You can do THAT?

I wish I had a magic wand or a “cancel” button so that I can restart and reboot all the growing pains to befall my child.  However, I definitely believe that it is important for him to own the scars from the choices he has made. I subscribe to the fact that learning life's lessons take time.  I used to actually have a magic wand.  Let me take you to that journey before I lost my "power."

When my son was around eight years old, he collected Pokemon cards.  Many times we would take him to the game store and fall in line under the sun and in very cold weather so that he could buy the latest  minted holograms/cards. This collection was not necessarily cheap either. He spent his little allowance on them.  He wanted us to take him to Japan so he could meet the Pokemon characters.  He was so happy when he saw Kaerope painted on wings of Japan Air Lines on a lay-over on our way to Asia.  We indulged him and engaged him when he talked about this or that character “Oh, he is sooo cute!” “Really, that is very special? I did not know that!"

During this time, we enrolled him in summer camp. He wanted to take his collection to camp to show his “friends.”  We told him that it would be a bad idea, he could lose them, that other kids might take them.  He would not be swayed. He insisted and we let him.

I got a call from his Dad in the afternoon.  He picked up Kris from camp and he was crying.  Apparently, he actually lost some cards. His nanny called me, “Kris has not stopped crying since he came home. I don't know what to do. I gave him milk but he would not drink it.”  I came home to an inconsolable little boy.  I offered to take him for burgers, “It will make you feel better and I will buy you a toy.”  He reluctantly went with me to the mall. He ate his burger and holding his little hand, we proceeded to go to the toy store.  We bought Woody from “Toy Story.” He thanked me and we started to go home.

I kept checking him from the rearview mirror on the way home. He looked so sad and I was helpless to take away his sadness.  He was looking out the window with the saddest eyes.  When we got home, I sat down with him.  “Anak, this is the reason why Dad and I did not want you to take your Pokemon cards to camp. Some little boys took them without your permission.” “No, mommy they are my friends. They would not take them!” “They are your camp friends. You just met them in camp. Your friends are the ones you met in school but these kids are not your friends. Friends do not steal from their friends. You do not want to be friends with dishonest kids. These are acquaintances. Say it.”  “Acquaintances.” "Acqwaitsense."  “Not my friends.” “Not my friends but they are my camp friends, Mommy!”

I invited him to watch television with me in his   parents’  bedroom. I told him we can watch any movie he wanted.  He put his arms around my neck and kissed me. He said, and I remember it to this day, “I love you, Mommy. Thank you for the hamburger and fries. Thank you for buying me Woody. You make me feel warm and fuzzy all over but  it is not still taking my hurt away.”  Tears started streaming on his little cheeks again.  I would have given anything to make his “hurt” go away.  I glanced at the television screen. We were watching some animated Disney movie and an idea came up to me. So I turned him to face me.

 “Hush...hush.   Listen, I have not told you or anyone about this  before.  This is our secret.  When you go back to camp tomorrow, then you can tell your friends, ok? Tell them, “My mommy is a witch.  She  said she knows exactly who took my Pokemon cards.  If my cards are not returned by Friday, whoever took it will be turned into a fish, a merboy. My mom said she will cast her spell so that whoever took it will grow scales everywhere including his legs and it would be very itchy and she will make it stay that way until my cards are returned.”

He looked at me with  eyes bugging out.  “You can do THAT?”

“Trust me Anak, I can and I will. Have I ever let you down?" "No."  "So, what about you, can you say that to them?”  He said, “Yes I can, yes I can. I love you, Mommy.”

We went back to watching television with his little hands in mine.  That night he went to sleep soundly after we alternately read pages from Harry Potter.

The next day, Thursday.  Kris was happy.  He told his Dad over the phone that most of his cards were found by his friends on the playground.  His Dad was happy. The nanny was happy that she did not have to take care of a child who would not stop crying. I was happy too!   I did not say one extra word.

Friday, last day of camp week:  Kris reported to his Dad on their way home that he got ALL his cards back with his awesome friends finding each one of them and happily announcing to him, “Look, I found your missing Pokemon card!” 

