Easter Thoughts

How is it that the child who fought to hi-fi tantrum levels not to go to Easter Sunday mass this morning ("We already went last Friday!" he yelled, thrashing his legs upon the bed), raised his hand when Fr. Colin asked the children to tell him what Easter meant, and said: "The tomb is open."? Now is that profound or what?

At breakfast, the family conversation found its way to wondering why the symbol of Easter is an egg. Kaylee said, "Maybe because an egg is good luck." And Coby said: "Maybe it's because the stone that covered the tomb was shaped like an egg."

There was also a long rather vocal discussion about whether or not there could have been a bunny rabbit near the tomb that could have possibly witnessed Christ himself, standing and walking out of it.

And after a long day involving mass, Easter lunch of Pot Roast Lamb and Lasagne at the Encarnacions, an Easter egg hunt involving 50 egg treats and five children, and of course, good conversation among friends, we said our bedtime prayers. As I am ending the prayer, Coby pipes up, "Thank you for giving us new life, Jesus."

Thank you, indeed.

Good Golly Friday

The day started with the wailing of my son refusing to go to Church for Good Friday service. I felt for him, I really did, recalling my own childhood holy weeks where I felt exactly as he did, but was better brought up than he and wouldn't actually say it out loud. My daughter was a trouper, and ready with her paper and pens and bible books. The rain began in earnest right in the middle of the service as our choir sang. I'm told by locals, that in Singapore, it always rains on Good Friday. Always, always, always. In Manila, Good Friday is hot and dry, even when a breeze blows - it's hot. I must say I prefer the rain.

We took them for fish sandwiches at McDo, and I succeeded in my fasting. Then it was home. We read the Cruxificion story again from the children's rather well-written, well-researched Bible. The people behind DK Dorsing Kinderly books really know what they are doing. Then we did homework, and read, and managed to make the kids forget that they couldn't turn on the television, play game boy, Xbox or computer. For awhile anyway. At a certain point, Coby succumbed to tears of frustration.

"I don't like Good Friday. It's not a Good Friday. It's a Bad Friday."
"Yes, it's a quiet, sad day because it's it's the day Jesus died," I said.
"No! It's a bad day because we can't play anything!" He yelled and he dissolved in tears on his bed, poor thing. I let him cry and he eventually got it out of his system. A minute later, he started reading Tin Tin. When I was a kid we weren't even allowed to read non-religious books. I let him be.

Our only concession to video was Jesus Christ Superstar. And the kids were rivetted. T told me to skip the leper scene and the flagellation scenes...and all in all, I think it was a good experience for them. You have to a hand it to Andrew Lloyd Weber and Tim Rice. The music still sounds great. (Sing it: Christ, you know I love you. Did you see I waved. I believe that you are God, so tell me that I'm saved! Jesus I am on your side, touch me touch me Jesus! - sabay sayaw).

For dinner,we had baked cod with olive sauce, cold asparagus and capsicum with dijon dressing, and delicous quinoa. The kids had macaroni and cheese with their fish. A good meal was had by all. They went to sleep early and obediently.

Then, at around 10pm, T dragged me out to Ministry of Sound against my will so he could hear this techno DJ spin. Not very Good Friday thing to do, but he argued, it's already Black Saturday anyway. To be wide-eyed and sober in a crowd of tipsy clubbers is a bracing experience. It was interesting just to observe the hoipoloi. Nevertheless, we were home by 11:45, and didn't even have a buzz from our heavily diluted free drinks. And so endeth Good Friday.

Sleep and Sensibilities

I used to be the "fall-asleep-the-minute-head-touches-pillow" kind of person. It used to come so easy. As a matter of fact, I never even knew the concept of bad sleep till I met T at age 18. We would have these conversations where at some point he would complain, "Masama kasi tulog ko." And I would look at him quizzically, honestly not comprehending what he meant. How can sleep not be good? Like Woody Allen, remarking on the quality of orgasms, for me, sleep was pretty much spot on, right on the money. Sleep was a breeze upon my dusky cheek, and all that jazz. Now waking up, that was tough. And the other item I failed to understand up until recently is the concept of a bad pillow or the wrong pillow. What's that?

Hello 38 1/2. Now seemingly tiny things can wreck the quality of my sleep. In fact, to paraphrase the bard, these days, the quality of my sleep is strained - even with the yoga. What's going on here. I am now a picky pillow person. And when the kids sneak into our bed, I will painstakingly get up and walk them back to their beds, much to the shock of my fellow moms ("Wow, strict!"). All this I do in order to safeguard my sleep. I will now say "Masama ang tulog ko," something I never said until the last couple of years. And it could be the pillow, the temperature, the way T sleeps, what is planned for the next day or what happened today.

