IngliseraKuno

Funny. There was always something funny about each moment with him. He was that way when things were going great, and the same when the situation was miserable. He took every second of life with pride and gratitude, even if I knew his heart was broken when he passed. About many things: he would not see me get married, he would not be able to hold his grandchildren, he wanted to see Kring grow up even only up to when she reached twelve, God, please?  His head lay on the meal table at the hospital the night before he was called home. We were talking, and I don't recall me telling him profound stuff. Like I love him from the deepest recesses of my soul. He was the one speaking mostly, I remember. About his regrets. Then he stroked my head, slid his fingers through my hair and said: 'Kaasi ka met nu matayak'. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. I just sat there with him, my heart broken, too, in pieces so tiny I knew then it would take a lifetime to put it back together, who...

She brought into this world the only two people who could make Bong Suguitan smile as brightly, at times he seemed surprised at himself, even. She is headstrong, independent and takes what life has to offer and spins it to an adventure, a challenge, and sources of lessons learned. She holds her head high, whatever the cruel world out there imposes on her, safe in the thought that she has two angels at home, waiting. And loving her.

I know for certain now that there really isn't any formula for striking a balance between family and work. None. We simply need to keep in check priorities. But then again, no matter how best we both try, we miss milestones in our kids' lives. We miss out on the most important stuff as they see it, really. In the end, however, we both must know this: we are enough. We created 'miracles' called 'children' for nine months, by the grace of God. This Mother's Day, I can only pray that we both be seen as that: we are enough, my friend.

I believe in my heart that my brother is perhaps the most fortunate man in the world to have Beth as a wife, and the mother of his kids. She is made of an unbelievable mix of iron will and gentle spirit, she is only a thin line away from perfect. She raised my nieces and my 'apo's' to be God-fearing and responsible individuals. She held my brother's hand in the toughest of times. She never once showed us any hint of disrespect, even in times when she was caught in the crossfire. She is constant, her light shines from within and shows us that there is always, always, something to be thankful for.

She is the only one with fair skin among us siblings that the joke has always been she was adopted. Except that she looks a lot like me, and she now has a birth certificate to prove that she is not adopted. She does not look at all like a mom, but she is great one. She is protective of her kids, treats them as her friends, at times way too much that she forgets she is their mother. She will do anything for them, really, as long as she has full make-up on while at it. Nothing takes precedence over their needs, save for lipstick.  (I want her to hate me for posting this photo, and I am sure she will ask me to delete it. But I won't. If she insists, then no more lipstics will be bought for her. Not by me.)

Fiesty does not even come close describe Lola Coring. She was always walking fast, too fast at times, many stories can be told about her 'walking speed'. Mama was her world, until she had Papa as son-in-law. From then on, her heart beat in a pace much like getting signals from her son-in-law. Such that when he passed, the first she said out loud was, 'Kasatnu akun?' (What will become of me now?). We tried our best to keep Papa's promises unsaid, but of course we knew it fell short. She lived the rest of her life after Papa's death playing favorites with her grandchildren, cooked for us and her great-grandchildren when she received her meager monthly pension and taught us how to eat frogs.

She spoiled every living, breathing thing around her: people, pets, plants. All. She was a very simple woman who had a generous heart like no other, overflowing with kindness and compassion. To her, there is no such thing as 'bad', 'wrong', 'mistake'; negativity has no room in her life. She stood by her man through thick and thin, ran a household of eight children whose minds were sharp, their wit and candor a bit much to handle. Oh but she kept all her children in line with her smothering affection and selflessness. I have always wanted to be like her, but early on I learned that it took fortitude, faith and pureness of heart. No one can really possess those three, all which only  Lola Corazon had.

She loved us. I know she did. It was more than 'tough love'. I understand now that I am a mother myself. She was terrified of losing us. So she built this formidable wall around her, to protect her heart that has been scarred so many times. The balm for those scars was my father. She did not show us affection as much as Papa did, because she was too scared to be softened, then eventually, beaten. By what, I do not know. All I am certain of is that she had the heart of a mother, shaped in a way unique, such that it took four children all of diverse personalities and perspectives , to love her back. She was a woman whose strength was so, that there lay her weakness. She is my Mama.

