A Journey of Enduring Love

“Hearts united in pain and sorrow

           will not be separated by joy and happiness.

                    Bonds that  are woven in sadness

                            are stronger than the ties of joy and pleasure.

                                  Love that is washed by tears

                                             will remain eternally pure and beautiful.”

This mystic poem of Kahlil Gibran written in  the 18^th century traced the journey of enduring love even in the midst of relationship crises in our present day. The kind of union instituted by God in the beginning is now marred by the material world and the rat race of life. However, I had two rare finds out there in that barren land - the love of Edwin and Sylvia, Ravi and Jonalyn.

Edwin is an engineer by profession and an employee of one of the prestigious  government agencies in the Philippines (DPWH). A soft spoken man, very patient, sincere with his dealings and through his eyes, true love from his soul  to his wife couldn’t be hidden. I thought he was a very silent man, but in our small group he bared his soul. His family loved travel. They made it a point to take their children along with them in their tour of the country. They preferred  travel than building a luxurious house. He has a sense of humor too. He made a pact with his children not to sell the property across the street when they’re gone. When pressed why? He retorted, because they do not belong to us!

Sylvia, a business woman looked like an actress or a pampered rich. During our tete-a-tete while waiting for our flight I learned from her that she hated boredom doing nothing. She used to sell dried fish, cooked boxes of spaghetti and delivered them to her husband’s officemates. Then she was into selling used clothing, investing in Mary Kay beauty products and Herbal food supplements. Her husband at first didn’t like the idea but found himself helping  Sylvia after his office hours. Sylvia couldn’t keep quiet if she spotted problems in our travel. She was so courageous and outspoken. One couldn’t believe  that all these traits  were bundled inside an attractive package, a  young pretty face and flawless skin.

Opposite poles attract. Engineers know this. When they attract  they are glued. Edwin and Sylvia were married for 19 years and with the kind of union of opposites their love would  see them through all barriers for many more years to come.

       “It is a perfect understanding

                Between a man and woman...And it happens

                       In the blinking of an eye. This affinity

                            Is born in a single moment and is greater

                                Than all other affinities, this spiritual

                                                       conversion we call: Love.”

The love of Ravi and Jonalyn knew no land nor creed. Jonalyn was my former student in high school 20 years ago. I didn’t see her after graduation and 20 years after we met in Facebook. Upon knowing I was in Dubai that date she and her  classmate, Rosanna went to my hotel one Friday afternoon to meet their long lost teacher. I was honored by their presence especially so that Jon’s husband was with them. Ravi, that was his name was holding their son who according to him was most awaited. It was gifted to them after 6 years  of marriage.

Ravi was a Precision Engineer at Multi Technologies FZE in Dubai. He has classic  facial features of an Indian. He was as tall as any Filipino, dark and handsome. He obliged to drive us to IBM Batuta as suggested by Jon. It was a long drive but I was not oblivious of time because Ravi was so entertaining and very  intelligent. From our exchange of ideas what stuck most in my mind was his statement that his creed was not a religion but a way of life. One has to do things the right way even if no one was looking. It would be a healthy feeling  to know that one respected others rights. Ravi was a principled man as gleaned from his  ideas. I was happy to know that my former student was married to  this  loving man and highly spiritual.

Jonalyn was a naïve lady the last time I knew her...But now she has transformed into a responsible lady, a wife and mother. She still carried with her the Filipino trait of being true to one’s husband. Since she married Ravi, she chose to stay home and be there for her husband to go home to. She embraced her husbands way of life and there was no doubt that the affinity between them was a “spiritual conversion called Love”. They have been married for seven years now but with the kind of chemistry in their union, love would triumph until the “eyes grow dim and the head with its silver linings”.

Edwin and Sylvia, Ravi and Jonalyn have given us a specimen of real love. Two engineers as head of each family with equally supportive wives have chosen the right course although “oftentimes painful and difficult path”  as they would journey on but --- “you cannot reach dawn unless you travel the dark of night.”    

The author of this blog has been with her husband for 42 years and had just celebrated their anniversary a few days ago 

The Mosque, The Safari and The Royal Ball

The awesome mosque, the daring safari and the lovely royal ball - these three spots of interest topped my wonderful experience in Dubai. A man made city where high rise buildings mushroomed in a short span of time. Home of the Firsts in the world. The world's tallest building, the grandest mosque, the biggest mall, the most expensive hotel and the first palm-shaped island reclaimed from the sea. But wait, I’m not writing a travelogue but of people in the company where I invested who made this tour of the golden city possible and memorable. I likened them to the beautiful sights and experiences I encountered.

