NANAY MILING

It is amazing how my mother's memory and love could move us, her children, in a very powerful way. After I wrote the "My Mother" article, two of my brothers penned their respective beautiful tributes to our Nanay. Another sister is still doing hers in the middle of her demanding teaching job and preparation for her doctorate dissertation. Nanay's youngest granddaughter has already done hers and is next in line for posting.

This time, here's a poem written by our eldest sister, our Ate, Nita Villanueva-Reyes. Ate patiently took care of our bedridden mother for 4 years and 8 months. She fed her, bathed her, groomed her, cleaned her up when she made a mess, talked to her, ran errands, cleaned her house, called her doctors -everything that our mother couldn't do, she did for her. Our family will always be grateful to our Ate who dutifully and generously took the responsibilities, otherwise shared with the rest of the family. In the process, she sacrificed a lot, including her own family to attend to our mother's needs until she died. I guess history repeats itself. My mother (who is the Ate in her family) did that, and many years later, it's my Ate's turn. If anyone knows my mother most, it is Ate. She's been a responsible Ate ever since I could remember, almost like a mother to me and my siblings. She could be feisty at times, like most Ates tend to be, but certainly an Ate with a BIG heart. Behind that stern facade (which she got from our father) is a loving, kind, patient and generous sister and daughter. I couldn't ask for a better Ate.


NANAY MILING

Kay gandang pagmasdan
larawan sa kawalan...

Tulad ng mga bituin
na laging nagniningning
Magsisilbing gabay
Sa mga buhay na nawalay

Siyam na anak
Dinala sa sinapupunan
Pagmamahal at pag-aaruga
Ginampanan nang sukdulan

Sa hirap at ginhawa
Sa mga luha at saya
Lagi kang nandiyan
sa tuwi-tuwina.

Tulad ng iyong "bibingka"
Na gawa sa maselan mong panlasa
Di ipinagdamot at ipinatikim sa masa.
Ganyan ko maihahambing
Pag-ibig mo samin.

Sa iyong pagkakasakit
Ikaw ang siyang umukit
Sa mga puso't isipan
na dapat pagsikapan.

Walang sino man ang maaring humadlang
Pagmamahal mo at pagkalinga
na di kayang pantayan
Ngunit buong pusong ginampanan
Hanggang sa kadulu-duluhan.

Sa iyong pagpanaw aming natatanaw
Kaligayahan at kapayapaan
Dahil kapiling mo ang Diyos
na siyang lumikha sa sangkatauhan.

Magsisilbing lakas ka sa aming mga naiwan
Maraming salamat aming "INA"
sa iyong kadakilaan
at pagiging tunay na huwaran.

From Daddy's Little Girl

I was on my computer searching for Hello Kitty pictures or something pink to use for my scrapbook. I decided to go online on Yahoo! Messenger and almost immediately I read a “Hi” from my Kuya Joey. Kuya Joey is my paternal cousin who lives in the US and, recently, we have been in constant online communication. He is about 16 years older than me. We chatted for a while and he told me things he remembered about me when I was a little girl. It turned out there is only a little he could recall because he went to Saudi Arabia and Paris to work and his family eventually settled in California where his mom, brother and sister live. He said “Ang sungit mo, lagi kang nakayakap kay Ninang Ised (my mom) or sa daddy mo. You were spoiled!” He teasingly told me I was adopted. Duh? I am close to getting sick and tired of people telling me I am the exact replica of my dad.

And this brought my thoughts to my father. My parents told me they very happy when I was born. They waited 7 long years for a daughter and maybe that was the reason why I was quite spoiled when I was growing up. I was a Daddy’s girl. I remember I would always climb to my dad’s lap asking him to carry me. We had lots of bonding moments. My fondest memory is when we would sing and dance together. My dad has a good singing voice and he plays the guitar. Maybe he thought his talent might rub off on me if we had some musical activities together. To his disappointment, it didn’t. But those special moments are always marked No. 1 among my childhood memories.

Much as we enjoyed ourselves then, it did not last. Times were getting harder, the family was getting bigger, bills were increasing and four innocent young faces were looking up to Daddy, counting on him to jumpstart their big dreams. Daddy had to find a better way to provide for his family. So he decided to go to the Middle East, which during that time, promised better lives for millions of Filipino overseas contract workers and their families.

