I'm a CIA

Not only am I a Cebuana In America, I’m also a Cuisine- nera In America .

Cooking is my passion, therefore, I live to eat. But I’m very picky at what I eat.

1) No blood. My husband always orders his steak, rare, and the blood that comes out when he slices it, cringes me. I like steaks that are dry aged which simply means that fresh meat is left hanging to dry in specially controlled environment as against those that are newly cut then packed and sold in the supermarkets. My lamb chops should also be perfectly seared on the outside and pink on the inside, no meaty red flesh, please. The only blood I eat is when it’s cook and made into blutwurst, boudin noir or morcilla. I am even picky when I eat our own dinuguan or blood stew. I have to know what’s in it, and who made it. Innards and entrails in dinuguan are not for me.

2) The smell of what I eat should synchronize with the taste I‘m expecting. I know that durian tastes like heaven but smells like hell or that blue cheese stinks like old socks but is divine to the palate. Normally when it smells rotten and tastes spoiled, then it probably is. Unless I know the food’s characteristics and how it should taste, I refrain from indulging myself.

3) Anything that moves is a no-no for me. We used to have a fisherman vendor come to our house to sell his morning catch. There would be slimy eels or jumping shrimps, and my husband would take the smallest of the shrimps, smother it with ‘pinakurat’ vinegar and eat it. I flinch at the site of maggots in cheese which Italians call Casu Marzu and I don’t care how expensive they are, I‘m not eating them that way. I just don’t want sucking the life of living creatures. Don’t get me wrong, I like raw food, like sashimi, seviche, kinilaw or even carpacio which is raw meat pounded paper thin. But they have to lay still.

I love food, anything I don’t like I don’t swallow. I love those tiny little eels which the Spaniards call angulas. I cook it with evoo and lots of garlic for a sumptuous appetizer. Or I fry then bake pieces of bone marrow, scoop out the buttery center and spread it on a slice of toast. The taste is just divine.

I don’t have to travel many miles around the world to taste different kinds of food, but I'd love to if my pockets permit. Here in America I join food shows, exhibits and festivals where the world congregate and show off what they have back in their home country.

I still have to try Kopi Luwak which is considered the most expensive coffee in the world. They come from excrements (sh*t) of a civet feline found in Indonesia, and in the Philippines it is sometimes called Coffee Alamid. I’ve ordered some and can’t wait to try it. I still have to try the ‘almas’caviar or the roe (eggs) of the Beluga sturgeon, a kind of fish only found in the Caspian sea. This is not the black caviar as commonly known but is lighter in shade due to the age of the fish. Can’t wait to try that as well.

In totality, my taste is simple. I just like the best.

My Italian Mafia

The Italians are a breed in themselves . They are most known for their clannish and obscure ways but when together , will exhibit loudness and a gymnast of hand gestures. I know , because two of my previous landlords were Italians but my favorite one is Donna,my friend.

I met Donna at my sister in law’s wedding a few years ago. Her boyish dark auburn hair revealed a chiselled face, an inquisitive nose held round rimmed glasses that covered her brown velvety eyes. Her thin lips revealed only a few shades darker than her fair skin, and the svelte frame gives justice to the way she moves about. Being same in age, we had so much in common, that our friendship grew deeper in the years that came.

She grew up in the Bronx and had the streets as her playground. Often reminiscing as a kid, she would relate how life being ‘in the hood’ was. She grew up tough and strong, surviving a hefty divorce from an Italian as well. She has none of those feisty, loud traits of an Italian, but instead, she displays one of a serene and melancholy demeanor. If there was a phrase to describe her it would be like a duck swimming in a pond, gracefuly keeping herself above water, but paddling like hell down below.

Donna has always been a people person. Always around when someone needed a baby sitter. A helping hand when friends relocated, and an assistant cook at parties. Sometimes even offering to drive for whoever needed rides at her own expense. She doesn’t like to be the center of attention, content to be oblivious, yet a team player to the max.

Working in the medical field has made Donna expose herself to a lot of Filipinos. Although Italian American, she has more Filipino friends than her own breed. She has attended numerous Filipino funfare and is not new to the ethnicity of our Filipino cuisine. But her own repertoire of eating habits is so limited mostly to chicken with an occasional beef. Her preference for food or lack of it is nothing religious nor medical. She just hinders herself from gulping anything that is a reminder of something cute. She will not eat fish because it will remind her of Nemo, nor much of pork as this is Babe, and she will never eat a rabbit because it reminds her of THUMPER and the fact that Bambi is venison is totally out of her list. Pasta and coffee is all she needs to survive on. And of course, she loves our Filipino pancit.

Last week, Donna had a mammogram test and was diagnosed with a suspicious carcinogenic cell
I’ve asked her how she felt after the news hit her and her answer was, “I don’t know”. What do you say to someone who was unsuspecting and was caught off guard by such debilitation? At these times no words of comfort or wisdom can penetrate the deep emotional roller coaster seeping into Donna’s innermost thoughts.

She has never questioned her God, nor even gotten angry, yet the proverbial challenge that she faces is the need to know what the near future holds , and what must be expected of her. Right now, she is only concerned with her daily existence, not planning for anything and not wanting to disappoint anyone for unfulfilled commitments. . I know she will not recluse herself, but will go on double time. Like an athlete, doubling her strokes to reach whatever goal she has in mind.
I am sure that many things come into her mind as of this moment. Her pain is my pain. Her sadness is my sadness. Her doubts are my doubts. And even the joys she will experience are my joys as well.

Yet inspite of all that is happening ,she is a fighter, she will do what needs to be done at all cost. And in the end, the two phrases she will be hearing will be, “well done, good and faithful servant……..you have fought the good fight, you have finished the race, you have kept the faith.”

That is the iron lady in the Donna I know. She is my ITALIAN MAFIA (Most Amazing Friend In America.)

All In A Day's Work

ALL IN A DAY’S WORK
I had just recently arrived from the Philippines, when my brother, Steve called to ask a favor. His co-worker was going for an R&R and he needed a reliever. It was only for 2 days anyway , so I agreed to help him out.

Steve’s assisted living facility had only 2 patients but could occupy 4. Sonya, a Caucasian in her 70’s stayed in Room 1. Her bouts of dementia and the inability for her only daughter to care for her due to work commitments, led Sonya’s confinement in an assisted living set up.

Dillo, an octogenarian Italian widower who had lived in America half of his life, occupied Room 2. He had family nearby but they couldn‘t get along with him so they opted to put him in the facility . Although Dillo’s mind is still sharp, he was having hallucinations of the mafia following him .

One morning while changing Sonya’s bed sheets, and dusting the furniture , I was singing to my heart’s delight. I twirled and pirouetted around the room oblivious of my lone audience, who was sitting in her wheelchair.. When I finished my chores, Sonya beckoned me and said, “Missy, you are so beautiful, but you know what? You don’t sing nice?!”

I just winked, smiled and said, “ooo-kay, there goes my singing career!”

After breakfast, I wheeled Sonya to the living room. I parked her by the wall to wall window, which revealed a small garden before visibly showoing the street. Since the next door neighbor was a nursery school, Sonya was entertained by the traffic flow of mothers carrying their children and cars passing . I would then be free to do my other chores of clearing dishes and getting ready for lunch.

More than an hour passed when Sonya decided to call for me.

“Missy, can you come over? She screamed over her shoulders.
“What’s up?” I answered swiftly walking to the living room.
“Can you change the channel, please?” she said.

I looked at her. And then I looked outside the window. No more cars, nor people were passing by. Did she think the window was a television? I looked back again at her face. She was dead serious. AND BORED!

“Is there another channel?” she reiterated. Was her dimentia in ‘play’ mode, I wondered.

I immediately ran to my brother, who was cleaning Dillo’s room
“Steve! Steve!” I said,
“what’s wrong?” he asked.
“quick! Put on some fast music!”
“Why? “
“I want to go outside by the window and dance. Quick put on the music of Macarena so I can dance the ocho ocho. Then Sonya will think it’s another channel!” I excitedly proclaimed.
“Stop your foolishness and go back to work!” Steve commanded. With a pout and a snapping of the fingers, I went back to Sonya. There goes my dancing career again. It had already ended before it even began.

I wheeled Sonya to the kitchen while explaining that there were no nice channels that morning. I asked her to keep me company while I prepare for lunch.

Just then, Steve walked in and asked what was for lunch. “I’m making Lengua” I said. Steve’s demeanor was a cross between disapproval and anxiety. “Why?” I wondered.

“Huwag mo nalang sabihin anong linuluto mo kasi hindi kumakain ng dila ang mga puti! Baka magka ulcer itong mga matanda at magka problema pa tayo” Steve explained.

Dillo, who was in his room watching t.v. all this time, suddenly appeared in the kitchen. He saw Steve and I conversing and became suspicious.

“Are you talking about me?” he asked with squinted eyes.

“Of course not!” I said. “we’re reminiscing about our Filipino food!”

“what about it?” he asked

Glancing at Steve I said, “Well, in our country, nothing is wasted. From chicken feet that we call adidas, chocolate porridge made of pig‘s blood, and even ox tongue which is a delicacy.”
“Yuck! I wouldn’t want to think of eating feet stomping on dung, nor do I want to eat something that’s tasting me back such as your ox tongue. Disgusting!” and with that he turned and headed back where he came from. Steve’s “I told you so” look further concluded his earlier remark.

Away from Dillo‘s hearing distance I said, “Well, MISTER , you’re going to do a lot of French kissing with your food today . There will be wagging tongues galore.”

Lunch was served with utmost restaurant ambience. The rectangular table was set for 4 . The centerpiece was a bowl of fresh fruits honing with fresh roses scattered among clutters of grapes, apples, peaches and pears. The main dish was glamorously plated with the lengua encircled over a mound of mashed potatoes at the center . Buttered corn kernels, cubed carrots and peas surrounded the meat and a sprig of parsley on the top center of the plate added the finishing touch.

