It's one of those times again, when a perfectly fine day goes by and I feel like I've accomplished nothing. Of course I feel guilty, annoyed, and vowing (once more) to do better next time. But 'next time' turns out to be a repeat of said day-gone-to-waste. I have the whole weekend, yet Monday will find me in need of a pedicure, with a pile of unpressed clothes, half-read magazines waiting to be sorted, three-month-old pocketbooks awaiting plastic covers.
But I should stop whining about how I cannot manage my time. Why do I feel like I have to do so much? Because I have so much. I am a good tutor but I haven't managed my daughter's study habits. I write well, but I haven't gotten around to getting something published. I have more money these days but my credit card bills remain unpaid. And I have gotten lazy.
So I feel bad, because I feel that if I don't use these resources well, they will one day be taken from me. I have waited a long time to enjoy a good life with my family, and now that it looks like it's happening, I often sit on the terrace the whole day to read a book I've read five times already (Prince of Tides, quite wonderful). I think I've never done a single resolution well, such as getting up early. I tried this morning, but promptly went back to bed when I saw it was still dark outside.
And here I am, knowing perfectly well something is not right and something should be done, but I just write about it. Pathetic, my dear, pathetic. I have to groan when I read my old post, 'What's Holding You Back?' Why do I try so hard to make my life so complicated?
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
meow!
I love cats. I grew up in a house where cats are members of the family. I assisted in cat births, shared my food with cats, wept over their deaths. I have photographed cats, been bitten by cats, rescued cats from dogs. Of course, on occasion I have also kicked cats, but it does not diminish my regard for them, even as I threaten to chop them up and throw them in the frying pan if they do not stop stalking the African lovebirds.
Panic was my cat in Cubao in 1998. I fed Panic cat food, even when we did not have enough money to buy groceries. Panic knew when I'd be arriving after my midnight shift in the call center. He would jump up on my shoulder and allow me to carry him inside. He did not allow anyone else to do that; he was bad-tempered and would often bite ankles. He also hated my youngest brother, clothes hangers, and for some obscure reasons known only to cats, the commercial jingle for Flintstones Chewable Kids' Vitamins. For exercise, he would chase flies. He could jump really high when he was on his fly-catching moments. He looked at rats with mild condescension, and so he could never be bothered with them. We had big rats that would scamper around at night, sometimes running over our feet as we slept. Panic would give them a single bored glance and go back to sleep-- on my pillow, of course.
Miminchi grew up with Spotty, my daughter's dalmatian. The dalmatian often forgets that even though they sleep curled up together, she is now much more bigger than Miminchi. When they wrestle, Miminchi ends up slobbered with dog saliva, and I assume that underneath that fur Miminchi is all black and blue. Yet it doesn't stop him from snuggling with Spotty. Like Spotty, Miminchi eats dog food. Since I carry conversations with cats, my daughter has picked it up. She would ask Miminchi a question, and when Miminchi meows back, she would ask me what Miminchi said. Last week she asked Miminchi if he knew where the nanny is going. Miminchi meowed. My daughter nodded, satisfied. The nanny came out and asked, "Where did Miminchi say I was going?" My daughter replied, "He said it's secret!" Miminchi responds to human talk, although much is lost in translation.
There are many many cats before and between Panic and Miminchi. I could write on and on about what each one of them did. I remember them all. All of my cats were strays. Although I say that one of these days I'm going to get myself a Persian cat, I'm happy with the ordinary ones. I love them as they come. These days I prefer toms because they don't reproduce, but they raise such a racket when they decide to prove their masculinity at night.
I have a list of my favorite moments. Topping the list would be a rainy afternoon with a new book, preferably Stephen King, and a few Fuji apples. Second would be the same thing, with a warm, soft, purring cat on my lap.
Panic was my cat in Cubao in 1998. I fed Panic cat food, even when we did not have enough money to buy groceries. Panic knew when I'd be arriving after my midnight shift in the call center. He would jump up on my shoulder and allow me to carry him inside. He did not allow anyone else to do that; he was bad-tempered and would often bite ankles. He also hated my youngest brother, clothes hangers, and for some obscure reasons known only to cats, the commercial jingle for Flintstones Chewable Kids' Vitamins. For exercise, he would chase flies. He could jump really high when he was on his fly-catching moments. He looked at rats with mild condescension, and so he could never be bothered with them. We had big rats that would scamper around at night, sometimes running over our feet as we slept. Panic would give them a single bored glance and go back to sleep-- on my pillow, of course.
