2014 Has Been...

... full of surprises!

Why? Off the top of my head, let me list the best reasons:

1. Became pregnant with a baby boy!

The future Sebastian Gabriel Cardenas Prieto made his presence known a day after my birthday and two days after my husband's. His 26th week in my tummy was last Christmas and his 27th is tomorrow, January 1st, 2015!

2. Had the privilege to work as an Air France La Premiere agent.

That striking red scarf against that signature navy blue Christian Lacroix Air France uniform? It's as close as this non-swimmer could get to being a very refined flight attendant.

3. The Fat Kid Inside

Got featured in food blogger/celebrity restaurateur Erwan Heussaff's "The Fat Kid Inside" blog.

It was about that time when I had already been maintaining for a year my 60-lb weight loss! :)

4. Chanel

The bagaholic in me is begging to say that I managed to snag two Chanel flap bags this year. ;p

5. Starstruck

Met and had a personal interaction with huge celebrities, who, ironically, are so well-bred, polite, affable, funny and down-to-earth! The big names include Hollywood celebrity Hilary Swank and her two dogs and SurveyMonkey CEO Dave Goldberg (who also happens to be the husband of Facebook's COO Sheryl Sandberg), among others.

6. London, here we come!

The last month of 2014 surprised me with two roundtrip tickets to London from San Francisco via Virgin Atlantic! Now about baby Sebastian's ticket... nuninuninuninu....

________________

The in-betweens are of course, still a blast. There were minor setbacks but these were nothing that my husband and I couldn't handle together. Earlier, at mass, I could only thank God for all these blessings. My husband and I are still blessed with good health, good food and a roof over our head, the baby in my tummy is continuing his New Year's Eve party as I type and we have wonderful work colleagues, friends and loved ones.

My hopes and prayers for 2015? I don't mind it not being as grand as 2014 as long as my family and I are safe, healthy and happy.

2015 Goals and Dreams

It's been a long while since I've written on this blog as I mostly frequent Instagram, with it being more convenient (whip out your phone, take a photo, write a caption and post).

As thin as that a thousand-dollar MacBook Air for 20% of the price

Since I've taken to liking the new Samsung Chromebook Sergs supposedly bought for the two of us, I might as well post something here.

So what have I been up to lately? Well, aside from the ups and downs of my weight recently (which has never gone lower than 119 lbs since our Philippine vacation in May and not lower than 118 lbs since my crazy fertility treatments), I've been battling skin breakouts caused by the same treatments I have been undergoing. A co-worker took notice and suggested that I drink more water (I'm so far on point with at least half of my body weight in oz per Chris Powell's tip) but like what I told her, it comes with the territory: I want a baby.

This wanting to have a baby has had me planning the next 12 to 16 months of my life with a timeline, to wit:

August  -  resume in-hospital fertility treatment with IUI #3
September - IUI #4 if #3 doesn't work
October - vacation in New York/New Jersey
November or December - IUI #5 if #4 doesn't work
January to June - @$*x% rest my body from the injections, the crazy medications and the no-exercise rule from the day of the insemmination to when you know nothing implanted
July - Paris/Rome vacation
August/September/October - IVF if nothing else works (LAST RESORT)

From what's on my list, I'm mostly excited with Paris/Rome vacation schedule. So excited that in fact, I already have a working budget ($5500 shopping money) and a rough general itinerary in mind:

July 23, 2015 (Thursday) - Take the night flight to CDG from SFO (AF 85) with a standby business class ticket (praying to the gods of booking and reservations that J class isn't full on that day otherwise I'd be gleeful to accept Premium Economy which isn't so bad if my supervisors still like me enough to grant either of the two).
July 24, 2015 (Friday) - arrive in CDG at 5 pm and fly to FCO at 8 pm
July 25, 2015 (Saturday) - whole day in Rome Part 1
July 26, 2015 (Sunday) - attend mass at the Vatican  -  A HUGE MUST; whole day in Rome Part 2

July 27, 2015 (Monday) - whole day in Rome Part 3
July 28, 2015 (Tuesday) - fly back to CDG and arrive after lunch
July 29, 2015 (Wednesday) - Have lunch at Le Jules Verne (reserve months before for their 3-course lunch experience) Restaurant at the Eiffel Tower. Lunch check is ON ME - gotta have the famed Chef Alain Ducasse experience! I mean, if I can't have his dishes served at the La Premiere Lounge of AF in CDG, I might as well be at his restaurant!! Seriously, I would rather buy two Chanel purses than purchase a $10K one way plane ticket to Paris from SF.

The entrance to Le Jules Verne is a the base of the Eiffel Tower
and the restaurant itself is 125 meters up from the ground. (Photo Not Mine)

July 30, 2015 (Thursday) - whole day in Paris
July 31, 2015 (Friday) - whole day in Paris; shopping at, ehem, 31 Rue Cambon and at, ehem, Champs-Elysees (if you know me well enough, you'd know what's in those places)
August 1, 2015 (Saturday) - fly back to SFO via AF 84 on that Airbus 380 of ours :)

All I need is that blue passport to be on this big baby! ETA of that blue passport: End of this year or early next year :)

Crazy and as thoroughly ostentatious as all these sound, I can only truly hope and pray that we don't have to go to the extent of jumping in the IVF bandwagon. My only point of relief in IVF after all is, from what I have been reading, the deep sedation that happens during egg collection. My profanities in mind certainly declare my dislike for having to go through another pain like what I had during my first HSG (Google if you're unfamiliar with this) per a nurse cousin of my bestfriend.

My dear baby, I only need one egg for you to form. Please materialize. Mommy is sacrificing gym time and cheat meal days (because there should be lesser gym time). Not that those so much matter really (clean eating... clean eating... clean eating... clean eating) as, like what my deal is with my breakouts: Anything to have a baby.

The photo quote says it all. When such time comes, that's when I'd start new goals and dreams.

Of Being A Filipino For Me These Days

A few years ago, after getting married and prior to officially migrating to the US, I was on vacation at my then future home when the husband of a college classmate posted scathing remarks obviously against me on his Facebook wall. The root cause? Him ridiculing Fil-Aussie actress Anne Curtis's nip slip in Boracay and then him taking personal offense against my Facebook status that chastised all those (not just him - there was a ton of male chauvinist pigs on my news feed during the peak of the controversy) who ridiculed Anne.

Although he did not directly say that it was me he was angrily talking about, he spoke of (not the exact words  -  they were in Tagalog, actually) a woman who, just because now lives in another country and managed to perch like a fly on top of a carabao/buffalo (it's a classic Filipino insult), thinks she was already someone else. And when I posted an indirect comment on my wall? His next status confirmed that he was talking about me!

So anyway, short of making this blog about him, fast-forward to today, I now live permanently here in California, with a job and hoping to have and raise kids here with my husband.


