2 Years

I woke up this morning and lying in bed - watching you sleep - it only really hit me then. You really are 2 years old already.

And my heart broke a little.

Every day you're a little more independent. Every day you need me a little less. And one day, you won't need at me at all.

So my heart breaks.

With every new word you learn. With every new skill you acquire. With every inch you grow. You grow away from me, and into yourself.

So I hug you tight, bury my face in your neck (that still holds so much of your sweet baby smell), ask time to move a little slower. Be mine for a little longer.

Happy Birthday Olivia. 

A Woman of Power

In celebrating Women's Day today, a lot of people have been asking what the definition of an "empowered" woman is. The hell if I know. If someone does manage to nail the definition down, please let me know.

Growing up I always thought I knew what an empowered woman was not. That was my mom.

Yes I love my mom. I love her deeply, with all the Elektra complex/teenage angst/conflicted relationship feelings that come with a mother-daughter relationship.

When I was really young I loved her unconditionally. I followed her around all the time. Picked flowers for her. Drove myself crazy trying to do what would please her. I loved her as much as any 6-year old child could love a parent.

But as I grew older my feelings for my mother became more complicated.

I questioned why she should have so much authority over me, considering it was obvious that it was my father who ran the show - both in and outside of our home.

It bothered me that her career - was taking care of me and my brother and sisters. I felt that outside of our family she had no life. Her life revolved around taking care of our house, taking care of us kids, and taking care of my dad. And I always asked myself - how could that be enough for her? Didn't she want more out of her life? Didn't she think she deserved better?

When I was in my late teens to early twenties it got to the point, and to this day I cringe at myself whenever I remember, where I looked down on my mother. On days when I would be angry with her (and those days were very frequent back then) I felt that she was just a few notches above the household help. I was a tremendously pompous asshole, and to this day I feel bad for every time I made her feel that way.

In those days I thought I was just, to paraphrase an old co-worker, the shiznit. Whatever that means - I sure felt that way. And I would constantly tell my dad that I would rather die than grow up and be like my mother. I was going to grow up just like him - a master of the universe. I would be "the man". I promised him that I would never get married. And even if I did I would never have kids. Because kids would drag me down, hold me back.

I would look at my mother and tell myself: "there's no way in hell I am going to spend my life taking care of other people, and putting their needs before mine. I am more important than that. People are going to have build their lives around me, and not the other way around."

I would watch as my mother kept our house spotless, prepared home-cooked meals, made curtains and table cloths (yes, my mother sewed our curtains and table cloths. She even sewed our pj's as kids. She could've given Martha Stewart a run for her money.) --- and I would think --- what a waste. She went to college for this?

I was such a jerk.

As I got older I learned to be kinder, if not more tolerant of my mother. It helped that I had gotten married and lived away from home.

Then she got sick.

And everything changed.

12 years ago she got diagnosed with Progressive Supra-Nuclear Palsy. It's a rare neurological disease that slowly robbed her of the ability to move, the ability to eat, and the ability to speak. It has even robbed her of the ability to blink.

It is a thief that stole a little bit of my mom each year, until there's barely any of her left.

And it has taken me 12 years to realize, and appreciate, what a wonderful woman my mother is. And how much I have wronged her, and failed her as a daughter.

The start of her disease marked the start of my own journey towards motherhood. I met John the year she was diagnosed. And in the course of these 12 years I have built my own family. Had the children I swore I would never want. And discovered how much of my mother is in me. And how much more of her character I wish I had in myself.

More and more I wish I could be the woman my mother was. Be the mother she was to me to my own kids.

I will never be half the home-maker she was. I will never be as great a cook. I will never have the patience, strength and energy she had that got her through raising 4 kids --- hell, I struggle daily with the 2 I already have.

And I don't think I will ever have the grace and love that she showed me whenever I said or did something bad to her. All the times I made her feel little -- to make myself feel bigger.

Would that God bless me with even a measure of that grace, love and forgiveness that my mom constantly showed me.

--------

Every couple of months my mom has a nasty bout with pneumonia brought about by her condition. May be once year the doctors will ask us to sign a document that says we authroize them not to revive my mom in case she codes. And they ask us to say goodbye.

And every time they do, I tell my mom how much I love her. How sorry I am for every time I hurt her. That I appreciate, now more than ever, every little thing she ever did for me. And that she is the best mom anyone could ever ask for.