It was tough living without Daddy. Our family counted the lonely days spent without him. No Daddy on birthdays, Christmases, graduation days…we missed him so much. I imagined it was way tougher for him, though. Being thousands of miles away from his family, working hard on the deserts, exposed to extreme heat or cold, and under the strict laws of Saudi Arabia, the homesickness must have been an ordeal. My mother always reminded us that. And so I strived hard to please Daddy and make him proud of me. I was not a bright kid. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t recite the alphabet without singing the Alphabet Song. But once I did my best and struggled to be in the Top 2 spots of my class in grade school. I was so excited to tell Daddy about the good news, in my young mind visualizing how big his smile would be, how proud he’d be of his little girl. And he was. As a prize, he sent me a badminton racket. That was huge!

However, growing up without his physical presence was not easy. Yes, we enjoyed the boxes of chocolates, nuts, dates and shoes and the occasional Saudi gold jewelries that he sent. Our faces all lit up watching our mom count the crisp dollar bills he sent door-to-door or through a vacationing co-worker. But quite frankly, my brothers and I missed out a lot on his guidance. Yes, there were those bits and pieces of advice and general reminders whenever he wrote letters, sent voice tapes or talked to us on the phone occasionally. But I guess my mother spared my dad of getting bothered with most of the problems with us kids and handled them herself single-handedly. His 30-day vacations every 2 years were better spent happily instead of scolding and nagging his children.

His absence went on for 13 (if my calculation is right) long years. As I grew bigger and older, I gradually learned to live my life without him but never was a time that I took it against him. I was fully aware of the sacrifices he made just so he could be a better provider and, limited as he was, he tried to be a good long-distance father to us.

After building a nice modest house and setting up a little savings to start a small business, my dad finally decided to come home to the Philippines for good. He left a 5-year old little girl and came back to a grown-up young lady of 14. I saw off the airport a much younger and fun dad, and now I see his receding hairline, patches of gray strands and a few lines around his eyes and on his forehead. The sad part is, we have outgrown the bond that we used to have. The precocious little girl has metamorphosed into an independent young woman with a mind of her own. Maybe in Daddy’s mind he was singing “Is this the little girl I carried? Is this the little girl I played?…Sunrise…Sunset…”His long absence did not give him the chance to actually witness and gradually adjust to my transformation into an adult. Maybe all of a sudden he was scared. How was he going to handle this? POEA should sponsor a seminar for returning OFWs on this topic. And me, how was I going to deal with my long-lost father? The last thing I wanted was a pair of watching, probing eyes. And I absolutely hated being asked questions. Excuse me… being subject to interrogation. It made me nervous and made me tell lies. My dad became a very strict conservative father. Maybe he thought it was time to take up the role from where he left. I felt very restrained every time that he was around. I thought I lost my freedom and my basic constitutional rights under our democracy! We argued and clashed a lot. The relationship was so strained that there was a time I wished he never came back.

Thankfully, time has a way of healing and restoring relationships. I know, too, that my mom and dad fervently prayed about it. The adjustment process was difficult and hurt quite a bit but my dad and I did it, went past it with victory. Plus a few more gray hair and a wider bald spot on Daddy’s head. Now that I am older, I have a deeper appreciation of all the things Daddy did for me and for the rest of my family. I also thank my Nanay for being a good mother and a strong woman who stood by this family through its ups and downs.

But I especially thank you, Dad. I am happy you are with us. I appreciate your role in my life then and now. I know you miss the little girl you carried and sang and danced with. I’m still here…only in a much more mature body and mind and a stronger spirit. But I still am that little girl. AND I WILL ALWAYS BE YOUR LITTLE GIRL.

I love you, Dad.

By: Mae Janice

Para sa Isang Dakilang Nanay

Benjie Villanueva is the fifth child of Emilia G. Villanueva. He is often regarded as the son who inherited our mother's kind nature. He used to have our father's physical features when he was younger that was why the used to say he was our father's favorite. I'd say it was because our father saw a good part of our mother in him. Lately, I was surprised to notice that his facial features have evolved to look very much like our mother. The beautiful nose, the full lips, the big smile and those eyes that seem to say, "Life could be tough but I'm alright." And when I see my brother Benjie, I think of my mother. How wonderful to know that she is indedd a part of every one of her children!

