Life on a Bus

Tired from work and hungry for dinner, I was caught in the line for the bus. There was a chill in the air, a drizzle of rain, and I was underdressed. I remembered my lola who used to say, “Baka mahamugan yung bumbunan mo, apo.” I thought that only infants got hamog in their bunbunan. Now, I see her wisdom as my headache needed a warm hat and my sore throat yearned for a scarf.

New immigrants still underestimate the weather in the States. In Manila, the first sign of clouds merits showing off our jackets, saved only for Baguio or Tagaytay. Here in the States, the first sign of the sun merits wearing our shorts and flip-flops. The transition from summer to fall is always tricky.

I also yearned for a big hug from my husband, now in Manila, doing business. I am wondering what in the world I am doing in this blasted line, waiting for the bus, out in the cold and rain.

So my tears welled up as I rode the bus. There was a thick, stale air of fatigue and weariness in that bus that made me dizzy. Everyone was semi-wet and extremely depleted from a full day at work.

And then I heard Tagalog words from the seats in the front and at my side. It is difficult to eavesdrop on Pinoys as they speak so softly—just a decibel above mumbling—versus everyone else who speaks so loudly into their cellphones; you can tell their life story.

Back to the Pinoys in the bus, and the snippets of conversation I managed to make out. (I pretended to be asleep and leaned forward to hear them better):

Busmate 1: “Ayoko na dito. Ang hirap-hirap. . . Sa Pilipinas kasi, hindi uso ang working student.”

Busmate 2: “Walang ipon dito. Akala nila, marami akong pera dito, sa kanila naman lahat napupunta.”

Busmate 1: “. . .Hindi ko naman mapipigil kung gusto niyang mag-asawa na. . .”

Busmate 2: “Di mo naman mapipili yon. . .”

***

Busmate 3: “Nagluto ka na?”

Busmate 4: “Di pa nga, e. Nung Sabado, gumawa ako ng lumpiang shanghai. Nagustuhan naman nila.”

Busmate 3: “Nakakatamad magluto!”

Busmate 4: “Sinabi mo. Nakakatamad pati kumain.”

***

I realized that they are tired from work and homesick for their families, too. Loneliness is a tenacious and dangerous weed to cultivate here. You have to be careful that it does not overtake you. So because I miss my husband and also to make all my efforts at work feel lighter, I saved some money (because I never eat out and make baon everyday) and I am poised to buy the cute pair of boots on sale at Shoe Pavilion.

I thank the Lord for my blessings. Compared to my busmates, all my kids are here with me, and they are thriving. My eldest is in University, largely on financial aid, with great grades and a part-time job. He wants to be an accountant. My second has a 4.0 GPA in his report card. He wants to be an actor.

And so now, I know why I am semi-wet on this bus, tired from work and hungry for dinner.

To give my kids the option to live in this country and to offer them the possibilities that will soon be available to them, makes all my sacrifices worth it.

And tomorrow, I will bring an umbrella, a hat, and my coat.

The Reluctant Immigrants Column

Check out the The Asian Journal, where I can express my immigrant thoughts.

Here is a link to my first entry for the column called
The Reluctant Immigrants.

Feel free to share with me your thoughts. . .

How To Deal with Telemarketers

photo by givepeasachance

Nobody wants to talk to a telemarketer. They always want to sell you something and are ferocious in keeping you on the phone. People shout at them, bang the phone on them, and reject them at all costs.

I should know, I was a telemarketer--setting up appointments for free water tests.

Rejection on a daily basis, I can take. But cussing, I cannot.

And so when this angry man picked up his phone and called me a b@#ch because I interrupted his dinner, I ran to the bathroom and cried like a baby.

I did not come here to take dead-end jobs and be cussed at. No one cusses me in Manila and get away with it, I told myself, ready to flush out all my manners at the toilet I was staring at.

Sales is my weakness. I usually end up buying it for the person. I can only sell if I am fund-raising. So never ko pinangarap to do sales and meet a quota.

"Kakapal talaga ang mukha mo, (Your face will get thick-skinned)" said my brother M, a Manhattan corporate drone. He wears black, walks fast, makes no eye contact with other human beings, and shouts at the homeless, bearded men who hassle him for change. "Or else, they will eat you alive here."

Pero ayokong kumapal ang mukha ko (But I don't want to be thick-skinned), I thought. I did not want to change into some loud-talking person with no manners and compassion. It is important to me to to think before I speak and speak only in a positive way. There had to be a way to survive the States with kindness and compassion.

So while I am figuring that out, here are some tips on how to deal with telemarketers without losing your soul:

1. Tell them firmly that you are not interested--you have the option to hang up if they are pesky. Remember, we are trained to be that way. It is our job, not a personal attack on you. When you hang up they cannot call you back anymore (at least for the day).

