Out On a Date--with Myself

Dating myself is one of my favorite things (if not THE most fave). Going out and having a good (and frugal) time leaves me high and then focused for tasks ahead.

Working from home has its pros and cons. Writing an article online in my PJ's is convenient but when the kids are noisy and needy--my writing muse just dries up, like she were menopausal--taking with it not just my writing energy, but my spirits as well.

I enjoy looking for date places for me and myself. I work from home and mothering is my full-time career, and so getting out of the house is the equivalent of a week-end hot date. I park my van 20 minutes early when picking up my kids school so I can catch up with my reading. I think I have read 10 books (some twice over!) last year in the car alone.

But for date days, you will find me in a far end table in Starbucks. Christmas time is my favorite because they serve Gingerbread Latte (with whip cream on top!), luxurious for $3.35. Sometimes, I am lost in local bookstores--where I get to read all my favorite magazines for free.

Christmas was a bit tiring so today, I dated myself for lunch at our local Wendy's. I realized that they have the cheapest Value Meal. McDonalds has a dollar menu and so a double cheeseburger, fries and drink costs $3.25, while Wendy's same meal is $2.99. I know it's just a matter of a couple of cents but the Wendy's I went to was like a cozy cafe with upholstered seats, versus the vinyl of McDonald's--and at Wendy's, there was no smell of oil.


Guilt is an uninvited drag that keeps nagging me to get back home. Because I was having a good day, I strangled the gatecrasher and I went to the library to renew my books. There, I am always at peace in the embrace of the musty smell of books and very quiet people. (In my next life, I will be a librarian!)

(Oh yeah, one day, I will have a laptop to bring to my
dates too!)

My husband won't buy it, but the peace and quiet I feel in the library surpasses Sunday Mass, where my youngest is restless (and there isn't really time and energy to listen up), for sure. My library dates are definitely more spiritual and nourishing.

Last month, I found
Damn, Why Didn't I Write That?How Ordinary People Are Raking in $100,000.00 or More Writing Niche Books & How You Can Too!. The title seems exhausting but the books proved to be quite inspiring. Really, maybe one day, I too, will write a book. . .

This week, I am reading my library book called
Writing From the Heart by Hal Zina Bennet. Bennet says that our very own peak experiences, essential wounds and masked selves can be rich sources of writing inspiration and healing.



Bennet says that our masked self is the one we create to be accepted and/or get ahead in this world--the one that earns approval from our parents, peers. Meanwhile, who we really are is discouraged and hidden away. And so we develop a mask while the rest of the world doesn't see the being behind, dying to express herself.

So that's how my date ended--with an exercise to encourage me to write about my masked self. What a great date I had today. Sure beats the shallow and tiring small talk we engage in. . . and I didn't even have to dress up and put make up for it!

Time Saves 50% off

In our first 2 years of being immigrants, we weren't prepared for weather changes and appropriate clothes. So many well-meaning and generous friends and relatives gave us clothes for me and the younger kids, aged 12, 8, and 4.

People here have many clothes, and giving them away gently-used is a relief to exploding closets. We were quite happy to receive warm clothes in the winter and cool clothes for the summer.

This year was the only time I was able to afford to actually buy the kids their own winter clothes. Since I had time, I waited for the 50% off sale in Mervyn's and Target. I was delighted to buy them at half-off. I bought my girls pretty tops and matching winter coats. I realized my teenage boys' clothes were severe hand-me-downs from the 80's. I bought them current sweaters, and what my son calls "Dancer Hoodies," very current among todays' teens.

It was a pleasure to remember how handsome my teen sons have become, more so with their new, albeit sparse, wardrobe. It is a step up to know that these few pieces belong to them, were bought for them and suit them very well. And that, truly is a promotion of sorts.

I was also surprised to find that there seems to be a budget to buy clothes for me. I have used all the hand-me downs to over-used fadeness. I decided to buy more grown-up clothes, with better fit and current styles, instead of just pull-overs and baggy sweaters. If only I could buy other bottoms than jeans. Well, maybe next time.

I bought a red sweater, a black top for going out at night 9it had some details by the neckline), and an ice blue top. I saved $75 in all as they were half-price in Mervyn's. I am glad to have the time to wait and the time to go when the sale is right. That means Tuesday and Wednesday this week, starting at 6 am.