The CEO and the Mosque

The architecture of Sheikh Zayed Mosque in Abu Dhabi is one of the largest mosques in the world. It has a capacity of 41,000 worshippers. It features 82 domes, over 1,000 columns, 24 carat gold-gilded chandeliers and the world's largest hand-knitted carpet. The main prayer room hall is adorned by one of the world's largest chandeliers - 10 meters in diameter, 15 meters in height and weighing twelve tons.

With this exciting information given to us, who would like to miss such grandeur? Not one in the group, because all of us donned the required dress code and joined the throng in entering the mosque.

Doc Sam Ramos, our CEO stirred the same excitement among investors every time his visit in every CHIC center was announced. He had awesome supporters from CHIC   Philippines to Hong Kong, Singapore, Dubai, Abu Dhabi and Kuwait where he visited often. 

Everyone just wanted to meet him. He could motivate leaders to work hard when business was at a standstill. Being temperate himself he could unite competing investors to form a team and work for a common good. He is not the world's first but he is a gem of a man. He has the warmth of a friend, the sincerity of a leader and the creativity of an artist.

In this particular summit, together with his supporters in UAE and Manila, he set the tone of the event to the medieval period in Shangri-La Hotel because according to him, he wanted the moment to be remembered for once in our lifetime. His creativity was at work, his warmth exuded where ever we went and his sincerity could not be questioned. Like the Mosque, he is awesome yet humble.

The Financial Anchor and the Safari

A parade of 4x4 land cruisers was waiting for more or less 30 participants after our sumptuous buffet lunch at Atlantis Palm hotel. Five to six people were assigned each car for a reckless desert safari adventure. Once inside the car, the driver advised us to fasten our seatbelts tight, showed us where to pull out plastic bags if we wanted to throw up our heavy lunch before it was digested and suggested that we got ready both body and soul for a roller coaster ride in the sand dunes of that limitless and desolate desert. At first our cry was cultured and refined. But when the car zoomed up the dunes like mad and suddenly dove down the cliff or sometimes raced tilting on the side of the hilly sand, our shouts went wilder and wilder. Inside the air-conditioned car, some of us were sweating. Then we stopped for some pictures of the desert sunset. Thinking that was the end of the safari we heaved a sigh of thanks. But when the driver announced, “More Safari ", some commented, "Again?!” 

However, after the end of the grueling ride we experienced the Arabian welcome of unlimited refreshments and some entertainment of camel riding, henna painting and the exotic performance of the traditional belly dancers followed by a sumptuous dinner.

Mam Cora de Vera, the company's financial anchor is a daring and brave figure behind the scene. She can entrust an investor with millions worth of products for the latter to start business with. No matter what roller coaster ride in business an investor would go through in the process as long as she/he can return what is due to the company, at the end of the day a reward would be given for hard work. It may be a car, a house and lot and mind you, lots of travel here and abroad. Like the Safari, Mam Cora is brave, venturesome yet fun loving financial anchor of CHIC.

The Royal Ball

One by one men and women came donned in medieval attire. Is this the period of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn or of royalties before them? But I observed that there was a click here and a click there and presto - beautiful pictures were taken. I learned that medieval pictures were taken if subjects posed for days before a painter who could paint the portrait. Looking at those lovely ladies and handsome knights sans shining armor, I was in a dreamland of castle halls or palaces where gentlemen and ladies were cumbersomely dressed up for a royal ball.

Just then the voice of the emcee (master of ceremonies) bellowed in clear, flawless English welcoming all participants from different CHIC (Classique Herbs International Company) centers. It was then I awoke from my stupor for I saw reality - the Royal Ball, flagship of the 2013 CHIC summit at Shangri-La Hotel, Dubai.

The Emcee was a host par excellence. Mam Ardy as we fondly called her crafted the proceedings of the program in perfect order. Despite some unrehearsed parts she was able to make adlibs to the delight of the listeners. She moved about the stage with such familiarity as that of the owner. She was not nailed on the podium as traditional emcees were but marched with élan across the aisle looking at both sides of the room, creating a feeling that not one was left out on that affair. In fact she knew practically every delegate and guest for she commended each one for their contribution to the summit. The finale which she created was unexpected albeit, impressive. Presenting, Mam Ardy Batoy an Emcee of global stature!

