IngliseraKuno

I really do not want to rant all the time. It gives me cold sweat and hyperventilation and who would enjoy that? Sometimes, however, in the absence of my doctor (read: shrink), I need to express. Hence, my blogs. My daughter Ana told me long before to stop posting at this social media account I have all the sarcasm I have in me, she said it was, well for lack of a better word, ugly (in other words, 'pangit). I replied defensively, telling her that my account was a personal one, and that her concern that I hold a managerial post had nothing to do with my personal life. To this she said, 'eh di mas lalong pangit, Mom, kasi hindi ka pala mabuting tao sa tutuong buhay' (translated: following that train of thought, she thinks it is worse that I draw the line between being a head of office, and my personal life by the social media account).  I post an average of ten stories a day, ranging from my morning greetings to my kids and their pictures, my quote for the day, my breakfast ...

We just watched The Voice of the Philippines Kids and our bets (we were rooting for two) did not win. Not that our two boys (I want to us 'my' all the time, I am possessive) are not talented. In fact all the four kid-finalists had real talent. Of course we all have our favorites. One of our bets comes from a middle-class family and came home all the way from Canada to compete. That boy hit the notes laser-like, exuded just enough confidence to perfectly render his songs, and presents himself as he is, simply decent. Our second bet is a mestizo Cebu-native who was single-handedly raised by his Uncle as he was orphaned by his Mom a couple of years back. I felt that in each song he sang, he offered to her. Even the songs he rendered with his 'feminine' personality (I have a feeling he is gay, but that did not blur my judgement of his talent). The two other finalists are little girls, one who  could not help bawling all the time, (she was ranked last in the tally) and the o...

A few months back, I attended the recognition program of my son's & his co-8th graders' academic performers. Aidan was one of the honorees, and even if my left foot was killing me then (my fracture was at its worst at that time), my son wanted me there even if I was using a cane (I thought he would be embarrassed). But then I understood perfectly why he wanted us all to be there. It was a day of pride and joy for him, and he wanted to share that with his family. Every parent that day was wearing their Sunday best, and their most beautiful smiles. I was not in the mood to dress up because the pain got the better of me, but I had this stupid smile splashed across my face the whole time. Aidan is an intelligent boy, we all knew that. But it took a year for him to adjust to a new school, new environment. So after his 7th grade, he got his swag back and made it to the honor roll. I was relieved, not only because he was expected to be an honor student by all of us, (I felt the ...

I have never been described as adventurous. I don't like surprises. I need to be able to anticipate problems, and I want to be on top of them, if and when they do come. I am not a planner in the true sense of the word. But I hate it when I don't have the answers to everything. I don't come across situations where I cannot do something, you know, about work, my personal life, and other people's lives. Well, not often. That is why I have great respect for people who have the courage to walk into the unknown. To take the journey through adventure, for Carl Jung theorized that in adventure is loss, a crisis, a risk. One takes a step into another world, out of one's comfort zone. But Jung says too, that in any man's life, he must take on the journey. One must do something reckless, armed only with faith. No logic, no reason, just faith. Rommel has always been a person with genuine faith in the Boss up there. He is naughty (wink-wink), a fun-loving person, yes, bu...

I was in bed for three days, because of this flu virus which finally became victorious after so many futile attempts to ravage this body. It is not so bad, compared to my episodes before, still, I had to fight it to stay focused and sane. There were times in the past three days, I thought I was hallucinating. Moments just passed through like it was just in a dream. For example, I requested for a cheeseburger from my love (wink-wink) , which was promptly delivered to me, in bed. I was told I devoured it. I went to sleep after. Then I felt hungry again. Woke up searching for the cheeseburger. I am writing now to test my consciousness, and it seems to be slowly going back to normal. At least that's how I feel. So anyway, while I was down with flu, I had really weird but vivid dreams. I recently learned from a Carl Jung class that dreams are not to be interpreted, because they are elements of our consciousness, not some symbolisms of what is in store. If I were to be a hardcore Jungi...

Ok so this Day One app my son prodded me to download while it is free, is getting to be so nice, for me. As usual, Aidan is correct. He said, 'you're gonna like it, Ma, I promise. My attention is now documenting all that I want to with the pictures of everything around me, and I am able to short-caption them! It has, however, taken my time from writing my blogs, so I am now forcing myself to write. Or type. Whatever. Anyway. It is semestral assessment and evaluation of job performances. We finished having a local dry-run of reporting today, in preparation for possible 'grilling' from a panel from our head office. It was fruitful, with all of us checking on all of our accomplishments versus our targets, and exchanged ideas as to how the presentations can be improved. I gave our report for my local office, Ilocos Sur, then became part of the audience after. I  listened to reports of other local offices and at the same time, as always, observed the people around me. No...

