Mother Studies (#2): Visits

my mother is coming over today.


and it is of course without a bang.


i was just shortly notified by my sister that my mother is coming over from my home town not via a colorum van, nor via bus but via the newly purchase-all-time-breaking-down vehicle. and not just that; she is also bringing along the 6-wheeled delivery truck. How is that possible? of course it is not possible without her bringing an entourage, because after all she doesn't drive. So i will also be expecting an entourage of 2 drivers and an "assistant". she will be bringing, not only one, but three males to stay over at my two storey, 4x8 apartment, already occupied by 7 people.  


I wonder where she'll also park that delivery truck because it will definitely not fit in our apartment's driveway. 


i'm not sure how many sacks of sugar or rice she'll be bringing over and store at my apartment but the sacks are usually gone in a few days so i don;t really mind. besides, they don;t talk so it is okay with me. i dont mind living in tight spaces as long as it is quiet. but i do mind the number of bags. i am trying to imagine now how many bags of unimaginable things my mother has brought with her. she is notorious for her refugee-fashion-style whenever she travels (read: she brings not less than 4 big bags, one bag enough to dislocate a shoulder) that is why my father is always embarrassed to travel with her and more often than not refuses to travel with her. We used to think my father was too harsh on this, on her refugee-style, but we've realized he did have a point. I personally avoid to travel with my mother now for this reason. I will not even tell you about how, when they travelled last new year's eve, a tupperare of leftover rice came tumbling along, rolling over the aisle of the bus, spilling of course, left over rice everywhere.  


this is gonna be a crazy friday. 


i asked PF if he has any idea how we could survive this holocaust. i suggested we camped at the beach or spend the night at his father's house. but he also refused because he is not comfortable in either of the two. if there is one thing PF does not like to do, it is to do things outside of his comfort zone. this is totally opposite of my character, who at 13 has started living in rented spaces, alone. i think the most out-of-his-comfort-zone thing he ever did in his whole life is to actually have a kid and marry me (in that order) and eventually marry into my crazy family. he probably won;t do anything more than that in the coming decades. 


I quickly decided to resume my house cleaning project which has been delayed for a week due to bad weather. I wll scrub the walls of the apartment clean so all the old mess will be gone and the house will be ready to receive a new set of mess. I thought that if i cleaned the house prior to their arrival, when they do leave i will be left with just the new set of mess to clean with. After all, older mess are much harder to clean up. Also, I will be busy for the coming 6 months (and maybe for the next two years if i get to be in that Afg project) starting next week so i certainly will not have time to compete for housewife of the year award. 


and while typing this, i was just resting my ass while waiting for the newly scrubbed walls and newly mopped floors to dry so i can start the mega sweeping before the kid comes home from school. 


In the meantime I will consider my self on a room-arrest for the rest of the time they are here. 

I finally finished the CD Cover i made for the mix CD i produced for ABD.

The artwork behind ABD is by an artist from Silay City, Negros Occidental. I really feel bad that i cannot remember the name of the artist nor the title of this artwork. All i know was this series was called Dreamscapes and it was exhibited during the ICOVAC in Cebu City in November 2010.
ABD posed and i took the picture.

I'm secretly proud of this album cover. really.

In Which Puff Daddy Became a Theorist.

(3 minutes into Cirque du Freak…but not without an introduction.) 

Few days ago i had a short conversation with my sister regarding income, class and status, in the middle of a free dinner courtesy of my very generous mother, following an incessant request from her first (and possibly ONLY) grandson for a chicken dinner.

(Salma Hayek grew a beard in Cirque du Freak! That just made her so qualified for that Frida role.) 

I explained to her about this theory which relates one’s income to his perceived social status and needs gratification. For some reasons, i cannot remember that particular socio 101 theory and frankly it frustrated me quite a bit because it happened to be one of my favorites. This theory only meant to explain that a person who is proven rich (based on her bank statements, assets, liabilities, etc.) will not always see him/herself as such because a high income would almost always result in higher and greater wants. In short, no person will ever feel satisfied and people do have limitless greed. In the end everyone always feels poorer than their neighbor.

"Perceived level of satisfaction?" I tried to say out loud hoping it would ring the right bell. ewww. that sounds like half of a title of an undergrad thesis proposal.

I badly wanted to bequeath these precious knowledge to my sister and let her know she is missing so much in life by, for one, not knowing about this amazing theory early on. It was only then, on the dinner table, in the middle of the chicken dinner that she knew that rich people seldom really feel rich making us, the poor ones, and them, EVEN.