2. If they call everyday, tell them you want to be taken off their call list--If they call you in spite of your request, they stand to face a hefty fine.

3. If you do not want to speak to them at all, do not pick up the phone. (Screen with Caller ID). They will stop calling you after a month, when their list expires.

In the meantime, try not to shoot the messenger. Do not unload the bad day you had at work on them. No need to shout at them, just hang up. No need to insult and cuss them. Remember, they know your phone number and address, so be careful who you cuss.

I have since moved on to a research job, which is more fulfilling. But I have learned a lot in my one month of telemarketing. I learned that when you treat people with respect, they respond. (I hit my quota every week, surprise!). I learned that many people are very lonely here in the States.

And I learned that I need not cuss back, nor plot revenge on the man who cussed me. I just did not take it personally--and in that way, kumapal nga ang mukha ko.

Fiesta Filipina

Pinoys in the Bay Area celebrated Filipino Independence Day by staging Fiesta Filipina--a gathering of kabayans and Filipino talent for food, fun, and singing.

Pinoys everywhere like to eat, sing, and dance, and get discounted phone service to call the Philippines.

Eating pancit, BBQ, dinuguan, and adobong manok is always a good experience. It was a sunny day and we indulged in the expensive sago't gulaman for $4. (Yun pala may refill--"kung maganda ang kalooban," said the owner. For dessert, we all shared a halo-halo for $3.

If you want to lean how to make adobong manok (and learn how to speak in Tagalog, too), watch this:



Let's take a moment to ravish in our freedom. . .

County Fair

Reminiscent of Charlotte's Web and Babe, the Movie, here are some photos of the Contra Costa County Fair. Food, farm animals and fun rides were the biggest draws, with about 60,000 people over the weekend.

Such is the charm of the East Bay, where just a couple of miles down from large malls and new villages are olive, apricot, and peach farms.

Read the whole article HERE.

High Gas Prices

The region's gasoline prices climbed to record highs over the Memorial Day holiday with seemingly no end to increases in sight, AAA Mid-Atlantic reported Tuesday.

Concerns over declining U.S. oil supplies and increasing global demand are likely to keep crude oil prices -- which are driving gas prices -- high in the days and weeks ahead, AAA said.

The holiday weekend provided insight into what lies ahead, AAA Mid-Atlantic Manager of Public and Government Affairs Catherine L. Rossi said. "The Memorial Day weekend is to convenience stores who sell gasoline what 'Black Friday' is to shopping mall-based retailers," Rossi said. "It is typically a big volume weekend that sets the pace for sales for the rest of the season."

Gas prices have increased by a quarter over the past year, while the price of crude oil has more than doubled. The July futures contract for crude is trading around $132 a barrel on Tuesday morning, after hitting a record high price above $135 a barrel last week. Crude prices have been pushed to hit record highs on supply concerns, a weak dollar and increasing global demand for diesel fuel.

I am hoping and praying that the tipping point is near, that as a people, we will actually clamour for alternative power resources.

And to think, mag-pe-people power ang mga tao if gas hit $4/gallon. . . I didn't think we would allow it.

Hubby and I realized how slaves we all are to oil products, in particular gas. Conservation has been key, but to a finite resource such as gas (it will run out!), untangling our dependence on it has become a major thought in our heads these days.

The kids will have to walk home more. My daughter will have to switch to a closer school. I take the bike to the gym and I am considering placing a quiet protest sign "NO TO HIGH GAS PRICES" around my neck while biking. (Well, I don't know about that!) But we opted to pull out my pre-school daughter out of her free preschool sessions to save 3 miles worth of gas a day.

I am hoping to get an electronically-charged bike or scooter. But these things are so small an effort to become free from fossil fuels. In a perfect world, I hope to drive a solar-powered car, instead of scrambling for bio-diesel sources--which will add to the bureaucracy of acquiring it.

In the meantime, Memorial Day here was spent closer to home due to gas prices. When most of the time, people leave the Bay Area to get away on this 3-day week-end with wonderful weather, the big American V8 SUV's just can't be fun when half of the the energy and money goes to filling up.

My family and I spend an afternoon in the bookstore and had an overload of fried onion rings and root beer floats in A&W.

Second-Generation Immigrants

A decade-long study of adult children of immigrants to the New York region has concluded that they are rapidly entering the mainstream and doing better than their parents in terms of education and earnings — even outperforming native-born Americans in many cases.

The results of the $2 million study are detailed in “Inheriting the City: The Children of Immigrants Come of Age."

