Oh, Lindsay!

If there had been a Search for a Singing Star when I was little, I would have been the first in line to join. With just a slight nudge from any one, I would proudly show my raw talent to my small adoring audience. Makapal ang mukha, I would do anything for the sound of applause—dance the Hawaiian, sing a Nora Aunor song, or recite a poem--anything as far as my repertoire could take me. Kung uso nga lang ang ballroom dancing for kids noon..tsk…tsk..tsk…

Fast forward now. We see a lot of kids testing their mettle in the world of showbiz. With the promise of fast bucks and instant celebrity status, their families line up their small kids in studios in the hope of making a star out of their off springs, only to find out later that the bright future they wanted their children to have suddenly turned south in a spiral twirl. Drug addiction, alcoholism, and promiscuity are some of the prices these young talents have to pay for a mere fifteen minutes of fame.

Real life parent-trapped

One of the glaring examples we see in Hollywood is Lindsay Lohan. My daughter and I were big, big fans of her when she was just a cute and precocious young star. She metamorphosed brilliantly as twins in The Parent Trap. She was lovingly overly dramatic in Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen. She was perfectly sharp in Mean Girls. Everyone thought she was heading for the top. But we know what happened after. Her too open and uncontrolled lifestyle led to her free fall. Now, no one wants to work with her in a film. Heck, no one even wants to go near her or be associated with her, except the paparazzi that get measly dollars to snap an ugly picture of her.

There was a rumour that she wanted to gatecrash in an Oscar party hosted recently by Madonna and Demi Moore, but she was vehemently denied entry. Even a star who knew her couldn’t convince the gatekeepers to let her in (Some overheard Josh Brolin saying, "Don't you know who she is?"). But all she could ever do was turn away and shout, “This is so humiliating!” (www.renegadeshowbiz.com)

What happened to you, LiLo?

Oh, Lindsay! Do you expect that after getting embroiled in DUI cases, and your latest escapade, being charged for stealing a $25,000 necklace, you'd be handed a free pass to Hollywood soirees? Don’t you know that you’re only as good as your last film gets? The moment you are out of spotlight, you’re A-list friends would turn their backs on you. Poor bratty girl!

Sometimes I look at my kids and wonder why they didn’t get their mom’s thick skin in performing. Sometimes I envy other eager moms who doll up their daughters for ballet shows or pageants. But when I read news (or gossips) about the Lindsays and the Mileys and the Demis getting in trouble because of too much fame in their heads, I can't help but thank my lucky stars for giving me kids who can’t sing and dance and act. And as for me, do they still accept middle aged starlets in showbeeez? (Teehee, nagbabakasakali lang poh!)

My Cuz Premz

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday . A few days ago, one of my cousins in the States sent me a message saying that she will stay away from Facebook beginning on Ash Wednesday as her Lenten atonement. Making this sacrifice at Lenten season is a vow that she has kept for three years now. But why the Facebook abstinence? It’s a big deal for her considering most of her friends are here in Pinas (or in some other parts of the world). Nowadays, our relatives and friends are getting farther and farther from our social radar. We don’t usually get to see them as often anymore. So Facebook is something which still lets everybody know that you are still alive. Ergo, it will be a tough, challenging reparation for her.

Anyway, let me introduce to you to this cousin I’m talking about. Her name is Maria Clara Villaraza Mejino--Mino, Mariclaire, Clara, (and lately) Claringring. She is actually a third cousin (or fourth?); but that doesn’t matter. She’s still the closest cousin (in my heart!) I claim to ever have.

My family used to live in Tramo Street, Pasay City. At that time, that city was known for mga halang ang kaluluwa. Clara’s family, the Mejinos, lived in the biggest house at the corner of Tramo. Their family was never robbed or sinalbahe because Clara’s father was Tramo’s resident doctor and her mother was the dentist. They were well-respected and loved. Lolo Doktor, as we fondly called his father, assisted my mom in giving birth to all of us, 5 kids. It was just natural that as we were growing up, we became close to Lolo Doctor’s kids too.

KBFFs. Clara and I were clasmates from kindergarten
to almost all through our high school years

Clara was the same age as me, well almost. I was born in January, and she, December of the same year. But we were in the same batch in St. Mary’s Academy Pasay. I faintly remember my first day in kindergarten. My Ate Clara was the only one I knew. She with blonde hair and milky white skin, how could they have known we were cousins (me, with the yagit features)? But I insisted to force myself to be at her back in the line and call her “Ate Clara! Ate Clara!” She whispered to me that I shouldn’t call her ‘Ate’ anymore because I was obviously older than her. Sure, as long as I was with her, I’d do anything she said!