Cheers to new clothes and what seems to be a more workable budget. Sometimes I don't look at my balance and I always am surprised that there is some money to spend. Could be a Christmas present from the Lord himself.

We may not be rich financially but we are wealthy with time and that's a gift I intend to use to the max.

Lost in World Market

Running out to do my errands and pay the bills, I was sidetracked and entered World Market in Brentwood yesterday. I have always passed World Market but I have not ventured in and Saturday after Thanksgiving seemed like a good time.

I was filled with excitement and wonder as I passed the first aisle, floor to ceiling-filled with art, prints, and framed work--from oil prints, to cloth cut-outs, to Asian inspired prints, to mirrors, to calligraphy-painting. I had to remind myself to keep my jaws closed as I browsed what I wished could adorn our white walls at home:




Soon, I was lost in the throw pillow section--where an array of all colors, textures and sizes and print were stacked in the tall shelves. There were floral ones, sequined ones, patchwork, and fine cotton--everything you need to make your couches and beds prettier and cozier:




I saw this colored capiz curtain for $34 and I wished it for my small patio corner for the summer.




The exotic Indian, African, and Asian bags and accessories reminded me of Virra Mall but in a most expensive way.



Leave it to the USA for a full spectrum of Christmas decors--from folk art, to ornate enough to wear as jewelry. These cost between $2 to 4 dollars, and at that time, buy one, get one free.




I found furniture that I quickly put on my wish list. If I had all the money in the world, I would buy this, this and this:







I spent an hour lost at World Market and came out unscathed. I bought a Pandan organizer for $14 to add to my Asian-themed desk collection and because I knew I couldn't buy the headboard for our bed. I knew I had to walk away soon. But I know I will be back even sooner.

Visit World Market and find out the many possibilities. . .

Immigrants Change

I used to wonder why balikbayans are louder, more outspoken, don't care if they look fat in their black spandex halters, and wear funny caps, big hair, and big jewelry while visiting Manila. I wondered how they could voice out their complains when they don't like the service or the food in the bistros of even Podium, or why they kept speaking with an American worsh-worsh accent even if it was just us.

Confident of how I spoke English, I made a conscious effort not to speak with a slang when we migrated. With Koreans serving the counter of Popeyes Fried Chicken in San Francisco, and Latinos manning the drive-thrus of all McDonalds outlets here, their broken English with who-knows-what kind of accent was confusing: ("Wu you like fren frai?") We had to have the whole conversation again: "Would you like french fries with that?" or "Was that small frai or small Sprite?" GRR. . .

Then you come across the African-American English--the one that represents American English to the world, with "Yo, man dude," "Fitty-cent, (no second f, mom)", "I ain't no ho', nigga" (for whore, of course!), "Wuz d' matter with yo mama?" way of talking. It may be English, but it doesn't sound quite right. . .(There is a movement to eradicate woman-bashing and bad words in black music). Now I know why many are anxious around most black teens, they talk so loud, as in always. People look at them to shush in BART, in the bus, in the streets (where they walk in the middle, not in the sidewalk--but staring never bothers them and honking your horn at them while they walk the middle of the streets will get you into a fist fight).

It's been 2 and a half years of adjusting to in-your-face American culture. They say what they think, as they think it. Sometimes, that is why they seem to talk to much--they don't leave things unsaid. They just speak the words as they think it even if it is redundant, I just did it, did you see? Think of a conversation here as an uncensored first draft.

Even if I know my grammar and diction is acceptable, I have conceded to speaking with a twang, just for the sake of simplicity and to save time. This way, I don't have to repeat myself. Finance is fai-nance and withdrawal is withdrawl (only 2 syllables, and attention is attn-syun (the a is almost silent) here and that's that.

Everyone asks "Hello, how are you today?" As in everyone. And the common response is "I'm good, how are you?" which gives the other his 3 minute-litany to actually tell you stuff that Filipino culture may not divulge to strangers, like "I am having surgery next week for my back that has been given me pain for the last 2 years. . ." while stuffing your groceries in your reusable bags. And I don't know what to say to that because it's too heavy to get into sincere empathy mode.

