DAY 1 IN OHIO

April 18

Leaders call it punctuality and discipline.  An adventurer at heart, I call it over excitement – the team making it at least three full hours before boarding time! Because no one is a first time traveler, the tedious checking in was never an issue.  From there started what would be the longest trip of our lives, literally.

We boarded at roughly 5:30 a.m..  The long queue was rather an awesome sight.  It made me wonder how many people – fathers, mothers, children – leave everyday.  And that persistent question:  for what?  At any rate, flight realized at 6:15.  Quite a short trip from Manila to Nagoya, four hours at most.  The one hour time difference made it appear even shorter.  The brief stop over had us taking pictures and exchanging jokes to ward off what I suspect to be similar to the jitters I had the day before.  After two hours of exploring Nagoya airport, and getting little “somethings” for us to remember the brief encounter with the  land of the rising sun, we boarded the same plane.  It was a 12-hour flight, and not being seated together made it less interesting.  We slept and ate and moved around.  At times like this, one felt so helpless.

Detroit airport is such a relief!  Once there, we managed to freshen up and later enjoy the sight.  It was slightly snowing and I could feel the cold.  It’s weird leaving morning of April 18 and arriving morning of the same date, yet felt like it’s been years up there!  Though still worrying about the calorie intake at the plane and not having been able to burn them up, we opted to eat knowing we had to stay four more hours before a plane takes us to Akron-Canton, our final destination.  I helped myself to a serving of baked potato in bacon and cheese paired with a chocolate shake.  Then, the endless picture taking.  While the rest again slumbered comfortably in the lounge, I entertained myself by engaging in a witty conversation with a teammate.  I wanted to doze off but I was afraid my contact lenses might just  dry up, and my eye lubricant was nowhere to be found.

Flying from Detroit to Akron was less imposing.  What was overwhelming was the reception right down the lane.  Mary, the GSE coordinator, who refused to let us tell her our names and see if she were able to associate the names with the faces (and quite successfully!) was there.  James Russell, the District Governor of RI 6650 whose name we have memorized since visa application warmly welcomed the team as well.  Shelly, Sheryl, George, Mina and a few other very kind Rotarians were very accommodating, always asking about how our flight was and how else might they make us feel comfortable.  As we drove to Ruby Tuesday, Shelly was giving us a rundown of the next day’s activity simultaneously showing us some of the nice places in Ohio.  The state is rather quiet, unlike the busy streets often featured in movies.  Although it was almost 8:00, it was not even dark and that gave me the impression of the shops not having to close for the day as yet.  But Shelly said, they’re normally closed at 9:00.  At Ruby Tuesdays, we had a hefty serving of grilled chicken salad dressed in honey-mustard; not my normal dinner, but it was inviting.  The apple juice was heavenly, completely unlike the packed apple juice I had my whole life.

We drove for a few minutes to Boardman to be with our foster family.  Shelly was saying Jerry sounded so excited about our coming.  It was dark by then at 10:00  but I never missed noticing that the neighborhood was cool.  Arriving at the new home, I was surprised at how Dianne and Jerry could be so trusting of guests.  They have a cozy, very nice place; it almost looked “uninhabited.”  Everything was in order, like those one sees in display rooms or home magazines.  True enough, only Jerry and Dianne live there and that explained why they’re pretty excited about our coming.  We looked around the house, not big (huge!), and one would hesitate sitting on a chair or moving a vase or something because everything was orderly.  I felt rich for a day. The upper storey was all ours for the taking.   I’ve got a charming room painted in white and blue with all the amenities quite fitted to my person, it seemed.  There were literature books and a cushioned rocking chair and a lamp nearby.  I was almost tempted to read if not only I was rather tired and feeling quite a mess already.  I  opted to take a warm shower instead and take a rest…

LOVE'S SEASONS

I am stunned at people who could literally hop from one relationship to another; they make things seem so easy like it doesn’t leave any trace of resentment, or pain. I wonder if they ever knew how relationships could turn from one season to another – that it could be all warm and loving, cold and frightening, strong and growing, fresh and nurturing – all at different times, that they’d have to wait and labor long enough to gain a fruitful harvest?   At least by now, this is what I know.