That night, my husband (HB) wanted to know something.  “What is this I heard that my wife is a witch?” Apparently, Kris told him that I had some sort of magic and that he got his cards back after he announced to his camp friends that his mother was a witch.

I told my HB exactly what I told Kris.  He said laughing, “Oh my God!” Then he warned me, “Stop telling that to him. He might tell his classmates and his teachers and before you know it, someone will be setting bonfires in front of our house!”

I have not cast a spell since then and I never want to wish I could.  However, it wil be nice to own a magic wand so that every stroke I do will make my child remember to make the best possible choice: be punctual, reliable, proactive, communicative, financially conservative & responsible, to take out the trash,  put the dirty dishes in the washer, do his laundry, pay rent on time, continue to see the bigger picture, call his parents, text his Mom….return his boss’s calls, and text promptly so that he is not his “former boss.” I hope that he continues to be the resilient child that he is proving to be - learning to roll with the punches and not getting bitter when he is dealt with the unexpected. Learning the hard way is the only way to learn…

Pilipiiinss???!!!

I am back from being fat and happy on a week’s cruise-vacation to Bermuda.  This may sound corny but aside from the great company of my HB and our friends from Connecticut, my vacation was made awesome by the crew of the cruise ship VeenDam.  Thirty percent of them were Filipinos.  Others were Indonesians and from other countries as well like Chile.   I have never seen diversity in one closed space than at any other time.

Whenever I’d smile at someone at lunch in the buffet bay and say “Salamat,” they would say, “Ate, Pilipina ka?! Taga saan ka? Ano gusto mong iluto ko bukas para sa iyo? Dagdagan mo ang kay Ate!” In one of those encounters, they gave me more than I could eat despite the portion control that they seem to put into subtle practice.  The next day, there was chicken adobo in the back burner, waiting for me and my husband. I was touched.  Di ba naman?

Let me share my one close and memorable/amusing encounter with a paisana:

I called the spa and spoke with a girl who identified herself as Analyn. I suspected she’s Filipino.  I wanted a spa treatment and I was ready within ten minutes. She said they could accommodate me.  I went up to the spa.

-Hi, are you Analyn? I called a few minutes ago. I have an appointment.  Cabin 374.

She gave me this big smile, her almond eyes made me wonder if in fact she was Chinay. “Hi Ma’am, welcome! Here is your form to fill out.  Where are you from?”

-I was born and raised in the Philippines.

“Pilipiiiins!!!!????  She said,  almost screaming, with joy.  “Te, ang cute-cute naman ng accent mo, bakit para kang hindi Pilipina kung mag-Ingles!” She then eyed and treated me like some laboratory specimen.

-I am fluent in Tagalog.

“Naku “Te,  ang CUTE mo talaga mag-Ingles! Ay naku, hihihihi!”

-Ah, teka kasi panahon pa ni Gomburza, nasa States na ako. Haahaha, you know nong bata pa si Crisostomo Ibarra, loka!

She was silent but grinning widely at me—ahah, hindi siguro nagbasa ng Noli!

-Taga saan ka, Analyn?

“Cebu, ‘Te.”

-Ay, nindot ang Cebu!”

“Hihihihi, ‘te, para kang Thai, oo!  (Huh? –batok!)

With this, she started kneading my back and proceeded with our lively “interview” session.

I learned that Analyn is building a house for her parents; that she sent herself to vocational school so that she can earn a living;  this was only her 6^th month in this ship, she considers Filipino boyfriends liars and she has an Indonesian boyfriend; and that she was confused if the US dollar is used in Boston, where she would conclude her contract and from where she will go home to the Philippines.  I lauded her, sincerely, for her efforts to help her parents. 

After an hour: Ok, tapos na, ‘Te!

-Analyn, ano bang treatment ang ginawa mo sa akin, bata ka? Bakit parang wala namang nangyari?

She giggled.

“’Di bale 'Te, nag-chikahan naman tayo o di ba? She said, conspirationally.  “Bili ka kaya sa akin ng milk bath, $70 lang para may benta ako.”

-That is too expensive for a milk bath.