Equal Employment Opportunity

There is a US government agency called the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) that "enforces federal employment discrimination laws". Prior to me landing my first job here, the hope that an agency like this exists bolstered the however exhausting mission to secure a position in any company especially during the recession. When, before, in the Philippines, my educational background alone could secure me an initial phone interview in a matter of hours of applying online, here, I was met with the somehow rude realization that being an "on time" Cum Laude graduate of the Philippines' Premier State University does not really give me an equal chance against those who studied all their lives in the US even if they're still college undergrads and are competing with me for the same position level.

When I left my last job in Manila, my position as a trainer was categorized by the company as a supervisory post. It was not an entry-level position but a position that guaranteed better benefits and perks. Upon coming to the US? There were times when I would hopelessly look at non-English speaking people who have jobs, however small or big, that I actually considered applying as a cashier for Target or a housekeeper at a hotel ala-Jennifer Lopez in her movie "Maid in Manhattan". Of course, even there, I was turned down.


Who You Know

Fortunately, because of another college classmate, the winds shifted in my favor. She helped me land a job as a teller in a Bank of America (BofA) branch in Daly City. It was then that I realized the truth in what my dad had always told me when he was still alive: It's not only what you have that matters, it's finding, and knowing the right people that could help you get up there.

I'm no longer with Bank of America but through this classmate of mine, an example of a successful Filipina here who worked her way to the top, and through the many Filipinos who I have since met, I learned the value of helping foremost your own race especially if one is a newcomer in a foreign land. After all, who else could one rely on and learn from if not his own kind of whose culture he's familiar?


Not Necessarily Bad To Compare

I don't need sarcasm. I want this statement on this San Francisco
Cable Car to ring true and good.

A trainer colleague of mine at my last company in Manila prepared me for what I was about to see in the US. Her tourist visa was approved months before mine and when she returned from her vacation in the US, she told me, "Presh, you know, from the plane, one could immediately see the stark contrast between community and city layouts of the Philippines and the US. The latter has organized zoning and structure placement while the former  -  well, you know you could immediately see the shanties and residential areas mixed with office buildings."

She further told me that her trip to the US, however brief, made her see things clearly from the other side; that there's truth, however harsh, to what Fil-Ams say when they compare the Philippines to the US.

"It's hard not to compare when you see a huge difference between what is there and what is here especially when you realize that it's actually not difficult at all to enact and implement positive changes."

Once it was my time to be on vacation, my then-boyfriend, now-husband, had to pull me back when I was walking too fast towards a Disney World escalator and trying to overtake a family and an elderly couple. I sheepishly defended my action by saying that's how I was trained: To always be in a rush so that I could secure a good position in the place where I'm supposed to go especially in MRTs.

My husband, who is a Filipino by the way, responded that it's out of respect that one should not overtake or cut someone in an otherwise organized path unless the situation is very, very dire. Needless to say, the wisdom in what he said grew heavier in the years that came especially when I started to find myself on the road and with a driver license.


How Dare You

I currently work at the San Francisco International Airport (SFO) as a check-in counter agent for a French airline. I find the situation so ironic considering that I dropped out of an extracurricular French class in college and that, even with my linguistics and phonetics training and background, I still have a hard time deciphering French sounds and connecting these with how words are spelled.

So anyway, I'm happy to have found a company that follows to the letter the EEOC's mandate that no US-based company, foreign or otherwise, should ignore anti-discrimination laws  -  majority of my colleagues are not French! In fact, I have a Filipino supervisor and five Filipino colleagues.

It's not even a requirement (because it would be against the EEOC's mandated rules) -  although it would be a plus  -  to know how to speak French. However, this comes as a weakness especially in issues of race and, well, yes, discrimination. There was a time that an irate passenger berated a Chinese colleague of mine for not being, well, French, and "stealing jobs from his countrymen". The root cause? He had an overweight luggage and he adamantly refused to pay.

Now I feel bad for thinking ill of the Vietnamese (or was she Japanese?) business class lounge agent of Philippine Airlines in SFO last year when my mileage status earned me the privilege to enter the Mabuhay Lounge.


Work Hard For Every Cent

Although a news feature on TV recently spoke of Americans not bothering to pick up pennies, nickles, even dimes (if you park in the city, you'd know the value of dimes where parking meters are; my fellow Pinoys, a dime is roughly the equivalent of half of a jeepney fare) left unattended, in plain sight, on roads, I still pick them up whenever I get the chance.

I got the shock of my life when I learned that one's work appraisal and pay increase here is based on a few cents. In the past, when I was still a trainer, a year's worth of toil guaranteed me several thousands' (in pesos, of course) worth of increase in my 15-30 salary. Once upon a time, I jumped from my starting pay of P22,500 ($523.26) to P29,500 ($686.05) in less than a year to P35,200 ($818.61) the following year. The pay increase of course moved me up on the tax bracket.

So how are things any different here? Let's use a former BofA supervisor of mine as an example. She said a certain year's appraisal gave her an increase of $0.11 (P4.73) per hour. Say she works for 40 hours a week with an initial pay of $15/hour (P645), this pay increase would have her jumping from $2600/month (P111,800) to only $2619.07/month (P112,620.01). And that's before taxes.


Tax Value

I'm no economist. I did not even take economy or business courses or managed to move further in my law studies in the University of the Philippines enough to gain at least a holistic understanding of Tax Laws in the country. As a Filipino though who worked in Manila from the time I turned 18 to right before I got married at 24, I am familiar with the sarcasm that envelops the joke of how, with every pothole a jeep goes through in the streets of the country, one feels the lack of direction of the taxes being deducted off one's salary every pay day.

This recent social networking-initiated One Million March in Luneta Park in Manila had me posting a Facebook status that, well, needless to say, earned the ire of friends and former colleagues who fully support the said gathering. To make the long story short, I said that even if I am not against the said march as I also want a good change in Philippine politics, I can't bring myself to fully support it as its too-general, too-wide goals were not the type that would make me attend if I were there.

So what's the connection? Well, let's just say, a private chat initiated by a friend to give me information that supports the march at least had the both of us agreeing on one thing: We're both after making our taxes work for us.

As I still am a Filipino citizen who pays real estate taxes, sends remittances and continues her Philhealth contribution (in spite of them constantly losing my filed receipts of my whole-year payments, thus refusing to release on-time deductions and/or reimbursements for our hospital bills), I told her, my husband and another person that my string (or "barrage" as what my better half calls it whenever I am emotionally and mentally piqued) of political commentaries is only due to the fact that I wish to see significant and positive progress in how the taxes paid by Filipinos work.

An example I spoke of during the abovementioned private chat talked about my recent traffic accident. It was only my second time at calling 911 for help and like the first time, the immediate and unbiased response from a respectable police officer never failed to surprise me. I told my friend that it's through simple things like that that those who live where I am feel that their taxes are working for them and not against them and that I wish to see and feel the same in the Philippines.


Inflation And All That Jazz

Like I said, I'm not an expert on economics. But I can tell my friends and relatives this much: Do not, and I mean, do not, convert to peso what I'm earning here.

Other foreign tourists, not just Filipinos, myself included, often fall prey to how attractive a dollar's worth of a McDonald's or Wendy's value meal is, sometimes casually forgetting that a dollar is actually equivalent to four or five one-way trips on a jeepney in the Philippines that sometimes, back in the day, I never even had enough even for just a single ride.