Meanwhile in 1992, Herbert J. Gans, a Columbia University sociologist, published an influential essay suggesting that members of the post-1965 second generation might do worse than their parents, refusing to accept low-level, poorly paying jobs and adopting negative attitudes toward school and work.

But the authors of the new study found that Professor Gans’s fears have not been realized. Most of the young people studied worked in white-collar clerical or service jobs in retail and major financial services and most had achieved “real, if modest, progress over their parents’ generation.”

One important reason why, according to the authors, is that even poor, uneducated immigrants have often “shown that they have the drive, ambition, courage and strength to move from one nation to another,” and transmit their determination to their children. And the new second generation is able to take advantage of civil rights programs, including affirmative action policies, in applying to universities and for jobs.

The authors acknowledged that it was hard in some cases to explain why some of the five groups studied appeared to do better than others. The relative success of Russian Jews seemed clear: They immigrated with high levels of education, benefited from government programs because they came as refugees and received aid from established Jewish organizations.

The authors said it was more difficult to explain why “Chinese youngsters have achieved the greatest educational and economic success relative to their parents’ often humble origins.” The Chinese have a fairly cohesive community with “a high degree of social connection between its better- and worse-off members,” the book argued, while ethnic newspapers, churches and media served as a link between middle- and working-class immigrants and helped share “cultural capital,” like information on how to get into the city’s best schools.

Finally, Chinese parents were less likely to divorce, and they encouraged their children to put off marriage and children until their education was completed.

May I add that the Asian's capacity for good Math understanding seems to be innate, while the Filipinos, who are educated in English and are American-oriented, often do well in assimilating in the culture. I noticed that Filipinos have a higher standard when it comes to finishing college, unlike Americans who do okay after just high school.

Parent-child involvement and communication is key in the success of adjusting to life in the States. In Manila, we take this for granted as we have trusted nannies and relatives to leave our kids with. Here, I have seen teens so lost and without direction simply because their parents work two jobs each to meet their expenses.

As a mother, I am very choosy about taking a job. In fact, I have been quite reluctant about accepting full-time jobs, keeping my choices to several part-time jobs. I have to be able to touch base with my children and guide them not only in homework but in adjusting to our new lives as well.

My eldest has practically put himself through Junior College by working a part-time job in food joints, and because of his grades, lots of grants and financial aid from the State. He was accepted to University of Davis but chose to go to San Jose State because Davis does not offer a strong Accounting (his major!) course. I tell the rest of my children that they have to go to College by hook or by crook, but preferably by scholarship.

Now, I know what the parents who sell their carabaos in the province feel like when they send their kids to college.

It excites me to think that we have made the right decision in providing our children with more opportunities in terms of education and employment. But wherever we are, I know that armed with strong and positive family-ties, drive, and ambition, I would like to think that we will find opportunities and seize them.

Good to be Home

It has always been said that home is where the heart is. I know now that home is where your bed is, with your favorite sheets on; where your bathroom is, personal toiletries lined up in a row. Home is where you wash and ride your own car, where you know that your groceries by heart, you know where the bread aisle is but maybe not the aisle number.

We just came from Manila for an unexpected vacation. A great bonus, in fact, to attend my father-in-law's lavish 80th birthday bash. And lavish it was--we checked in the Mandarin Manila, where the event was held, with a sit-down dinner of beef carpaccio salad, roast-beef, a lime ice sherbet in between to clean the palate and the loveliest mango panna cotta before an open bar. There was dancing, dance-instructors, local sensation and violinist Jay Cayuca serenaded the guests, decked out in formal wear. I was astonished by the glitterati.

The next morning, we had breakfast in the coffee shop where the buffet spread was encompassing: from delicate breads and pastries to crepe-pancakes (the best!) eggs the way you want it and omelettes, fruit and cheese, and wonderful fresh fruit shakes (I almost forgot how good the watermelon, mango and dalandan were!). The buffet cost about $20 a head, steep for our standards, especially if you convert to peso. But what the heck, dad-in-law is the most generous man in the world.

Mandarin Hotel Coffee Shop

After breakfast was swimming in the 5-star hotel pool and then lunch at the posh Tin Hau Chinese (and seemingly imperial) resto.


Just the first day of our stay confused my children about our current standards here in good ol' Antioch, CA, prompting them to ask, "Mom, are we rich in Philippines?" (They say that because we never eat in a hotel here and for special occasions, we go to Wongs, our local Chinese take-out).

Manila is the place to hang out. Friends always have time to see you. There's always time to catch up over lunch and coffee until 5 p.m., sometimes, you have to double-book and catch up with someone over dinner. Days can be spent lounging around, making kuwento (stories) and eating in and out. I was "talked out" this trip, not used to talking to someone or listening to other people's stories as I have no friends here who have time to chat, thus this blog.