Love yah, cuz premz!
Her visit to Bacolod in January 2011

Anyway, we were inseparable after that. In summer, I would go to their house and do all sorts of kid stuffs--listen to the ‘Sound of Music’ LP, play bahay-bahayan, take a bath with her in their bathtub, play the piano, etc. etc. We were together until we graduated from high school. The happiest memories I had in that part of my life were with her. Now that she’s in Seattle, whenever I miss her, I write a line or two to her on FB. Then my life is happier again.

So what about MY own sacrifice this Lenten season?  “Why not give up on blogging your outfits?” she FB’d back. Ouch! 40 days and 40 nights of not thinking about fashion? (I knew I shouldn’t have asked her!) Okay, okay. If that would give me extra points in heaven, so be it. After all, didn’t I promise I’d do anything my cuz premz would say?

Sunny Days Sweep Clouds Away

Ahhh…the ol’ days of yore. My Sesame Street childhood. Those days when computers and cell phones and iPads belong to sci-fi movies (or have they been even imagined at that time yet?). Our only source of entertainment was the black-and-white screened, wood-boxed, four-legged television. We got acquainted to our first boob tube friends like Ernie and Bert, Big Bird, Oscar the Grouch, Grover, Cookie Monster, and Mr. Looper, er Hooper. At the strike of 9:00, we kids were mesmerized at the cute American children and muppets singing, “Who are the people in your neighbourhood, in your neighbourhood..?” or “Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?” At that age, these ubiquitous characters became our best friends and first teachers.

Rubber duckie you're so fine

and I'm lucky that you're mine...

(http://www.sesamestreet.org)

This is how we played
patintero back then---barefoot!!
 (http://images.palarongpinoy.multiply.com)

After spending an hour with the SS gang,  we ran outside to play, yes, under the heat of the sun. We met up with our neighbours to play patintero, tumbang preso, piko, and monkey-anabelle. We climbed the alatires trees around our house, stayed on top of their branches eating and collecting the juiciest, reddest fruits, while singing on top of our lungs--until our moms called us for lunch. Come afternoon, we rode our BMX bikes and raced around the subdivision. When it got dark, we switched to playing hide-and-seek. The unluckiest ‘it’ sometimes found himself tricked because he didn’t know that everybody already ‘hid’ in their homes to eat dinner. By the end of the day, we smelled like rotten guavas. By the end of the summer, we were unrecogizeable and negra. Until now, I can still see the ugly scars on my legs. But betcha by golly, was I the happiest kid ever.

MNG shirt
Forever 21 sweat pants
VNC wedges

Funny because while I can enumerate all my teachers from kindergarten to high school (Ms. Turla, Mrs. Jimenez, Ms. Lacambra,…to prove my point), I can’t freakin’ recall who my teachers in college were. While I can recite to you word for word all the nursery rhymes and star scout songs I learned in my elementary days, I can’t squeeze my brain to blurt out what I’ve learned in Anthro 1 or Humanities. I may never be a psychologist, but common sense tells me that this is because I had the most fun-filled childhood a kid could ever dream of.

Now, my children only play with their virtual friends in the Nintendo world. If I nag them to get some exercise? They turn to WII Sports for some tennis or bowling. If they need to talk to friends, they chat with them on Facebook. When I sing "Bahay kubo...", they think it's an obscure OPM song. I don't think they even know what patintero is all about.

Sigh...I could only dream of my Sesame Street childhood for my children.

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall

I do not drink. Alcohol, that is.

HK dress
Guess vest
Lady Rustan's wedges

This was a maxim I have adopted since God knows for how long now. Oh, I used to drink when I was in college (please, please don’t tell my kids!), but just on occasions like a friend’s birthday, end of the semester, or when a friend’s heart was broken-hearted (Babs, isdatchu?). 