But the words, they ring hollow to me. They ring hollow to her, because we don't even know if she can still hear us. And even if she did, I don't know if she still understands. But I say them anyway. Because I'm hoping that she does. I'm hoping that her spirit is free from the cage that is her body now --- and that wherever that spirit roams --- it hears my words.

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As of today my mom's been in the hospital for almost a month. She came in with pneumonia, suffered a heart attack, was put on ventilator and we were told she wasn't going to last the week. They told us to say goodbye.

5 days later she was off the ventilator, she was kicking the pneumonia on its ass and was out of the ICU.

3 days later her pneumonia came back (with friends), she was taken back to the ICU and put back on the ventilator. She presented with a 40 degree fever that wouldn't go away despite the fact that her body was wrapped in a thermal blanket that was set at 4 degrees. It was hinted that she might not last the weekend. And that may be we should say goodbye. Again.

4 days later she's out of the ICU, her lungs are clear, the pneumonia is gone, and she breathing room air. She's not even on assisted oxygen! Just room air.

I'm not sure it that qualifies her as an empowered woman, but it certainly proves that my mom is a woman of power.

So I celebrate her today.

I Poo, Therefore I Am

So a day after I watch what could possibly be the best marketing campaign I've seen all year (yes Chueys it's the damn Coke OFW campaign), I find myself on the toilet reading the latest Time magazine issue with the 50 most influential women article. And I have an existential moment (the kind that only ever happens when one is sitting on the toilet contemplating the mysteries of life).

I wonder if I hadn't stopped working -- would I be a Marketing Director by now?

Yes I know that is a very, very strange question to ask one's self while on the toilet (or anywhere else for that matter), but hear me out.

Ever since I started working back in 1996, I always knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I was an assistant product manager for the Bank of the Philippine Islands back then, handling auto loans. I reported to a product manager, who in turn reported to the head of Marketing. I wanted to be that guy. Not my boss, but my boss' boss.

And it wasn't about being in a position to order people around, or having the head of the bank listen to you. It was because I knew in my heart, that given enough experience and exposure --- I could do his job. And I could be good at it.

So I spent the next 12 years of my life working on my career with that one goal in mind: become a marketing director before I was 40. Of a major Philippine bank. Or a multinational one. Whichever came first. Or paid me more money.

And I loved my job. I loved what I did. I loved the creativity that it required. I loved the analysis it took. I didn't want to be a Marketing Director who just ran campaigns and advertising strategies for the bank products. I wanted to be the one who built those products. And launched them. And grew them. And eventually killed them. Boy did I love my job.

There wasn't anything I wouldn't do for it either. Including spending half a year in various LTO offices gathering raw data, and churning market analysis based on that data, with my partner Kris. Scouring through piles and piles of car registrations and handwriting the information on it in cramped, smelly, un-airconditioned back offices of various government offices. Subsisting on bottles of diet coke and sky flakes crackers. Oh those were the days.

I've lost count of all the all-nighters I pulled with Tricia and Steve when we were launching/re-launching online banking for UBP when I moved there after BPI.

Giving the ad agency a heart attack when I insisted on doing online editing when they couldn't get my brochures right for CBC the night before my product launch.

Or personally/physically attaching stickers to new ATMs in SCB. And I was already an AVP by then.

Nothing was too big or too small for me to do --- so long as it meant I got my job done right.

----

We make plans, life plans, but never stop to wonder if something will change along the way. The situation. Your circumstances. You.

I met a man. Picked him because we both didn't want kids. Got married. Changed our minds. Fought to have kids. And got them.

And my life changed.

It changed even more when my then 3-year old asked my husband, after yet another long late night of me not being home, if I was angry at her because I never wanted to be around her. And may be that's why I was always gone.

I quit my job.

---

I wish I could say I never looked back since. But obviously I do. Not with regret. I do, wholeheartedly, believe that what I'm doing now is more important. Even if I do constantly speak of Munchausen by Proxy in my posts and blogs.

But I do look back. And wonder.

---

Looking forward, I know I won't go back. To that job. To that life. Even if it is something that John and I have talked about several times, as something to explore when the kids are older. Part of me feels it will be too late. Another part feels that I've changed too much to go back to what I used to do.

I look forward to changing again. I don't know into what. A teacher perhaps? A counselor? A shrink? A person who knows how to drive? Who knows?

Life is change. It's what makes life exciting and scary at the same time. Life's sheer inconstancy is what makes it worth living --- just to see what happens next.

