Sulat ni Nanay at Tatay sa Atin
Work has caught up with me at last. I was gearing for a longer head start. Far enough so it could not grab my ankle and hold me down my office chair in front of the PC on weekends to labour on unfinished tasks which are all equally urgent. I was mistaken. It took work three months. Three months before it had both my hands tied helplessly to my back as it whispered in a coarse sad voice, "you can't run far enough for long. What made you think you could?" It was good enough, though. Three months.
Having said that, and having hopefully had an aweful good enough alibi not to write anything of substance of late, I give you something that you may have a piece at, if you haven't already read it. It touched my heart and I hope it does yours. It was said to have been written by a certain Rev. Fr. Ariel F. Robles, CWL Spiritual Director of the St. Augustine Parish in Baliuag, Bulacan.
Sulat ni Nanay at Tatay sa Atin
Sa aking pagtanda, unawain mo sana ako at
pagpasensyahan. Kapag dala ng kalabuan ng mata ay
nakabasag ako ng pinggan o nakatapon ng sabaw sa hapag
kainan, huwag mo sana akong kagagalitan. Maramdamin
ang isang matanda. Nagse-self-pity ako a tuwing
sisigawan mo ako.
Kapag mahina na ang tenga ko at hindi ko maintindihan
ang sinasabi mo, huwag mo naman sana akong sabihan ng
"binge!" paki-ulit nalang ang sinabi mo o pakisulat
nalang. Pasensya ka na, anak. Matanda na talaga ako.
Kapag mahina na tuhod ko, pagtiyagaan mo sana akong
tulungang tumayo, katulad ng pag-aalalay ko sa iyo
noong nag-aaral ka pa lamang lumakad.
Pagpasensyahan mo sana ako kung ako man ay nagiging
makulit at paulit ulit na parang sirang plaka. Basta
pakinggan mo nalang ako. Huwag mo sana akong
pagtatawanan o pagsasawaang pakinggan. Natatandaan mo
anak noong bata ka pa? kapag gusto mo ng
lobo, paulit-ulit mo 'yong sasabihin, maghapon kang
mangungulit hangga't hindi mo nakukuha ang gusto mo.
Pinagtiyagaan ko ang kakulitan mo.
Pagpasensyahan mo na rin sana ang aking amoy. Amoy
matanda, amoy lupa. Huwag mo sana akong piliting
maligo. Mahina na ang katawan ko. Madaling magkasakit
kapag nalamigan, huwag mo sana akong pandirihan.
Natatandaan mo noong bata ka pa? pinagtiyagaan kitang
habulin sa ilalim ng kama kapag ayaw mong maligo.
Pagpasensyahan mo sana kung madalas, ako'y masungit,
dala na marahil ito ng katandaan. Pagtanda mo,
maiintindihan mo rin.
Kapag may konti kang panahon, magkwentohan naman tayo,
kahit sandali lang. inip na ako sa bahay, maghapong
nag-iisa. Walang kausap. Alam kong busy ka sa trabaho,
subalit nais kong malaman mo na sabik na sabik na
akong makakwentohan ka, kahit alam kong hindi ka
interesado sa mga kwento ko. Natatandaan mo anak,
noong bata ka pa? Pinagtiyagaan kong pakinggan at
intindihin ang pautal-utal mong kwento tungkol sa
iyong teddy bear.
At kapag dumating ang sandali na ako'y magkakasakit at
maratay sa banig ng karamdaman, huwga mo sana akong
pagsawaan alagaan. Pagpasensyahan mo n asana kung ako
man ay maihi o madumi sa higaan, pagtiyagaan mo sana
akong alagaan sa mga huling sandali ng aking buhay.
Tutal hindi na naman ako magtatagal.
Kapag dumating ang sandali ng aking pagpanaw, hawakan
mo sana ang aking kamay at bigyan mo ako ng lakas ng
loob na harapin ang kamatayan.
At huwag kang mag-alala, kapag kaharap ko na ang Diyos
na lumikha, ibubulong ko sa kanya na pagapalain ka
sana ... dahil naging mapagmahal ka sa iyong ama't ina...
Sometimes a lot of us forget. At least this here could remind me should I forget yet again. Thanks Rose F. for the email.
Labels: Emo, Memoir
All I Want for Christmas is to Give
We all have grown accustomed to it. Some on receiving moreso than giving. I know of those breed who just wait and pretend to be kids, ridding themselves of the grown-up's burden to give not even in the spirit of the Christmas Season. Some give because they want to give. Some take this time of year as an opportunity to rid themselves of white elephants, making their homes less cluttered of redundant stuff.
Some part with gifts with a kind of theme in mind. I did so two years ago with officemates. I gave them all toys: girls with small dolls that breathe sweet scents when their cutesy heads are squeezed and boys with Scooby-Doo or Shrek soft toys. Reason being, it might have been long ago when they last opened up a gift and got a toy. I told them I wanted to take them back to the forgotten times when our needs were simple and toys gave us joy. The year before that, I gave dream catchers. I got one for my birthday that year and it has improved my sleeping aetherscape with pleasant and forgettable dreams in place of recurring and irrepressible nightmares. One recipient of the gift, though, hung it by the window of her office to maybe rid her window of bad dreams. Her window! Whatever the reason was, and I pray it is not of lame stupidity or cluelessness, I think I shall never ever know as I have made a resolve to not even care or give a shit.