So as the sensitive and secretive and seemingly shy Filipino that I am, I now kinda talk more than I want do, with a twang, only to Americans. I still don't complain much, but my husband does. (We even got a free meal once, because he said the soup was cold--not intentionally!).

I found myself standing up to a man in road rage and then crying in the street corner. I engaged in a check-out line fight, with a woman who told me to talk to her hand. I called her a pig, among other things. These things, I would not ever have to do in Manila. But now, who knows?

So many women beyond 250 pounds wear tank tops and shorts every time. I am petite and feel that all my fat is in my arms and hesitate to wear even a sleeveless top. Teka, kung sila, kaya nila, kaya ko rin. So when you see me in Podium, wearing a black spandex halter, with some back fat and bilbil sticking out, you'll know where the confidence is coming from.

These are things I wasn't in Manila. But then I saw on Pinoy TV a movement that stressed Maria Clara is dead and they are evaluating her virtues of mahinhin and secretive. She also committed suicide, they said. Not a good thing to idolize. (Sabagay, what would you do if the friar was coming to rape you? Well, hit him in the head with a lamp, is one. Kick him in the balls, another).

At the end of the day, we are still finding our way through the many changes in our lives. Culturally or not, it's really about who you are, as a people, and ultimately, as a person.

I know that Filipinos can withstand pagtitiis but will fight back to the death when truly insulted. And I know that though they are always smiling, they are easily offended by loud and unsensitive remarks. Immigrants have morphed into not taking things so personally. They also learn to talk a decibel higher, so as not to be drowned in the sea of bigger voices.

Let's see what other changes will happen. . .

Nail Salon and Foot Spa

I interviewed Natural Nails owner Ming Nguyen for an article. Her salon is state-of-the-art, with no-pipe foot spas and massage chairs. Salts, scrubs, masks, and butters pamper your feet in aromatherapy fragrances like mango, peppermint, vanilla, milk and honey.

I was salivating already during the interview as my feet were longing for a foot spa and pedicure, when she took out cases of nail design. My cuticles kinda stood up like goosebumps and looked at the florals, crystals and stickers, set on perfect French manicured peds. I had to close my wide-opened mouth and snap myself out of my hallucinations of the times when my fingernails were just as buffed, shaped, and polished with frosted pastels complete with topcoat.





My friend, J, told me that she cried with her first manicure in New York. I can so understand exactly why.

On my third year here in the States, $14 for a spa manicure seems not be so daunting anymore. In fact, it seems small for massaging my feet and legs with salts and butters as that kind of papmering goes straight to the soul.

I can feel my fingers leading the way to that massage chair and foot spa too--very soon. $36-dollar, 45 minute foot spa? Perhaps on my birthday? Maybe tomorrow. Rest, assured, within this lifetime.

And if tears roll down my eyes, too, you can be sure, they will be tears of joy. I would then have joined the ranks of those who treat themselves to pleasures like these, because we now know we deserve it.

Simple Abundance

No trumpet sounds are made when the important decisions of our life are made

-Agnes de Mille

Let me quote from
Simple Abundance by Sarah Ban Breathnach--a hit of a book that has changed the way we think about our blessings has found its way into my hands and heart. I picked it up in a library sale for a dollar. The Universe knows that I would not have bought it for $12., when it was hot a few years ago. But books have a way of finding you at the right place and time. Books can be divine messengers, specially for me, who looks for signs everywhere, including billboard signs and magazines.

This book and her sister sequel
Something More , have been my mentors for the past weeks when I had to adjust to a new life away from my husband who is seeking work elsewhere.

Immediately I made an inventory of my life's assets: my health, a wonderful husband, a beautiful and happy daughter, our home. . .There's always plenty of good food and wine in the pantry. We are also blessed with many wonderful friends who care deeply about us and share our lives.

When I looked at my life's ledger, I realized I was a very rich woman. What I was experiencing was merely a temporary cash flow problem. Finally, I came to an inner awareness that my personal net worth could not possible be determined by the size of my checking account. Neither can be yours.

Small Indulgences

Sometimes, I find myself bound to things that I wouldn't normally find essential.