But there was one time that made me swear not to touch the bottles again. It was one of those end-of-the-sem episodes when I failed in one of my subjects (yeah, yeah, who says UP studes don’t get a 5?). My Eng’g friends Babette Peneyra and  Edgar Labor sympathized with me, and we dragged ourselves to Tia Maria in Greenhills, of course, to drink our problems away. Babette, the ever googly-eyed romantic, was swooning over a crush who already had a girl friend. Egay came because…(well he had no problem because he always aced his subjects)…just because. As we drank our blues away, I became groggy and propped my head on the table. When they tried to ask if I was all right, I suddenly threw up all the tequila and margarita and beer and nachos and peanuts on the plaid table cloth. To say that it was a gross sight was an understatement. My friends decided that I had had enough so to minimize the damage (and the embarrassment!), we had to get out of the place fast (with a little help from a burly waiter/bouncer). We passed by McDo to get some coffee, and we went to Egay’s house to sober me up. Through all of these, I was passed out and didn’t have an iota of what was happening. After that, I got scared. Who knew what could have happened to me? It was a good thing that I was with my true friends. You must have heard of horror stories of the Donitas and the Ruffas on the cyberworld and their viral pictures, right? (haha…and comparing myself with them is the comedy part!) Yep, I vowed to myself never to drink again. Ever.

A.k.a. Miss Gran Matador Brandy:-)

Ironically, fifteen years later , I was employed at Ginebra San Miguel. In the seven years I worked there, I can proudly say that I wasn’t tempted nor enticed to be re-acquainted with Mr. Pilsen. But that’s worth another post. I’m just proud to have kept my promise after all these years.

Salamat, Doktor!

Koreans are naturally beautiful. They are fair-skinned, generally tall, have straight, black hair. Everything we, Pinoys, dream to have. The problem is, Koreans don’t want to be just beautiful. They want to be perfectly beautiful.

I think they are the most beauty-obsessed people I have ever met. In Korea, having a plastic surgery is like shopping for a special pair of shoes or bag, or going to a salon to have your hair done. They have every cosmetic procedure imaginable—to your usual double eyelids, noselift, and boob job, to jaw sculpting and forehead widening, to even eyeball whitening! (Huh?) According to the Seoul Metropolitan Survey conducted in 2007, almost 53% of Korean women had plastic surgery by the time they reached college. The number may be even higher because not a lot of them want to admit that they passed under a doctor's knife. Thanks to these young women’s parents who give plastic surgery as a high school graduation gift. Their parents sometimes force their children to have a procedure or two in the belief that the more attractive their children are, the more successful in life they would be. A higher salary, faster promotion, and even hitching a rich husband are some of the benefits seen if you have big eyes, straight nose, and an oval face. Sigh! Now why didn’t my own parents give their eldest daughter a rhinoplasty gift certificate, instead of a Seiko wrist watch?

One of my Korean students was a nurse for a small-time plastic surgeon in Seoul. She said their small clinic handles 200 operations a day. Not to mention laser peelings, whitening, and the superficial stuffs. Their clients are composed of old women, young girls, and even men. No wonder actors and actresses in the Korean telenovelas all look like fragile Asian dolls. Those more-beautiful-than-girls Korean boys you are swooning over? Believe me; all of them have undergone expensive procedures. No exception.

Can I have a pair of their legs, doc?
Maldita jacket
M)Phosis blouse
Zara jeans

The Girls' Generation. Clones anyone?

I’m not here to judge those who had plastic surgery. Heck, if all Filipinos had the moolah to get one, I think all of us would want to look like clones of our favourite celebrities, Hollywood or K-pop, pick your choice. The Papaya and Glutathione industries make millions from us, a case in point.  It’s just sad and alarming that we are in this day and age when we become too shamelessly focused about changing the way we look that we forget that values, talents, skills, and identity define who we are permanently and that these assets won't fade with age.

And who am I to scoff, you say? Inggit lang siguro ako! Maybe. But for now, I'm still satisfied with myself (and the Hubby, hopefully) so as not to visit Dr. Vicky. (Yet?) I'd rather cut my bangs instead.

Go Forth and Multiply

Two weeks ago, my fourth year high school daughter attended a Catholic-supported protest rally to trash the Reproductive Health Bill. Their school “encouraged” them to join the march to show support for the stand of the Catholic Church, since her private school is run by Catholic nuns. She didn’t really want to go, because she said she’s pro-RH (Alam mo na yun, Iss?). So I said, “then don’t go!” (kunsinti-dorang nanay!) But since they would be required to do an essay if they didn’t join, so grudgingly, she went. You know my daughter, she’d rather brave the heat of the sun and UV rays and pollution, than do some homework. It figures, right?