"Para sa Isang Dakilang Nanay"

"Efeso 6: 1-3 -- Mga anak, sundin ninyo ang inyong mga magulang, alang-alang sa Panginoon sapagkat ito ang nararapat. Igalang ninyo ang inyong ama at ina, ito ang uang utos na may kalakip na pangako. Ganito ang pangako, ikaw ay giginhawa at lalawig ang iyong buhay dito sa lupa."


Tunay na napakasarap at napakahirap maging ina. Hindi sapat ang isang araw na ibinibigay natin sa ating mga ina tuwing sasapit ang ikalawang linggo ng Mayo (Mother's Day) upang ipakita ang pagpapahalaga sa kanila. Ang pagiging ina ay isang pinakamahirap na gawain sa mundo at walang anumang halaga ng salapi ang sasapat upang mabayaran ang hirap na napagdadaanan nila sa pagtupad ng mga responsibilidad na kaakibat nito. Malakaing responsibilidad ang maging isang ina, tunay ngang hindi isang birong gawain. Buhay ang kailangang hubugin ng mga magulang. Anuman ang mangyari sa buhay na ipinagkatiwala sa kanilang mga kamay, mabuti man o masama, ang pananagutan ng magulang ay hindi sa tao, kundi sa Diyos.

Si Nanay, saan ko ba ikukumpara? At paano ko ipapaliwanag ang mabubuting bagay na natutunan ko sa kanya? Si Nanay ay isang mabait na ina, masipag, maalalahanin. Isang martir, matiisin at higit sa lahat isang inang maka-Diyos.

Isang mabait na ina -- kapag kaming mga anak niya ay nakakagawa ng pagkakasala, imbes na magalit at paluin kami, sinasabihan lang kami na huwag nang uulitin ang mga pagkakamali at ni minsan ay di ko siya nakitang nakipag-away sa kapwa tao.

Isang masipag na ina -- lagi niyang inaasikaso ang pangangailangan ng kanyang mga anak, tulad ng pagluluto ng pagkain, paglalaba ng damit, at paglilinis ng bahay. At kung panahon ng anihan naroon sa bukid, kundi man nagtitinda ng kakanin, nag-aani ng palay. Marami pang ibang bagay siyang ginawa para lang kumita upang makatulong sa pangangailangan ng kanyang pamilya.

Isang maalalahaning ina -- lagi niyang iniisip ang aming kalusugan. Huwag makikitang matamlay ang kalagayan ng sinuman sa kanyang mga anak, nariyan agad siya at nagtatanong kung ano ang nararamdaman namin. Nang ang mga anak ay nagkaroon ng kani-kanilang pamilya, lagi siyang may oras upang bisitahin ang bawat isa, para alamin ang kalagayan at pangangailangan namin. Hindi niya hahayaan na makaranas ng pagtitiis ang sinuman sa kanyang mga anak nang hindi siya mag-iisip ng pamamaraan para makatulong.

Isang inang martir at matiisin -- nakamulatan ko na sa mga magulang namin ang pagiging matulungin. Si Tatay, kahit maraming obligasyon sa amin, pag may lumapit at humingi ng tulong kahit isakripisyo ang pangangailangan ng sariling pamilya, tutulong at tutulong siya. Si Nanay naman ay laging nakasuporta sa mga desisyon ni Tatay, kahit tiisin niya ang kakapusan para sa sariling pangangailangan. Siya iyong ina at asawang hindi mapaghanap ng mga materyal na bagay mula kay Tatay. Matiyaga niyang pinagsisinop kung anong mayroon siya at kung anong kayang ibigay ni Tatay para sa pamilya. Kaya naman nang matuto na kaming magkakapatid na maghanap-buhay at nagsimulang kumita, binahagian namin si Nanay para magkaroon naman ng katugunan ang kanyang pagsasakripisyo at pagtitiis at upang patuloy siyang magtiwala sa Diyos na kailan ma'y hindi nagpapabaya.

Isang inang maka-Diyos -- si Nanay, maliit pa kami ay itinuro na sa amin ang pagiging maka-Diyos sa isip sa salita at sa gawa. Una, laging manalangin araw-araw, iyan ang daily exercise namin. Tinuruan niya rin kaming magkaroon ng banal na takot sa Diyos. Lagi niya kaming pinaaalalahanan na huwag kaming gagawa ng mga bagay na labag sa Diyos, laging iiwasang magsalita ng makakasakit ng damdamin ng kapwa, na huwag mag-isip ng masama para lang sa pansariling interes.

