BEST filipina role models evah! :)

i haven't been able to stop watching these lolas dancing... AWESOMESAUCE!!!!



i'm so TOTALLY gonna embarass my kids and grandkids by dancing way into and after my "sexties"... LOL!

please pass the salonpas...

first and foremost - HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! i hope that the holidays were peaceful, joyous, memorable and healthy for everyone! :)

it was quite a medicinal rollercoaster over here at casita 'zilla. starting at the end of october, one (or all) of us was battling some random sadistic germ/virus/plague. we must have been broken some world laundering record considering all the bedsheets and clothes that were soiled and washed. finally by mid-december, we were all on the road to recovery (just in time, to battle all the fancy new germs that will sneak home in the pockets of the paloma's warm winter coat).

in my feverish daydreams, i realized that whenever i get sick, i feel an increment more frail, more fragile... and ever increasingly old. although, i was feeling festive and sprightly by the time our family christmas party rolled around, a handful of things reminded me that i really am getting older. and sooner or later, somebody's going to mistake me for a lola before i am one:

1) "alternative" medicine

i REALLY hate going to the doctor. sometimes when i get really sick, i think about my lola caring for me and some of her warped medicine chest wisdom. at one point, i was so sick and depressed about being sick, i was ready to surrender myself to a bodywrap mix of tiger balm, vicks vaporub and salonpas while drinking a wicked cocktail of kalamansi juice, raw eggs and salabat tea with an hourly chaser/gargle of salt water.... i was gearing myself up to watch soap operas all day long while burning random rocks and herbs in a pie pan underneath my chair if it meant i was going to get well.

2) the old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be...

i've been going gray since high school. i actually like going gray. my hair isn't salt and pepper by any stretch. but in a stiff breeze, my hair shows off it's salty layers. the only times i've ever dyed my hair (dk brown/blk) have been for special occassions like my sister's wedding in manila this time, last year. my mom and my aunties occassionally complain about my gray hair which really doesn't bother me either. i know it's because they want someone like me, who was born facially disfigured, to "blend" into my surroundings. and (i assume) because my 30 something year old hair is grayer than their own, they look as if they're revealing their own insecurities.

but then, my hairstylist, who i've been loyal to for years now asked me at my last appt if i was getting my hair colored. i immediately said "no" and "why?" with a nervous laugh. i saw her eyes flash a little and she said, "don't misunderstand me. i didn't mean that you NEED to get your hair colored, i just meant that if you wanted to, i needed to set aside more time".

and for some reason, i was really conflicted and still am, about coloring my hair. i'm left wondering if maybe i should start stockpiling some bigen hair dye for the future too...

3) but where are the shoulder pads?

in addition to the gifts of books i gave my much younger cousins for christmas, i also gave them all my back issues of giant robot and audrey magazines. i also had a small bag of clothing items that don't fit me anymore. the clothes are only a year or so old and relatively trendy... or so i thought...

then, my teenaged cousins walked into our house, i didn't bother bringing the bag of clothes down because they looked like extras/refugees from the fast times at ridgemont high, valley girl or the breakfast club movies. i realized they wouldn't want my clothes from a year ago. they wanted my clothes from when i was their age.

4) more fun with youth culture...

i got to talking about music with my cousins. one of whom labels metallica as classic rock. seriously folks, after i quizzed her about "classic rock", i almost saw the dialogue bubble over her head in text message saying: "idk. metallica?"

so, feeling a little undereducated in the "new" music department, i picked up a relatively new magazine on my radar, thirteen minutes, and found LOTS of new music... by filipino folks:

mobbstarr
ampon
gloc 9
annette ortiz (formerly of fatal posporos, now with SLY and Half Past Two)
vincent black shadow
west indian girl
leah
celia chavez

that's right, my own peeps are churning out new music and i don't know SQUAT about them. but hey, at least i know my boston. two snaps up! ;)

5) bringing out the lola in me...

and last but not least, i give you my final proof/evidence of my aging/mortality - my beloved children - who have a knack... no. a gift for bringing out the lola in me. let's just say, when the sh*t really hits the fan, the gloves come off, i assume the lola stance, i don the homemade housedress, the tsinelas start to fly and the words leave my mouth (jokingly... mostly... ok, please excuse my verbal abuse):

* sampaling kita! 'sus, marijosep! papaluing kita! sige!

* lakas ang ilaw, eh! patay ang ilaw sa kuwarto! tulog na!

* kain na!

* huwag mong galawin iyan!

* bahala na!

* grahbe! walang hiya!

