Close Call

It was a headache that felt like there was no more room for pain. It felt like it would just burst open my skull and let loose some pain. Nausea made worse by driving on jam-packed EDSA two hours short of midnight—I felt like a dying candle flame, a flicker short of putting out the light. Cubao was still too far away from home. I felt I should just endure the very heavy head else I would add to EDSA’s vehicle procession. And I did.

As soon as I reached home, I headed for the toilet to induce myself to vomit. I thought it would relieve me and let me sleep the pain off. Without fuss, I went straight to bed and dozed off. The next morning, my watch told me I slept for a full eight hours. Good, I told myself, and hoped the headache was gone. 

It wasn’t. At this point, seeing a physician should be in order I thought. I did. I described to him what I felt that night. Listening to me, I was sure he already had a hunch what was happening to me. I told him: “I suspect it had something to do with my blood pressure.” He checked and he said: 170/100. Very high, he said. Then he performed some basic tests, perhaps to tell us if there had been damage. As far as he told me, I was okay. Except that a blood pressure that high is of concern. “Anything above 140 is alarming.”

I was indeed alarmed. I thought to myself: I was fortunate to have not had a stroke that night. 

Two weeks of medication, a blood work up, and watching my diet gave me good results when I saw my doctor again. My BP was at 130/90, which was still not down to my normal 120/80.

I am already hypertensive, he said. Another month of medication, after which I should visit him again.

Things I should avoid, he told me: stress, fatty food, salt, sugar. Get a hobby, he told me. Get my mind off stressful thoughts. Only then that I realized that three days of watching the news, monitoring status entries in Facebook, and getting text messages on typhoon Ondoy’s wrath did me bad. It was the anxiety that brought me the stress, and perhaps consequently the hypertension attack.

I am more mindful now. It was a close call. I can’t afford to be complacent. I am turning 47 in a few days and I thought it would be a good gift to myself to watch what I eat, watch what I watch, watch what I listen to, and watch what I do.

Grateful I am.

My Offspring’s Offspring is Coming Soon

Her name is Philomela Seven. She is my first offspring’s offspring.

Since we came to know she was in her mother’s belly more than eight months ago, we already had named her Apol. How the name came to be Apol is a long, long story.

My eldest is having her first born. To this day, long since she broke to me the news, becoming a grandmother has not fully sunk in yet. At 47, 23 years after I had my first born, I don’t know how grandmothers should feel. But I have heard stories about people becoming grandparents and how crazy they become being so.

Is there truth to the bumper sticker that reads: “If I knew grandchildren would be this much fun, I would have had them first.”? Isn’t this kinda unfair for your own children?

All I know and notice since I heard the news is that everytime I happen to pass by a baby store, I get excited. I can’t help not setting my foot inside and touching and looking at baby things. Perhaps I am excited, being reminded that I once was eagerly shopping for little shirts and mittens and bottles every year for five years–the kids came one after another! I have not had an infant in the house for the last 17 years.

Whether the bumper sticker is true to its words or not, I have yet to find out.

Seven is not to come out to this world till June 15, thereabouts. But her mother’s last pre-natal check-up revealed she may be born May 16-25!  The household panicked! What? Manganganak ka na in two weeks? “I haven’t finished fixing the room!” went her aunt Diyosa. And the baby shower, OMG!

And so the baby shower is happening earlier than scheduled. Seven is in a rush!

I wonder if she’d be born like how her mother came out to this world in a long, slow, and painful labor. Diwata, Seven’s mother, was born after more than 24 hours of uterine contractions. But the pain was all worth it when I saw her ffor the first time.

Break a leg, Diwata. It will be all worth it because Seven will be beautiful.

Used Rubber Shoes for Former Rugby Boys

My dear friends, a piece of good news, and another appeal to your compassionate and generous hearts.

Former rugby boys now play football–thanks to compassionate people like Ponyong and the rest of the football managers in Masbate–in a re-integration program that helps streetchildren who used to sniff rugby to kick their blues away rejoin mainstream society.

As I write this, they must be kicking the ball hard over at the De La Salle Greenhills–eight of them, aged 10-17+. What help can we give Juvencio, Junie, Jude, Jerome, Victor, Wowie, Jonathan, Junel, and the rest of them in Masbate?

USED RUBBER SHOES that would fit feet that measure from 8-9 1/2 inches. [We tried asking them their shoe sizes, but they didn't know! So, we decided to measure their feet from the big toe to the ankle, and this is all we can give you, generous people!]