Some take the giving a notch higher by really thinking about what to give with the particular recipient in mind. It takes more time and effort to consumate. Careful planning and execution is key. Kudos to them who may only give the ladies bracelets but in the process took them hours to look for those kinds that are intricately made and whose likeness are actually wearable.
Good thing I've no nieces nor nephews nor godchildren yet. I had a hard time looking for a gift for a newborn last time. Took a look at toys and ended up bookmarking ones I wanted for myself. I ended up getting her crib stuff that I think are more appropriate. Then there was this good friend's nephew who I remembered would want anything dinosaur-related so I got him a robotic raptor whose bigger version I'd also want for myself.
It's not so much on receiving, for me. Really. Honestly. It's hearing shrieks of delight and seeing a different glow in the eyes of those dear to me that makes me not care so much on the cost of giving. Getting something back, that would only be an unexpected and welcomed bonus. The unconditional friendship and love I get from friends and family would have already lasted me a lifetime anyway. Add to that, the gift of life to continue on experiencing joy, triumph, passion, and success.
On that note, as the season had already passed, I'd like to wish one and all better success with the next and coming years.
Happy New Year, everyone!
Labels: Memoir, Opinions
Rest In Peace, my beloved XDA II
It has been said that I would not last a day without my trusty XDA phone. Like there has been too much going on in that nifty piece of equipment that just stretches its presupposed use beyond its original design and capacity. That nothing could wedge it out of my vice-like grip. Well, flash news everyone. My phone got stolen last Friday. But, like most who have lost a thing dear to them, I had already mourned its death and moved on .
The moving on was easy since I got that unit for free, anyway. It's replacing it that's a major pain in the butt. It's either I shell out an unbudgeted sum on a similar gadget or I change the lifestyle I had easily molded to revolve around the PDA phone. I chose to downgrade to a clam-shell with a 3G trade-off to functionality. It's fashionably savvy and svelte. It's smaller. It's a limited edition, silver colored V3X from Motorola.
Right now, I'm generally loving the stereo surround sound from the unit's speakers and headset. Its silver color lend it an executive's-phone look, unlike its rubber-coated and colored variants. Power packed with a 4G-speed browser, dual-cam for video conferencing, and an expandable external TransFlash memory of up to 1Gb, the V3X is a tech junkie's manna from heaven.
I'm now loving my new toy.
To the thieves who stole my ex-unit, you won't be able to ever use it, I'm sorry. It has a 128-bit encrypted alphanumeric security code and another sensor that will send me SMS-es every 180 seconds when the SIM is changed. I had also gone through normal wear and tear, evident on its heavily tarnished housing and the faulty charger jack. It also hard-resets every day due to its early-version and bug-ridden OS. Let's just say that my unit has the defects only its parent-slash-original-owner could love. So, good luck, fools!
Labels: Gadgets, Memoir
Work with pressing deadlines were hurled my way like scuds at desert storm during the past week. An officemate from far-away could not have stated it better when she summarized in a word what had been keeping her on her toes albeit expectations from our demanding job: dedication. For me, it's the absence of an offer for a better paying job and the hope that things will normalize and get better if I stay on. Also, there's the glimmer of hope of getting another raise as I deem it to fit my tab. Everything would be ok if I were paid equitably for the things I do on the daily. More importantly, for the things I do beyond those embodied in the job description of the position I occupy. They now call me creative director, AKA a very gifted and talented person on the arts (music, graphics, multi-media, project aesthetics, layout, feature writing, etc, blah blah blah) that the department is lucky enough to have. I'll bet my ass they would not find anyone who could top what I put on the table as a single individual with the pay rate I'm getting. Not to be misconstrued, I'm paid rather well for the regular job I should only be doing, that is. Several people, maybe, but not a single individual who had not only specialized but who was also lucky enough to be born with over-flowing creative juices. Oh yeah, I'll bet my ass on that for sure.
I, plus several others, have grown to accept that what we do is thankless. I could live with that. But tired is what I am right now. My eyes hurt. My stomach churns unhappily to the intense tune of Jimi Hendrix's Fire. That and I have a 3-week worth laundry in my room that I'm too tired to fold up and take to the laundromat. Oh, and Emily, our helper, had not visited for more than a month now due to some sickness that had affected her family which lends the house an air of primal chaos.
On a much lighter and non-venting-of-heavy-feelings-and-frustrations side, an officemate is again leaving for an expat assignment to neighboring Hong Kong. A despedida party was held and the creative director, cue me, was again called to step up. I mixed several 80s music with shounds of people booing, cymbals, and random noises to fill the gap between horrible jokes that the leaving officemate so enthusiastically hurled our way in the past. We had all only found out in the past week that we shared the same opinion about the substandard nature of the jokes. It's either that or the delivery was not quite ok, they say, but it was pretty obvious that the jokes were horrific. I'll spare you the punchlines. Believe me, you would not ever want to hear them.
The 80s music had been served and I quite enjoyed my find via the link on the title of this post. I got some Milli Vanilli, Ice Ice Baby, Push It, Asi Me Gusta Mi (more popularly known as Extacy Extano), and Mony Mony. The tunes were so old-schoolishly old that you would want to flush your ears with a dose of heavy metal to rid you of the nostalgia. Aweful tasting nostalgia, that is, but fun. I had a wicked time listening to the full tracks.
Below are some tracks I reserched that made a cover of some popular 80s music. These versions are fused with rock so you get a new experience while reliving the old memories.
Labels: Memoir, Music, Vertigo