“$1,000 naman ang hawak mo sa States, ‘te!”

-Sino bang mayabang na Fil-Am ang nakausap mo?”

“Di ba yon totoo?”

-Hindi!  A  $15 bottle of shampoo is expensive.  My husband will divorce me if I pay $70 for a bottle of milk bath, I said laughingly. -  will just give you a nice tip, how is that?”

“Okay yun ‘Te, thank you.”

-Ikaw talaga, wala nang massage, may raket pa?”

We both laughed.  Every time she would see me  around the spa section, she would give me a wide grin and “that look”, as if waiting for me to transform into a unicorn or something, then she would say, “Hi Ate!”

I was humbled by the exchanges I had with these hardworking Filipinos and Indonesians aboard the ship.   While I consider myself blessed and certainly deserving of some days when I can forget the inconsequential inconveniences of my daily life, they toil each day, happy to be of service, of making it a point to serve with a smile, doing their 150% to please their guests.  While they are in that ship for as long as six months, serving 1200 passengers each week, cooking, serving, cleaning, etc.,  I can go home each night to my family.

Analyn told me that the Filipinos sing karaoke every single night. Frankly, I would have been shocked if that were not so.  Karaoke singing is such an integral part of being a Filipino and during this cruise, there was a Filipino Crew Night. They danced a jota, a pandanggo, and tinikling and there were two song numbers.  The finale of their show was a heartfelt rendition of “Bayan Ko.”  I wept when they sang, “Ibon mang may layang lumipad, kulungin mo at umiiyak…” I realized that the Filipinos are free but they are still hostage to the economy of a nation plundered by its own leaders.  It has been thirty seven years since I have sung that song with my fist up in the air.  I set myself free...

The next day after the Filipino Crew night, I made a u-turn on the way to the dining hall  when I spotted the  dancers and singers and congratulated them personally.  I even shared a secret to the “sway balance” in Filipino folk dancing to avoid hitting each other. (ever the theater person that I am)  I did mention to Luchi, the leader , to give out her instructions softer than the music because I told her that I could hear her “O ikot kanan. Diyan ka sa left. Sway balance...asog ka, aray, natapakan ako.”

I told her that I was the only Pinay in the audience/guests and so I understood her instructions but the others can hear her too. I said, "Naloko na!" into my husband's arms and stopped myself from laughing loudly.  Luchi and the others laughed as well when I told them this and they started to practice what I taught them while waiting for the drinks they were about to serve the poolside guests.   It was a happy moment.

In the last thirty seven years of my life, I have always looked back to the chapters that started when I set foot in the United States and commenced a journey that has, along the way, given me opportunities to look not only from the outside in but more importantly from the inside out.  At the end of the day, I actually do like myself and what I have done with my life and I consider myself fortunate to have met and continue to meet people who make my life more colorful, more meaningful, and profound.

I am an American whether you like me or not. Deal with it.

Letter of Gratitude (or not) –as Rx by Dr. Richard Carlson, author. “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff – and it is all small stuff.”



Dear Cheryl Z,

I do not trust anyone with a last name that rhymes with salami.

You opened my eyes to the fact that ugly, prejudiced Americans are smiling at me while wishing the worst for me.

It all started rather innocently. You asked me what I did for the weekend and I told you I went to Burger King for some fast food craving.

-If you want to be an American, then you should go to McDonald’s.

“Last time I heard, Americans make their own choices. My money, my choice.  ”

-You know, you alwasy act like you're better than me. You foreigners come here to take our jobs. Go back where you come from!

You put your forefingers on each temple to make your eyes slanted.

“I will tell you something, you are ugly as is, and you look uglier when you try to look like an Oriental.”

-And you are using your being a woman to get what you want. Go back where you come from!

“YOU go back to your trailer. I am educated and I did not take your job. You are not qualified to do my job. I can speak two languages, can you? Do you have a college education, because I do. You want to settle this outside?”

I was holding a computer tape as I advanced towards her. I was going to hit her with the tape. The men heard us and one of them took me aside, shielding me from the rest, “She is not worth it. The bitch is not worth it. This is what she wants from you. Don’t let her.”

