Friday, August 3, 2018

The Giant Wakes Up

Today, a sleeping giant woke up following a 3-year hiatus. Not to devour what's on her path...Not to harm anyone (she's not made for that)...But to re-live the life she forgot.

I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up -- to voraciously write about anything: poetry, songs, news, features, publicity stories, misalettes (yes), speeches (uh-huh) and at one point  I started a young love novel (Not Shakespearean at all, only meant for paperbacks) written manually  on sheets of recycled paper. As of this writing, this manuscript is now a tummy-filler for a colony of termies living inside our house. Either that or blown away through an open window.

Simple enough. NOT!!!

Fast forward to making presentations to my internal team, my gamut of clients and sometimes, in classes of teaching buddies. For someone who's an introvert, there was nothing to it. Practice makes perfect, er near perfect is more like it.

Then came a series of misfortunes: finding out that a series of migraines, vertigo and passing out resulted in a brain tumour that had to be taken out, at least almost. A thin layer could not be forcibly taken out for safety issues. So I had an annual mri that seemed to sleep on its own: no growth, no progression, deadma. After the 4th MRI, some other issue stole centerstage: aneurysm.

A new what?!?!

What was surreal just went berserk! This only happens in teleseryes! WT-!

Faster forward to end of July three years ago. It was an ordinary soccer weekend. My son and his team is playing for a festival at the Blue Pitch. Being a turf, the heat was magnified ten times more. Early morning started out scorching hot. And then broke out into non-stop torrents and escalated into an all out flooding to the shin. Of course the games were cancelled and we all went home. Now I have more time to get ready for a party. And I did not get to do my hair and my make up. I took a quick shower, felt unusual, threw up and slept from the first of August, and woke up in the recovery room of the hospital days after.  I lost 4 days of my life, in spite of claims that I was up and about and bitched about everything. But there's nothing to remember. By this time, another hole was stiched up on my head-- apparently the new-rism popped ever so slowly that gave my boys enough time to bring me to 2 hospitals and in the able hands of the surgeon that touched my head (not Belo).

And the week I stayed there recovering, I went from "As I was saying" to Kuya Cesar slurring talk: slow and incomprehensible. I think it was better to write!

And a thought dawned on me...if I can't talk properly after this month-long speech therapy, what happens to my career?!?!

At this point I got super scared. It was like an early retirement. What to do indeed...?

Still I was blessed. It brought me to another company (and another) that was fun for a while. But opted to nurse my disability so as not to go through the same ordeal: work, eat stress, pray, repeat. It wasn't worth it. 

After today, the old me is still in me, intact and buried deep inside. I was still scared and practices like crazy before speaking in front of a large audience (done a thousand so this should be a breeze). I had my loyal and supportive fans in tow: my best friend to take photos and my husband as my personal tech guy. How can they not bring out the energised in me? One was grinning like looney and the other one was sending me heart signals from the audience.

To further boost the diva in me, I had a chance to talk to other fellow speakers who spoke before me. One gave me a warning: you'll laugh at being nervous because as soon as you get the microphone, you might not want give it back. And so it goes, as soon as I got on stage I owned it, with a few funny adlibs while getting technical glitches. I went to every corner of the stage, giving my videographer a hard time getting me on cam, looking at both the live and oncam versions... #whereintheworldisgrasha

And one final but of advise that I took to heart is from another friend for life--that to begin my talk, I should start with sheer honesty...that it's best to admit to what I find frightening, not to set expectations, but to declare and claim the victory of doing whatbi thought was not possible since winning over aneurysm (again, a new whut?!?).

With utmost sincerity and honesty, I did feel blessed to be with them that day. Scared, but bestowed with the opportunity to speak again in a big crowd from surviving what most never come out triumphant--a life-threatening stroke. I was brimming with tears that wouldn't fall down (sayang ang make up). What floored me was a round of clapping from the audience and it felt like an ovation. My voice seemed louder in the hour that followed, and while it was the last portion of Day 1 of the conference, the gracious people listened and participated in my interactive talk. I was on top of the world! I reckon the giant in me Will have a hard time sleeping tonight.

