temper - worse, I don't know how to remember in time how to hold my tongue before seeing too late how a sharp reprimand has such a negative impact. Forget every day being a learning experience - every hour is.

Working at a job with defined skills was an easy escape. These days, I am confronted by the reality of not just having to raise my children, I am also having to raise myself. It takes a lot of love - and it's not romantic or easy. It's hard and steely bracing - even when it needs to be soft and yielding and understanding. Here it is, what I've been escaping - tough love and a job that I not only have to do, I have to remember I want to do because it will not just pay off in the long run, it will pay off with every hour and every day that passes.

On Page 1

I have a discount card for Kinokuniya and for Border's and for a long time, here in Singapore, that would pretty much cover it. But now there's Page One at Vivo City - and for some reason, it has all the books I want. Last Sunday, I stopped resisting the pull and gave in. I bought Jane Smiley's 13 Ways of Looking at the Novel. Am on the second chapter and it's just wonderful stuff. In the midst of it, I decided. It's time to stop looking at the novel. And start writing it.

On tasting carrots for the first time

after being prodded incessantly, my son said, grudgingly, "It has possibilities."

Best Press We've Had In A While

"Manila is a cool city."
- Quentin Tarantino in Manila for his new movie Dead Proof premiere

The Life of A Temp

I used to temp in the greatest city of all - the big Apple. It was the summer of 1991 - and all I had was one pair of hush puppies that I wore everday, to every job. I had one suit - a navy Auggie Cordero and one pair of black slacks. In the span of two and a half month, I worked at three different buildings. My first temp job was for a division at HBO in the HBO building, right by Bryant Park on 6th Avenue. That was just three days. Then I worked for a whole week at Saks on Fifth Avenue, in the marketing department. The last stint was something I was very thankful for because the personnel agency said they wanted someone for the rest of the summer, which meant that I wouldn't have to go traipsing around the city for anymore jobs. It was an assistant job for the Japanese company, ANA Hotels, which was on the third floor of one of the towers of the fabulous Rockerfeller Center. There were only four of us in the office, and I was in charge of taking reservations for the different hotels in Asia. It was a nice easy job, and in between, I wrote stories for the second year of my fiction program in Bowling Green. It was a glorious summer, and apart from the delights of the city, the best part was walking into an office - doing a job - and just like that... walking out again.

Here I am 18 years later - and it's time to temp again. Today I worked at one of the other publishing companies located in a building in Singapore I had never been in before. It was nice, but it wasn't the Rockerfeller Centre. The best thing?

Being able to walk in...and just like that, walking out.

My new favourites... H's....

...
City Hong Kong
It's big and bustling and busy and yet still so visitor-friendly. It's a great city for walking and exploring, shopping and (need I say it?)eating.
Restaurant Hu Tong, One Peking Road, Kowloon
Yum yum yum. First of all there's the view of the Hong Kong island skyline. And just as first of all - the food itself - work of culinary art. The crispy lamb - words fail me. And the way the sauce adds new dimension, further enhanced by finely minced garlic. The mere memory makes my mouth water. Fearing we would go overboard, we restricted ourselves to veggie dishes - the string beans in minced pork - always a hit. But the big surprise was the asparagus with salted fish, mainly because the salted fishes were not just tiny flakes but whole fish laid on a bed of bright green perfectly cooked asparagus. And then there was dessert - coconut ice cream with toasted coconut plus pear and white fungi...the a fitting end to a meal that can only be described as perfection.
Store H&M
It is a wonderful place to rummage through and not only do you find something you want every other minute - you find it in your size and at worth-it prices, too. PLUS - there's a cool kiddie section. I'm still a fan of Giordano Ladies - but I will always have a soft spot in my heart for H&M and am so glad it's in Hong Kong.

When do we go back to Hong Kong, that's my question...

Take 4

It's funny how my life seems to be cyclical. Circumstances have presented themselves in ample amounts so as to be enough to persuade me that the freelance life is once again the way to go. It feels different though this time. This time feels more right than it has before. Time will tell.

Brothers and Sisters

It's always interesting to watch a new TV drama series. L and M gave me Brothers & Sisters awhile back and I just started it. Unfortunately, Calista Flockhart still irritates me no end. I can't believe that a decade ago I was quite infatuated by her. Not only that, the plot - outwardly normal happy family besieged by dysfunction - is not especially unexpected. In fact,it's rather banal.But but but - two episodes in, I continue to watch. If only for Sally Field who plays the mother and who has lovely scenes. If only the writing improves and the plots become more inventive. We shall see.

The decision

She is made.

Plan

We are approaching that time when a decision has to be made. Only when you know what you want can you make it happen. So first things first. What do you want?

In another HDB flat in Toa Payoh

...you can spend a pleasant day with colleagues doing a shoot - that is, when you work at a magazine. As someone who began working in the industry at the text stage as opposed to the ground level - sourcing, styling, products, photography stage - I find this completely new and somewhat therapeutic. Don't get me wrong. I was always aware that shoots took place in theory, but was very rarely involved in them. It is funny to be starting now. Here such questions are posed as - "how should we shoot this little vial of lip balm?" Or "How can we make this cheesy packaging look somewhat better?". Of course, there is a photographer who will hopefully be as cheery, good-natured and companionable as the one we are working with today. Hopefully, you will be spending the time with colleagues whose company you enjoy or even who you genuinely like as individuals. And the goal is that you get as many of the pictures you need done and done well. It is interesting in that it's a break from the humdrum atmosphere of the office, you get to dress down and be relaxed yet still in "work mode" and with any luck, there will be good gossip and pizza. There are a lot worse ways to spend a working day.

And at the end of it - you see lovely pictures - which are of course, the heart and soul of this business. Worth a thousand words.

Oh where oh where

has this weekend gone? A lot of naps - thank goodness. A return to choir. Friday night dinner, ice cream and a bookstore browse. Ferrying kiddies to birthday parties. Lunch by the river. Household weeding and an early evening bite at the mall where T and I successfully resisted a Calvin Klein sale - and went for Japgelato instead. Today, it was all about sticking together in gray and rainy weather (Sorry Sash...but if it's any consolation, it's not like I would have bought anything either). What lies ahead? Decisions. That, and some good old fashioned exercise....

In a 3rd floor flat of an HDB complex in Serangoon

...at the hands of a Chinese woman who spoke as much English as I speak Mandarin, I had a manual lyphatic drainage massage, ear candling with Chinese herbs combined with a facial massage and naval candling combined with more tummy toxin drainage massage. Basically, I had to research post-treatment to even be able to list down what I had.

It was awesome.