Dearest Jessie, mi gatito chulito...

Dear Grey cat, beloved Jessie of mine,


You will never be "small stuff" to me. Your life and your death was not small stuff. I ......sweated and cried for you. I grieved, I mourned and I still yearn for you. You were the BIG DEAL! Mmmm-hmmm, the BFD:)! Si, señor!

I loved you in the mornings and in the after noons, I loved you all the evenings underneath the moon. I bought an Andy Warhol lithograph of a green cat, built like you, with jade green body and pink eyes. That is how you are/were to me, my dearest Jesscat, you were a gem that added sparkle to my life. Thank you, forever, for what you have taught me - unconditional love, cat-span language (cat/Spanish), minimalism (shoestring is awesome toy), loyalty, devotion, caring, selflessness, and heartbreaking goodbye.

Jessie, I regret not knowing what afflicted you earlier on. I regret, that I thought you just had a drawn out bout of cold/allergy. But you do know that your family addressed all your bouts of minor illnesses before; you do know money was never an object when it came to you or your brother. I played the piano, however badly, for you; I sang to you, I talked to you, I stroked and kissed your head, I gave you chicken and bacon and tilapia and you were the only cat who did not like salmon! I can sit here boring your spirit to death with all my little memories of you; you were the epitome of a scaredy cat, you were afraid of your own tail...Oh dearest kitty, I will never, ever forget you. We were so afraid you would not make it in the wild. But you beat us to heaven!!

Someday when we meet again, I will call you out and hopefully you will be able to tell my laughter from all the rest because you and I have laughed and cried together, mi gatito precioso chulito:), que te extraño muy tanto. Nunca jamas te olvido, te prometo. Para siempre te amo, como te ame cuando estuvo conmigo...con sonrisas, con amor, viva con anime en cielo hasta la proxima que nos vemos...♥ I love you ten thousand times, I miss you my loyal loving pet, my first cat love!!!  I miss you so very much.

 

Letter of Gratitude, per Rx by Dr. Richard Carlson, author. Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff


Dear Mayor Macario B. Asistio,

To you I owe a lot. You were my hero. You heard of my extra curricular achievements from my teachers, principal, and from the superintendent. I was shameless, I was talkative, and I was emerging from being an ugly duckling. Whenever you’d hear that I would be representing our city high school for any out-of-town competitions or student activities, you would ask your assistant to take money from “the mayor’s discretionary fund” and give me “pocket money.” I would be called to your office where you would present me to all these adults, and I would be handed an envelope and I would sing “The Impossible Dream.” I remember singing the song at the behest of Mrs. Boquiren, the superintendent. She corrected me “Strove!” as I sang “…still strive with his last ounce…” I thought strove was past tense of strive… You would have this huge smile on your bespectacled face I liked that you never made any of those boring speeches.

When you heard that I wanted to play tennis, you had the city hall sports and recreation head teach me how to play. I gave up on that one, I am sure the instructor was relieved after my hitting the statue’s head across the city hall promenade so many times, the statue must have needed daily ice packs on its head.

Upon graduation from high school, you had me work with Sonny Galindo in the Youth Wing of the City Hall. I hated Sonny for no reason at all. I just could not stand his “niceness.” I think because he looked like a dork, pomade on his hair and all. As a result, you had me transferred to the City Court and in no time, I grew to understand how the adult world lived. My role models Sonia Henson and Lucy Ongpauco were so cool, they taught me how to smoke Marlboros! Oh, how I longed to be sophisticated and “rich” as they were. They went swimming at the YWCA with me. Sonia wanted me to become a flight attendant for Air Manila, telling her husband, an Air Manila executive, to just go “get her a flight stewardess job.” My mother told me I would die in a plane crash and if I survived that, I would become a pilot’s mistress. That pretty much killed it.

Mayor, I have one question for you- why in heaven’s name did you have my bosses enter my name in that Miss Caloocan pageant. That was very embarrassing. I felt and looked stupid with three kilos of make-up. Then you had them hang my portrait City Hall like some neighborhood watch poster girl. What were you thinking? But thanks for your vote of confidence. I was sure I was the dorkiest, ugliest, in that competition. Now I have that huge painting hanging somewhere in my late Inay’s home in Nueva Ecija. I hope it has kept the mice away all these years…

Sir, you passed away before I became an adult. Your high-school protégé did not turn out to be a beauty queen through and through. She did not marry a rich Filipino heir nor did she become a starlet. Instead, she became a student activist at UP, college theater performer, an immigrant to the US, a single mom, wife to a White Anglo Saxon Protestant from Massachusetts, an American-educated Filipino woman, an awesome practitioner of Mama Sita’s seasoning recipes, and a sarcastic self-deprecator. You would have loved to sit at my dining table, Mayor. I have not shut up, I am still smiling at the world. I would have made you proud; as a true Filipino would say, “I am good. I promise.”

                                        Ugly duckling, Extreme Left, before the Judges...

Letter of Gratitude, per Rx of Dr. Richard Carlson, author, Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff

Photo, avail online at filipinamom.com accessedd 5/31/12

Dear 'Nay Padrique,

How can I honor you in two paragraphs or less? When I was little, you threatened to cut my feet off if I move to Manila to live with my parents. You told me I talked too much because I was fed some awful part of a pig. You handed me a book from the school library even before I was seven years old. “Stories from Around the World.” Even though I did not understand English, I put stories to the photos, one of them clearly was about a kid who planted red radishes in the shape of a heart as a Valentine to her mom. I offer you the same today, because you have been my Valentine.

