Lessons from our backyard

For the past six weeks my Dad has been with us here in Arizona. In the last couple of years, six weeks is not the longest we have been together, but six weeks weighs more than a year's worth of Skype video chats, sparse cellphone conversations, and at most, bi-weekly emails. I have never thought about the strangeness of this situation a lot. Since it's not like I think it is strange. Not seeing or talking or hearing from my Dad daily is as normal as my hair tangling up like a wretched hairball. Both are certainly unappealing, though hairballs are generally more disgusting. By unappealing, I mean that daughters usually want to know how their father is faring and vice versa. In my case, I DO want to know how my father is faring but again, in my case, that's just not always been possible. There was that one simple hang up with us not being in the same house, or even in the same continent. Good news, we're in the same planet.

I have (as you mostly are all probably aware) always been a daddy's girl. My mom and I are close but my dad and I just mesh better. As cliched as being a daddy's girl is, I think it's enjoyable. Most of the time, anyway. My dad is a military man, a math man, a straight forward and loyal man, a Bible man, a generous man, a well respected man. Not in that exact order but he is certainly the kind of guy you want with you when your car breaks down or when you are lost in this crazy Twilight Zone kind of place. Being with him again has reminded me and shown me that as smart mouthed and sarcastic I am most of the time, I still need my dad in my life. Especially since I usually keep everything to myself to the point of bursting my figurative innards.

Ever since I can remember I have always tagged along with my dad. Driving with him to Manila or taking the bus back to the Farm, I have always been by his side. Most of our conversations were conducted on the move or during nap time when I was trying to make him sleep so I could play. One time when I was four and my brother would not let me join him and his friends play, I went to my parents' room and sat beside my dad. I was clearly sulking so my dad asked me what happened. And I just told him, "I wish I was born a guy, then I could do whatever I wanted." My dad just laughed at that and replied, "Not every thing's going to be okay if you were a guy. That's why God didn't make you that way." I just humphed and stayed quiet. When I was five, I told him I wanted to be an assassin when I grew up. My eldest sister looked at me then at my dad when he calmly said, "That's not really an easy profession, why don't you choose something else?" My sister wholeheartedly agreed with him.

There were many instances of me saying some random thing to him and he would respond in a straight forward manner, despite the amusement or astonishment to my sentiments. I have always felt that he was not talking to me as a child but as a person. Once, we were parked somewhere and just sat there watching jeepneys when I noticed the signs painted on the sides of the jeeps. I asked him, "So where is 'Vice Versa' located in Cebu?" He was silent for a couple of seconds before responding, "Vice Versa?" I nodded as he started saying, "It means it also goes the other way around. It's not a place in Cebu." And with that, I sat silently, and we burst out laughing. There goes my English classes.

The past six weeks, he's been taking care of our backyard. My dad's first love is planting, and plants love him too. So my mom has given him the task of planting new plants and flowers in place of the ones that have succumbed to the desert heat. The plants which have been withering before are now basking on growth since my dad started caring for them. Another project he was tasked to do was to replant the uprooted tree on my aunt's backyard. He took me there one afternoon with his shovel, his ropes, a couple of stakes, and my car's jack. All the while I was angsting over what my mom told me just hours ago. He did all the talking while tying up the tree, talking about his childhood and how my grandfather gave him a job in the farm. I sat on the loose rocks and listened to him talk of responsibility and the hardship of sacrifice. In the end, we prayed and he asked me if I was hurt by what my mom said. I tried explaining but all he wanted was a Yes or No answer. I said yes, and he replied, "Ok. It's okay to tell her you were hurt."

I've learned a lot from my dad, and I'm still learning. I've learned that it's okay to say what you feel, and that you should. I learned that driving a car should only be done when you are sure of what you're doing. I've learned that math will not eat you alive, and that anything can be learned if you are willing to. I've learned how to really plant a flower and not see it die in two days. I've learned how to cement bricks, the difference between cementing and plastering, and that if you get cement on your hair you can wash it off as long as it hasn't hardened yet. I've learned that gardening and watering plants are relaxing and enjoyable work. I've learned that taking a break can be relaxing and enjoyable too, especially after you really worked hard.

My dad is a great influence in my life, and by great I mean in intensity and ability. I went back to Philippines one time to figure out if I should take Nursing or not. My mom wanted me to, of course, but she wanted me to decide. My dad gave me a verse in Psalm and I decided on Nursing. "Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me." Despite the fact that Art was my first love, I decided on taking a risk with Nursing because of my dad's confidence and support in me. And in times when I doubt myself for my choice, I remember that verse and feel better again.