It is likely that good sleep, like good sex, is a function of the brain. It's about chemistry and it's about letting go and perhaps, perhaps, not thinking too much about it, all of which are defeated by this entire discussion...and on that note, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Ain't it the greatest?

  

Huling Hirit

I vowed to myself: no more yoga blogs, but just one last thing. I did HOT 1 last Friday evening and somewhere in the middle, fell into a terrifying pool of fatigue. I thought I wouldn't make it. I thought I would pass out. What's happening. "Must be because I haven't done Hot in awhile." I thought to myself as I tried to follow Hanoi's instruction of taking in more "sips of oxygen." Sips! I needed a gallon of oxygen! And afterwards, I could barely be human for Rod and Celeste and Rod's sister at the movie we watched - THE INSIDE MAN by Spike Lee - and I even fell asleep for five minutes or so. Then today, I decide, let's try it again. This time it was HOT 1 with Catherine...and exactly the same thing happened. A frightening surge of exhaustion so overwhelming, I succumbed to child's pose, not just once but twice. Again, I dragged myself out of there and I looked at my watch and it was noon. The class started at 10:15am and I came out five minutes past noon. I'm like, wait a minute. I ask the desk: How long is Hot 1, and the answer is "90 minutes." Nyarks. The 30 minutes makes a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuge difference. Tomorrow, I go back to the safety of my 7AM hour long sessions. 90 minutes in a Hot room is apparently 30 minutes longer than I can take at at this stage of the game. No judgement.

To sum up the weekend

-rewatched Trainspotting after bringing Mom to the airport
-badminton training, and for the first time, T and I made it to 9 against C and Aman.
-rewarded ourselves with Turkish lunch
-attended catechists talk for preparing Kaylee for first confession which was unexpectedly valuable.
-choir practice as always spiritually rewarding
-finished Oppenheimer's Front Row Anna Wintour
-now can't wait to watch The Devil Wears Prada
-helped the kids with homework
-watched ICE AGE 2, and then ICE AGE 1 with them at home
-Crockpot beef stew dinner
Not a bad weekend, marred only by Kaylee's ear acting up again

As April begins, once more I face my resolute self. We shall see where this
month takes us.

Flash-forward

The other day I woke my son for school.

I leaned in and whispered, wake up baby, time for school. And he sleepily put both his arms around me and pulled me in close to him. He said nothing, but I almost felt him saying, "Not yet." The experience gave me a sudden flash-forward vision about how my son would be fifteen years from now, as a man...with a woman.

Oh my goodness.

Yogamad

I am a freak. I know it. I spent my day off doing what most people would consider to be altogether too much yoga. Hatha with Kumaran at 9:15am. A 75 minute Yin class with Catherine, which was almost hypnotic...and then, after a light lunch and some book hunting at Kino, back to do Hot Flow with Ross at 4:00. Total time: three hours and fifteen minutes. At a certain point in Hot Flow my body gave a little twinge of tama na...so I faked my chatarangas...and stayed longer in the downward facing dogs. I managed to do the wheel for the first time since I was 15...which was crazy exhilerating. But still no sign of the crow. Why I care is a mystery. But I do so want to do the crow. Uwak uwak uwak. T says I'm insane. Maybe.

Major personality change

Apparently, it happens more often than you think. Or maybe, it's just what you call a midlife crisis of a sort. What do you do when the the things you used to be able to do you find you just can't manage to do, anymore? And we're not talking here about physical feats like no longer being able to do a bridge stand or a split (both things I was able to do at age 15). I'm referring to certain kinds of conversations that have lost their allure to the extent that the effort to participate in them can no longer be mustered without disagreeable discomfort.

It appears I have morphed into some kind of introvert, no longer endowed with the ability to gracefully flit and flutter into connections that do not at once engage. It is rather frightening to discover this in one's self. And it is difficult not to wonder whether it is some kind of temporary madness or something that has lodged into the character, for good. How strange to suddenly encounter yourself on the proverbial street in your mind and have no absolutely no recognition of what you have become, so much so that you feel you need an extended introduction.

Midweek musings of a desultory nature...

My new nokia phone has many features, but my absolute favorite is the recorder. Because of this function, my morning alarm at 6am for my 7pm yoga is Coby saying, "Wake Up Mama, time for work!" And my ring tone is Kaylee singing ABBA's Mamma Mia lustily into my ear: "Yes, I've been broken-hearted, blue since the day we parted. Why Why, did I have to let you go. Mamma Mia, now I really know, why why, I should never let you go!"