These three - the Mosque, the Safari and the Royal ball may differ in tone yet woven by a single thread named

S U C C E S S.

The Lure of Antiquity - Part 2

An hour's flight from London Heathrow Airport to Belfast brought us to another lure of antiquity. I was not able to get the window seat in the plane but I had a glimpse of lush verdant mantle of the earth as the British Airways hovered above the isle. As we deplaned at Belfast airport in Northern Ireland, I was excited to see my daughter and her family after many years of absence and to bask on the true colors of nature. These two things thrilled my soul after a long travel. From the city to Downpatrick where my daughter lived, the view from above began to take shape.

The long winding narrow and well paved road looked like white ribbons blown by the wind between vast landscapes of green. It was lined on both sides with miles of neatly trimmed shrubs which thick fine foliage resembled green soft fur blanket folded in squares, triangles, or rolled like posts. Far away were white dots of sheep and cows that grazed leisurely on the green grass.

The houses have practically similar architectural designs. The walls were made of bricks in elegant shades of reddish brown, beige or gray, the roofing in dark mahogany, windows in white trimmings and doors in varied colors of red and yellow. Some houses lined the streets in towns, others stood forlorn in spacious areas along country roads and still others were neatly arranged in subdivisions. In one swept of a glance these houses were executive looking as they blended elegantly with the green landscape. The simple single-storey houses ensconced beautifully on green hills and slopes reminded me of the lyrics of the song:

   "Oh, give me a home where the buffalos roam

    Where the deer and the antelope play,

    Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word

    And the sky is not cloudy all day."

The summer sun was shining brightly when my husband and I arrived at Downpatrick. Unpredictable drizzles and cold winds did not dampen our spirits to move from one county to another. Spring has left us with varied hues of flowers and verdant sights "down the mountainside, from glen to glen” and even by the lough. The sight was spirit lifting.

I found Downpatrick a historical ancient town which presently breathe a medieval atmosphere. Life was not so hurried, a perfect place for families to walk around. The town’s patron saint was St. Patrick. Researching of his real biography, he came from a Celtic Christian church which day of worship followed the Jewish tradition. Anyway, we visited the Down Cathedral now used by the Protestants for their services. I saw the churchyard immortalized by Thomas Gray in his poem “Elegy on the Country Churchyard”. It was believed that St. Patrick’s remains were buried here. The church was built in 1183 but remained an imposing building on an elevated spot overlooking the town. The Down County museum which occupied the same hill with that of the cathedral had numerous documents of antiquity. We drove to the ruins of the Inch Abbey built in 800 A.D. Its location was away from the maddening crowd to make meditation and worship free from the cares of the world. Only part of the walls and the seat of the choir survived the ruins. Beside it was the cemetery or churchyard as was found in every church. The whole area was still preserved for the present generation’s heritage.

The well known castles in Ireland were so imposing and picture perfect. The Castlewellan castle with its vast collection of trees and shrubs near the gate of the Peace maze was a beautiful castle on a hill covered by green lawn which looked like a full ballooned skirt where its hemline delicately touched the lake. The Wilmont House built in 1760 was located in an area named as the Sir Thomas and Lady Dickson Park. One attraction was the 40,000 variety of roses which luckily we have witnessed the blooms before they were weathered by strong winds. The Castle ward was home to the Ward family in 1570. It used the 17^th century Gothic windows based on record. It has 332 hectares of landscaped gardens, no wonder we were not able to cover the whole area on foot before it was time to go home. Killyleagh castle restored to its present form was first built by the Norman Knights in the 12^th century. The castle was surrounded with fortified walls. Now the inner court was used as venue for different activities in town. The Belfast castle was so lovely in its ancient state. Even the comfort rooms were so luxurious yet old. The fixtures inside the castle brought us back to the memories when only the rich could own them. Now the castle could be a coffee shop, hotel and wedding venue. The Carrickfergus in County Antrim was built in 1177. It used to be a symbol of might and power until the collapse of Ulster. The ruins of the Danluce castle and the Quoile castle were still preserved. The Ulster and the Folk museum had documented all of antiquity that it was easy for us to understand history.