I had a conversation on the phone once with my dad where he was asking me if I missed him. I thought about it for a second before I answered, "No." He was clearly taken aback by that and replied in a hurt voice, "Oh, why don't you miss me? Why did you answer no?" I just said, "Well I don't miss you right now. And you told me not to lie." My mom had to explain to him later that I was just an abnormal kid and did not think normally. The truth is I miss him everyday. But I just don't think of him so I don't miss him so I don't think I miss him. It's not logical but that's just the way I cope with not seeing my family. For me it's not absence making a heart fonder, but out of sight, out of mind. But when I do say I miss someone, I really do miss them. Cross my heart.

So when my dad goes to San Francisco tomorrow, I may not get to say goodby to him at the airport. Or I may forget to email him in a week. But I think it's safe to say that I will miss him even as I bury myself on schoolwork and reading. Lessons from our backyard go from mundane to enlightening, from poignant to silly, and from father to daughter but the answer to "Do you miss me?" will always be "Yes," from now to forever.

Tough Love

My head hurts. After mulling over the happenings the past few days, I can certainly say that my head hurts. This, of course, does not imply insult to my intelligence. I'm not that dumb. My thoughts just refused to let go of me, perhaps like a cow and her cud, just refusing to go down effortlessly. I digress. Cows and cud aside, my thoughts are just too bold in wearing out their stay in the confines of my brain. And I wish I could just forget about thinking and thoughts all together like every other time but no, this one time it has to regurgitate itself over and over. Just me and my pathetic luck. Or lack of pathetic luck, even.

Why in the name of all that's noble and ignoble am I being tortured by my own brain? Well, first off, my brain just plain sadistically enjoys my discomfort. Self-sabotage, much? Okay, so maybe not that reason. The only reason I can think of is that reason, that which is Tough Love. And I mean that in the most platonic sense. The only sense that is of parent and child, specifically, mother and daughter in perfect discord. Don't you just love oxymorons? At any rate, there is that Tough Love in every mother-daughter tandem that even sitcoms make money off it. In my case though that tough love can be a bit jarring to the point of wounding.

What exactly can I say? First, it was just annoyance that I was watching anime instead of typing my laboratory report (which wasn't due until next week [Yeah, Kat, excuses, excuses]). Then there was the displeasure at the fact that I haven't been resuming my job hunt in two weeks now. And then there was the little incident of overhearing her retell to Papa the earlier scene of annoyance and displeasure she had with me. When I told her that she should say the things she wanted to my face, she did that and more, to my regret. Maybe it hurts a little to hear her talking about me in her vexed voice to Papa and hearing it in the way that sounds as if she enjoyed scolding me. Or the matter-of-fact voice of hers saying, "There is no secret between your papa and me." After that it was just me tearing up and staring at her emotionlessly that made her say, "Don't you dare look at me like that, I know how your mind works. You think I'm just being hysterical. I'm not." And continuing on to say that she does not work herself to the bone to have it all be for nothing, a waste. And that she has provided for me and so I would lack nothing. Again with the remark on me looking at her that way (my emotionless stare mask) which made her say, "You looking at me that way is such a disrespect to me. Your mother." And with that, she left.

So I just stood there for a while. Then I remembered my book and notes in the living room and sat there. I cried. Maybe it was because of monthly hormones that made it hurt more. Or maybe because I was completely blindsided by the whole thing. It was Sunday, it was not supposed to be that way. I didn't come home from church to have everything blow up in my face. I could make excuses for my inaction from job hunting or taking a break from writing the lab report. But no, that's just not working for me. It would all just sound pathetic and false. All the while, I completed my job application online, shut the laptop off and locked myself in my room.

Papa came knocking moments later so I had to open the door. He wanted to talk but what would I say? I didn't want to be in a pissy, vulnerable mood while talking to him. And I'm not a Talk kind of person. So I just told him an excuse and shut the door again. Later I had to go with Papa to help water the plants in my aunt's house across the street. I just seriously really wanted to be alone, by myself, in solitary isolation. I really can't get a break can I?

So there I was exiting my room when she stops mopping the floor and looks at me. "O, ano?*" She not speaking in English anymore, indicating that she was considerably calmer. Oh, goody. I just stared at the floor since I figured that staring at her would just make me appear disrespectful. She starts out by saying that she was not mad at me but frustrated that she was not seeing any effort from me. That I was not doing my best in looking for a job. That she just wants the best for me. That she just wants to see me enjoying my life, seeing me have a passion for something. That she does not see me making any ripples in my life, or in any one's, basically. I guess it went from frustration at my inertness to me being passionless then to me being a waste of space. That remarkably does not do great and passionate things to my ego and self-esteem. If I have any left. Then she asks if I was angry with her or hurt. I could only continue to stare at the floor with my face tracked with tears as I answered silently. "I don't know."