M and D brought LOST, 2nd Season. Like junkfood crazed teenagers, T and I went for it way too fast, and now there's a sugar crash in the aftermath. And there's also more craving and the first season of Joey, as amusing as it is, just doesn't cut it. I think it's the hunger for a good story. As annoying as LOST can be, there's plot there that satisfies in that "and then what happened?" way. You can't help wanting to know what happened. Must remember that for fiction. The minute people stop caring about what's going to happen, you've LOST your reader.

Am rereading Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. Wow, wow, wow. It's even better now than when I first read it. There are three dimensional pictures in his words. And he died a drunk, with just one or two other works. Tragic. It makes me want to weep.

Coby got sent home from school yesterday. They suspected he had HFM Disease. Apparently, all the parents of 1B got an email saying there was a case of HFM. I hit the roof and called the school. Told them it was highly premature of them to issue this email and that they were being very irresponsible, causing a panic among the parents. As it turns out, there was an actual confirmed case, other than Coby (who by the way was given a clean bill of health).

It's been raining. Hopefully, I make a dent in the work.

What I saw at the bookstore and other non-sequiturs

A new book entitled, "Japanese Women Don't Get Fat Or Old" - clearly riding on the "French Women Don't Get Fat" trend. Maybe I should write, "Filipino Women Don't Stop Smiling."

Had a conversation with a someone at FX recently, about how certain people, no, how a lot of people here are "matipid sa ngiti." I keep trying to come up with a satisfactory translation into English, and only hit on "thrifty with her smile." She relayed the experience we apparently both share...how she'll be humming at work and someone will inevitably say to her, "Wha, so happy, lah?" She and I both tend to answer, "No, not really."

Yin yoga is hugely hip opening. Did a hatha for an hour. Had a fifteen minute break. Then went on for a 75 minute yin. Yowch! I imagine it's good for the digestive and reproductive organs. Very slow and deep and intense on the tissues, but at the end of it all, I'm not really sure what I did for myself.

Crockpot stew is even better on the second day.

Kids are on term break. Wish I could be, too.

Rewatching an old SATC episode

and it occured to me to wonder why friendships on TV, even in the well-written, realistically portrayed ones, seem better than the real thing. Why is that? Aah... not this thread again. Am rereading Nora Ephron's Heartburn and finding myself bursting into gales of laughter. Feeling an itchy trigger finger in my right hand. Right. Write.

Who would have thought?

Under the circumstances, I should be more affected by the recent surprises thrown my way. The art director changed her mind and is no longer coming on board. I have a first-rate writer that I would hire in a snap, but apparently, it is not entirely up to me. The U2 concert has been postponed indefinitely. All these things should have added up to stress and disappointment and yet, I'm cool.

And zen...zings will juz have to zort zemzelves out, yez?

A good weekend was had by all, and in the end, that is what matters. Why good? Everything and nothing special. Just happy moments with K, C, and T. And yoga tomorrow...

Speak of the devil

Father O'Niel SJ is a wonderful preacher at St.Ignatius who, despite being almost medievally old-fashioned, often triggers in me fitting reflection for these contemporary times. He's ye olde Irish - in his nineties- and the cadences of his voice are ever so comforting. Due to his age, of course, he has his good days and the days when rambling man appears in his stead.

At yesterday's 6pm Ash Wednesday mass, he opened with his perennial reminder of the Devil, and the war that is taking place in the world for human souls. "Remember," he chided us, "The devil hates you, but God loves you." This is a favourite thread of his, and one that I particularly like. T hates it, and my Mom doesn't like it either. And I ask them, why? I guess people don't want to be reminded that evils exists, let alone the devil who salivates over our souls. For me though, it's like bracing cold water. It's refreshing and allows me to see this modern world with open eyed clarity. As we go through the motions of our lives, we have to be reminded to choose God, to plant our feet firmly on his side of the battlefield, and constantly try to undermine the other side by our day to day deeds. Fr. O'Neill on his good days is a paradoxical breath of fresh air.

And my favourite part was when he mixed the ashes and water vigourously, the reverberating clicks against the tin pan picked up by his microphone. He looked up at us and with a gleeful smile in his voice, said, "I like to use plenty of water, so the cross is very black!"

I remember now that I am marked by God with a very black cross on my forehead. And so lent begins...

Cut!

Never underestimate the wonderfully rejuvenating powers of a haircut. Got it all cut off yesterday with zero trepidation. I just walked into the salon with a determined stride and Eugene said, "Short?". I answered decisively, "Short - Cut it off."

