IngliseraKuno

She hid her face under the blankets, trying to muffle the sound of her clogged nose where her tears started to drip. The scene in the movie we were watching involved characters in a love triangle, an extra-marital affair where the couple's children were dragged into the mess. I was in tears, too, but I was not embarrassed to show her. I cry over sad movies, and that's that.  I started to laugh at her, the way she was cowering, and she laughed at herself, too. She told me, she really gets touched with stories which involved children, especially so when these children's emotions are compromised. She has two neices and two nephews, one recently said hello to the world. And I guess that is where she draws these feelings from. She is like these kids' second mother, and reared them together with her other sisters.  She is single at 50. By choice, I would say. She devoted most of her time to taking care of Honey Leoning, their family's martriarch, and her neices and nephew...

Friends, I decided to post this finally not only because I can no longer wait for the newsletter on which this article is supposed to be published; but because when DAR Ilocos Sur was chosen to take the planned 'PARPO's Corner' of the newsletter's maiden issue, I could not write a thing. So I asked my dearest friend, Boboy Yonzon, to write about me. When he sent this to me, and I read it, I was speechless. I hope you all enjoy reading this. Thank you dearest.  And yes, I am bragging.   CRUSADING CHRISTIANNE By Boboy Yonzon She draws from her cigarette with measured intensity. When she looks through the swirl of white smoke, you confirm that Christianne is one serious person, a tad too much sometimes. That seriousness gets reinforced with her work in agrarian reform, a government program that has been pummeled endlessly either by genuine opponents or simply by uninformed, if not ignorant, critics. She comes to the program’s defense with the anima of a hero...

On his deathbed, Papa told him, 'You marry my daughter, your marry all of us.' It was a 'heads-up' by Papa, to the only man whom at that time mustered the courage to woo me. Papa died a few days after he said that. So he went on to keep his word he gave Papa. We got married not long after his death, but in so stressful circumstances.  I met him at a time when things were really rough for me, and was carrying all the weight of the world on my shoulders. A colleague introduced us, Jenny, and until now I have not really asked her how she got to know him. He pursued me, telling me at one point when we were already married, that he was impressed not only by the way I spoke English, but because I carefully wrapped a piece of siopao he gifted me with, and told him I would bring it home for Papa instead. Of course, the person that he is, he was joking his way through telling me. He is a a self-made man, after all, and pride overtook his emotions most often. Only a  few people a...

These are some thoughts I have on mornings when my hormones are at war, more than usual: 1. Pag passive ka, hindi ka sumasagot sa kahit na anong pinagsasabi ng kung sino, at 'ok' ang sagot mo sa lahat nga kahilingan, 'masyadong mabait na parang tanga' ang tawag sa yo. 2. Pag nagrason ka nang konti, at medyo tama ka naman, bastos ka. 3. Pag pinagbuti mo ang trabaho, epal ka. 4. Pag mas pinagbuti mo pa, at meron kang hindi agad nalamang info na dapat alam mo, may comment na 'akala ko ba magaling yang Christianne na yan?!, bakit hindi nya alam?'; so hindi ka magaling. Tanga ka pa rin. 5. Pag nagalit ka na kasi hindi ka nirerespeto, pero English ang pag-galit na ganap, may attitude ka. Minsan, hindi lang 'bitch' ang tawag. 'Witch' pa nga. Kasi ang English ko naman minsan, OA.  Naalala ko tuloy yung dati naming Sec, ang tawag sa amin ni Maan Anna Bernardo Francisco eh 'The Witches of Region 1'.  Actually, pinipigilan ko namang mag-transform sa...

The past months, I decided to watch and review this masterpiece of a series, 'The West Wing', which ran for six seasons a decade ago. I had a set of DVDs of the series at the height of its run, but the 'pirated' version. Sshhhh. Each night, while stationed in Ilocos Norte, I would watch it and fall asleep mid-episode. Then I would attempt to finish the night after, and would not; one night after another, stuck to one episode. I would finish one episode in more or less, a week. That cycle went on for the longest time, so I fell in love with Martin Sheen, or President Josiah Bartlett, nicknamed, Jed'. His wife, Abby played by Stockard Channing, became near-real in my world that at times, I wanted to slap Abby in my imagination because she was the perfect 'First Lady'; headstrong, classy, intelligent, a doctor by profession. I was jealous. Not only of her 'perfection', but because, well, she was Jed's wife. I can only guess how life would be if I li...