Please let me know if you have a pair or two to donate!

Text or call 09178523948. We’d be happy to arrange pick up.

As I wrote this, we have gathered 15 pairs. Add yours to make it to a 100 pairs!

English as a second language

I think there’s a weird phenomenon that’s happening here. I have heard parents complain about their school-age children flanking Wika, Sabika, and HEKASI. Why so, in these subjects taught in Pilipino? That’s hard to believe, if you ask me.

I was with the girls Sunday afternoon at Quezon Memorial Circle for an afternoon walk. We ended up in Bacolod Chicken immediately after the stroll–that’s how it is when I am with these girls! Food is the ultimate prize for a physical exercise.

Our table was right beside one seating a family of four (five, if you count the yaya). We could overhear the mom and the dad talking to their son and daughter in what I call “tusok-tusok” English.

“Stop that. Sit down,” went the dad. “You like barbecue?” And the boy said, “Yes, dad.” I thought their conversation was a question and answer that led to nowhere near a conversation. The boy must be nine and the girl six.

I hated how they sounded. I felt they were trying hard to speak to their children in the language, but barely going beyond one-two words sentences and d have a real conversation.

As I was with my daughters, we took the chance to recall  if we ever tried to force ourselves to speak to them in English when they were growing up. And we recalled, “No.” It would be a disgust to even try to sound like Americans when their names are so Filipino!

How come my kids can speak, write, read, and listen modestly well in this second language? What did we do modestly right?

Just to share with you some things that we did when we did it:

1. 1. Our television set came rather late, and it was not top of the line. Just a simple B/W set with an analog channel tuner.
2. My eldest then was four years old. And before she was exposed to the boob tube, she was already flipping pages of Adarna books. The television was only for Batibot.
3. We never spoke to them in English at home. We used “anak” as our term of endearment; and we were addresed Nanay and Tatay.
4. They knew as early as they could understood that their names are Filipino names with real meanings.
5. English came to be their second language, that’s that, second language, because it was a necessary thing to learn as the medium of instruction in school was English.

My observations why some 21-year-old Filipinos do not know what “masalimuot” is; or “makinang,” or “hungkag.”

1. The television set has become “intelligent,” and gave access to more kid shows in English rather than in Pilipino.
2. Even the yayas try very hard to catch up with their “alaga.” “Enough, baby.” “Let’s go.” “Don’t run.”
3. Some parents think it’s cool to talk to their kids in English.
4. The bookshelves do not have Pilipino reading materials, because some parents think it’s “baduy.”
5. Children themselves frown at other children who do not talk in English.

The greatest lesson my grandfather taught me was to speak and write in both, either in good, straight English, or in good straight Pilipino. Never compromising both languages.

So, will everyone please speak to his children in Pilipino so they are able to build a strong foundation of the language?

My children survived not having been “English-speaking” children in their early years. My eldest is finishing cum laude and top of her batch in BS Management; my son has a degree in advertising and working in one of the country’s largest television networks; my other daughter is finishing magna cum laude and top of her batch in BS Architecture; my two other sons, who are also in college, have not suffered because they were not “English-speaking.” They are both well into getting their degrees.

We don’t profess to be superior nor experts in Pilipino, but we use it, and we use it everyday, even learning new words together.

Your children can, too, and not only because we want less of them flanking Filipino subjects, but because we are Filipinos and we should be proud we have our own language.

Campus Vendor

She patiently waits for her luck to get her dream job. And while she does that, she vends assorted candies and pastries–pastillas de leche, food for the gods, cookies, and all sorts of “pantawid gutom” for students while in campus.

She surprised us one late afternoon, my daughter not included since this lady is a usual sight for most students. She goes around selling, looking like a Christmas tree with all the trimmings that hang in her shoulders. One bag after another must have contained all that she had to sell that day.

What struck me was that she sold to us like a veteran ambulant vendor, uttering what sounded like a recorded message on her head: Bili na kayo ng pastillas, food for the gods, cookies…masarap na mura pa. My daughter later told me she is a usual sight here, with students from all colleges becoming her captured market.

I was not coaxed into buying one pack of pastillas de leche; I was more emphatic than anything else. She reminded me of myself back in college in the same campus–when I would buy big packs of squash seeds, watermelon seeds, peanuts from Quiapo, repack them into tiny plastic wrappers, and sell them to my classmates. That was the only way I knew how to augment my allowance. And I told her I even sold sheets of yellow pad paper to those who would come to class without them. I thought now that I could have rented out pens also!

