The Adventure Of Super Kamote

I have a friend who is falling in love. She honestly claims the sky is bluer. Mozart moves her to tears. She has lost 15 pounds and looks like a cover girl. “I am young again!”

she shouts exuberantly.

As my friend raves on about her new love, I’ve taken a good look at my old one. My husband of almost 20 years, Scott, has gained 15 lbs. Once a marathon runner, he now runs only down hospital halls. His hairline is receding and his body shows signs of long working hours and too many candy bars. Yet he can still give me a certain look across a restaurant table and I want to ask for the check and head home.

When my friend asked me “What will make this love last?”  I ran through all the obvious reasons: commitment, shared interests, unselfishness, physical attraction, and communication. Yet there’s more.

We still have fun.

Spontaneous good times. Yesterday, after slipping the rubber band off the rolled newspaper, Scott flipped it playfully at me: this led to an all-out war. Last Saturday at the grocery, we split the list and raced each other to see who would make it to the checkout first. Even washing dishes can be a blast. We enjoy simply being together.

And there are surprises.

One time, I cam home to find a note on the front door that led me to another note, then another, until I reached the walk-in-closet. I opened the door to find Scott holding a “pot of gold” (my cooking
kettle) and the “treasure” of a gift package. Sometimes, I leave him notes on the mirror and little presents under his pillow.

There is understanding.

I understand why he must play basketball with the guys and he understands why, once a year, I must get away from the house, the kids
– and even him — to meet my sisters for a few days of nonstop talking and laughing.

There is sharing.

Not only do we share household worries and parental burdens — we also share ideas. Scott came home from a convention last month and presented me with a thick historical novel. Though he prefers thrillers and science fiction, he had read the novel on the plane. He touched my heart when he explained it was because he wanted to be able to exchange ideas about the book after I’d read it.

There is forgiveness.

When I’m embarrassingly loud and crazy at parties, Scott forgives me.

When he confessed losing some of our savings in the stock market, I gave him a hug and said, “It’s okay. It’s only money.”

There is sensitivity.

Last week he walked through the door with that look that tells me it’s been a tough day. After he spent some time with the kids, I asked him what happened. He told me about a 60-year old woman that had a stroke.

He wept as he recalled the woman’s husband standing beside her bed, caressing her hand. How was he going to tell this husband of 40 years that his wife would probably never recover? I shed a few tears myself.

Because of the medical crisis. Because there were still people who have been married 40 years. Because my husband is still moved and concerned after years of hospital rooms and dying patients.

There is faith.

Last Tuesday, a friend came over and confessed her fear that her husband is losing his courageous battle with cancer. On Wednesday I went to lunch with a friend who is struggling to reshape her life after divorce. On Thursday, a neighbor called to talk about the frightening effects of Alzheimer’s disease on her father-in-law’s personality.  On Friday, a childhood friend called long distance to tell me her father had died. I hung up the phone and thought there’s too much heartache for one week.

Through my tears, as I went out to run some errands, I noticed the orange blossoms of the gladiolus outside my window. I heard the delighted laughter of my son and his friend as they played. I caught sight of a wedding party emerging from a neighbor’s house. The bride, dressed in satin and lace, tossed her bouquet to her cheering friends.

That night, I told my husband about these events. We helped each other acknowledge the cycles of life and that the joys counter the sorrows.

It was enough to keep us going.

Finally, there is knowing.

I know Scott will throw his laundry just shy of the hamper every night; he’ll be late to most appointments and eat the last chocolate in the box. He knows that I sleep with a pillow over my head.

I guess our love lasts because it is comfortable. No, the sky is not bluer; it’s just a familiar hue. We don’t feel particularly young; we’ve experienced too much that has contributed to our growth and wisdom, taking its toll on our bodies, and created our memories.  I hope we’ve got what it takes to make our love last. As a bride, I had Scott’s wedding band engraved with Robert Browning’s line “Grow old along with me!”

We’re following these instructions. “If anything is real, the heart will make it plain.” There are some people who meet that somebody who they can never stop loving, no matter how hard they try. I wouldn’t expect you to understand that, or even believe it, but trust me, there are some loves that don’t go away.

And maybe that makes them crazy, but we should all be blessed to end up with that somebody who has a little of that insanity. Somebody who never lets go. Somebody who cherishes you forever. Hope you find this kind of love in your life.

Yung ibang tao, naiinggit. Wala kasing nagmamahal sa kanila. Yung iba naman, tatanga-tanga! Minamahal na nga nang todo, binabalewala lang! Alam mo, swerte ka sana kaso tatanga-tanga lang!

Minsan na kong nagmahal, minsan na kong naloko. Minsan na nga lang, naagaw pa! Pero di bale! Mas bagay naman sila, eh. Isang basura, isang basurera. Perfect match, diba?

Nung iniwan mo ko, ikaw ang sinisi ko kung bakit ako lubos na nasaktan. Mahal kasi kita pero di mo ko maintindihan. Ngayon salamat, ha? Kasi kung di mo ko iniwan, hindi ko siya matatagpuan.