There is power in being able to say things that your adversary cannot understand.

So as I allowed my manager and my co-workers to calm me down, I looked you in the eye and said calmly, “Kaputa-putang ina ka. Hindi  katulad mo lang na mal-educadang putang-ina mong puti ka ang makakaganyan sa akin. Tandaan mo ‘to, hayup ka.”

Twenty years later, I still guard my dealings with you. You have made bad choices in your life; cheating on your husband is one. Oh, by the way, you also gained at least 50 pounds and you are now on your third husband. You look like a truck driver.

I outranked you, not only in social but professional position. During one occasion when I asked you to do something for me, you could no longer tolerate me.  You had the audacity, without being provoked, to tell me that you would tell my superior that I was too demanding when I asked you to assist me in something.

-I will tell your boss that you are vey arrogant and demanding. You keep on asking me to do things, like I report to you.

“What, that I am asking you to give me a duplicate key or a box of xerox paper? What are you getting out of that?

-You just keep on asking for things. I cannot keep up and you are arrogant when you do not get it right away.

“I have a job to do. Do yours so I can do mine. I have to think to do my job. I need my document for the top guy.  You only need to get some supplies, is that too complicated to do?”

- I will tell Mr...that you are arrogant.

“Okay and I will tell him that you hate my guts. You want him to know what you told me in 1976?”

- You called me a honkee.”

“What the hell is ‘honkee?’ If you have to “quote” me , quote me with an educated sentence.  I married a Yankee so that would not even be credible if you are implying that I use that term pejoratively. I am tired of your pretending to be professional with me. We both know that you are a racist. Let us not pretend to like each other. You go to my boss, and I will have the men who heard what you said to me in 1976 put in writing your racist remarks. Let us see who loses here. “

You emailed me later and said, -Listen can we just erase all of these and start with a clean slate?-

“My slate has always been clean.” That was all you heard from me.

I did not attend your retirement party and I made sure to mention to people why when they asked. We were never friends despite having worked together all the years in the same building. I did not tell them that -te odio, y cualquier tu representes, entiendes?  No te encanta, nunca jamas.

You represent the ugly American sentiment that the USA is only for whites. You forget that your forefathers were once immigrants themselves. The United States is not black or white. It is Asian, Latino, Black, Arabs, Persians, White, Brown, Olive, and Yellow. It is Muslim, Christian, Jewish, Catholic, agnostic, atheist. It is the land of the free – its people are free to exercise their freedoms and they are free not to.

I fear the values that you and the likes of you install in your children but I hope your daughter is more open minded than you are. We reap what we sow. I hope that my son and the children of other non-white Americans negate the hysteria that dominates the "United States of Jesus," which insists that we need to show we are here legally and that we need to go back where we come from at first infraction.

I did not come here to take your job. I came here because I heard about North Americans espousing freedom and justice for all.  I have lived by the rules. I have worked hard to get where I am. I am an American whether you like me or not. Deal with it.

Thanks to you, I endeavored to keep bettering myself. I aspire to show people like you that being brown is not a sign of inferiority. I am living the American dream and people like you are trying to turn it into a nightmare for those of us who had the courage to come to North America to better our lives. We are educated, we are worldly, we are politically relevant, we are informed, we are affluent, and we are here to stay.

So here is to you, Cheryl – fuck you! 


Sincerely,

Drop Dead Sea Gorgeous

I went to the mall the other evening precisely to buy a scoop of kiwi gelato. After eating half of the gelato, I pitched the rest and walked about aimlessly towards Macy’s.


Then a young man approached me with a little sachet he put in my hand. He tells me his name is Philippe and he is an Israelite. He tells me he is from Boca Raton and is about to open a spa upstairs, in the mall. He was operating from a kiosk next to the cell phone guys.

“May I ask you a question? I am Philippe. I want to give you a product sample.”

-Sure, ask away.

“You are pretty.”

-Are you asking me if I am pretty?

“I have something to help you maintain your look, from the sea, you know dead sea. Let me apply it on your eye. Look at the mirror!”