(Half an hour before Cirque du Freak sister told me about this relative who loves to brag on facebook about things that she has that only rich people could afford. It is one amazing relative because we knew the real score behind its so-called achievement. I will give it a separate post if I get THAT evil.) 
(oh my god did you see that??!!, willem dafoe is wearing this over the top horribly funny costume in Cirque. this totally topples over the equally hilarious nautical's assistant costume he had in life aquatic.) 

Because sister told me about amazing relative I was reminded of how idiotic I truly was, forgetting about my favorite theory of all time. Or was it even a theory?

I found Husband and decided to ask. He was just making himself comfortable on the bamboo sofa for the Cirque.

I gave him a brief before I proceeded with the one-million-dollar question. I tried to explain--rich people always feeling poor because with their ever increasing income comes their exponentially multiplying wants, proving therefore that rich ones die terribly lonely while poor people will die hungry BUT happy, wow, that’s comforting enough--hoping it would help him remember.


"Oh, I know that," he said very confidently. My eyes shone with excitement.

"Really? You remember? I think I mentioned it to you a number of times but it was a long time ago.” 

"Let me think.” Which he did and then, “Damn, why do I easily forget things these days?"

I began to have a feeling he’s gonna make a good comedy of this again.

"You're evil. You’re just gonna give me some made up names." 

"No, no. I honestly know about it. I know who made that theory." 

"No, you don't. You didn’t have sociology in college." 

"Yeah, but trust me. I know the theorist.” 

"Don’t tell me Maslow. I know he is POPular but this is not a Maslow theo--" 

"No, not him. some black guy." 

"Samuel L. Jackson?" I pitched in expecting he’d get that I already get what’s he’s getting me into and would prematurely abort his evil plan right there.

"No! Of course not!” 

I feigned thinking.

"Oh i get it!" he exclaimed.

"Who?" 

"PUFF DADDY! y'know the song -- Mo' Money Mo' Problems? Doesn’t that say the same thing about rich people and their money problems?" 

Goddamit.

Rural Road Trip Part. 2

The continuation of the post on the accidental road trip that our family took to the rurals following the hospital visit to my centenarian grandmother who choked on a soft bread morning of January 1, 2011.


I forgot to say that just as we were leaving the town center of Sibalom and approaching the rural areas, my father pointed us an unoccupied and unfinished house (architecture similar to the cake-colored houses I mentioned in Part 1 of this post). He said it belonged to his friend, Bebot, who used to have a store in Belison. I used to come along my father for his daily afternoon chess matches with Bebot at his store. I forgot what his store was selling but it could be general merchandise because he did not appear to me as the farmer-producer kind. I've almost forgotten about Bebot, the chess matches at his store and how his kids and us became friends while we waited for those chess matches to be over. If i remember correctly, he had 2 daughters, one was sickly and the other was fat but both were very friendly. 


Tato Bebot's store had a small patch of soil where they planted catkins. Whenever we dropped by and the catkins were in full bloom, my sisters and I would pick some and bring them home, thinking they were really cats' tails. We played with the catkins until they bruised and turned  brownish-dark violet in color. When they left, nobody tended the catkins and it died a slow, mournful, dry death.


Tato Bebot, i realized, looks like the Filipino Ron Jeremy-- body type, mustache and all, except the hair. Tato Bebot's hair is fashioned in 60's cut with natural waves, and much thicker than Ron Jeremy's. If you care to know about Ron Jeremy you might want to click on the link. But because not everyone wants to click, and I do not want to discriminate the lazy ones, a scroll down option is provided. 


These are the rice fields i was talking about. That's just one of the many of them. 


Have i mentioned that San Remigio is intersected by the great Sibalom River? Now that I did, I guess you now know why the flooding and the washing out of some 2-3 barangays in 2008. 


And then back to the conversation about cemeteries.


We passed not 1 but 2 cemeteries. The second one is San Remigio's. In my very limited travelling experience, it is one of the more laudable land of the deads I've seen. There's something very spiritual about the place that i can't seem to put my finger on. Maybe it's the indian trees? The white washed tombs? And because there was nothing audacious in sight, the tranquility and serenity was preserved. The simple, white-washed entry-way (that also acts as waiting shed, I guess) was so something new to me. Normally, the patrons of the cemeteries would build grand entrances and canopies complete with fake tendrils, columns and of course the image of Jesus Christ or Mother Mary or maybe even God, if they knew how he looked like. But this one is different. We all agreed this was nami.  I took several pictures of it. 