Perhaps, to comfort my soul, I just dashed out into the garden and snipped a couple of rose blooms to put by my side-table. I sort of added a few pieces in our bedroom--a side-table here and there, and refurbished lamps. Usually, how our bedroom looks is not a priority. Surprisingly, for the last couple of months, I felt like nesting, making it cozier, more comforting. What a contented feeling it is when you like how your house looks pala!

And my books, how can I live without them? Books are perhaps my best indulgences. Even so, I don't hesitate to buy them used.




Dala na rin ng mid-life siguro--the wanting for nicer things to surround you.

Every time I glance at the roses, I feel a certain blush. Maybe it is their beauty, maybe it is the energy of the blooms. They are just pretty and that is enough to make me feel my own worth--not specifically as beautiful--but as special.



I remember my friend who wouldn't spend for clothes or shoes but will spend P80,000 for a bed. She told me, "Every time I come home to rest, I feel so happy and content."

Now I understand. Indulgences, small or big, speak to our soul, not to our whims. It is important to know and see beauty--to remind you that God is beautiful and abundant and that there is hope for whatever it is that is lacking in my life.

And now I will never judge anyone when they have flowers or grapes in their hair, or if they want to wear a red hat with beads in the noonday sun. Not that I judge, but even those who have multiple cosmetic surgery may have their own reasons we can never understand.

That is why we buy a cute blouse on sale, that is why we buy a cute pin. We want to feel special, we want to indulge a bit after living out our lives for others day in and out. I am so used to denying myself of treats, I think it has become martyr-like and pitiful.

Here is my other treat this week. I bought a floral stuffed toy. Her name is Rose.


I bought her for $3 from my neighbor, Jeanne Adams, at the last bazaar I joined. I suspect Mrs. Adams is a pillar of the community--raising funds for yarn for their knitting group. She continues to sew for charity and for the needy. I held Rose for the rest of the bazaar. I think my clutching a rose bear spurred my sales, too.

Nevertheless, I felt innocent again (felt lang?), like a child, when my grandfather used to give me whimsical pasalubongs just because, even if I did not really need them. These memories were erased by the need to be practical as adults. If you don't need it, don't buy it.

I agree, but then some. Sometimes, even if your practical self doesn't seem to need it, your spirit does.

Thus, my small indulgences. . . roses and Rose. And even if my inner critic was aghast about "useless" things, I silenced her, "Oh shut up!" And then I got to know myself a bit better.

On to bigger treats.

What could you get to lift your spirits?

Frugal Escape

My husband has found more gainful employment in Manila, after being laid off for 8 months here in the USA. All of a sudden, I am single-parenting my 5 kids. It has been quite tough even if I have devoted to them my most productive years. Mothering was my full-time career of about 20 years. If I was working in an airline, I would have life-time benefits of free travel.

Lifetime benefits of full-time motherhood are different. Though they don't seem like perks, they make up the most poignant memories I will take with me forever. First days in schools, homework, school plays, buying their underwear and socks, knowing the colors they like are things the working mother envy. Being totally there for doodling, water art, imagining and making up stories and giggling, play dough creations and attending awards after awards, with tears in your eyes (instead of a cellphone at hand), helping the binatas out of heartbreak, pointing them to the right direction exactly when they need me, are my perks I would not trade in for any promotion in an office.

Everything else was scheduled around the lives of my kids: a thriving men's wear business (was my claim to fame), career offers, writing a book, putting up a craft store, maybe a bakery, dreams of climbing mountains, traveling to exotic places, and the ever-so-bratty dream of taking 2 full months from family life, to explore internal stuff so tedious to enumerate and so many to detail.

If I were a full-time employee for 20 years, I would be CEO by now.

As a CEO mother, 20 years should entitle me to delegate lots of legwork to my staff, i.e. walking-under-the-sun field trips with my preschooler, bringing and fetching from school, homework, should be delegated to a staff which I don't have, to leave me to think of "bigger things" like planning their future or planning a family vacation.

Do you ever wonder why CEO's of a company came in when they wanted to and played golf with prospective partners? My CEO friend said, "So that we can think."

At least, CEO's and all full-time staff get 2 weeks of paid leave every year. I will guess that they spend all of it with the family they neglected. My irony is, I would like to take a 2-week leave from the family I serve every single day. On the same note, even nannies get their 2-week vacation, so why shouldn't full-time mothers do??