As the dish was handed to the elderlies, Dillo was curious “What’s this?” , he asked.

“It’s beef?” I answered. “Try it!”

He picked a slice with a fork and placed in his mouth. He was chewing and nodding at the same time and then declared., “This is the softest meat I have ever tasted.” He exclaimed. “ What kind is it?”

Without realizing, I blurted, “That is called Visayan beef. And the reason it’s soft is because it has been pressure cooked.”

Then I turned my back and muttered under my breath. “Tinawag kong Bisaya yan kasi matigas ang dila ng mga bisaya pero lumalambot kung napipressure. There!

Sonya and Dillo ate with gusto that day. Dillo complimented me again and wished that the Visayan beef be served in the future. At least I have a promising career in the culinary industry even if I don’t have one in entertainment industry. But if there is one thing I really learned from this experience with Sonya and Dillo is this: be kind to your children, you’ll never know what kind of nursing home they will send you to---and if they do, make sure the cook from that nursing home isn‘t from Haiti.

My First Foreign Romance
(a foreign affair)

I am a 50-something mother of four grown children and live in New Jersey with a husband of 30 years. This has been my home for a couple of years now. Previously, home was in Cebu, Philippines, where I was living a comfortable yet stressful life. Juggling work, home and social commitments like a headless hen brought me to the point of exhaustion. I was living yet I had no life. So with packed bags and confident determination, I headed for a different surrounding . America!

Coming to the U.S. was a challenge and a relief. Here, I could dress any way I wanted to without the reprimands of my fashion conscious children. I can now visit places where I only see on t.v. and probably bump into the likes of Richard Gere, Josh Groban and Julia Roberts. And most exciting, I can flirt with whoever I want to without the wagging tongues of neighbors, relatives and well meaning friends. So in short, I am FREE.

Not that I’m a flirt, but being convent bred has always contained my every move. Loud guffaws, indecent skin exposures and immoral behaviors were often condoned. The stare and pouting lips of Sister Lutgard would flash before my eyes every time I am confronted with such situations.

The realization of such restricted movements came during cocktails after a symposium I attended at the U.N. in New York. In one instance, I went to the bar to replenish my drink of merlot. While waiting, a man in his thirties donning a black suit brushed up beside me. I was mesmerized by his Adonis look and Herculian build, the type that makes any woman's knees wobble. Simultaneously extending our hands to the bartender, he looked at me, smiled and then winked .
Just then , I froze. With wine glass in hand, I darted from the bar as fast as I could looking for my husband, who was with me then. I felt like a foolish schoolgirl running away from a pack of wolves and probably from possible danger. Heck those nuns!

Thinking about the incident that night, I just couldn’t sleep. Friends having affairs, flings and adventures of promiscuity dazed my mind. Was I experiencing mid life crisis? Was I combining the 7 year itch and the 15 year anxiety to break the existence of my mundane life? America is huge and no one will know.

Then came the time when my musician son invited me to see him play with his band, a group of 3 Caucasians and himself, at a Brooklyn bar. My daughter in law and I, with some other Filipinos decided to support the group by watching them perform. As we were standing at the far corner of the bar holding our drinks, Paul, the lead singer of my son’s band approached the group . Mind you, I have never met any band member before that night.

Among all the sexy, young brown skinned girls within the group, it was I whom Paul approached to strike some conversation.

“So” Paul starts, “How do you know Wiggy?”
“Wiggy?” I asked questioningly.
“Yes, Wiggy, our drummer in the band. How did you meet? ” said Paul.
“Oh, you mean Wiggy, my son!” I exclaimed.

Paul looked at me intently and was starting to turn shrimp red. Finally he got his composure and said., “Oh! I’m so sorry!” If he was trying to hit on me, then I am flattered.

What’s with these young men anyway?! Just for the record, I’ve never had botox, nor liposuction, but I must say I can still pass for a good catch to to be hit on twice!

That night thoughts of the movie, “The Graduate” roamed through my mind. Is it possible? I wonder how Demi Moore is feeling right now. Just then, Sister Lutgard’s face appeared and the thought immediately vanished . Shame on you , woman, for those sinful thoughts!

Then I met Matthew. His mother introduced us. The moment I set eyes on him, I was in love. Blue eyes, blond hair, Caucasian with the sweetest smile. Although abdominous and many years my junior, his white butt is delicious to behold and he is indeed properly endowed.

Ours is an open affair. Four nights a week, I spend with my husband, and the three nights with Mathew. Don’t get me wrong. I love my husband, but Matthew makes me feel young and energetic.

With Mathew, it’s those special moments of feeling vibrant again. A walk in the park while holding hands, strolling in the woods then playing hide and seek. And the rewards of a find is a tight embrace.

During winter, we would just cuddle with blankets rolled over our legs, eating popcorn while watching T.V. We would have snow fights in the backyard and then drink hot cocoa in between laughters.

Ocassionaly when he wanted something, I would put my face nearer for clarity and on cue, he would plant a kiss. I would snuggle up his neck and sniff as hard. He always seem to smell so good.

On rainy days, we stayed in the family room where we would just have downtime I would be content reading my books while Matthew would be pounding on the computer or doing his puzzles.

Our relationship is more on “old goat teaching new tricks” mode and Matthew just loved it.

In due time, Matthew will realize that his feelings for me will wane and that freedom of some sort is innevitable. I will then have to accept my fate and cherish the moments spent together.

With Matthew it is reminiscing youth with all its trimmings. It is a unique and special kind of love affair. There is no sexual innuendos, nor is there any communication of intellectual comprehensions. Instead, it is a nurturing experience, a learning growth and an unforgettable one of a kind romance which overcomes the difference in race, sex and age.

After all, Matthew is only 2 and a half years old and I’m his nanny.

Three Things Pinoy Kitchens Must Have

The first thing I often miss when I am out of the country is the Filipino food. Many times, it is difficult to look for ingredients, like tanglad, achuete , batong , or ubod. They can only be found in oriental stores. And Ethnic stores are hard to come by especially if you‘re in the midwest. Even eating Chinese food such as the ‘pancits’, lumpia shanghai’s or sweet and sour ‘whatever‘ is not even as close to satisfy the craving for real pinoy food.

However, we Filipinos are creative and we try to improvise just to satiate our palate. I make my fresh lumpia with jicama, ham, and coleslaw veggies while friends wonder where I get my ubod from. Or that I flavor my puto bisaya with orange zest. Or I make my own bagoong by sautéing lots of garlic with anchovies, and eating it with plain rice.

Tools, equipments and appliances, as well as ingredients also play a major role in the preparation of delicious home made cooking. Having said that, let me enumerate a ’must have’ for every OFW who just loves to cook pinoy food and still not be contstrained of time and added resources.


1) RICE COOKER - Rice is the staple diet in the Philippines therefore a rice cooker is a must. We have a National brand Rice Cooker that is turned on 24 hours a day. My family can come home to a meal of hot rice to eat with leftovers or canned something. The only time the cooker is turned off is when it is being replenished by a new batch. Isn’t it that when someone walks inside a pinoy home, the proverbial question is, “Kumain ka na ba?”

2) SLOW COOKER - time constraints often hinder us from cooking favorite dishes like nilaga, kari-kari, tinola, caldereta and other stewed Filipino dishes. By placing the ingredients in the morning and having it ready when you come back after work , makes you feel like you’re in the Philippines sans the maids. Using a slow cooker to cook beans without having to check on it every now and then is a safe way to do and it comes out really soft especially when mixed with your favorite chorizo. Home made beans are better than canned ones, I should say.

3) TURBO BROILER - the best invention for those yummy to make lechon kawali, crispy pata and my favorite ‘bisayang lechon manok’ without the hassles of deep frying or grilling. You can even make bibingka in the turbo.

And if you are truly filipino, there are two ways of preparing adobo. You can either use the slow cooker and when cooked, let it laze in its sauce.

Or after it has been cooked and softened in the slow cooker, you can broil it in the turbo to make it dryer and a little crispy. Then pour a little sauce over it when serving. Now that is truly FILIPINO.

Whether you are just having your own meals at home or planning guests over, the three must haves are all you really need.

I can’t think of anything else….Can you?

Journeying

I am on a journey of finding myself. I realized I have so many unresolved issues that I have to deal with. Issues that I alone can handle if I want to. I may need help along the way or I may not. It remains to be seen and I can only be the one to make that choice.

On my journey I have with me a backpack, a waist belt and a carry on. These are all filled with memories, traditions, cultures and habits. I have also brought along pride, guilt, fear, faith and many more. Inside my bag, I also hold people that are dear to me, my spouse, my children, my relatives, a few friends and my past. Some I may keep, others I may let go.

I don't know what's going to happen, but I know that time will just tell if my journey was worth even the trip or in consequence, was it ever worth the thought.

My journey will have my two feet firmly planted on the ground, with ears open, eyes shined and thought as sharp and loaded with gigabytes, ready for sponging in favorable information and picking off the bits of useless ones.

I will chose my own path, so I will have no one to blame for any lost directions. I will do what I think is right so I will not be judgemental of anyone but myself.

It's all about me. Yes, everything is about me. The sin of the world. The ego of life. The center letter of the word sin is the "I". Me, mine, my..That's just what this is all about.

How can I give, when I have none.
How can I heal, when I am hurting
How can I teach, when I haven't learned.

Now, I am ready for the walk. Let me do baby steps, where each foot is a struggle, and every stretch is a challenge. Yet, like a baby who says, " My do it .." or "no help me," or "myself." I will prevail.

Yet when I reach that age of enlightenement when my life just passes before me like a click of a mouse, I would have deleted the unfavorable and retained the important.
Then when the realization comes, I will all tell you of my journey.