When they gave me the certificate of appreciation, my inner diva wanted to give back the mic i was holding, singing (more like shouting) to Keala Seattle's This is Me:

Look out 'cause here I come
And I'm marching on to the beat I drum
I'm not scared to be seen
I make no apologies, this is me!

I am Grace, and I am grateful.





Friday, April 27, 2018

That Time of Year


So once a year  we get to reflect on what's working and what's not. Revelations came breaking down my door on a very plain, raw beach where camping is the life-slash-resort which is a surprising find of a good friend. Made me think about many many things....

The Beach


Walking on the shore maybe twice a day made me think of the Footprints on the Sand because it was all we could see. No flags...no frills...just plain beach and the simplest fishng boats and huts you can imagine. It's raw. With no internet and without electricity it might have been the time when our parents would try to secretly meet up. Life here is that simple.

So back to the Footprints...the beach has many of it. With prints on the sand are tracks of ATV's , making an imprint more ephemeral than usual. Coming closer to the shore, I make better imprints on the sand but the surf-ready waves washed them away quickly. What do I make of this? No matter how heavy I get to make a deeper imprint does not make a mark permanent. Like an eraser to a pencil, it can be undone. Reset and reboot.

#nothingiscastinstone #especiallyyourdestiny 



Bring it On

I find answers on what to do when you get into situations where you have no where to move around let alone squeeze out of. Here's a story I kept from a new friend. Had I known this way back I would have bounced back better. I love his resilience and presence of mind. #chilldonkey

Shake It Off

One of my favorite stories is about a farmer's donkey that fell into a dry well. The animal cried pitifully for hours as the farmer tried to figure out what to do for his poor donkey. Finally, he concluded that the well was too deep, and it really needed to be covered up anyway. Besides, the donkey was old, and it would be a lot of trouble to get him out of the pit. The farmer decided that it was not worth trying to retrieve the animal, so he asked his neighbors to help him fill in the well and bury the donkey.

They all grabbed shovels and began to toss dirt into the well. The donkey immediately realized what was happening, and he began to bray horribly. Crying would be our normal response if somebody was mistreating us this badly, so this donkey was responding the same way we would at first, but then he got real quiet. A few shovel loads of dirt later, the farmer looked down the well and was astonished at what he saw. With every shovel of dirt that hit the donkey's back, the donkey would shake it off and step on top of it.

As the neighbors and the farmer continued to shovel dirt on top of the animal, he continued to shake it off and take a step up. Pretty soon the donkey shook off the last shovel full of dirt, took a step up, and walked right out of the well. We can learn so much from this story. When trouble comes, if we will get still and listen, God will tell us what to do.

By the grace and mercy of God, I was able to shake off a lot of things in my life, a lot of hurt feelings, a lot of mistreatment, a lot of abuse, a lot of unfair, unjust, unkind things. Just like the donkey, in order to keep pressing on and have victory in our lives, we are going to have to learn to shake off the troubles that come our way.

Credits due: From the book New Day, New You by Joyce Meyer. Copyright 2007 by Joyce Meyer. Published by FaithWords. All rights reserved.


Saturday, November 2, 2013

From The Chronicles of Zak: Feeling Nemo!

Photo robbed from Ninang Carmen Dulguime's
 photo bucket on Facebook! 

The Great Barrier Reef is home of the best anemene…ann…ameneme…anone…? Anemone!

It’s easy enough to capture and set as a background for computer screen…or a lazy lit aquarium as we have in the house.

For some reason though, today, the aquarium look more massive than other days. I wasn’t just peering through the squeaky clean glass – I was swimming among Malakai’s goldfish and clown fish. His janitor could not be disturbed at the bottom of the tank and the other smaller fish played tag, chasing each other across the wide, open sea!!!

I was peering down the bottom of the sea, with my goggles on and wearing the orange life vest they give away during a shipwreck or a plane wreck. Everything around tasted like salt – Is this good for me, I wondered. The water was cold all around and the blue of the water seem to be takjng on a darker and darker shade as I floated forward, but the bottom of the sea remained crystal clear, with only the occasional bubbles disturbing the clarity of the view. Still, it was a fleeting disturbance.

My heart was pumping in my ears, my head throbbing, but not in a painful way. I gasped for air to clear my vision, but I’d be mesmerized again by the little, peaceful village under water when I peer through the surface of the sea again.

