Full Metal Jacket

It's been a busy few weeks with work stuff blending in with mommy stuff creating one glorious tumble. The lovely tumble wasn't anything I can't handle but when those PMS hormones kicked in, I knew I had to let off some steam. D once told me that he'd take me to the firing range if I wanted. And I thought, well, that's one way to let off steam: Fire off some rounds!

Of course, I've never ever held a gun in my life. I did once, I think, when I went on this bivouac in high school. But the thing was ancient, and there weren't any bullets, so that doesn't count.

It wasn't heavy, but for something that small it had a substantial weight on it. It didn't look scary, but when I aimed it at the target, I suddenly thought, "Woah! You could really hurt someone with this thing if you're not careful."

The big surprise? I actually hit the target. On my first shot, in fact, I hit the bull's eye. And I would do so a couple of times more when I really focused and did everything I was told. That was a real treat because I could be such a klutz! Mwahaha





Getting instructions from our guide, Dong. Let your hands embrace the gun, he told me. Oh, okay!





Before we got into the firing range, D had this very precise set of instructions on how I should aim with accompanying illustrations. And here I am, taking aim while trying to remember if I'm doing everything right.





And it's off!





When my son K saw this picture, he said, "You're not even holding it right." Yes, I know! I'm such a wuss! Mwahahaha

Good Morning, Lula! :)

Baby S is an early riser. And in the mornings, when she hears me going down the stairs, she would hurriedly run to our part of the house and say, "Good morning, Lula!" I smile, give her a hug, and say a sweet good morning.

When I'm not in a hurry, I'd spend a few minutes with her. Sometimes I'd make her a cheese sandwich. Sometimes we'd play with her clay. Sometimes we'd go up to my room. I'll put on some music, and she'll dance on my bed while I plot out my day. It's a great way to start the morning, having this little angel fussing about.

On days when I'm in a rush, I quietly go down the stairs, managing to get to the bathroom before Baby S comes barging in.

"Where are you going, Lula?"

"I'm going to the bathroom."

"Lula, let's play."

"Wait, Sophie, Lula has to go the bathroom."

And with that, I close the door.

"Lula, open the door! I'm here! Sophie's here! Open the door!"

And now you know why it's so hard for me to get out the door most mornings ;)




My little door-buster





Chock-full of chocolates. Mom would not be pleased hehe

One Voice

Find your voice, she told me.

Of all the lessons that my favorite English professor taught me, this was the one that I kept to heart. And so when I read this heartbreaking essay by Christopher Hitchens, I did so with tears.

I miss his voice already.

Unspoken Truths
Until cancer attacked his vocal cords, the author didn’t fully appreciate what was meant by “a writer’s voice,” or the essential link between speech and prose. As a man who loved to talk, he turns to the masters of such conversation, both in history and in his own circle.

By Christopher Hitchens


Like so many of life’s varieties of experience, the novelty of a diagnosis of malignant cancer has a tendency to wear off. The thing begins to pall, even to become banal. One can become quite used to the specter of the eternal Footman, like some lethal old bore lurking in the hallway at the end of the evening, hoping for the chance to have a word. And I don’t so much object to his holding my coat in that marked manner, as if mutely reminding me that it’s time to be on my way. No, it’s the snickering that gets me down.

On a much-too-regular basis, the disease serves me up with a teasing special of the day, or a flavor of the month. It might be random sores and ulcers, on the tongue or in the mouth. Or why not a touch of peripheral neuropathy, involving numb and chilly feet? Daily existence becomes a babyish thing, measured out not in Prufrock’s coffee spoons but in tiny doses of nourishment, accompanied by heartening noises from onlookers, or solemn discussions of the operations of the digestive system, conducted with motherly strangers. On the less good days, I feel like that wooden-legged piglet belonging to a sadistically sentimental family that could bear to eat him only a chunk at a time. Except that cancer isn’t so ... considerate.

Most despond-inducing and alarming of all, so far, was the moment when my voice suddenly rose to a childish (or perhaps piglet-like) piping squeak. It then began to register all over the place, from a gruff and husky whisper to a papery, plaintive bleat. And at times it threatened, and now threatens daily, to disappear altogether. I had just returned from giving a couple of speeches in California, where with the help of morphine and adrenaline I could still successfully “project” my utterances, when I made an attempt to hail a taxi outside my home—and nothing happened. I stood, frozen, like a silly cat that had abruptly lost its meow. I used to be able to stop a New York cab at 30 paces. I could also, without the help of a microphone, reach the back row and gallery of a crowded debating hall. And it may be nothing to boast about, but people tell me that if their radio or television was on, even in the next room, they could always pick out my tones and know that I was “on,” too...

More Fun Talaga!

Finally found the time to make some more fun...




Snake Island, Palawan





Somewhere in Ilocos





Matabungkay, Batangas





Butterfly Farm, Palawan





Cudugnon Cave, El Nido

Hey There, Cowboy!

Confession: In my more than four decades on this planet, I had never once found myself on top of a horse. When I was little, I remember my classmates talking about how they had their first horse ride in Baguio. But all I remember of our family trips to Baguio was that there was a lot of eating and sleeping and climbing up and down steep stairs. No horse.

So I was nervous as hell when Sheriff Gabby of El Kabayo asked his boys to prep a horse for me. I was like, "Me? Get on a horse? Are you kidding?!!" Immediately, I imagined myself falling off Silver without having said, "Hi ho!"

But because life is so woefully short and you've got to try everything once, and really it would just be embarrassing not to do it, I hopped on Silver. Actually, his name was Razzle Dazzle, I think. I wasn't thinking straight Mwahahaha

Fortunately, Silver was thinking straight. And despite my nervous laughter and my inexperienced butt, we rode off to the sunset like the best of them cowboys. The End!




Riding Silver





Shooting the breeze with Sheriff Gabby





El Kabayo looks very much like a movie set...





... with a prop donated by our very own cowboy, Lito Lapid





Nice cowboy butt





Hanging out with my nephew, RB

What a Sweet Surprise

I love this picture of me and Baby S. I really thought that with four kids, I wouldn't have any love left for another baby. How naive I was! There's just so much love to give, I've found, which is such a sweet surprise for a cynic like me :)

Six Years After

My sister B sent me these two photographs of me and my kids.

The first one was taken six years ago on new year's day. With my sister B and her husband, we drove up to Tagaytay.

That was then...





This is now, on the eve of the new year...



Can you spot the difference? :)

For starters, the boys are all taller than me. They're just massive these days! F and K are now wearing eyeglasses; they got my poor eyesight gene, among other things. S is still waif-thin but as tall as ever. E is still so pretty with that easy smile; Baby S was already fast asleep. And K wouldn't be caught dead now hugging me like he did six years ago. Not a chance! Mwahahaha

Six years, just like that!!

Am happy at the way those six years turned out, and happier still that they've all grown up to be such good kids. Happiness! :)