Child philogagging

Logic, Wisdom, Knowledge?...These are disciplines which baffles me everytime I encounter an experience that requires my utmost ability to make use of any. Wanna be a philosopher? Talk to a four year old and he will bring you to an infinite regression where every question requires an answer and the ultimate answer will lead you to a Creator.

A child's first encounter with the world and how he communicates is by instinct. When he's hungry, wet, or irritable he cries. This is the signal that a child needs attention. As he grows older, sign languages become predominant which will eventually lead to single words. A child starts gaining knowledge by identifying certain objects and actions. Simple words like 'eat', 'milk' and 'booboo' enter his vocabulary as something physical. Later on, association with intangibles called emotions such as being 'mad', 'happy', angry integrate with a host of more complexities.

Then as a child grows to the age of accountability, he realizes that the effects do have causes, and therefore the need for more knowledge and logic permeates the innocent mind. So the proverbial "Why?" is often associated with this age.
Two ways of handling situations always come to mind. The "what I know best" Way or the "Filipino Way"

"WHAT I KNOW BEST WAY!"

mom: Dong, time to eat na.
kid: Mommy, why do I have to eat? I just want to play, mommy.
mom: we all have to eat, so we can have energy go play
kid: why, mommy?
mom: food makes our body move.
kid: why ?
mom: just like a car needs gasoline to run, we need food.
kid: why?
mom: when you play, don't you sweat?
kid: yes
mom: and when you feel like, don't you go potty.
kid: yes
mom: well, its the food in your body that makes you do all these things
when you play, the food gives you the energy to run fast, and then
the food comes out in the form of your sweat.And when you go potty
the food again comes out in another form. So if you have no
food anymore inside of you, you'll be too weak to run and play.
kid: why?
mom: well, thats how our body works.
kid: why?
mom: because we were made that way.
kid: why?
mom: God made us that way?
kid: why?
mom: your food is getting cold. I'll answer you when you finish your food
kid: okay mommy!

or you can answer "THE FILIPINO WAY"

mom: Dong, time to eat na.
kid: 'Nay, why do we have to eat?
mom: stop asking too many questions, now EAT!
kid: Pero nay, I still want to play.
mom: Sigue, if you don't eat, the Lord will get angry.

(end of story)

Sounds familiar? I guess as Filipinos, we are responsible in raising our kids the right way. When we refer a Creator as the ultimate cause, then we have established his Being. Let me give you my own factual experience in explaining to an American four year old, when he asked me regarding my race.

William: Tita, why is your color brown and I am white.
me: Well, its because we are made differently. I have more melanin cells
in my body while you have less (buti na lang I read a lot)
William: why?
me: Well, that's because in my country, we have summer all year long.
Which means I need to have more protection from the sun.
William: why? what you mean?
me: remember,when we go swimming,we need to put on sunblock so we wont
burn? right?!
William: yes?!
me: well the melanin cells are sort of a sunblock that we have inside us.
You have less melanin cells because you are less exposed to the sun.
Isn't it that during the winter and the fall we stay mostly indoors
therefore we're not being hit by the sun often, right?
William: Yyyeeaahh?!
me thats how melanin cells were made and work.More exposure to the sun, more
melanin cells needed to protect our body.
William: oh that's why?
me: And if you see darker people then that's becaue their grandmother's
grandmother's grandmother used to live in places where the sun
always hit their skin and so melanin cells were more.
William: Oh! OOOookkkaaayyyy......(end of discussion)

now let me tell you how a filipino would answer:

toto : 'nay! why are some people white and some people black?
nanay : kasi, To, kasalanan ni Lord.
toto : bakit, nay.
nanay : long time ago, the Lord decided to make people. Tapos,sa heaven
He had a huge oven. He cooked the people inside the oven.Yung mga
americano, kulang ang pagkaluto kaya medyo puti. Yung
mga negro, nakalimutan niya sa oven tapos kaya nasunog, nangitim sila.
Eh tayo, mahal tayo ng Lord, so tamang tama lang pagkaluto...( what a story! eh, what about the albinos, did God's oven not work?)


Fear, as someone said, is not the absence of courage but the absence of knowledge. Our elders of yesteryears tried to concoct stories and folklores just to satisfy a questioning mind, thereby sometimes opening up traditional superstition whose purpose is self serving. (sorry, but i could exemplify more in bisaya)

'nay, ngano dili pwede abrihon ang payong sa balay?
'kay malas man gud!
'ngano man 'nay?
kay kung abrihon gud, unya naay swerte sa balay, mura man imong gisalikway..
ah, bitaw noh?

this is an aged old superstition which i think has no basis. I could only conclude that years ago, someone came inside the house with a wet umbrella. To easily dry it off, the umbrell needed to be opened. But since the house was probably small
and occupied the whole house, a wet umbrella would cause more mess (thus the malas). Or an open umbrella drives the malas away like it drives the rain away. Being inside a house on a wet day is a blessing, therefore having it opened, drives away the blessing inside the house. (is that logical for a child? guess so.) And poor kid carries that tradition from generation onwards until someone is smart enough to refute it. (probably an aetheist in the family)

Making up stories to satiate an innocent mind leads to a question of credibility. Along the way, a child will know if you are fibbing or not because he will eventually realize fact from fiction. William Occam, a Franciscan friar and logician says that finding the simplest solution to an answer is the best way of understanding rather than presenting its complexities. Thus, we often find ourselves in story telling scenarios with our children and get amaze with our own creative minds. But how can we keep things simple and still be believeable.

A five year old once asked his father,"Dad, where's mom?"
Dad says," Mommy is at a Tupperware party."
The explanation satisfied the boy for a moment but then he asked his dad,
"what's a tupperware party dad?"
Figuring out the simplest and best explanation he said, "well son, a Tupperware party is a bunch of ladies sitting around and selling plastics to each other."
The boy burst out laughing, "Oh come on dad! what is it really?"

Well, from that incident, a Tupperware party IS indeed a bunch of ladies selling plastic to each other. But I guess Tupperward International sees it as more complex that we'd like to think of.

Books have become an influence in our lives and the only ones we were exposed to were imported, thus becoming part of who we are. We tried to become
like "them" instead of being just us.

As I write this piece, I am compelled to share my burden for the little minds that are being influened by foreign values. Rather than instilling our very own heritage, our christmasses are snowmen, eggnogs and a fat,guy in red suit called Santa bringing gifts; That fall and spring are seasons instead of actions or that toilet paper is so "in" while a tabo of water is so "out". Where Mother's Day, Father's Day and Valentine's Day is part of the Filipino holidays.

The notion of children being seen and not heard is still practiced in many a Filipino homes. I once asked my aunt if that held true for us while growing up because at some point we did keep quiet. It was much clearer when my aunt said that we were allowed to speak our minds, but we were not allowed to question the elders.

Moreover, growing up, emotions were suppressed and an outburst would be considered disrespect or a sign of immaturity. No wonder controlled and negative feelings manifested itself in many forms such as corruption, greed and vengeance. And you wonder why our government is what it is today?

If I were to 'make a difference', I would make books taking away all the foreign themes and instead of Mr. Scrooge, I would probably make "Mr. Mah Lung Kot", a chinese who thinks of nothing but business and hording rice. Or about emotions expressing itself without being disrespectful. Or about what to do when you think something is not right. The subjects are unlimited and filipno stories are endless.

Let's "nip the bud", while we can. As the bible says, "train the child,in the way he should go, and when he does,he will not depart from it. When this is done, it is easier to prime the vine.

I wake up to the sound of pitter patter come inside the room. My 2 year old grandchild, Andrea walks in, with a pacifier in her mouth. She sees a hunk under the comforter blanket thinking it is her mom. Andrea slides under the covers and stays beside me. Three minutes later, she slowly scoots her way to the edge of the bed, stands up and then runs back to her room, where her sister and dad are sleeping. I guess our noiseless communication says it all.

I have been baby sitting my grandchildren for 2 days now while my son and his wife are busy working. They have different schedules every week. My son works afternoon shift at a music store, while my daughter in law is a nurse and takes the evening shift. Somewhere in between, leaves my grandchildren without a caretaker so my husband and I fill in, when the need arises. Such is the life in America. That is why Mike and I would say that our mission here is 'apostolic'-- meaning bantay mga apo..

Today, Wednesday, both my son and his wife have their day off. This would give me a chance to go home to my own abode and do necessary chores. It is still 6 in the morning, too early to do anything much. After that intrusion from my granddaughter, I am wide awake. I go to the kitchen, make myself a cup of coffee and head to the computer to check on my latest e-mails. I turn on the t.v. for the news and weather report.

Just then, an idea struck me. Why not go to New York and see for yourself what NBC looks like when they do the TODAY show? As thoughts escalated through my mind, I catch myself getting excited every minute. The next thing I knew, I was dressed in my jeans and a denim blazer with my black Prada backpurse at my back. I told my son the previous night that I would go home today, but I didn't expect I would leave this early.

I caught the 7 o'clock Manhattan bound bus and about 20 minutes later, I was in Rockefeller Center. On a whole block side area between two buildings, a cordon was made and about 5 different stage sets were placed. A special walkway for viewers of the show and another for passers-by were made to instill traffic flow of people. I caught myself go in through the viewers path, where a man at the entrance asked to check my backpack for security purposes.