I really did not know how to feel about her. I wanted to be angry at her for having the ability to hurt me when she knew I would not retaliate. I wanted to keep on crying because it just hurt so much. I wanted to punish her by ignoring her and whatever else she would say to me. I just did not know how to feel when I felt like I was betrayed and naked. She and Papa are the only ones who can hurt me so much with their words. To everyone else, I would just emotionlessly stare back and cry privately. But with them, I cry on the spot, where ever the spot maybe. So I continued to cry as she hugged me after being surprised by my answer. She just confidently said that I would understand what she means in time. Maybe.

Maybe it's just me blowing it out of proportion. Maybe I'm overreacting and I shouldn't be. Maybe I just wish that never happened so I can continue on with life, blissfully not trying to avoid her. Maybe I'm trying to desperately keep my apathetic mask back on to prevent myself from shedding more tears. Maybe I shouldn't even be sad right now. Maybe I should just continue to retreat to my shell and stay there indefinitely, until I get my bearings set. Maybe I should never have left that shell and tried how it is to feel again. Maybe. Maybe tomorrow I'll have acquired amnesia and live happily ever after. Not bloody likely. What can I say, we all have our days. I just wish mine were pre-marked in the calendar so there'll be no surprises. Ha. My head still hurts.

*O, ano? -Tagalog for 'So?' or 'What?'

Food and Nutrition Lab Rule 6: Do not eat, drink or smoke in the lab

That title right there is one of our Lab safety requirements for Food and Nutrition. It is kind of ironic, don't you agree? I was wondering what one does in a Food and Nutrition Lab, or why one needs a Food and Nutrition Lab. I found out that there is no food involved in a Nutrition Lab, we are in fact actually required to fast for one project. Irony, that is the word for the day. Well, my day at least.

How do I start? (Or continue, I suppose). I went to school early today, at least an hour and 45 minutes early. Because, first of all, parking during the Fall (or Spring) semester is so bad that it is horribly horrid. The other reasons were that I needed to buy my textbook and print out the notes for class. I just have to say that going to school an hour and forty five minutes early seemed to be the common consensus by my fellow collegiates. And I spent the next forty five minutes circling the parking lots (north and south) with other students circling there way away. We were like ants foraging for food under the Arizona sun. And the more time I was wasting, the antsier I got along the rest of the masses. I concluded that life sucks when you can't find a parking space, or make one. I got so fed up looking for a space that I ended up parking three blocks outside campus.

That is just the start of my lovely day. So now, I had an hour left, but wait it took me fifteen minutes to get to the other side of campus to the bookstore. And once I got there the checkout line was l-o-n-g, endless. It took a good twenty minutes for the line to dwindle and for me to get out of there. Another fifteen minutes got me to the Life Science Lab to print out my class notes and five minutes to get me inside the Technology 1 building. I had five minutes to spare. Yay me.

Another highlight of the day was the vending machine. No, I did not kick it. I almost did though when it wouldn't spit out the potato chips I was planning to have for lunch. There's always the "Now what?" moment after a vending machine eats your dollar and doesn't release your food. So I looked for coins in my purse and found three US quarters and one Canadian quarter. They were the same size...so I figured that the machine might take it. I took one quarter and fed it to the machine and took another one which the machine promptly spat out. I did that two more times and got out two potato chip bags for the price of one dollar and a quarter, instead of two dollars. Another Yay me moment.

Currently, I am looking forward to the long weekend since I have no class projects or assignments due. My professor, whom we shall call Persian Mistress, apparently likes giving our assignments to do in class. So Yay.

the grass is greener

I am currently still in Edmonton, Alberta. It's almost three weeks now that I've been here to attend my cousin's wedding and to visit the Queen. Well, my cousins in fact, but this side of the family is like royalty after all. Not that my mother's side of the family isn't descended from Dons and Doῆas. But my father's side is too noble and prideful to be considered anything less than royalty. I guess I just come from a family of extremes. And coming here to Edmonton gave me a chance to experience another side of my family from a different angle, perspective. Same difference.

I know that when one travels to a place for the first time, Traveler must mention, describe, and excite people of what the place looks like, of the different people encountered, of the meals one had eaten or had not eaten but wished they did, and of the activities one had done and wish to repeat, or not. As for myself, all I can say is I like Edmonton. If you have money and time, come here and enjoy. Done. I have done my touristly duty and wish to go on to my true purpose of sharing more stuff about my royalty family that may or may not mean anything to you. Shush, I just need to write. So, on to my family.

Specifically, I am writing about my dad's side of the family. The side that lives here in Edmonton. As I wrote earlier, I come from a family of extremes. And this extreme extends to the fact that my dad is my uncle's brother. Some of you are going, "Duh." What I mean is the fact that they are related translates to the fact that they not only share or have the same temperemental, stubborn disposition and discipline, but they also share the noble qualities consisting of honesty, generosity, caring, loving, and quirky sense of humor. These characters are trademarked in each sibling coming from my dad's side of the family. And my cousins and I had the great time of discovering these similarities in our parents. Stories upon stories brought out the common bond that is our parents, and we drew closer together as we cast our collection of memories and shared them as one. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy, and giddy, I admit. But I rejoice in being reunited with cousins and titos and titas that I have been too young to remember or been to apart from.