Happy Birthday Hubby

It has been.... years... since I last wrote you a birthday card. Or note. I guess this is what happens when you buy your own presents and just send me the bill. But hey, whatever works and gets you the present you want... I'm down with that.

But it's late, and I've been feeling sentimental, so I wrote this one for you.

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It's easy to list the things you do that irritate or bug the living hell out of me:

How your clothes are always on the hamper, or around the hamper, but never IN the hamper.

Your irrational annoyance with security guards, waiters and motorcycle drivers.

The innumerable times I've had near death drowning experiences in the toilet because you never remember to put the toilet seat down.

Your insistence on squeezing the toothpaste tube in the middle.

Your jet engine like snoring.

The hoarding.

Feeding the kids cheetos and chocolate before meal times.

The perverse pleasure you get out of anonymously poking or pinching my ass in public that has lead me to mistakenly hit several unsuspecting men with my handbag.

And how you're secretly trying to kill me by wiping chocolate stained fingers on MY towels so that the ants attack me fresh out of the shower.

Oh I could go on and on..... And I could.

And I could focus on all these things you do that drive me crazy.

And I'd forget about the things that make me crazy... about you.

How you always hold my hand when I sit in the passenger seat of the car.

How you always think of me when you're buying CDs and buy albums of bands I like or you'd think I'd like. Without asking if I already own them --- which is why we have 3 copies of Dogs Die in Hot Cars and 5 copies of Faded Seaside Glamour by The Delays.

How there isn't an electric appliance or broken toy or device that you can't fix. You are Handy Manny and Macgyver rolled into one.

I remember how you let me sleep on your chest (all 1*& pounds of me) when we lost the babies because I couldn't go to sleep.

How your "Y" genes gave me two beautiful daughters who look nothing alike yet, oddly enough, both look like you.

On the rare occasion that you sing "Deeply Dippy" or play "Born Slippy" it still makes me feel giddy.

How you always call me when you're on your way home because you still miss those times we used drive home from work together and just talk and talk and talk.

And how every so often you will talk to me about work and ask my advice, even though I haven't been a banker in almost 4 years, because you think I'm "still smarter than half the people I deal with".

Oh I could go on and on and on.... And I could.

No matter how frustrated I can get with you sometimes, nothing has ever overshadowed the fact that you are still the best

friend I have, the best person I know, and the best man that you could be.

Happy Birthday dear husband.

Yes, you are still the "jackpot". And to this day I still don't know what the contest was for.

Not So Fast

Hey little girl, what's your hurry?

You have all the time in the world to grow up, and I only have a few short years to call you my little girl.

Already you talk of boys, cold creams, and how embarrassing it is to have people see you being cradled in my arms. So these arms only squeeze you tighter, wishing they could squeeze you back into being my little girl.... knowing they will have to open soon to let you go. To let you grow.

I see you sometimes watching me with sadness and longing when I'm holding your baby sister. Swinging her up and down, holding her tiny hand to help across the room. I don't do these things because I love her more. I do these things because I still can. I'm strong enough to throw and catch her mid-air. I hold her hand to cross the room because she needs me to, she with her shaky and uncertain legs that just learned how to walk.

Would you let me still swing you in my arms (do I have the upper body strength to do so? Hahaha!)? Will you still let me hold your hand as we walk? Often you walk ahead of me, so eager to see what's around the next corner. Or worse --- you run ahead of me, because I'm walking too slowly and you are in a rush to get to what's next.

Slow down. Please. Slow down.

I waited so long for you. Missed so much the first 3 years of your life. Is it so wrong to want to squeeze the most out of every minute we have together now?

My favorite part of the day is when it's time to sleep. Because when we lie down it's time for you to be still. And you'll let me hold you and cradle you in my arms until you fall asleep. And when you do I can spend hours watching you, without you feeling self-conscious of my stare. I can marvel at how big you've grown, how beautiful you've become, and how, when you're asleep, you look more like the little girl you still are, instead of the 7-going-on-40 year old you can sometimes be.

Little girl, what's the rush?

Stay mine a little while longer.

You Were Tanya Titong Weren't You?

On the basis of an interesting episode of Modern Family and a recent conversation between mutual friends, I've decided to write this post.