After every tour of these places I went home tired but awed with the splendor of them all. I just love to experience the stress free world of the medieval age if not the very ancient. Sitting by the fireplace, doing some embroidery and musing on the state of all the castles which siphoned the wealth of the kingdoms only to collapse and abandon by time. I thought of the power and strength of leaders which seemed invincible and some subjects were killed under their rule. Now they were sealed up in tombs never to return to power. Some had statues in public places. I never saw a tomb that was empty because the occupant has beaten the sting of neither death nor a statue that kept on marching to lead. Castles collapsed, powers waned and leaders died.

But I knew of one leader in antiquity who defied death. He was buried and after three days He rose again and ascended to heaven to prepare an eternal castle for you and me. He is so powerful but loving. He is my Redeemer. I know He is alive. I can now face tomorrow with Him.

The Lure of Antiquity - Part 1

I was so excited when my children arranged our travel to the United Kingdom particularly London and Northern Ireland, the places which have strong influence on world civilization. But I was also doubtful if my husband and I could withstand long hours of flight. I was indecisive. In fact I could hear Shakespeare's lines saying, "to be or not to be, this is the question..." 

Finally the lure of antiquity prevailed and all went well with our travel.

My arrival in London was like waking up to a beautiful dream or seeing in reality some knowledge learned from my readings. To others who might have frequented the place, it's no big deal but for me all my senses were brought alive to the reality of my vicarious experience.



The English Garden


It was summer, the green carpet like grass and shrubs in varied shapes first met my eyes. Then I recalled part of Rudyard Kipling's Glory of a Garden.

      “Our England is a Garden that is full of stately views

         Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues."


This was described by Kipling in the 18th century but the same classic feature of England existed today even in a very urban London where crowd of people never faded, where din never ceased and the unending search for wealth and fame knew no bounds. In a very limited area of land in almost every home, well-trimmed shrubs following a pattern served as borders of well-kept lawns. If you were lucky to look inside the borders you could be amazed of group of flowers in varied hues creeping above some point in the lawn or cascading over window panes.


The vast royal gardens were picture perfect in its pastoral and idyllic setting amidst a modern environment. Rolling lawns under age old trees which led to a lake at Windsor majestic gardens of Kensington and Buckingham under the craftsmanship of a creative gardener all spoke of royalty. Whichever of these gardens it served the same function - beauty, elegance and quiet in a nook where one longed to go home to after a day's grind.

Historic London


I joined the cruise at River Thames with its murky and stinking water. Spinning the dial of time to 43 A.D. Romans chose the site by the river for their settlement which they called Londinium. The settlers found the water as a good source for drinking and other household needs. Now, even the waters moaned over the loss of its clean crystal flow but Londoners made use of it as a source of the city's commerce.


After the cruise, we walked down the road leading to the tower of London. The water from the Thames flooded the basement of the tower prison and passersby paused to throw some coins into the water as was done in funeral processions. Was this the place where Anne Bolyne and other defectors of the English crown were beheaded? Oh, such gory death and this tower stands so strong today as a reminder of power.


As I crossed the London bridge, I asked if it was" really falling down." It has been refurbished into a sturdy bridge which my sister said would open upwards every time a ship sails under it. I paused to see where the opening was but throngs of people and assemblage of classic cars moved like ants along the bridge, I almost lost sight of my companions. Everyone just seemed to be in a hurry, always on the double as if there would be no tomorrow.



Architecture


Most of the buildings in London were made of age old bricks in medieval architecture. There were no high rise buildings like other modern first world countries. Thanks to the wisdom of the English people in preserving their culture through some of their edifices for this generation to appreciate relics of beauty more than a thousand years

hence.

People


Londoners who were overweight wobbled down the streets but those who were fitly trimmed were well dressed men and women. I just enjoyed looking at their outfit in elegant mix matched colors. Old and young alike were just smart and lovely. No wonder they were known as snobbish breed but that was outwardly. In reality they were friendly.  I've read this race of beautiful people were descendants of Shem and Japheth the favored sons of Noah.


How I wish I could have stayed longer to see antiquity in this vast London but time was running out then, we have to leave for Belfast where we would stay for nearly 3 months. See you on part 2 of my Odyssey.

Musing on the “Peace Maze"

I was in awe and wonder as I viewed the confusing network of pathways at Castlewellan, Northern Ireland. I learned that this 2 mile pathway and hornbeam hedges on a 3 acre land once held the world record as the largest and longest maze. It represents peace for the future of Ireland. So the name Peace Maze.

