Here we are

A new year.

I'm reminded of that Peanuts strip where Lucy Van Pelt says words to the effect of...
"There's something funny about this year. This year feels a little bit like last year - this is a used year! We're being ripped off!!"

This new year doesn't feel used though. In fact, it feels quite different from last year, which was fleet on its feet. This year seems like it's going at its own pace.

Which is good.

Even harder

than the packing itself is the deciding what book you are going to bring along on the trip.

Safe travels everyone, and see you in 2009.

Snippet from a conversation between two old friends at Christmas

"Why are you breathing so heavily? Are you pregnant?"

"Hahahah, you're so funny. I'm touching myself..."

"Hahahahahah..."

"I'm cooking the Christmas meal as I talk to you!"

"Oh...me I'm lying here digesting the Christmas meal."

What is it

about being on just this particular spot on the equator that makes it gray, cloudy and drizzly at Christmas?

Something to look forward to

Every Sunday, when I was growing up, my grandmother's children would bring their families back to her house on Espana Extension, the one with the green grilled gate under the large mango tree. After Sunday mass, we would flock together for at least two meals - lunch and merienda, and in the early days, even dinner. How she fed her clan including yayas and drivers is still a mind-boggling mystery to me. I like to think it was like the five loaves of bread and the three fishes, mixed in with the jugs of wedding wine. There was always, miraculously, more than enough. After lunch, the womenfolk would gather around the table for more conversation. The men would retire to the various corners of the large house for naps or chess. And the children? We cousins would run wild through the house, in the sala, in the porch, upstairs, downstairs, in the garden, in the garage, in Lola's own room even...playing hide-and-seek or ping-pong, climbing trees or exploring, talking, and just..."hanging"...before that word was even invented. Sometimes, we would put on plays. Sometimes, we would just play. And the end of the day would often take us by surprise.

"What? We're going na?"

And we would all think, sometimes even say it out loud. Where did the day go? We were having so much fun.

It's been years since those Sunday reunions, but each and every one of us looks back on those days with fond recollection.

This New Year's Eve, the clan will gather in Baguio City - we are much bigger clan now, with many of us cousins having families of our own. Still, right this very minute, we are all joyfully anticipating this two-day multiple family get-together, even though Lola is long gone, and the old house on Espana extension no longer stands where it used to. We know that for this brief time there will be laughter and reminscing amid the catching up and sharing of stories. We no longer know each other the way we used to, and will likely need some time to get our bearings. Nevertheless, all it will take is for eyes to meet and smiles to spread...and it will be like it was, ever so briefly, all over again. And from where she is, Lola will be laughing, too.

Holy holiday

Christmas is great, of course. I mean, it's the beginning of the whole story. It's got Santa Claus and gifts and Christmas trees, not to mention, my favorite these days, gingerbread and fruit salad. But I've always though Easter is where it's at - you have all that fasting and pain and hardship, and then you have feasting and merriment and joy. But I think the most underrated holiday is New Year's, even though it is clearly the holiday that can and should be the most meaningful for the individual. A new year is a new slate. The jump-off point for new plans, hopes, and resolutions. It is not an overtly religious holiday, and yet the spiritual overtones are comprehensively inherent. In many ways, I think New Year's Day is about personal commitment. It's about that silent determining in your own heart of the way you want to live, what it is you want to do, and how you are going to take things forward so your life has meaning and you are able to create joy - for the reason you are here, for yourself and for those you hold most dear.

The Christmas Lull

There is a frenzy that comes with every Christmas season - the mad malls, the crowded sidewalks and the traffic jams. People out and about, eating, drinking and making merry. But somehow, in Singapore, around the 19th or the 20th of December, the frenzy dissipates and there arrives a little lull. A spot of quiet. A subtle shift that sort of slows everything down and all of a sudden, you can focus on the cool of the morning breeze. You can find a spot to sit on the train. You can even get a table.

It's because about third (or possibly more) of the those who live here for the greater part of the year hie off to do the holidays some place else. Maybe they go home. Maybe they go away. But they don't stay in sunny Singapore. And those who are left here can enjoy a bit of peace and quiet, a bit of hush out of all the rush.

