this week.

this week is not good news week.

first, my older sister, the eldest in the family took back the good news about a clear CT scan when she was sent to the oncologist instead of being sent back home immediately. somebody forgot to have the scan of her lungs printed and that's where they found the very small, "immeasurable", she said, thing. it's her first anniversary of the phyllodes diagnoses and eventual mastectomy of her left breast. it was jsut 4 months after she had given birth to a daughter, a first born. she's just turned 30 that time. she has actually written an article about her medical condition on an online magazine and you can read it here (but that didn't work...eeehh, i can't find the site).

(okay i cannot find the article so i will just direct you to her blog.)

second, almost three weeks ago a colleague mentioned to me in passing about feeling a lump on her right breast. instinctively, i told her to go to her gynecologist and have it checked as soon as possible. any lump, especially on the breast, is always something that has to be checked. having been a caregiver to her family members who have had cancer she immediately went to get the series of tests, see the necessary specialists and prepare herself for the news. yesterday she finally had it confirmed: carcinoma. stage 2 breast cancer. she said she was willing and prepared to die. she has been thinking about it, she said. it is sad but i think she'll be happier that way.

she sighed as she took a spoonful of the vegetable soup. she's not so much into vegetable, you see.

this week is just cancer news week.

last night my younger sister told me her gynecologists also requested for a series of tests because the lump she has been feeling pain in the area where her second lump was. she's had two lumps taken out at separate times of the year. the second one was bigger and deeper than the first. the other younger sister also had a lump in her areola taken out about 2 years ago. i had nothing taken out of me except maybe for my sanity, but that doesn't give an excuse for me to be complacent. there is a very large possibility that i'd have what my sisters have/had, apparently because of our very immediate/direct relationship. however, the difference is that i was vegetarian for 10 years, beginning when i was 16 and ending when i was 26 for pregnancy reasons.

my family is not very fond of eating meat. in fact, my parents and siblings are pecto-ovo-vegetarian but my sisters and i thought that my almost vegan diet (i still ate dairy products, except for cow's milk, from time to time that is why) and my regular running program did much to lessen the possibilities of me contracting these kinds of diseases.

my grandmother died of breast cancer when she was in her mid 40's. before my mother started having children and none of us even got to meet her.

my grandfather died of colon cancer in 2005 (i think). but he was alcoholic and smoked a lot. he lived a very hedonistic life until he encountered his very first stroke and it was downhill for him from then on.

and we are of the third generation.

i have to go back to being vegetarian. really.

and get new shoes for running. really.

post scripts

i wrote the otic discussions (see below or click on the title i mentioned -- yes, that's the one, the underlined one -- if you can't find the post and want to read it) entry while waiting for my turn with the ear doctor. very old school, as i scribbled it on my notebook making sure it's not readable enough for the people sitting to my left and right to read, but making sure it's legible enough in case i'd have time to return to it, type and post it in my blog. i just realized how hard it is to write peacefully in the waiting room (how did i even manage to write in public places years years years before? -- but i'm digressing).

Well, one night Keith (who also has a blog on his renderings using sketch up together with other rendering tools but is not updating it) did actually try using the psychology of fear on me. He told me as a matter of factly that Regina Spektor suffered from ear infection. Regina didn't know and she just fainted one day (during her show? i forgot) as a result of that ear infection.

Well, he said, i sometimes talk and write weird like Ms. ReSpekt but sing really funny and i know i am no Regina and her fainting from an ear infection wasn't enough to scare me yet the next day i decided to go to the ear doctor because i was actually more afraid to tear a hole in my eardrum and go deaf. if i go deaf i could no longer listen to music or watch/hear alfredo's sarsuela or listen to his ideas and your ideas and my friend's ideas and i can no longer make this world a beautiful place.

such an ambitious reason to see an ear doctor for a mere ear itch.

Otic Discussions

Keith gives me a look of disapproval as i grab a sheet of bathroom tissue and roll it tightly into a nice thin, tightly packed piece of paper stick.