More than ten years of marriage has shown me but one season – all sunny, and bright, and colorful – and I thought that was all there is. Not till I noticed a change – gradual, hardly perceptible – forgivable.  At one point I thought, this was the relationship I dreamt about – ideal, perfect – “quiet” – unfortunately, uneventful – like having a vacation, loving the sand on my feet and the ice cream on my tongue, but NOT remembering what happened after – something like it.  I started missing the fire – not that it has stopped to burn – but that it has transformed into a coal-like state, eternally smoldering, minus the flare. 

I am not one likely to give up.  I have a different spirit – quite unlike that of an ordinary wife's.  I am always brave enough to make my presence felt. I don’t fade into another’s person, not even my husband’s.  I know, I need to do something.  For one, ours is a match made in heaven – a gift from the gods. Whenever I look into his eyes, I still see the rest of my life.   Whenever he holds my hand, I still feel the warmth inside.  And when he comes home and leaves, he kisses me with the assurance that I am his home.  Thus, letting the passion go—just like that-- isn’t anything I’d ever want to do.

And so this is another season that I am just as prepared to weather, even for the next ten years or so.  I am facing it head on, with an accepting heart and open mind. It is enough at the moment that I understand how seasons change, and that the relationship needs this time to grow. 

I’ll let it grow.

DISPARITY

April 19

TP, Steel Museum, Mineral Museum, Youngstown State University, Michael Alberini's

I woke up with a big headache.  I slept but had to wake up at least three times knowing that I was to be on my toes today.  First Team presentation and at least a hundred Rotarians from the district welcomed us!  Great.  It went well – no major blunder.  People were so business-like they accomplished so much in an hour.

After the meeting, we drove to the Steel Museum. It was history-laden, and it triggered thoughts about how greed for material wealth could actually corrupt minds and bring about revolution in many facets of society at the same time.  I guess Jonathan, our tour guide, did a neat job by humanizing the tour experience for us.  Apart from showing the implements and rudiments of steel industry evolution, he presented the historical and social milestones that brought about the rise and fall of steel industry in Ohio.  That was clever.

Youngstown State Institute made me see the disparity in educational opportunities between this  country and the Philippines.  In truth, it made me feel so poor and imagined what our brilliant students back home would be like, given chances as opulent as this!  Somehow, this experience summoned more compassion in me because I felt my own students could really go far and big, if only they would be provided their educational needs.  My students are less confident and competitive and global because they are too confined.  Maybe they do not dream much because they do not see much.  Maybe they do not strive hard because the world they live in does not require much.  These opportunities, this extravagance, this modernity, this advancement – they are non-existent in most of the universities in the Philippines.  My heart went out to so many bright students in my classes who patiently listened to my lectures while enduring the buzzing sound of jeepneys or fanning themselves to death.  I was disheartened to realize that the three model rooms I fought so hard for to give some of my students a state-of-the-art condition were nothing but garbage compared to what students in this part of the world experience.  While enjoying the magnificent sight, I was grieving inside.  Life is not fair.  I now wonder whether it is still just to exact blood from our students to make them learn when the system is not able to provide enough.  I now wonder where the hell others get the nerve to dampen the spirit of students whose souls are already crushed by the hardship of simply being physically present.  I now wonder what step to take to at least give one or two of my promising students the same wonderful experience, so that they too could dream the dream for others.  It is sad to note that at this point, I could only but watch and wonder.

I brought these thoughts at Michael Alberini’s where the food kept coming… and I hardly swallowed them.  The wine was bitter, as my heart was. 

DRUNK

A picture of my almost 40 years:  LISTEN AND OBEY.  DARE AND DEFY. WEIGH AND CONSIDER. DO OR DIE.  

*****

I went from:  SUNNY to DEFIANT to SOBER...now, FEARLESS.

*****

The good thing about aging is the "DRUNKEN" feeling -- you do the thing, and pretend quite successfully it didn't happen.

*****

Some think of midlife crisis as really that -- crisis!  But, it's really a time of reDISCOVERY, of an old self denied, or a new self unseen.

*****

I never thought I could be right HERE, right NOW...breaking all the rules.  I couldn't help it.

*****

My friend said I outran myself.  She's right.  I want to have ALL that life has to offer.