I live off suitcases. My schedule permits me to stay at one of 'my places' a couple of days at a time. I actually carry a 'food bag' with me wherever I go, with a coffee heater, coffee (of course), oatmeal, cookies, etc., to keep me from being hungry on the road, or when I arrive late at a destination. It is the job, and I have to deal with that. The only time I am able to rest (the hours spent sleeping in the car, not counted) is when I am home. Where exactly is 'home', in the true sense of the word? It has gotten to a point in my life where I do not believe it is where your name is on the title of a property, or where there are four walls erected to support a roof. 'Home is where the heart is', they say. I guess that is true. I am at home when I am with my son, in his warm embrace alongside foot tickles and eerie whispers to scare the hell out of me (it works all the time Aidan). I am home when I am up in my daughter's company in Baguio, even for...

So this morning I woke up to this realization: that our lives are not some subject on an action plan, where we can put activities, expected outputs, time frame, and persons responsible.  You know, the ones our bosses force us to put down on paper but in the end, we all know and feel the outputs, the impact of our actions that those we put on paper are irrelevant. In all of the 47 years of my life, I did not plan. That may look like irresponsible to some, but yes, I just plunged into the serene then rapid waters, and floated then fought. 'Ride with the tide, man.', one of my friends told me. But be on guard, he said. To protect yourself from the indignities that either your calm or your fury may bring, he said further, or something to that effect, I just wrote it down better. Anyway, I could have pages of paper to hold the list of all the unexpected twists and turns in this life of mine, but for purposes of making this blog concise, and not to hang all my dirty linens in publi...

I do not recall having forged close ties with my acquaintances at my first job in government. For one, our boss was the real cerebral type. Of course he exerted effort to be friendly towards us but he came off trying-hard that it did not work at all. I will not forget, however, this man who carried me down the stairs from our office at the second floor of one building, when I was hyperventilating in the washroom uncontrollably. A female colleague walked in on me trying to relax my already seizure-stricken body, and she called for help. My man-friend who carried me took me to the nearest hospital where they sedated me. He told me the sweetest thing: 'if I could only carry your burdens for you, I would'. I wanted to hug him, but instead, the Christianne I was then (and now actually, nothing much changed about me), I replied, 'how did you do that? carry me down that flight of stairs when I weighed like a cavan of rice?'. He did not seem to get that I was deflecting him fro...

My teaching stint was about to be over after a couple of years, again with the prodding of my mentor, my friend, my ninang. This woman who taught me so much about life, with her brown, soulful, intense eyes. She always wore flowing skirts and pumps, I recall. She, the prayerful and faith-laden, told me when Papa went ahead, she can no longer comprehend what God wanted to make of my life. At the same breath shamelessly whispered to my ear when I got married, 'I love you'. With her recommendation, I was accepted as a contractual employee in government. While she said she did not wish for me to leave my teaching job, she did not want me to pass on an opportunity to get higher pay, because my family needed the money. And so I went to take qualifying examinations at this agency, I passed, and worked there for two years. The pay was higher, so were  the demands of my family and their needs. Uncle Paul and the rest of Papa's siblings did the best they could to help. Each month, ...

And so back to my not-so-Gotham-like world. I remember sitting in a student's chair, and the bell for the ten-minute leeway given to students for tardiness rang. No student in sight in my first class as an instructor. So I got up and went to this table set on a platform and started writing my name on the blackboard. Then it sank in, the students came in the classroom tentatively, looking at me strangely as if to ask, 'you're kidding, right?, you are not the instructor.' I have always wanted to teach. When I graduated at 19 years old (yes, I need to brag about that), I applied for teaching jobs to no avail. I was hired by this electric cooperative as research assistant, mainly because I was a Mayor's daughter. By research assistant, it meant typing whatever the whole freaking day, my nails broke. It meant running to the nearest drugstore to buy medicines for an ailing boss. I was content, as long as I had a job. I gave my first pay envelope to Papa, whose reaction ...

I was sitting with a good friend today and she told me she follows my blogs. Which was really nice to hear. However, she said, my blogs seem to always reflect rants and angst, that at times she gets antsy for me. That is perhaps she knows me too well, and my life. So I told her I would write funny stuff, or will try to. My problem with that is, while I am witty (actually sarcastic-witty), I am wired to overthink, to dwell on sad stuff, and to analyze situations not to simplify my life but rather to complicate it. Like now, for example, I am sitting here, with a cigarette in hand and my fake sugarless soda, thinking of my life. It did not help that I was near tears exchanging messages with a close family friend with this certain issue going on with me and well, yes, my life. See? So I am self-involved, among other things. If I were to write something funny, it would be about myself, since I always feel I am in this comedy flick each day. So to those who do not know me that well, her...