He tells me to go see my ear doctor, the way he reminded me to go to the dentist last month. This weekend i'll go, i tell him but when my body parts stop hurting I forget about it and go on relaxing the Saturday away.

I tell him it's just a simple ear itch and this paper stick can easily make it all go away. and i scratch and scratch to the deepest recesses of my right ear, far as the paper stick could reach, tickle and roll my eyeballs in what could be the best ear-poking orgasm ever.

Keith shakes his head, in disgust maybe. or because he couldn't believe how stubborn i'd be after going through a terrible ear infection 5th month into my pregnancy. and because i was pregnant my medication came in low dose of antibiotics for an extended period. 14 days. jesus.

But i deduce the infection worsened because of the incompetent lady ENT who diagnosed my left ear trouble as a mere "pimple about to burst but it's really not a big problem so i'll just prescribe you some eardrops to help reduce the swelling of the pimple." how unfortunate of that pimple to land inside my ear canal. she told me further to "lie on my left side when i sleep so the dirt (what dirt, the earwax??) can gradually trickle down and help me hear better again."

lo and behold after 5 days of ear-dropping and left-side lying i didn't feel any better. in fact nothing trickled out of my ear, making it one of the gravest-disappointments-of-my-life-while-waiting-for-something-great-to-happen. in this case, for something to trickle out of my left, almost-going-deaf ear. i was half expecting the alien that Sigourney Weaver killed with all her might in Aliens would come crawling out but nothing. nothing happened. nothing came out.

it was later diagnosed, this time by a different ENT, to be a really bad ear infection. the pus and the ear wax decided to have a hell of a decadent party ever, group hugged and turned themselves into balls of disgusting ear matter as big as a kernel of an imported, and disappointingly bland, corn (yes, because the native Philippine corn has smaller, definitely much tastier kernels).

when i asked the ear doctor, a receptive, really good male doctor (NO EMPHASIS ON THE "MALE" PART. I'M NOT TRYING TO INSINUATE THINGS HERE AND I AM NOT INTERESTED IN ANY GENDER-RELATED ARGUMENTS. NO NOT THIS TIME. I JUST NEED TO DISCUSS THIS EAR OF MINE) with a comfy clinic about the possibility of the pimple growing inside my ear canal and subsequently infecting it (as i was told by the former ENT), he simply brushed it off and said that it's mostly because i cleaned it too much. My incessant use of cotton buds pushed the dirt and the ear wax and everything in between far inside my ear they couldn't move out to the outer ear anymore. A spic and span ear canal is not so good because th earwax provides protection to the very sensitive walls of the ear canals. They protect it fro the germs.

oh.

And i giggled and grinned as he suctioned all those disgusting kernels of earwax and pus, and thought about the possibility of having my own ear suction machine at home because it really really really felt good.

Keith said if I had my own suction machine, I'd use it so often I'd have my brains suctioned out of my ears, too. And he'd end up with a dumb, mega brainless partner. QUE HORROR of his life.

So with the itch coming back again, I go to my ear doctor. The itch keeps coming back, at the interval of 30 minutes and it's either we run out of toilet paper at home or I'd go deaf from a busted eardrum form too much poking of that paper stick.

Inside the clinic the doctor smiles and glancing from my records asks about my left ear, says (yes, says, not asks) I have given birth already. I should, because it's been more than 2 years since i visited him, unless of course, I am an elephant whose gestation period, we all know, lasts 10,000 years.

I tell him my left ear is doing great and I now have a 2 year old boy.

He asks which ear this time.

Right, I say. But I think I'll also have my left ear checked, just in case, you know. It itched also. yesterday.

he smiles and probably thinks Oh, you cotton buds addicts you really don't have nothing to spend your money on but to ear doctors, do you? Well, i am a reformed cotton buds addict. in fact i've made the switch to paper sticks which are pieces of toilet paper rolled into thin paper sticks and poked into my...okay. And actually, I don't have that much money, in fact i need more money to buy me a lot and a house with a front lawn and a backyard to plant my fruit trees and grown my herbs on. It's not what you think it is.)