In the episode of Modern Family, Claire tells the camera that daughters should never, ever, know who their mother were before they had their kids. As far as kids should know, their moms are saintly, pure and wise. Coincidentally a bunch girlfriends had gotten around to talking about me at a friend's shower. And two of them mentioned how they liked to follow my status messages on Facebook, but they never felt quite sure if the person they were following was me, because I sounded so different from the girl they knew back in college.

Well, I'm not ashamed to admit that I have changed. The wild, carefree, careless, chain-smoking, perpetually drunk rejection junkie I used to be has been replaced by the soccer mom from hell. I personally feel that most of the change has been for the good, but every so often I (and some friends of mine) miss the old me.

She was crazy but she sure was fun.

Will my girls ever get to know the person I was before I was their mom? Hell. No. Hahaha!

As much as I would like my kids to know that I was once a cool and fun person, I would rather just let them think that I was born.... Mother. Bossy, conservative, caring, loving, not necessarily fun but full of life lessons and worthy of respect.

I wouldn't change the life I've led. Not.One.Bit. I think that I am wiser for all the experiences I've had. And I'd like to share whatever wisdom I have with my kids. They just don't need to know how I "learned" these life lessons. I don't think I merit much respect in the way I learned a few lessons like:

1. I once tried to "dive"... into a Jacuzzi. I was very drunk at the time and am just basing this story on the anecdotes of friends, and the bizarre collection of cuts, scrapes, bumps and bruises I had the next morning which I don't remember getting. Lesson learned: drink in moderation. And never around bodies of water.

2. I took a week off from work (unknown to my boss and parents) to learn how to scuba dive. Mostly because I had a crush on my scuba diving partner. And that same guy was the reason why I went on a 3 day dive trip with 6 guys I didn't know because he invited me.... and didn't show up. Lesson learned: Never let a guy dictate what you do or where you go. Learn to do your own thing.

3. To maintain my weight of 96 lbs. I spent 4 years drinking diet coke and smoking cigarettes for lunch and dinner (aka the Kate Moss diet). Lesson learned: Yes there is such a thing as too skinny. And never believe that line that "nothing tastes as good as being thin feels". Because there is, and it's called carbs. Learn to love the body that God gave you. Take care of it.

4. I bungee jumped on a dare. I accepted this dare while drunk. Which taught me the lesson of never accepting dares while drunk. Actually, never accept anything while drunk.

5. I went parasailing in South Africa. While it was winter. On a dare. Which I accepted while I was drunk. Which taught me that some lessons are hard to learn and I am also very hard to teach.

6. I was the blind date queen of the Philippines. While single, I went on 22 blind dates over the course of 3 years. Because I believed in being open to the universe and the possibility of finding love in the strangest places. It taught me that true love can sometimes be right beside you (or in my case 3 cubicles away). It also taught me to never accept a blind date set up by Steve Crisologo.

I smoke. I drank. I cussed a lot. I was a bit of a cutthroat bitch in the workplace because I was ambitious. I dated a lot of guys. Loved a few. I did whatever made me happy, and I never let anyone tell me what to do. I lived my youth to its fullest and I believe this is something every one should do. (Jesus, I'm starting to rhyme). May be not in the same way I did (God I hope my girls don't), but the important thing is to live it on your terms. To do things that you want, to live with no regrets, and to take each experience and turn it into something that enriches your life. Good or bad.

Which is why I'm so different now. Because I've been that person, learned the lessons that that person's life offered and because of those lessons I've grown into the person that I am today. I wouldn't have wanted to stay Tanya Titong. As fun as she was, she was also oftentimes very lonely, scared and insecure. She had a lot of growing up to do.

And she had to grow up the hard way. Had her heart broken. Betrayed a friend. Lost a father. Struggled with infertility. Lost 3 children.

But along that way was also blessed with: True Love. Faithful friends. Solid siblings. A great life. And 2 beautiful kids.

I'm happy to be Tanya Medina now. 50 lbs heavier. Goes to bed at 10 pm. Gets up at 5 am. Doesn't smoke anymore. Rarely drinks. Talks incessantly about her kids, her husband and cooking.

I live a new life now, shaping the ones that God has blessed me with.

Now I just sit back and watch the show that is my kids' lives unfolding. And I'm glad I've got front row seats.

A Sister Speaks

In honor of the Oscars yesterday (which I missed because of my brother's wedding), I am posting the speech I gave last night. A lot of people came up to me afterwards because they really liked it. I told them that it took me an hour to write, and I wrote in the middle of the night because I completely forgot about it because I was out of the country up until the day before the wedding. But may be it resonated with a lot of them because I wrote it from my heart. Even though he's a fully grown man, even though he's now married with a family of his own, he will always be my baby brother and I love him.