Ganyan si Nanay. Ilan lamang iyan sa mga bagay na natatandaan ko sa buhay niya. Marami pang ibang maiinam na katangian meron si Nanay na kulang ang aking kakayahan sa pagsulat at pananalita upang sapat na mailarawan ang kanyang katauhan. Alam kong higit pa sa pagiging isang mabait, masipag, maalalahanin, martir, matiisin at maka-Diyos na ina ang kanyang naipakita at naibahagi sa aming kanyang pamilya at sa mundong ito. Higit pa sa mga bagay na naisulat ko. Salat sa pananalita, salat sa panulat, ngunit ang nalalaman ko mula sa aking puso, si Nanay ay DAKILA at tunay na ipinagmamalaki ko noon, ngayon at kailan man!

BELATED HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

&

HAPPY BIRTHDAY NANAY!!!

Your son,

Benjie

Nanay

This is a poem written in Filipino by Nemie G. Villanueva, the sixth child of Emilia G. Villanueva. It is a posthumous birthday gift for a beloved mother -- the kindest, most caring, most loving and greatest mother in the whole world! She would have been 93. She passed away in 2003 at the age of 87 after being bedridden for 4 years and 8 months due to a heart attack.

Of all her children she used to say Nemie was the quietest and was never precocious during his growing years. As an adult Nemie usually kept to himself and was rarely verbally expressive of his thoughts and feelings and characteristically avoids "drama" and "corny" stuff. This poem? Our family consider it BIG DEAL! And we rejoice with him as we remember and celebrate the life of our everdearest Nanay on her 93rd birthday on May 30th.

To the rest of the Villanueva family, may the power of Nanay's memory and love bind us closer together as she would have wished!

"NANAY"

Sa iyong kaarawan
Aking iaalay
Isang ala-alang
Aking naranasan

Mula nang ako'y isilang sa mundong ibabaw
Isang espesyal na pagmamahal aking naramdaman
Sa aming payak na inang pinakamamahal
Buong buhay nya'y kanyang inialay

Sa twing aking maiisip panahong nagdaan
Bagama't salat at hirap sa buhay
Naroon ang ligayang aming naramdaman
Sa piling ni nanay na aming minamahal

Bukid at kaingin kanyang pinuntahan
Upang manganihan ng palay na yaman
Di nya alintana ang hirap at pagal
Makapag-uwi lang ng aming sa pamilya'y bubuhay

Sa bawat problemang aming naranasan
Lagi syang nandoon at handang dumamay
Hindi sya titigil, hanggang malampasan
Problemang sa ami'y nagdulot ng lumbay

Dumating ang sandaling kami'y nagkawalay
Nagkaroon ng pamilya mga anak na mahal
Ang lahat ng suporta'y kanyang ibinigay
Maging moral man o mahalagang bagay

Mula sa kanya, nakita ko't naramdaman
Ang pagmamahal, kailanma'y di kayang pantayan
Ng kahit na sino at ilan man
Ang inang aming minahal sa mundong ibabaw

Maligayang bati sa iyong kaarawan
Aming inang laging minamahal
Kailanma'y di mawawala, aming natutunan
Sa iyo nanay, na pumatnubay.

"Happy Birthday!"

My Mother

January 13, 2009

I think of my mother constantly. There is not an hour that passes that I don’t think of her. Everything that happens around me, whether big or small, funny or sad, good or bad, seemingly significant or unimportant…everything brings my thoughts back to my mother.

When I’m in the kitchen cooking or someplace eating, I think of how my mother made certain dishes. When I’m doing the laundry or when I notice how wrinkled my clothes are, I think of how she spent hours to wash our clothes clean and her rituals in starching and ironing them. When I’m at work taking care of an elderly lady, God! I think of my mother. It should have been her I’m helping to dress up, it should have been her arms and legs I’m rubbing to ease arthritis pain away, it should have been her I’m feeding and giving medication to. Why didn’t I do those things to my mother as much as I’m doing them to this lady? Didn’t I have more chances? Was I a different person then? Did my circumstances get in the way of me reaching out more to her?