I sit on his examining chair and he inserts this apparatus and says that my ear canal is clean, in fact, again it is over-cleaned (do i hear him ask if i used Lysol on it?), it's irritated. And he goes to get his small tube camera to show me how my ear is doing, points to the red spots where i apparently poked and scratched too much. And i have pushed the earwax too deep again, almost near the sport where my ear drum is. And that i should not even try to be so ambitious on taking that one out because it'd be too painful and dangerous; i might poke and tear a hole at my eardrum (yes, that shiny object, I see it). And i should really really stop poking the insides. Of my ear. Limit the cleaning to the outer ear.

He says this ear drops can help loosen that earwax that's stuck to your canal and help the itch go away but again, don't poke. wait for it to reach your outer ear.

I thought it's time i put up EA to rehabilitate my self. EA for EARWAX ANONYMOUS. Yes. But that kinda sounds disgusting. EPA. Maybe EPA is better: EAR POKING ANONYMOUS, where we'd ask each other what we use to poke our ears and if we are all similar in the eyeball rolling look of satisfaction each time we do so.

Jesus H. Christ.

Mother Studies: Traveling Adults.

Being a workaholic, my mother was always on the go. She couldn't seem to keep still, always going to places in our little island of Panay. When i left the house at 13 for high school i also acquired her restlessness, more so until my post-baccalaureate when i began to work as a research assistant. Unlike most of my friends, i never lied to my mother about my small time travelling pursuits because she seemed to understand my thirst for new experiences. she clearly understood that climbing mountains with male friends didn't mean a whole night of romping and i pitched tents in mountain peaks with a clear conscience.

Despite our common restlessness we never had the chance to travel together except when the need arises, most of them concerned family matters. Lately I have been shrugging off invitations to family weddings and family gatherings not within 4 bus hours away, and the chances to travel with my mother even to family gatherings became even slimmer.

In late October, days after her hectic schedule of iloilo-manila-dumaguete-tacloban-manila-iloilo she decided to join me and my friends to our, say, academic pursuits. We were set to go to Kabankalan to present a paper we are to write on history and development of muscovado in my small, sleepy and unprogressive hometown of Belison, in Antique.

Kabankalan is a newly declared City in the province of cities Negros Occidental. Say, only 2 or 3 more towns haven’t been declared a city, thanks to their large contribution to sugar production. But take extra caution; the cities in Negros Occidental aren’t what you think the cities are. Some are sleepy like my hometown, cordoned, bounded, bordered by vast expanse of sugarcane as far as your eyes can see: rolling hills of sugarcane stalks, flat plains of sugar cane stalks, river banks of sugar cane stalks – a sea of sugarcane stalks!!!

Kabankalan sits in the central part of Negros Occidental, about 3 hours away from the main city of Bacolod. It’s rather clean not because it’s still basically rural but because the RA 9003 has been well-implemented for almost 10 years already. The streets are also wide, as majority of the streets in Negros Occidental and much of the lands are yet to be developed. It seemed a good place to spend some quiet time. I have been there several times, for work, apparently but I didn’t know anybody nor do I have any close relatives in that part of the world that it’s a little unnecessary to linger there for a long time. I would have liked to go there for an adventure if I were still single but since becoming a parent 3 years ago it’s a rare opportunity to even get myself to spend a night away from home. Majority of my friends have also been too busy with work they would rather go to Boracay for vacation than to some unknown, non-tourism-marketed spots.

And sometimes I feel I have lost the ability to travel with no plans at all since I began traveling for work. I take the joy in traveling in knowing the community, in living amongst the people of the community, eating the food they eat, learning the work they do, hearing their stories. Those things are a little difficult to get if you’re just a tourist and I feel I have totally lost the tourist in me. Which I think is kinda good, don’t you think?

We left Iloilo late afternoon as most of us still have work to do. Joyce, a history professor, Rene unofficially a historian (when do you exactly label a historian, historian? When he finally publishes a book on history?), and I met at our university. We met my mother at the seaport.