In my mind, I was imagining looking at a 3D painting where you need to slightly cross your eyes in order to distort the image in front that, in turn, reveals the hidden image of an elephant or what not (yes, that’s what I do). But here, the bottom of the sea creates a vision of a tunnel that seems to slowly expand in front of my eyes, beckoning me to go inside, except that, I feel anchored to the surface of the water by my life vest. So I come up for air and store some in my mouth again before I put my face in the water again.

I am tired, but I could not stop kicking – with one leg, then with both legs. To a professional swimmer, I probably look like a dog clumsily keeping mu head above water, my kicking legs are uncoordinated and my arms are flailing excitedly and falling under water when I get tired. Absolutely silly. But so what? The sound of my kicking legs and the occasional blur of the bubbles was good enough indication that I was still alive…and, yes, kicking.

My breathing was hard and heavy, like I had asthma. Everything was loud when I put y head up above water, but there was a stark contrast when I peer through the water, because then the sound of my kicking was muffled, and my beating heart was just a mild palpitation.

I can see fishes in all sorts of colors, shapes and sizes – there were long, slim fishes that looked like they were 3 inches long, and smaller black ones that are rounder in shape. I saw Nemo’s family and some that looked like Dory’s, but they’re probably from another continent because they was more purplish in hue. My most favorite, though, are the bright, blue, neon-colored fishes – I saw one first, then I saw another, and pretty soon, they formed a school of fish with a bright blue glow that’s enough to light the whole place. It was amazing!

Then there was a garden of corals – flower shaped that came in all sizes! They only came in one shade of grey, which made me yearn for my brush and paint so Malakai and I can paint color into them. My, what a canvass that would make!

I needed a respite so I tried to steer myself to the direction of an anchored barge (well not really, but it looks like one and for lack of a better word, keri na yan). It was made of plastic, but it was kept afloat. I climbed up like I was climbing out of a swimming pool and was swayed to calmdom. On ordinary days, I’d take Serc when I get this feeling, but the swaying was a rhythm I embraced while I let me breathing normalize. The heat of the sun wasn’t as painful, but I can feel it burning my skin. I couldn’t care less. The view from up here was breathtaking: the greens and blues of the water has a shade of grey at the bottom, but the fishes that swam all around…oh my, is all I can say.

I muttered a prayer of thanks to have witnessed a view with front row seats. God is wonderful, indeed!

Marlin: Wow.
Coral: Mmm.
Marlin: Wow.
Coral: Mm-hmm.
Marlin: Wow.
Coral: Yes, Marlin. I... No, I see it. It's beautiful.
Marlin: So, Coral, when you said you wanted an ocean view, you didn't think you were going to get the whole ocean, did you? Huh?
[deep breath]
Marlin: Oh, yeah. A fish can breathe out here. Did your man deliver, or did he deliver?
Coral: My man delivered.
Marlin: And it wasn't so easy.
Coral: Because a lot of other clownfish had their eyes on this place.
[Excerpt from  the 2003 Disney film, Finding Nemo | http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0266543/]

I was beckoned back into the water, now with a couple of hands holding mine as we floated jointly back to the shoreline.

I still got scared. I was still short of breath. I still felt the bottom of the sea coming nearer to swallow me up like a monster.

But I could not keep myself from dipping my head to take in the beautiful sight. If my eyes could take snapshots of the view, I’d have a magnificent album to post now. But as it is, my challenged photographic memory can only take in as much and so I’m writing them all down here before I lose them.

To the other side, I must have looked silly with my bloated face peering down the surface every 2 minutes. I’m pretty sure the creatures below had a blast at the sight, but who cares?

I’ve slept through the early afternoon, with the salty, but clean sea breeze caressing my skin, but super glad to have been roused from this much-needed nap to see the hidden wonders of the sights beneath the shores of San Juan, Batangas.

Monday, June 10, 2013

The Chronicles of Zak: Murder in Aquarium 13B




Aquarium 13B safely sits in the balcony of our half house in Sunnette Villas. I say “half house” because its not quite a full house, with strangers just moving in the other duplex door. But its a comfortable haven for Aquarium 13B.