This is what they call outstanding quality of life, for though the Filipinos may not be wealthy in terms of money, they are wealthy in terms of enjoying life, creativity, time (and food!)

We even squeezed out a day at Kawayan Cove, Batangas.

My friend said that since there are 85 million Filipinos, and 15 percent have the capacity to eat out, new restaurants sprout every week. If you do the math, you will figure out why they still make money. And why not, you can get the best Razon's halo-halo, with heavenly macapuno, sweetened saba, and leche flan for $3 anytime you want--so eat out it is. . .


Inspite of that wonderful lifestyle of hanging out and enjoying the sunset, I was kinda eager to get home to the US. That feels weird, calling the US "home." We are probably the only citizens who ask, "Uuwi ka ba?" prompting the kids to ask why going home can mean Manila.

But then I got tired of sleeping in my mother-in-law's room and living out of a suitcase. And even if all our clothes (underwear included!) came back immaculately ironed, I missed my bed, my room, my little workplace, my school-bus routine, the life I complain of--the life we have carved this past 3 years.

This bonus vacation gave me more than fun times. It gave me new perspective on what we have now. And it is good.

I realized home is where the heart is and that is exactly that. Home is a place INSIDE of you, and you can take it wherever you go. I realized home may not be a physical place, rather, it is a state of mind. It is where your family is, where your kids smile, where you take them to school. It is where you are master of your own home, where you chart your own schedules, where you draw out your life's dreams. So home can be Manila, Antioch, boondocks, lakeside, hilltop--or wherever you carve it out to be.

Our little lot in Tagaytay

Immigrant Stories

Migrating to the US has made me aware of another facet in life. I have become fascinated with immigrant stories (Filipino or otherwise) and I have come to know people more deeply by asking them about their stories. Also I have gained strength from these stories--using them to navigate our own challenges here.

I have come to know my cousin-in-law's first job when he came here-- scraping dried bubble gum off the sidewalks. Then he went on to take 2 jobs : scrubbing the toilets of McDonald's in the mornings and then counting candy at the back of a convenience store at night.

He is now a top executive at Warner Bros. He also owns a Porsche and a C-class MB. Way to go!

I have come to know the story of my cousins. Comfortable with their own beds in their room in Manila, (with their 2 yayas sleeping with them to keep them company), they had to share a single matress they picked up from the curb, for four years! No wonder those sisters are so close! I assure you they each sleep in new and wonderful queen-size beds todays, among their other abundant blessings.

I learned about my brother, Philippine country manager of Sony Ericsson before he came over. He was wiped out after a divorce and his Master's Degree. While job-hunting in Manhattan, with a budget of only $1 for food lunch. He could buy only a Sabrett sidewalk hotdog sandwich and he had to wait until he got to his job interview to drink from their water fountain.

I have come to know a bit more about Tito C., an immigrant who couldn't seem to find a job that suited him well here, as he was used to higher positions in Manila. My mom calls him "society boy," (whatever that is!)--always in the lifestyle newspapers. He shuttled back and forth US and Manila, and stayed in Manila for 9 years before he came back again. He is waiting for his wife's pension to kick and they plan to retire in Manila.

I have met many who led comfortable lives in Manila--where they lived in a nice area, their kids went to the top private, Catholic schools, where they had a car and a house (supposedly the American Dream). So like, me they have questioned their migrating and reflected on the question, "Is it really a better life here?" as they slug it out in the beginning of their immigrant lives here--so humbling, so financially tight, so devoid of household help, and for many, so full of loneliness and homesickness, and a pervasive feeling of disconnect.

Remember, the average American has only 2.1 friends (and you can't count relatives or spouses). I realize now that this is simply because there is no time to cultivate time for those 2.1 friends in the midst of laundry, dusting and cleaning the bathrooms in the week-ends.

"Yung natitira mong oras, itutulog mo nalang," I heard someone say, gearing up for the work week ahead.

So why did we come here and why do we slug it out here, under-utilizing our education, our skills, our whole being?

After 3 years of living here as an immigrant, I think this is the number one answer:

We came here and chose to be humbled for the sake of the kids.

Here, the public school system is competent and free of charge. With five children, I am NOT complaining. My eldest is poised for Universtiy and we are all excited. Should we be short with funds, we can take out a low-interest student loan, which he pays in installments only after he graduates.

When he graduates, there is sure to be work for him. Unlike in Manila, the best case scenario for a new graduate is working in call center. I have nothing against call centers. I am just beginning to see the opportunities ahead of my children here.

My second son wants to be an actor. If he doesn't make it, he also likes to create films or digitally design Nintendo games. My third son wants to be a zoo-keeper, or maybe a geologist.