Walking through it is solving a puzzle on how to find the exit. One has to retrace paths which failed to show him the right way. If he succeeds he has to ring a bell situated at the center of the maze where a bridge leads to the exit.

I tried to solve the puzzle by walking through the intricate path but time and threat of the rain cut short my attempt. I heard my grandchildren and their friends talking in Irish accent on the other side of the bushes but I couldn't see them until finally they showed me an opening to pass through in order to reach the center. Some mean fellows must have cut hedges and wire to create passage to the bridge. That was cheating if one wishes to get into the intricacies of the maze. I made an easy way out bereft of the satisfaction of sweating out a solution to the puzzle.

I joined the group on the bridge where I could see the panoramic view of the maze. There I imagined the architect who designed the puzzle. He could master which path leads to another, I told myself.

I mused.

Life is a long and intricate path or maze. One could get out of the confusion if he cheats. But how long could he hold on to life's joys if guilt continues to gnaw his conscience.

Mine was a long and arduous journey and I was never in a hurry to reach the end. Not getting my thoughts off the maze I was thinking of instances when I could have cheated life.

What if I gave up in keeping my family as my priority because of selfish ambitions? Would my son be generous enough to tour me around 4 Asian countries? A daughter and son-in-law who could give me a chance to see this Emerald isle and another son who could keep business going despite our absence from home?

What if I was not true to my marriage vows? Would my husband grow old with me to see different places and experience varied cultures?

What if I was too selfish to share my meager income to my siblings who were then struggling for their education?

Could my sister in London be there for me to show me around the place as I relive history? Could another sibling meet us all the way from Italy, just for family bonding? I don't plan all these things to end this way, I just took one step at a time inside life's maze.

I have passed through life's puzzling problems with God as my guide. I have so many failures while trudging along. Often times I retraced my paths only to find the right way through God's leading. He was and always will be my architect for He knows which path leads to another. He knows it from the beginning to end.

I am now standing on life's bridge after going out of the maze. Straight ahead is the exit but it is still morning in my life delaying my way out.

Khalil Gibran said, "None can reach dawn without traveling the road of night".

Climbing Unto the Heights

Ever since I was a child I was fascinated with heights. One reason maybe, I became an avid fan of my three older brothers whose passion was to climb trees, hills and precipices. I was thrilled to see their monkey-like agility that unknowingly I learned the skill. Now in my senior years I have climbed hundreds of steps not because I want to prove I still have the energy but the thrill of reaching the top is still aflame in me.

 

After I retired from government service, I explored the tallest stairs or hills in some tourist destinations.  I started with the view deck of Chocolate Hills in Bohol, Philippines which has 214 steps. I climbed the steps with my friends so leisurely, posing in between steps for pictures and as we went higher we enjoyed the cool summer breeze that blew on our faces.  I reached the top with more reserved air.

My Borobudur climb in Indonesia was a family-oriented experience. I was with my husband and youngest son but since my husband couldn’t survive the climb he went back to our hotel room. My son and I shared the same passion of exploring heights that as I looked at this man that moment I could recall memories when I was eight months pregnant with him, I climbed the steep hill with my 75 year old father on our short cut road to the base of Mt. Apo where he would be enlisted as a Mt. Apo climber.  

I dismissed those thoughts as I started the climb of 34.5 meter high and 123 meter square of this   Buddhist temple which was already 1200 years old. I didn’t  get tired  as I went higher  because  on each level I enjoyed learning the symbols of the bas relief sculpture as explained by our tour guide  that   upon reaching the top  I was deeply enlightened  with  the true purpose of one’s life.  

Not content of the first day climb, we returned the following day at 4 o’clock in the morning to view the   coming out of the sun. With only a penlight to guide our steps upward, we reached the level where we had a good view of the sunrise. The slow breaking of dawn was so dramatic that one would never   regret climbing such heights.

The Bato Caves, limestone hill in Malaysia is a Hindu temple and shrine with a “steep 272 step climb”. The climb was quite taxing for my age, but as usual I learned to enjoy as I went along. As we rested between steps, I observed one young Hindu mother climbing on barefoot carrying with her a one month old baby to offer to their gods. I admire her energy and sacrifice as a devotion to her god that I followed her    until I realized I was already   inside the shrine.