That $1 is not the same as P1 fails to enter the thoughts of those who are probably still stuck in the pre-WW2 period when the Philippines was still a US colony. Not once had I desperately tried to explain to some family members during a family crisis a year ago that sure, my dollars could go a long way in the Philippines but even so, the value of commodities in the US are priced high enough for my salary to not last that long; that I had (and still have) bills to pay and a family to support here, too.

Care for an example?

A 16-oz bottled water, if bought outside big box stores, retails between $0.75 to a dollar here. That's P32.25-43! Our recent trip to the Philippines just this year had us buying bottles of mineral water, of the same size, and worth P25 each.

How about public transportation?

Well, a single ride on a bus here, if without a value card, would automatically cost one $2.00. That's a whopping P86 in Manila! The cost is already enough for a five to 10 minute taxi ride there.


All About Image

I told one of those who wrote challenging comments on several Facebook posts of mine that it's hard to be a Filipino in a foreign land; that I take great care not to create a negative impression of my kind as it's the least I could do.

See I admit I do not have much to be proud of where material backgrounds are concerned. I did not finish my law studies in the Philippines. In spite of graduating with honors from the University of the Philippines-Diliman, my college degree is, sad to say, probably just enough to level the playing field between me and someone who, in spite of not finishing college, has spent all of his/her life studying in the US. I did not even manage to land the promotion I was gunning for prior to leaving my last job in Manila. But even so, despite the differences in opinions between me and my friends and family members on how the issue of corruption in the Philippines should be dealt, this I can promise and assure everyone: Everything that I say or do whether here or there or elsewhere is for me to not lose hope in the country with whom I still associate myself.

Should I pledge additional allegiance to another country (because I'm toying with the idea of dual citizenship), I will never be like those featured online who vehemently deny that there's an obvious Filipino blood running in them.

I will still loudly cheer for our Miss Universe, Miss World, Miss International, Miss Earth candidates, without a care that I'm in the middle of a fine dining restaurant somewhere in New Jersey (this really happened when Janine Tugonon competed in the Miss Universe pageant last year).

I will never fail to embrace just how awesome Filipino Catholic Churches are in the US especially the parish where we attend mass. The St. Augustine Catholic Church in South San Francisco, California has the largest Catholic Church membership in the Archdiocese of San Francisco (love your own!).

I will still watch Filipino teleseryes and follow these teleseryes' official fan page on Facebook (if you know me well, you know that I'm a member of two private fan pages on Facebook for Be Careful With My Heart).

Senor Sisig Food Truck in San Francisco

I will still eat Filipino food and continuously beam with pride whenever I see the famous Senor Sisig food truck with the longest line during OffTheGridSF's weekly schedules in San Francisco or at the Serramonte Parking Lot in Daly City.

I will make it my mission in life to introduce and share healthier versions of Filipino dishes like Chicken Adobo or Chopsuey sans cooking oil.

Even so, I will still inform my non-Filipino work colleagues of how awesome Filipino lumpiang shanghai and Jollibee are.

I will never fail to look back at how I started and reflect on the hardships my family and I had to go through just to make both ends meet while keeping ourselves educated on how we could maximize the benefits we receive from the government (TIP: Receive better hospitalization at specialized government hospitals. Rates are not as expensive as private hospitals and the facilities are clean and in line and at par with modern technology. The one that tops my list is the Philippine Heart Center).

PR 105's Boeing 747 aircraft in SFO

I will continuously be honest and hardworking at whatever I do, wherever I go.

Just like my college classmate (you know who you are) who helped me find a job in BofA, and just like the Filipinos I've met here in the US, I will continuously lend a helping hand to my fellow Filipinos who have just arrived here.

If my future kids are unable to secure a scholarship in a reputable US university, I will never lose my seriousness in sending them to good schools in the Philippines so humility in knowing their roots is not lost on them.

I will  make sure that my future kids can understand, if not, speak, Tagalog.

I will always beam with familial and familiar pride whenever I see Philippine Airlines' PR 105 (San Francisco to Manila) or PR 104 (Manila to San Francisco) at SFO (although I still wish they have a better mileage program that associates themselves to international airline alliances... expiring miles suck!).

More importantly, I will never fail to disclose my thoughts, however radical, if only to prevent myself from falling in apathy over how dire the situation is in the Philippines.

I could be worse and choose not to care. I just choose not to.

I Miss You, Dad

It had, and still has (at least for me), been a rollercoaster of emotions for me and my dad ever since he was diagnosed with End Stage Renal Failure during the second quarter of 2008.

Let me say this now so at this early stage I can already get rid of the bitterness mixed in how I am or have been feeling: While people are entitled to their own opinions, right or wrong, and while I can't please everybody, nobody, ever, has the right to say to my face that I left my then very sick dad, just like that, to live the "good" life in the US.

Dad, seated, in black, between me and Isa, Sergs's niece, when he went,

all by himself, to my surprise, to my in-laws' house in Quezon City
on the day of our flight to the US to accompany in sending us
to the airport. He had just come out of an ICU confinement

at the Philippine Heart Center two months prior. He would soon have

another chance in 2011 to send me to the airport and bid me farewell,
one last time, when I finally received my immigration visa.

Yes. I still reel over these words blatantly left late last year by a female cousin who I never saw visit my dad when he was sick and hospitalized from 2008 until his death just a couple of weeks ago. If it were also true that during my dad's second day of wake she spoke of being relieved to have paid her respects on that day rather than on the day I was supposed to arrive from the US, shame on her and her added insult to injury.

A older sister of my mom told me: "No one but you (and your dad), alone, know (or knew) how the relationship was between the two of you."

And I concur as this is perhaps one of the few most soothing balms I have heard during this period of grieving for me.

Two things that still hurt me: Missing him, so bad, and recalling how his illness slowly and painfully took the life out of each body part he had in spite of all of our material, physical, spiritual and emotional efforts in trying to prevent such from happening.

I would have wanted to be with him until the very end, just like how I was with my mom when she breathed her last. I don't know why I am trying to convince people about championing my case but I feel like I need to say it over and over just to ease the pain: My situation had not only been a matter of choice but of chance as well. I was living a life I could not fully control as there were people and circumstances in it that were beyond what I could handle.

Careless and insensitive remarks like I should be the one who should be taking care of my dad in the Philippines play in my mind over and over again as though I should just completely forget that I'm married to a US-based man who had never been selfish to my father even before he became my husband; that nevermind the fact that this husband of mine also has his siblings and mom, and his hard-earned properties and job to take care of, I should have convinced him to move back with me to the Philippines (even if this could subsequently cause my dad to sink further into depression over guilt of what people think I was supposed to have done).

I'll be damned if I say that what I said or wrote above does not have a hint of anger  -  I am already damned for still harboring however big or small anger I still have.

