Meeting Mom: Intermission

All: Piktyur! Piktyur!

(Photographer points cam)

Me: *POUTS*

Mom: sternly shouts, "DON'T DO THAT!"

Me: *disappointed smile*

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My mom doesn't like my pout. How hurtful is that?! haha!

In anycase, I'm still in the process of writing my update on meeting mom. My thoughts are still quite a mess and my first few days, I got a bit emotional, so that's why I still cannot give out updates.

Aryt, down to business: My birthday is coming up and a friend commented how hard it is to find me a gift and requested I give out a wishlist. So here are some tips in giving me gifts (ANG KAPAL KAPAL KO LANG NO?)

1. Mababaw lang ako. I appreciate practially anything given to me.
2. I like impractical stuff. The weirder the better. Hard to find things would be great.
3. But kung ayaw mo mag isip ng regalo, here is my list:

a. cool wallet
b. tazmanian devil car accessory: steering wheel cover etc.
c. gimik small backpack (hindi ung pang Dora the explorer)
d. hamburger mini speakers (blue chrome finish, or black or red matted finish)
e. boy's cap (basta ang hirap explain)
f. pacute pokpok shirt. basta din.
g. basta be creative.

Ayan. Pag nahirapan pa kayo ewan ko nalang. hahahaha!

Sa mga may birthday sa July dyan, wala ba kayong wishlist? nahihirapan ako magisip eh (calling on geek, ewik, odin, jepoy, etc. sino pa ba?)

Meeting mom day minus one (-1)

My brother texted a few hours back that they’re already boarding Delta. So yeah, I guess I’m counting down till their plane lands on Manila grounds.

A month ago, my lola requested me to help out in fixing the room that my mom will use in Bauan, Batangas. Thus, for weeks, I’d drop by every Sunday to oversee some cleaning and paintjob.

Nearing her scheduled flight, I had to somehow fix my own schedule since I am in between travels as well. Thus from Cebu, I’d be arriving back in Manila at 8:00 pm. My mom will arrive at 10:00 pm.

I’ve already hired a driver since I’m guessing I won’t be able to drive all the way to Batangas at almost midnight. I don’t want to drag other people to my accident prone self.


Do I feel excited? I dunno.
Do I feel scared? Definitely not.

I actually feel nothing. Inured. Calloused. I really have no adjective.

It’s just like another toxic month for me - filling in my calendar with family obligations, out of town meetings, paper works and stolen sleep in between.

But considering how much of a cry baby I can get, I’m readying myself for some major drama moment in the airport.

Damn you telenovelas for your exaggerated/ theatrical influence!

Thus, tomorrow marks my first meet up with my mom. Like some corny EB, we’d probably have a few hours of awkward moments. A hug here and there, but based from our phone conversations, there could be a lot of dead air.
Oh well papel. Wish me luck.

P.S.
I’ve heard Terminal 1 doesn’t have those Letters in the arrival drive way anymore? No more of those standing on the first letter of your last name thing? talga?

Happy Mother's Day!!!

Nineteen years.
Can't wait to see you again.

Happy mother's day!




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I bought a dozen mother's day cards, since I grew up with practically a dozen women hovering over my crayola filled childhood. I'll be giving them today, and be sending one to my mom via mail.
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Couldn't really blog. But I took exemption on this one. This week will be my last days in the company. Next month I might venture on a homebased job. Wish me luck!
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P.S.
No, I haven't forgotten to greet your mom. I have something for her. I'm just not a texter. Ok?

Ghosts on a Hot Sunday Morning

I thought I forgot all about them. Then suddenly I heard a creak, the opening of an old wooden chest filled with memories. Dust subtly danced through the air slowly reaching where my feet have been before I instinctively stepped backwards.The room suddenly smelled of old books, of damp wood, of drawings that were once colorful, of paper that were once white as snow, of ink blots that once were bright, of plans that were once clear cut.

I received a call from mom yesterday, one of those “update calls.” I don’t know why, but whenever she would ask how I’ve been or what I’ve been up to lately, a few sentences would eventually result to deafening silence, as if telling me I had too little happening in my life. Then she told me that my brother was now flying to Washington DC to attend this orientation/short course/convention for those applying for med school scholarship (kinda like Intermed in UP).

Then suddenly all of my frustrations came rushing. I took BS Pharmacy in UP thinking it would be a good pre-med course. However, upon finishing the course, starting a new one seemed impractical already. My dad wouldn’t be able to get me through med school with our finances anyway, and I had to start working to help my dad with my half brothers.