At home, my sister Vilma and I would wear your shoes, convinced that pretty soon, the three-inch gap from the tiny balls of our feet to the inside of the heels would fill out. We walked on them with the “toink, toink” sound of the heels on the hardwood floor, each carrying a handbag from your closet, with a sarong style chicken-feed sack material around our waists, a ruler in our hands, pretending to be a teacher like you. I always gazed upon the wall vase, an ear of corn with a little mouse above the desk in your living room. I wanted to own them someday! Whenever you asked us to pull your greying hair, you would entice us by taking out your jewelry box. Gently you would unwrap each trinket and I would exclaim, “Inay pag namatay ka, akin na lang to ha?” (Mom, when you die, may I have this?) My sister was not as vocal and of course she was your heiress. However, I ingratiated myself to you…and I am not saying this as though it is a bad thing!

I and other cousins spent summers in Nueva Ecija since we were in grade school. Our job was to help in your poultry farm. You had fierce Dobermans Jackie and King, a monkey, turkeys, homing pigeons, ducks that bit and chased, a piggery, and farm hands who were amused by us “city kids.” You never knew this but it was hard work to feed and water those damn chickens. My sister Vilma and I would get back at them by pushing the egg back into the hen when it is about to lay eggs. The poor hen had to start all over again! We thought it was funny. One day, you assigned me to give shots to the chickens. After all, I must have said something like wanting to become a doctor. So, armed with the syringe, my cousins would try to shoo the chickens so that they would run towards the other end of the coop where I lay waiting to grab one and give a shot. I am not sure how we kept tabs of who got the shot or not. I was getting too tired; there must have been over 1,000 of those cackling chickens. At some point, I started to give them more than what you instructed me to do. In the morning, the chickens were all quiet and I was very, very alarmed. My cousins and I were sure we killed them with the overdose. I have not been so scared in my life. Did we actually kill them? I must have faced imminent death because I felt my blood drain from my body. Alas, the chickens eventually woke up and everything was fine.

You told me, “You should never rely on a man to support you. You need to do that yourself. The best way to do that is to be educated.” And I knew how to play you—I would come home to you wearing my shortest skirt. You would ask why I was dressed as such and I would say, “It is too expensive to buy longer skirts and jeans.” You would make sure to give me a large amount of cash, so that “Next time you visit, you will be wearing a pair of jeans or longer skirts.”

I was not the black sheep in my family but I certainly was burnt orange or something loud when I was in my teens! I would go to you and say, “I have a situation. I made a student loan and now I have to pay it back and I do not have money.” This was my scam: I would spend the tuition money sent to me from the USA, buying records, pizza, hanging out with my friends. I would then turn around and get a student loan that’s payable at the end of the semester. Because you wanted me to get my grades, you would give me the money to pay my loan. You never asked what I did with my tuition money, you never chastised; you would just hand me the money to pay my loan, asking me to provide a receipt later.

You decided that I would be better off to leave the Philippines, to escape the oppressive Marcos regime. I was blacklisted and you wanted me to leave as soon as the authorities allowed me to hold a passport. You put up the money for our tickets, and before I boarded my Pan Am flight, you handed me something wrapped in tissue paper, “These are the earrings you like. You do not have to wait for me to die to own them.” I still have them- old, tarnished, and special.

I just became a mom when you paid us a visit in the USA many years later. Upon your return to the Philippines, I wrote to you and I said “You have seen how I am struggling as a single mother, so why not help me?” With you I felt imperviously entitled. My charm still worked! But I was not scamming you. I really needed your help. That has always been our relationship; I whined and you gave. I should have been ashamed of myself but that was my way with you. I love you Inay!

Wherever you are, thank you for your generosity and love for me and my son. You were my second mother, the sister of my beloved own, but you guided me and my siblings as though we were your own with love, and at times jealousy, admonition, encouragement, and oftentimes with me, indulgence. You were a self-made woman, ahead of your times, an educator and a successful businesswoman. I liked that you indulged me and spoke with me in English! You must have laughed at my pretentiousness!

Thank you for leaving the corn-and-mice wall vases to me, they hang in my bedroom. Thank you for your generous gift to my son. I am grateful, and I have not touched a penny of it! You will be proud to know, I actually matured and you were hugely responsible for some of my kick-ass attitude, and for my sometimes elitist attitude. I offer no excuse. I do not suffer stupidity lightly.

My siblings and I have discussed memorializing you and our parents by building classrooms in Santo Cristo Elementary School in your honor. Maraming, maraming salamat Inay.

To my Mom, the most fragrant flower in my garden...