I was never the perfect daughter to my parents. I had my disobedient, disrespectful moments. And I am not washing my hands clean of them but maybe people didn't know that I while crying over learning my father's kidney failure, I was getting in touch with my company health and medical insurance provider to find out the extent of their medical coverage. Prior to getting married and while still working, I would make the hospital my second home whenever dad's confined, going in rotations with an uncle or our househelp, sleeping there at night, taking a shower there in the morning, going to work and coming back right away to be with him. During my out-of-the-country trips, I never left the Philippines without making sure dad would be okay and covered for for the next few weeks or months. There was never a day I never thought of him. There was never a week I asked about him or called and tried to get in touch with him if I had the chance. There was never a month, for three years since I got married in 2010, that I never sent whatever amount of monetary or material help I could to cover his needs. There was never a time I never fought with a friend or a relative, humbled myself or compromised my principles just so I could do what I thought of was best for dad.

But this blog is not just or fully about the bitter emotions that I feel. It's also about me missing him.

Dad's the sweetest, most malambing (it sounds better in Filipino; "affectionate" in English) person I have (or had) ever known. You know how normally awkward it feels for a child to declare or hear such things about or from a parent? Dad made it awkward but sweet enough to be forgivable. He would kiss my cheek, my forehead or my hand. Whether because of fear or something else, he would hold my hand. On days he was a proud dad, he would roughly put his arm on my shoulder and tell people of my achievements. He was not one to be shy around people in telling me he loved or missed me. Oh how I still recall his voice calling my name or calling me "anak" (child)!

I was lucky for having experienced  thow he was as a father. On nights or ungodly hours that I needed to go to work or came out of the office to go home, he made sure he was always there to take me to the bus stop or meet me halfway to pick me up and take me home. On the way, we'd pick up food or stop by a restaurant to eat. This was him being extremely caring even if he had already been undergoing twice weekly dialysis at that time.

Whenever I had business trips or vacations, from August of 2008 to July of 2011, he was always at the airport bidding me farewell or welcoming me back. Imagine how painful it was for the both of us when, during a vacation in the middle of 2012, he couldn't be among those picking up my husband and me and afterwards sending us to the airport because of his already rapidly deteriorating condition.

His minor heart attack and confinement in the ICU of the Philippine Heart Center more than a month before I got married came on my final day at work. I knew, but just refused to acknowledge, that it would be the start of his seemingly neverending physically, mentally and emotionally painful ordeal that came with his diabetes and kidney failure. He got better and was discharged from the hospital more than a week before Christmas. He even vetoed relatives' suggestion that he be accompanied by an aunt while walking me down the aisle  -  he bravely walked me down, himself. He even obliged for an impromptu (I might have forgotten to tell him) father-daughter dance during the reception.

But then how was I supposed to know that it'd be the last time that he'd have full use of both of his legs or see all of his digits intact? When I came back to the Philippines in July of 2010 to process my immigration papers six months later, he had just come out of another serious confinement and I burst into tears upon immediately seeing him partially blind with his right index finger severely screwed and distorted c/o a nurse during the mentioned confinement. In an effort to prevent further bodily damage by his diabetes and to fulfill a promise I made to him, the following month, we immediately had him undergo cataract surgery. How was I supposed to know that after that surgery, he'd then be hospitalized twice for lung fluid extraction and subsequently be diagnosed with extreme clinical depression?

How was I supposed to know that after months of weekly painful trips to different foot doctors, in an effort to save his left foot, his whole left calf would eventually require amputation after I left to officially move to the US?

How was I supposed to know that his right middle finger would also require a partial amputation?

How was I supposed to know that several days before his death, his remaining right foot (with its big toe already gone) would get dragged and scraped while he was being transported to the hospital?

How was I supposed to know that even during his final hours, I would be barred by the "ancient" Revised Penal Code of the Philippines (what irony  -  this was the subject I flunked in law school) from fulfilling dad's wish of removing his respirator tubes just so he could speak to me and my sister (I believed he could see me while I was on Skype video chat; I knew he wanted so much to speak) and at least be comfortable?

Dad, a blog or a dozen wouldn't be enough to pay tribute to how great you were as a father even during your most difficult and challenging times. No amount of words would suffice to say how much I grieve over remembering how you suffered or how much I miss you. As my cold fingers fly over the keys of my laptop, I somehow long for and are warmed by any manifestations of you while you're "still here" and the thought that you're already free from any kind of mortal pain.

I miss you dad. I love you.

Winter in New York

It's actually partially "Autumn in New York". Yahoo states that the winter season officially starts on December 21. I'll be joining my husband for a brief tour of New Jersey and New York from December 14 to TBA (lol).

This trip is going to be a bittersweet one. The not-so-tiny elephant in the room that is my dad's condition still looms like the recent hurricane in the East Coast. There's also the fact that New York was the city where dad could have gotten a job some three decades back if it had not been for good old "utang na loob". But then, this opportunity to be in the area is something of which we have to take advantage since it's actually a business trip for my husband. So sasabit ako. Sayang naman. :)

Shouldn't it be "Keep Calm and GO to New York"?!!
Oh yeah, I'm not calm!
This is from http://www.keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk

Now, what to do? As of this typing, my husband is petiks at work, compiling FAQs about the trip while I should have gone down to the condominium gym some hours back (I was watching the Giants parade!). To be addressed too is the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy in New York and New Jersey. Here's just to hoping that things are not so bad anymore and that things will never be as bad, God forbid, once we get there...

So let's go back. What do you do and where do you go if and when you have the opportunity to be so close to the Big Apple? Here's what I found so far:

1. Statue of Liberty  -  No one can't miss this opportunity (unless there's another hurricane, again, God forbid) especially now that the Crown of Lady Liberty is once again accessible to the public after a major renovation. I might even forget that I have an extreme fear of heights if mother nature cooperates. :)

2. Times Square  -  For the countless times I've watched Good Morning America (GMA) on TV, I may want to get up really early if it means being behind the glass windows of the set of GMA. Hehe. Or it probably is the magic of being there, in the middle of it all in Times Square that I want to experience.

3. Central Park  -  Central Perk for me! There's been so many times that I've imagined strolling in this park whether alone, with friends or with my loved one. No park on earth, or at least the ones I've been, has come close to what I think I could expect once there. And yes, heaven forbid, robbers and all. But hey! I'm from the Philippines. And I've experienced being chased by drug addicts in Luneta. lol

4. Rockefeller Center  -  I don't skate. I can't skate. But I want to take a photo with that huge and famous skating rink behind me and I want to see that huge and famous Christmas tree. It's the Christmas season, after all!

5. Empire State Building  -  If only to be WITHIN its Observation Deck to drink in the sights of NYC, I'll gladly flush down the toilet my fear of heights.

6. Pizza  -  So I still don't know if we should brave Brooklyn or stick to Manhattan for this. One more concern: I'm a calorie counter. Or maybe I'd just forget Livestrong's MyPlate for that fine winter day when we're going to need all the energy that the carbs in a New York pizza could bring.

7. Ninja Restaurant  -  My former co-trainer, Kitchie, is the one to blame for this! Ever since being told by her of ninja-like food servers jumping from another floor to where customers are, I have not stopped thinking of possibly dining here. But oops. $38 for a 3-course dinner! Maybe I'll just stick to a quaint Japanese resto. 