When I hear of people wanting to end their lives, I think of my mother. How she clung to her own life till the last minute. She was a wife and a mother who struggled through problems after problems, was paralyzed in her early 80’s, her speech slurred and was bedridden for the last four years and eight months of her life. But she lived and got what she could get out of life—enjoying and celebrating each moment that she had. She looked forward to Christmases and New Years, her birthday, her family member’s birthdays, her daughter’s or son’s homecoming from work abroad, a new great grandbaby. She tried to keep abreast of news in our town’s politics, neighborhood gossip, bits of showbiz, updates on her grandchildren in the US. She savored the food given to her and requested ones that she missed eating. She engaged in conversations with her visitors, unmindful of whether her words were understood or not. My! How she loved recalling the good old days of her youth, the Second World War, the “Peace Time”, fiestas and excursions, weddings and funerals, reunions and processions. She recalled how her father made raw sugar, how her Kuya Simon won wrestling fights, how her Diko Andoy was abducted by the Japanese soldiers and never came back, how she took care of her six brothers and sisters when their mother died when she was only 18, the times when she and her cousins caught crabs. She loved telling stories of her life, and she listened to other people’s life stories, too. She never lost interest in whatever was going on around her. That’s how I know she loved living.


January 22, 2009

When I lay myself to bed, I think of my mother. I can smell her body like when I used to sleep beside her as a little girl. She had that distinct smell, not perfume or bath soap-fragrant but a mixture of the salty summer sweat of a hardworking woman and the sweet milk from a nursing mother. Yes, that was how my mother smelled. Oh how I loved to come home to that smell whenever life got tough or when i fell ill. It was like settling back into her cradling arms where I felt safe and cared for and loved.

It was while lying awake on that straw mat-lined hard wooden bed, when nights were still young, that my mother taught me some English words. She finished only 3rd grade but she had, to me, a tremendously rich English vocabulary. As a 1st grader, I thought my mother was very smart in the English language. I remember her teaching me the word “kite”. That was big! And she taught me while she ran her fingers thru my very fine hair seemingly trying to catch some lice that might be crawling on my scalp. And I would sniff that sweet, salty smell while I snuggled closely to her trying hard to store in my five and a half-year old memory bank all those English words until I fell asleep.


January 23, 2009

When I look outside on the street, I think of my mother. I see her walking hurriedly past buses and jeepneys and cars, holding a big bag, her now slightly bowed legs carrying that overweight body --at 70, at 75, at 80. She’s coming to my house, she knew I needed her. I didn’t even have to ask. It didn’t matter if she had to commute through 20 miles of fume and dust, bumpy roads and heavy traffic. She made herself available all the time. And she always brought some fresh vegetables, or some glutinous rice or bananas and sweet potatoes in her big bag. Her big bag also contained Bengay, chili plaster, a tall bottle of coconut oil mixed with crushed ginger and Omega liniment which she alternately used for her swollen aching knees. My mother thought of me despite her own pain, her health issues, her distance, her limited resources.


February 12, 2009

When I cry in my pillow, I think of my mother. There were nights that she lay awake crying quietly. I knew she was crying because she wouldn’t answer when I called to her. And when she had to reply, she would clear her throat first to sound better. She endured the pains of life by drowning them in her tears in the dark – alone. Tomorrow would be a new day when she had slept her sorrows away. I wish I shared her pain during those times. Could I have understood? Could I have felt it? Surely, now I understand, now I feel it. Why did it have to take my own experiences to understand what my mother had gone through? No wonder my mother was always there during my most trying times. She knew how it felt. She understood my anger, my pain, my fears, my insecurities. She never left me. And she has never really left me…never left me.