13th Letter of Gratitude per Rx by Dr. Richard Carlson, author of “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff and It’s all Small Stuff”

                                      stock photo, sampaguita, available online, accessed 5/31/12

Dear Mom Trinidad,

Thank you for getting me out into this world, kicking ass from the get go. You left me with the following advices that I took to heart:

1) Do not swim away from those who are drowning; throw them a lifeline. DONE

2) Do the best in whatever you do. If you want to become a professional dancer, be the best dancer.   SMILE

3) Watch and learn when I cook. The secret is in the “sangkutsa” (simmering to blend flavors) DONE

4) Have “urbanidad.” Dress in clean clothes. Use flatware, use a serving spoon, do not smack your lips when eating, say “this is good” once and eat. DONE/DOING

5) Do not come to the dining table without having washed your face and having combed your hair. DONE

6) So long as your friends do not make you do things that are inappropriate and questionable, then continue your friendship even when other people would criticize your friends. TRUE

7) Save $5 every payday. DONE when I remember.

8) Do not be shy; you are as good as the next person. DONE

9) Pray in your heart and mind; you do not have to go to church to pray. God is inside of you. DONE/DOING

10) Do not be bitter towards the man who fathered your son. He gave you a wonderful gift. TRUE

11) Be generous both in your material possessions and in spirit. You get back and much more what you give away. TRUE DONE/DOING

12) Do not be judgmental; look at yourself first before you judge others. Everyone has a skeleton in their closet, secrets that will remain so. You cast the first stone and it may boomerang and hit you hard on the face. AGREE/DOING

My sister Elvie told me that have you been alive today, you would be 100! I think that you are ok where you are!! So here is the deal: you were clearly a woman ahead of your time and you know what I mean. Those are our secrets. Mothers know best! Thank you for giving me life. You live in my heart and I always think of you when I tend my little garden. I still have a clear vision of your immense and beautiful flower garden in Nueva Ecija. You were kind to your pets Reddy, Henry, Limbas, numerous cats, what else have I missed, generous to needy friends and always took in strangers. I would wake up to a runaway teen-ager staying with us or a distant relative staying with us for months. Thank for those lessons. Finally, I really like that you told your Father to “stick it up” when he forbade you to marry a mere farm hand of his. You ran away with my father! You were my Gabriela, you were my feminista, MAKIBAKA!

HAPPY MOTHER’S MONTH TO ALL!

The next shit will start at 1300 hours comma DC time stop Confirm BALPA support stop

Letter of Gratitude as Rx by Dr. Richard Carlson, PhD, author of Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

Dear Peggy Ewell,


I was tested on the IBM Selectric. I typed an embarrassing 13 words a minute. They told me to relax and type again. I improved. I typed 15 words per minute. The HR Manager, Ruth, called me in her office. She told me that I got the highest score in the aptitude test they give for the administrative/clerical staff. She asked if I would be interested in another job; the Manager of the Word Processing Group would like to interview me. It was 1975. No one has ever heard of personal computers. I wanted to be a clerk typist at the Air Line Pilots Association. I was not good enough to be a professional typist! Then you came and asked me if I would be interested to work with her group as a telecommunications analyst. I would be paid $7,200 a year! Did I just die and go to heaven?

I was trained to operate the teletype machine at Western Union, by a gentleman named Pete. Back at the office, I was given my own desk, phone, an electric date stamp that sounds like a snapping turtle, and my own stapler and tape dispenser. Life was good. My job was to relay messages between the main office to the different field offices and the United Kingdom. The teletype is a noisy but interesting machine. When we want to call each other’s attention say in our field office in Burlingame, I would press a key that rings on the other end. It sounded like an ice cream truck with the urgency of a fire engine. Peggy, thank you for your kindness and the opportunities you gave me. I remember you almost falling out of your chair when you heard me speak in Tagalog for the first time. You encouraged me when I told you I wanted to take some courses at the university. You also asked me if I would be interested in reconciling word processing accounting figures. To help me with this function you allowed me to take home a calculator which was so huge it resembled the original Rosetta stone. One time there was a huge airline strike. I was receiving the teletype messages from the late Charlton Heston, who I remembered was the honorable gentleman who received the Ten Commandments. I was also typing responses to him - what an honor to send a telegram to Moses! It was chaotic. We needed a statement from the association’s president to the POTUS. We printed it and the next day you said, “Okay, we just have to be careful next time so Captain O’Donnell does not have to explain to the US President why the telegram printed ‘shit’ when we meant ‘shift’.” Then you smiled at me and said, “Rats! We all know it can really get shitty sometimes.”

One afternoon, you invited me to have coffee at the cafeteria then we sat outside just watching the world go by. I asked you if you had ever been so sad in your life, if anyone has ever made you feel so inconsequential. You said, “The person I loved passed away so that hurts and it makes me sad. You should leave anyone living who does not make you happy.” I did not say a word; I was too embarrassed to say anything more. The next day, I approached you. “Peggy, I want a raise.” You responded, “I will give you a raise as long as you have a telephone installed in your apartment so you can call for help.” You must have known, Peggy, you must have known. All those time I told you I fell, I slid, I bumped into something…

Towards the end of my first year working with you, I approached you again. “Peggy I am leaving. I will work at the U.S. Senate.” “You are going to work in Capitol Hill? You will love it there. That’s super!” “Listen, you are smart, promise me that you will walk away from whoever is hurting you and holding you back.” “I will, Peggy.”


I left Peggy; it took me sometime but I finally found myself again. I left anyone and everything that made me sad. I heard you married an airline pilot. I would have been disappointed if that were not the case. With regard to me, I fared very, very well. The immigrant is no longer. Rats!