Sometimes you tend to be in despair when your loved one doesn’t love you back. But don’t worry, don’t cry much. Just close your eyes and whisper, “Mahal din ako nun. Pakipot lang.”

When you ran, I chase you. You told me to stop following you. When I stopped, you got mad! Aminin mo na. In love ka rin sa kin, no?

If you ever find someone better, funnier or nicer than me, go ahead, hindi kita pipigilan. Pero pag iniwan ka ng gagong yun, tingin ka lang sa likod mo. Nandun ako, nang-aasar sayo, “Better than me pala, ha?”

Lagi ka na lang may rason. Nakalimutan mong tumawag, nakalimutan mong magtext, nakalimutan mong magpaalam. Pero ingat ka, ha? Baka pag naalala mong mahal mo ko, nakalimutan na kita.

Pag nakita mo na masaya ang mahal mo sa piling ng iba, wag kang malungkot o umiyak. Isipin mo na lang na masaya siya dahil mukhang clown ang kasama niya.

If I see you flirting with others, I won’t cry. Instead I’ll stand in front of you, chin up, stomach in, chest out at sabay sabi, “Mas masarap akong magmahal diyan. Sana wag mong pagsisihan!”

Kapag ikaw ang iniyakan ng lalaki, ang swerte mo dahil mahal ka nga niya! Pero pag ikaw ang umiyak dahil lang sa kanya, di ka lang malas, tanga ka pa! Lalaki lang yan, pwede ba?

Minsan lang magmahal ang pusong tanga. Niloko pa! Subukan kaya niya ang magmahal at lokohin din siya? Nang masabi niyang,”GOSH! Masakit pala!”

Nagkita kami ng ex mo kanina. Nalaman niyang tayo na. Pinagmasdan niya ko at bigla siyang tumawa. Sabay sabi, “Pang-ilan ka? Ako kasi yung una!” Sagot ko, “Una ka nga, ako naman ang last niya!”

When you love, don’t give your 100%. Leave at least 70% for yourself so if ever he’ll hurt you, you could still stand up to him and say, “Wala na bang mas sasakit pa diyan? Sus, walang kwenta!”

If someone leaves you, don’t dare cry. Just smile and be happy. Pero bago mo siya tuluyang palayain, ibulong mo to sa kanya, “Maganda ako. Pasalamat ka pinatulan kita!”

Before, hinahabol kita pero di mo ako pinapansin. Tapos isang araw nawala ako, hinanap mo ako at tinanong, “Bakit ka nagsawa?” Ngumiti ako, “Hindi ako nagsawa. Natauhan lang.”

Pwede mo kong lokohin pero wag kang magpapahuli sakin. Pwede mo kong palitan pero siguraduhin mong mas mahal mo siya sakin. Pwede mo kong iwan pero siguraduhin mong kaya mo. Kasi pag ako sobrang nasaktan, wala ka nang babalikan.

Boys? Pag trip ka, magpapakilala. Kaibigan kuno hanggang pumorma na. Tapos pag nahulog ka na, ayun, goodbye na dahil sawa na sila. Pero dapat walang iiyak ha dahil … anong silbi ng karma?

I fell in love and got hurt but I didn’t shed too much tears nor did I ask him to love me again. Instead, I stood up proudly and said, “Ganyan talaga ang magaganda! Hindi bagay sa tanga!”

Simple lang para hindi ka masaktan. Kapag minahal ka, mahalin mo din. Kapag ginago ka, gaguhin mo rin. Pero kapag umiyak ka, tanga ka! Ginago ka na nga, iiyakan mo pa?

Hay nako bat ba ako masaydu na lilinya sa mga blogs n ganto… hmm siguro konti na lang kasi ang naniniwla na bukas… balang araw.. titingalain ang kulay mo, PINOY!

Nakakalungkto man pero, totoo

A long but very interesting and affecting article published in Inquirer.

Between poverty and paradise
By Paolo P. Mangahas
Inquirer
Last updated 09:04am (Mla time) 02/04/2007

As I got ready to introduce my country to my German friend, I realized I did not know where to begin. After all, how does one explain poverty to someone who has never experienced it before?

Last night, I had dinner with a German friend to talk about her planned trip to the Philippines. She had just completed an internship program in one of the law firms here in Malaysia and wanted to take a short holiday in a nearby country before heading off to Australia to finish her studies. She wanted to know more about the Philippines and asked me for tips on making the most of the two-and-a-half weeks that she had allotted for this vacation.

We planned her trip between bites, armed only with a faded map of the Philippines that we had downloaded from the Internet. My goal was to identify all the “must-see” places in the country (her criteria being beaches and volcanoes), plot them according to distance and flight routes, and then cram them all in 17 days. A tall order indeed, especially for someone like me who has never had a sense of direction even in my own neighborhood. For the life of me, I could not spot where Boracay was on her map. So I took the easy way out and told her to go to Palawan instead.