*****

Wandering.  I want to taste LIFE and discover what is that one thing that will render me BREATHLESS...

*****

PLAY.  WORK.  LOVE.  PRAY.  I wanted life to be this simple.  But life is COMPLICATED, and I'm not really meant for the simple life.

*****

There's more to life than peace and quiet.  I know that now.  Giving breath to the TRUE self, unrestrained by conventions, matters.

*****

I have no idea how far would I go.  But one thing is certain:  I OUGHT to CELEBRATE life.

*****

DEFERENCE AND DEFIANCE

Poetry is a verbal expression of man's totality, that expression being as varied as the moods that pass over his soul.  It is the varied expression of thought, laboring under emotions, produced by different influences.

William Wordsworth, considered to be one of the greatest English Romantic poets defined poetry as the "spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings..."  This was confirmed by Pershe Bysshe Shelley in his "A Defense of Poetry" when he said that poetry is not like reasoning, a power exerted according to the determination of the will.  This power comes from within.  As such, poetry may grapple with the basic human emotions and sentiments on a purely individual plane. It may speak of love or hatred, of joy or sorrow, of fear and hope.

Hence, i find it unseemly for some writers to consider emotions, such as love, a trivial, shallow and superficial subjects of poetry.  I profess that such writers lack depth of character and intellect and, therefore, must need proper orientation of what poetry is, and of literature as a whole.

Individual character has much to do in the moulding of poetic expression.  Thus, prejudicial writers deprecating human emotions as potential subjects of poetry, cleaving instead to the exposition of current fetid ills of the society are nothing but great pretenders, seeking to awaken other's sensibilities without opening his own visions of what poetry is.

Poetry is highly infinite.  Various interpretations by different people of diverse ages and times are derived out of a single work depending upon the reader's sensibility and receptivity,

There are many ways of seeing. Each literary artist sees the world in his own individual way, expresses it in his own individual style.  It is the individual reader's task to discern and interpret the work, the interpretation being comprehensible and logical, having been consciously guided by the textual content.

How much we derive from our readings depends not only on the skills of the writer, but largely on our sensibilities and opennes as readers.  if we are sensitive and receptive, we carry away something of value regardless of how insignificant the subject is.  Thus, a poem presented in the simplest way, imploring personal emotions and deep sentiments (again, as love), constantly frowned at by few self-proclaimed intellectual writers may be ingterpreted in its most universal context by the universal thinkers.  The subtleties and profundities are unveiled only by the subtle and profound minds.

Some literary writers then must refrain from the irrational idea of obliterating personal emotions and particularity for fear of threatening the poetic principle of universality.

I adhere to the contention that social awareness must be spurred and developed, and must be reflected in today's writings as it need be.  But let it be known that the measure of poetry is not solely based on its social context nor on immediacy or timeliness of the work, rather, a work of literature is a product of various influences, the social conditions influencing the author being but one.  Setting a line, therefore, between an excellent and inferior work by the sole virtue of the social value oor relevance it bears at the moment is absolutely insane.

Confinement to the realms of societal occurrences and expressing contempt over the very personal and subjective expressions deprive beginning writers of a chance to explore their own dimensions.  Apprehensions and inhibitions are bitter consequences of such a perception, retarding in the process the growth of such inherent literary forte which in due time matures to its brim and strives towards the humanization and concretization of facts, the distinguishing marks of literature.

Social events and realities of the present times are of paramount importance;nevertheless, such great enterprise must never limit the illimitable creativity, imagination and forms of expressions of literary men.

UNCANNY

Human passion fascinates me.  Loving literature, I have grasped and suffered even uncanny emotions – those often repressed because of society’s tyrannical rule.

*****

Doubtless, these are pure emotions – raw, childlike –maybe questionable, but real.  Characters whose passions are unforgivable find themselves only in fiction.

*****

There are those who stand up for their passions, no matter how tradition breaks them.  Brave souls find themselves ostracized by the world. Worse, it is they who condemn themselves.

*****

The world’s right and wrong may not entirely be right, neither wrong.  The words are so delineated – cold to a right that becomes a wrong, or a wrong that feels right.

*****

Anyhow, that is why there is fact and fiction, reason and emotion, mind and heart.  The reality is so defined which makes movement and decision precise. 