For the past three or four Christmases now, we've chosen to spend our own little family Christmas in this little lull, enjoying the ease of getting a table at our favorite brunch place or of thinner crowds in the parks, churches, and malls - even on our running trails. We make our way about the city and find it blessedly serene...and we say to each other...isn't this nice? Isn't this great? And we sleep in, and we eat well, and we rest up so we can greet the new year with energy and verve, until the third or fourth of January...when everyone returns, and it starts all over again.

More than half full

In the first hour of my birthday, I read on S' blog that her brain scans no longer show tumors. It was a splendid birthday gift...and it dictated the timbre not just of that day but of the entire week. I am happy and excited and feel very strongly that this is the beginning of her healing. This year has brought many unexpected gifts, and I am very grateful for them. I don't care to list all my blessings here; it is not necessary. I know in my heart I have more than I ever expected. Not only is my glass more than half full. It is a rather lovely glass, and I am thankful for it. That I have a glass to fill.

A meditation on faith

I guess a number of things have been bringing this to a head. First and foremost, more than just a couple of rather difficult questions issuing forth from the mouths of babes - specifically my babes. C has been on this topic on and off for a large part of 2008, asking things like, "Is Jesus really real?" , "Is God really real?" He turns 10 in February. As the Christmas season came underway, my K said, "How did Mama Mary give birth to Jesus if she didn't have sex?" These are simple, straightforward questions and worthy of simple, straightforward answers, and yet, such simplicity is nowhere to be found.

Then there was a recent dinner with a friend who out of the blue makes it known to us his doubt, even his non-belief. This, when we were always quite certain that his was as staunch a faith as any.

But perhaps most difficult to accept is the doubt from the people you love. How to confront the incredulity that tumbles out almost unbidden from those nearest and dearest whose opinion, regard and favor you value, above all else.

They ask, how is it that you can believe such and such? How is it that you can go through the charade beyond the guise of tradition, culture and ritual?

Of course, you understand what they mean. You see why they doubt. You know cognitively how they are compelled to say the things they say. You are all too aware of how your faith appears: cowering, naked, and yes, almost naive and even a little foolish. Like believing in fairy tales.

Yet you struggle to gather together the broken pieces of your belief and you just stand there because you have nothing to say. You cannot defend it with words or explanations. You have none, except the sheer, dogged pulsing spirit.

You belief is not a choice, something that you are able to control.

Your faith is a force.

Despite everything, you simply believe, because you cannot not believe.

The absence of faith - anyone's absence of faith, even your own - feels to you a bit like a void. Non-belief feels too much like self-righteousness and arrogance that after all, draws only upon the limits of a single life that is known, lived and led - their own. It is just one life that leads someone to this conclusion, one life that is a mere drop of water in a universal cascade.

But you feel and know with an inexplicably inner feeling and knowing that there is something more. You take comfort in what has existed for hundreds of years before you, and likely for hundreds of years after you are gone. Because it is there. Because of the way it offers truth and hope that speaks in your life. And your faith finds its strong yet wordless reason in the quiet of your own mind, to the beat of your own heart.

Facebook

Someone asked me recently, why aren't you blogging. I only have one answer. Facebook.

Facebook satisfies the blogging impulse and entails minimal effort. For the lone freelancer with no colleagues to socialise with and only kiddie interaction to sustain her, Facebook offers a semblance of adult company. Status reports keep you connected - not just to anyone under the sun but to actual individuals you know. Facebook has the added buzz from eavesdropping - which facebookers can do legitimately, glancing at the wall-to-wall conversations between friends of friends. The beauty of Facebook is that you don't have to be alone with your voice. There is satisfying exchange. There is interaction and your writing? Well, now, your writing can be preserved for the projects that pay.

Why blog, when you can facebook? I recommend it highly and only wish I thought of it myself. Youngest millionaire in the world, indeed. He deserves it.

Oh for Obamarama

All I can say is I am so very very glad.