Funny but it seems that with all these progresses around us, the seaports seem to be deteriorating. The Iloilo-Bacolod seaport was way way better 10, 15 years ago. I would like to avoid discussing about THOSE things here. It’s pretty tiring to be constantly bombarded of the transport issues in this part of the world 5 days a week.

With a slow ferry we finally got to Bacolod, 1.5 hours after. If you see in tourist guides that getting to Bacolod from Iloilo is only 45-60 minutes, you’re sure that that information is outdated for more than 10 years. Or maybe the writer has his own yacht.

Fish market in pala-pala bacolod where they sell fresh seafood.

Buyers can bring it to the restaurant just across this market to be cooked and voila, you'll have a ready seafood dinner.

I purposely stayed in Bacolod for a night to meet a friend and give some free radical counseling. I hope he is doing well now and I hope he is happy with his decisions. I hope he and his wife are able to settle things amicably and I hope they remain friends. I have met too many unhappily married people that I have turned cynical in the idea of marriage. It was one my reasons for not wanting to marry but I was afraid my son wouldn’t be able to get to a good school having unmarried parents. Philippine’s basic and primary education after all is set by, first and foremost, financial capability, religious affiliation, and connections. If you don’t have that then you can allow your kid’s brain to rot in public school and be a criminal later on in life. I hope our government realizes that -- SOON.

This is the pack of peanuts that we ate while drinking beer and talking about politics, career, love life. beer. and that bad serving of chicken.

Coming from one maboteng usapan – well I only took 2 bottles, i stayed up much later revising the slides because it was the only time I could review the presentation in peace; no toddler around constantly nagging and calling out my name.

We set off to Kabankalan at 630 in the morning to catch the 7 am bus. Bacolod’s Ceres buses are unlike the Panay Ceres buses: they have choices: non-stop, limited stop, economy and it seems that the dangerous colorum vans is almost non-existent in Negros. At least there's civilization in this part of the Philippines.

We got to Kabankalan in once piece; I was able to sleep for an hour in the cool, comfortable bus. I missed the bus rides in Negros. Almost 5 years ago, when I was still a lowly paid RA, I traveled to Negros Occidental on my own, hopping from one city to another, talking to LGU officers, informing them that for a week or so this stranger will be going around your town, asking permission and fervently hoping that they remember my face so in case something happens to me they will know that I did enter their area of jurisdiction with consent – and so at least they can also identify me properly. Some areas do not have pension houses (actually, my transportation allowance barely covered for my accommodation so I mostly begged from the Barangay officials to allow me to stay in their houses for a very affordable fee) but at least I have insurance that covers broken bones, severed fingers or toes and cuts and gashes that need medical attention. Most officials are friendly and I am usually provided a bed space of the friendliest member of their family.

It’s amazing I still remember the crossroads and the landmarks of the places I have been to; of the places where I stayed. Somewhere in Binalbagan, Rene pointed to me the community that housed them during their survey. Then we talked of our travels as field researchers. Then we dozed off. Or I think it was just me.

My mother and I barely talked in the bus. She often catches sleep in lull, idle times. Actually be barely talked at all. And I didn’t feel like listening about my father’s latest philandering moves. I’m glad my mother understood it in absence of a direct request and we shared the comfortable silence between us.

I wanted my mother to come because I want her to find things for herself. I want her to realize that she still has new things to learn and discover and that a failed marriage is not the end to her good times. I want her to realize that even on her own, with a failed marriage, a philandering husband, and a family who doesn’t seem to believe in religion and God, she can pursue new things and re-invent herself. I want her to feel that being a frustrated middle aged soon-to-be-former-wife of a philandering husband and mother to 3 of 5 children who do not believe in religion and God, also mother to 1 of 4 daughters who does not believe in marriage and publicized weddings/engangements, should not limit her to discovering new things especially that money is not a problem anymore. I want her to know that it is never too late to go back to school or make new friends and maybe even discover new love. There are so many things that I want for her for this trip but most of all, I just want her to find peace.