Inside the cordoned area, cameramen, crew, staff were busily moving about. Wires were like snakes winding their ways around sets. Lights were glaringly focused on sets. There were already viewers stationing themselves on the rails. The first set had a rectangular table with what looked like half cooked barbequed ribs, a chopping board and some sauces while on the side was a portable grill, smoke coming out from its sides. Walking further, I am standing behind a backdrop where I see two bar stools and with flowering plants accentuating the whole stage scene. A few yards was another set with what looked like a booth with a bar. Sand was its floor base and on the bar were bottles of sunblocks and lotions. A few yards from the bar was a step up of another beach like stage. A little farther had a different setting. This time it looked like a wedding scene where flowerlike spring ambience was in the air. Two wedding cakes were on different tables facing each other and behind it was a floral backdrop. And finally another table, much like similar to the previous stage was a rectangular table covered in cloth and on it were colored cupcakes in tiered plastic containers.

In between the last two stage sets was a small path that led to a door of the NBC headquarters. This was where Matt Lauer, Meredith Viera and the rest would buzzle from the indoor set to the outdoor. I then called up Mike from his slumber and told him to turn on to channel 4, just in case...

I was able to be on the second row of people already queing up behind the last stage set. The weather was cooperating although showers were predicted that day. The moment, the stars of Good Morning America walked through the door, fans started screaming. I didn't know what reaction to make but I could have sworn I had a stiff jaw from smiling ear to ear. The lady in front of me had a daughter who was dressed in blue graduation gear complete with a cap and hood. Meredith Viera went to her and congratulated her,and I was in full view. Behind Ms. Viera's wrinkles, lay a beautiful woman both inside and out. I am so impressed with her demeanor and her star personallity. She is the epitome of "the anchor woman" with such humor and wit. Matt Lauer didn't seem as friendly, but he did make an effort. The segment of the stage set where I was located was that of the amazing race-couples edition. The cupcakes that were on the table were for the couples to sell or give away and then to ask for donations for something. I dished out a dollar and got my chocolate cupcake with a domino shaped icing on top. When the segment was over, some people decided to move.

AT this point, I also started to move toward the exit area only to be slowed down by the throng of people blocking the first stage set. Apparently, that part of the show belonged to Martha Stewart. True enough, as I was about to leave, Martha and Meredit started to move towards the set and in a few minutes started their dialogues about barbeque and grilling. Sensing myself through the crowd, I was able to go right behind the Today banners. From that vantage point, I was still able to see Martha Stewart, within a few yards from me.

Since I was getting tired of stretching my neck and having a stiff jaw from smiling, I decided to call it a day and proceeded to the nearest exit. Walking to Penn Station, where a train would take me back to New Jersey, I was surprise at what I just did...Going to a t.v. station to look for stars. What else, di ba? Thank God it was only Mike who saw!

M&M (memories and music)

I am normally not a concert bug, but when ‘Santana’ decided to play at Madison Square Garden, I did not hesitate to get tickets. During my teen years, his music was “it” in all dancing parties. I remember those times (about 30some years ago), when our dancing parties were held in houses.

The living room would be emptied of stuff, with chairs lined up against the wall, leaving the center space for dancing. The place was dimly lighted except for occasional colored lights strategically placed. At other times, ‘katol’ was the only light you could see, thus adding some aroma effect. (incense wasn't that popular yet) The sound system were mostly vinyl long playing albums or the 45 rpm type.

Anyway, the party would start when most of the chairs would be filled up by the ladies and the music would commence. At the sound of the first note, the guys would rush to their choice of ladies and extend their hands to invite them for a dance. The lady would then reciprocate by touching the guys hand, who will then lead her to the dance floor. After the music ends, if the guy was a gentleman, he would return his dancing partner to her seat; otherwise both would just separate at the dance floor, leaving the woman to find her way back to her seat.

I would remember those times at a party, when at the note of a Santana song, two to five hands would be in front of my face. I would look up to choose who I would be dancing with, but the guys were smart because they would turn their faces away with hands extended for the invite. I would presume that this behavior was a testicular game. Well, at this point, I really didn’t care, just as long as I could dance to the music of ‘oye como va‘ .

Santana and his band really brought out the memories in me. This time, I did not have to wait for any guy to dance with me (although my husband was beside me). When Santana would play a familiar song, I would gyrate in my seat, move my head (now I know what a head bang is) and sometimes clap my hands or click my fingers to the beat . I would have wanted to stand but desisted from doing, so as not to distract the view of those behind me. I just made a joyful but loud noise on my own. After the 2 hour show, my adrenalin was still high and I was still smiling as we took the train back home.

Recalling the parties we had, and comparing them to my children’s were totally different. I remembered when my first born son Wiggy, asked to have a party at home. My role was just the food and he would do the rest. That night turned out to be a total revelation.
Early in the evening, my son and some of his friends were jamming at home. (My son had his first Pearl drum set when he was 15). I didn’t understand his music, but I guess they were today’s sound by the look of the guests’ faces. Some girls came by themselves to the party, which during my day was totally unheard of. (a guy had to pick you up chaperoned or would be dropped off by a parent). Since I prohibited hard liquor, san mig beer and soda were their only drinks. Punch was passe. After their jamming, they ate and after that,the whole night was spent on talking…drinking …talking…and drinking …..and .. talking… I was waiting for the dance to start, but there wasn’t any, to my surprise. My son and his brood of guests were having a blast just by talking and laughing and making fun. No dancing, no katol, no dark lights. Surprisingly too, no sweet /slow dancing. This meant, no wall flower. Ask a teener what the word meant and he wouldn’t have a clue. (Actually when one is considered a wall flower, there were few or no invites from the males--very discriminatory)

Fast forward 15 years after my son’s party, present day 2008, I am now at a Brooklyn bar, sipping a margarita in a plastic cup. With me is my daughter in law and a few of her friends. The bar is dimly lit, and scores of young adults in their 20's are inter mingling with each other. While we wait for my son and his band to perform their gig, we squeeze our way through the crowded bar towards the rear side where a pool table was situated. A few yards right behind the pool table was another closed area where the bands would play. Tonight it would be my first time to hear my son play with his band in America.

I have heard him play in the Philippines with other Filipinos, but this is the first time I would hear him play with three other nationalities . Moreover, it was a first also for me to be in a bar in the U.S. Half a drink later, Wiggy's band<> started to set up. We then proceeded to the next room and situated ourselves near the stage. Just as the room was filling up, the band started to play. The momentum gradually started building up, and by the second song, people started dancing. I could not contain myself and even moved with the rhythm. The whole evening came with the euphoria such that of Santana at Madison Square Garden. My adrenalin remained at its peak that evening as we came home. I am so proud of my son.

Click to this site and you will know what I'm talking about.

http://www.myspace.com/thegloriousveins

Whether it's a Santana or The Glorious Veins, for as long as you feel the beat, you just got to let go.

My experiences

I have been very busy the past weekends right before Christmas and until now. It is only during the weekends that I am free to do what I want but have not done so since I have a husband to attend to, children to shop for, grandchildren to baby sit and a host of other house chores to do. And by the time I plan to do something for myself, the weekend has been consumed and I'm back on the daily grind.

Today is the second Sunday of February. After morning service , Mike and I had a quiet lunch. AFter, I got ready to go to the library where I plan to spend a whole afternoon just thinking . If only he'd have the router fixed so I can just stay home and do internet in bed.

So here I am, pounding the keys of my laptop, oblivious of my surroundings.
This morning I decided to write about my school experience.

St. Theresa's was the only school I attended. Be it in San Marcelino in Manila, Quezon City and finally in Cebu.

When I was in Grade 6 being a board monitor or to carry the books of a teacher was a priviledge. It meant that you were in the teacher's favor. I was a favored one of Mrs. Pacaldo who at that time recognized my ballet skill. She asked me to create 5-6 ballet steps for her Grade 1 pupils, which she would use for a program. The times I would be called out of class for a few minutes to join Ms. Pacaldo's Grade 1 class was like being in cloud 9.

Then there was Ms. Rodriguez, my language teacher, who thought that I should represent her class in a declamation contest. It was indeed an honor since the piece that I declaimed was the same piece that my mother did during her elementary days. I did not give it justice, since my mom placed first and I only placed third.

The best times of my high school life was during my senior year.

My first summer job, right before my senior year, was being a secretary to a fraternity (and if my memory serves me right, it was called 'the Gazebians'). They embarked on a concert that brought in a then aspiring group called "the Apo Hiking Society". My association with one of the singers was memorable however, short lived considering that long distance relationships has never been me. After that stint, although the Apo continues to be famous and does numerous appearances, that one and only show I saw was just as eventful. And just as well, the summer job was just for that summer.

Academically speaking, I was good in Math but never in the Sciences. In Algebra,Geometry and Trigonometry I was in the top 5 of the class. However I flunked Biology, and in Science and Physics I was always in the bottom 5. Jesse, a tall and lanky cute looking (at that time) male was our physics teacher. Jesse was not only a teacher but a friend, after all, he was just 5 years my senior and was Mike's classmate. (again!) I became a priviledged student when it came to him. My classmates knew it because they saw and felt it. If they wanted to tell him something, sometimes they would come to me. I became their link, their mediator...Anyway, I will never forget that time when he called me in my house. He was disappointed about our grades and our performances, because it was not up to par. But then he did a little explanation and came up with a solution. Instead of expecting too much from all of us, he decided to lower his standard. In his standard, I was suppose to flunk, (and so would many others), however, since he was lowering his standard would 77% be allright by me? If he was not on the phone, I could've kissed him. It's better than a failing grade noh? Nevertheless, I was just glad we were friends and not just a teacher-student relationship. During my senior year, I was 'kilig to the bones' when I was being treated special. And did I tell you, we went on a double date during my senior year. Is that something or what! Just like the apo moment, the physics moment also came to an end. That same year!

In college, I became a 'star' during my freshmen year. St. Theresa's Cebu presented an annual play entitled 'Terana'. I was chosen to do the lead role. The male roles were given to the seminarians of San Carlos under the direction of Fr. Rudy Villanueva, our musical director. We practiced for 2 months and went home no later than 9 every night. It was my first time singing solo so my grandmother enrolled me under a renowned vocalist in Cebu. Two weeks before curtain call, I got sick. My fever was so high that I was completely dazed. My mother ordered me to have I.V. fluids and was kept home for 2 days to recuperate. Luckily I did bounce back and was able to do all the shows.