Miminchi grew up with Spotty, my daughter's dalmatian. The dalmatian often forgets that even though they sleep curled up together, she is now much more bigger than Miminchi. When they wrestle, Miminchi ends up slobbered with dog saliva, and I assume that underneath that fur Miminchi is all black and blue. Yet it doesn't stop him from snuggling with Spotty. Like Spotty, Miminchi eats dog food. Since I carry conversations with cats, my daughter has picked it up. She would ask Miminchi a question, and when Miminchi meows back, she would ask me what Miminchi said. Last week she asked Miminchi if he knew where the nanny is going. Miminchi meowed. My daughter nodded, satisfied. The nanny came out and asked, "Where did Miminchi say I was going?" My daughter replied, "He said it's secret!" Miminchi responds to human talk, although much is lost in translation.
There are many many cats before and between Panic and Miminchi. I could write on and on about what each one of them did. I remember them all. All of my cats were strays. Although I say that one of these days I'm going to get myself a Persian cat, I'm happy with the ordinary ones. I love them as they come. These days I prefer toms because they don't reproduce, but they raise such a racket when they decide to prove their masculinity at night.
I have a list of my favorite moments. Topping the list would be a rainy afternoon with a new book, preferably Stephen King, and a few Fuji apples. Second would be the same thing, with a warm, soft, purring cat on my lap.
Friday, August 10, 2007
feeling good!
My feel-good things today:
1. Feeling the sun on my arms and back while waiting to cross the street, after two days of rain.
2. Knowing it's Friday, and when I go home tonight I can read a novel until midnight, because I can get up late on Saturday morning.
3. A ham sandwich with mayo, lettuce and lots of cucumbers. A cup of brewed coffee splashed with fresh milk. And all for 36 pesos at the cafeteria.
4. Anticipating Sunday, because then we go to Zapote market in the morning. My daughter goes with us, but only because she gets to eat breakfast at Jollibee and use the play area. When there's extra money we go to the ukay-ukay. :)
5. Having one of my bosses on a three-week home leave, which means I do only filing and labeling. I also have time to browse his foreign newspaper subscriptions (except the Japanese Nikkei news) and clip out pictures of fashion models and house furnishings.
6. An unexpected-- but totally pleasurable-- early-morning tumble-in-the-hay.
7. Going down late at night to get my daughter a drink of water, and ending up sharing a big bowl of cereal and milk with her, giggling like conspirators in the kitchen.
8. Picking off malunggay leaves from the stem. Try it for an hour, and see if you won't fall asleep.
9. Listening to The Corrs.
10. Buying a new book!
1. Feeling the sun on my arms and back while waiting to cross the street, after two days of rain.
2. Knowing it's Friday, and when I go home tonight I can read a novel until midnight, because I can get up late on Saturday morning.
3. A ham sandwich with mayo, lettuce and lots of cucumbers. A cup of brewed coffee splashed with fresh milk. And all for 36 pesos at the cafeteria.
4. Anticipating Sunday, because then we go to Zapote market in the morning. My daughter goes with us, but only because she gets to eat breakfast at Jollibee and use the play area. When there's extra money we go to the ukay-ukay. :)
5. Having one of my bosses on a three-week home leave, which means I do only filing and labeling. I also have time to browse his foreign newspaper subscriptions (except the Japanese Nikkei news) and clip out pictures of fashion models and house furnishings.
6. An unexpected-- but totally pleasurable-- early-morning tumble-in-the-hay.
7. Going down late at night to get my daughter a drink of water, and ending up sharing a big bowl of cereal and milk with her, giggling like conspirators in the kitchen.
8. Picking off malunggay leaves from the stem. Try it for an hour, and see if you won't fall asleep.
9. Listening to The Corrs.
10. Buying a new book!
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
what's holding you back?
I picked up a book at a National Bookstore sale. It's title is 'What's Holding You Back?' It's one of about a thousand self-help books out there. It's supposed to teach women how to be raging successes in their field. I haven't even opened the first page. I read Stephen King's 'Lisey's Story' instead.