I am seriously considering a 2-week leave, without my husband. (Or maybe he can come along). But I crave to touch base with myself--the one with no roles--not a mother, not a wife, not a writer, or not anything that I think defines me in this life. I think my soul is undefinable and it should be nourished with a vacation of quiet, walking by a lake, reading, sleeping, meditating, crocheting--without interruption or chatting or comparing. I long for simply communing with my spirit--so worn and tired of serving everyone else.

Single-parenting was never part of my dreams. I keep telling my husband that I endure all our differences because I want us to raise the kids together. But here I am now, finding myself desperate for some personal time that disappeared when my husband left for Manila. I go to pick my kids up 20 minutes earlier so I can read in the car, with new music in the background. I park at the Church parking lot while my kids attend catechism class, and found myself taking a nap--inside the car.

I remember Mac, out driver in Manila. And how I once told him off because I caught him sleeping in the car. Now I understand that driving is a very physically tiring thing. . . and grabbing a nap at the driver's seat is quite refreshing and gas-saving.

Here I am parked outside my son's middle school 15 minutes early. I found some time to catch up on my book Something More. I also explored Carrie Underwood's music and found out I kind like country pala. This is my getaway view for the day:




I vowed to take care of myself more. In Manila, I could call for the masahista, I could go to the salon. These things are simply not within the budget here. But a movie in the movie house is, or a nice and quiet breakfast is--all while waiting for the kids to come out from school.

In between, I interview people, draw up articles for the paper. I work even on many week-ends, and I even joined a craft fair. Sometimes, I wonder, maybe I am just trying to get away from my kids, because although I love them all dearly and deeply, my soul seems to wear thin.

I must be careful not to burn out. Fifteen minutes here and there to catch my peace just doesn't fill the void but it will have to do for now. I know I am blessed but I have t stroke my spirit to really feel that right now.

In Manila, I figured, more support groups are in place there in terms of family and friends who
can linger over lunch or coffee. There is also a driver that can shuttle all the kids here and there.

And so if I have to single-parent, I would prefer to do it in Manila--where the lifestyle is easy and getaways are cheap, and a CEO mom like me would have had a wonderful and efficient staff by now, to delegate the small stuff to.

Why Write?

I will try to carve out a few minutes , when the morning is still, to get some creative writing going. After writing just assignments, chosen by someone else, I feel a bit drained and uninspired, and simply un-creative, not expressed, not connected.

Why do I write?

The book I got for a dollar--The Journey From the Center To the Page--is probably the best investment I have made for my writing this year. This book is a combination of instruction and inspiration through yoga and being aware of your body, your energy, your source. It confronts me with questions like "What are you writing for?" which I never really thought about, but somehow felt nagging within me.

Some write for the ego--they need the praise and they deflate with the criticism. Some write to express themselves. Some write to prove themselves. Some write to prove their parents right (or wrong). Some write to make sense of the world. Some to inform the world, and still some to make the world better. Some write from their core principles, exploring causes, justice, freedom, "to tell the truth," "to help others," "to hold myself together."

Essayist Jean Berstein says that she writes "because questions, voices, surface in her like splinters, and writing is the best way to pull out the really irritating ones."

The books also points the more important question: "What am I writing for?" and encourages me to answer from within me, where no other writer, professor, or reader will hear me. And to get to that place, our minds must be clear.

I don't really know why I write or what I really want to write. For that matter, I don't know why I crochet, either. It's like a painter that captures his picture but stores them in his garage. If no one reads you, did you write?

Well, let me tell you that no matter how illogical, I believe the tree that fell in the middle of the forest made a sound, even if no one heard it. . .

And so, if I wrote from the heart, should there be a reason?

Exercise Number 1: Get up a few minutes earlier. Settle your inner chatter. Sit comfortably on a chair, or you can stand in "mountain pose"--feet hip-wide apart, spine long, hands at the heart.
Just breathe. Stand or sit for 2 minutes simply listening to your breath. Make them deep and full. This is called "closing your eyes and centering your heartbeat."

Second, clarify an immediate focus for your writing--a subject or an intention to receive insight.
Listen and don't force. Just let the inspiration bubble up.