San Remigio Cemetery

My father enjoyed driving to San Remigio so much because the roads were newly paved. In most parts, only half or the 2-laned road was used because the other half was still under curing period. 


I don't know why but i was suddenly reminded of my bus rides around Negros Occidental and/or to Bukidnon from Cagayan de Oro, on the way to SR. It must be the curves and the esses BUT then, the Iloilo-Antique highway is full of that and I have never felt, not even once, a slight resemblance to any of the NOcc or Bukidnon bus rides. Not even once was a memory of a feeling of any other trips was stirred. Travelling to Antique from Iloilo or vice versa is just that--travelling to Antique from Iloilo and vice versa. Nothing more, nothing less. I do not know if that spells tragedy.


Little Baguio was what the marker said when we reached SR town center. The marker was so predictably LGU; so predictably Filipino LGU. It was shaped like a giant heart in light blue paint that's almost fading to white. And of course, no marker or infrastructure in the Philippines is complete without the name of the donor. This marker is right across a Jesus marker, which, yes, you guessed it, marks--something!!--the entrance to the Municipal Hall of SR. And i thought governments are a-religious. 


Actually, I have never been to Baguio. I'm never really a tourist-traveler and much of my travelling were nostalgic, sappy, and just terribly lonely, driven only by the spirit of completing the work I was paid for. They were of course very heavy with lessons but I honestly do not want to travel for work alone again. 
Because I have never been to Baguio and have never experienced the chilly weather that is Baguio, never smelled the smell that is Baguio, I have no idea what to expect upon reaching SR town proper. It is beyond my capacity to affirm what was said in the marker.


"Would you like to see the municipal building?" my mother asked. 
If that is not clue enough, she works for a municipal government. SR municipal hall compound is probably the first government compound I've seen that is not devoid of trees. I would very much want to see what's up there and know why they kept the trees when most would rather cut and sell them for profit. I know, because that's what the Patnongon LGU did. 

My father suggested we see their friend (or comrade?) who lives in the area. They want to surprise her. He carefully negotiated between the narrow road with an oncoming overloaded jeepney. Did i say SR is a hilly (more like mountain) town? Few meters from the marker is the town market which sits atop a hill overlooking the fields below like a sentry. I was again reminded by the feeling of emptiness when i first arrived for a stop-over at Mina, Sipalay. Mina in Sipalay is a village of engineers who used to work in the mines of Sipalay and when the mining industry was over, all that was left of the village were abandoned, rotting architecture (mostly housing) and a market that's almost deserted, even in the busiest time of the year. SR market was newly painted and was not empty but the whole topography of the place to me bore the sadness that was Mina. 

My parents' friend went to San Jose, the man at the market said. He said he saw her leave the town earlier. Instead of turning back, my father drove forward and Sister #1 prompted for the place-that-Typhoon Frank/Fengshen-washed-out. I tried to snap pictures of the markers of the places we passed along and i was lucky to get a clear shot of two of them: Libonan and Trinidad. 


Friendly Brgy. Trinidad, or maybe the barangay after it, was our last stop. At the narrow street adjacent to a Baptist Church, my father took a turn and then another and we made our way back to Sibalom. 


"Where's the washed-out place?" asked Sister #1.
"Farther away, there at the foot of the mountain."


Oh, we so wanted to see it but my father is leaving for the City today, too, so we really had to return.


I can see now why the area suffered so much, in addition to what my father has also explained. The place is practically surrounded by mountains. It is a valley circled by an unbroken range of peaks where there is no other place for the water to go but here. But nature easily recovered and after two years, not a trace of the typhoon or the flooding can be seen. I just can't say the same for the people.


From the edge of the town center to Trinidad it was dirt road. But despite the bumps the kid remained fast asleep, missing out a lot of things in this road trip he so mostly anticipated.   


Maybe someday he'd be lucky to come back and get to know these places better. Maybe he will. 


------


other things you might care to see.

Threshing by the side of the road the newly harvested palay. 

Oh my.

New bridge. We saw a group of pre-teens playing and across them,
a group of teens with bicycles hanging out with their homies.
Generation gap, literally.

FIN.

***Ron Jeremy is an american porn actor known for his 9.75 inch (about 24.75 cm) penis. I think he was popular in the 90's.

