The holidays would often bring to memory how it was like more than 20 years ago – no electricity, cooking our version of pasta on a kerosene stove and sharing a simple media noche meal under a candlelight. We almost never ran out of a sick family member. Either mom was battling an allergy or one of us was down with flu. Often we were under the mercy of a kindhearted neighbour who would allow us to share their table or tap into their electricity at night that we may sleep comfortably.
And yes, we had spent the holidays before in different homes and zones – downsizing from apartment units to mere 5m x 5m rooms that had us acquainted to roaches dancing at night, worms crawling out after a heavy rain or bugs creeping from under those old wooden floors. Having our clothes kept in big cigarette boxes or bags instead of a closet was an indication of these frequent transfers, often taking shelter at a relative’s house or a friend’s. The most memorable though was spent inside the hospital after my youngest brother was hit by a car while we were singing Christmas carols to bus drivers and commuters along EDSA. The scene was forever etched in our memories, like a well-orchestrated cinematography of a story with a grotesque ending.
We had far too many questions to which we never received answers right away. That particular twenty-year-old reality was harsh like a never-ending nightmare. The pain could break anyone’s soul and kill every dream. One could say that we literally went through hell with no hope of heaven, and wonder if Jesus did ever really weep at all.
As we celebrate the new year today quietly in a middle class suburban home, surrounded by blessings we didn’t even imagine of having before, we remember the past and give thanks to the One who did not answer our prayers by raising the dead or turning the moon bloody red, but rather taught us how to live under His grace, day by day.
It’s been two months and 16 days of hermitage, away from the delicious call of home-cooked meals, neatly-pressed clothes that smell of Downey Attraction, and the usual dinner table conversations. No one actually believed that I would survive without mom or a platoon of servants during my first month as an independent woman. I did my own cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping and twice-a-week laundry, paid my rent and utilities on time. So far I haven’t set the house on fire – yet – from cooking different flavors of Spam.
Prior to this plan of becoming a responsible adult, I had spent two boyfriend years in postponing the move-out from the family home – calculating the risks of going bust and the perks as well should everything go as planned. I had a 12-month financial plan which included getting a higher income job somewhere, and had envisioned marrying my (ex) boyfriend and producing wonderful babies.
However, it wasn’t easy keeping up to an ideal life with the meager income I was receiving, and a boyfriend who was time zones away. The only logical solution, after much thought, whining and coffee, was to fire my boss and find another company that would afford me an eat-pray-love retirement when I hit my 40’s, Bolognese and wine in Italy, a vacation in a sunny English countryside, a climb up the Himalayas and shopping in Manila. And let go of a relationship that, so sad to say, was not getting us nowhere. Perhaps the next would-be boyfriend would appear in between, if I get really lucky.
So I’m sticking to my guns, and see where this would lead me.
Posted in Musings
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Tagged Boyfriend, Choi Siwon, Cooking, English language, Family, Himalayas, Home, Italy, Manila, Parent, Philippine, single life, Super Junior
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Since Indianero started working on our project, I had been receiving this through SMS: Hi. Can we go out to lunch/dinner?
I wondered if he was asking me out or was just being polite since he was technically working for me, which made me his boss. So I replied, “If you can come over to my workplace, yes we can have lunch.”
I knew he would not be able to make it. That’s an hour worth of commuting time and he wouldn’t like that kind of sacrifice for some girl he stood out in a date two years ago. He was the mighty Thor, remember? And women were supposed to fall from the skies and land on his lap.
Ok. Som ader time den, the SMS said.
That sounded disappointed. Excellent. Because there won’t be “som ader time” and I would see to it that this bespectacled wannabe badass would have to EARN that privilege of seeing me. That would also include receiving a text message or a call from me and getting accepted into my IM and Facebook‘s list of friends. Someone has to teach that old guy a lesson for the time being, and that would have to be me.
OMG. Did I just sound like his mother?
The holidays would often bring to memory how it was like more than 20 years ago – no electricity, cooking our version of pasta on a kerosene stove and sharing a simple media noche meal under a candlelight. We almost never ran out of a sick family member. Either mom was battling an allergy or one of us was down with flu. Often we were under the mercy of a kindhearted neighbour who would allow us to share their table or tap into their electricity at night that we may sleep comfortably.