But the question is basic, one I've asked myself at one time or another. What's holding me back? What's stopping me from becoming who I wanted to be? What's keeping me mediocre and average?
The answer: nothing. The possibilities are endless. A person's limitations are only as big as his perceived weaknesses. More often we are surprised when that thing that we had been putting off because of our I-can't-possibly-do-it attitude comes out right. Like trying out for the cheering squad, getting out of a bad relationship, baking cookies for the first time, learning to ice-skate at thirty. I can't say I've done all those things or am planning to do them (especially the ice-skating part), but sometimes it's all about having as few regrets as possible. I don't want to be lying there half-senile at 75, and berating myself for not getting an MBA when my brain cells are still jumping around. Failures don't diminish a person. Failures help a person know his limitations. If one is wise, it lets him know when to stop. If one is wiser, it also lets him know where he needs to improve.
As always, it is easier said than done. Juggling motherhood, wife-hood, a job, MBA classes, writing, and heaven forbid, ice-skating, can be quite a challenge. Just writing it down makes me exhausted and think twice about remaining mediocre. It's about knowing priorities, weighing options, and having guts enough. But that's another topic for another day. :)
But the question is basic, one I've asked myself at one time or another. What's holding me back? What's stopping me from becoming who I wanted to be? What's keeping me mediocre and average?
The answer: nothing. The possibilities are endless. A person's limitations are only as big as his perceived weaknesses. More often we are surprised when that thing that we had been putting off because of our I-can't-possibly-do-it attitude comes out right. Like trying out for the cheering squad, getting out of a bad relationship, baking cookies for the first time, learning to ice-skate at thirty. I can't say I've done all those things or am planning to do them (especially the ice-skating part), but sometimes it's all about having as few regrets as possible. I don't want to be lying there half-senile at 75, and berating myself for not getting an MBA when my brain cells are still jumping around. Failures don't diminish a person. Failures help a person know his limitations. If one is wise, it lets him know when to stop. If one is wiser, it also lets him know where he needs to improve.
As always, it is easier said than done. Juggling motherhood, wife-hood, a job, MBA classes, writing, and heaven forbid, ice-skating, can be quite a challenge. Just writing it down makes me exhausted and think twice about remaining mediocre. It's about knowing priorities, weighing options, and having guts enough. But that's another topic for another day. :)
Monday, August 6, 2007
simplicity
I look around me and see a lot of unnecessary things cluttering my space. I have a Palm, a cellphone, and an iPod Nano. Of the three, only the cellphone is useful, and although both the Palm and the iPod are gifts, the money used to buy them could have paid for three months' rent in the house, with something left over to buy a month's worth of groceries. Sayang.
I have seven pairs of shoes, and a couple of them have not been used in the last four months or so. I have a black blouse bought in May that I haven't had any occasion to wear yet. Sayang.
There are ordinary women like me who will sound horrified at having ONLY seven pairs of shoes; most of my friends have at least a dozen. I have friends who have bottles of unused perfume, blouses still with price tags, bags bought last Christmas but still unwrapped, jewelry.
I have always hated superfluous things. I hate things going to waste, or things in excess. I guess I can get by with very little because I was brought up having 'just enough.' It was my grandmother's rule of thumb. Get just enough food on your plate so you won't waste it, followed by the immortal 'A lot of children in Africa are dying of hunger...' Another pair of school shoes? No, the old one is perfectly serviceable for one more school year. In her house I grew up with three pairs of shoes: one black, for school; rubber shoes for running around and P.E. classes; and one pretty pair to go with the dresses for church on Sundays. My grandmother would hoard imported corned beef, socks my uncle sent from the U.S., Tupperware, blankets. The dolls were kept in the cabinets in their unopened boxes because, of course, the kids had just enough toys to keep them busy. I had a Rainbow Brite doll sent by the aforementioned U.S.-based uncle for Christmas when I was in third grade. I stole it from the toy cabinet when I was fifteen and took it to Manila when I studied in college. When I went home last year for my grandmother's funeral, I found an Avon lipstick, still sealed, that I gave her about a year before she died.