-Dead Sea? Are you sure this is not going to kill me? Oh well, it does look firmer. Wow. (WTH did I say that?)

“And this product will last you a year, it works at night on your under eye muscle and the other is for daytime. You have heard of Botox?”

-I drink Botox.

“Hahaha. You are funny. No, botox is a (sic) poison you know...”

-I know. I drink it by the gallon. I love it.

“Hahahaha, You must spend a lot of money on it. How much you pay?(sic)”

-Not too much. I get a good deal. You want my doc's name? Where is my sample?

“I put the sample on your eye already.”

-Really. Wow, you are way too generous.



He then whips out his Iphone and shows me photos of his clients.

“See this photo? See before?”

He shows me a photo of what appears to be a woman in her 80’s, obviously worked on at least five times before, I was guessing a lift at 40, 50, 60, 70, and 75th --

“She uses my products, see after-. Look at this other lady. See her here – before, and here, after.”

-Oh my God, these are your clients? They look like they are at least 150 years old! Hahahaha -- Are you serious? They need your product, Botox, Radiesse, Perlane, PRP, another facelift, and a wheelchair. They spend that money?  Wow, almost dead gorgeous women! Those Boca women have more money than wits!

Philippe could not help but laugh. Then he goes back to his sales pitch.

"This product really works and it is not cheap because it lasts you a year."

 It is indeed packaged elegantly, and it goes like silk on the skin.

-Look I am not paying $400 a bottle for lotions. I am fine with Neutrogena.

But this is much better and it is for a year's supply, and you have seen how it works on your eye. Tell you what, you can have both products for $200. It is not because I am nice but because you deserve this product at the price you think is right.

-I guess. I like that eye cream. I hope it works.

 I paid for my purchase and about ready to go.

Suddenly, the next character entered. They both speak in a foreign tounge to each other.

“This is Isaac and he will give you a sample of the facial packs. Isaac, you can give her a short demo of the mask?”

-Sure I can give her one. (Isaac proceeds to pull out jars from the display counter) Then he gives me a look and tells me, "Sit down please."  He proceeds to clean the left side of my face.

--Excuse me, what are you doing?

He gives me the look.

-Just sit and relax.  I will show you how wonderful this product is. This is only $500 a jar but it is the most beautiful thing.

“And Isaac, how often does she use this?”

-She will use it once a week.

“You use it once a week” Philippe was already treating me like I am old and deaf.

“Isaac, is this product made of sea minerals?” He prompts Isaac.

Isaac answers his cue,  like this is the first time he has heard the question.

-This wonderful product is made of sea minerals, Philippe. It is wonderful and you buy this for $500 and then you need to buy…

--Guys, you sound like you are being filmed for an infomercial.

Then I stared at an imaginary camera and I said, “Yes, I was butt ugly before Philippe introduced me to the Dead Sea eye cream. My life changed because of it. Now I feel more confident and youthful.  I was close to dead but now I am revived thanks to the Dead Sea Salt cream.  If you are one of the first 100 callers, you can get the eye cream and the moisturizer for only $1,000 for both jars.” They were laughing, "Oh wow, we should do that, really!" 

I looked at the two Israelites.  --I am not paying $500 for a jar of mud.

Isaac gives me a look and and clicked his tounge against his cheek, shaking his head and giving me a stern look.  He proceeds to put this white creamy stuff on my face. I kept ducking but Philippe tells me to just relax and wait. "This will take just a minute."   Then Isaac opens a jar that contains what looked like molten lava rock.

-This is for your neck. Look, it is like powdered caviar.

--Listen guys, you have shown me your products but I have to be somewhere else. I did not come here to get a facial. Please take this off my face.  I want to go now.

Isaac gives me a stern look and proceeds to line up the products on the counter, he is moving unbelievably fast, like he wants to close a deal.

-This is only $500 and the mudpack for the neck is $450. You will buy both and you need…
-You need this for your face. (He gave me a stern look, as if admonishing me for not whipping out my Amex and buying yet.) This one is for your neck, here let me put it on. Turn this way. You apply it on and then wait…

--Get this thing off my face now! I mean, NOW. This is false imprisonment. You are now holding me against my will and having me make a decision under duress.