Having had that experience has caused me to differ any ambition with the industry. I am content with the behind the scene experiences as contrast to the front line battlefield.

During my third year college, (and in this order) I became pregnant, got married, and gave birth to my first born. We were living with my in-laws so there were many adjustments to be made. It was also during this time that I got a job as a nursery school teacher. A relative had a school and needed part time help. And my husband, still finishing his senior year in college and doing part time as draftsman, didn't want additional burden on his parents so we took in jobs. So juggling my hours from being a teacher, student, mother and an in-law was difficult.

Two years after becoming a mom, I graduated my bachellors degree in accounting. AFter this we moved out of my in-laws and rented an apartment right accross my in-laws house.
Being a homebody or just being a 'housewife' was not part of my job description for my life. Managing might be, but not the manual aspect of it.

My mother was often out of the house. She was doing office work at the printing press of my dad. Or was selling insurance in my grandfather's company. She was seldom home. And when my parents separated, and I lived with my mom, my grandmother was the influential person in my life. I would have all my meals with my maternal grandparents and Lola Panyang will never cease to put in my head to get a college degree no matter what. It is the ticket to my future.

Moreover, my grandma was a socialite. I would help her whenever she had parties. I know her ritual very well. A week before the party she would have the servants put out the china and the silver ware to be cleaned. She would then set the plates in their places and cover it with a blanket for the dust. Two days before, she would have the whole place decorated. Cutting orchids from the garden, bringing in the plants and placing strategically all over. The day before the party, the serving plates will be lined up in the buffet table, complete with serving spoons and forks. All this would be done by the servants but at your command. I can distinctly remember her telling me, "Vanette, use your mouth and not your hands. Sit down and tell them what to do!" This was my first lesson in manegerial skills. Lola was a good manager.

Okay...got to go..the library is about to close..will write more about what life is for me after college. Whoever reads this hope you had fun.

Just Thinking

When one follows the teachings of Christ, does that automatically qualify him as a Christian? Or when someone follows the Zen teaching and meditates, does one become a Buddhist? Many times, religion dictates some rituals that have to be initiated before being considered a follower.
That’s the issue about organized and institutionalized spirituality. Adhering to practices and rituals are not the basis of embracing true spirituality. If so, then it is called religion.

To be a catholic, it is mandatory as a child to be baptized by water. In other denominations of Christianity, it is total immersion (like in a pool or water bath) and only after some self realizations . Either way, it is still a ritual. Moreover, there is a contention that once an unbeliever commits to the ‘sinner’s prayer’, he has started his journey to becoming a Christian. But how then, will you know.

So how do you know you are a Christian?

I do not go around announcing that I am Christian, not because I am afraid to proclaim Christ but because if things go wrong and people see the sinfulness in me, (which is often how many people judge) they will associate that behavior with my belief. However, on the other hand, if people see the goodness and admire the works as a result, I am quick to imply that I have had the teaching of the great master, Jesus Christ.

I am reminded of a story when we had our STC silver jubilee a few years back. As part of the week long affair, a group of 30 Theresians, including myself, decided to spend a day at Bohol Beach Club. It was an hour and a half boat ride from Cebu so we decided to leave first trip in the morning. As we gathered in the terminal, the group became rambunctious and had turkey like laughters., when one gobbled , the rest followed. It was not like we were teenagers, we were in our 40’s! Nevertheless, when it was time to board, the leader of our group decided to shout for all to hear, “HEY you pretty INMACULADISTAS! Time to BOARD!’ We all looked at her and she whispered, “Shush! I know we were loud and rude, and I had to make sure we kept our Theresian dignity, so for those who don’t know us, now they think that Inmaculadistas are the rowdy ones.”

The scenario depicted is one where the sinful nature is exemplified and decreasing the impact of undignified behavior has placed the blame on someone else. Like Adam’s own sin when the Lord asked him whether he ate the forbidden fruit, and he claims, “Lord the woman you gave me, she made me do it.” (Gen 3:12)

So again, how do you know you are a Christian? The bible says, “you will know them by their fruits.” (Mathew 7:16) Explicitly said. So if a person is good, kind and bears as much fruit in terms of what the ‘Christian ethics’ seem to say, will you consider him a Christian even without a sinner’s prayer or immersion in water?

On the other hand, if one did all the rituals, prayed the sinners prayer and proclaimed Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior yet is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, does that negate him from heavenly promises.

Christianity when done as an organized religion more often than not, misses out the real meaning of its true teachings. Some churches stick to the dogmas, leaving very little room for practicum in the large scale scenario. When asked if organized religion can approach God, Michael Cunningham, a journalist had this to say: “…I do think that the very idea of dogma--the notion that I’m right and you’re wrong-- opens the door to the kind of extremism that clearly seems to be the most dangerous force in the world today.”

A few years ago, a pastor who was very close to us, erred in his ‘spiritual walk’. We did what the bible dictated which is called the ‘3 steps’. Confront personally, then bring a witness, then finally bring it up to the authorities in the church. (Mathew 18:15-17) However, the tables were turned against us by the pastor to the point that we were accused of spreading false rumors. The very person that we looked up to, whom we have only cared with the best of interest, has now become a perpetrator. The religious institution that we thought would bring answers to our spiritual growth has now been the ground for much doubt and skepticism. The very people who called themselves Christians in the church, were now taking sides.

It is sad to note that the very teaching of Christ about forgiveness and compassion is not the path that is taken but is often only a subject for conversations and counselling. The true meaning of Christianity has been argued with verses of scripture, and interpretations of scholars. Yet in all these gymnastics of apologetics and excergesis, the walk is more pronounced than the talk.

In Northern Ireland, there is a very strong rift between the Catholics and the Protestants to the point that killings from either denominations are ordinary. There is what they call a Peace Line made of a 5 meter concrete and metal structure which separates one from the other. Some consider it like the Berlin Wall in Germany. When the Dalai Lama visited Northern Ireland to give a speeck to both factions, he was saddened by such division and said, “ Isn’t it incredible that people of the same Christian faith should fight one with another?” Then he continued, “it seems foolish. I feel as if my head is spinning around from your problems. If somebody compared Buddhism and Christianity, then we have to think, yes, there are big differences. But between Catholics and Protestants? It’s nothing! You and I have more differences than you do among yourselves. But I wish for you never lose hope. I can do nothing. The final outcome lies in the hands of the people of Northern Ireland.”

Such is the case even among us Christians in the sense that we are so fixed on the letter of the law, the dogmas, the doctrines, the essentials and even the fundamentalism of the faith, that we forget the true meaning of the lessons.

Fast forward several years (present day now), the erring pastor has been exposed by no less than his paramour with whom he has two children. A friend says, that I have been vindicated and that God is in control. We were all saddened (and to be honest--relieved) about this revelation that the only recourse now was for the pastor to be disfellowshiped.

Disfellowship would mean disassociation from the person and having no fellowship until he repents. To whom, I say? To the church, to God? To the faithful he conned? To his family?

In Mathew 18:17 (again my christian friends remind me) “..if he neglects to hear the church, let him be unto thee as an heathen man and a publican.” So the phrase here is actually to the church. The pastor who once became part of a church is now placed back again into the pool of unbelievers or people needing evangelization.

The bible never gave instructions for us not to associate with the sinners. In reality, Jesus loved being with the sinners more than the Pharisees, because the sinners were more authentic. The Pharisees were so engrossed with following the laws, trying to pin down Jesus with their laws and thus quick to make judgments.
In John Fischer’s book “12 steps for a recovering Pharisee including me”,he makes this statement.

“ It’s the Pharisees in us that wants control, and more than anything we want control over the rules of the game (This is common in all religions) When we follow this pattern, it works to our supposed advantage in the following way: We set a standard that some, but not all, are capable of achieving. This standard usually has the weight of an acceptable authority behind it.(in the Pharisees case it was the law of Moses, with today’s Christianity it can be one’s inerpretation of theBible) and yet it is conveniently reinterpreted and reduced to some picky list of do’s and don’ts that some people can’t do and others simply don’t care about, with good reason.”
Ido not condemn churches who disfellowship their members for good reason. They need to impose drastic steps to insure the untainting of the flock. For if when a rotting egg is placed in a basket, the whole bunch will turn rotten. Or the term identification by association can be disadvantageous to a congregation that have harbor notorious infidels.
On the other hand biblical teaching also states that if one sheep has strayed, the shepherd will go and leave the 99 looking for just that one sheep. Have we done our part in restoring that one sheep? Or do we wait as the father waited in the story of the prodigal son. Who knows how to judge the situation except the players or actors themselves?

I will contend with my belief that our God is merciful and no matter how sinful a person is, he can be restored one way or the other. It is not my contention to stay away from a sinner with a ten foot pole just so he will learn a lesson. A conscientious person will know the consequences of his actions. And a leper, even with the least of affliction, will know who his real friends are.

To restore an erring man of the robe is not as easy as it may sound. Like a teacher that hates to be taught or a driver that hates to be driven, certain approaches need be considered before taking on such task. And the first thing to do is just be a friend. That was what Jesus did when he was among sinners. He became their friend and not a judge that stayed away, or a Pharisee that questioned their every move. That to me is Christianity in the raw.

And to my beautiful cousin Fran, to your question what is it to be a Christian since all the other religions do the same thing, my answer is to follow Jesus Christ and His teachings. Now my challenge to you is, who is Jesus Christ and what are His teachings? That is for you to find out. Have fun, my cuzin!