Letter of Gratitude per Rx by Dr. Richard Carlson, author of Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff…and it is all small stuff.

Dear Bob Abada, Jr.

I have been looking for you. I hope you are still alive. Are you still as groovy as I remember you to be? I was a contestant for the CMLI Teen Princess title when I sensed that a camera lens was aimed at me. Number 24, all cute and confident! To be sure, I kept shifting in my seat, waiting for the dreaded “question and answer” portion. The lenses were definitely aimed at me. I must have looked pretty, but not in pink. It was Baguio City, 1969 – I was wearing a pair of light blue lacy tights (yes, 1969!) under a cornflower blue dress with a white lace peter pan collar. Everywhere I go, those lenses were stalking me. I was number 24! Then you danced with me, the very first time a boy actually paid attention to me and asked me to dance. Haysoos, you were holding me so tight I thought you were going to kill me! You told me your name: Bob. Abada. Jr. University of the Philippines Prep School. Officer of the Children’s Museum and Library, Inc. From Makati. Only son. Dugong-bughaw (royal blood) – Ilonggo, 5’11, as white as steamed rice, sideburns like Tom Jones, top of the class, smoked like a chimney. Back to me- I made it to the finals. I wore a heavily padded adult’s brassiere size 34, which felt and looked like some deadly weapon, a pink evening gown, wearing high-heeled Mary Janes and bobby socks underneath. We danced and chatted but I felt stupid and inarticulate next to you. The other girls from some Saint Floozy schools looked at me with jealousy. You were handsome, in a colonial way, hee-hee. I might have snagged the coolest guy of all the over 500 teen-agers in this place. Tom Jones!!

Back to school, you sent me letters, some of which I brought to the USA with me (don’t worry I am not a hoarder). You, UP Prep valedictorian, wanted me to be your prom date and you came to my school to my embarrassment and asked the principal to see me. You asked me then and there to be your prom date. I took my friend Biyeng and my cousin Onang with me to your prom. In essence, you had three dates. I apologize, that was so not cool. I did not know any better but my mom would not allow me to go without them. But you seemed to be delighted if not amused.

After your graduation, you went to pursue an Engineering degree at the De La Salle. You had the most beautiful penmanship. You sent me birthday cards. You used pink envelopes and always used “Special Delivery.” Then one day, I got a letter from you. Excited! Then, “Blah blah blah…I met this girl Evelyn and I am going steady with her. She is a college student at the College of the Holy Spirit. Right now she left for the United States for summer vacation. I hope you are doing well in school. I am glad that you took an exam to attend UP. Good luck.”

P.S: When we break up, I will let you know.

Oh, holy shit. I was just dumped. Actually, it was more like “Holy Mary Mother of God, he broke up with me.” Why, because I was just fifteen and I did not curse then. That’s why.

I had a circle of friends, Arlene, Cynthia, Mags – they went over my ‘rebuttal,’ helping me articulate my hurt feelings. I hope you did not keep that letter. It must be so corny, dripping with a teen-ager’s angst “How can I mend my heart? You just ripped it into pieces… I am sorry I was not good enough…”

I cut your letter and saved the “P.S.” part so that I can torture myself over and over. You left me for an older woman, a wiser more mature woman of 18. I guess you and Evelyn never broke up. I took “P.S.” to the USA with me, just in case. Still, you never wrote again. I still have it, over four decades after you betrayed my 16 year old heart. I have been “googling” your name ever since I learned to learn how to use the Internet, even before Google became a verb, even using some legal software to see if you might have immigrated to the US. So where the heck are you these days?

Bob, I understand. As Gen-X would say, “I completely, seriously, totally understand.” Here is the revised copy of my rebuttal letter, just so you know:

Title: Revised letter to replace that one I sent you in 1970.

Hi Bob, What, you are seeing another girl? Did you just dump me? Crap, you totally did, didn’t ya?! That is so lame. Seriously?! Ok, I guess that’s it. Wow, you made me believe you liked me, that you really, really liked me! You must have thought my world will end just because you are seeing someone else. No way it has ended! Well, it did for a while but  it about to go through the big BANG and you are not going to be part of it. Your loss, not mine. Truly yours…

You were the cat's meow!

9th Letter of Gratitude and Appreciation, per Rx by Dr. Richard Carlson, author. Don't Sweat the Small Stuff.




Dear Grey cat, beloved Jessie of mine,

You will never be "small stuff" to me. Your life and your death was not small stuff. I ......sweated and cried for you. I grieved, I mourned and I still yearn for you. You were the BIG DEAL! Mmmm-hmmm, the BFD:)! Si, señor!

I loved you in the mornings and in the after noons, I loved you all the evenings underneath the moon. I bought an Andy Warhol lithograph of a green cat, built like you, with jade green body and pink eyes. That is how you are/were to me, my dearest Jesscat, you were a gem that added sparkle to my life. Thank you, forever, for what you have taught me - unconditional love, cat-span language (cat/Spanish), minimalism (shoestring is awesome toy), loyalty, devotion, caring, selflessness, and heartbreaking goodbye.