It is true that I have been too apart from the royalty. E-mails and rare phone calls are the only correspondence that have kept us from completely being out of each other's lives. We all have been moving from one area to another, one town or country away. Moving is normal for us; it is like a complicated dance, to and fro, to and fro. Packing and putting away is part of the lifestyle, yet in all the complications we have always belonged where ever we were.

I came to Edmonton just expecting cooler weather and living in my Tito Joy and Tita Lulu's house. Yes, both are what I expected. However, living with them for two weeks and a half has shown me more than I was expecting. I saw that the grass is greener here. Their family see each other almost daily, they just live minutes aways from each other, they eat out all the time, and they come and go as they please. They're not a perfect family by any means, no one has that. But perfect is not what I have been wanting since I was a child. What I wanted was a family like theirs, a family living close to each other. As I wrote, I come from a family of extremes. And as their family live minutes away from each other, mine live continents apart from each other. Well, before it was just islands apart. Funny.

I do find it funny. Funny in the ironic kind of way. Although, I also find it funny that despite the fact that I feel that I should be jealous, I am not. Of course, it makes me a bit sad to see how it could have been with my family. I can see driving to visit Sister's place and spending time with my brother in law and my niece. Or going to Princess' apartment and just kill time with her. Or goof around with my brother later while my dad and mom call and ask what time I'll go home for dinner. It makes me sad because I know that although the grass is greener this side of the family, I just sigh and move on because I also know that this isn't my grass. My grass doesn't exist since what I have is desert sand and all that grow in it are tough weeds that look pretty and flowers that struggle to survive the day's heat.

My visit in Edmonton humbled me. I can't have everything in life and what I have is enough. What's more important than having my family close by is having a close family intact. I wouldn't trade my royalty family for any green grass, beanstalk, or ducks that lay golden eggs in the world.

fitting room wars

Friday morning I woke up to my mom asking me when Fall semester starts. August 25th is when my Food and Nutrition class starts. The question of why was uttered sleepily by me and the not so plain answer was "You're going to Canada." Oh. That certainly woke me up.

Fast forward to Saturday morning I woke up to be asked what I was going to wear for the wedding. Piles of scattered dresses and hangers later, my mom and I were on our way to JC Penney, Lola's free blank cheque in hand. After all, blank cheques are for shopping.

Hours later I was backed into a fitting room surrounded by dresses and hangers. Deja vu, much? My eyes just continued to narrow and my brows drew together as the dresses that continued to mock me were becoming worse and worse in style and fit (and would you believe, in smell). kasuigdbajbshbjh.

In actuality, I already had a dress I wanted. It was simple and comfortable. It was a nice, black dress. The kind that doesn't compete with bride's white (or near that color scheme) wedding dress However, my mom seemed intent in finding the holy grail of dresses. Or at least the dress she wanted me to wear. It was ridiculous to be having a fitting room war. I would glare at the door when I would hear a scuffle indicating my mom's presence outside bearing more dresses to be worn, like Santa Claus sneaking in through your chimney bearing either gifts or coals. My face grew stiff in an attempt to be apathetic.

When she finally found a dress she wanted I was ready to burst into tears of chaos and frustration. Finally. I was hungry. The holy grail dress was (how should I say this) perky for a long, brown dress. I guess having humongous red and orange print of flowers can do that. Alone in the fitting room with the holy grail dress, I was conversing with it, out of annoyance and hunger. I was apologizing that I didn't like it but I would like us to try and get along since we were going to spend more time together. I found that completely ridiculous but I somewhat felt better. At least I could be honest with the dress.

In case you find it curious that we were having a fitting room war, the truth was we were shopping for a wedding dress or a dress one when wears for a wedding. A dress I would wear for my cousin's wedding in Canada. SO now that you're up to speed, let's move along with the rest of my weekend blues. If none of you noticed, my mom can be a bit overbearing. I assure you that I know that she is overbearing for my own good and the wellness of my well-being. I doubly assure you that that is not sarcasm you hear.

Knowing that, you can probably deduce that the fitting room war continued to the battle of the heels. As I said, jdbbaskhabaKJK. Short story miniscule, it was a standoff between open toe wedge shoes and open toe stilletos. Their color, of course, matched the holy grail dress. The better heels won, and I am happy to declare that mine KO'd the other shoe. Woot. A small victory, but a victory no less.

In the end, the Queen gave in bought my mistress as well, the other dress, so to speak. And we all lived happily ever after. Yes, you can totally hear the trumpets rejoicing in the background.