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! :)

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. . .