What future would he have in the Philippines as a geologist?

So on this 3rd year as immigrant, answers are pouring in. I am getting the hang of slugging it out. In fact, I feel something has shifted inside. When you stretch into a new consciousness, it is hard to shrink back. It just happens.

According to Eckhart Tolle, author of A New Earth, you are experiencing now exactly what your spirit needs to evolve further.

This is the first time I am facing immigrant challenges consciously, versus just going with the flow. I realize that we were off to a good start--we have papers, we live in a nice place, we have beds, and kahit papano, jobs. There will still be many precious nuggets along the way and I am just so happy to pick them up.

So, it has become a better life for us here, now. I learned that it is what you make of it. Happy, sad, or better life--that's your call and your decision.

And though I am below average with the 2.1 friends, I am so glad that I am not an average American with $8500 in credit card debt.

I have just become obsessed with statistics. . .

Viva Las Vegas Veterans

Though I have been to Las Vegas twice in my life, I felt like I saw it for the very first time. With all the new hotels, stores, and shows--Las Vegas never seems to be the same. This amazing city in the middle of the desert is new every time you visit it.

More so when I tagged along with the seasoned Vegas-goers: my mom, Tita L and Tito S, and their barkada: Tito K, Tito E and his wife, Tita A, (from L.A), and Tita S. I crashed their 6th year reunion. They like to eat (and how--lalo na chicheria), they like to shop, they like to watch the new and nice shows (neophytes like me can't afford more than one!) and they like to laugh and tell stories. And though I tagged along only because I wanted to watch Martin Nievera, I got more than I bargained for from this trip.

Vegas Veterans

First, I got to ride as a regular passenger in their van. The trip took about 9 hours, but we made pit stops for breakfast at Denny's. To eat breakfast without having to worry about what the kids will order or slicing their food into bite-size pieces was already making me giddy with happiness.
Just napping in the car without anyone crying was another pleasure I took to the max.

We shopped at Prim Outlet Store that carried Banana Rep, Gap, Todd's, Polo, Anne Taylor, etc. We were sure to all get a little something/s from Bijoux Ternier--the best French-sounding store where everything--from paisley pashmina shawls to knock-off colored leather bags--went for $10!!




When in Vegas, don't forget to check out the super sarap Binagoongang Baboy and others from Kapit-Bahay and Pinoy-Pinay--pinoy food supreme on the Strip.


But the culinary highlight was Spanish Cafe Bar-ba-ree-ba, where I tasted the most savory tapas, the most tender calamari, and the best paella I have ever had!



And then came the reason for my being there: Society of Seven and Lani Misalucha performed with guest Martin Nievera:

Diana Ross and the Supremes?

Lani was svelte and powerful, she can easily put Celine Dion to shame--that was the consensus of the group. Martin's voice sang straight to the soul and I remain faithful as a fan. My mom has become a convert, shouting "I love you, Martin!" by herself.

Happy, happy, happy day!!

Plus a bonus show--a treat from always and ever-so-generous Tita L--we got to see the fun and liberating Menopause, with Paige O'Hara (originally Belle in Broadway's Beauty and the Beast.")

I got to watch the Bellagio Dancing Fountains--a light a water show every 15 minutes. Though the photos are not great (I brought only a small camera, thus, I will have to articulate the fountains with words, and words always fall short), the experience is something else, as dancing strips of water interpreted surround music from Bocelli, to the Beattles, to Swan Lake, to Lionel Richie. The water show was enthralling, with graceful spurts when the music is slow, and then powerful bursts of up to 20 feet when the music demands more passion.


I could have watched the whole night, except that my mom would be worried. In my heaven, there will be dancing fountains and a city of lights, just like this:




And those who give a lot, get a lot--Tita L is blessed with good luck, ALL the time!

Viva Las Vegas Veterans!

For me, this was definitely a God-given trip. I was able to recharge, I held hands with Martin Nievera, I learned from Tita A and Tito E's stories, as they slugged it out as immigrants in Canada and then, in L.A. Every immigrant goes through a very rough time. And for older immigrants, we all do it for the kids. And then a time comes when it gets better for all of us.

I am strengthened and renewed in this immigrant adventure. In fact, I learned that I am blessed to be where I am and that so many others endured way more than we have. I learned to enjoy myself and not feel bad about leaving the kids. A break like this really helps in adjusting as immigrants.

Sabi nga ni Elvis, Viva Las Vegas!

The cure for burn-out

According to Dr. Patch Adams, the clown/physician, burn-out is a state in which people are unfulfilled by their work and are insufficiently rejuvenated. They find themselves giving too much for too long, then something snuffs out the joy and thrill of their lives and their work.