* sira ang ulo

anyhoo, the time has come for me to take that much needed nap and my daily geritol before i embark on a bifocaled search thru the house for my partials...

where's lola?

during one of those rough rainy days, the paloma and i were playing with her little people and her little people house. she found a little person to portray almost everybody (like the asian mommy screaming, "please stop hitting your brother with the plastic baseball bat!" to the little asian girl) in the family except - "where's lola?", she said. and with a weary, heavy and bitter heart, i said, "honey, i really don't know where your lola is."

i can remember the first time my lola arrived from the philippines. an excited gaggle of aunties and uncles was dispatched to greet and retrieve her from o'hare airport and a tornado of sweaty limbs and luggage and boxes returned to our doorstep a few hours later.

she was sitting on our disco day-glo orange sectional sofa surrounded by opened balikbayan boxes, luggage and a beautiful accordion displayed in its carrying case. the floor was scattered with packages of dried mangoes, tamarind candy, polvoron and a special colorful malong purchased just for me. she had a mischievous smile, a quirky, disarming sense of humor and a boisterous, infectious laugh.

i'll never forget those first few days, when lola was very generous, exhibiting her love with both words and hugs, sloppily ladling out oodles of her spare time and the bounty of her multifaceted self. she was our historian/storyteller, our cook, our seamstress, our moderator, our family stone, etc... and then?

then, lola got down to brass tacks (/tax). lola became "The Dona" in our family.

maybe a week into her arrival, she took over every household duty. the sun rose and set with my lola. when lola woke up, we woke up. when lola wanted you to go to bed, you went to bed. and you didn't get dressed up or go anywhere without lola's official seal of approval.

lola planned and prepared all of our meals. in the morning, she would make a HUGE pot of sinigang na bangus (or chicken adobo or beef caldereta) and a matching pot of rice. and that would ensure that she wouldn't have to cook the rest of the day. we'd have sinigang for breakfast, lunch and dinner. i was shocked that lola didn't know how to make a halo halo or a bread pudding out of leftover sinigang na bangus.

i used to especially hate when she would fry fish in the morning. don't get me wrong, i LOVE fried fish, especially with some vinegary sawsawan on the side (MASARAP!). but when i arrived at school, i would braid my hair tightly and try to stay as still as possible hoping not to create even the slightest breeze that would betray my fishy smell. but my third grade teacher, who had an extremely sensitive nose would always complain, "does anyone else smell... FISH!?" and would run to the windows and dramatically throw them open.

we almost never had another pizza night, a mcdonalds run, an italian beef au jus, a gyros, or sweet and sour chicken - because that would've been downright insulting and well, wasteful to lola.

lola was very religious too. my mom and i went to church every sunday before lola came. after her arrival, we were going to novenas on tuesday nights and were hosting a local santo nino statue for a week, once a month. i remember being very afraid of the santo nino statue specifically. he just did not look like a very innocent, very approachable baby jesus. then, one day i saw a smear of what looked like chocolate on his face and i was sure he was walking around eating our bread at night. one night i woke up from hearing a loud growling coming from outside my room and i absolutely FLIPPED OUT. i ran as fast as i could with my eyes shut into my moms room. she walked me back to my room where we saw lola asleep on the sofa, mouth open wide. her snoring, the loud growling of a mythic beast out of dante's inferno, echoed from front door to back.

my lola, who owned land and businesses in the philippines was also our financial advisor. she judged when items (houses, clothing or an apple) were a bargain or too expensive. she was also the keeper of our social calendar. her intuition was very sharp and she could spot a bad influence from miles away. though my family and i were dubious to her counsel, she was usually right.

despite all of that, she wasn't perfect. ;) she had generalized/flawed ideas about people and other things and did not have the curiosity or vision to see beyond what she "knew" and learn something else - though not necessarily something new or better.

lola used to drill tell/remind me that when i got older, it would be my responsibility to live with and take care of my mother and father, just like my mother was taking care of her. in return, my mother would help me care for my children and my house. it was something i naturally took for granted. it wasn't meant or perceived as a burden to me at all. i was actually looking forward to it.

i learned a few things from my lola. mostly, how to hand and machine sew and embroider. i'll never forget the day i could sew faster on a machine than lola. her face was beaming and her eyes were moist. it never occurred to my family that i might choose to make sewing or fashion design/production into a career.

i fantasized about my mother teaching my children how to doodle just like she taught me. i was curious to see if they would be interested in her work as a civil engineer and what mechanical wonders she could show them in detail. i hope that she teaches the paloma to knit (even though i can too) and that she shows the porkchop how to fix things (since the thin man isn't really all that handy and my mom is even more handy than me). i'd love to see her teach them how to play sungka, to make a parol at christmas time and how to haggle a seller/the selling price of any item to what they're offering.