I will tell you the insights when I get to center myself.

MSN's "Living Poor and Loving It " Video

(photo courtesy of MSN.com)

In case there was any doubt, a study has confirmed that Americans have a lot of what economists know, technically, as "stuff."

The computer has surpassed the dishwasher as a standard household appliance. Even the poorest Americans have posted a sharp rise in access to air conditioning. The fact that 95% of them may have a refrigerator tells only part of the story.

(This study may be true for Filipinos, too. As even the poorest Filipino, living under a bridge, always has access to color TV and cable!)

While economists tend to focus on things that can be measured in dollars and cents, the spiritual side of the economy has begun to garner more attention. That's partly because some research has found that once people gain a modest sufficiency in goods, further increases in income don't result in rising happiness.

Meanwhile, Donna Freedman-- a 43-year-old student, freelance writer, baby sitter and handy woman in Washington state, is spending less to have more. See how she's living within her financial boundaries and staying happy.

You must read her article
here and find out why true prosperity is more than just a healthy bottom line.

Also, after watching her video (please be patient, there's a little commercial before the actual video), I was comforted in realizing a kindred frugal spirit at the farther end of the spectrum. Medyo moderate pa pala ako!

Stepping Up and Out

It's been 2 years since we migrated to America and I think, it DOES get better. Well, to give you an example, I feel like I have stepped up from my $3.14 a week day-off to better things.

I think, as immigrants, we have conquered the first step of adjustments. Since I am very protective of my time alone or time for R&R, even at my poorest, I used to eek out money by hook or by crook to have quiet coffee somewhere.

When my husband was still employed (he has been laid off 6 months now), we promised ourselves to make an effort to try a new restaurant every month on a $10 a head budget. What a promotion from 3 to 10 dollars!

We figured that we now live at the outskirts of San Francisco, California--renowned for its melting pot of different cuisines. San Francisco and the Bay Area have been touted to have the best cuisine in the world because this is home to different cultures, its strong agricultural and vineyard industries, and its access to the Pacific Ocean's freshest harvest.

So one culinary adventure a month it is.

With ideas from Bay Area Back Roads and Bay Area Time Out Guide on hand, we set out on our first adventure to Kopitiam.




Since husband Ricky has been a Malaysian resident in the 80's, he was comforted by all the memories the meal brought. We started with the Roti Prata--wheat flour flaky pancake, dipped in curry gravy:



I had the Kopitiam Chicken Rice Plate--steam and deboned chicken with jasmine chicken rice, with ginger and chili sauce on the side.



Ricky had his Mee Goreng--stir-fried noodles with chicken, tofu, veggies, sambal, and shrimp balachan (bagoong).



Ricky has yet to learn how to order just one thing on the menu. So to keep him from feeling deprived, we splurged on their specialty, Silken Cloud--steamed tofu topped with lettuce, cucumber, onions, peanuts, with a delicate sweet-sour sauce.




The Silken Cloud lives true to its name. It was silky, like taho, but firmer. It slides down your tongue like a custard cloud. The different taste sensations came together mildly and pleasantly, in contrast to the stronger flavors of the Mee Goreng.

The Malaysian coffee (called SUSU) with condensed milk was a smooth surprise that kept me less sluggsish from that unexpectedly big lunch.

Going over budget was worth it. We spent $31 dollars for the both of us. But then, Ricky is going home to Manila in 2 weeks. So it will be another 2 months before we can resume out adventures.

Splurging $31 dollars bought Ricky and I quiet time, talking about other things than the kids and whose turn it is to drive. (I asked him who his crush was and he said Jessica Alba--which was pleasantly okay by me!) He asked me when I was blogging this, expressing some interest in my witing when there was not much before. (He didn't ask me who my crush was though I had a ready answer!)



We talked about plans and hopes. We talked like persons with individual fears and dreams versus just plain parents to our kids. I feel we reconnected as individuals, as people without roles to play, and were strengthened before our impending separation (as he attends to his projects in Manila).

Until then, I have learned to input into our frugal budget expenses like these--though frivolous from the outset, are actually necessary for the inner emotional and spiritual survival of our family as immigrants.