I don't like knick-knacks, figurines, sculptures, and artificial flowers in vases. They are not useful. Which is probably why my efforts at decorating the house have been pathetic at best. I have bought a lot of home-improvement magazines, but I cannot imagine spending 4,500 pesos for a lounge umbrella, or 600 pesos for a blue glass vase. If not for the nanny, we probably would not have a dining set or a living room set. She bought them and I paid her back. I keep on meaning to buy new curtains, but I reason out that we still have perfectly serviceable ones. I also say that it's partly because the house is not truly ours, but as the nanny says, it's not as if we're moving out anytime soon. We lived five years in the house in Sta. Clara and we barely filled one-third of the moving truck when we moved to the house in Cavite. I don't have pretty bedsheets. My sister who lives in a rented house that's only one-fourth the size of ours has a cabinet of matched bedsheets and is planning built-in wall shelves.
My husband is also a simple man, so I guess we're lucky to end up with each other. I have nothing against pretty things, expensive things, or a dozen pairs of shoes. I sometimes give in and buy new books when I could hunt them down in secondhand bookstores. I only think sometimes that it really takes little to make a person happy, if one learns to be thankful for what one has. I will not be a hypocrite and say that I always think of the hungry children in Africa. I feel that living within my means, knowing when it is just enough, is enough to keep me all right. I can now afford a car, but I don't HAVE to buy one.
I have seven pairs of shoes, and a couple of them have not been used in the last four months or so. I have a black blouse bought in May that I haven't had any occasion to wear yet. Sayang.
There are ordinary women like me who will sound horrified at having ONLY seven pairs of shoes; most of my friends have at least a dozen. I have friends who have bottles of unused perfume, blouses still with price tags, bags bought last Christmas but still unwrapped, jewelry.
I have always hated superfluous things. I hate things going to waste, or things in excess. I guess I can get by with very little because I was brought up having 'just enough.' It was my grandmother's rule of thumb. Get just enough food on your plate so you won't waste it, followed by the immortal 'A lot of children in Africa are dying of hunger...' Another pair of school shoes? No, the old one is perfectly serviceable for one more school year. In her house I grew up with three pairs of shoes: one black, for school; rubber shoes for running around and P.E. classes; and one pretty pair to go with the dresses for church on Sundays. My grandmother would hoard imported corned beef, socks my uncle sent from the U.S., Tupperware, blankets. The dolls were kept in the cabinets in their unopened boxes because, of course, the kids had just enough toys to keep them busy. I had a Rainbow Brite doll sent by the aforementioned U.S.-based uncle for Christmas when I was in third grade. I stole it from the toy cabinet when I was fifteen and took it to Manila when I studied in college. When I went home last year for my grandmother's funeral, I found an Avon lipstick, still sealed, that I gave her about a year before she died.
I don't like knick-knacks, figurines, sculptures, and artificial flowers in vases. They are not useful. Which is probably why my efforts at decorating the house have been pathetic at best. I have bought a lot of home-improvement magazines, but I cannot imagine spending 4,500 pesos for a lounge umbrella, or 600 pesos for a blue glass vase. If not for the nanny, we probably would not have a dining set or a living room set. She bought them and I paid her back. I keep on meaning to buy new curtains, but I reason out that we still have perfectly serviceable ones. I also say that it's partly because the house is not truly ours, but as the nanny says, it's not as if we're moving out anytime soon. We lived five years in the house in Sta. Clara and we barely filled one-third of the moving truck when we moved to the house in Cavite. I don't have pretty bedsheets. My sister who lives in a rented house that's only one-fourth the size of ours has a cabinet of matched bedsheets and is planning built-in wall shelves.
My husband is also a simple man, so I guess we're lucky to end up with each other. I have nothing against pretty things, expensive things, or a dozen pairs of shoes. I sometimes give in and buy new books when I could hunt them down in secondhand bookstores. I only think sometimes that it really takes little to make a person happy, if one learns to be thankful for what one has. I will not be a hypocrite and say that I always think of the hungry children in Africa. I feel that living within my means, knowing when it is just enough, is enough to keep me all right. I can now afford a car, but I don't HAVE to buy one.
feeling good!
On 04 August:
Sitting in the terrace at ten o'clock on a Saturday morning, waiting for it to rain. From the terrace I can see Bernard the dog taking a nap under the mango tree. The African lovebirds are keeping up their pleasant mid-morning racket, and the FM radio is blaring from the laundry area where my kid is helping the nanny with the laundry. The subdivision is so sparsely populated that I don't even hear the tricycles on the main road behind the house for long minutes at a stretch. Thunder rolls from the east.