Its tenant with the longest tenure, Goldie Ho, has seen a couple of fireworks when the year turns into new one. He moved in with three dabarkads in the summer of 2011, and has seen all three go up into “The Happy Place” one by one – Geena just gave up after a long bout with depression, George thought the other side of the glass wall was a better place so he jumped out of their cool, spacious abode into nothingness and Gino, my love, was driven by so much ambition, he could not handle the limited routine and he burst right in front of Goldie’s googly eyes. He’s a chronic eater when he’s tense, you know.

And so it goes, that for the next two years, Goldie will swim through Aquarium 13B on her own, monopolizing the space and the food. “At least, there’s more for me,” her bubbly thought bubble said – optimistic lass that she is, she looked at the situation with the aquarium half filled rather than empty.

Until the night of June 1st...

She knew The Owners arrived home. Lukaz was crazily barking and bags upon bags of goodies for the week was being shuttled  from the car into the Half House. “Im hoping there’s fresh grub included in one of these bags as I’m tasting my regular fare is nearing expiration,” Goldie thought.

When the commotion moved from downstairs to our floor, Goldie swam frantically as The Owners are bound to pay her and Lukaz a visit before they retire. Much to her surprise, the Little Owner made a beeline for Aquarium 13B and plopped two new swimmers into her tank – both of them dark and sinister, but smaller than Goldie. One was Boo, a black hammerhead sharkie (a fitting breed term for someone as flat-headed as him) and the other one was Othello, a sinister looking Black Moor Goldfish, whom Goldie did not trust right away.

She kept her distance from the new roomies, just gliding near the surface, while the newbies take over the bottom half of the tank. The Owners gave more than enough food at still about the same time she  takes her naps, but the two uncouth tenants seem to gobble down their ration before Goldie wakes up and they end up sharing even hers.
Pretty soon, Goldie was trimmed down to her size before she moved in as the neighbours kept on eating her share of the aquarium food. Exactly a week after they moved in, she has had enough.

“Boo, Othello, are you boys really this uncivilized? If you want more food, all you need to do is just ask from the Little Owner and he will gladly give you more. That’s how things are run in this side of town, she declared.

Rather than take it kindly, Boo and Othello just snickered away without even acknowledging her attempted friendly chat, making more snide remarks about Goldie’s fat size, lack of exercise  and sagging fins.

This irked Goldie a lot more than usual. So she swam quickly after the two, knocking them off their path as she did.

“Oooh, like you look so great, Boo! You look like a horse rather than a fish!” was Goldie’s outburst. Othello was snickering on her left, which earned her attention.

“And you, dear Othello, look like a little donkey beside your horse friend!” And she scoffed away.

Boo and Othello did not like it one bit. So the swam after Goldie and squeezed her between them, hitting her with their tail fins as they circled the aquarium with a screaming, crying Goldie in between them.

Goldie received scratches and wounds from the beating of the two, and the aquarium water turned murky from the blood she lost. That night, she did not eat. Too hurt from the beating and from crying, she slept with the resolve to tell the Big Owner tomorrow.
But alas! The Owners decided to start their weekend early and stayed out on Friday night. 

As the food came and went quickly, the bullying intensified, and by the time The Caretaker came to clean up the blood-filled tank, Goldie was severely injured – her left eye was about to pop out and her right side was bruised beyond imagination.

The good Caretaker decided to put Boo in a separate tub because she saw him attack Goldie as she approached. And as she was cleaning up the tank, she cried mid way, causing shivers down Goldie’s spine.

Boo expired in the other tub. And a blanket of sadness covered Aquarium 13B.

#             #             #

It was night time of Sunday by the time The Owners came back from the weekend. The same commotion happened below, but as the Little Owner stomped his way upstairs to check on them, the usual excitement is not in the air. The Little Owner, warned by The Caretaker, slowly opened the door that led to the patio and with moved to Aquarium 13B. With a wail, he called for help from his Mom and The Big Owner. Goldie was still profusely bleeding and the tank was still tainted with her blood.  The Big Owner immediately set her apart from Othello and cleaned up the tank again.

Before retiring for bed, the Big Owner murmured soothing words to Goldie, telling her everything will be alright in the morning.

Othello, on the other hand, got jealous with the attention Goldie received. And as she was sleeping, he resolved to “finish the job,” which he did.