We planned to go back to Iloilo that day, after our presentation but due to unforeseen events, the 1^st session stretched way past 5pm and we were left with no choice but to stay in Kabankalan for 1 more night. I also had unplanned shopping spree of books courtesy of Booksale Gaisano Kabankalan and like an overzealous fan I rummaged through their book collection to find more architectural books that I wanted to buy. After an hour of intense rummaging and contemplating on what to buy and what not buy, I forced myself out of the shop and waited in the lobby for Joyce, who was out there somewhere in the labyrinths of the small mall, Rene who was also out there somewhere finding things to amuse him in the mall and my mother who has yet to find things she need somewhere in the department store of the mall. I waited patiently with an almost dead phone and excitement I couldn’t contain I ended up calling Keith to tell him about the books and draining my phone's battery subsequently.

hoarding architecture books in this part of town. that visible one is H.I.P hotels.

Joyce, Rene and my Mother.

Walking along quiet Kabankalan streets

At the dinner table my mom says she wants to study history having been with this history and culture enthusiasts/advocates/workers, to which I immediately responded with a resounding YES! And added: when do you plan to enroll?

Courtyard of the guesthouse in Kabankalan where we stayed for a night. homey and quiet and nice. but the water heater for the shower is busted though.

Lobby of the guesthouse. At least there's a better looking guesthouse at this part of town. When i was an RA i had a horrible accommodation, i swore it traumatized me. I didn't even think of coming back to this place. But lookie here i liked this.

The next day my mother and I left at 3am to catch the earliest ferry trip home. We were told the earliest bus leaves at 2 am but were told by the people at the terminal that the earliest trip is at 3:45, leaving from Kabankalan. The next trip is at 430, coming from Dumaguete. I had books to comfort me while waiting while my mother went on to do her facial rituals and make up – now that’s what I call real busy lady.

"3am i'm coming home...stumbling staggering alone..felt so tired all at once...sensing something must be wrong..." says a popsicle song in my mind. 4am. still sleeping market of binalbagan.

We arrived in Bacolod to find near-deserted streets. The traffic condition is so unbelievable. Is it because the streets were so wide or is it because school’s out for semestral break? Whatever the reasons were it made me think it’s wise to get some property in Bacolod, y’know so I could escape to some place if Iloilo gets too crowded.

a bus here an suv there. and really wide roads. i can make an easy count of the number of vehicles that pass by. maybe i should move to bacolod?

My mother and I ran like hell, form one counter to another hoping to get seats because its also 6:15 and they said the ferry leaves at 6:15 but look there are still 20 people lining up to get their boarding pass and I told my self and my mother that maybe we should calm down because the ferry won’t be leaving in 20 minutes. But instead of calming down she asked me to find her food to eat.

I like that its late because we’ll be able to get in but I hate that it’s late because I’ll be late for my 9:00 meeting at Iloilo City.

I didn’t buy her food. She doesn’t like sandwiches with too much mayonnaise and that’s the only thing they have at the ferry terminal kiosk. She also doesn’t want any hotdogs. But at least she calmed down and we walked to the ferry unhurriedly. She got herself some crackers inside the mobile vendor inside the ferry. And ate. Drank water. And slept. In the ferry. My mother always sleeps in idle times. She falls asleep 30 seconds after she has settled down. It’s like she has this button in her that she just pushes for automatic shut off. Which I kinda like because I’m no fan of talking inside the already noisy ferry.

Next year we’ll be doing it again. This for me, a never-ending journey to be re-acquainted with the place where I was born and for her…for her, I hope she finally finds new purpose.

parents. but childless...(for 2 days!)

Last November 2, we opted to leave the 33-month old gogol at my parents house because we thought farm life would do good for his curiosity and his fondness for beds with thick mattresses that he can use in lieu of a good trampoline, which, unfortunately, our house in jaro does not have: no farm life, no 10-inch thick mattresses.

he's also gotten very very fond of getting around with the 6-wheeled (if i recall correctly) truck my parents use for mill operations -- hauling sugarcane stalks form the farm to the mill and hauling muscovado from the mill to our house. Keith was quite unhappy of the latest developments in my parents' house: the den/tv room and living room now converted to a packaging and storage area, because the packaging center has yet to be built and partly because no one "lives" in the house anymore.

after about an hour of waiting at the waiting (how appropriate!!) shed under the burning heat of the 2pm sun and after refusals from 2 ceres buses we decided to flag for the jeepney.