Medical doctor; Clown; Performer; Social Activist; Founder and Director of the Gesundheit Institute, a holistic medical community that has provided free medical care to thousands of patients since it began in 1971; Author of Gesundheit! & House Calls; Moving Speaker.

Nonetheless, most researchers agree that solutions can be found in change. Rest alone does not heal burn-out. Real change must be integrated into the life of a patient. Solutions can be found in a combination of medication and/or a change in a patient’s workplace, lifestyle, perception or world view.

As an immigrant, I may have unknowingly brought in my third-world mentality of "suffering is good for the soul." I have to shed this Jesuit-taught aversion to money, to enjoying oneself--and stop feeling guilty. This guilt, my big enemy, has robbed me of my joy, energy, and hope. My problem is feeling guilty when I rest because yaya S might feel bad. Para bang I'm so blessed, I should suffer. (Where did I ever learn that rubbish?)

I think everyone who knows this about me calls me silly. Sabi nga ni Donna Freedman, "There's a world of difference between poverty and poverty of spirit."

I will take the cue from my virtual mentor, Oprah, to seize "me time" whenever I can, and not feel guilty. In fact, I resolve to enjoy myself for the sake of my family. What use is a burnt-out mom and wife to them?

I also resolve to exercise more. The gym near us is truly a blessing.

I also resolve to redefine the American Dream as not just for the kids, but also for me (and maybe R). I know we're allowed to have our own little midlife dreams to pursue, too. Let me dare to say that mine is to train for the next fun marathon, the Bay to Bay Breakers.

Why not?

I realized that I denied myself the joy of life. In wanting to give only to the kids, I ran out of steam. In the process, I did not notice the symptoms of burn-out coming: always feeling sick, no energy, no excitement and no joy.

My editor assigned me to cover a "laughter seminar," where the speaker asked: "Who among you laughs ten times a day?"

There were such a poor show of hands.

The speaker said we have become too serious about life and didn't allow ourselves to be silly. Did you know that laughter relieved stress, reduced blood pressure, boost the immune system, lift you self-esteem, helps you stay mentally alert, enhances your mood and is touted to be better than yoga and meditation as "inner aerobics."

Until I get medical insurance, I had better start laughing ten times a day. Oh the speaker said, there doesn't need to be a reason to laugh. When you start smiling or laughing, the brain doesn't know the difference.

And if laughter is good for the health, it is said that loneliness can make you sick. My brother, Mig, told me that isolation is part of my burn-out. He says I have no friends because we live so far away. I resolve to move nearer the beautiful San Francisco peninsula in two years, when the kids go on to new school levels.

For more on the health effects of loneliness, click here.

I will also take heed of my mom's advise--to factor in an allowance from the budget for myself. So tomorrow, I will watch a movie. And then next week, I am going with my mom and her friends to Las Vegas to watch Martin Nievera. And on April, I am going to visit my friend who had a baby (cheers!) and spend a night with them in Manhattan, where I believe we will find solace in our R&R. Yehehey!

Thanks for all you comments and support! And don't be like me, always forgetting to find my joy, just because I live with them.

Caliber and Illusion

My husband and I woke up earlier than usual and had one of our rare talks--the ones we used to have in Manila, where we just talk and talk and not judge.

I have been burning out lately, mostly from trying to balance being a school bus driver, tutor, and referee to my elementary kids and then running off to interview someone/s for the newspaper, beating a deadline, and then running to Walmart, to get materials for the collage of my 6th grade son, due on Monday. I have been burning out the other end by waiting on and coaching my (once rich-man) husband on the ethics of hard-work, focus, and perseverance.

In the meantime, we are tight with the budget and therefore, tight with time, because I keep accepting assignments for the money, not really knowing where to find time to write them.

I told my husband I miss our old lifestyle in Manila. When we were stressed, we could go to Rockwell and watch a movie and then have coffee--never feeling guilty about leaving the kids. In Manila, we could eat out often, in new restaurants, in fancy restaurants, hang out at hotel lobbies, hotel dinner buffets for $20.

I could go to the salon, have a manicure and pedicure spa, have a hip haircut with highlights and feel better about myself. I called on our ever-faithful masseuse and when I got lucky, she would bleach my underarms and wax my eyebrows as well.

What I miss most is hanging out with my friends and my big supportive family. They gave me a predictable routine of just validating that life has its ups and downs and everyone went through it. Very important pala yung Sunday lunches that we spent with either families. Here in America, the land of opportunity, you are lucky to have 1.2 friends on the average (not counting spouse or family). And my one and only friend,N, is busy with management seminars and climbing up his career ladder because he still has to save for his retirement lot in Tagaytay.