 

The Cape Bojeador Lighthouse in Tagudin, Ilocos Sur built in 1892 has a 66 foot tall stone tower. Before one reaches the tower, he has to climb steps that were abandoned and eroded due to old age. Since the steps were far apart, I physically crawled to the next step and such challenge was enjoyable. I did this under the” heat of a noonday sun” just to be in a lighthouse for the first time. At the top I felt the cooling effect of the wide blue sea and imagined the urban legend of the US navy battleship which was in a collision of the approaching ship as signaled by the light ahead. The captain commanded the approaching light to change course, “I am the captain of the U.S. navy ship!” he boasted. The answer returned, “You have to change course, I am the lighthouse!”

The ride on a roller coaster in Singapore was an experience I wouldn’t repeat. As the ride went up higher and later faster and faster, I was so scared I couldn’t return to my previous position which was sitting erect. I kept on bending. I closed my eyes and wished the ride would stop. The coaster stopped rolling and I didn’t see the view up there. How would I tell you the enjoyment?

Summing up, I can say that happiness is not found at the top of any heights but in every step that one takes in each climb.  Oftentimes we wanted to reach the end, our goals and targets but we would never be happy if we are burned out, stressed out because we don’t enjoy the challenge of the details in reaching there.

Surely I have put into practice the quote which says, ”Happiness is not found at the end of the road but along the way!”

              

Mother’s Day - Reminisced

A chain of experiences on mother’s day celebrations are only for those who have received bonus years in life. I can claim it. I have supporting evidence to present. Do you have one too? Come on, present your senior citizen ID and claim discount only in the Philippines.

Ever since technology controlled most of our waking moments, greetings on mother’s day became so effortless and practical. Presents and gifts just abound in various forms and prices. Places to go for a private celebration (that is, amidst the crowd) are making good business this particular day. The haves and the have not’s show a glaring disparity in the celebration.

But is the love we have for our mothers different from then and now, from the moneyed and  financial strugglers, from the  eloquent and the taciturn? Let us figure this out.

On this particular mom’s day my cell phone kept on ringing and the net was always open to receive greetings and messages from family, friends, former students and relatives from all parts of the globe. Ahh, braggart! You may say.  Maybe yes, if I said this two decades ago, but now its reality that the globe is one big village. From Florida, Canada, Abu Dhabi, Japan and the Philippines came the greetings. Then from the United Kingdom came my daughter’s message, typical of a mother too. From Singapore, my youngest son posted two lines replete with wonderful meanings beyond the lines. I was so absorbed with these messages when my second son came with his wife. He was not gifted with words so his wife did the greeting for him. He invited me and his father to dine out to celebrate the occasion.  That was his way of showing his love.

The gestures of my children were so heart warming and I thank them for that. I returned back to my computer to read more messages. My sister from Italy just posted, “Happy Mother’s Day to my Mother in Heaven”.

I immediately pressed “like” and started to make my comments. I typed two words but stopped; my eyes were blurred with tears.  I left the computer and turned to the TV set to while away the time I was in low ebb. But underneath the glass of the center table, front of the TV set  was a 50 year old  chinaware I gave my Mom one mother’s day. I was a student then. I was supposed to buy school materials out of my allowance but I spotted this among the souvenirs. I bought it and scrimped on my daily needs. I now forgot how I sent it  to my mother, but when I arrived home  from the city where I was studying, I saw my  gift  hanging on the wall.

Seven years after, our house by the river bank, filled with memories of childhood was dismantled because of a big flood that was overflowing the river bed and soil erosion was so devastating, it has destroyed houses along the bank. Out of the dismantled building material, my father made a temporary shelter in the middle of our seven hectare farm lot, and this chinaware was hidden from view.

They improved the house; made it semi-concrete and my gift was again proudly displayed on the wall in the living room. Seven years later, my mother died, and the first thing I got hold was this chinaware I bought for her. I was questioning God why He took my mother so soon when in that gift was the line which says “Long life to her, For there’s no other, Can take the place of my dear mother”. That was why I bought it for her.

 

My siblings got her bag and rummage for money while I look for other things. Then in a zipped pocket of the bag I got a folded paper. When I opened it I read a poem I wrote for her 14 years ago on one Mother’s day. I kept it including her letters to me up to this day.