*****

But then, imagination is boundless.  In this world unknown to most, anyone with the spirit can choose to stay the sun.

FLOWERS

They barely looked at me, as they sat  silently, listening to the litany of suggestions that were left just that -- suggestions. But that is not what offended me most.  Their gravest fault:  mediocrity.  It gets me crazy when students settle for less than they are capable of.   And so for one hour straight, notwithstanding the crack in my voice again, I alternately lectured and made important calls here and there, to provide for their urgent need.  Tomorrow is last day of thesis proposal defense, and noone agrees to sit in the panel.  Hell, who would?  There are papers to check, projects to evaluate, grades to compute -- all sort of unimaginable work an ordinary student just don't seem to get, as if a classcard only takes imagination.  I had to rely on friends -- abuse them, actually -- ask them to come when they would rather be home.

 At any rate, i did what i had to do -- beg.  Problem solved.  But that didn't stop me,  I gave four captives a piece of my mind, and perhaps made them suffer my quirks.  I could get so spontaneous sometimes -- at some point, they got "deranged" by the "orders" i had to make given the time constraints.  But at 5:00 p.m. when my phone started ringing and i could see "babe calling," i got to my senses.  One hour passed -- and all I heard were YES mam, opo, now na po, thank you po.  But I saw them all smiles -- i didn't notice -- I got them to do what had to be done, because YES tomorrow, they will face the dreaded panel, and there is no need for INC in their transcripts.

 What followed was rather odd, but rewarding.  These kids handed me a bouquet of flowers with a handwritten note of apology.  It was heartwarming; I felt guilty.  I'm a piece of shit.  But again, in my heart, I meant well -- i just couldn't help being the usual me.  There is just this inner rage -- to drive students to be better, because I really believe they can shine.  I want them to tap their potentials to the fullest and never settle for less.  I am not really sure if I am doing it right all the time, because often i do as my heart tells me -- always driven by my intention to inspire excellence.  Of course i am aware of everyone's limitations and individual differences, after all I'm a sucker for uniqueness.  What i really want is for one to be excellent according to his own lot.  Nothing less.

Posts on my FB wall tonight assured me, I am still on the right track.  I need not be torn apart by the many misguided thoughts I recently had.  This is where I belong.  This is where I will grow.  I deserved the flowers.

TORN

I am not really the materialistic type -- I have few needs, to say the least.  I love things that money can buy, but I value more those that money can't.  But often, whenever i get the chance to reflect, like now -- I start weighing my options, even go to the length of comparing myself to others.  Not that I am dissatified with where I am and with what I've got -- far from that. After all, i also enjoy the nobility of my profession and the glory of my position. I have achieved in a few years what others achieved all their life.  Only, when i see others so much more financially affluent than i am -- when I really feel I have so much more talent and i work thrice as hard -- I ask:  What have I got?  I am still human. Sometimes, i feel i deserve more because I give more.

So, I toy with the idea of leaving everything behind -- all that I have worked for, family included -- for that one shot deal that might be life-changing.  But whenever I see chances unfold, i am left with the same question.  What have I got?  But more than that i ask:  What matters to me more?  Am I ready to give up the comfortable, stable, safe -- albeit, simple and laidback -- life, that my husband and I  created for our children?  Will I be able to compensate time lost and love wasted with all the nice things the world offers?  Worse, will I survive the cruelty of the world out there?

I am torn. 

OPPOSITE POLES

Over the last 12 years, I don’t ever recall any big fight or argument with my husband.  Well, except for the two trivial bickerings – not even two-way, as I remember having delivered a multi-lingual declamation piece, instead.   The first time, I acted like any other young wife – impulsively shrieking at his inability to comply with an unwritten code on curfew.  I learned a lesson the hard way:  my own family, mother included, would have picked him over me.  That was insane but, who wouldn’t love a man like that?  The second brought both of us to tears.  I cannot tell how I did that (It’s a trade secret!).  But another lesson learned:  I couldn’t bear to see the one I love most, and who loves me best, shed tears for my sake.  That’s devastating!  And so, after learning all these –tough ones, to my mind – I resolved to never hurt him again ever or else I hurt myself more.  I love him too much – that is beyond question. 

