for senen

Our classmate Senen is getting married!

I'm not going to give him any wishes for a peaceful married life. Get real. Instead I'm giving him this list, compiled over my own ten years of (mostly) peaceful marriage. If he takes this by heart, I can guarantee a measure of peace until at least his tenth wedding anniversary. :-)

Here goes:

Things I Wish Men Knew About Women:

1. Women need to be listened to.
2. They do not encourage rapists.
3. Perfume turns them on.
4. They crave romance and tenderness like drowning men crave life rafts.
5. They do flirt.
6. They like hearing 'I love you' but they have an ear for the words that ring true.
7. They need to have birthdays and anniversaries remembered with the same enthusiasm as boxing fight dates.
8. Their breasts need to be fondled, not mauled.
9. They do not get immense joy from cleaning kitchens and bathrooms.
10. They understand children intuitively, because the children grew under their hearts.
11. They cry, not because they're weak, but because they're in touch with their feelings.
12. They think with their minds but act with their hearts.
13. They can be like cotton candy -- sweet and soft outside, a hard stick inside.
14. To have husbands who are unfaithful is an injury to their souls.
15. They are all mothers at heart -- for small children and big men.
16. They like it better with a foreplay.
17. Menstrual periods do not make them crazy, unclean, or prone to attacks by rabid dogs.
18. They would sometimes like to give the flowers.
19. They like to be held when they're happy, when they're sad, and in-between.
20. They may not have looks that kill, but they can kill with a look.
21. They can feign indifference but can never hide pain, nor love for that matter.
22. They like having their new haircut noticed and commented on favorably, if not enthusiastically.
23. Making love thirty seconds after a woman has gotten dressed to go out is not spontaneous and fun.
24. They sometimes need to be left alone.
25. They need to be loved, desired, trusted, and respected, not just during courtship, but forever.

the luckier one

My problematic daughter had one of her issues again. We were peacefully eating spaghetti last weekend when she announced, out of the blue, that her classmate Taketoshi said she was lucky because her mother was around. I said, Why, where is Taketoshi's (or was it Matsunori?) mother?

In Japan, she said. Like Robelyn, whose mother is in Dubai.

I see, I said. I vaguely remember that Robelyn was the classmate who had really neat toys, and had pretty dresses. Taketoshi-or-Matsunori was one of those little boys who usually had the latest gadgets and knew all the anime characters on Saturday-morning tv.

So they think you're lucky because you're with your mother? I asked. I was checking back how many mornings I brought her to school this year and socialized with her classmates. They were quite few. I was also remembering all the times I forgot to buy her pad paper or a plastic globe, or forgot to pay for her class picture, and of course I had guilt attacks.

These thoughts occurred in a matter of seconds, because her next statement was this:

Yeah, but Melissa is luckier. Because you see, her mother doesn't work. Then she looked at me meaningfully.

I could have spent the next hour equating kids' luck, and explaining the advantages and disadvantages of a working mother, but I lost heart and attacked the pasta instead.

She's a long way from the four-year-old who wanted to send her yaya to the office in my place so I could stay home and take care of her, but the issues remain the same. It's one of those things that kids will not really understand, no matter how much their parents try to explain. The funny thing about life is that she will learn all about it... when she has kids herself.

So I nodded and said that like her, Taketoshi-or-Matsunori (I never did get that kid's name straight), Robelyn, and Melissa all have mothers who love them, and mothers have different ways of loving, so one kid is not luckier than another.

Being lucky, like being loved, is a matter of perspective. But try explaining that to a kid.

raising kids

In one of my blogs, When Death Do Us Part, I described my daughter's preoccupation with death. I thought we had finished the discussion. Then one morning last week, as I had finished fixing her ponytails before her school service comes, she burst into tears. I was startled and I started asking why. The more I asked, the harder she cried. My first thought was that her computer broke down again, then I thought someone had hurt her. Then I became worried that she'd go on crying until we're both late, and I was thinking of excuses to tell my boss.

She said, between sobs, that she did not want me to die. Oh, so that's it.