but, in reality my mother (and stepfather) has no interest whatsoever in living with me, my sisters, my brother, our spouses/significant other or her precious apos. we all have room for both of them. we all have offered. none of us are crazy or violent (much). but, the both of them (now well into their 60s) are adamant in wanting and asserting their independence from us. at first, we thought they were too proud to admit that they were getting to old for the daily stress of work. but, we all realize now that they are still not ready to "settle down". although they do not shirk babysitting duty (much), we do have to check with them ahead of time to make sure that they're not working, on a cruise/vacation/road trip or playing golf or going to a *insert filipino social organization " party/ball or are otherwise mysteriously unavailable. not all, but many of my fellow pinay moms/dads have "hit it rich". their moms and dads often invite their grandkids for sleepovers and weekends. they care for their grandchildren during a weekday(s) so that one of the parents can take care of errands unencumbered around town sans kids and nap schedules and potty breaks.

please don't misunderstand. i love my mom desperately. i want my mom to experience everything that she wants out of her life and this wide wide world. especially because she sacrificed so much of herself for me, my siblings and our diverse futures. but, sometimes often, i need help or even just some guidance or sisterly/motherly support, just like she did when she was a single mom trying to make a life for our family. i treasure her experience and her knowledge and her history and my kids need to learn from her, to ask her questions, to listen and remember the melody and cadence of her speaking voice. i want them to see and recognize the small mole on her left temple like i remember the deep scar on my lola's forehead - the scar she told me that god had put there to remind her that she had a purpose, that she was worth something. i need my mother to help me carve our time for my self too, just like my lola helped her to do the same.

intellectually, i know an experienced and reliable babysitter will do in a pinch. and in a way, i don't want my children to have a lola like mine. my mother is really my lola's complete opposite. and theirs was not a soothing relationship of equals. i really thought that my mother and i would collaborate and cobble a modernist interpretation of the tradition that my grandmother recited like a mantra or religious dogma.

so, on the days that it rains, literally and figuratively, it still deeply disappoints and wounds me that i can't count on her to be there for my children, like my lola was there for me, and my mom, unconditionally and almost as elementally, as water or air.

I Don't Know How to Cook

This weekend I was planning on cooking, but I didn't. I couldn't decide what to cook and I was craving some home cooking. You know - the stuff of my childhood like Mungo and rice. When it really comes down to it, I can cook like 3 things from my childhood (1) egg rolls (2) bifsteak and (3) adobo. And, I can only cook the chicken adobo because my beef adobo turns out rock hard.

How sad is it that I cannot make something simple like mungo or nilaga? I blame it on the fact that my mom didn't really cook. Actually, I can't blame anyone but myself. My lola and lolo lived with us while we were growing up (big surprise) and she cooked everyday. She made longanisa from scratch and I remember sitting on the kitchen floor watching her stuff the pork casings by hand. She didn't use a meat grinder or food processor either; she would chop the mean and mix the ingredients by hand.

Yes, I have a Filipino cookbook but everyone knows that pancit is a personal thing and all pancit is not created equally. I could ask my aunt to teach me how to cook, but like all Filipina aunts she would just say, "Eh - it's easy. Just a little of this and a little of that to taste." I think the cooking thing is a birthright like being able to point to something with your lips. I think maybe I need to go on the Internet and find a Filipino cooking class. One that caters to daughters that never learned how to cook Filipino food properly.

Family Still Confuses Me

I am so excited to contribute to the Filipina Moms Blog.  Contributing to this blog means that I get to talk about things in my life that are very Filipino.  Being a Filipina and being raised in a very Filipino home mean that my upbringing was not like a lot of my friends.

For example, not being able to leave the house or watch television on Good Friday or eating rice with every meal.  Sometimes I wonder if the kooky things that happened in my house were just quirks of my parents or if they were truly part of growing up in an immigrant household.  To this day, some of the kookiness remains even though I am a 30 something mother of 2 toddler boys with a husband and home of my own.

Case in point, my relationship with my parents.  This year has been very rocky.  Earlier this year I had a disagreement with my mother, which means my father decided to put his 2 cents in.  In the end, I stood up for myself and my mother got upset and my father got very VERY angry at me.  So much so that heated words were said by him.

Normally, I would take those heated words with a grain of salt, but for GODS SAKE I was a grown up and I took those words literally as any normal adult would.  As a result, I did not visit my dad for Father's Day - I DID call - and I haven't set foot in their home since.  The boys do see their Lolo and Lola at least once a week, but David takes them there.

Normally, I would let the entire thing blow over and at some point in time, all of us would pretend that it never happened.  Actually, we would pretend it never happened until the next blow-up.  I wrote about this in my personal journal (Chicago Chick) and received a lot of e-mail on how this was normal for a Filipino dad.  Is that really true?  I always thought that it was just my dad's personality - that he was overbearing and controlling.  I never thought that my parents refusal to see me as their grown up daughter and their insistance on seeing me forever as their CHILD was a personality thing.