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(^,^) 3rd Mo

     
     Along with your turning of your 61st day was August’s gush of wind and longer pitter-patter of the rain on top. There are the scales of proof you are every inch growing if not for the tops that used to be draping until your ankles; now  inching above your protruding abdomen. Thanks to your ravenous appetite both for sleeping and suckling. Your tiny toes and prickly fingers to your arms and thighs were ballooning. Your cheeks are stuffed and are puffed some more. When you wriggle to stretch – told to tickle your growth plate, contract your abdominal muscles, fix your stare, squeeze your forehead into redness with some folds that ashen, will mom has to hear the passing of gas of abominable sound? Chuckles are registered on mom’s face but the worry of formidable colic ebbs away. Your lids droop to slumber with your arm draped over your forehead or somewhere else over your face. Even to the innocent sounds of everyday, you stir up into either slow prying of your eyes with some or even no coaxing brings you back to dreamland, or, crying for mom to pick you up and let her do some Lisa Macuja steps and Anne Curtis hum. Mom’s unbelievable talents are known each day and skills are whetted. Some days, mom frets for your taming and toning down. When mom is not sure would she keep you tucked in her arms for hours until she gets convinced, she painstakingly sends you to cradle. Mom’s baby after an hour or two would be awaken on a wet nappy or rooting. Baby’s mom frantically has to be unexpectedly fast in finishing the laundry or whatever that spins her like a non-stop top.
     Fainting from my thesaurus, pleasure became synonymous to work as sleeping homonymous to slipping into the world of mom-hood. As mom clips your nails, tousle your pinchful of hair, caress your belly buton, sniff your milky breath, and tickle your feet, she leaves panic at bay with the checking that you are all OK.

     Today you wake up with bedding creases on your fledgling skin and everybody gets to you simultaneously as if there was a crowd to weave through and the need to elbow one out to who will carry you. Tomorrow you will skid harum-scarum around getting everyone’s attention, and will chortle, “Moma. Dada… Yoya Ema, Wowo Ludi, the other Yoya Wima and the other Wowo Emeh are the best in the world!”  Yesterday was a learning of first timers: first-time parent, first-time aunt, first-time uncle, first-time granny and first-time grampy.   

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World Teacher's Day

   For today’s sake of celebrating teachers, let me get down my memory lane circa 1994.  Ms. Florida Dao-ines was my grade 1 teacher in the then Kayan Community School. I thanked that I was bit of a reader so I was spared from her famed stick. Of course, my hearing wasn’t excused of her voice harping on the day’s if not yesterday’s lesson. Oh, I could see her small figure with her short curly hairdo passing by my grandparents’ place because she used to visit her brother on the next house. Ms. Dao-ines taught us room maintenance the organic way— scrub off graffiti on wooden desks with sandpaper tree leaves, sweep off dirt, whip the floor with banana leaves and finish it off with coconut husk. On my second year with my grandparents going as second grader, I had Teacher Jeaneth Juan. She was my first troop leader in GSP and Agadangan became a vivid memory of the Scout Movement. Enamored with her not-so-strict classroom bearing, my classmates and I were saddened when on...
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WOMAN-ified ME

I was born a woman but ended up acting the opposite. Clumsiness and its cousins in the thesaurus is what I am. Finesse goes unsaid and unheard in my world. I preferred oversized tees over fitting blouses. I refused figure-flaterring dresses for loose pants. I would choose a paintless face even being merged with a bin of all-made-up pretties. But I knew I am a woman inside. So are the secret feelings that have silently died. It was only me who knows everything of what-really-is. It was hard shifting to finer moves. Oh graceful me in sweat! I hate being with someone who I cannot see myself. Because to me, gaudiness is parallel to fun. Not long after, I’ve been to stores of pallets. So the smudged me emerged. Little by little, I’ve added garments I thought I can never wear. These changes of seeing ourselves that can improve us.   
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Another Day Lived

Thursday morning. I woke up with a mental list of to-do’s. $*|?**$ visit to deliver IV fluids. Get back to do the laundry. With my second to the last PUJ jibe, the open doors of the church invited me in so the last two hours were spent hearing the mass. At the middle of the Eucharistic celebration, the heavy downpour added darkness to the dusk creeping in. Having waited for ten minutes more, I decided to wade waters to get to the last jitney back to the doctor’s quarter. (So this is Manila and its famous flood.) My feet getting cold with the pooling of rainwater inside my shoes reminded me of laundry powder so I dropped by in a mart for some. Finally with the nighttime shower done, I hanged the last piece of the three-day soiled uniforms for air drying by the washroom. After hungry tummy pacified… Oh zzz’s, come to thee… 
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