My friend S

Ever since I discovered that someone I know, a woman I used to work for eight years ago for just four months, had a resurgence of the cancer she had previously battled so succesfully, I have been reading her blog religiously. She is 41. She has a husband, a daughter and a son. The children are under the age of six. And despite a mastectomy, the cancer has returned to her body - her liver, her lungs and her brain.

She is a master blogger - posting every day, Monday through Friday - despite her illness, the various combinations of medication, oxygen tank sessions and chemotherapy, not to mention the journals, recordings and scrapbooks she is preparing for her children, so they will have communication from her after she is gone.

It is possibly one of the most difficult blogs to read due and there are more than a few posts that have brought me to easy tears. S is a humanist in the traditional sense. She believes in the power and the goodness of human beings, but despite being the daughter of Christian pastor, she most emphatically, does not believe in God. God, she says is nice to have, but He is a fairy tale that human beings have created because they are simply not strong enough to accept the truth that life is just that, and when it ends, it ends, and there is nothing more.

I read this blog every day, and even post comments occasionally. I do not make the mistake, as other blog readers have done, of trying to get her to see God. I know her too well. She will not let me get away with that. I worked with the woman as my editor for four straight months, and the work part of it nearly drove me to my wits end. She was and remains incessantly intense in the putting forth of her opinions, demanding explanations in the manner of a human bulldozer. But there would be moments outside of work, when we would talk of my K and C or when we would have lunch, when she would have unexpected softness that would surprise me and win me over, if only for that moment.

I also read her blog to make sure she is alive, to read her impressions and opinions which are less bulldozing on the internet page than if verbalised face to face. I pray for S every day, for her healing and for her peace and for the continually amazing courage of the members of her family. S is one of the most courageous people I know. The fact that she can be like this despite her disease all the while believing in nothing eles but herself is amazing. It is true that death will come to all of us. But S lives with its grim reality every day, like bread and butter at breakfast. More than anyone else, she lives with its certainty and manages with grace and courage to keep it at bay with every passing day.

Yesterday, I read that she will no longer blog five days a week but reduce it to three. She says she can no longer get to it these days...and she apologises to her scores of readers. "You have all the time in the world, but I do not."

Vicky Christina Barcelona and Osbourne Cox

Of late, the truly entertaining, well-written movie has become somewhat scarce for us. But in the last two weeks, the tide has turned in Singapore as both Woody Allen's Vicky Christina Barcelona and the Coen brothers' Burn After Reading are playing at the same time.

As a Woody Allen fanatic, I will say that VCB ranks up there due to its novelty. After Matchpoint, we are now accustomed to a Woody Allen film without a Woody Allen character. But somehow VCB goes beyond that in its exploration of the various ways a woman searches for and responds to love and the idiosyncracies of the romantic relationship. Not since Hannah & Her Sisters has Allen delved so thoroughly into the feminine heart and the mysteries therein, and to such comic effect. Once again, casting director Juliet Taylor triumphed with Spanish actors Javier Bardem as Juan Antonio and Penelope Cruz as Maria Elena, characters that could have deteriorated on the page as mere cliches, but were so thoroughly developed by these artists into complex, flesh and blood beings who actually risk eclipsing the heroines completely. My only quibble, and it is a small one, is the use of the isolated narrator. Voice over is a tool Allen has used for decades, but it is frequently the voice-over of one of the characters of the movie. To my mind, this particular voice over tended to be disruptive and it would have been possible to let the film play out without some of the editorialising exposition, as well-written as it was - (..."and Christina...certain only of what she did not want". As a cheat, I would have made the narrative voice-over either Vicky as one of the more grounded characters or perhaps even the hostess ably portrayed by Patricia Clarkson.

Burn after Reading is not the triumph that Fargo was, in terms of writing, though of course, it has its own delightful ingenuity. But seeing the likes of Pitt and Clooney and McDormand and Malkovich play those pathetic characters was tremendously entertaining - even if the overall darkness of the plot in the end was a bit disturbing and didn't have the affectation of a moral centre that Fargo did. Yet the richness of the characters,their various mishaps and the mayhem that resulted all worked together so beautifully to express a most frightening message of random human stupidity and meaningless cruel chaos in a tragic world in which it is humorously and insistently clear, there is quite simply no justice.