I miss my friends who like to go out, even with 50 pesos amongst us. I miss my cousins who like to drink in joy and in sorrow. (Although many of us don't drink nor smoke anymore). I miss my high school friends who just come and pick me up to eat out for no reason at all. I miss my friends who can afford to go to Hong Kong for the week-end. I miss the "Hello, mam/sir" greeting that you get from everyone who is always smiling. I miss that no matter how poor I was, there is something to affordable in Divisoria and Tutuban.

My friends and I used to plan a monthly lunch, where we take off for the whole afternoon, leaving our business-we-put-up-from scratch in the hands of our trusted assistants and sewers. We shared our woes and joys (in sales figures) in business, in family, in our marriages--some turbulent, some failing, the other one, quite good after all these years. We'd release our gripes over a long lunch (with dessert!) and then we would go on to watch the newest movie in the nicest movie house. We would always thank God for how lucky we were to have our own time and money.

I keep saying movies because watching a movie seems to be a lifeline to me . It's different in the movie house, where you can't hit the pause button and where you can laugh and cry anytime you want. I can watch movies alone and come out refreshed--and I don't even have the time nor the money to see Atonement, 6 weeks in the running. If I do, I have to watch it before 6 p.m., without popcorn or drinks that easily cost $15. Buti nalang I don't like popcorn.

"Why don't you make other friends?" asked my husband.

Unlike him, I am very particular about making friends. Coming from a big clan of about 30 cousins who are all like siblings, we know why we only trust each other, and very few other people. I am a loyal friend, and I give my all to my friends. So I can't just make new friends. Besides, friendship takes time and things in common--and we don't have much of that for hanging out as immigrants.

I realized that immigrants come from very different backgrounds. And though we are essentially the same as Filipinos, it is hard to find someone you have things in common with. Maybe I am looking for the same-caliber friends as in Manila. The ones who went to the same league of schools, the ones who grew up in Manila (versus the province). Not that I have anything against people from the province. People from the province who went to so-called public schools in the Philippines are way wealthier than us today. (Heck, they own 3 houses at a time). Our own kids go to public schools now. And we live in the equivalent of Pampanga right now.

So it's not about who has more money now. It's just that these commonalities should run through a friendship for it to work.

My mom said, "You may be poor, but you have the elan."
I said, "Mom, I will gladly sell my pedigree and style for all that cash!"

I miss the caliber of our Manila life. But my husband cautions me that this Manila caliber is an illusion. And I realize that though that may be true, I still miss it. I miss that when we are sick, we can go to one of our colleague doctors and confine ourselves in Makati Med. Here, we go to a mobile clinic because we have no insurance. In Manila, I play badminton with good cosmetic dentist to TV stars. She will try to save even my ugliest tooth and make my smile beautiful. Here, we go to Western Dental, where they are always eager to fit you for dentures.

Here all the rich Pinoys drive their newest S-class or C-class Mercedez Benzes. I never liked a Benz for a car, much less to show off. I realize that I didn't like it because we did not need it to show stature. Well, that was when we had stature. Here we have none. And when my badminton-mate picked me up from the train station in her Benz, all of a sudden I felt poor.

Although I kept taking it for granted, I realized that we have come from a privileged life in Manila. We may not have been super rich but we had stature, pedigree, and a good name, address, and a place in society. No matter how denied that, it is apparent to me now--and I should embrace it and work towards it, never to take it for granted again.

Dad R and daughter M all bundled up inside the house.

I have never judged a person by his wallet. But then that was because I was privileged. Let me say, it matters when we are poor and can't turn the heater on during winter. It was frustrating not be able to change our cracked car windshield for 8 months. And it matters when you are a nobody here and treated like one.

Ateneo de Manila University on my Resume

I applied for a job today, just a part-time one, in a bread cafe and in my favorite bookstore. I figured, our funds will not make it this month and extra income will always be welcome.

I filled out an application and when it got to the Educational Attainment part, I wrote Ateneo de Manila University, and I realized that, one, I haven't written my alma matter on an application for a long time, and two, though a source of pride and dignity and a sure mark of academic excellence, my proud, private Jesuit education did not matter to the manager of the bread cafe.

I did not even bother to list my post-grad units in Psychology, lest the manager get intimidated.

Though I credit Ateneo for teaching me the value of hard work and critical and socially-conscious thinking, along with eloquent writing and flawless logic, its proud blue-eagle name doesn't sparkle here. While Ateneo (maybe the equivalent of Harvard in Philippines), on your Philippine resume will get you on top of the pile, here in the US, even the lowly community college bears more weight.

So. . .