I proceeded to grab a piece of Kleenex and take off the cream off my face. Isaac gave me a warning look and they were both facing me. I got louder.

--I am not buying any product from you ! (addressing Isaac). Do not give me that kind of look because I am tired of you trying to intimidate me and I am tired of having to sit here while you two gang up and coerce me into buying. What the hell are you, the Hamas or something?

Philippe said, “Okay, okay, sorry, please calm down. We were just trying to show you some awesome products.”

Now it was my turn to give them a LOOK while I succeeded in getting off the cream off my face. Then I looked them both in the eye and said the following, in a firm lowered voice:

--I can afford to buy any product I want from you. However, I do not like being pushed. “

I left in a huff, but I had $200 worth of products in my own little fancy Premier paper bag.

I kept thinking about the photos of those Boca Raton women.  They look like they are on the last of their bucket list.  A 90-year woman with a trust fund believes she can wake up to a face of a fifty year old after using some hyped-up moisturizer the night before. Just ask Joan Rivers. 

Oh BTW, I am using the cream and loving it.

Capitol Hill - Climbing my Kilimanjaro

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

Dear Mr. Greg (Pimentel),

My deepest hope is that you are still alive and that you have a Facebook page. I will suggest that you are 85 years old, maybe 95. Thirty six years ago, we met at a family picnic hosted by mutual friends. They told me that you were a Philippine merchant marine and you jumped ship. I had visions that you actually jumped into the Pacific Ocean and you swam across until you reached San Francisco, California. I was duly impressed.

At that time we met, you were an aide to a member of the US Senate. I was very interested to hear about your Congressional job. I asked “So which side of the bicameral Congress do you work?” In response you asked, “Senate side. Do you type as much as 100 words a minute?” Before I could answer you told me, “Hija, why don’t you go to a business school and learn to type one hundred words a minute. When you can do that, call me. I will help you get a job. Would you like to work for Congress?” I said, “Opo, ano po sa palagay ninyo?” (What do you think, sir?) “If you can type, take shorthand, speak, write and be yourself as see you today, I will help you get you a job. Viva ka, a!”

In 1977, I called you.

“Mr. Pimentel, I think I can type close to a hundred words a minute.” “Okay, then I will pick you up and help you get you a job in Capitol Hill.” Just like that. You picked me up in a chauffeured black government limousine. It went all the way through Pennsylvania Avenue . Then I was at the Russell Senate Office Building.

There, I find myself in front of an IBM Selectric. I am given a piece of document. I am asked to type what’s on the paper. The Senate Placement lady turns on the timer. I am sweating bullets.

When I was done, I scored some 91 words a minute, no mistake. No kidding. I could not believe it myself. “You see hija, that was very good. It is good that they have that on the record, that you typed that well. Mahusay, mahusay! (Great, great). Viva, viva. We are just putting things on the record. Now I will get you a job where you will never worry about losing your job . The Democrats or Republicans may be in power but you will have a job so long as you do your best. You will do your best. How much money do you want to make?” I did a quick math in my head. I came up with a number that I thought was “dynomite.” “How about $10,000?” “Okay, then you will make $10,000.” “Thank you, po!” $10,000 x P7.00, P70,000. This is the American dream.

Next thing I remember, I was sitting in front of this gentleman. His name is Bob Farrar. “So, you know Greg. He said your dad is a diplomat?” I was coached well. “Yes, my Dad used to be an agricultural attaché. Greg is our family friend. They went to school together.” (My ass). “Okay, are you familiar with computers?” “No, I have not operated a computer but I know what an IBM keypunch machine looks like and I operate a Western Union teletype machine at the Air Line Pilots Association. Whatever I need to know, I will learn.” “Good. College, good; University of the Philippines, Very good.” “You write for a Filipino newspaper?“ “Yes I write feature articles .” “Good. Okay so it will be Memorial Day on the 30th. So why don’t you come back and you will be sworn in on June 1st. Welcome to the U. S. Senate!”