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I’ve been asked to give the speech on behalf of our family tonight, not just because I’m the smartest and funniest of all us Titong kids, but also because being only 18 months older than him, having been his room mate, and having spent countless hours listening to Dave Matthews and U2, smoking illegal cigarettes and experiencing existential angst together --- I’m the one who knows Epi best.

And knowing my brother as well as I do, I have decided to entitle my speech tonight: Top 5 Reasons Why We Wish Anj All the Luck in the World (aka Stuff that might have changed your mind about marrying him 2 hours ago but now its too late and we have a strict no-return, no exchange policy in our family).

5. He’s secretly in love with… the best man (you know I’m talking about you Anton Palma!), and they may or may not have been carrying on a secret affair for the last 10 years. Later tonight ask him about OMD’s song Secret and why it has special meaning for the two of them.

4. He carries all of our genetic waste material – case in point: notice how white I am, notice how dark he is. He is short. He is fat. And in the words of Homer Simpson: “Baldness is hereditary”. That’s why it’s a good thing Anj is so pretty, because at least now his kids will have a fighting chance.

3. And speaking of genetics, it is a fact that the father carries the math gene and will determine how well your kids will do in math. Your husband carries the dubious distinction of earning the lowest math grade in the history of the Ateneo High School. So Anj, I hope you’re also good in math.

2. You are marrying the world’s biggest cry baby. He’s more emotional than a woman who is having PMS. I would say he cries like a girl, but that would be an insult to girls. He cries at tv commercials and sad movies. I have seen him cry when girls dump him. He used to cry during swimming class when we were kids. Nowadays (and Anj can attest to this) he cries in the hospital when they have to stick a needle in him.

1. And the number 1 reason why we wish Anj all the luck in the world --- He has not one, or two, but three bossy, loud, cranky, OLDER sisters. And everyone knows that a sister-in-law is 10x worse than a mother-in-law, and now she has 3. So if that doesn’t merit her all the good luck in this room, I don’t know what will.

While he is not a prized catch, I must admit that my brother has redeeming qualities:

1. He is kind. And generous. To a fault.

2. He is funny. Sometimes even when he doesn’t mean to be.

3. He is loyal.

4. He is smart. Hopefully in all the right ways.

5. Most importantly he values family. And in the sum total of all things, that balances everything out. A man who values family, who puts family first before all things, is a very rare and precious man. And you should count yourself lucky for having found one in my brother.

Earlier I said that I am giving this speech tonight on behalf of our family because I’m the one who knows Epi best. To be honest, I am giving this speech on behalf of the two people who loved him the most, but could not be here tonight.

It was no secret growing up that my mom loved Epi the most, more than all of us girls combined. We never held it against either of them, because they always had a special bond. Plus it was kind of obvious that he was her favorite because when we were kids and my mom used to ration the M&Ms because they were hard to come by (for the benefit of those of you too young to know what PX goods are --- imported chocolates were hard to come by and were usually brought home by relatives from the States or bought in Cash and Carry), my mom would give each of us girls 10 M&Ms after dinner for dessert. And she would give him 20. And it was like that with everything, so medyo obvious diba?

Eps, she loved you so much. She loves you still. And while we argued about whether or not she could be here today, I know you understand that it would be too much for her, and it won’t be good for her health. But she is always with you, with us. Remember the M&Ms, the kisses good night, the hand that held yours through so many things in childhood and after --- and know that she is here with you now . And always.

And if Dad were here, well, who knows what he’d say? You think I’m funny? You should have met that guy. He might joke about the fact that you were the rascalliest of all his little rascals. He might kid about how different you two are from each other, and how much better looking he is than you.

I like to think that he would say, in a very simple way, how proud he is of you. Of the man you have become. He never gave up on you, and I believe that is why you never gave up on yourself. And I think it’s the most wonderful thing that even he, with all his love and hope and faith in you, could never have imagined how far you would get, and how much further you can still go.

And while he is no longer here, he still lives on. In you. In all of us. He can live forever, if we raise our children right. If you love you children the way he loved us. If you believe in them the way he believed in us. Then his legacy of what a great parent is and should be, will be continued, first by us, then our kids, so on and so forth. And that will be how he lives on.