8. American Museum of Natural History  -  Just for the sake of being there. Okay. Fine. It's the stuff of which Hollywood movie magic is made. I always see it in movies. I. Just. Want. To. Be. There. I wonder if my Bank of America debit card allows free access to this  museum... Yes it does!!!!

9. Broadway - I truly hope we could squeeze this in. I'd love to see "A Christmas Story" if only because it's in the Christmas season when we're going to be there. Or... Oh!!!! The Phantom of the Opera!!!!!!!!! :) :)

10. World Trade Center  -  These days, no trip in New York is complete without paying a visit and paying homage to the Twin Towers that were... or are going to be.

This is the only way I know how...

... to possibly forgive myself in the future.
... to say I'm sorry, dad.

Dad... The clock is ticking by the minute, by the hour. And I know you're just waiting for me...
Like how you've always waited for me. For just this one last time, please wait for me. I'll be beside you soon.

Dear Dad,

As of this typing, I don't know if you're still fighting the big fight. I was budgeting my international call credits and hesitating to call (as I've called more than my usual in a week for the last two days) when Joy messaged me on Facebook saying you no longer have a heartbeat. That had me calling. You were being revived.

I know I should be frowned upon by your psychiatrist when I did what I did last Sunday. I have no justifiable excuse for alarming you on that level and causing your declaration that you've become depressed because of it. But what could I do, dad? What should I have done?

I'm asking these questions not because I do not know the answer. I'm asking these questions because you've always been the one who I turned to whether intentionally or not. And why?

It's because you're my dad. And you mean so much more than that word.

You're my first idol.

You're my first writing mentor.

You're my first speaking coach.

You're my first grammar nazi.

You're the one who taught me how to cook bulalo and pansit.

You're the one who bought me that green swing at our house in Santa Rosa.

You're that one person whom I've fought with the most. And boy, did we fight.

We fought because you're the one who had always pushed me to overcome my shyness.

You're the one who had high hopes that I graduate with honors in high school.

You're the one who wilfully hid your own disappointment when I didn't place in the Top 2 or even Top 5 (I was number 6) just because I was one of the two who managed to enter your dream  -  and of many others' -  university.

You're the one who picked me up from school whenever I would send alarmed text messages saying I ran out of money.

You're the one who'd pawn our cellphones just so I could go to school.

You're the one who was scarily quiet when you learned from my otherwise hysterical mother that I was no longer the celibate woman (at least until marriage) that you'd hoped I was.

You're, at one point, the person I hated the most, when I had found out for myself your affairs behind mom's back.

Still, you're the one who I saw as the most crestfallen, hands on your head, when we rushed mom to a very expensive hospital sans money.

You're the one who told me to stop working at a call center and just continue my studies because you found out that her medical insurance from her last job could still be applied to the expenses.

You're the one who kept quiet and didn't respond to my angry text messages regarding what I thought as my inability to be up to par with my then-unknown siblings.

And even so, you're the one who I had never seen so happy and proud when I graduated from college with honors.

You're the one whose pride shot through the roof when I was able to enter a very tough law school that you willingly gave all of your prize money from a journalism contest to use as my tuition fee.

You're the one who tried to comfort me when, just a month after mom's death, I found out about the infidelities of my then boyfriend.

I sensed you, dad. I was crying and my vision was blurry with tears but I sensed that you're the one who got up from your room as I wailed to try to reach out with your hand to comfort me.

You're the one who pushed, and pushed that I work with politicians in Congress.

Yet you're the one who I had disappointed, more than my own bosses, when I got tired and allowed myself to fall short of what I could do and what's expected of me.

When I came to my senses, you're the one who I had quit law school for because time eventually came when things were no longer just about me.

But you were still the one who picked me up from work or met up with me halfway whenever I got off the office late.

You're the one who patiently waited if I'd go home to the property you were temporarily renting from your ex-girlfriend when we had to leave our Santa Rosa house.

You're the one who deftly instructed what I could and should do the moment you got sick and was confined at the Philippine Heart Center for the first time.

I want you to know that you're the one and only reason why I sold the cellphone you bought for me even though it disappointed you big time just because I knew we needed whatever money we could have when you got hospitalized.

You're the one who was most grateful and proud that with the good position I had secured at a good call center, I managed to shoulder your hospitalization cost.

From that health scare I had then promised that I'd no longer leave your side even if it meant being civil with your then girlfriend and her daughter.

You're the one who I gleefully went out with on dates at Luk Yuen and Kenny Rogers.

You're the one who agreed to my cheesy wish of welcoming 2008 at the Mall of Asia.

You're the one whose company I cherished and enjoyed during those crazy Pasig to Taguig jeepney rides.

You're the one who always bought and brought home exotic food like smoked deer meat which I loved.

You're the one who had always encouraged me to watch live Pacquiao bouts at a nearby gym even if I had always said no.

You're the one who told me to lose weight so my then boyfriend-now-husband could better appreciate how I looked.

And even when you had really gotten very sick, being diagnosed with kidney failure, you're the one who made sure that I realize and appreciate the importance of family reunions.

You're the one who got up very early in the morning every Monday in 2009 to go work at a province, three hours away, in exchange for free dialysis and a small amount of money.

You're the one who laughed at my stories while you're undergoing dialysis.

You're the one whose temper must have rubbed off on me because as you got mellower, I got meaner and felt like I should champion what we both were entitled.

You're the one who took me to the airport and took over my errands and paid our bills when I had to go out of the country for weeks, even months, on end.

You're the one who took every technologically tricky opportunity to go to an internet cafe to chat with me.

You're the one who always picked me up from the airport and whose face I'd love seeing light up the most upon presenting my pasalubong.

You're the one whose palate I had wanted to please the most.

You're the one whose forbidden favorite food  -  siomai from Siomai House  -  I'd begrudgingly but willingly buy.

You're the one who bravely stayed in line and walked a long way with me to view former President Cory Aquino's wake.

You're the one who welcomed with open heart my then fiance, Sergs.

You're the one who walked me down the aisle.

You're the one for whom I went crazy, making sure you had everything you might need before I left for the US, phone numbers, titles and all.

Not wanting to miss me before my flight to the US, you're the one who, alone, went to my in-laws' house to join my brother-in-law in taking my husband and me to the airport.

You're the one who I've always had in mind each time I go shopping.

You're the one for whom I cried buckets when you welcomed me back to Manila with a worsening eyesight and a damaged right index finger due to complications of diabetes.

You're the one who got up from your hospital bed when I got locked out of your room and fell, head first, while trying to reach out to me.

You're the one person for whom I'd willingly go into a fight with so many people.

So I'm so, so sorry dad that there have been so many times that I had lost my temper.

I'm so, so sorry dad that I have done so many things an understanding and caring daughter should not have.

I'm so, so sorry dad that that you always end up sacrificing so many things for me.

I'm so, so sorry dad that I can't be there, right at this very minute, with you just yet.

I know you hate ICUs...

I know you're afraid to go... to die...

I know, and I remember, that you asked me when I could go back to the Philippines.

