Space of my own

I was in Mega Manila for 10 days and came back to my Baguio room and adjusted to the new changes my husband Rolly Fernandez made on our shared space. We used to have a small table between our single beds and shared a lamp for night reading between us.

Now he moved my work table between our beds and put my growing pile of books half-read, unread and intended to be read on our grandchild's table. (Wait till we hear what she has to say about this when she herself arrives from her Manila summer break.)

This is where all the writing action takes place. The blue comb is there for the purpose of running through my hair to help me think.

I like where he shoved my old bed--nearer to the window where I can have more natural light while reading or writing in my journal. As for the work table's new space, I now have windows with a view of the neighbors' greenery. I can take 20-minute breaks from computer chores and rest my eyes on said neighbors' green roofs, the pine trees and plants whose green colors are sharpened by the rain.

That he doesn't ask my permission to move things around in our room I don't mind. Rolly knows best--whether it's housekeeping, drawing up a menu, picking out items to put in the grocery cart or gardening.

As you can see, I'm not good for anything in terms of decorating space. Gosh, he even fixed my table where everything is now in place and there's a place for everything.

Grateful Wednesday!

My physical parts

"The people we most love do become a physical part of us, ingrained in our synapses, in the pathways where memories are created." - Meghan O’Rourke

I can bonk my head with my fist on some days. I am so busy these days that I cannot even find my own buttocks sometimes. It's almost the end of the schoolyear so there are exams that must be administered, grades computed, evaluations composed apart from everyday writing deadlines. But I can't complain. I love doing all of the above that have to do with becoming a late bloomer of a teacher and an angst-filled writer.

To keep in touch my eldest kid Kimi sends me photos of her daughter, our Wee One. She has quickly grown out of toddler clothes and is turning into a full-grown child with her own smart-ass opinions and tyrannical ways. I wonder from what side of the family she gets it? Hmmmm...

While I was in recovery from assorted ailments and coping with deadlines in school and work, a little milestone occurred in The Wee One's life: Moving Up Day. Although I originally thought that her progressive little school didn't hand out academic honors, apparently it does. Kimi texted me Tuesday that her kid was handed out No. 3 honors in the Top Five of her nursery class.

Of course, the stage lolo can't help but sigh into my phone, "If she weren't so tardy or absent for many reasons, she would have been Number One."

Of course, the lola was furious! Her lines went: "For heaven's sake, Rolly! It's only nursery! Why are you pushing her so hard? Let her have some fun! Be happy that she's happy every time it's time to go to school!!!" And on and on she went until lolo had to say "Bye bye, see you when I see you." Why does the wife/mother/grandmother have to be right all the time? Told ya. That's where the kid got the bossy genes!


Proud Mamay and her daughter

Class of 2014-15, nursery level

Here's to solitary dining

Cab Cafe usually serves its coffee in a paper cup, even if you're dining in. Ask for a mug--the coffee tastes just the same and you save on paper and plastic stirrer. Photos by Babeth Lolarga

“Because we all need somebody to talk to, somebody that will listen, somebody that understands.” - a tweet from Inspirational Quotes

Often I find myself talking to whoever just happens to be reading this blog or past blog entries after he/she accidentally "hits" it in search of something else. Other times I share the day's content out there to friends and family who give a word or two of encouragement. 

Otherwise, I talk to myself most of, if not, all the time. I do the talking not too loudly though. Otherwise, my “frenemies’” suspicions about my eccentricity, a.k.a. weirdness, will be confirmed. And there are some people out there who delight in others’ pratfalls. It is not a kind world, unfortunately for the sensitive.

Where was I before the taho vendor’s cries interrupted my concentration? I’m supposed to make a strong pitch for the occasional meal enjoyed with oneself, not with some Other (be it partner, child, grandchild, parent, sibling or friend). I call it a form of decompressing so I don’t suffer from what divers call “bends” when resuming my routine and becoming a social being again.

Yesterday from late morning to apres-lunch, I was with kindred spirits or fellow cultural workers. One of them referred to ourselves as alipin ng sining (slaves to art and culture). I always bristle like a porcupine when I hear the word alipin. I like to correct the phrase, to think of ourselves as “art warriors in aid of peace.”

But even warriors need a rest day. No, it’s only Friday today, and there are two more writing deadlines to be met. These deadlines are largely self-imposed, but I want to meet them in the quickest, most efficient way possible. 

For me to do that, I must decompress first the way a diver must go up slowly from the depths of the ocean lest he/she suffer from the bends and get paralyzed. So after that meeting-cum-coverage-cum-interview-cum-shared meal, I headed home but stopped over at good ole reliable Cab Café on East Capitol Drive, Barangay Kapitolyo, Pasig. I was desperately in need of a caffeine fix to stay awake and finish a hanapbuhay article. The cake chiller was tempting, but I’m always careful about my sugar intake. 

There was a slice of cherry “cheesecake.” It had no cream cheese in it. Deceptive, right? Instead, the sumptuous red cherries that sported a come-hither look were sitting on a lump of yogurt, the yogurt sat grandly like a princess on a round savory biscuit. Think crown, think princess, think throne. 

Whoever in the kitchen-bakery thought of this must be congratulated. I’ve always had a taste for the sour (okay, here’s where you make jokes about my increasingly sour disposition).

Hurray for “decompression chambers”, those way stations between being a social being and being a completely solitary person once one returns home to face an empty Microsoft Word page, a throbbing cursor, a waiting angel (or devil) that one must wrestle down to keep the flow of words going and going without disappearing.

P.S. My bill didn't even exceed P200, and I got the drafting and writing done before midnight. Oy vey!