If you could be half the father he was to Sophia and all your future kids, how lucky they will be. If you could be just as he was, they would be so blessed. And if you could be more than that, then Daddy would consider his life well lived. Because all he ever wanted from you, from all of us, was to be the best person you could be. And you are on your way to being that. You could be the man he always knew you would be. And that would make him so happy.

I know that he’s looking down at us right now from heaven, smoking his cigarette and drinking his scotch. And I know he’s telling everyone he’s with, with pride: That’s my boy, that’s my son.

I love you little brother, even though you still owe me P500 from 1998. You are the best brother a girl could ask for.

And Anj, I hope you like David Hasslehof. I hope you don’t mind being the one who turns off all the lights at night, since my brother is afraid of the dark. And I hope you like guinataang bayabas because that is the Titong national dish and we all have to like it.

We’re so happy to welcome you and Sophia to our family, the only family that makes the Addams family seem normal.

Congratulations to you both.

If I Didn't Love You

In the midst of a temper tantrum this afternoon Pilar yelled out: "you don't love me anymore!" and it broke my heart. I tried to explain to her why it was she couldn't play Wii after being so horribly obnoxious to both her yaya and me - and how it was because I DO love her that I was trying to teach her how treat people with respect and kindness. I know most of it went over her head. But I do hope she learned something today.

I write these words in the hopes that she'll read them someday and know how much I love her and that my life will always be dedicated to making sure she lives hers in the best way that she can.

Today you said that I didn't love you anymore.

I would have laughed if it didn't hurt my heart so much.

Part of me wanted to scream: what more do you want from me?!?

I put my life on hold for you. To be always with you. To help you grow. To make sure we could give you the best childhood that we can. To help you become the best person you can be.

How do I explain to you that everything I do that you dont like, I don't like either. But the rules, the schedules, the consequences, the rewards, and even the scolding - they are all for you. And for your own good.

If I didn't love you I would let you sleep when you wanted, not caring that you have to be up at 5 the next day, making you sleep deprived and unprepared for the big day ahead.

I would let you watch TV until your eyes popped or play Nintendo or PSP until your fingers fell off. I wouldn't care that they keep you from developing your own imagination and that they wont teach you how to deal with REAL people and REAL situations.

If I didn't love you I would let you yell at your yaya, the driver and the maid whenever they didn't do what you wanted or were slow in getting you what you asked for. I would let you hit them or hurt them so that you won't learn the values of kindness and respect.

I would let you grow up an abusive brat who took people for granted, especially those who live their lives away from their own children and families to take care of you. I would not teach you how to value these people who try to work with dignity despite their station in life, and who love you as they would love their own.

If I didn't love you I would let you talk back to me and your pappy. I would give you everything you wanted, whether you deserve them or not. I would not care if you didn't learn the value of working toward a goal. The value of hard work. The lesson of disappointment. The drive of determination.

If I didn't love you I would let you grow up thinking everything is owed to you, just because. I would let you grow up with a false sense of entitlement, and not teach you the value of self worth.

If I didn't love you.

But I do.

Love you with all my heart.

And every breath in my body.

And what I want for you when you grow up --- more than becoming a nuclear physicist or a rocket scientist, more than a Harvard graduate or a master of the universe is this ---- That you grow up to be a good person. A GOOD person. The best person that you can be.

Someone who is kind and loving. Someone who respects all people, regardless of who they are. Someone who will try to do the right thing, the good thing, each and every time.

So I try, and we struggle, but never forget that I do, always have, always will, love you.

That's why I make you stand in the corner.

Mother's talk

I never wanted to become a mother. I never even wanted to become a wife.

When I was 23 I promised my dad that I would never get married, and at the time I meant it. I was preparing to take my GREs, I had just finished taking my TOEFL and all I could think of was moving to another country and getting my master's degree.

When my friend Twinkle told me she was getting married, I spent long hours trying to convince her that it was a ridiculous idea. We were only 23 (well, she was 24)! The world was at our feet. She was supposed to go to law school, the same way I was supposed to get my MA. After her wedding reception a bunch of guy friends and I went out drinking and toasted our wonderful single-ness and vowed to never let ourselves get caught in the same trap.

Then 6 months later I met John. At first there was no cause for alarm. He was a die-hard bachelor who had never had a serious girlfriend. On our 3rd date he told me that if I was the kind of girl that just wanted to get married and have babies then may be I should date someone else. Because he wanted to get married at 40, if he ever did decide to get married. I told him that by the time he was 40 I'd be 33, so that would be perfect because I didn't want to get married either, and by then I'd be old enough just to be his live-in girlfriend without killing my parents.