I know and remember that I told you we're working on saving for that trip.

I know you conceded and just told me to not worry about you.

I know so well your wish to see my first born.

I know too that you're hanging on and holding on because you're afraid that Sergs and I would be childless for a long time like what you and mom experienced.

I know that you  know that only Him could make our wish happen

Dad I'm sorry I can't press my way and tell snooty nurses and cold doctors to let me into the ICU and stay beside you and hold your hand the way I did with you a month before my wedding and with mom before she passed away

Dad I'm sorry I'm 7,000 miles away and I can't just hop on a plane the way I did when I caught a bus to see mom when she slipped and when I squeezed my way inside a jampacked MRT the first time you had that health scare at the Heart Center.

Dad I'm sorry I might not be able to go back there in time to say these things in person to you.

Dad I'm sorry if I have one last thing to ask of you:

Go home, dad. Go home.

Remember when you were first diagnosed with kidney failure? You went home and I went back to the office to figure out if dialysis treatments were part of my health insurance at work. On that night dad, I barely was able to go through phone calls. I cried, dad. I cried. But somehow, by some miracle, I made it through. We made it through.

Go home, dad.

I'll be fine... I'll be fine...

Go home... Go home...

I am not fine... But I'll be...

You're not... And  more than anything else, I want you to be...

Go home, dad... Go home...

Pinoy Fare I'm Looking Forward to Eating!

Hubby and I only have nine days left before our flight to the Philippines so let me just say that over the past few weeks, my mind couldn't stop thinking about food  -  mostly Filipino food.

Sinigang na Baboy

There was a day I craved painfully for sinigang (tamarind soup) that the moment I tricked my husband into stopping by the nearby Asian store at our area, I grabbed more than just the Sinigang with Gabi mix from Knorr: I gleefully grabbed a bunch of water spinach leaves (kangkong for us Pinoys!) not for the sinigang (I have bok choy leaves or pechay for that!) but for another typical rural Filipino fare: Boiled Kangkong with Bagoong (Shrimp or Fish Paste  -  I like Shrimp Paste or alamang better).

Boracay Garden & Grill in South San Francisco, CA

A few days prior to cooking Sinigang na Baboy, we went to this place called Boracay Garden & Grill near downtown South San Francisco where we had the Filipino version of Chop suey (sauteed vegetables and meat with thick sauce) and Lumpiang Shanghai (the Philippines' version of egg rolls and/or spring rolls).

And even if I am normally not a fan of Pinoy dessert, my pregnancy hormone just pushed me to purchase, a few days later, not one but two Pinoy snacks from a friend who jokingly once told us that it must have been because of his Palitaw (Flattened Sweet Rice Cake often dipped in sugar and coconut) that we were finally able to conceive. Anyway, apart from his Palitaw that hubby really loves, I also bought Hopiang Ube, a purple yam-filled Pinoy pastry of Chinese origins.

Going back to the countdown to our flight, now that it has started with my luggage almost full, I intend to take back with me to the US more than a year's worth of food-gasmic memories enough to cover for me until our next vacation. After all, one thing my tastebuds have learned in the US is that Jollibee is never the same anywhere else; you just can't duplicate that "langhap-sarap" (Filipino for "delicious aroma/smell") flavor. All those being said, allow me to cover ground for food guru Andrew Zimmern's declaration that "Filipino food is the 'next big thing'".

If I were to show a foreigner why abovementioned statement is legit, I'd have him/her eat:

Lechon Manok from Baliwag

1. Baliwag's Lechon Manok. Or Roast Chicken. I'm very sure that anyone who dips the delectably marinated and fragrant juicy chicken leg in Mang Tomas lechon sauce (not necessarily Baliwag's sauce, I think) and pairs it with steamed white rice will have, afterwards, gone from food heaven and returned to tell a wonderful experience. Coming in close, taste-wise, is Andok's version. It's just slightly more pricey and sometimes a little dry. Either way, roast chicken, Pinoy-style (with tanglad or lemon grass leaves and/or pandan leaves mixed with Sprite for marinade)? It's my "manna" from heaven! Whole Chicken Price: $7.00-9.00

Jollibee's Famous Slogan

Jollibee's Chickenjoy

2. Jollibee Chickenjoy. A half Pinoy I worked with at Bank of America bows down to Jollibee's fried chicken. He said it surely can't be compared to KFC's. Obviously, this guy hasn't been to the Philippines where, many would argue, chicken is cooked and flavored so uniquely and generously well (refer to #1) that big chains like KFC, Jollibee and Mcdonald's (Yes! Mcdo serves fried chicken there!) are neck and neck in the fried chicken business. Why I said such is a reference to my earlier statement that no one can just duplicate that "langhap-sarap" flavor even if it's the same company with the only perceived difference being is location. Apparently, "location" can't just be underestimated when it comes to food as the ingredients are different therefore the taste a little varied and the food practices either more strict or more lenient (Jollibee's "langhap sarap" campaign can't be, uh, "smelled", upon entering a branch in the US unlike in the Philippines). I don't even like Pizza Hut or KFC anymore (that could change once I switch time zones) even with the fact that I now reside in these food chains' country of origin. It's only Goldilocks (I live five blocks away from the nearest branch!) that has been able, in my opinion, to maintain the consistency of the taste of the food it serves. 2-Piece Chicken with Rice Price: $3.00-4.00

Siomai House

3. Siomai House's Pork and Shrimp Siomai. Shao Mai, siumai. Whatever the Chinese agrees on or decides as the correct spelling and pronunciation for this dumpling (just one of the many versions of the Western meatball), however I tweak my own recipe and ask the food gods for favor, no other dumpling can beat Siomai House's product. It's basically a fragrant ball of crushed shrimp and ground pork that's nothing too strong in taste that even dialysis patients like my dad are allowed to eat. Their chili garlic blends well with calamansi (Filipino lime) and soy sauce that a serving (four pieces) or two is more than enough to fill my happy tummy. 4-Piece Siomai Serving Price: $0.50-0.70

Bihon Guisado or Pansit Bihon

4. Pansit Bihon/Bihon Guisado. I really, really want to recommend Amber Golden Plate Restaurant's Bihon Guisado but it's just a little too inconvenient, money-wise and wait time-wise that I'm sure my foreigner friend would happily settle for a lesser known restaurant's version. Suffice to say, one only has to mix thin rice noodles with Filipino Chopsuey ingredients and broth (minus the cornstarch) and have calamansi or soy sauce to taste ready to understand why Filipino-Chinese say the dish lengthens one's life: If mixed well with the right ingredients and secret spices (my dad's not-so-secret ingredient: brown sugar!), it's flavorful enough to make one emotionally happy after consumption. It's also arguably complete where "nutrition" is concerned, as it has protein (meat), carbs (noodles) and fiber (veggies). :) Price depends on size and location: $1.50-10.00

Sticks (apparently, one can't have just one stick!) of Chicken
Isaw served in cups filled with vinegar in UP Diliman.