Jessie, I regret not knowing what afflicted you earlier on. I regret, that I thought you just had a drawn out bout of cold/allergy. But you do know that your family addressed all your bouts of minor illnesses before; you do know money was never an object when it came to you or your brother. I played the piano, however badly, for you; I sang to you, I talked to you, I stroked and kissed your head, I gave you chicken and bacon and tilapia and you were the only cat who did not like salmon! I can sit here boring your spirit to death with all my little memories of you; you were the epitome of a scaredy cat, you were afraid of your own tail...Oh dearest kitty, I will never, ever forget you. We were so afraid you would not make it in the wild. But you beat us to heaven!!

Someday when we meet again, I will call you out and hopefully you will be able to tell my laughter from all the rest because you and I have laughed and cried together, mi gatito precioso chulito:), que te extraño muy tanto. Nunca jamas te olvido, te prometo. Para siempre te amo, como te ame cuando estuvo conmigo...con sonrisas, con amor, viva con anime en cielo hasta la proxima que nos vemos...♥

 

Her Royal High-

Letter of Gratitude – one of the 500 I will have to write before I die.


Dear Princess Zaire,

Princess my ass! I knew you since we were teen-agers, classmates and friends. I called you one day, excitedly announcing, “Guess what I have in my hands?” “What, tell me!” “A book called ‘The Sensuous Couple’!” “I wanna see it. Come over!” I had to take a bus all the way from Taft Avenue to Quezon City, where you lived, which in Manila would probably have taken me 20 light years because of traffic.

As soon as I get to your house, we had a boisterous lunch together. God bless your Mom but your Dad never trusted us. He could smell a rotten fish from a mile away! We went into your bedroom and we excitedly opened the pages of my new book of knowledge. Giggling till it hurt, we looked at the illustrations of the human anatomy. What it can do or what can be done on it, with it, in “vivid” details. Ay, ganun?! Really? What is the butterfly technique, what?! Really, they do that? Hey, you gotta twist your tongue like that, that is so gross! Look at this! We read and giggled and read some more. I left after a couple of hours and you asked me to leave the book. We would go over it again tomorrow at the university, with our other girlfriends.

Your Dad, not wasting a minute, went into your room and found the book under your pillow. He showed no mercy. The next day, you told me that he confiscated “The Sensuous Couple.” Additionally, I was no longer welcome in your house. I was a bad influence. “Buking!”

A couple of years later, I left for the USA. You stayed behind and left the university to attend nursing school. You dated Paulo, a family friend of mine. We wrote to each other. You told me that you would tell the headmistress and your Dad at times, that you would be spending time with me, in my house and you would go out of town with Paulo. I was in the USA but you were supposed to be spending time with me, you crazy! I paid for your qualifying exams so you could come abroad. I never gave up on you because you were my dearest friend and a smart one too. We spoke about the cool things we would own (a Corvette for you and a Mustang for me) when we grow up. We would be the stars of our own American dream. We shared our dreams, our disappointments, lecture notes, food, our money, books, and our experiences. Wind beneath each other’s wings, we were Bette Middler and Barbara Hershey. I was the free spirit, you were the reserved one.

Then I heard you got married. Your first husband divorced you. I heard you got married again, and you had a baby daughter. I came to visit and found you with a beautiful baby girl. I felt sad that you did not seem to be doing well. I sensed that you were unhappy; we spent time together, always as before, we were like sisters catching up. Later on, you left for the Middle East. Your baby passed away; you told me it was painful; she suffered from a congenital ailment. You left your husband for good. I was glad. He did not look like he deserved you. I also told you, “Huy, don’t be offended, but he is butt ugly. What happened?” We laughed loudly about it. Then I never heard from you again.

Until one day, you wrote me from the Middle East. You were coming to the USA. Furthermore, you are coming with a man you called Edward. He is your prince charming, you said, like Prince Edward. You and he are coming to live in the USA permanently. He is an Arab. His real name sounded like Mautassem Bechim Salaem..anyway, something exotic like that. You have a baby girl. The first thing I did was to fly to where you are, at your request, so I can see you and meet the Prince. I observed that not only were you not allowed to answer the phone, you were required to stand at attention when he leaves the house, you were not allowed to give your food order to a male waiter, you were not allowed to walk beside him, you were not allowed to wear make-up and perfume among other things. The Prince was offended when I gave him a hug the first time I met him. How dare I did that? I was not his sister and women should not do that. Forgive me, a mere mortal. You asked me to bring cooked pork chops, which you ate behind the Prince’s back. When he left on an errand, I asked you, “Why do you act like you are in Iraq? You are in the USA you know, not Iraq. Do you see any camels around? So does he want you to wear a burqua? Your husband is a jerk. I don’t like him. By the way, he is not a prince, excuse the hell out of me.” You agreed but we were obviously just chatting. Your Prince had a huge problem with me for acting “unwomanly” – i.e., not allowing him to speak for me at restaurants, as though I was unable to say “That will be the combo with rice, and a large Pepsi please” and having an opinion like “I asked for rice not pita.” When he took me to the airport, he said, “Now I know why you are a not married. You behave badly.” Short of killing your Prince, I said, “I did not ask you for your opinion. My life is none of your business. Clean your own backyard before you clean mine.” To his credit, he did not push me out of the Suburban. At times you would call me in distress when you and he would have fights and he would call me and say “Please find her and make her come back. I will give you all the gold you want.” I cannot make this one up, he offered me gold in exchange for finding you.