I carried on with the task like a diligent student trying to remember my geography, starting from the rice terraces in Banaue up north, moving down south to the Mayon Volcano in Bicol and the Chocolate Hills in Bohol. It was an embarrassing ordeal nonetheless as she could see that I was struggling to find all the other attractive destinations on the map, which in turn made me realize how little I truly knew about my own country.

She was very excited about the trip and was eager to learn more about the country and its people. She imagined the Philippines to be an eternal fiesta of Spanish and Chinese Third-World flair, filled with warm and accommodating people who all speak with a clear American accent, where all men have the handsome earthy appeal of Jericho Rosales and women the heavenly mestiza charms of Kristine Hermosa (thanks to Filipino soap operas that have become so popular here in Malaysia).

It was certainly one of the most honest cultural impressions that I have ever heard and quite amusingly, one shared by many. In my German friend’s opinion, the Philippines is one of the most open-minded countries in Southeast Asia. I found this view rather interesting, especially since it came from a European who has never stepped foot in the Philippines and whose only direct exposure to the country, was me.

The funny thing about cultural impressions is that they often come from a place of both acute perception and blatant ignorance, split in the middle by what is painfully true. But they are what they are impressions.

Quite naturally, my friend and I have come to build our own impressions about Malaysia in the several months that we have been here. Malaysia is a beautiful country that seems to be in a hurry to develop economically, but is hampered by a palpable trace of social reluctance. It seems grounded on an age-old culture that simply does not mix well with progress, or at least the kind dictated and exemplified by the Western world. I find this true for most developing Asian countries, including the Philippines.

My friend pointed out that she has never seen a beggar in the streets of Kuala Lumpur since she moved here and asked me if it is the same in the Philippines. As a matter of fact, she admitted that she has never seen a beggar up close in her whole life and asked me to explain how it is to live in a poor country like mine. She wanted to know more about poverty.

Her question struck a chord in me because I realized that apart from Jericho Rosales, this woman had absolutely no idea about the country where she was going and how it was out there. Here was someone who came to me wanting to know more about my country and the best I could offer was a geographical representation of scenic destinations, which I hardly even knew myself.

By this time, I had put down the pen I was holding, set aside the map, and got ready to explain to her details about my country. I did not know where to begin. After all, how does one explain poverty to someone who has never experienced it before?

To make things more relevant to her, I started by comparing the Philippines to Malaysia. I told her that blue-collar workers in the Philippines did not have the same opportunities as the ones in Malaysia, who can afford to eat in the same restaurants where executives eat or even shop in stores where their own bosses shop. I told her that unlike the ones I have met in Malaysia, secretaries and administrative clerks in the Philippines will eat in posh restaurants only on very special occasions and can barely afford to travel to other countries.

I then told her about the beggars, young and old, who parade the streets of Manila, the children who knock on car windows selling sampaguita, the mothers who have to forage for food in garbage landfills, and the unemployed fathers who waste their lives on drugs and alcohol. I told her about the shanties that bedeck highways and railroads, the unproductive traffic jams, the garbage-infested streets and sewers, and the regular typhoons that flood the country and exacerbate already poor living conditions.

I told her that poverty in the Philippines unapologetically hits you in the face the very moment you step in. It is an open wound just waiting to be healed.

My friend looked shaken, as if experiencing for the first time a world she has seen only on TV. That was when my tears started to fall. I could not help it. I have never cried in front of a semi-stranger before but for some reason, I cried this time because she was still not immune to these things. Her unawareness taught me to see poverty as if for the first time myself, which brought out a lot of pain. I have become so used to the pain that I have forgotten how it felt until I painted for her the sad face of poverty.

I then found myself having to explain to her that despite all these, the Philippines is still a beautiful country and this you will also feel the very moment you get there. It is a beauty characterized by the indomitable human spirit of a people who have seen better days and yet still have the capacity to find a piece of heaven in their lives. It is a beauty defined by the untiring faith of a people who have learned to acknowledge their plight with reverence and yet have never lost the courage to dream big dreams. It is a beauty characterized by the painful history of a people who have been abused and pillaged through the years and yet still have so much of themselves to give.

Now her tears were falling, smearing the map that I had earlier vandalized with circles and arrows. But I knew it did not matter anymore at this point. I realized that my friend had learned all she needed to know about my country and my people. She thanked me profusely, saying that she came to me wanting to know more about how poor the Philippines is but in the end, she learned how abundantly blessed Filipinos truly are.

A beach is a beach and a volcano is a volcano anywhere in the world, but it is the people who make the difference. I learned in that moment that I may not know the geographical features of my country all too well, but I sure know its heart and its soul because it is who I am.

The real poverty lies in not knowing this.

*Paolo P. Mangahas, 32, is currently working in Kuala Lumpur as Head of Communications for WWF-Malaysia (World Wide Fund for Nature Malaysia). He won Honorable Mention in the 2003 Doreen Fernandez Food Writing Award for his piece “Adobo, I’m Home” and has published several essays on food, lifestyle, fashion, and social and environmental development. *