Being Christian

One of the greatest compliment that I got from an atheist last year was the phrase, “ I wish all Christians were like you.” I pondered and thought what being “christian” really meant and how others perceive people to be ‘christian’.

A month ago, Christmas was celebrated to commemorate the birth of a saviour. However, many have confided the loss of its meaning. Even with family reunions and company parties, there are still broken relationships needing forgiveness or pride permeating the supposed jovial atmosphere. And with such materialism going around, many engage themselves with exceeding debts just to create that ‘show’ of prosperity that goes along with the season.

So what is a christian? It’s just like saying what is Christmas? Both words stem from the word Christ, yet, we have lost both the essential meanings and perspective of the word .

I was born catholic, if there was ever a term, but I became a christian believer 20 some years ago. It was not so much a soul searching kind of thing like most people that ‘converted’ would have done given an adversity on their lives. Mine were questions needing answers when the term “blind faith” no longer existed in my vocabulary. Doctrinal issues was one, way of life was another and a whole new perspective and dimension completed the whole picture.

My new found ’born-again experience introduced me into an ’us verses them’ mentality that I now came to realize only as being judgemental and sheltered. The thought of being confined to what my oldies termed as “don’t question those older than you” concept began to delve into the inner quest of learning more. After all, people do make mistakes. And when I did find my new faith more logical, I decided to go into it with passion and fire.

So when my relatives asked me what made me jump from Catholic to being protestant ,I immediately came into the most childish of answers. I would often conclude that many catholics are hypocritical.

Sunday christians go to mass to be seen, among other things. The males stay outside of the church smoking, and chatting with other males, then conclude that they have gone to church. Communion time comes, often make you segregate the more sinful commutants than those that are seemingly pious. You often become judgemental when gossipers walk up the altar to taste that round wafer letting the world know of their sinlessness , when just hours ago they were hurling curses .

And at other times, the feeling of only the the rich and moneyed have more access to the heavens. Every traditional ritual has a fee attached to it. Whether it is baptism, extreme unction, marriage, an amount is demanded before it is performed. Moreover, praying for the dead even had a fee whose names the priest blurted out during mass. Once when I was growing up, I could hear the priest say, “remember the souls of the departed such as ----and then he would say a litany of names. Few names meant fewer collection. And if there were more names, it would be carried over to the next mass. Oh Well! That was what it seemed when I was growing up.

I have long been out of touch with the the catholic rituals but I do enter the historical church buildings to admire their architecture. Sometimes, the walls talk to me as if for some reason they do have a story to tell. A wayward priest, an illicit affair, a scandalous episode…oh if only bricks could confide. But then again, these are just cement structures, and I probably have too much imagination.

The real church I later found out are the people that congregate. The fellowship, the sharing, and the closeness that is often felt by being part of a family. I have been blessed to experience having that kind of church. And even more. I have been in leadership, as well as behind the scenes.
Yet inspite of all these, the truly born-again experience is one that is deep, meaningful and life changing.

It does not jump from one religion of hierarchical dimension to another that is seemingly righteous and logical. Because in a way, religion develops its own culture whatever the denomination.

Many Christians are infatuated with their own churches. They have lost the true meaning of what being a Christian is. Sometimes, because of our passion for the Lord,we often force our beliefs on others oblivious to their feelings and thoughts. We do ambush evangelizations and engage in endless debates of how wrong their thoughts are if it does not jibe with what we believe in. Everywhere we go, the word “Lord” is always in all our statements.

There is nothing wrong with having a passionate and purposeful belief, but many ‘outsiders’ perception are often turned off by such tactics that instead of believers attracting them to the person of Christ, they are turned off by the ‘evangelist’ arm twisting and condescending attitude. Moreover, consciously or not, the arrogant behavior of many Christians often justify themselves with their feelings of moral and spiritual superiority.


For those so called “them” or “unbelievers” Christianity today no longer represent what Jesus had in mind, or what it was meant to be. As one outsider said, “Christianity has become bloated with blind followers who would rather repeat slogans than actually feel true compassion and care. Christianity has become marketed and streamlined into a juggernaut of fear mongering that has lost its own heart.”

So, how do we go about sharing God’s word without being judgmental and hypocritical? Or without being too pushy to the extent of not being welcomed? Many Christians often talk about the sinfulness of others, yet they fail to do anything about it. Sometimes, telling someone to pray for another is often a disguise for simple gossip, or that inviting an ‘unbeliever’ to a meal with a hidden agenda of evangelizing is no help in being called a ‘christian’.

We realize that there are many hurting people who do need comfort and a pill of preaching doesn’t always help. Moreover, people who portray a pious front yet in reality are worse than mongrels portray conflicting values. That is why Jesus would probably like to hang out with sinners and prostitutes , because they are transparent and do not have to prove anything.

Philip Yancey in his book what’s so amazing about grace clarifies the situation very well:

Having spent time around “sinners” and also around purported saints, I have a hunch why Jesus spent so much time with the former group: I think he preferred their company. Because the sinners were honest about themselves and had no pretense. Jesus could deal with them. In contrast, the saints put on airs, judged him, and sought to catch him in a moral trap. In the end it was the saints, not the sinners, who arrested Jesus.

Asking a denomination of ones belief often puts the situation into a them or us mentality. Wherein ones belief is a ticket for such an elitist organization and those without tickets, are grilled to join in. I have passed that stage.

My previous mentors would often say, “don’t just believe what I say, check your bible.” I have done that, and even went beyond. Or when the term “go, and make disciples…” I have done that too, with the arm twisting and the meal with the hidden agenda .Yet inspite of all these religious gymnast, I have learned that it is not I (or the ego) that is at work but most often is the case. We forget that the heart of these problems is really the problem of the heart.

Take the case of reacting to criticisms? If someone says that Christ and Santa are just one and the same, they are myths. Do we go baraging that critic for his shallow belief and false knowledge of the truth? Or when a prostitute and gossiper do their wayward deeds, are we quick to judge and condemn as such.

I have been criticized for being a relativist in the sense that I do not stand up for my faith. In reality, I do, but I choose my battles. The what would Jesus do slogan, makes us think twice before reacting to any given situation like those mentioned above. Many times Jesus was cornered and picked on by his critics about his morality and religious beliefs, yet he always answered them unpredictably. Sometimes in parables, in a question back forum or sometimes even in silence. Moreover, being careful into answering what lies behind the question or the motive, Jesus answers with deep insights that leave the crowd into thinking.

Being a relativist makes you understand the other person’s point of view. This kind of thinking makes me realize how to connect with people, their totality in a sense. Let me illustrate: One christian lady whose father was a policeman of the streets, say that the prostitutes in america sell their bodies to feed their habits. Either drugs, high living or convenience is the name of the game.However, when this same lady went on a missions trip in Thailand, she found a different story. Poor women who have children and whose husbands have left them, have no choice but to prostitute themselves in order to survive. This revelation came as a surprise and her outlook has extended to a more understanding of the ‘outside’ world.

Responding with the right perspective in mind is always beneficial. A condescending and condemning sprit has no place in drawing people near and listening to what you have to say.
Simply put, when an aspiring saint asked Mother Theresa, “How can I be like you?” her simple response was, “Find your own Calcutta.” She understood the core of the Christian life- the truest knowing comes in the doing.

PG10 (pursuing 10 goals)

New Year’s resolutions usually end up as empty promises unless followed up diligently up to the last 365th day when a new one takes its place.Therefore, in my case, I would rather make goals that are doable which can be qualified as well as quantified.


Here are my goals and how I think I shall achieve or even surpass them:


1) Top of the list would be my romance with food. Try to dine on restaurants owned by Iron Chef Mario Batalli, and Morimoto.


2) Moreover, I am blessed to be living close to New York City where there are so many restaurants featuring ethnic cuisine such as Jamaican, Turkey, African etc.. At least I would like to try one weird dish from a culture which I know nothing of.


3) It would be nice to watch at least 3 broadway shows this year.(Jersey Boys, Mama Mia and another one to be decided later )


4) Go down 2 sizes more. Two years ago, when I had my medical check up, I was 10 pounds overweight. A few months ago, I lost almost about 8 of those pounds and went down a size and a half lower. I will take out those two pounds from my waist and be my size again of 20 years ago. If I made it in 2 years without really trying, I will probably make it this time with much focus.


5) I am determined to make 5 books this year. You might think that’s way above my head. But didn’t you know I’m making children’s books? The memoirs and biographies are still in process and will take several years. But children’s books, well I have one already made out. That’s why I’m learning how to use the PDF and then go POD. With an Illustrator and my story, that makes a book, doesn’t it? (actually this goal is wishful thinking really)


6) Going organic is one way to have a healthy body and eventually a sound mind. Mike and I have decided to cut down on meats and keep our diet simple. Which means, we will only eat steak twice a year and will not settle for anything less, not even the Angus one. We are eyeing for the one they call the ‘aged beef’ because we want to know why it’s so expensive. So Veggies and Fruits are the thing for us now.


7) I will collect 100 or more cookbooks this year and send it to the Philippines. Since my daughter is taking culinary arts (she is also a graduate of interior design), I will support the combined dream we have of putting a business dealing with food. Iwant to put up a library as well as a commissary when I get back. (by the way, for the record, she still has the 3 hamburger joints which her husband had plus the catering business I left her) We will add more.


8) Learn another language. Everytime Mike and I take the subway around New York, we hear different kinds of languages. New York is really a melting pot of cultures and languages. I like to learn Italian since I have dreams of living in Italy for a few months. (I have the Italian connections you know). Mike likes French, but I think they smell of cheese and sometimes much worst.