Gold or no gold, I advised you to work it out. Then you had three more children; all handsome boys and one pretty girl. One day, out of the blue I blurted, “Why do you never talk about baby Angela? I feel like you just erased her from your mind and replaced her with your new daughter.” You started to talk about her, your hurt, your pain. We talked for hours and it made us both feel better.

I have not heard from you in more than a couple of years. You once told me that your Dad has forgiven me; that he was impressed that I never stopped communicating with you despite my being banned from your house. Yay, me. Years ago, I asked you how you and the kids are. Your response was telling: “I am tired and when life is hard I cannot say I love someone anymore; I just want to hit somebody on the head; the kids are fine- elder son quit college but he makes great money, my other son is doing great and will get a football scholarship; my daughter will be a medical provider and we are fine. We moved into our new 5-bedroom house. I bought a Mercedes. People started to look at me differently when they see me park my car. I told my children I want them to buy me a big diamond, bigger than anything you might have.” “I am sure they will but we do not have to always have what others have. It is too stressful to keep up.” Neither of us laughed.

Today is your birthday. I do not know the date by heart anymore; my computer reminds me of it. I no longer bother to greet you on holidays. I get a very generic “Happy Holidays” with your signature. I so want to celebrate your day just like the old times – lunch of egg’s nest soup and pancit canton at the Automat in Avenida Rizal, halo-halo for dessert, followed by shopping for books and sundries at Alemar’s. I wish so much to talk about what is left of our dreams. I hope your Prince did not turn into a grumpy old toad. Long live my long lost friend! I am sure I will hear from you again someday. Kul am wa enta bi-khair. Mashallah!

Letter of appreciation, per Rx by Dr. Richard Carlson, author, Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff

Dear EE,

We were rivals in high school. It was unspoken but we were. Whether we admit it or not, we were. Or was I the only one that was competitive? You were so pretty; you had fair skin- the type that would be chosen to be Miss Finland or Miss Holland on United Nations Day. You spoke so softly. You always made sure that you put your name last on any lists, which made you look humble in our teachers’ eyes. Teacher’s pet, that’s what you were! These are teachers whose children are also in the classes they taught and wanted to make an example of your humility despite your physical beauty.


Of course you were trying to earn brownie points with the teachers. They absolutely loved you. Every boy in school had a crush on you. And I just hated you, that’s all. I felt like you were always in my face, in every corner that I turn. I was too special to share the stage with anyone let alone a kid who is as smart and pretty as you were. I was glad that you were in the play “Half an Hour in the Convent” with me and my friends. You were the rebel and I had the opportunity to hurl hurtful words at you, at the behest of the playwright and director. We exchanged dialogues that stung in the name of theater. Boy did I love it! And we all got "Best Drama Performers” for that production.

In 2007, you came to a dinner I was hosting in Manila for our mutual high school friends. This was thirty six years after high school. I was very surprised to find my old nemesis, or what I imagined her to be. Little did I know this reunion was going to be a beginning…

You were speaking softly and you sounded so genuine that I had to tell you, “Oh you really are sweet!”, and meant it. I thought your demeanor in high school was just a put on. How wrong I was. You were smiling and was genuinely pleased to see me and the others. I was floored!

In 2010, my husband and I went to Australia and you made plans to see us and take us around Sydney. You and your husband took us to the wineries and we had a lovely time together. During the trip, you shared so many poignant memories of your youth, your struggles and your triumphs that I knew nothing about. I felt so honored listening to your stories.

I am so proud of you, for becoming the woman you are today, a wife and mom, a professional,- a proud and accomplished Filipina. You are not a woman of many words and the few you have to say are wise and insightful. Thank you for considering me worthy of your friendship, you of the exquisite beauty of face, mind, spirit. Thank you for spending time with us while touring your beautiful part of the world. I am proud of you; you show the Aussies how smart Filipinas are!

I wish you well, I wish you the best and from time to time, when you send an email to our group, with your exquisite Tagalog, I wish we could be teen-agers again, but instead of being rivals, we would be in the same team. We could be part of a clique, the “intellectual snobs” and impenetrable clueless fools, aware of our intelligence and looks and nothing else. In retrospect, had we been friends in high school, Jaime Garces would have probably hesitated to tell me to stop liking him because anyone who is good enough to be a friend of EE must be special. Ahem.

An officer, but a gentleman?

Letter of Gratitude as Rx by Dr. Richard Carlson, “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff… and it’s all small stuff”


Dear Staff Sergeant,

So many years ago I was madly in love with you. Then you broke my heart into little pieces and stomped on whatever was left of it. But I have always been a survivor. I thank you for 730 days of total joy and 1,825 days of total anger confusion, hurt, resentment, and bitterness - you name the emotion, I went through it. However, I thank you more for the wonderful things you brought out in me. With your encouragement, I relearned to believe in my inner goodness, I started to believe that I am an intelligent and capable human being once more.

At the same time, from you I learned that no one person completes the other. You cheated on me. It was sudden, unjustified, unreasonable, and downright dirty. You were a serial cheater, with the temerity to bring your lover literally a mile or so within my air space. As a result, I walked away from you. I walked away from the life I cherished, from the comfort of its material accoutrements. I decided, amidst the unbearable pain that I do not have to be hostage to a relationship that was based on lies and denials. I burned your memory along with the hundreds of photographs that bore witness to our relationship. I found my inner strength and loved again, and again, and yet again.