5. UP Diliman's Isaw, etc. Okay, so at this point, maybe one can already tell that I'm not so much of a health nut but at this number, I'm happy to declare that I'm a food adventure freak! So maybe I haven't eaten (yet) a grasshopper or a live worm (probably not) but "isaw", simply put, is either chicken or pig intestine. The Diliman campus of the University of the Philippines (UP) is famous for its cheap and clean (seriously!) barbecued delicacies, particularly those what Pinoys think as edible parts of chickens and pigs that are otherwise thrown away or set aside as dog food particularly in the US. These delicacies that include but not limited to Isaw (I love "Betamax" or Grilled Coagulated Pig's Blood in particular) are sold by vendors in street stalls in the afternoon. Many people have written why UP Diliman's Isaw is famous. I'd say it's mostly because a.) I'm a proud alumna of the university; b.) the barbecue marinade caters to my sometimes sweet tooth; and c.) I love their dipping sauce served in small cups which is basically vinegar ingeniously mixed with red onions (considering I hate onions to the highest heavens!) and other flavor enhancers that I drink it afterwards (thus my acid reflux...lol). Price depends, again, on serving size and location. In UP, it's between $0.25 to $1.00

Super Supreme Stuffed Crust

6. Pizza Hut Philippines' Stuffed Crust Hawaiian Supreme. I recall a high school classmate saying that Pizza Hut Indonesia has the better pizza (than the Philippines'). Since I haven't been there and I'd have to taste (and smell) to believe, I'd settle towards comparing Pizza Hut US and Pizza Hut Philippines. Or maybe not. No food fights here but my admittedly limited or maybe "enough" experience with Pizza Hut in the US is not really that great. US branches are mostly limited to delivery and pick-ups and I have yet to see a bistro-style Pizza Hut like those that are in the Philippines. As for my choice of pizza? Well, for starters, I grew up loving Hawaiian Supreme but I'm mostly biased towards Pizza Hut Philippines's "melt-in-your-mouth mozzarella cheese baked in a crust laced with a hint of garlic butter". I have yet to eat one in the US that's at par with this kind of food-gasm. Pan Pizza Price: $8.00 to $18

Rodic's famous Tapsilog

7. Rodic's Tapsilog. Shaved beef mixed in garlic rice topped with sunny side-up egg? I just died and went to food heaven! Seriously speaking, this was my typical treat for myself while I was a student in UP Diliman. Rodic's slightly sweet version of quick-fried beef strips (tapa or the "tap" in tapsilog) served with garlic rice (sinangag or "si") and fried egg (itlog or "log") may be a little bit on the expensive side for students and those living on a tight budget but it's definitely worth the little cholesterol ingested, I promise. :) Price: $2.00

______________________________________

So maybe I'm not the most reliable, information-wise and tastebud-wise but one thing that makes eating above dishes so much worth the experience is the Filipinos' way of saying "Kain tayo!" or "Let's eat!". I've tried expressing such to my foreign colleagues but full comprehension somehow just ends where difference in culture begins. A typical Filipino may not have much food in the table but he'd, for sure, gleefully share whatever he has with anyone and that, for me, makes eating a truly enjoyable experience. It also doesn't hurt if the food is cooked well, Filipino-style. *wink*

Therapy

So this is what being in limbo feels like.

And this is what being told you're going to miscarry is like: It's a bad dream materializing out of nowhere, one's worst nightmare coming true.

Anger. Disappointment. Sadness. Fear

My anger stems from wondering why those who do not have the reason, the need, the capacity or even simply, the desire to have kids are the ones who conceive, carry to full term and deliver. My anger reaches boiling point every time I see or hear news of babies or kids being abused by their mothers.

Then I look at my body, my still pregnant body, and there's disappointment.

My frailty gawks at me as I look back at it questioning the decisions I've made in the past  -  what I might have taken, might have eaten, might have done, all those that caused my already broken DNA, what with my own mother miscarrying four times before she had me after 13 years of marriage, to wreak havoc on my reproductive system. And all this time I have been questioning the wisdom of medical professionals why this and that body can function well and mine, after being given that fleeting chance to conceive, can't.

I remember my dad's desire to see me complete and not have his history repeat with me, I feel my husband's love and desire to have a family, and I see expectant moms sport the glow I had for just more than a week after discovering I am pregnant and already I am knee-deep in sadness. I still caress my tummy and take my pre-natal vitamins hoping, praying, wishing that who I am fighting for is still developing well.

But has he/she even developed? I was told by two doctors, a sonographer and a handful of women who miscarried, perhaps out of their own bitter experience, that the baby, my baby was not even there to begin with. See the human in me is afraid I'll be mocked for the actions I've taken and the decisions I've made for this pregnancy. I resigned from my job. I justified my actions to those who told me to take extreme caution in expressing my happiness. The human in me at times is devoid of faith, afraid I can never give my husband a baby, afraid I'll end like my mommy, afraid I'll end up staring in a few days or weeks in a pool of blood and in shock over a palm-sized sac signalling that I'm empty.

Still I am fighting. Just trying to get this out of my system. I still am trying to eat well and take my pre-natal vitamins. I still am trying to coax my little baby to prove the medical experts wrong. I still keep Google up and running for positive stories, for news about miracles. And I still am keeping the belief that the ultimate Medical Expert above has all the right reasons for everything  -  even for those who might not know or understand yet why they conceived, carried and delivered.

Diskarte ni Lord

And this I would say again: "Pag si Lord talaga ang dumiskarte, laging perfect timing!"

First time I said that was when I first met my husband, Sergs. Our marriage, in my thoughts and in my bestfriend Valine's, is shrouded in mystery, both Divine and Chinese. lol. Seriously though, if one were to believe in superstition and signs from above, the numbers 7 and 8 played, and still play a huge role from how we met, the properties we purchased, when we got married to how we lead our life together.

The second time was when I finally got my US permanent residency application approved. The embassy interview was so close to our birthdays (we're born on two consecutive days in July) that we feared that we might not be able to celebrate together. But for some reason, everything fell into place as planned and as scheduled and I arrived in the US a day before his birthday.

Now for the third time....... dyaaaaraaaaaan!

I'm pregnant! After two years and four months (2+4, 24, our "monthsary" is today, the 24th of May.. oh well) of trying!

An early morning chat with Valine had me dissecting events prior to my wonderful discovery just yesterday:

• May 13: Mother's Day. Someone greeted me "Happy Mother's Day!". I was miffed. Tried to dismiss it by sweetly saying to the person who greeted me that I'm not yet a mom; that I'm just, well, "healthy". How was I supposed to know that I was already close, like 4 days away from my first month of pregnancy? Happy Mother's Day, indeed!
• A week prior to THE day of discovery: A middle-aged Filipino customer of mine cheerfully asked me out of the blue if I wanted to have a boy or a girl. I said I could have anything so long as the baby's healthy. He said I gave him a good answer. Could this be God testing me and my mental preparedness? Based on my discovery yesterday, maybe I really passed His "interview"!