9) Try to learn putting make-up on. For several years, my mask was just a dab of face powder and maskara. Only lately have I learned to make use of all the rudiments of putting on a real mask like moisturizer, foundation, eye shaper, and what have you. I never really got hooked on putting make up because, first of all, I find it too time consuming; Second, I didn’t think you needed to put so much on your face without looking whorelike and finally, my face would feel heavy with all those masks and made me look older than younger. But this time, as our wrinkles are starting to appear, we definitely need those putty to smoothen the lines. Besides, with the latest products in the market, it does make you look younger.


10) Change my wardrobe. Throw those Midwest jeans and t-shirts, and go for the New Yorker boots and hats. On second thought, I wont throw them away, I’ll just sent them to the Philippines.


So far, these are the only goals I can think of. I just pray that all these will be done in a year’s time before I can come up again with a new one.


New Year’s eve for me was quiet, having had only my two granddaughters with me, while my son and husband braved the cold in Times Square waiting for the ball to fall at the stroke of midnight. I do not want to expound the gory details but let me give you a hint: My granddaughters were dry as a desert ,but “my men” walked like bumble bees. Go figure.

Visita Pariente

Sitting on my bed reminsicing about the 'tropical' christmas back home, I can not help but smile at how people spend their holidays so differently.


Many of my friends (especially tagalog ones) spend it with noche buena, simbang gabi, decorations and whatever makes them look busy. I like that proverbial saying, "you buy things you don't need, with money you don't have, to impress people you don't like" The holidays have become so commercialized that it has lost the essence of the meaning of the season.


I am not one to do any of those traditions mentioned because for me, Christmas day is the event and anything before that were just normal days. Sure, we had decorations and food fare, but my mom didn't stress herself out if she didn't feel like. And for us, it was really no big deal.

Christmas day in Cebu was dressing up to visit all my relatives. Something like visita iglesia, only this was 'visita pariente'. Normally, my cousins and I would all ride a combi, then start with relatives nearest the compound. All of us knew what our gifts were, we just didn't know the value. Not one to stress out, all my aunts and uncles have imparted on themselves to give us cash gifts. Even as we grew older and got married, most of my relatives still gave cash gifts. That way, we could buy ourselves with what we needed or wanted. Unless you made your material request known to a relative who can afford, then that's a different story.


By noon, we would converge in my grandma's house for the family gathering. As we were already stuffed from eating whatever was offered us during our visits, we would just then count our stash. Planning what to do with our collections was fun. And if that was not enough, our grandparents would add to our stash only if we did a presentation, which we readily obliged. Usually our plays had plots with gangsters kidnaping a rich guy and a flirty lady'. Then, they would be rescued by good guys. Eventually, a gun fight would ensue ending in death for all the actors in the play..And I mean everyone. I guess we all agreed that nobody was to be a hero of some sort, since we all wanted to be heroes. So to even it out, we all died in the play.


We probably did a thousand plays in our family gatherings. Although different settings and scenarios, we always had the same plot. I always got the role of flirty lady...ALWAYS!..And my other cousins always had the same roles...ALWAYS ! I guess it was the dialogue that made it more interesting. We had a knack of making dialogues seem crazy.

Lolo Banong was an uncle who was considered the 'Santa Claus' of the compound. He was a huge stocky man with a heart of gold. I got my namesake from him and even when I was growing up, I always felt as the favored 'niece'. I always had the higher stash than the rest of my cousins when it came to him.

Every christmas morning, Lolo Banong would gather the less priviledged around the neighborhood and have them line up on his driveway. Children in tattered clothes, snot dripping from their noses and some smelling of dried fish would eagerly come. Even mothers carrying small babbies would join the group. Then Lolo Banong would give each one a coin and see the smile on their faces. I remember him giving out 25 centavos , but then it became more as inflation crept in. Before he died, more than twenty years ago, he was already giving those huge silver peso coins.

Fast forward several years later, old traditions are replaced by our very own. Relatives have relocated, some got married and spend the holidays with their own respective families. But thanks to technology, the closeness of a family can still be felt even with thousands of miles apart. With webcams, cell phones and even iphones/blackberries, we can witness the happy smiles from families opening balikbayan boxes filled with gifts, to toasting our glasses and sharing our holiday recipes. As we always say, "I'm just a phone call away!"

Usually, preparations like card giving or gift shopping would be done when the 'ber' months come into place. By the time December steps in, I'm usually done. I have taken the stance which my mother took of not stressing myself. That's because I want to enjoy the Holiday and not be bothered by too many things. Except for my grandchildren who I dote with buying gifts, my niece and nephews get the old tradition of cash gifts.

Not one to dress with holiday trimmings, the only thing I stress myself is the menu I cook. Thats the enjoyment that I don't want to miss. Preparation is key to having fun. And by the time guests arrive, all I do is take out food from the oven and the fridge, lay them out on the buffet and its set. In America, everyone helps himself with fancy paper plates to replace those chinas and plastic wine glasses in lieu of glass goblets.

This christmas, we let my grandchildren do the broadway "Annie" before giving them their presents. But the video I took was that of my daughter in law and my son coaching my grandchildren. The sight of my son pirouetting with arms doing a MacDonald and my daughter in law's facial expression con gusto was really comical.

Christmas is really a time for children. In a few years, my grandchildren will be one of those that will recieve cash instead of something material. In this day and age, you can never be too sure what they really want. Technology has to blame for that. PS3's, wii's, laptops, latest gadget cellphones or whatever is the 'in' thing is better than a scarf, perfume or a dress.

Come to think of it, I wonder what Jesus got on his 10th birthday?

Lenguas de Pilipit

One of the first things we learn as children is to speak the language of our birth. For me, it was the visayan language with its melodious intonations but spoken with a hard tongue. Then our parents with their western mentality starts speaking to us in a foreign language known as “English” and we were stuck for life.


In school, English was the spoken language, but at home, it would be visayan for the benefit of the maids. Until the maids learned how to speak broken English, then our pronounciation got screwed up. We were also exposed to Spanish speaking relatives, and eventually learned some words ourselves. My grandfather being a pure Spaniard (kuno), would sometimes speak with the other elders in Spanish so we, as children wouldn’t understand, but eventually we did. As we became parents ourselves, we would speak Spanish if we didn’t want the children to know what we were talking about. That’s when spelling the words weren’t as effective anymore and the children learned how to read.


Moreover, when I got married to an FBI (foreign born illonggo), I was exposed to Illonggos. They had a more melodious intonation and sometimes, when the men spoke, you’d think they were flirting or gay. Recently, my daughter and her husband relocated in Bacolod and so did my sons. So now we all speak a mixture of English, visayan and Illonggo.


Although we lived in Manila when I was young, and pilipino was a must in our school curriculum, I never really got the hang of speaking tagalog. In Cebu during my married life, all my best friends were tagalogs, but I can assure you that when I spoke tagalog, it sounded Chinese.


Lately, I have been learning how to speak Korean since I got hooked up in a soap opera a few months ago. Before I go to bed, I surf the channels for a nice show and what struck me was this Korean show. It had a present day setting and had subtitles for me to read. My initial reaction from watching the first episode was very perplexing. A couple was having a verbal fight but their actions and faces were contrary to what I was reading. The woman was insulting yet smiling but not in a sarcastic way. In another scene a man in black suit was carrying ,piggy back style, a woman who was in a gown and high heels. You would think this would happen in the countryside, but the setting was in the city of Seoul, Korea. But what intrigued me most was the way Koreans prepared food. So many side dishes in small platitos. Very feastlike.


Another language that we are familiar with and speak a few words of is Chinese. Mandarin or fookien, it doesn’t matter since most of the words learned were from high school days--these were mostly curses and numbers.


If you think my tagalog sounds like Chinese, wait till you hear the Chinese talk american. I once stayed with a Chinese family here in america and they were so nice and fun to be with. One day my friend (let’s call her Joan) was visiting her 80 year old mother. The old woman was complaining about her eyesight but she was speaking in Chinese. Joan, sensing that speaking a foreign dialect in front of a guest was rude , commented to her mother in English, “but mama, your eyeglasses are as big as vernacular.”


Then I asked her, “what do you mean, Joan?”
“you know the one that looked like a telescope.” she said.
“Oh, you mean binoculars." I interjected then corrected her " Just to let you know, Joan, that binocular and vernacular are two different words.”
Then we both started laughing while she continued repeating her mistake.


At one time, Joan’s brother (let’s call him Ben) and Mike went to a book store. Ben proceeded to ask for help. “Do you hab koots”, he said in his very bisaya tone.
“I’m sorry sir, you’re in the wrong store. We don’t sell coats here.” noted the sales lady.
“No, no..ets a book wid mini see-ings.” The sales girl squinted and looked at Ben analyzing what he just said. Then as if she realized what was said exclaimed, “Ohhhhh! You mean QUOTES! Right at the back of the store beside the philosophy books.” she commented. With that, she pivoted leading him towards the rear side of the store..
Then as if whispering to Mike, Ben commented,”Bida, ining glis na to, di pa siya kasabot. BUGO gyud!”
(My goodness, that was already spoken in English yet she didn’t understand. How stupid)

I remember my mother relating to us an experience she had while travelling Europe. She and my aunt went into a restaurant and when they looked at the menu, they didn't understand any of the food offered as it was written in the native tongue (I forget what country it was). And the waiters didn't even speak a word of english. So when my mother would point something out in the menu, the waiter would act it out. If it was chicken, he would fold his elbows and flap it accompanied by a sound, "cluck, cluck, cluck". Then if it was beef, the waiter would go "moo,moo!" and for the pig, he would snort. That was how they understood each other.

Even babies as young as a year old or less learn to communicate in their own language.
"Milk" could mean having your fingers open and closing rapidly. Or when my eight month old is done with his dinner, he would brush his hands to and fro as if saying "all done!" Or when he is hungry, he would point to his mouth.

It doesn't really matter what language you speak. All that matters is for your message to be relayed and understood. Oh well!