Thank you for your loving me those years; I loved you back. Thank you for staying as my friend, being literally at my side when I met the next person who I will forever love unconditionally. My son is an amazing gift that I received. No BMW, no tickets to Europe, Gucci purses or $150 silk blouses or trinket can equal the joy I get when I see him smile, when he kisses me and tell me “I love you, Mom.”

Now I will recall how it ended for its sheer tragi-comedy the time when our mutual beloved friend Joel tried to get us talking “civilly” to one another. He wanted us to break up amicably. He took the whole day off, shopping for dinner at his apartment. When we got there, the table was nicely set. He poured wine for us. Joel was going to facilitate this “summit.” The goal was to let us talk without getting too emotional so we can come to a place where we can at the very least be friendly. I pulled out my “To Talk About” list. I had about 15 items on it. I had it in an outline form, even. Always the listener in the relationship, you allowed me to start reading off the list.

Item 1: You had me leave my job to spend three months in Europe with you and you were having an affair with a maid? Are you fucking with me? Do you know that you hurt me and insulted me and you….

You started defending yourself and Chairman Joel could not get a word in.

Item 2: You took your paramour to Paris in a private car in a fast train? How dare you? You treated her like a queen, asshole, and I have not been back to the USA for a fucking week? Was it my money that paid for that too? Asshole!!!

You started cutting me off. Chairman Joel had his arms as if trying to separate us.

We were getting louder and on each other’s face and I was just getting started. In an instant, I hurled a pork chop at you. You grabbed and threw a piece of broccoli at me. I returned the energy by hurling green beans at you. Oh, but we must have still loved each other at that point because we did not throw flatware at each other yet… But I upped the ante and dumped a whole bowl of rice on your plate. “You are insane!” I said, “I am insane and you are a lying dog father!” I even surprised myself. That was a new one. You said, “You are a whore! You make me sick!” Ok I admit, I am bad when it comes to idioms and such. I said, “Asshole! A pot cannot say that to the kettle!” I caught you and Joel looking at each other. I dumped beautiful, steamed jasmine rice on your plate. “Pig, tangina mo! Eat the whole stupid thing, sige!” All my hurt, my venomous pain released like water coming out of clogged gutters. I fight to win.

I threw wine at you. Red fucking wine. Joel’s one and only white linen tablecloth messed up, you looked at Joel apologetically. He was by now yelling at us, “Hoy, tumigil kayong dalawa. Stop it. Normita, bruja, sit down!” You took your glass of water, always the neat freak, and threw it at no one in particular. Then you raised your hands in resignation. You grabbed my list, tore it up and threw it in the air like some confetti then you headed for the door. I grabbed the last piece of pork chop and threw it at you but you already closed the door. "Just say your'e fucking sorry! Oh my God!" But you were gone. From my life.   Joel looked at me and said, “Leche kayo, ang mahal pa naman ng pork chops ko!” (Damn you two, those pork chops are expensive!).


Later, we both moved on and reconnected briefly. Thank you for allowing me to be your friend, even if only on my own terms. I apologize for the scenes I made, hurtful words I hurled at you, scaring the hell out of your other girlfriends, sorry for the water or wine I splashed at your face in anger. I no longer cared if you never talk to me ever again but thankful that you called me on two occasions 1) to ask for my contribution to your charitable endeavor; 2) to say hi just because. The worst part was my inability to recognize your voice. I thought a hobbit was calling me, or that midget on Fantasy Island saying “The plen, the plen!”

Admittedly, I must have hurt you as well when I told you that I was leaving. You just did not get it that your military assignment did not give you the right to sleep around. Our soap opera had to have a final chapter. In ours, the heroine, (that would be me) left with her Gucci purses, Spiegel silk blouses, Chanel No. 19 perfume, and her Saab and some cash. You told me I would regret it. That I would obviously not choose a Honda over a Mercedes. Fuck you! I don’t stay for stuff. I can buy my own.

You prevented me from taking anything with me. Even furniture I bought from my own money. Nevertheless, “up yours,” I say when angry. I grabbed the first thing I could, a four-feet tall candelabra, got out the door and that was all I took with me. I realized how comical I must have looked, dragging it all the way to the lobby. I still have it; it is a reminder of that moment that I gave you up. “Keep every god damn thing in this house, this one is mine.”

It has been thirty years since I met you, twenty three since we had broken up. I have stalked you, embarrassed you, missed you, loved and hated you. I told myself that I would be healed, that my goal is to become indifferent. I prevailed. Merci beacoups for your acts of kindness to me and my son. You are actually a lovable person, you are. You are a parent of a young son now. I sensed the pride in your voice when you talk about him. I wish you and your wife a long life. Bitch. You are both too old to have a kid in grade school, seriously. Bastartd. I cannot resist the dig. Sorry.

"I braved a hundred strorms to leave you. As hard as you try, no I wll never be knocked down." ( from Turning Tables, sung by Adele)

Chihuahua Kisses and Broken Dreams...