Perhaps, I have loved my new roles – a wife and a mother – that I never again had any issues with marriage and family.  Or maybe, it is true what they say, I am lucky to have such a man for a husband.  People say we are perfect for each other.  Two entirely different, nearly opposite poles attracting each other and meeting halfway – both in mind and spirit.  At least, that is what people say, and that is what we both live with.  Whether such is a blessing or a curse remains to be tested.  But at this point, we are both certain, that our love for each other – more than our inherent communication skills – verbal and non-verbal -- will see us through. 

At times, I also wonder whether we have apprehensions we don’t talk about – because we both assume we are too intelligent to understand.  I suppose, we both see each other as faultless, and we don’t want to talk about faults.  But I am not faultless – that I am so sure about.  Perhaps, he is.  I have minor concerns I want to talk about, questions I want to ask, worries I need to express.  Only, I know the responses to my concerns, I know the answers to my questions and I know how to resolve my own worries.  So why talk about them and bother him?  That is a predicament I have to contend with.  That is my lot.  For his part, I really do not know.  He does not really say much.  That is how I learned to read minds.  I have learned to decode his vocalics & kinesics. 

And so the other night, his retort astounded me.  It’s not such a strange phenomenon.  Any wife might not have noticed it even.  Any wife would have dismissed that.  Unfortunately, I am not just any wife.  When his voice registered a higher pitch, and a faster duration, and was more flexible than usual – it gave me the signal.  What was that?  Of course, it was my fault – whose would it else be?  I just couldn’t help being me – so irritating, with my childish stance – but, hey –I’ve been like that all my life.  It was the shortest fight ever in history I guess, not more than a minute, as after I uttered my wisecrack in straight English – we both kept quiet. 

He said sorry, later –  it’s  always like that --later, when I have kept my cool or else I’ll write a book of never before heard conversation beginners, enders and rejoinders in cathartic and phatic language! He never explained his apology.  I didn’t ask why, either.  It’s over, anyway.  I am not the type to go into the details and waste time over anything as trivial as that.  Though that one earned for me a whole body massage for an hour, it kept me wondering what was that about?  It was nothing, I guess – I don’t over think, I don’t over analyze – this has what kept the marriage sound and smooth and loving and perfect.  But on second thought, is it so? Come what may:  our love will defy both heaven and hell.

MOMMY THOUGHTS

I have never written about my kids, I noticed.  It’s because, everything is sacred – I hold the imprint of every second of their lives close to my heart -- so near,  nobody dares touch them. 

*****

My Yari once said:  “You are the best mommy in the whole…CITY.”  She meant it more grandly.  But, yeah, I’m not a perfect mom.  I just can’t get the right mix until now. 

*****

I want my kids to be themselves.  I want them to have a better, richer experience.  I hope I am doing my job well.  It’s difficult to be a mother.

*****

Heloise, I raised by the book.  I gave her the best of myself.  I gave up a lot of opportunities for her sake.  She is a big challenge, bigger than all my feats. 

*****

Giving it my all and my best isn’t enough, I see.  Now, Yari does not get enough, because in not giving, I change her fate.

*****

I love my children.  I can be faulted for this love.  But, having lost a child yet unborn once, I can’t risk not loving more.

SEEING ALLISON'S DEATH

Eyes wide open (forget about a literal image!), in my conscious realm, but while in a trance (T-rash sanitation, R-adiation fear, A-nxiety, N-osebleed mode, C-hurva, E-klavu.  Yeah, I'm sure my friends KNOW what my trance moments could be like) -- I saw Allison die.  Nope, not a slow heartwrenching death.  Swift.  Painless. Devoid of the slightest struggle.  It was like dying in the arms of an angel.  Peaceful.

My Allison WAS an embodiment of the true, the good, the beautiful.  Perfection at its finest.  Excellence. And now, I have watched her die -- not holding on to a breath like I once watched a death so devastating.  But this time, my spirit is intact. My spirit is free.

I have WILLFULLY let go of Allison.  In life, there are things more precious than my Allison.  In life, there are things unfolding bigger than me.  It's not about me.  It's about some bigger things, even more precious than she who was wrought in my own flesh and  blood.  Her death gave rise to a finer spirit in me -- calmer, compassionate, unafraid.