Monkey See, Monkey Do

In our family parties in America, there is a standing commandment, “Thou shalt not talk about politics or religion.” That's because most of us are highly opinionated and hate to lose an argument, regardless! Ha!ha!ha!

At a recent Republican presidential debate, the candidates were asked about a ‘what would Jesus do?” question. Most of the candidates felt uneasy with their replies, except for PC Gov.Mike Huckabee who said, “Jesus would be too smart to join politics!” Well said!

Religion and politics are the two most controversial issues we face today. Certain oxymoronic circumstances might be considered legal, but not necessarily moral. “It’s your word against mine,” is often used as the basis of many an evidence. But then the question of character is tested for authenticity. The moral fiber of american politics is important in keeping office...until one gets caught and then one's career is over.

A few months ago, New Jersey Governor McGreevy resigned after he declared himself gay. It was either that or face a billion lawsuit of harrasment from his paramour. Senator Larry Craig of Idaho recently resigned after he was booked on misdemeanor charges (like soliciting sex) in an airport restroom. The Clinton-Lewinsky case was such a huge scandal many years ago. Don’t they ever learn that men think with their balls? When it’s loaded, it just has to be relieved, otherwise, the balance between the brains and balls would be like a pendulum hitting one on the other.

On the other hand, some preachers, priests and religious leaders, are often caught with their ‘pants down’, to the dismay of their flock. However, forgiveness by the flock is often crucial. After all, didn’t the bible say to forgive seventy times seven? So hey! They still have 489 chances to go.

The 300 years rule by the Spaniards in the Philippines is significant in molding the moral fiber of the Filipinos. Its early colonization brought with them the culture and practice which easily assimilated into the system. Hearing about the good fortune in the East, many Spaniards traveled thousands of miles to seek their own fortunes at the expense of the island inhabitants. Moreover, because of its geographical location, the Philippines was considered an Alcatraz, where thieves, corrupt officials, murderers and other criminals from Spain were ostracized to serve their sentences in the Philippines.

The first mention of the Philippines to the U.S. was in 1786 when the Continental Congress meeting in Philadelphia was urging Spain to grant American trading privilege in Manila. Burdilla, the first american businessman to trade in the Philippines, kept a diary about his travels. In his observation he wrote,”There exists among them a want of moral discrimination. This is no country for an honest man.”

Spanish rule in the Philippines was heirarchical, discriminatory and corrupt.

Only Spaniards were allowed to govern and rule . Discriminatory in the sense that the inhabitants were called ’indios’. Spaniards born outside of the archipelago but had tainted indio blood were called peninsulares. Spaniards born in the Philippines were called insulares. Mestizos were considered a mixture of indio and Spanish or with any other race including the Chinese.

Most indios were prevented from learning anything except to be servile of the Spaniards. During the 18th century, the moneyed indios paved their way to gain education and status in a hispanic dominated culture. They were called the “Illustradores”. I would presume that the term "it's not what you know, but also who you know" became prevalent in this corrupted culture. The indios/illustradores paved their way to be recognized as equals by greasing the pockets of any Spaniard in command.

It was the Ilustradores who coined the term ‘Filipinos’. Among them was Jose Rizal, and my very own maternal great grandfather whose name is honored by a street in Cebu famous historically as D. Jakosalem

When many a Filipino could no longer stand the atrocities committed to them by the Spaniards, several underground movements flourished. Aguinaldo’s group was one of those that succeeded in creating loud noises against Spain. Eventually he was exiled to Hongkong after the Spaniards paid him P400,000.00 (a hefty amount) to keep his mouth shut. No wonder every politician has his price.

Sources say, Aguinaldo kept the principal intact while spending the interest on his troops and staff. He waited for the right time to buy arms and consequently plan the overthrow of the Spanish rule. Consequently he found an arms dealer in the U.S.,who swindled him of more than a hundred thousand dollars worth of arms and ammunition. But his luck didn’t turn out for the worst. When the Spanish war ended, the Americans bought the Philippines for 2 million dollars. (another money exchange for land which wasn’t theirs in the first place)

The moral fiber of the Filipinos were unraveled during the Japanese Occupation when they had to cheat and rob in order to survive. In 1947 an inquiry by the U.S. government was made regarding a $300 million worth of assets given to the Philippine government in terms of military surplus vehicles, machinery, garments and other items which were stolen. A senator during that time (Jose Avelino) amassed about 300 thousand dollars from selling the loot to Chinese fences. In other cases, crop loans worth millions of pesos went into the pockets of landowners and officials. The New York times who did investigation on this found “no tenants and no crops, and the money could not be recovered.”

So what else is new in the Philippines? With 300 years of ironic religion by Spain and 50 years of Hollywood by America, the Filipino people indeed live a messed up life of principles. A land inherited through blood and violence , then professing Christian love and sacrifice, cannot be legal to the people it once belonged to. But who are the original owners or where are their descendants? Lost in the graves along with Lapu-lapu.

But inspite of all these adversities happening, I am still hoping for a miracle. After all, we can only hope for the best and prepare for the worst. As a cebuano and having the blood of Lapu-lapu, a silent passion is burning within me, waiting, analyzing, strategizing for that moment when I can make a significance. Not necessarily in a huge magnanimous way, nor a political way, (God forbid,but I don't like politics), but in my own humble way. Where my only witness is my God that would say, "Well done, good and faithful servant!"

Just recently, a clown was given a ‘time-out’ by its peers and placed in a cage indefinitely. A midget was seen unlocking the door of the cage, freeing the smiling clown out of his cage. We can only assume that something was traded for the clown's release. This is a scenario quite obvious in a circus. Actually, this is Philippine politics 2007.

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."

by Edmund Burke (Irish Political Philosopher)

My CEOis a Three Year old

Coming to America was really my idea. Mike,my husband never wanted to live anywhere outside the Philippines .But after our silver wedding anniversary, several years ago, Mike decided to relinquish his role for my desires.

The opportunity came when I had befriended an American businessman who was part of the team of Americans coming to our country for mission trips. Every year, we held medical missions in Boracay , Baguio, Dumaguete, Leyte and other remote areas that needed medical care. We also did much evangelizing . It was during these times that Richard F. became close to me and offered me a job to work in one of his business interests in the Midwest.

The decision to try another scenery came when the furniture industry, where we belonged for a couple of years started to get shaky. This was after the 911 incident, when many buyers were on the sidelines and the manufacturers where hit with high overhead rates and dwindling export sales.

So, there I was in Ohio, having a desk job complete with my own computer and phone, rubbing shoulders with management. When many executives had initials after their last names like CEO. AVP or DIR, my title was FOD (friend of director). I was really in the grind, waking up at 5 in the morning to prepare myself, then carpool at 6 a.m. to be at the office by 7. The hour ride to the office was a scenery of miles and miles of cornfields, cows, silos and small towns. By 3 pm, we would leave back for home, prepare dinner, do chores then early to bed for that familiar mundane cycle to commence the next day.

The job offered to me was ideal for a contemplative transition after the roller coaster experiences of the export business in Cebu. It entailed a routine, with minimal stress and an easy workload, which offered a sense of relief. But after awhile, I sensed a non-challenging life which needed to be revitalized. As I say, it’s either my attitude or I’m in the wrong job. I chose the latter.

We decided to move to the “big apple” since my son and his family would be migrating in a couple of months.

Getting a job in the big apple is so much easier than finding one in the Midwest, so much so that after 5 weeks of tedious search and constant kneeling to my God, my ordeal was over and my prayer was answered.

My job would take me only 15 minutes walk max from where I live. So sparing the cost in commuting and the much needed exercise was a plus factor in choosing this over the others. Moreover, my job gives me rent free accommodations , tax free payments and stress free environments. The ideal job that not so many are cut to be but has tremendous advantages and influence you can imagine

My boss is short, blonde and the best looking guy I ever saw for his age. He does have a temper and screams to the highest of decibels when he gets impatient. And even if he gives me shit, I clean up after him. But I don’t mind because he allows me to give him secret kisses and I melt when he looks at me with his deep blue eyes. We go for short walks and hold hands at the park. We have lunch breaks and snacks together. And best of all, no intrigues and gossips mill around with this kind of displayed affection. After all, my boss is 20 months old and I’m his nanny.

Nannies or ‘yayas’ as called in the Philippines carries with it a stigma because they are considered uneducated and poor. But not so in America where there is dignity in labor.

When my agency called me and offered me a job as a nanny, I hesitated at first, but then I decided to take the challenge. I have heard rumors of being nannies to stars, millionaires and diplomats in the big apple, and they were having fun. So I wanted to have some fun, too. And to this day, on my second year as a nanny I have never regretted it a bit. Although I started as a nanny, today, I am considered an adopted part of the family.

This is one job that I know will have to cease when the kids get older. Yet deep in my heart this is the one that had the deepest relational experience of all. Because for me, all the other jobs I had are no different than what I have now. Yet this one has given me more insight and inspiration.

My very first book “My CEO is a three year old”, is a job memoir that relates to experiences from my previous jobs with what I have now. I am editing it at the moment and hope to have it publish soon.

Anyway, let me end with the reply to a question given to our own Philippine candidate Ms. Precious Lara Quigman that won her the Miss International title in 2005.

Q: What do you say to the people of the world who have typecasted Filipinos as nannies?

Lara: “I take no offence on being typecasted as a nanny. But I do take offence that the educated people of the world have somehow denigrated the true sense and meaning of what a nanny is. Let me tell you what she is. She is someone who gives more than she takes. She is someone you trust to look after the very people most precious to you --your child, the elderly, yourself. She is the one who has made a living out of caring and loving other people.So to those who have typecasted us as nannies, thank you. It is a testament to the loving and caring culture of the Filipino people.. And for that, I am forever proud and grateful of my roots and culture.