A basketball game

Chalk it up to free tickets from C's basketball coach and to the fact that T and I were sorry to miss the two games that brought Ateneo their recent championship against La Salle. And because C has been such an enthusiastic junior player, we thought it would be good for him to see an exciting live game - the Singapore Slingers against the Purefoods Tender Juicy Giants seemed like the perfect opportunity. Even K was open to the new experience of driving to the stadium to cheer for the Philippine team against the Singapore team.

When we finally arrived, after having grabbed a tide-us-over snacks from Toast Box and Breadtalk, we noticed the masses of Filipinos in queues outside the stadium. For a second, it occured to me that this could have been Araneta or Loyola, for the crowd that had gathered.

"Everyone is Filipino," K observed.
"Filipinos love basketball." T said.
"When the Singapore Slingers fight against another country, then I'll cheer for them. But if they fight against the Philippines, I'll cheer for the Philippines." C said.

But I looked around and thought, with this crowd there would be no one cheering for the Singapore team.

By happenstance, T was able to score tickets from CLSA Asia Pacific Markets - so instead of the run-of-the-mill free tickets we had, we were going to sit in a box with a great view. Naturally, we were all very excited. When we got to our seats,
there was a Singaporean family sitting in our seats, but we showed them our tickets, which were numbered, and then they moved.

As we settled in, it was clear that the Philippine team had it's work cut out for them. This year's batch of Singapore Slingers all averaged six feet compared to the rather puny, ironically named Tender Juicy Giants. Even in the first few minutes, the Slingers took a quick and early lead, making a number of shots from the outside, while the Giants were playing a very physical, inside game. Let it be said now, that there was one Singaporean on the Slinger team and he was tall, and the rest were imports, mostly from Australia and a couple from the US. According to our pamphlet, there was also a Filipino on the Slingers team ("Traitor!" said C).

So there we were, sitting in our CLSA boxed sheets, when it soon became evident to those in the neighboring boxes that our family of four rather vocal fans were cheering for Purefoods. I began to notice that they were all cheering for the Slingers. In truth, about 90 percent of the spectators on all sides were cheering for the Philippines...with the exception of smatterings of Caucasian fans here and there.

One Caucasian lady in the next box looks up as I am shouting my head off, and says, "Excuse me, but does CLSA know you're sitting in their box and cheering for the Philippines?"

"I don't know." I said, shrugging. "Is it a problem."

"Not for me," She said, "But CLSA might have..." She said with a very definite tone.

The nerve, I thought.

But that's when I noticed while my children cheered and clapped and whistled conspicuously in our rather silent box every time Purefoods made a hard earned basket, that on the Slingers jerseys was the CLSA Pacific Markets logo. CLSA was the Singapore Slingers main sponsor! Sound of embarrassed music: Wenk wenk wenk wenk wenk...

In seconds, we hastily evacuated the box and left it for Singapore star Gurmit Singh to occupy, and we're happy to cheer our team in the comfort of the Pinoy crowds, who at the end of the day, took up the entire stadium, reacting to every referee ruling againt Purefoods with hoots and howls and boos. There were even a number of heated moments between the spectators and the officials resulting in items thrown in the air. The announcer had to warn the audience that people would be arrested, if caught.

But in the end, though Purefoods fought long and hard, they couldn't make a permanent dent in the Slingers lead. After all, they were not giants at all, not by a long shot.

Still it was a good game. And a good experience for the kids, who discovered that they were ardent basketball fans, even K who cheered herself hoarse. And though the Slngers did win, it was sad that they had so few supporters to cheer them on.

And at the end of the game, the announcer congratulated the team, and then he congratulated the fans, saying,

"By fans, I mean, the Filipino fans!"