Letter of Gratitude as Rx by Dr. Richard Carlson, author of Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff, and it is all small stuff…



Dear Edwin Alimbuyugen,

You are one of those skeletons in my closet, my very dark secret, that I was forced to disclose during my first high school reunion eight years ago. One of my very best friends, asked me “After Bob Abada, how can you choose Edwin of all people? We expected more from you.” “Like who, Bogs Adornado?” Oh, dear God. I am sorry Edwin but I really have to be mature now so here I ‘fess up.

Thank you for teaching me about French kissing, practicum. Was that kiss good as a croissant with cheese and guava jelly in it or what? Or was it like hot pan de sal with a dollop of Anchor butter on it? Was it sweet as a ripe mango, fallen from the tree? Or picked up from the ground, perhaps? I remember it to be as good as a horror movie when you do not know if the monster is going to grab you from behind. It was exciting. However, it had no flavor. None whatsoever. Flat as black decaf. Thank you for turning me into a closet bona-fide sinful shameful slut on the night of our senior prom. Not that it was such a bad thing when I think of it now! It was good like a veinti, double espresso, with room, wings, jesus christ whatever!

We went to the “lover’s lane” behind the Administration Building of my future university in Diliman, Quezon City. We found a bush to hide behind so we could make out. Alas, the security guard found us ,and shining a flashlight on us like some freaking military police, we were caught in the act of Making Out 101, all wet kisses that made me feel like I was being licked on my pimple prone cheeks by a Chihuahua my mom owned, Breeze or Tide they were named, while you groped “below the neck and above the waist.” That’s it! BUSTED!

My dreams were about to get squashed. But dreams, I found out were only as high as what you have in your pocket so you paid up the avenger short Filipino security guard so he would not call my parents to tell them that I was going to marry the first boy who kissed me and touched “below my neck and above my waist.” Mahabaging Dios! (Merciful God)

That evening, I became a sinner in the eyes of God, the UP Oblation (Oble), UP prexy SP Lopez, and in the eyes of the little man that had a whistle, a baton, and a badge that identified him as an avenger of sixteen-year-old hormonal boys and girls. He probably prevented me from being an unwed mother whose dream of becoming a diplomat, lawyer, doctor, political science major, drama queen was compromised that evening of my prom. Whoever that little man was, I thank him, honestly.



Anyway, back to you Edwin. We stopped seeing each other after that incident and would largely ignore each other or pretend we did not know each other after that. After all, you were not deserving of being BFF. You were a jock and that was all and horny. Yes. That too. In the meantime, I was destined for bigger things –let us see, like being a student activist and a B student at the state university of the republic for which the Filipino flag at that time stands. Kind of earth shattering success at that point, right?

Thanks to you, the next time I made out with another boy, I was already aware of what a proper kiss must be and you also taught me to be picky when it comes to boys. None of these boys with a Beatle haircut and none of these awful last names that sound like a frigging bumble bee. None like you, sorry Edwin. Because I tell you, I would not be changing my name to Bumblebee or Buzzword in this lifetime or the next.

I have not seen you and we will probably continue to ignore each other when we see each other again. You were a kind young man, I really should not disrespect you. I hope you pursued your dream of becoming an engineer. I hope you have a good life with children that adore you and a wife who loves you like I love my husband. Please keep your mouth shut about that incident because it was not a big deal. When I disclosed this secret to my friends, and I tell you we were in our forties, they all told me it was lame. Not when you are sixteen years old and you are playing tonsil hockey with a boy, or another girl for that matter!!

I found an “Edwin” on the Web. Could this be you??!!

Letters of Gratitude

I have a copy of  Don't Sweat the Small Stuff...and its all small stuff by Richard Carlson, Ph.D.  I read a page every now and then and one day he suggested that one should write a letter of gratitude to someone dead or living or something.  I thought it is a brilliant idea and thus, I promised to write as many as I can before I become compost.  So in the following postings, you will be reading them, numbered in no order of importance, although I try to go chronologically. They are also found on my Facebook page (Munam Goodwin Villorante): Here we go:






1st Letter of Gratitude:


Dear Miss Reyes, my 2nd-grade teacher,


Thank you for letting me take countless water fountain breaks, you must have sensed my dread of learning English then. Thank you for letting me learn it on my own terms and for being supportive when I say amazing sentences like "I like to become an atay-at- low sum day!" I finished at the top of my class despite your telling my Dad and writing on my report card that: "She is very intelligent but very very, very talkative in class. She will be an atty-at-law someday." Seriously?


2nd letter of gratitude:


Dear Jose, my classmate in 2nd grade.


You bullied me & taught me to fight back. I still remember you had front teeth extending all the way to the Rock of Gibraltar. I hope you succeeded enough to afford to have them braced. I always remember you with amusement. You made fun of my provincial accent, I having been transplanted to Manila from Central Luzon. You pushed and shoved me on the playground until I learned to push back and made fun of your teeth! So Bozo, if you are still alive, let's have a discussion, in Spanish!


3rd Letter of gratitude:




Dear Miss Piedad Gomez, my 3rd grade teacher,


You were 95% bitch, 3 % dictator, and 2% educator. You screamed your lungs out at us for no reason at all. You emotionally battered the whole class. I do not remember what I learned from you. My friend reminded me that you taught us water therapy- to drink water as soon as we wake up. Now I know why you taught us that: either to clear our heads from our nightmares of you, or so we could all pee our pants when you scream at us at 8:00am: QUIET! GET YOUR BOOKS OUT!!”