This kid is gay. He introduced himself as gay before the blinds. He taught the coaches gay lingo after three judges turned for him. Sarah got on her knees to beg that he choose her as coach, so did the mega. Bamboo sat, with one hand holding his pinoy scarf, the other hand gesturing for this kid to be smart. The kid said he wanted to learn this coach's vocal technique and to be a total performer: he chose Bamboo. When he got to the battles where Bamboo paired him with a more experienced Andrea, he unabashedly shed tears during the rehearsals because he felt Coach Bamboo was only focusing on Andrea and not him. After the battles performance, Bamboo had to let him know it was because Andrea needed more help than he did. He sang, 'Sorry', that Beiber song, a most unlikely choice for a competition, but it was the contestant's choice of song for the knockouts (three team members now against each other) so he sang what he wanted. And did very well that I understood the song f...

Since we were kids, he tread past everything with his nonchalance, seeing the world through those chinky eyes, the ones you could not read even up to now. He rarely smiled in our photos as kids, perhaps he thought, 'ok, there's a camera, so stand still and let the shot pass'. All of us got the wit of Papa in our genes, but it is most pronounced in him. His humor is that which is, often times so right on point that it plainly insults. I often call his attention to that, but I, too, talk of my sentiments in a wry, sarcastic manner. So who am I to make him stop? He started his family in a unique way, and continue to build a home the same way:  non-conformist, a step beyond society's norms. Brick upon brick, without the luxury of some concoction to hold the wall firmly together, much like the manner churches were built in the olden times in this country, he and his angel of a wife raised three of the strongest-willed and God-fearing women I have known.  And two of the pures...

The table and the chairs made of bamboo matched, there in the airy dining area of the house which was made of sliding doors in all corners. It was a politician's house, where people go in and out freely. Back then, trust was all that was needed to peacefully co-exist. The world was simpler. The dining table was where many of family conversations took place; from the normal day-to-day chitchat, to loud cackles usually from us making fun of someone in the family who had the worst luck for that day, to serious discussions of political concerns, and to the dreadful days when one in the family passed on. That table was witness to our joys, sadness, grief. I recall at one time when it was on that table where I put my elbows on as I covered my face with both my hands to muffle my sobs at Lola Corazon's passing.  Among the many memories we weaved together in that house, the moments in that dining room, with the bamboo tables and chairs, are my favorite. It was where Lola Corazon cooked...

I don't know if my melancholy the past days is because of my hormones once again. I have not written a blog for quite a while, too. I have found myself loving each minute of being alone: at home where I find comfort in the sheets smelling of my sweat tinged with the vanilla mist I wear in this weather; in my home in Vigan where I shuttle from the bed I sleep in my 'home away from home',  to the coffee table by the veranda for a smoke. I go about waking up each morning to the same stuff. At home in La Union, Winky hovers about waiting for me to get off the bed and expects a cuddle like she has not seen me in ages, even when we slept in the same room the night before. In Vigan, I set out to start each day checking my mail, work on them, feed my virtual fish, then Facebook. Alone. I imagine myself growing old in this fashion, which is not entirely sad. A friend of mine always say, each morning she wakes up is a blessing. I understand now what she means.  I find myself no longe...

Not an NBA fan, in fact I only hear stories about the Cavs and the Warriors. I know Lebron James as my daughter's boyfriend Derrick Wilquin Orros Atijera's 'idol'. Stephen Curry, I got to know only because his little daughters barged in on an interview with him way back. I hear only Kevin Durant's name as one of the best players there is in his generation. So when I watched the game today, as I was in the right place at the right time (which means home where I can stand in front of the tv in my housedress, no bath, and stinking), I was exhilirated. Rosette, Shia Mace Lubiano Boado, the adopted one was frying fish for our lunch during the 3rd quarter, in-between explaining to me why the game today was important, who the players were, what they mean to their teams, etc. I was amused she knew a lot about the NBA. Then Durant did that thing. I think it was during the 4th quarter, am not sure. But the team put into place this play where he was to shoot the ball like a du...

For most of my adult life, which started way too early, I had worked on being the best version of me for one thing: my father's pride. Sure, we siblings did not lack in encouragement, in affection, and in the deep belief in who we are, from Papa. He was a generous man. Which is probably why we all wanted to push ourselves to be better than the last, 'ang galing ah!', or 'dagita ket!'.  So when he passed, and our already chaotic life took the worst turn, each step, each milestone, each crisis, I found myself pausing at nights in prayer asking for his reassurance. Or his forgiveness. My Auntie Mae put it so aptly when she wrote in tribute to him on one Father's Day: 'We often wonder how life would be if you were still with us...we miss you.'  I miss him terribly, each day. I allow myself to be tortured with the question, 'would it have been easier, my life, if you were still alive?' Oh yes, life without him was difficult. Still is. I tread on with ...