Rural Road Trip Part 1

Centenarian Granny and
3 year-old great grandson

My 100 year-old grandmother choked on a soft bread morning of January 1, 2011. It was a 5-minute horrible experience getting her out of her bamboo house into the vehicle and then to the nearest community hospital. But i can easily laugh about it now, especially when i recall the scene involving a topless brudda and a father driving without his slippers or shoes on. I might write about our comedy of errors later but for now let me tell you about the little side trip we had today which, partly, was a result of my grandmother's hospitalization.


A little after lunch we went to the hospital to pick up my sister (will be referred as sister #1) who stayed overnight with granny. Another sister (will be referred as sister #2) will take over for the change of shift so that sister #1 can go home, wash up, eat and have some rest. She will again return later for the night shift as sister #2 needs to go back to the City for work the next day. 


My kid (hence, granny's great grandson) has been raring to go around for days now. And though only 3, we've repeatedly brought him along during hospital visits because he wants to go where the car goes, even if the car takes him to Hell.  For 2 days now, the car has been going back and forth to the hospital so to hospital he, too, goes.


Incidentally, the community (or is it district?) hospital is in Sibalom, a town where there is supposed to be a dam. My dad worked with the irrigations in the 80's so he was right there in the middle of the action when the dam and the irrigation systems were being built, so he knew. He asked if we want to go there, see the dam and all and get the travelling itch off the kid, his grandson. And also because my mother wanted to deliver the fresh molasses to her friend, who lives in town, a local politician, who also happens to be my (birth) godmother. 


So, off we go. 


We first drove towards my godmother's house but she wasn't there so we didn't stay long; didn't even go out of the vehicle to partake the usual Filipino hospitality of juice or coffee and biscuits or whatever's left of the New Year's feast. Then we headed for the dam. Sister #1 asked to see the place that was washed out during the Typhoon Frank (international name Fengshen) in 2008. I think about 2 dead bodies coming from that place were found inside our property (the farm, not the residence), amongst the mess of logs and debris. Bugo, the town that was most severely damaged is in San Remigio, a town next to Sibalom, at the foot of a mountain range.  



Dad said it's a little far, further than where the dam is, but he might take us there. 


When my father worked with the irrigations he was assigned field officer. In the duration of the trip he would point to us the places he'd trekked while on the job. As field officer, he said he was responsible for the maintenance of the equipment and for making sure that the supplies needed to maintain the field operations are in place, like fuel and tools. He said there's a tunnel underneath the road or the fields that channel the waters to garble garble garble. The sound of the motor drowned the rest of is story. 


Along the way i learned that Sister #1 had no recollection of our father working for the irrigations, which i found rather incredulous. That job was like a milestone in our father's career as an engineer. Calculating, she realized she must have been too young to remember--she's just 4 then. 


So i told her, "There goes your childhood amnesia."


Meanwhile i kept snapping pictures. 


We passed by Sibalom Municipal Cemetery which i found rather fascinating, albeit nostalgic. It looks welcoming. But then, you always like the things you don't have and a good welcoming feeling is probably what our church's cemetery doesn't have. Apart from the fact that WE really do not have a municipal cemetery to peacefully bury any dead person's body in absence of inconvenience related to his/her religious affiliation. 


More cemetery talks later.


 The kid fell asleep seconds after we left the cemetery and when it was time for him to see the dam, he's dozed off like he hadn't had any sleep for days. No amount of shaking and calling out "bridge! bridge!" could wake him up so we contented ourselves with admiring the men doing laundry by the dam's causeway (if that's how you call). 


I also took pictures of colorful houses. I personally do not find seeing these kinds of houses comforting nor do I find it uplifting despite the delicious colors. Kid rather associated them with cakes. I would probably never develop any taste for these kinds of houses. But it is worth mentioning that they were built in plots adjacent to each other. Yellow, orange, green and blue. I can just imagine the owners getting together, in a small meeting, maybe in the middle of tong-its or mahjong and coming to an agreement on who would paint their house with what color. 


Yellow house: "Akon tana yellow gid ha so dapat di run kamo magpick kang any shade or tint kang yellow kay akon run ra. Kundi...andaman nyo lang."
Green house: Ako tana, kay inguday kita green gid tana akon. Para lain gid kanimo."
Orange house: "Akon tana orange. Hay hambal da kuno ang orange nga color meaning na kara horny."


I was not able to get a picture of a blue house but i don't really need to, as architecturally speaking, all of them look the same. I leave the coloring to your imagination.  


We also also passed by the rice fields. Lots and lots of rice fields that i wish would never be converted to commercial or residential use. 


This post is too long. I will cut it here and make a part 2 of it. Below, by the way is the panorama of the dam which the kid missed. 

  

Part II coming....