Kopitiam is located at 3647 Mount Diablo Bloulevard, Lafayette, CA 94549. Call them at (925) 299-1653 for more details.

Parting with my good old work bag

My mom calls it "dusdusin" (unkempt and scraggy-looking). She refers to my good, old, reliable work bag I bought for $9. I love it because I never have to worry about it. I can sling it around my body like a messenger bag, keeping both my hands free to write and take pictures.

The problem is, my bag is really beige as a base. Even if it's kinda photogenic, look, it has turned gray. Since all my things are in this bag, I sometimes use it as an excuse to wear it elsewhere, sometimes at night, (see fancy dinner in manila when my son took us out to dinner) because it has become too tedious to transfer all my stuff, junk included (receipts, pay envelopes, flyers, the other half of reply slips, etc). My mom and aunt have given me several name brand bags (there's a roomy brown suede orig Coach that i kinda like) but I can't imagine bringing that to work in the field.

Even my aunt and cousin in Manila noticed that I take this bag everywhere. And I say, why not? It's sturdy, the seams are sewn well, only the zipper latch comes off once in a while. It hold all my things nicely and I may have grown attached to it.

They are afraid that it makes me look kawawa (pitiful) and unprofessional. I noticed that it is dirty around the edges. Maybe a good wash will upgrade it.

I found a suitable replacement in Divisoria's 168. I found the cutest Le Sportsac knock-off. I can sling it around my body and shove all my things in there.

So what do you think? Should I get rid of my floral bag or keep it until it is unusable? And why, oh why am i so attached to it?

Mukhang Taga-Manila

I came home to Manila looking older than usual, in my perennial ponytail, keeping my wavy and thick hair under control. I looked at these pictures, taken a couple of days after I came in, taken on my son's birthday, as he took us out to a fancy buffet:

Even my clothes looked old--not what I would usually wear if I were still in Manila. What was I thinking?!

I realized that I looked so different in this latter photo, taken after a rebonding and lots of massages and foot scrubs later:


Can you spot the difference/s? (Same two gorgeous boys, different mom in the middle).

The new hair style and cut made me look and feel several pounds lighter and a couple of years younger. Could it really be?

My cousin saw me after my salon rebonded hair and said my aura was different. Wow, talk about what a good haircut can do. It may take a while before I ponytail my hair ever again!

Well, let's take the good in every situation: It's nice to know that I can look old and chubby and no one really cares in the States. It's also nice that in Manila, there is promise of looking better for very cheap prices.

Here's another amazing make-over: My sis-in-law, S, took advantage of her vacation to run and get color and a good cut at her salon. My cousin, L, threw in the fashionista outfits, complete with beads and bangles. Her friend, M, did the make-up.

"Mukhang taga-Manila na ako!" said S, delighted at the results.






S before the make-over.






S after the make-over. Photo by me. Styling by L and M. Yipee!

Back from Manila

Got back from Manila yesterday and I am still disoriented, waking at 4:17 a.m. today, with nagging hunger pangs that I decide to feed.

I was amazed to find the quiet dawn at our kitchen quite comforting. It is quiet and dark and very cool—a sharp contrast from the blazing 90’s at mid-day.

Jet lag may very well be my inspiration to assess my first trip back to Manila as an immigrant. I found that that whirlwind of a trip was actually defining, validating, and clarifying to me.

At first, I was hesitant to go home to Manila. Me, the reluctant immigrant, who didn’t want to leave the comforts and frills of home to uproot my 5 children. I did not want to leave the household help (one of my aunts now has 10—I can actually enumerate them but suffice it to say that the houseboy has an assistant, there was a yaya who couldn't be a yaya, so now she's a tutor, and 2 of them are “pensionadas,” too old to really work but get their loyalty awards for being with the family for many years), the support of many relatives and solid friendships, the long-drawn out lunches with my girlfriends, threshing out our life’s purpose and some gossip, the thriving men’s wear business I built from scratch, the cozy community we lived in had a pool and a salon downstairs. Oh, the salons in Manila—complete with the masahistas for home service, Lani, our ever-loyal one, still charges roughly $7 for one hour to sawa (when the cheapest massage you can get in the States is $60 an hour). Aside from healing massage, she now does bleaching, waxing, and my current favorite, eyebrow threading. I cannot explain to you the lift that eyebrow threading gives to my psyche, as my eyes look lifted and the signs of USA fatigue are threaded away.