February 13, 2009

When I consider throwing in the towel, I think of my mother. She never gave up. Not on her marriage, not on her children, not on dealing with poverty. She endured …patiently. Even when there was marital tension, dinner would be ready on the table for my father. When her youngest son flunked one year in high school due to his own negligence, she would walk past rice fields and rivers and feeder roads to see him at our farm hut by the foothills where my father sent him in “exile” for months toiling the soil. When her oldest son got incarcerated during the first year of Martial Law in the Philippines, it pierced her heart in a way only mothers and God know. My mother initially passed out a few times but sprang back on her feet, got down on her knees praying, ordered everyone of her children to pray and at times went with my father to politicians and relatives and people in the military who could help my brother get free from such horrible dictatorial injustice. When another son had to go through long years of trial in court for a wrongful accusation, my mother supported him, eventually selling a piece of land she inherited from her father to pay for the legal expenses. When in college, one Wednesday, I had to go to school early but my mother realized she had no money to give me for my bus fare, she did not sulk or cry in self pity. She hurriedly went out of the house, gone for about half an hour and came back with 14 pesos for me. My mother didn’t grill steak, never baked lasagna, served ice cream only during barrio fiestas. She stewed beef with sigarillas, talbos ng camote, sitaw, kalabasa. Yes, beef…I mean bone chops with some bits of meat. She didn’t complain. And neither should her family. She made the best tasting and healthiest stew or vegetable soup! She said we were eating better than they did during the Japanese occupation. Count our blessings! Up until now I’m amazed at how I grew up not knowing we were poor. I never realized we were poor! My mother never said so, nor did she make us feel it. We had Che-Vital cheese on the table once in a while when my cousins only looked forward to Eggo sandwich spread. We went to family excursions and picnics annually to Antipolo and Luneta Park. My father would buy us grapes and apples at Christmastime and lots of lanzones when they’re in season. Children in our neighborhood only ate fruits they grew in their own backyards. We would take the bus to Manila and watch movies at Opera and Life Theaters and eat at Little Quiapo Restaurant at least twice a year while my neighbors only settled with free movies shown by mobile operators in open rice field areas, usually after the harvest season. Who wouldn’t think we were rich! When I think about it now, maybe that was how my mother and father raised confident secure children. We could be poor but we didn’t have to know that every morning we woke up.

There were always better things to do than dwell on her problems. She planted vegetables and raised hogs and chicken in our backyard; she fixed the pig pens and the fences; she scrubbed the window sills, the stairs, the sink, the walls and the pots and pans and whatever she could get her hands on with her pakiling leaves. She would take out of our antique aparador and escaparate some fine clothes that might need re-washing or fixing before their colors turn dull or the fabric get stained. She would make an inventory of stuff that for her made or will make history or simply a story: her wedding dress, my oldest brother’s baptismal gown, my oldest sister’s beautiful lace dresses, family photo albums, my medals, report cards, costumes in past school presentations. She would prepare delicious snacks from whatever was available in the kitchen or the backyard: cassava, banana, glutinous rice, coconut, jackfruit. She sewed pajamas, dusters, seat covers, pillow cases, curtains; she embroidered diapers, blankets, infant clothes and binders for forthcoming grandbabies. And yes, she spent hours and hours doing the laundry. She washed the whitest whites, the brightest colors, starched the crispiest, ironed the smoothest, folded the neatest, hang clothes in the most orderly manner, carefully put them away in cabinets and shelves by categories. My mother was the most meticulous person when it came to clothes care.

My mother had a servant spirit. She served his family with awesome dedication. She took care of all her grandchildren except the ones who were born when her osteoarthritis got worse. She washed the diapers of each and every one of them. She took care of her daughters and daughters-in-law post childbirth. She cooked the best dishes and delicacies which we looked forward to whenever we come home. She took care of her brother, her father and my father through their years of serious illness until the day they died in her arms.


March 18, 2009

I think of my mother while I’m driving my car. I remember when I got my first car. I had my nephew drive it for me making sure that she was the first passenger in that car. My, was she proud! Her baby owns a car! That car represented “luxury” and “convenience” to a woman who grew old walking on rough roads and narrow dividers of rice fields, riding squeaky calesas, noisy tricycles, and smoggy jeepneys and buses. It was something for a wife who peddled eggs, eggplants, pan de sal and rice and cassava cakes on foot to augment her husband’s income. It was overwhelming for a mother who did laundry service for rich people to provide for her daughter’s college allowance. My mother not only felt proud. She felt rich!