I sat her down and asked for more details. Apparently, one of her classmates informed her that all parents would die. I explained, carefully, that yes, all parents die. But hopefully, not too soon. I said I understand that she did not want me to die, and I myself do not want to die yet. But we never know when death will come. I did not add that I could easily die on my way to work, or never wake up at all one morning. I don't think I can handle a hysterical eight-year-old.

I said it's okay to get upset about it, but she has to understand that death is part of being human. And she cannot go on thinking about me dying. I told her I hope to see her children before I die. And I hoped her school service would be late while I explained further and fixed her face.

I think we did fine. Now whenever she hears things from other children, she clears them with me. Mama, is it true that when you take a bath at night, you'll become sickly? No, you'll just sleep better because you're fresh and cool. Mama, my friend said if I lay down at night with wet hair, my eyes will cloud over, and I'll get white hair. No, honey, it's just an old wives' tale. You have weak eyes to begin with, and no third-grader ever grew white hairs. Mama, what's an old wives' tale? Honey, it's a long explanation. Ask me about Facebook instead.

I'll take those eight-year-old tears and gladly explain why people die. But with it came the realization that before long, she'd come to me in tears because she'd broken up with her boyfriend, and it would be harder to explain why hearts break.

In time, she would learn that as much as mothers love their kids, mothers do not have all the answers, mothers are not always right, and yes, mothers die.

growing old, part 2

I had lunch at Sbarro today. In the next table sat two old ladies, obviously old friends, and they had been shopping. Seated a little farther away was a woman who wore something that looked like a maid's uniform. She carried various paper bags and shopping bags for the two old women.


The two old women were sharing a slice of pizza, a salad, and a carrot cake. Sbarro's servings are large by my standards. They ordered their assistant the same thing I was eating: baked ziti. One of them was instructing the woman to sprinkle some granulated garlic in her baked ziti; the other inquired if she found the food delicious. The woman politely said yes, but her face carried an expression of slight distaste.


The old women were dressed simply. They were wearing blouse and pants and flat sandals. They had also dyed their hair light brown. But their manner was very refined, and I noted that one of them wore a Rolex watch. The other had earrings with stones that sparkled too much to be anything but real. They discussed old friends and what to do in the evening.

Okay, maybe I watched them too much, but they were very interesting. It seems I am preoccupied with old women these days.

I often associate old age with being alone. I did not grow up in a household that takes care of old people. My grandmother never made us feel like it's an obligation. She lived in her big house all by herself with a caregiver for company.

I learned from her that alone doesn't necessarily mean lonely. When I get to be an old woman, I hope I still have a girlfriend or two who can go shopping with me. Said girlfriend had better be addicted to books as well, for the sake of intelligent conversation. I cannot see myself discussing the merits of a particular well-muscled DI over lunch.

I hope I will be a gracious old lady, maybe not with a Rolex, but with a few sparkly things to wear when I attend my granddaughter's debut. And I do hope I discover soon what it is with old women, light brown hair, and blouse-and-pants ensembles, so I can plan my wardrobe accordingly.

And I hope one of my daughters will marry an Italian, so I can have someone who will cook me good pasta and make a mean pizza. I cannot afford a lifestyle of eating at Sbarro every day!

growing old

I was on my way to buy a bacon sandwich earlier when I met an old woman along the corridor. She had mostly white hair, a pale kind face, a dowdy (in my 33-year-old opinion) blouse-and-pants outfit, and flat brown sandals. She was wearing a retiree's ID, and as she passed me she smiled.

It suddenly occurred to me that I, in my short dress, braided hair and three-inch heels, would one day look like her.

I too, would retire from work. I wonder what I'd be like at 60. Of course by that time I'd have given up my high heels (oh, the prospect of it breaks my heart), but I'll still wear pretty shoes. I'd still like to wear dresses, but perhaps by that time I'll discover the wonder of slacks and tailored pants. The credit cards in my wallet will be replaced by snapshots of my grandchildren.

Here's what I'd like to be when I grow old:

I'll have a library that I'll open to public school children. I'd like to have children around me who can argue whether Tom Sawyer was smarter than Huckleberry Finn. Unlike my mother and my mother-in-law who are so fond of plants, I cannot grow gardens. Even a cactus withers under my care. So my retirement home will probably be a condo with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

I'll have a cat, of course. Maybe not a Siamese cat with an attitude, but something clean enough to bring to bed and behaved enough that my husband won't kick it out.