So.

Keith and i bravely fought (and succeeded) the bus seats with the rabid college students because we have no hyper-active toddler to focus our attention to, just our 2 computers and a bag full of adobong baboy that my mother gave us to take to Iloilo for my meat-eating brother. keith was assigned to chase the bus so he can get ahead the rabid students and i was supposed to go up the bus once the coast has been cleared in order to protect the bag full of adobong baboy.

with my computer bag, the adobong baboy bag and the laundry backpack, i had to be assisted by the bus attendant up the bus. it took me 2-minutes to find Keith and settle down with some stranger because the seat which was built to carry 2.5 persons had to contain 3 heads.

i was planning to eat that apple inside my bag but it was too cramped i can't even move to reach for it.

so we traveled fine, moving at about 40 kph and stopping every 10 meters to pick up passengers. but that's not the worst of it because when we went home to Antique 3 days before, the COLORUM van (plate number ZKZ 641) owned by some guy named Aladdin who resides in Bugasong, Antique, crammed TWENTY -- yes that is right 2-0: t-w-e-n-t-y, people, 19 excluding the driver inside. it's a little difficult to visualize but if you imagine 5 people sharing a seat good for 3 then you know what i mean. gogol was with us but he was already asleep before we reached arevalo so he doesn't know a bit of what's happening in the van and how angry i was.

(Mas expert pa sila sa Fisheries-major-in-fish-processing mag-canning ba!)

i won't even mentioned that the colorum van driver even tried to race with the susie star van with plate number FWT 394 somewhere in the mountains. it happened at 7:00 in the evening. if you have traveled to Antique you'll know how dangerous it is. I yelled at the driver to stop racing but i still feel i haven't done anything to stop this hazardous public transport services.

(Keith said one way is to postpone travelling beyond 4pm but i really had to be home that weekend. it's that or the 3am bus. but i think i'll take the 3am bus next time.)

without the gogol around there's also no household help because the help goes wherever gogol goes so our first night as childless parents was celebrated with reheated adobong baboy, rice and cold water. we went up to our room early tired from traveling. Keith went on to play the remaining levels of Plants vs. Zombies; i forgot what i did, i think i tried to reclaim my reading habit because reading has suddenly become a leisure with a toddler around.

(the remaining discussion will focus on Plants vs. Zombies so don't tell me you have not been warned.)

so Keith went on and on playing plants and zombies. when i left for office the next day i saw him with his computer on with the autocad open only to be told in the evening of that day that he practically spent his whole day playing plants vs. zombies. he kinda regretted i introduced him to it but was, at the same time, felt so delighted of his new found hobby.

well, at least even if he doesn't know how to plant he has experienced (virtual) planting, even if it's just in plants vs. zombies. Out first night sans gogol we spent with both our computers open, playing plants vs. zombies for 2 hours. keith tells me, "we have to take this opportunity because we can't do this anymore after gogol's back. "

it's a weird scene, you see: we're as if single, again, and living together but instead of going out for dates or cuddling together or having sex (like we would surely do if we weren't married...eehhh) we stayed in our room, not talking except for very few exchanges, sat a meter away and allowed to be absorbed by plants vs. zombies.

what's weirder is we kinda enjoyed it.

welcome to modern life of childless parenthood.

***gogol came home 2 days after. for 2 days, our house rested, was still, quite and had been very low maintenance. when he arrived together with his grandmother and grandfather, our house was again turned into a playpen cum storeroom, with a turning-deaf grandfather watching tv at maximum volume, a grandmother who turned our house into a muscovado stockroom and gogol whose blocks and miniature cars and trucks scattered around and i thought this must what it feels like to live in Duran area of Iloilo, the biggest dens of squats in the city (eeh...informal settlers). eeeehhh.