I sum up parenting in two words:
Love and Training.
I sum up parenting in two words:
Love and Training.
But not from all kinds of pain.
Parents must learn how to distinguish pain from danger. I know it’s hard watching your kid go through pain, especially the ones you had foreseen and could have prevented.
Honestly not for me. Maybe because I’m slightly sadistic lol but more because I find it amusing and magical how a baby learns (immediately! instantly!) from a mistake — like miscalculating clearance and hurting his head, losing his balance and falling on the floor, pushing or pulling something too hard, and many other things that a baby who freely explores would experience.
And then he moves more slowly, walks more cautiously, carefully learning all these little things that we might overlook as unimportant or automatic. The growth happening right in front of us is beautiful!
I try to be 15 steps ahead of danger; but I’m right there for necessary pain.
When Alon came along, so did a new fear — that is to be dead long before he has a fighting chance in this difficult life. I’m worried about who will teach him manners, values, critical thinking, creativity, and spirituality.
And my response? To keep on writing.
So he will hear momma, a talking thinking momma. Not just a photo/video momma, but one from whom he can keep learning, long after I’m gone. A momma who doesn’t just preach, but also unfolds. A momma who isn’t perfect, but real. A momma he may never see again, but whose love he will feel eternally.
Thanks to Alon I have the courage to find and hold my voice again. I will pour my heart out so he will hear me loud and clear even from the other side!
So many people get trapped with the wrong person. They think that “getting to know” means knowing his favorite food, sports, or to meet his family, or if you know what his fart smells like.
You should also get to know his issues — can he restore and heal himself? Can you help him? How does he cope with his problems: does he drink, or does he look for a solution? When you fight, does he have violent tendencies? When he falls, how fast does he get back to his feet? Which among his traits are merely due to his upbringing, and which ones did he freely choose? When he says “sorry,” does it mean he’ll never do it again, or just some ten times more? Does he see you as his equal, inferior, or could be superior?
When you truly get to know him, then ask yourself, “Do I want this?” For the things you don’t like, “Can I live with these?”
Don’t get yourself trapped.
Ang daming nata-trap sa maling tao. Akala kasi nila yung “kilalanin mo” ay alamin mo lang ang paboritong ulam nya, anong hilig nyang sports, yung makapunta ng sampung beses sa bahay nya, o kapag alam mo na ang amoy ng utot nya.
Dapat alamin mo rin kung anong issues nya, kaya ba nyang gamutin ang sarili nya? Kaya mo bang matulungan sya? Pag may problema, paano sya mag-cope, naglalasing ba o naghahanap ng solusyon? Pag nag-aaway kayo, may tendency ba syang maging bayolente? Pag nadadapa, gaano kabilis sya bumangon? Anong ugali yung nakalakihan lang nya, at ano naman yung pinili nya talaga? Kapag nagso-sorry sya, ibig sabihin ba nun di na nya uulitin, o mga sampung beses na lang? Kapantay ba ang tingin nya sayo, o mas mababa, baka naman din mas mataas? Dapat pantay lang.
Kapag kilala mo na, tsaka tanungin ang sarili, “Gusto ko ba? Yung di ko gusto, kaya ko ba?”
Aralin muna nang mabuti para hindi ma-trap.
And it makes me a dull girl.
At 6 AM today, I remember my late friend Henriette, the few other people I no longer have, and a part of me that feels to have gone with every loss.
My smart mouth, the opinionated girl, the randomness and spontaneity, yung maarte, free-spirited, free. The girl who blurts out, unfiltered, unprocessed, raw, unaffected, yet very much affected. Baliw. The one who’s always misunderstood and won’t bother explaining herself.
I want to talk about algebra, but I’m stuck in arithmetic.
I want to touch base.
In a few days I’ll be celebrating my first wedding anniversary, and until now I’m not ready to change my last name. For reasons that I keep to myself.
I hadn’t touched my government records until I gave birth last month, during which my husband had to get me officially admitted into the hospital, update my PhilHealth, file for the baby’s civil registration and whatnot.
He went through hell, to the point that he was cursing my decision and even asked me (again) to just keep it simple and hassle-free. My husband didn’t really agree at first, but eventually supported me. Until this super big inconvenience.
At the labor room, I was “threatened” by the nurse that I had to “follow the rules” otherwise I would not be admitted at the hospital (what, they will usher me out of the labor room?). She asked me why I wouldn’t use my husband’s surname, to which I said “I’m not ready.” She said, “Then why did you get married?” Seriously? Not only that, they said my baby will have to follow my name (even after providing a marriage certificate?).
So this other nurse was curious enough to look up the laws governing this matter, which I quoted in the letter that I needed to write to the Admitting Office. “Please allow me to exercise my right.”
Different people asked my husband if he’s alright with this. And what’s worst, they had to extract blood from my baby twice because they used the wrong surname for him, and lied to my face that the lab test had to be redone.
Not ranting, just hoping to raise awareness just a little bit.
So many things I’ve been wanting to write since March 10, the day I gave birth to Alon. But the past month (can’t believe I’ve survived the past month!) has been extreme, probably the most extreme I’ve ever allowed myself to go through.
More extreme than my adventures with rebels and guns and soldiers; sexier and more bone-breaking than the heels I wore when I kissed and kicked some ass; more brutal and captivating than the mountains I trekked; more crushing and awakening than dangerous adult love; darker than the secrets that still haunt me sometimes; holier than anything else in this world. . .
This is an oath and a way of releasing possible tension that prevents my body from going into labor yet. I’m not in a rush, I’m trying to contain my excitement.
It’s quite healthy to find yourself in between happiness and self-doubt, to assess whether what makes you happy or unhappy deserves any validation.
And from now on, I will stop blaming myself for a particular dissatisfaction and discontent that I’ve been feeling over the past few months. It’s unfair to take blame for wanting to raise the standards, and failing.
My oath goes… that I will love my baby no matter what. I will be there to support him, guide him. But I will also be there to tell him the hard truths and maybe pour ice-cold water over his head if he needs to wake up like that.Continue reading
This overwhelming gratitude has been going on for months now, and my prayer for tonight is for God to remind me all the things that I’m grateful for; especially when things get shaky. It’s like a matter of fact now that things won’t always go well, yet I feel a deep sense of security that no matter what happens, I will always be loved and I will always be grateful.
It’s not the kind of youthful highs that I felt before. Those were extreme, and fleeting. This one is simple, basic, restful, and comes from a kind of knowing.
Let me try to put it in a coherent story (this one is for those who’s up for some reading)…Continue reading