I cannot explain how happy she was with my gestures not until I had my own children who accorded me in their own different way with gratitude and praise for being a mother to them.

Oh, mother’s day celebrations that have gone by! What bitter sweet memories have you given me to treasure!

When the Bond Breaks…

She was a dear friend. We have bonded for a common dream. When our paths crossed, we never thought we would be friends and our bonding would break amidst unfinished task.

I first met her when she sat in one of my English classes in college. She was taking up Commerce but she has to enroll in English to complete requirements for graduation. She was so fair with “chinita” eyes. She wore long thick hair which was “as dark as a moonless night”. When the second term was over, I didn’t see this beautiful lady with long black hair walking down the corridors of the college. I learned she transferred to another school.

A decade after, we met again. So “we belonged to the same church”, I muttered to myself. She was married with young children and was starting a lending business which later flourished. That’s where our bonding started. I invested in her business and she in my writing and dress designing skill.

Her religiosity was so encouraging. Since she drove her own car she would ferry the group to where our missionary work would take us. We also go church hopping. Her laughter was contaminating.

She would laugh with her whole body shaking over a trivia or simple tale. She was fun to be with.

She would always talk of her family and how they were supportive of her work in the credit union where she had been an officer for so long. She would talk of transparency and faithfulness in the organization. I listened to her but never was interested because I thought the work was for Commerce graduates only. Then she invited me to run during election as member of the Board. I nearly choked. What will an English major do in the organization? How I hated numbers. Of course I know how to count my hard earned money but was never interested in debit/ credit. I’d rather read a good book to make my day.

Nevertheless, they nominated me and surprisingly I won in the election. We would always attend seminars and conferences together.  I observed in our meetings how she would go over reports that were window dressed and this put her in dangerous situations. She would tell me that we still have many problems to solve inside the organization. I was her teacher in English but this time I was her attentive student.

The most unexpected happened. She was diagnosed with breast cancer and she has to undergo mastectomy. As her vice chairperson I have to take over the task. I felt I was thrown into the waters with a limited skill in swimming but our dream never died out. After her first session in chemotherapy, she lost her black hair and I have to make beautiful caps to cover her baldness.

We celebrated her 59^th birthday and we awarded her with a plaque of recognition for excellent service right in her living room as she could no longer stand unaided. She told me that if God would extend her life she would render full service in the cooperative and she broke down in tears.

She underwent one radiation and three more sessions in chemo but her case worsened. She was incoherent and weak. I made regular visits taking with me singers as she loved to listen to songs.

The night she was brought to the hospital for her final treatment, I felt so listless and depressed. I was afraid I too was sick. Was it a sign that my physical bond with my friend was about to break? At midnight I received a message that my friend was in a difficult situation. We visited her in the hospital the following day and I witnessed a pitiful sight. There were tubes inserted in her nostrils and she laboriously breathed through her mouth. She must be very tired. I prayed softly that God will give her rest. We will finish her mission.

She was surrounded by her children, their spouses and her grandchildren. At 10 in the evening she finally breathed her last. So sad that someone younger than me has gone ahead. But “death is no respecter of person”.

I made the best cap that matched the color of her dress when she was laid in her coffin. Our mission was not yet finished but we still felt her commitment.

Yes, the bond breaks but the spark remains.

Confessions of a Coffee table

The house which my husband inherited from his parents has stood where it is today for more than half a century. It is a two-storey building which measures six by twenty meters. The horizontal walls on the sides are made of wooden slabs which have already shrunk battered by the angry sun and rain. The gaps between the slabs are so wide which can bare the soul of the cavernous upper storey. The rusty nails struggle to hold the slabs in place so that falling debris can’t hit any passerby.

The frontage of the first storey is enclosed by a fanlike paneled-door held together by old, rusty hinges. Every time it is pushed open, the shrieking and gritting sounds of the hinges make one crazy. As soon as the folded panels hit the post, the whole house quivers with a thud, as though Cyclops enter the cave. One’s energy is sapped in this kind of routine for years until in old age it wane.

It is time for repair!

The slabs and posts were given out to friends. Many were lusting for the panels of the door because the wood despite its age was so durable and priceless. I kept them. I had them dismantled and every material was accounted for. Stingy? Not quite. Just attached deeply! The door reminded me of tales of happiness and woes, successes and failures of three generations who once passed this way.