A Tale Of C

A creature like no other, C is the by turns sweet and obliging, and yet also tooth-pullingly stubborn and unyielding. There is many a point when all reasoning is futile. He wants what he wants when he wants it. I think sometimes of how much he is like me, but even then, there are many forces at play in his personality that are simply alien to me.

Take yesterday. After a long, squirmy conversation with his homeroom teacher last week, I vow to stop nagging him, to stop picking up for him, to stop attempting to shepherd him and simply allow him to take responsibility, fend for himself and let the chips fall where they may, at whatever cost.

"Only then," says Mrs. B, "will her realise that his actions have consequences and that his situation is a result of his own choices."

So I pick them up from school, and C looks cleaner than he usually does. He washed his hands at school today, he told me. I praise him for his hygienic practices, knowing that my son thrives on positive affirmation, particularly in the few times that he is not shrewdly able to see through a fake ploy.

When we get home, he announces that he has a bit of homework, but that he also has to sell 10 cancer research tickets. He gets dressed and ready to do that instantly. Meanwhile his sister retires to her room to complete her homework.

"Let's go," he says.
"Where we going?"
"I have to go sell tickets for the Run for Hope."
"OK, let me call around and ask who might be interested."
"No, I don't want to do that. I want to sell them myself."
"How?" I asked.
"Door to door..."

And he proceeds to do exactly that. He rings doorbells and knocks on every door from our house to two streets down, and by dint of sheer bravado, manages to sell all his 10 tickets. Some people bought. Some people turned him down. Nothing fazed him. He just went on and on. I was amazed. I myself was never a shy child, but I am quite sure I wouldn't have been able to what he did with as much grace and game.

When he had finished, we walked home together.

"Wow, C, you did a phenomenal job. I'm truly amazed."
"At my courage?"
"Yes, at your courage..."

Of course, when we get home, he plops himself in front of the television, quite forgetting that he still has math homework. I remind him once and as non-naggingly as I can. He ignores me.

With great reluctance, I allow him to suffer the consequences of his own choices.
He does his homework at 10:30.

What is one to do. So be it.

In the last twelve days

I finished the book.
I moved house.
I got and gave up on the iPhone (this probably merits a separate blog entry, but I don't really feel like it).
I am learning to curb my natural parental nagging tendencies.
Oh and I resumed running, the object being first a 4K with the kiddies, and then another 10K earlier next month. The running has been causing a number of twinges in the knee and ankle area, which I'm told by veteran runners is all just part of the process.

All of a sudden, we're three months away from Christmas.
2008 is in a major rush.

The way things go

It wasn't easy writing this book, so unlike any book I ever dreamt of writing. In fact, it's a book I never thought I would ever write. But once I was done with it, and ready to move on to the next one, I didn't think I would ever have to go back to it. Of course, I did have to go back to it.

Not only go back to it but actually rewrite major parts of it.

That's just the way things go.

At Church

As we were walking out of the church after mass last Sunday, we were greeted by some students from one of the local schools, selling handicrafts for charity. We walked past them...and C says to me, "I thought Jesus didn't want his church to be a marketplace?"

It took a few seconds for me to answer, because Andrew Lloyd Webber's music from Norman Jewison's 1973 film was playing in my head via Ted Neeley screeching in rock and roll, "My temple should be a house of prayer! But you have made it a den of thieves. Get out! Get out!" I knew it was playing in C's head, too.

He went to ask his Dad, who quickly said that the people are selling things for the Church and for charity.

T says to me, "We may have to balance out our theology with less Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber.

The Power of Running

John Irving compared running to writing, and now that I've started running, I'm really starting to see that, and it's amazing and powerful.

Like running, with writing, when you do more, you want to do more. You want to do it everyday. While you're running, you get ideas. While you're writing, you get ideas. You are literally overflowing with ideas, and you feel like you can keep on going. At first, when you start running, it takes you awhile to build stamina. But running is the same.And you can just keep on pushing it and pushing it.

Back in graduate school, my friend Janette ran. She ran every single day - even in the rain and in the snow. As I think about that time which was very fruitful and rewarding, I think I should have been running as well.

It was a great time. It could have been even more so. No matter, it can be that again now.