#             #             #

When Kai came to me that night, he was distressed and at a loss for words. He could not understand how his “pets” could not live in harmony, thinking that they’re all living under “one roof.”

“How can they hate Goldie, Mommy?” he sobbed. “She’s too hurt, I don’t think I want to see her until she’s well again.”

In my mind I was thinking perhaps he could not bear to see something he cherished be in so much pain.

I, on the other hand, pounced at the opportunity to remember another precious one I have not visited in quite a while.

Now that he understands more, I explained to Kai how excruciatingly painful it was to visit his brother in the hospital many moons ago.

It has just been two weeks when I went home sans my newborn. I was torn between leaving one boy behind – as I stayed in the hospital to be with Zak, I was depriving Kai of the maternal attention he needed at age 4. If I went home to shower Kai with love, I reduced the bonding time with bunso to two measly hours a day. Without a way of knowing his reaction, I didn’t know if he was in pain or agreeable to my leaving. Mommy was downright torn.

Three weeks of falling into the routine of visiting Zak during the middle of the day, I father chanced upon a day in the week that he went home – I picked him up from the port area, and brought him straight to UERM. Tired from a week’s worth of travelling Philippine seas, I sought approval for Lolo to see Zak up close. So as soon as he was sanitized, I brought him inside NICU – some three incubators from the door. Without even being two feet away, he wept suddenly. I had medics on standby just in case his blood pressure shoots up.

In my lifetime, I rarely saw my Dad cry – when my baby brother died, he wept at his wake; when mi sister got married, he wept at her civil wedding; when his Nanay died, I heard he wept at her funeral too. So when he cried at my son’s corner in the hospital, I felt a hand invade my chest and tear off my hearty.

“Mabubuhay pa kaya si Zak, Ging?” he asked in between sobs.

While optimism is not my strong virtue, I stayed positive for Zak’s sake.

“Of course Papa! Kaya nyan kahit maliit yan. Lalaban yan!”

Days after, I wasn’t so certain.

He endured way too many needle pricks for IV insertions. I see relieved veins left black and blue only to be replaced by new ones elsewhere. Arms, legs, heels, wrists, it was all musical chairs for me. The IV was never in the same place for a long time.

His weight dipped...to dangerous levels at some point. He reached half a kilo at Christmas 2008. When the pedia asked me to buy corn oil (or is it canola?) I was thrilled. It was the same advise my sister’s pedia gave her for her daughter the year before. And after that it was smooth sailing until we brought her home.

January came, and Zak continued to deteriorate. I still could not hear his wails, his cries. His progress was a roller coaster ride. And through it all, the Lord’s Prayer never had any greater significance to me than that particular difficult time in our life. I would half trust I had the Lord guiding the best doctors for Zak, and half wish that the torture would end. Coming into the hospital, I’d be forlorn – scared even to find Zak in a stage worse than when I left him the day before. Going out, I’d fall into a bit of a calm resolve – that God is in control and He sees all things and will do things that will still make me feel loved and favoured. I groped with blind faith...but then, that was the only thing I could hold on to.

It was painful to watch Zak’s chest recede and his ribs peek through...oh so slowly. It was painful not to be able to share his pain and know for sure that he was ailing.

Much like your fish, Malakai. It might be painful to watch a gory fish slowly die. And its that pain multiplied (yes, he knows multiplication now) a million times to watch someone you love die little by little everyday.

But Mommy watched. And Mommy died with him, only to come back for Kuya.

#             #             #

As the night deepened, the darkness around Goldie intensified. She was being hit left and right and she did not have the power to avoid whatever it was that was poking her, hitting her, slicing her. The water was once again murky and reeks of blood – her blood. Soon, half of her body was warm from the air above, and the other half was wet from the water she was resting on. And then Goldie slept soundly.

#             #             #

The next day, it was Little Owner that brought the news that Goldie had gone. With tears in his eyes, he asked Big Owner to come and get Goldie. Big Owner did and he was about to flush Goldie down the toilet – a fate her predecessors suffered as well – but Little Owner said he wanted to give Goldie a proper place to stay and rest.

So they both dug a hole in the garden for Goldie to stay in forever.

#             #             #

And that’s how murder happened on Aquarium 13B.


Wednesday, December 7, 2011

I’m the bomb!