My interest was awakened by what this controversial RH Bill is all about. In a nutshell, here are the bill’s main points:

(1)   To promote, without bias, all effective natural and modern methods of family planning that are medically safe and legal

(2)   To ensure that all women needing care for post-abortion complications shall be treated and counseled in a humane, non-judgmental and compassionate manner

(3)   To integrate a component of family planning and responsible parenthood into all government anti-poverty programs

(4)   Reproductive health and sexuality education is required from grade five to fourth year high school

(5)   Companies with less than 200 workers are required to enter into partnership with health care providers in their area for the delivery of reproductive health services

Sounds reasonable, right? So why is the Catholic Church adamant to trash the RH bill? Their opposition is based on the following:

(1) The bill is based on faulty premises since a study of Nobel-prize winner Simon Kuznets, found no correlation between population growth and poverty in first world countries.

       (The last time I checked, we are still a third world country!)

(2) The bill takes away limited government funds from treating many high priority medical and food needs and transfers them to fund harmful and deadly devices.

       (But now our funds also go to providing for the health and food needs of the less fortunate)

(3) The latest studies in scientific journals and organizations show that the ordinary birth control pill and the IUD are abortifacient to fertilized eggs: they kill young human embryos, who as such are human beings equally worthy of respect, making the bill unconstitutional.

       (Oh, come on, really?)

(4) Combined estrogen-progestogen oral are carcinogenic, and confers other serious health risks. (And so does eating preservatives and artificial sweeteners and going out in the sun, according to studies)

(5) The country is not a welfare state: taxpayer's money should not be used for personal practices that are harmful and immoral.

       (And where should it go? To building more half basketball courts in the barangays? Or to making more substandard roads?)

(6) It promotes sex education of the youth which promoters themselves have considered as having brought about more teenage pregnancies and fatherless kids.

       (Let’s face it, our kids are exposed to the open media and the internet, no need for promotion there!)

The issue is so divisive that at one point, the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines threatened to excommunicate the President, Benigno Aquino III if he supported the bill. What the…? Does it mean I am going to hell because I used oral contraceptives for ten years?

My three angels sleeping,
while the Mom was busy making milk--all night!:-(

You see, within three years of marriage, my kids came popping up after EVERY six months. Yep, imagine me---a 4’11 pregnant young woman, carrying a child on her right arm, while towing a walking toddler on her left. We tried to be obedient Catholics by not using any form of contraceptives, all right. But it’s either I didn’t know how to count, or I was just a baby machine; thus, the pills. I decided to use it because I was afraid that if another ‘blessing’ would come, we wouldn’t be able to provide enough financial, physical, and emotional support to them.
We did some calculating:  
Me + Hubby = 3 Kids + More?
Nope. It won’t do. It’s irrational. Simple math!




Nasa Diyos ang awa, nasa tao ang gawa. For me, it’s not about a question of sex or religion or morality anymore. Rich or poor, everyone has to answer to the call of responsible parenthood and reproductive health. This bill gives everybody that decision to choose. Let’s all do some math this time. We owe it to our kids.

Are there more coming, Mom?;-)

Bery Punny

In the ESL school where I teach, I am designated to interview applicants who want to teach English. Together with the Korean owner-manager and another teacher, we evaluate prospective tutors with regard to their grammar, pronunciation, and accent. Some applicants were outright rejected because of the innate singsong accent of the Ilonggos. On the extreme side, our boss is also not sold out to getting applicants with a ‘call center’ accent—those who try a tad hard to speak with an 'Ameriken tweng', but sounding too OA and TH in the process.

So when I chanced upon this funny video from Chuvaness.com, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. This Fil-Canadian guy made a video tutorial of the Filipino accent. I don’t think he intends to demean how we speak, but only to make light of the realization that since English is just a second language to us, then it’s natural that not all of us can have the aptitude to adapt to the American/Brit/Australian way of talking.

Actually Mikey Bustos (that's his name), speaks with a perfect American/Canadian twang. I think it's just his way to reconnect with his roots. Come to think of it, the Chinese, Russians, French, Italians all have their own distinct English accent, but people don’t really make fun of them when they speak. How come we are so ashamed when we hear the Filipino accent?

Anyways, here's the video. (Warning to my K students and my kids: Don't try this at home! Jejeje;-))