Three months later he proposed. I don't know who was more surprised by the words that came out of his mouth, me or him. Or by the fact that I actually said yes.

A year later I found myself married, but at least we both agreed that we didn't want to have kids. At least not right away.

After a year of marriage we decided that we would "casually" try to have children, thinking to ourselves: "how hard could it be?". A year later we found out just how hard.

Nothing makes you want children more than finding out that you can't have any. At least not in the easy, normal way that other people could.

So we got on the 3 year roller coaster ride that was our (well, more like "my" really) life on fertility medication. First we tried the oral drugs, but those only caused more cysts on my ovaries --- none of which resulted in a viable egg. We switched doctors. And then again. Until we finally met Greg. Then the shots in ass started. And oh what fun they were. But at the end of it all, I finally developed 5 eggs. Which promptly started dying. One by one. By the end of our cycle we only had 1 left. And Greg was doubtful that it would get fertilized. He recommended that we do artificial insemination, just to increase our chances of fertilization. So I got the turkey baster up the wazoo --- and when we got home from the clinic that night, we did it the old fashioned way. Just in case.

2 weeks later they said the words we never thought we'd ever hear: you're pregnant. Followed by: now you have to go on bed rest. For the next 9 months.

The next 35 weeks were the most beautiful, harrowing, nerve wracking, fantastic 35 weeks of my life. I was hospitalized twice. Once when I started bleeding for no reason and almost expelled the little embryo that was growing inside me. Another when the placenta partially detached itself from my uterus and almost caused us to bleed out again. On my 35th week check-up Greg saw that my placenta had started shriveling and was threatening the baby, so he delivered me via c-section the next day.

On November 13, 2004, I met the person who changed my life. Forever.

Pilar Zita T. Medina, 10:54 a.m. November 13, 2004. 6 lbs. 4 oz. 18 in.

Changed it so much that 3 years after she was born I quit the job I loved so that I could be with her all the time.

I am now Mother. And I can't imagine not having wanted to be this person. Because I am a better person now for having had her, for knowing her, and for helping her grow. I am now the person that I know God has always wanted me to be. Far from perfect, but always struggling to be better --- so that I can help her be the best person that she can be, whoever that is 15-20 years from now.

She has shown me how much love there is to be found in the tight embrace of arms that can barely enfold you. In hands so small they fit in your palm. In the sweet breath that blows against your face at night when someone snuggles up close.

So much love. So much that I found myself wanting more. Willing to go through the shots in the ass, the turkey baster, the petri-dish, the catheter.

I was blessed to hear those magical words: you are pregnant, 3 more times. Never losing hope, even when two of those magical times ended so abruptly, with so much pain and loss.

Soon we will be meeting the next person who will change our lives. Forever.

And I will tell her, "you know, I never wanted to become a mother. But may be that's only because we've never met. Not until today. But today I know I have always wanted to be yours."

On Grief (My Melancholic Schizophrenia)

For Cari on Chris' 40th day.... I wrote this awhile back and our conversation regarding the fine line between grieving and becoming crazy reminded me of it.


I am lying here
Staring at walls
My mind simultaneously
Blank
And rife with thought

While my ears tingle
As I wish I could shut off
The noise
Knowing that I am secretly afraid of
The silence

This is the dichotomy of my grief

As I struggle to hold on to you
While letting you go
I have become the melancholic schizophrenic

Surrounding myself with people
Even though I want to push them away
Wanting to be alone
Knowing I will never be

Alone

How can I be when you
Are always with me
You will always be with me
How can you go
When I can't say goodbye?

Shine On

One of the things I miss the most about my dad are Sunday mornings that were spent lining up his various dress shoes outside the front porch and polishing them until lunch time.

It was a very ritualistic event. First we'd gather up all his dress shoes and bring them outside. Then we'd drag his shoe shining kits and set up our respective benches. Then he'd light up a cigarette and get started while waiting for one of us to bring him an ice cold beer. And over the strains of Frank Sinatra or Julio Iglesias we'd spend the better part of 3 hours shining, buffing and polishing about 30 pairs of shoes.