The young lady told me it was good money selling what she sold. And better to be vending around the campus than doing nothing while waiting for her dream occupation–waiting it out patiently for the UST Hospital to take her in.

She may be one of the many who are still looking for jobs, and come this graduation season, many more will be.

Kathryn passed the nurses board examination last year. She waits for the UST Hospital to tell her she got a job.

She agreed to pose for me, by the way.

Of losing material things and missing them

I miss my Liz Claiborne purse–black, leather, sleek, and expensive. But I don’t miss it because of its physical attributes. I miss it because of the love and memory attached to it. It’s a gift for Christmas given by my dearest and my most beloved person on earth. It meant so much to me because it was a gift.

I miss my Giver’s Gain notebook jacket–black, leather, neat, and fits most notebooks. I miss if because it was a gift, given by the word-of-mouth business networking group, Business Network International (BNI). It meant so much to me because it reminded me always that networking is good for you as a human being and a business being.

I miss my banig make-up kit and coin purse–multi-colored and really functional. I miss them because I got it from a city down South, a place that I could easily adapt to.

I miss my Parker pen, my Chastity perfume, my business card case. Never mind the ATM card and the checkbook.

Most of all, I miss my Love Without Conditions, Reflections of the Christ Mind, my Bible of sorts–never parted with it, except when I wanted to lend to a friend. Love Without Conditions, a book by Paul Ferrini, was given by my friend Edlynn to my daughter Diwata. I read it too, and I had the nerve to keep it like it was mine! The book gave me everything I needed in times of joy, jubilation, validation, doubt, defeat, fear, sorrow, etc. It was a diamond mine, nothing compared to it when I needed to clear my head and heart of so many things unimportant.

I miss them all, which were contained in the Liz Claiborne purse, because I lost them all to a theft one evening. I was a fool to leave the purse inside the car, which was parked in one of the streets in Quezon City. I thought it was heavy to be bringing along when all I wanted to do is to wind down after tough day.

I hope the theft read Love Without Conditions. I hope he got some inspiration there. I hope he read the chapters there and learned from them. I hope he was enlightened. Too bad if he didn’t.

Like I told my friend Lucia: Material things are nothing. I may have missed them for a while, but now I learned that I can live without them, and that the memory will live on.

Fellow UST Engineering Alumni, read this!

Mark your calendar, fellow UST Engineering Alumni: February 14, 2009 is a “Silver Affair to Remember.”

Such is the theme of the UST Engineering Grand Alumni Homecoming hosted by the Faculty of Engineering Batch ’84 Silver Jubilarians in cooperation with the UST Engineering Alumni Association, Inc. (USTEAAI).

Our Grand Alumni Homecoming will be held on February 14, 2009 at the UST Campus. Registration will start at 3:00pm.

This year’s Grand Alumni Homecoming is co-hosted by batches 1924, 1929, 1934, 1939, 1944, 1949, 1954, 1959, 1964, 1969, 1974, 1979, 1989, 1994, 1999, and 2004.

Part of the event will be the election for the Board of Directors for UST Engineering Alumni Association and the ratification of USTEAAI By-Laws.  The event shall also include the turnover ceremonies of Batch 84 (2009 host) to Batch 85 (2010 host) the hosting of next year’s alumni homecoming.  We shall also hold the “2nd Inhinyerong Tomasino Golf Tournament” on February 06, 2009 at Forest Hills Golf and Country Club.  Tee-off shall start at 6:00am.

In this regard, please extend this invitation to all UST Engineering Alumni whom you may know in your company to participate in our homecoming and golfing events.

Comment on this post if you are a UST Engineering Alumnus! Or send an email to santacruz.adela@gmail.com for your queries.

Not a year old tomorrow

This picture had been on my mind for as long as I can remember. In this, I was not a year old tomorrow, January 3, 1963, but barely three months old.

This is a four-generation photograph of my father’s family, the Santa Cruzes, including my late great grandmother, Lola Sela, [center, seated] in my grandmother’s side, the Licups and Maristelas.

Second from the left is my father, and beside him is my mother carrying me! This photograph, which is in the possession of one my aunts [leftmost, on the floor], is 46 years old, taken in the Santa Cruz home in Masbate by the lone Eclipse photography studio. We had better keep a digital file of this. Thanks, Aunt Anita!