What goes around comes around. From converting pesos to US dollars when we got to America, we couldn’t even splurge at the local McDonald’s. Now, I join the many overseas workers and expats in the pleasure of multiplying US dollars times 46 to get unbelievable extended value for my hard-earned money. Shopping in Tutuban and 168 has been given new heights, and strolling in the Mall of Asia has been quite exhilarating, specially because we were able to watch Bourne Ultimatum in the big screen for about $3!









Only in the Philippines can we find ourselves having lunch at their Dampa (fresh sea food picked and cooked while-you-wait) version, then pondered on what movie to watch, considering Razon’s halo-halo or coffee after the movie. Never nagyayari sa US of A ang mga ganito, because, though there may be lots of money to be made, there is never enough time to hang around.








So when my fellow balikbayan brother and sister-in-law got home from our Mall of Asia field trip, we dropped in the neighborhood salon for waxing and threading. My brother got a home massage because he was sore from badminton the day before. What can beat that?


Coming home as an immigrant means keeping your eyes wide open. Every experience is amplified. I noticed that all my friends have proper haircuts and nary a gray strand showing. Heck, even Lani, the masseuse, goes to her own neighborhood salon for her highlights when she is stressed. (I was probably the only one with gray strands showing in the whole Metro Manila!) At the same time, I wanted to hug everyone who greeted me “hello, ma’m-sir!” even if that was all they seemed to do all day. Walang ganyan sa States, ika nga. What I used to take for granted has become precious—the Sunday lunch reunions, small talk, catching up, buying sampaguita from the streets. I know that we are hospitable and warm as a people but to actually see everyone smiling just because and in spite of, was actually profoundly touching.

Every now and then, there was an urge for me to multi-task on
something and I had to restrain myself, willing myself to relax and just take it slow, while making kukot something to eat and making kuwento.


Traffic in Manila forces us to take it slow because there is no choice. What with the rains and floods, my brother spent 3 hours getting from Sucat to Pasay. He almost got culture-shocked out of his wits. For a few inches and a half, fellow drivers will ram their hood into small spaces with nowhere to go. We also forgot that pedestrian lanes don’t count and couldn’t slow down for crossing citizens.

I had to turn down a couple of lunch engagements that begged to become merienda sessions because I wanted to get a massage. My friends have been very understanding. They know that I did not have the stamina for socials as I did not have my own car to drive anymore and my emotional and physical batteries needed recharging with alone time and only quality bonding, with my tita and Lani, working on the dead skin on my feet:



At any given time, there is a beautician--manicurist, hairstylist, waxer and bleacher, and masseuse--in my tita's house:



It was time to go, time to pack. The first trip back to Manila has been interesting. My brother was itching to get back to New Jersey, two days after he got in. He said he expected more from this first trip back. I was surprised that I was quite ready to get back to California, too. I missed my kids and my husband.

I realized that in spite of all the frills of Manila, home is where my kids laugh, where my husband awaits, where I worry by the porch for my boys to come in from school or work, where my girls fill the fridge with the prettiest drawings of princesses that look like me. Home is where your real bed and sheets and towels are, where your garden grows, where you know the grocery aisles by heart, and where you know what the prevailing price of gasoline is.



And here I am, back in the kitchen table, waiting for them to awake. I think that though life in the States is difficult, we have made the right decision. We do things as a family and our precious free time, we spend together. My hair may have no highlights, but the highlight of my day is spent with my family. We rarely watch movies in the theater and we hardly eat out, so we rent movies from Blockbuster and buy tons of microwave popcorn and watch together.

My older boys are poised for University and Film Academy soon. That in itself makes all the sacrifices worth it. What with tuition fees in Manila running to one hundred thousand apiece, my younger kids get to go for free in our efficient California public schools.

As my brother said, sanayan lang. Give us two years in any place in the world and the challenge is to adjust with what we have at hand. I think migrating has given us character and resiliency—very precious gifts, just as hard-earned as the US dollar.

I have to run now, because the sprinkler system has turned on and my newspaper will be soaked if I don’t fetch it.