With her death, I died.  But in rising again, I give life...

N.B.

(Welcome Mediocrity!  Goodbye Excellence.  To borrow Maisie's parallelism:  If others can be mediocre for no reason, why can't we be mediocre FOR A REASON!??  With a disclaimer in place, I can now go back to work!  CALMLY, yes.  I'm mourning.  Ahhhhh, pasensya na mga tao, antok lang!)

ALLISON

I had the weirdest of dreams (weird super!).  What made it significant is that it recurred several times. Even after three or four waking moments, it dragged on.  I tried to convince myself it was just one of those images and stories, but apparently I got confused somewhere...

My husband was showing me pictures of a pretty child, not even a year old, supposedly our "third" who died from illness. The  unexpected death of Allison (now, where did the name come from!?) impliedly caused my mental disorientation.  Upon my recovery, aptly while recuperating, people kept me away from anything that reminded me of her.  In fact, i was made to believe I only had two girls.  People lied to me so I won't hurt.  When others unknowingly asked about my Allison, i began my quest for truth and her pictures just drove me back to a pain so great I wished for death...

Points to Ponder:

1.  Sadly, my loved ones cannot shield me from pain all the time.  Even my greatest ally is not "Superman."  Yes, he said so in one of our casual conversations.  It's about time I stopped believing somebody is there for me, always and forever.(Yeah, that's bullshit!).  

2.  Keeping to my honest convictions and staying strong, as i am wont to, might work against me oneday.  What I don't know won't hurt me.  Perhaps, I should stop going for the thrill of that "one last kill!"  Maybe, just maybe...some things are not worth fighting for.

3.  Now, what could Allison mean?  A brain-child, maybe.  So which of "those" died in the hands of others, and nobody told me?  Allison means noble.  Some of my noble intentions have to die. Some things great and pure and beautiful have to end, unless I will to meet my death.

Goodbye, Allison. Know that I have loved you like no mother ever could...

STRAIGHT LINE

...to this day, i have not found the one missing piece -- that one unknown -- that will fill the hollow in my chest,keep my heartbeat still, and stop the longing.  I get lonely amidst the intensity & perfection.

*****

A new friend asked:  how will you describe your life in an adjective?  I fumbled. Now, how do I answer that?  Fulfilled, yes. That would be the one single word, despite the puzzle.

*****

There is too much structure.  Not that I detest that -- in fact, I have gotten used to the pattern--learned it, to be exact. Order gave me success.

*****

But, inside I am really an adventurer. I want to experience life, minus the conventions.  I want to commit mistakes.  But, I can't pay the price.  Not anymore.

*****

And so here I am, in a straight line.  Better here, than be lost.  Better here, than fall.  At least here, I am never alone.

BUS RIDES

March 5, 2011 3:37 a.m. in one of those road trips i have learned to love and to dread.  I have embraced all the bus rides of my life, uphill or downhill,  but stepping into an unknown ground surrounded by ridiculously strange faces is never short of -- fearful.  Especially so today, when it is drizzling non-stop, and is not even morning.  I appreciate my age all the more; now, i don't command attention.

****

4:25 a.m. Breakfast, after an hour of bus ride (again!)..not because I'm hungry but because it's rather early. And so here, a cup of coffee after another to ward off sleep as later in the day, i will dance the fatigue away. It's funny how all the crazy running taught me to look forward to more roads.

*****

March 6, 9:18 p.m. back to the streets again, bus ride after another.  Along the road, I am waiting for the last ride that will take me home (I thought!). Afraid to miss my bus (just any bus, for that matter!), I grab my provision -- a bottle of water and P5.00 worth of peanuts from a dirty stall.  A new self is born -- and I'm loving it.

****

March 7, 4:15 a.m. dark, and rainy.  The bus is headed elsewhere.  I need to stop and get another ride -- the experience is no longer alien to me as I have done this several times in the last 6 months.  Walking in the dark pavement, alone and unafraid --  Is this me now?

****

Bus ride after bus ride after bus ride!  How so much like my self craving for spontaneity -- for once, I want to do the thing I like most, without responsibility -- without thought...but in doing so, I might not be lucky to get home...