Doctor X: You’ve got aneurysm.

Me: a new what?

Aneurysm. Defined by Wikipedia as a localized, blood-filled balloon-like bulge in the wall of a blood vessel, they can commonly occur in arteries at the base of the brain and an aortic aneurysm occurs in the main artery carrying blood from the left ventricle of the heart.

Doctor X: When its size increases, there is a significant risk of rupture, resulting in severe hemorrhage, other complications or death. Aneurysms can be hereditary or caused by disease, both of which cause the wall of the blood vessel to weaken....

I was swiftly brought back to four years ago when they said I had a tumor in my brain that they had to take out. Surreal. I did not know how to channel my reactions – these things only happen in movies. Since when did I get on the Truman Show?

Avant art? No. This is a CT Angiogram of my cerebral arteries.
Doctor X: You have a 2% risk of rupture and it will increase at that rate every year that you leave it alone…

A quick recount of what happened since then came in a blur: my only son then was just about to turn 3. I cried every night in Max’s arms thinking he was too young to be left alone without a Mom. My husband, who was not a very prayerful person, could be found sleeping with a rosary in his hands. My sister did all she could to give my husband much needed assistance in keeping watch in the hospital. I knew she still went to work in the mornings. My bestfriend Carmie's dream of sharing her blood with me almost materialized, except that our blood types don't match. Nevertheless, she went through with it -- her first and last blood donation, as it turned out -- and nearly passed out. My parents were the last to know, but they kept my son company for a week while Max shuttled back and forth to the hospital.

Doctor X: Your options will be to either do a CT angiogram, which is the best non-invasive method to obtain a complete comprehensive evaluation of the walls ….

One officemate dubbed me as a walking miracle when I went back to work three weeks after the surgery – much faster than when I had my recovery period for my CS operation for Malakai. But heck, when you think about it, yes, they opened up no less than my head, took out something and stitched me up again. That’s like one of the more delicate parts of the human body.

I cringed before at the thought of getting ripped open to get a baby out. But heck, I bet millions go through this everyday (especially in China), but women wake up and walk out carrying their little bundles after a couple of days in the hospital. But how many people do you know had their heads cracked open and shut close? Masakit yun ha! And I’m cringing just thinking about it now.

Doctor Y: I can't tell you what we can do just yet until we do one more test – one that’s more reliable…

Me (thinking): Another one?!?!!! Jesus Lord!

Every doctor I spoke to unanimously agreed on what my source of stress was. It was over a decade of eating deadlines for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It is years upon years of managing the universe even if things are beyond my control. It is the long thread of happy clients I have serviced, and the equally long string of colleagues I’ve had mental jousts with. It’s the roller coaster ride on loop mode that I’ve been on since the magic of advertising lured me into its realm. 


I remember being pregnant with Malakai and wondering at an hour past midnight where I’m supposed to get tables and chairs for a shoot happening the very next day. And how I’ve conducted media meetings with a male planner while breastfeeding the little one (of course, he didn’t know). Or how, way after my officemates have retired for the night, I am still on calls with my regional counterparts to sit through an offline material. I’ve given up countless Holy Weeks and Christmases, holidays and special occasions to meet the same demands of my clients.

Aren’t I the masochist? I guess. But who cares? My advertising life was my choice and I loved every minute of it.

I met several great minds and wonderful souls in this business: my best friend of 17 years; my husband of 7 years; people I’ve fought badly and won over through 8 agencies, big and small; first loves and last loves; officemates who have become part of must-have-lunches every year. And I’ve been privileged to have worked with the movers and shakers in the industry – sadly, to the newbies, they are legends, destined for the advertising history books. Its an intricate tapestry, but I can die a thousand deaths and I’d still choose this stressful world in a heartbeat.

Yet, this is what I get for my dedication for the life I chose – two high risk pregnancies, a meningioma that was successfully obliterated a few years back (at least, up until it grows again)…and a new hurdle to triumph over.

So I’m a ticking bomb...so what? Every night that I lay down to rest, I am enveloped by two men who love me for everything that I am, and I am comforted by the thought of great friends (most of whom are from this crazy industry) who are likewise looking out for me.

I may be the bomb, but I’ve been there… I’ve done that…

Here and now is a new reason for living.