We're at month's end, and a number of pages have yet to be closed still. The graphic designer is running on empty. The writer is resigning, switching industries. Right now, I have yet to lock in an art director to replace the one who left in January. A stressful situation to say the least, but I'm surprisingly zen. Must be all the yoga. Must be the hair cut. Sometimes, you just have to say cut it.

Cut the stress. Cut the bs. Cut the non-essentials. Snippety snip. It's a lot like deleting emails. And throwing out clutter. Very liberating. At the end of the day, you have to cut it...otherwise, what are you going to do?

Whoohoo! Just got a sms. Not only do I have an art director, I have three very good candidates for the writer...

Oh...and a joint bowling bday party for K and C 

10 Things In Two Months

1. THE PRACTICE. Yoga at Pure Yoga. I'm frequently the heaviest woman in practically every class I attend. Then again, this is Singapore. But no judgement. The teachers are exactly as zen and inspiring as they should be, not too much as to be annoying, and not so little as to be ineffectual. Hot makes my insteps ache. Hatha feels tremendously satisfying. Power is like lifting weights - in this case, my own. When I'm doing standing poses and I can't find my balance, I will fall out and involountarily, an apology will issue from my lips. Why, I don't know. "Don't apologise," two teachers have already told me. No judgement, they keep saying. And keep practicing. It will get better. For where the eyes lead, the body will follow, they say. T says my body feels different. It feels like flesh is redistributing. But I'm not losing weight. Maybe it's those breakfasts with Maya at Toast.

2. YOU TOO! Come and join us. Five couples off to Sydney to see Bono jam up a storm at the end of March. Lots of jostling to get tickets, but finally, things have settled into place. It feels. Monumental.

3. FIRST GRADE. Coby going through adjustment. No, it's more accurate to say that the teachers of ACS Primary 1B are adjusting. At the end of the day, they don't know what to make of him. This little boy who comes in to class late from recess, saying, "Sorry, I'm late." and then the following day, does exactly the same thing. He also likes to skip out of TAF Program, often giving his "buddy"..."the slip". It's not just that he came from Montessori. It's not just that he's not Singaporean. It's mainly that he's Coby. There will be many PT conferences this year, boy.

4. AFTERMATH. Kaylee seems to have inherited both my temper and my poor quantitative skills. It adds up to frustration during homework time. What to do. What to do. She dislikes being taught and yet she does not know. T is much better at the teaching. But then again, he is also much better at the math.

5. WORKING OUT. Have found the best attitude toward work. Calm detachment combined with no-nonsense get-it-done verve. And leave it at the office. At the end of the day, you have to remember your priorities.

6. CASHING IN. Who would have thought it could happen. Then again, it may not. So let's just keep mum about it until it does...and visualise. Because boy, it could be a great, great thing.

7. STRUMMING ALONG. T gave us guitar lessons for our anniversary so that we could "learn something new" together. But the strings hurt man. And I'm always tempted to say, "Can't I just sing it?" The teacher who is a tad on the smug side does not help. It may also be that I have not commited. To me it's still, no strings attached.

8. UNMATCHED. Seeing Matchpoint has made me realise, yet again, Woody Allen is an unmitigated genius. It's the next thing I'm buying on Amazon.

9. COMING AND GOING. Oh no...the time that the Solivens are leaving is drawing very very near. Lots of things will change. Realising I can easily live in my own little world.

10. WRITE ON. If not now, when? Notes to Nowhere has to morph from journal-ese into what it was meant to be. Now more than ever. It's got to be about story. Remember all of them...and let them flow.

Whatever happened to

...the blog. Did the pressure get to her? After all, there are a million more compelling blogs out there, cuter, smarter, funnier, thinner...What's a blog to do? Some blogs don't react well to competition. Some blogs just clam up in the face of eloquence. A blog can suffer angst about existence or be in need of therapy. She can suffer an inferiority complex aggravated by general blahness toward life and its nitty gritty. A blog may decide on her own to embark upon a self-improvement programme. Learn bells and whistles like other blogs. Or a blog can opt to remain unapologetic, defiant, persisting in her own quintessential right to be what she is.
Until the the urge comes once again, from deep within...after some sixty days. She says, okay, let's start over.

Narnia

Our very own Lucy in Narnia 

Let's just say it's like having your childhood come alive before your very eyes.

At a certain point...

...you have done just about all you can possibly do, and the only thing you should do is yourself a favour. Let it go. Relax. Move on to doing things for yourself. People have pointed out I'm too absorbed by my work -- funny, that this isn't even what I plan to do with my life! I must remind myself that there were other plans and now, there is the inclination and the opportunity to do them. It's time to sieze the moment, and make it happen.