“Wait, is this the building I will work in?” (The building was an old brick, the former Immigration Building near Capitol Hill, demolished since)

“No you will work at the new Dirksen Senate Building. There will be another building that will be built soon.  “  The Senate Buildings are abbreviated as follows:

Dirksen or DSOB, Russell or RSOB, Hart or HSOB or

DIRKSEN SOB, Russell SOB, Hart SOB.

It used to make me laugh but now I am part of the SOBs. I love these names. They are the rooms in my “family home.”

That was 35 years ago, that I sat down across from Mr. Farrar, who I would sign documents on his signature decades later when I reported to him as the Budget Officer.

I did not know it that time but I could have asked for more money. I should have been a little bit greedier! The first week, even months of my job, Mr. Farrar sat down with me to draw pictures of the IBM main frame, the printers. He told me how these computers work. I was assigned the job of Assistant Tape Librarian. It was the most boring job in the whole world. I saw no one except the person I was supposed to assist, John. My coworker called him the “Geezer.” I did not know what geezer meant but I imagined a bald eagle because John was bald. He was very kind to me. He was a Navy vet. He cursed like one. In the 70’s there was no law against pervasive language that could rise to the level of harassment. One day, I was very tired and someone wanted a tape. I responded, loudly, and in jest, “Yo man! If you want the goddamn it tape, why don’t you go get the fuck it yourself!” “Say what?” someone asked. And buoyed with renewed courage, I said, “Don’t be a jerk off!!” Everyone stopped and then they all stood up and clapped their hands. They were laughing uproariously. “John, she is learning, she is learning!” I have since finessed my cursing to remove the extra direct object, article, and/or preposition.  I can say an imperative or a reflexive, depending upon the situation. 

Anyway, we maintained the tape library –every tape looks just like the next. We catalog, clean, label, and store them. I started taking courses at the community college so I can understand the binaries. One day, I inadvertently erased all data from one whole cart of tapes. I thought I was cleaning them. That was the opportunity for our group to show our capacity to “back up and recover.” It was cool. No problem.

In the Senate, I learned how to be patient, to listen, to stand my ground, to seek better opportunities within the organization, to be non-partisan, to be assertive. Within its confines, I thrived. I have held many various positions. Every time I was assigned a new function, I ran to the community college to take courses to make me more competent. Accounting, business math, business law? No problem. Computers, binaries? No problem. Contract Law, Contract Administration, piece of cake. I even took courses in behavioral science. Algebra, of course! Biology, definitely. Commercial Spanish, claro que si!
About ten years ago, I was curious what my employee records show. I asked for a copy of my records from the Human Resources. The most interesting part of that file was a hand-written note by Mr. Pimentel to the Deputy Sergeant at Arms of the Senate. “Mel, I want you to look (underscored, bolded) at this resumé. Below is a notation presumably from Mel. “Get this young lady to meet Ops Manager at Computer Center. ASAP.” I learned later on that Mr. Pimentel was really a very powerful aide. He was a big deal but to me he was just our family friend; he loved to cook, eat, fish.

I did not fail you, Mr. Pimentel. The Senate has become my second home and my extended family. It has been there for the milestones in my life. The Senate gave me the stability that I may be able to pursue my other interests in the performing arts, foreign languages, travel. I learned to advocate for myself, articulate my thoughts, and defend my decisions; I learned to insist that I get credit for things I have accomplished. I pursued higher education, the Senate helped me pursue even more; I gave back to my community, became a mother and wife; and I have an untarnished career at the Senate. I have doubled, tripled, quadrupled and much more the $10K that you so generously negotiated for me.

I am about to retire in a couple of years. I would like to thank you, sincerely, for what you have done for me. I promised you that I would not disappoint you. I spoke to you when I completed 25 years of service. I am celebrating my 35 years at the US Senate this year. I am about to receive a plaque in July. I have not forgotten that I owe you so much for changing my life. Tinatanaw ko pong utang na loob sa inyo, ang success ko sa Senado. You appeared in my life like Santa Claus, asking me what I wished for and then granting it. You were my miracle on 1st and C Streets, NE. 

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...