Finding our Balance: Fragile and Vulnerable Ice-Skating

I have tried to ice-skate only once in my life. I was 21 years old and my friends and I gathered our thickest guts to enter the Rockefeller Ice Rink in New York, circa 80's. While some of them glided on with some semblance of grace, I couldn't find my balance and ended up embracing the railings of the rink for dear life. It was not such a good experience at all, and yet ice-skating was so exciting to me when they aired Skating with the Stars.

Flash forward to 2008. My family and I are at the foot of Yosemite's granite monolith. Here lies a scenic skating rink, surrounded by thin streams of water, lined with snow. There was a bonfire by the wayside for frozen hands and feet.

All my kids rushed to rent their own ice-skates and zoomed into the ice--also for the first time for my eldest and youngest. The middle kids were privileged to have taken a few skating lessons in SM Megamall in Manila.



Watching from the side of the rink, I was invited by the giant monolith to try again, not to waste this moment at the sidelines, taking pictures. I was worried that osteoporosis at midlife would break a hipbone should I fall, but who turns down a giant granite monolith with a skating rink at his foot?

I decided to ice-skate for the second time in my life. I was tentative on my ice skates, waiting for someone to guide me in. Though I had the monolith on my side, the ice was way slippery at the mouth of the rink--very uninviting. My eldest son was making his way awkwardly to me. I realized he had circled the ring a few times and found a fragile balance. My youngest, (she's 3), was calling on to me, holding on to her dad, "Look at me, mom!" as she took her own her baby steps on ice. I was so very proud of her!

My husband took me into the rink. I held on to his arm with a death grip, thinking of NOT falling on my hips, whatever happens. My husband was weary of my weight and left me by the curb to catch his strength.

My eldest son came over and taught me how to at least stand up by myself--turning the ankles in and bending the knees, slightly leaning forward. Learning how to at least stand up kept me going. As a ballet dancer in my teens, my hidden dreams of grace on ice and those shimmering outfits strengthened me. (Did you know Vera Wang was a varsity skater and still skates to unwind?)

My son came back for me to pry me away from the wall. As I held on to his arm, I remember how all our time flew to this moment. My son--the one I taught to stand, walk, read, and write, ride a bike, type on the computer, drive his first stick-shift car, write an essay, be considerate of others--is now teaching me how to ice-skate, as if my life depended on him.

After 2 rounds (spent mostly hugging the wooden rails), I was exhilarated. But coming out of my Serendipity (the movie) fantasies, I was tired. My other kids circled me by while cheering me on and showing off at the same time. While the kids continued on, I sat on a bench to stretch my cramping ankles and creaky joints, and thanked God that I my hips are intact!

It was night when I looked up at the granite monolith. The bonfire wrapped the place in magical gold, with flakes of fire flying in the air. I was so glad to try ice skating again in this majestic setting. But the magic was skating with my kids. To see my eldest, poised yet vulnerable, on the brink of manhood, I realized my parenting days with him are almost over the way that I know it. I waved to the others as they passed me by, finding their own place in the ice. One day, they too, will be poised for their own adventures, many of them, without me. My daring and darling 3-year old, she fell many times, but got up and shook the slush off her behind, and carried on. Ah, I have more parenting years with her ahead--perhaps a new style of parenting, but that's a pleasure I look forward to.

I realized that I have ice-skated in 2 of the most magical places on Earth--Rockefeller Center and Yosemite's Curry Park . How lucky can one person be? But then sometimes, a great place pales in comparison to what my whole family gained. Yosemite, in all its grandeur, served only as a backdrop for wonderful moments on the ice, truly with my family, not just by the sidelines. For in the travels of our life as a family, the journey is as important as the destination. In fact, we are the ones that give meaning to the destination.

Take your vacations with meaning.

Apple Money

I am not one to part with my money easily. I'd rather put it in the bank and not have it earn anything that risk it.

My husband, though, likes to grow money. He convinced me to buy some Apple shares late last year. Acutally, he was hollering for us to buy since March when a share cost $70.

After some research, his forecast seemed logical. Apple was about to launch their iPhone and then they were developing the iPhone Nano. My husband was convinced that Apple would change the way the telecommunications game was played. We bought in July at $120. Last I looked, it hit the $200 per share level. Woohoo. . . We have earned $80 per share and at $240, we would have doubled our money. A far cry from the 2% earning per year at a savings bank.

We are leaving that money in there for the long haul-- for a dream Disney cruise for the whole family. Sometimes, when you want it so much, a window of opportunity opens up to make your dream a reality. This Apple money will be invested in priceless family vacations and memories.

I am glad I trusted my husband on this even if we have very different philosophies about money. And now that what he forecasted came true, I won't have to kill him! :)