I have just finished a book by Stephen King, 'Lisey's Story,' and like all of his books, I am amazed. I wonder what kind of brain such a prolific writer like him possesses, and again I daydream of writing books one day. I think of staying home to take care of my daughter, and writing books for a living.
Not worrying about lunch. I could go down and prepare it, but the nanny has it all figured out until suppertime. I wish we had some chocolate cake for dessert, but it's too much trouble to go out and buy one. Knowing I don't have to wait for an occasion to buy chocolate cake is enough. Raining now, just a soft pattering on the roof, but I'm hoping it will fall harder so my daughter and I can play in the puddles later.
Sitting in the terrace at ten o'clock on a Saturday morning, waiting for it to rain. From the terrace I can see Bernard the dog taking a nap under the mango tree. The African lovebirds are keeping up their pleasant mid-morning racket, and the FM radio is blaring from the laundry area where my kid is helping the nanny with the laundry. The subdivision is so sparsely populated that I don't even hear the tricycles on the main road behind the house for long minutes at a stretch. Thunder rolls from the east.
I have just finished a book by Stephen King, 'Lisey's Story,' and like all of his books, I am amazed. I wonder what kind of brain such a prolific writer like him possesses, and again I daydream of writing books one day. I think of staying home to take care of my daughter, and writing books for a living.
Not worrying about lunch. I could go down and prepare it, but the nanny has it all figured out until suppertime. I wish we had some chocolate cake for dessert, but it's too much trouble to go out and buy one. Knowing I don't have to wait for an occasion to buy chocolate cake is enough. Raining now, just a soft pattering on the roof, but I'm hoping it will fall harder so my daughter and I can play in the puddles later.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
wishful thinking
You know what I think of, when I'm stuck in traffic on the way to the office? That I'd love a condo unit where I could stay all by myself. It should be only one ride away from the office. I'll have a laptop, a CD player, a personal ref and a microwave. No tv, since I don't like movies and tv shows all that much. I'll have lots of bookshelves, of course. And I'll have a Persian cat.
My bathroom will be done in blue and yellow, and my bedroom will be color-coordinated. There will be no figurines, flower vases, or scented candles. I'll have a newspaper subscription. There will be a wall cabinet for my shoes.
It's not a question of wanting to be single again. I would not exchange my daughter for a chance to live like that. I may not be always perfectly happy with married life, but that's what I have now and like everyone else, I make the most of it. I like the house we're living in now, and we have more space than we need. I guess the condo dream is like having my own getaway, something that's for me alone, when I need a quiet time. It's like going to bookstores and hunting for the book I MUST have.
But when the time comes and I can afford it, I'll get that condo unit, if only to show myself that I really could. Wouldn't that be nice?
My bathroom will be done in blue and yellow, and my bedroom will be color-coordinated. There will be no figurines, flower vases, or scented candles. I'll have a newspaper subscription. There will be a wall cabinet for my shoes.
It's not a question of wanting to be single again. I would not exchange my daughter for a chance to live like that. I may not be always perfectly happy with married life, but that's what I have now and like everyone else, I make the most of it. I like the house we're living in now, and we have more space than we need. I guess the condo dream is like having my own getaway, something that's for me alone, when I need a quiet time. It's like going to bookstores and hunting for the book I MUST have.
But when the time comes and I can afford it, I'll get that condo unit, if only to show myself that I really could. Wouldn't that be nice?
looking good!
These days I usually try to dress well. I may only be a glorified secretary, but it doesn't mean I have to dress like I just pulled the first thing I saw in the closet. It's worth it when people in the office tell me I don't look 30, or when they sound surprised when they learn I'm married and my daughter is six years old. And yes, I like it when I'm colorful and different and smart.
I'm not being pretentious. It's only that I know what looks good on me and I can get away with it. When I'm 50, I would have lived 18,250 days, and I don't want to wear all those days on my face. By that time I will not be wearing my three-inch-heels, but I would like to believe my legs will still look good!
I'm not being pretentious. It's only that I know what looks good on me and I can get away with it. When I'm 50, I would have lived 18,250 days, and I don't want to wear all those days on my face. By that time I will not be wearing my three-inch-heels, but I would like to believe my legs will still look good!
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