And for the next few months, check this out:

• June: Father's Day. My husband is now my baby daddy! Weeeee. He'd finally stand to be acknowledged in church and receive a blessing from our parish priest.
• June 24-July 8: We'd be in Manila during this week. Part of me prior to the discovery desperately wished I have something "more" that I could take with me to my family and friends there aside from my material pasalubong. Now it's for real! And it's not just a "thing". It's a growing baby who'd be small and safe enough to accompany me during my flight and see me through flight restrictions. By July 8, on our way back to the US, I wouldn't have yet reached the 5th month (of pregnancy) flight restriction.
• July: A truly happy birthday for Sergs and me. :) No more iPads. I'd still go after the Gucci bag though. lol
• December: A truly happy Christmas! Best Christmas gift ever! Doesn't hurt too that I may be on maternity leave already around the holidays. Hehe.
• January 22: Hello, baby! :)

So, see? Pag si Lord, iba talaga dumiskarte. When and if He says no, it only means that we just have to be patient and trust His will. Then again, we shouldn't lose faith in the thought that our persistent and/or silent prayers are heard. That if and when His perfect timing comes, we should trust and believe that everything will fall into place.

So my only prayer this time? A healthy pregnancy. :)

I Am Bella

Earlier today, I met an 11-year old 5th grader who happens to be my namesake (Who am I? I am _____ ). A table away from her at this elementary school where I was a volunteer teacher was a 10-year old named Bella. Both girls received best nameplate awards from me. Call it a biased decision but my namesake (fine, let's call her "Precious") and Bella were very creative with their nameplates. Precious used an alternating color pattern when she wrote the letters of her name and Bella wrote "I Am Bella" on her nameplate (Que Bella! Chi Bello! Get it? Get it?). Suffice to say, both were so creative that I had to justify to the rest of the class why I picked them as my winners.

A few years back, I was sent by my last company to Nicaragua, a Central American country with mostly Spanish-speaking people, to conduct language training to call center applicants. In an attempt to impress my trainees, I introduced myself in Spanish:

"Buenos dias! Yo soy Preciosa."

Dead silence. Fail!

It was my first ever lesson from actual native speakers of Spanish! You see, my parents named me "Maria Preciosa" because first of all, my mom was a devotee of the Blessed Mother. She and dad waited 13 years to have a baby (me!), thus the "precious" part of my name. Such were in my mind, not to mention, textbook definitions that had led me to believe that the only meaning of "precious" was unique and/or valuable.

Uh... No.

In Spanish, especially in Latin American countries, "precious" means "beautiful". If we were to go by all these, my trainees' dead silence after my spectacular introduction most probably was an indication that their thought bubbles contained a response like this:

"Did she really introduce herself as 'beautiful'?"

Or...

"Does she really think she is beautiful?"

Please. Do me a favor and find out the answer, yourselves, from my parents.

For My Dad: My Hilary Swank-Robert De Niro Moment

About to watch 'New Year's Eve' on New Year's Eve....



..... so went my Facebook status a few hours ago. Caught for the first time a bus to the Tanforan Mall in San Bruno from Daly City just to accomplish this regular mission of mine of being touched by a feel-good movie. Never really thought I'd go past my usual "aww" and "haha" moment.

Somewhere in this link is my "past-my-usual-aww-and-haha-moment". If from this blog site's description you could already surmise I'm a daddy's girl then for sure you'd know I could identify with Hilary Swank's character in the film. I am Hilary Swank's Claire Morgan. My dad is Robert De Niro's Stan Harris.

You see my father, my daddy, is not perfect. But he is as sweet as any father can be to me, his daughter. I'm sure that in his own way, provided that if he were somehow a little better than he actually is (right now), he would want to be with me however far I am; that he would want to silently witness and cheer for how I've been and for how I have managed to raise and eventually pull down a giant crystal ball.


Happy New Year, daddy. In my dreams I am beside you, my head resting on your shoulder and you kissing my hand.

This Christmas

... will be my first in the US with my husband.
... will be my first away from my dad.
... will be my first with my first job in the US.
... will be my first without a 13th month pay.
... will be my first with my first Louis Vuitton bag, however pathetic this sounds.
... will be my first with an iPhone and not with a Nokia, again, however pathetic this sounds.
... will be my first wishing [now] more than an ever that a baby is on the way.
... will be my first feasting my eyes on San Francisco Christmas lights.
... will be my first without the Ayala decors.
... will be my first [literally] cold Christmas.
... will be my Christmas of my many firsts.

It's happy. It's sad. It's luxurious. It's expensive. It's a first in a totally and completely different way. There's a yin and a yang ring to it. And then there's the birth of our Savior.

The birth.

A birthday, any birthday, it is usually a cause for celebration. But this one's that of our Savior  -  our Savior who eventually died on the Cross so that from then on and in the centuries to come we'll have a Christmas that's brimming with lessons, like the bittersweet fruitcake in tragedies and like the glistening snow in the purity of joy.

Material Dreams

Every now and then, I'm guilty of looking at certain shops and websites that sell items whose extravagance could make both pretentious and practical eyes roll.

I'm actually a little bit of both  -  I'm pretentious on one side, practical on the other. I am willing to bet though that the impulsive in me could beat the impulsive out of anyone (one evidence is me buying an advance Christmas gift for hubby  -  a $100 gift card that he can only use for himself and himself alone).

Besides, it really doesn't hurt to dream, right? Many have spoken of how the brain can turn dreams into reality. Many have thought too that it can be the other way around. So whether or not the material girl in me drops by a website or a store to turn her dreams into reality or to exhaust herself into thinking a certain that-time-drool-worthy item is not worth it after all, allow me to post a list of what I could someday tick off as whether purchased or trashed:

1. VOLKSWAGEN  -  I couldn't really care less if it's a 2012 model. As long as it's a blue Beetle and as long as I can pay tribute to Bumblebee (Corvette, you are not the original Transformers Bumblebee car) and to my dad's blue circa-70s Volkswagen, I'm happy. Of course, it wouldn't hurt if it's brand new. *wink* *wink*

2. LOUIS VUITTON BAG  -  Make it specifically a Totally MM Monogram Canvas LV bag. I love its classic look and versatility and the fact that with proper care, I can turn it over to my future daughter and still not lose its value.

3. CHANEL BAG  -  I love a good, classic piece. And when I say "classic piece", this Chanel Large Flap bag fits and meets both my requirements and needs to a T.

4. RUBY AND DIAMOND EARRINGS  -  Almost two decades ago, I lost the half of a pair of ruby and diamond stud earrings (in yellow gold) that my mom gave me. I had a school-related accident and we thought it either fell somewhere or the one who assisted me got it and took it for herself. Whatever the case may be, to pay tribute to my mom and to the fact that ruby is my birthstone, I really, really wish to have one like it again. Almost like it. I don't want it to be in yellow gold. I want it to be in white gold. So lucky and happy to have found out that the style is still available.

I still have a few more items in my wishlist. A digital SLR camera (with an Adobe Photoshop software, please, LOL) and a new phone, included. These items though have yet to be more specific, brand or specs-wise. The four items above, in the meantime, would do. Is there a Santa Claus for adults? Or should I keep thinking (just thinking) that I should try the lottery once and for all?