I’m a firm believer that all things happen for a reason, God’s reasons, no matter how incomprehensible they may seem, have been my seeing cane in travelling life’s blind alleys. And in all situations, He has provided generously. I’ve trusted my family and work life to Him, and so far, He hasn’t failed me. When I needed to pay my brothers’ tuition fee, He gave me my first real job that paid me three times the minimum salary.

For two years now, most of my savings went to help out my fam'ly. Although the fact that I am given a sense of fulfillment and satisfaction, I sometimes can’t help but wish that things turned out differently. And each year, as my salary increased, transferring from one company to another, responsibilities increased almost proportionally, thus the never ending frustrations.

Then all the “what if’s” mischievously whispered to my almost deaf ears. What if my dad allowed me to go to the US when I was 7 years old? What if I pursued enrolling in some state-run or city-owned med school? What if I took risks in going for my dream? Would I have had the same opportunities that my brother is now having? Would I have been the same person as I am today?”

Seeing my best friend finish her PharmD course enabling her to get her license to practice in Florida, my barkadas starting their clerkships in PGH, my blockmates finishing their Pharm units in Toronto for their licensures… a picture of me became unattractive all of a sudden.

And as I struggle to get myself enrolled in Pharmacology or in Clinical Research Management, I always say to myself, “Am I in the right direction? Should I change roads?” I’ve planned that by the time I turn 28 I would have gotten my Masters degree, my PhD or my PharmD by 33. For now I have to settle for what I am able to do out of those freaking old plans.

Freaking memories. Freaking dreams. Freaking circumstances. That freaking old chest.

I’ll sit on top of that chest for now to keep it closed, with that monster struggling for air, shaking the chest almost vigorously. From where it got its strength, I really do not know.

And as I stare into this dusty hot Sunday, it whispers, “Soon you’ll have to let me out.”

… Soon you’ll have to let me out.

… Soon you’ll have to let me out.

Tonight, that sinister voice shall visit me in my dreamless sleep. I hope I’ll be ready.

Finding Mom

2004. The soft roaring sound of the AC unit echoed the beating of my heart.

Slowly, I ran my fingers on the edge of the calling card, feeling the uneven cut I made with a pair of not-so-sharp scissors. The card bore my name and contact details, with a black and white picture carefully laid out on the right side of the card.

I was still in college. Though I worked part time doing pharmaceutical researches, my unseasoned services hardly warranted a calling card to be given to prospective clients. No, the card wasn’t made for that purpose.

Punctuating the moment with a final resolved sigh, I immediately placed the card in a thin white airmail envelope before I could even change my mind. There it sat alone, no letter, no salutations, and no instructions nor explanations as to what the card was for… just the silent implied message the small card carried with itself and the hope that whoever saw the card, would know what to do next. With that, I sealed it with a quick swish of my tongue across the sticky flap of the envelope.

With sure strokes of my hand, I carefully wrote the address I found in an old mail, hoping that the same capiz-windowed house still be there, waiting for my little messenger.

And as I slid the almost empty envelope in the post box, I said a silent prayer and wished it luck in its quiet sojourn. Faith, I guess, was all I could carry as I hoped that my little warrior would come back to me with flags of victory.

Time passed by as fast as one can say yes to Cebu’s lechon… and Abe’s crispy pata, my lola’s caldereta, my tita’s adobo, and uhhmmm… (sorry I got carried away).

Wait. That was all I could do till I almost forgot all about it.

Until that day when I received an almost unexpected call.

“# calling…” Prolly an international number.

“May I speak with Mr. Jeffrey G__?” the voice said.

That voice. Familiar voice. A voice that I haven’t heard for practically thirteen years.

Mom.

If hearts could really skip a beat, mine did that instant. And maybe a cartwheel.

The conversation continued on with awkward how are you’s and a lot of dead air. But the momentary silence was welcomed. It was like we were trying to feel each other’s presence on the other line. Hearing each other breath. Imagining what the other must’ve looked like. Would each look the same after thirteen years? (well, I grew a tad taller though, haha).

“Take care, I love you” My mom finally bid me good bye.

“bye mom, I love you too,” I replied before pushing the “end call” button.

I was sitting on the floor in the laboratory corridor. And I find my tears dropping one by one making small wet circles on my laboratory gown.

I slowly got up, and with the cool breeze flowing from the far end’s fire exit, I walk wistfully, letting my lab gown flow with the air as I enter the classroom.

And as I slowly slid into my stool chair, my lips unconsciously curled up to form a small satisfied smile.

My little warrior returned triumphant.

I have finally found Mom.

And she has found me.

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Happy Birthday Mom!

Love yah!

10-Feb-09