I am the first-born granddaughter of one of Masbate’s more prominent physicians, the late Dr. Pablo “Pabling” Ferrer Santa Cruz, Sr., whose wife, the late Rigoberta “Ritzing” Licup Santa Cruz, was a pretty pharmacist, had a set of fingers that were so candle-like. Together they set up a medical clinic and a pharmacy on Quezon Street, one of the main thoroughfares in Masbate. I remember being there in the Farmacia Ritz in my elementary days, watching everyone tend to the customers–the medicines then had generic names, until medical representatives from Manila came to see my Lolo and leave tons and tons of “samples.” I also remember seeing patients come to my Lolo’s clinic, watching him treat them. Very vivid to me until now is the white, rectangular pot that he used to sterilize instruments including needles and scalpels and what have you. Tambay ako sa klinik niya noong bata pa ako.

I grew up in this big house, with my lone uncle and aunts, them taking turns in feeding me, or taking me to the movies, or just taking me along wherever they went. I remember the first tune I learned to sing as I was learning to play the guitar was “Can we stop and talk a while” by Jose Mari Chan, which was often sang by my Aunt Tita.

That Santa Cruz home on Quezon St brought me up, along with the good food, Santa Clause surprise visits, for-rent comic magazines which my Lolo was opposed to, even the spanking when I went home late from school.

There are more memories to tell, but for now, I am grateful for having born into this family. I always thought it was cool to be a Santa Cruz. And it is.

Happy New Year to all!

Tsinelas

It’s a different feeling you get when you get what you want, especially this season!

The slippers I wanted were exactly what I got! Thanks to a sensitive “Mommy” who must have scoured through mounds of slippers in di-mahulugang karayom stores in super-crowded malls! In this season, everything is superlative, even the bumper-to-bumper roads, the lechon, the puyat, the beer!

Ira, how cute my slippers are. They are exactly what I was imagining wearing. With the cute red dress it came in the gift bag, my attire for the holiday family gathering in Tarlac would be complete!

First time I have experienced writing down in a small piece for paper with my name on it what I wish for P300. I wrote: slippers with psychedelic print, ala 70’s flower generation, size 7. This was how Reggae Mistress did their Kris Kringle, which is a tradition of exchanging gifts in Pinoy’s celebration of Christmas. You know that Kriss Kringle is Santa Claus, right?

You can actually wish for anything for P300! My “baby” actually wished for a new cellphone. A new one for P300? Gosh, he must be dreaming…but he got what looked like a brand new mobile phone, because I have a brand new cellphone cover! Gotcha, Chong! Enjoy the sardines!

Lesson: always ask for a gift that you want and be very specific. Do not say: any thing. Say some thing.  Also one of the lessons I learned from a business networking group. Be very specific in what you ask for.

This Christmas, pray explicitly. Ask specifically. Give thanks definitely.

Happy holidays!

‘Tis the Season for Homecomings

I saw my alma mater today, not intentionally though, as I accompanied my daughter to attend the general assembly of UST scholars. She, a Sto Tomas scholar herself, was to contribute to the program by rendering a few songs.

I was reminiscing, being seated in the Medicine Auditorium, which during my college days was a rare place to be. This afternoon was quite a privilege for me to be there, listening to my daughter cover Norah Jones amidst hundreds of other scholars. That my daughter would be on stage in this auditorium never crossed my mind. I would not have the chance to even think it, as I went through five grueling years of engineering studies.

Batch ‘84 of the College of Engineering will be silver jubilarians next year. Twenty-five years it has been indeed when I left the university with a degree in Industrial Engineering. I don’t exactly remember the circumstances when I left it, because I did not join the graduation rites. I have no memories of it. I was not there. I will make sure that my daughter, and all my children, go through this rite of passage. Memories are good to go back to during this season for homecomings.

Strolling in the campus today made me realize how lucky I was to have attended the university.

The main library was really a pretty sight; I wish the Main Library already stood there when all I wanted to do then was be in a library. The campus has changed so much.

I will be going back there soon when we celebrate our 25th year homecoming next year. I am pretty guilty for not having been very active in the meetings my batchmates are having these days. As a silver jubilarian, I should take responsibility, because we are tasked to put together the event!

Despite my countless absences, my batch mates have expressed support for my very personal project to donate 100 bags to the underprivileged school children in Masbate. In fact, they have given more than 50 bags already! Homecomings are seasons for gift-giving indeed.

Thank you, my dear batch mates.  See you soon.