Gaps, patches and in-betweens

The first time I saw him, we were hanging out at their place in PMA, checking out Kigao's commissioned work - 1996 or 1995, if Alzheimer's has not gotten the better of me. He was calling someone. It was then that we discovered Kigao's real name. :D The second time I saw Dad was the first time I actually met him (the first time didn't count as I still don't think he saw us). The house in PMA was always open - literally. I was already lost inside, halfway through the living room. The sight of him stopped me in my tracks. His low voice saying "Yes, my child? Who are you looking for?" was like a gun cocking towards an intruder (me!), even if he had infused a friendly tone in his voice. After mumbling something about coming to visit his eldest son who was sick at that time, he looked at me from head to toe and back. Then he "smirked". I, in my short dress, then 27 years old, struggled not to faint. Later I realized that he really looks at people t...

We find ourselves still in our humility, small in our presumed greatness. Outside the walls of responsibility, we binge drink silly, not wanting to look at the beautiful outdoors or feel the sun on our faces, the wind on our skin. We'd rather work up an emotional fit, daring the pain to make us create. No, we do not want to escape from it anymore because it follows us anyway, to the depths of the lake's bottom, or to the heights of witnessed eclipses. We have lost the joy of walking, of sight-seeing, of wondering because there is nothing to wonder about anymore. It is futile to try. Blood will ooze when one is cut, and death is imminent - whether it is something or someone, or somewhat somewhere. Then why do we even try to fight it? Isn't it nobler to let it consume you? But then again, if the goal is nobility, which is another term for vanity because it is still self-image and how others perceive that self, it is also vanity, and nothing is noble in that which screams ...

It was getting late – way past her bedtime. She was tired, I was ready to wind down. But my 10-year old  still had the book report tying her to the still awake world. She at first tried to do the assignment herself. When she realized that the whole process of thinking and typing would cost her hours of sleep, she called for help. After checking where the bottleneck was in the book report writing, and with my daughter-praised speed for typing, I was recruited as typist. She brainstormed with herself as I did not see the half-movie. Yes, the movie file only being half was again another challenge. My fingers rattled the keyboard, trying to capture her thinking aloud after processing what she said, while facilitating her monologue to keep her focused. In the middle of all my multi-tasking, she kept stopping me and her brainstorming, actually choosing the words that I would type up. At least she was doing the thinking. It was taking longer than we both expect...

My 10-year old celebrated a friend’s birthday party. Let me state that with this experience, my respect for 10-year olds has also grown and I guess I was...humbled. The 10-year old celebrant organized her own birthday party. She picked up her two closest friends (Diru and another friend) and went to the really nice swimming pool near the school. My eldest daughter and I arrived at the party place and lo and behold - what did we see? Three 10-year olds dripping from swimming and helping themselves to Jollibee take outs, all by themselves with no adult overseeing them. I asked the children if there was a lifeguard on duty and they said yes. As I was taking pictures, I saw the huge warning sign negating the children’s claims of the presence of a lifeguard. They were fine. They knew where to stay given their swimming capacities. There was only one good swimmer in the group which was my daughter. One friend cannot swim but was waving her floater proudly and the other can swim ‘a littl...