Mother's Day Part Two of Two Ana arrived early from Baguio today, came home straight from her graveyard shift, her job at a call center. She had a kilo of bacon she ordered from an officemate with her. She cooked breakfast for all of us, and we talked about her brother's condition over the meal. She asked about what Aidan had, and I echoed what the doctors told me.   She is saddened by the situation, as she always prayed for nothing at all except good health. It is not that the situation is desperate, but more because she feels it is quite unfair that her brother had a condition to deal with yet again. (He had procedures done with his eyes early on.) She is thinking about getting a job in La Union, so that she can be with her brother. She cried a bit, while playing with the blankets, in bed trying to  catch a bit of sleep. Then she tucked her head in between my armpits, much like a newborn puppy does with its mother.  When I read the results of Aidan's 2decho, I was at fi...

Mother's Day Part One Of Two It is so easy to tell a mother, 'all will be fine', when for instance, her child is in a hospital bed running a fever every few hours or so, which took a week to figure out why it would not go away. I had to run those four words, 'all will be fine', repeatedly in my mind to calm down when Aidan was going through the chills. His sweat forming on his forehead in exhaustion to relax his taut muscles from head to toe, I stroked his legs,  if it at all helped. Those times are when you pray that maybe there was a way you can switch places with the child who grew with your body, now a semi-adult you are taking care of; that it is best that you take all the pain and weariness instead. All mothers certainly feel that, I guess. So when Aidan's tests came back yesterday to reveal that a congenital heart disease has presented itself, the first words I uttered to a close friend was: 'syak la kuma ti matayen, basta haan nga agsakit ni Balong...

Here's the thing about the showhost-turned-Senator, from my point of view. That 'joke'  in Sec. Taguiwalo's confirmation hearings, as my brother told me, should not have been given a bit of thought and effort, 'huwag patulan' were his terms. My good friend sent a text message telling me if I  watched Eat Bulaga more often, I would have 'gotten' the joke, and 'in fairness to the showhost-turned-Senator, he supported Taguiwalo 100%'.  In my decades of being in the public service sector, I have seen one too many, of the showhost-turned-Senator type, you know: the men who prey upon the weaknesses of young women new in the service and try to take them on as mistresses; bosses who casually put their hands on the knees of  women wearing a skirt forming part of a uniform (the design of which is pencil-cut so it kinda stretched upward when a woman sits); men who loudly tell jokes of sexual nature and laugh at them, more loudly.  I fended off being one of ...

He performed barefoot, I was once told, during his younger years. And he was real good in each and every song he did, live. He was a frontman of this country's more popular pop-rock band for years, so that was not really surprising.  I don't recall, however, watching him with his band. I just knew of their hits songs; 'Kisapmata', 'Ulan' and 'Tatsulok' (I do not even know which one came out earliest.) Then he left the band, and the country, went back home to San Diego, 'for love', he was supposed to have said.  Years later, I watched his cover of 'So Far Away' on YouTube, videotaped via a mobile phone, in a live show he did at 19 East, and from then, the name 'Bamboo' made its mark, in my life (like that is a big deal).  I write about him now after so many years of 'fangirling', they call it. I thought that it is not right, after writing too much about one thing or another, not one is about him. He is an extremely private ...

A glass with that dreadful blue-colored juice fell on the conference hall floor after Rachelle, a classmate whose adrenaline seems to be always through the roof (like me) accidentally nudged as she was flinging her arms about in excitement, and in the throes of selfies-driven muffled laughter. It was our graduation hour, after five gruelling days of the AIM-brand of teaching. Never mind the broken glass, the moment was more important. This batch of trainees is by far the craziest I have had the privilege of working with: all heastrong, all loud, all eloquent, all funny. We had 'kids' (same age as my daughter) in the class, like 'k-pop' stars, fair-skinned and pretty, but very smart; we had those from the private sector all eager to learn and 'do something' meaningful; a bunch of dedicated and gifted NGO folks who worked here and abroad, specifically in crisis areas (civil wars, ebola, name it); and of course, those from government, who seem to be seeking relevan...

Director Rene Alano was there all throughout my career in DAR: he was PARO when I met him, then in Pangasinan, which was a 'large' province in terms of our targets in the department. He was an 'operations' man, we called him, as he was very 'hands-on' with his work.  I had the privilege to be his assistant even in just an OIC capacity at the regional office, the years I learned from him what I was supposed to know about DAR 'operations'. Coming from a background of support services, it would have been a difficult transition for me had it not been for him.  He taught me story by story, not by the books, from his personal experiences. To him, learning was easier if it was done by telling me about his 'how's' rather than the law itself, over a cup of coffee in-between smoking. He was not a lawyer, but one cannot argue with the man about land acquisition and distribution. He knew all that mattered.  There was one time a big rally held by farmers ...