I will have travelled to other places, other countries. I would like to see cherry blossoms bloom in Japan, go to a safari in Africa, eat crepes in Paris while visiting my friend Monette. I wouldn't want to climb Mount Everest or ride the world's biggest roller coaster, but I'd like to have tried things that I dreamed of doing when I was in my 30s and writing blogs. He he he.

And I'll write lots of stories. By 60 I would have learned enough of the world to write about it. When I write I will leave the city; I will go to a beach, sit under an umbrella, and write with my toes in the sand. Then I'll go back to my condo and publish what I wrote.

One last thing: I will decide to like being old. Most of us (especially women) desperately fight old age. Our weapons are cosmetics, loud clothes, juvenile behavior. But that's inevitable; the wrinkles will win anyway. The important thing is to welcome each day as if you'd live to be a hundred years old, to not forget to have fun, to surround yourself with people and things you love. Because, you see, Mark Twain was right. He said, "Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."

the beauty queens

You see the shoes? We didn't talk about wearing the same style today. We three met for lunch to celebrate Milette's birthday. Two weeks from now we'll have lunch again to celebrate mine, and again in October to celebrate Irene's.We three friends are so different from each other. Milette is a saint, but she wears hot lingerie; Irene is a self-proclaimed pokwang and is determined not to marry, but she gives the soundest advice on marital problems; I am me. :-)

We three love books. Irene and I both love Pat Conroy, and... uh, we're not sure about what Milette loves to read.

We three work in the same building, but we eat lunch together only thrice a year. During lunch, we talk about anything under the sun, under the stars, under the blanket. We exchange views on topics that would make other women blush. And we ask the waiters to take pictures of us after lunch, in the same place, every year. For lunch today, we have 26 pictures. I guess we'll laugh about it for the next couple of days.

More than the companionship, the lunches, the gifts on birthdays and at Christmas, I love the simplicity of our friendship. I laugh a lot when I'm with them. They taught me to work more patiently on my husband, to be tough at work, to buy expensive bags and shoes. I learn a lot from them, but most of the time I learn things about myself.

We call ourselves the beauty queens. It's a private joke in the ordinariness of our everyday working lives. There is happiness in our uncomplicated acceptance of each other.

These lunch dates on our birthdays, they are not just to eat an expensive lunch together or to giggle over our sex lives. They are celebrations of our friendship, and the conviction that in our own right, in our own worlds, we are beauty queens. Because when we're 70 years old, we'll look at our albums of our lunch dates, three times a year, and we'll sigh and say,

"Shit, weren't we beautiful?"

for gemma

My best friend from college is getting married next week. We met again after about four years, and over pizza we talked about marriage.

Girl, I am truly happy for you that you're getting married. I wish with all my heart that your man will bring you only happiness. I wish you a good life together. I wish that your new family will bring you fulfillment.

I wish there were fool-proof, 100% guaranteed-to-work seminars on how to stay happily married. Your mother and sister could give you good advice, and I'm sure I'll have lots of opinions, but in the end, what matters is how much you care for each other. I've been married nine years, and still I cannot tell exactly how you can keep loving the same man if you wake up with him morning after morning, after you've gotten used to all his good points and all his faulty mechanisms. What I know is that I want the marriage to work because of all the love that was there in the beginning, because of all the effort we put into living our life together, and because of the children.

But it doesn't stop there. You have to always remember that you promised to love him till death do you part, and hello, walang divorce sa Pilipinas. There will always be rough times in any marriage, there will always be little fights, minor and major irritations, and it is part of the deal that your foundation (the reason you married him in the first place) should be strong enough to withstand all that.

And one last thing: leave something for yourself. You could give him all the love in the world, but you should also love yourself. Your whole world should not revolve around him. There should be enough respect for yourself, enough value, enough space, to keep you from being just a shadow. If you feel that it's your job to keep him happy, it's also your job to keep yourself happy. There should always be something for you. Gemma the person is just as important as Gemma the wife and the mother. It gives you your dignity, so that when the kids leave the home or (let's hope not) the marriage falls apart, you have enough to go on.

Congratulations, and good luck.