Those were good times. Over the smell of cigarette smoke, San Miguel Pale Pilsen and Kiwi shoe shine polish my dad and I would talk about anything and everything under the sun. When I started going to Catholic school, my regulation black shoes were included in the pile of shoes that needed to be shined. And when I started working my leather shoes got the same treatment.

He was always so scrupulous about shoes - how clean they had to be, and how important it was that they were well polished and maintained. He would always tell us that the state of one's shoes reflected a person's habits, sense of self-worth and work ethic. A person who takes pride in himself and isn't afraid of hard work should always, always, have clean and well polished shoes.

I always thought that it was about vanity, until I was about 10 and I asked him why he always took such pains to make sure his shoes were clean and why he always made sure he polished them himself. Then he told me this story:

My dad didn't come from money. He was only about 5 when my grandfather passed away from a heart attack, leaving my grandmother, who was a school teacher, with 6 kids and a small income. To help his family make ends meet he used to sell cigarettes to US army officers that were stationed near his hometown in Masbate. He then moved on from selling cigarettes to shining shoes because the margins were bigger and you could get a tip on top of everything else. For a little kid who wore slippers to school, those big shiny army boots were something he told himself he'd have one day.

When it was time for him to go off to college, my grandmother and my aunt, the eldest in their family, pooled together what they could so that he could go to university in Manila. He went to FEU to study Political Science, in the hopes that one day he would become a lawyer just like my grandfather. He arrived in Manila with 2 white short sleeved shirts, a pair of pants and 1 pair of black leather shoes.

He used to tell me that the second shirt was a big thing, since it allowed him to make sure that he always had a clean shirt to go to school in. When he'd get back to his dorm room he'd immediately wash whatever shirt he was wearing so that it would have the whole day the next day to dry up and he would always have a clean shirt. Since he didn't have much of a wardrobe --- it was a source of pride for him that no matter what happened.... his shoes were always clean and presentable because he polished them himself.

Even while in college, he'd still take the odd shoe shining job to earn extra cents for food, or to help defray the costs of his going to college so that he could make life easier for my grandmother and my aunt. So he never forgot those shoe shining skills.

He had to drop out of college in his 3rd year, because he had younger brothers and sisters who also had to go to school. He applied to PAL as a purser, lied about his college degree and started working.

A few years later, at a hiring event, he applied as a Medical Representative to Mead Johnson and the rest is mythic Eppie Titong history.

He became the youngest president of a multinational pharmaceutical in the Philippines when he was 39. He finally finished college, and was able to earn masters degrees from Columbia University and Insead. And when he retired, he was the head of a Fortune 500 company.

But through all those years, and all those achievements, he still spent every Sunday polishing shoes. From the GI boots, to his single pair of college shoes, all the way to his handcrafted fancy dress shoes --- he polished each and every one of them himself. More often than not, he said, to remind him of how far had he come --- on sheer hard work and determination --- and also so he would never forget his humble beginnings so that he would always be grateful for what he had.

To this day, almost 7 years since he's been gone, his shoes are still in his closet. Like they were waiting for him to come home and dust them off and shine them again.

I miss the smell of cigarette smoke, San Miguel Pale Pilsen and Kiwi shoe shine. I miss those long conversations spent covered in shoe polish.

But his stories, his lessons, and the shoes, shine on.

Quotable Quotes

Sometimes I forget that Pilar is only 5. Sometimes she speaks like a teenager. Or a 30 year old. We don't know where she gets it from.

Just the other night she was asking me for another candy bar, knowing full well she had already reached her nightly quota. John handed her a small Hershey's Kiss (violating our standing rule and earning himself major pogi points yet again). As she walked away with her loot I told her: "P, that is absolutely, positively the last piece of chocolate you're getting tonight." She gave me a look, looked at her dad, raised an eyebrow and said (complete with a smirk): "If you say so...."

Lately she has also taken to prefacing certain things with the ominous statement: "Mommy, I have to tell you something. But before I do, I want you to know.... it was an accident. And I'm sorry." (That's verbatim. I didn't add any extra words). You know nothing good is going to follow after that statement.

Our new favorite is her hardline stance on her future sibling. As a girl, Pilar is looking forward to having a baby sister. She's always telling us about how she's going to love the baby, take care of it, feed it, share her toys with it. One day we totally stumped her by saying: "But P, we don't know yet what the baby will be. What if God gives you a baby brother?" Without batting an eyelash Pilar told us: "Well we'll just have to send him back to Jesus and ask for a refund."

Ah my beautiful, precious girl.