First Generation

All six boys, my husband and his siblings spent their grown up years in this house. They came from the city within the island where their flourishing business was razed down by fire. The door of this house was a silent witness to struggles collectively survived by a closely knit family. Their father, a courageous entrepreneur, opened wide the door  to send off his sons to college in a far away city with a firm instruction  not to enter that door again unless they bring home diplomas for a career. The sweet and pretty mother stood by his man through good and bad times. She made regular visits to her sons as soon as there was extra money.

Years after, the same door opened to a Law graduate, two doctors, two commerce graduates and a medical technologist. They came home one after the other to treat their parents to a good life. They never had a reunion of any sort as each found their niche under the sun.

One day, they all came home to push the door wide open giving way to the hearse of the dear old mother and only lady of the house to pass through. They ushered her to the final resting place where she could never push open the door again.

Second Generation

I was the third bride who opted to stay in this house as my husband took over the family business. I brought home the first girl in the family, a cute baby with Chinita eyes, dimpled cheeks and flawless skin. She was a delight to her grandfather and uncles would say, she looked like their mother. Every five o’clock in the morning the grandpa would open the door, put a chair nearby so he could sit with the baby on his lap. He recited his mantra saying, “My granddaughter will be a doctor when she grew up!” As the sun was rising, the old man was unmindful of the brightness because to him it would soon set, but the little girl would squint as she happily hails the morning, a great promise of hope. Three years after the same door opened for her grandfather to pass through never to see her a nurse later.

I continued to put on feminine touches in the house. I was into embroidery. In between feeding time of my second child who was a boy and looking after the two year old girl, I managed to do some French needle embroidery on a 36x32 size of sackcloth. It took me a year to complete the design. I framed the finished product and it was then hanging on the wall.

This frame now has been a witness on how my own siblings visited and some stayed with me   for financial or emotional support since our mother lost her battle to cancer. The house with an old door must be a nurturing haven of successful occupants. My younger siblings were all successful in their own chosen field.

The door and the frame have heard the first cry of a baby boy who was the first to be born in this house. Neighbors came rushing passed the door and the hanging on the wall to welcome the new baby! He must be a delight to everyone.


the embroidery on the background with my youngest
son who is now 31 years old

These silent spectators must have seen how I sent out my only daughter to stay with her husband. Oh, she was looking back to the comforts of her home. My heart bled to see her go but was it not said in the holy writ that “a woman must leave her father and mother and cling to her husband?”


I went back to full time teaching after my third child. The door was opened to my student contestants who came for practice. Many won different contests but only one came back to say “thank you”. One dusk, the door was ajar waiting for the children to come home. A figure squeezed in and as he came near the light there was a flash on his chest, “A medal”, I muttered. My notorious student won in the Division level oratorical competition! He stood in front of me as I was breastfeeding my baby while viewing the hanging on the wall. He saluted and holding his medal said, ”This is the first medal in my whole life. If not for you, I can’t have this. It has restored my father’s trust in me. Thank you so much, Ma’am!” As he squeezed out of the door I followed him with my gaze. The gold medal still hanging on his neck flashed like lightning under the street lamps. He was so proud like a ”cock with its first spur”.  He joined the military after graduation, married his high school sweetheart and basked in a brief and blissful marriage. He did not enter my door again because he perished in an ambush.

Third Generation

The shouts and peals of laughter of little boys started ringing in the house again. One would lean against the door, pushed his back against the shrieking frame which made rhythmic sound. The other would get a stone and knock the door to make his grandpa aware of his presence. Sometimes they would get out slowly, careful not to touch the door so no one would know they ran to a computer shop nearby. They were so smart, their reasoning power cannot match our experience in child rearing. But they were jewels just the same. They left for another country and we missed them a lot.

The Coffee table

The hanging on the wall I made forty years ago found its way in the kitchen where it was drenched when it rained. The thread had gathered dust and the frame was now eaten by termites. I was about to throw it but hesitated. This has been here since my children were toddlers, surely it would tell a story. I removed the sackcloth from the frame and washed it. It was as good as new.  From the door frame I kept was fashioned a center table. The hanging on the wall became its top cover.

Now the embroidery and the door panels met and whispered secrets of the stories they have known and witnessed from the three generations. They have settled among the antiques in the house. Surely no one would learn of the memories by just merely looking at this work of art except those who have been part of the house once. They can tell the story of a coffee table.