March 25, 2009

Today is my 7th anniversary in the United States. And I’m thinking about my mother. I left her in the Philippines bedridden. I wasn’t sure if she actually understood that I might not see her again. On the night before our flight, I lay beside her in her bed trying to feel her, trying to sniff that distinct smell, trying to listen to her soft voice. Did she really want me to go? Did she realize I won’t be visiting with her every weekend anymore? That I won’t be bringing her favorite Goldilocks custard pie anymore? That I won’t be feeding her anymore while giving her updates on my kids and my neighbors? During the last four years of her life my mother spent most of her time lying flat on her back looking up to the ceiling of her very old run-down house. For one whole week, she would be waiting for me to come see her. She would repeatedly ask my eldest sister when and what time me and my kids would be coming. And my sister would give her a bath, brush her teeth, spray her a little cologne, powder and lotion her body, change her sheets with fresh, crisply-starched ones, give her a manicure and pedicure, fix her occasionally permed hair, put on her floral print dress and get her all set to see her darling daughter. How could I fail her? Even when I was almost crawling on my knees from exhaustion being a very busy career woman, a single mother of two with no house help. I would get in my car with the kids, drop by the nearby Hi-Top Supermarket to get her Quaker oatmeal, Milo powdered chocolate drink , Tang or 8 O’clock powdered orange juice drink, 4 or 5 bags of Tena adult diapers, some freshly baked bread and pastries and then head to my hometown of Montalban. I would take the faster but garbage-smelling Batasang Pambansa route to get to my weeklong-waiting ailing mother, on the way eating some wheat bread straight out of the bag, or steaming hot Japanese sweet corn on the cob which we bought from peddlers on Katipunan Avenue. There was no more time to grab a decent breakfast or lunch or brunch. My mother would be waiting too long. And as soon as I get there, I would call “Nanay!” What relief! What comfort to see my Nanay. Even when she could not get on her feet, it always felt good to see my Nanay. Her excited gaze at me and my children was always worth the trip. And I would reach down to her and sniff that distinct smell and touch her soft flabby tummy. I’m home.

“Did you bring me something?”, she would ask. And she would eat her custard pie while listening to my weekly updates. And in between bites, she would mumble a list of people who came to see her during the week.

That night before our departure, I asked her what she wanted me to send her from America. “Chocolates!” She said that with the innocent delight of a little girl. In her lifetime, my mother didn’t frequently have the luxury of experiencing the smooth decadent bitter-sweet taste of really good chocolates. Chocolates were a treat from her sons coming home for vacations from their Middle East jobs many years ago. And everybody knew she would even save them for her grandchildren. I looked at my mother’s face, remembered my father used to say how much I took after her looks, wrapped my arms tightly around her and sniffed that distinct smell. You will have chocolates, Nanay. Lots of chocolates. And then I hugged her some more…and sniffed that distinct smell some more...for the last time.

By: April

BACKBITING

Everything is connected to everything else...

I’ve been thinking why we’re experiencing this economic recession. Why and how it started? When will it end? What can we do about it?

I realized that this started a few years ago. And we didn’t even realize it. That time when we were so amazed by all of the advanced technology being offered to us. When we were so thankful how it made our lives easier. Not knowing that it was going to bite us back.

I met my husband six year ago. During that time he was working as a parking attendant at Marriott Hotel in San Francisco. Previous to that he worked at a Bank first as a clearing check processor and then as cash vault representative. Why the shift of job you ask? Well, he was laid off. Bank started shutting down departments and laying off employees. The volume of inclearing checks has decreased significantly due to customers’ shift to online banking and check and debit cards instead of issuing actual checks. There are now less checks to sort and process. Moreover, checks, if actually issued are processed electronically. As cash vault custodian, he used to process bundles of bills per denomination. The bank decided to acquire machines that sort and bundle cash with very minimal human intervention. Hundreds of people lost their job at that time in the Bay Area alone. Consequently, most of these people who used to make $15 per hour eventually found themselves working for $8 per hour. Their pay reduced to almost half.

In many highly electronic banks, you only need to insert your check and cash deposits in the ATM and the machine automatically reads it and even prints a copy for you. No need to fill up a deposit slip. Unless you want some pretty young thing smiling and asking “How are you doing today?”, who needs a bank teller? Banks encourage you to go green, clutter-free and safe from indentity theft. In other words, they prefer you to do online banking rather than spend wages on employees to entertain you in their offices and mail your bank statements. These companies invested heavily in electronic equipments, so they need to see returns by way of a significant reduction in manpower expense. I’m sure installing and updating systems in banks with not only a nationwide network but a global one costs millions of dollars. What for? To beat competition, to be the prime movers in innovative and consumer-friendly fast banking. How are they going to realize returns on these investments? Don’t tell me from the $2 fees they charge for non-customers’ withdrawals from ATMs. Not from savings for not printing and sending customers’ bank statements. THey must find some other sources to derive income from operations. Maybe that is why mortgage loans were approved left and right, never mind if the loan applicants actually qualified or not. There has to be more income to offset big-time expenses! And so, we already know what happened next. Crash! Bailout! And the endless domino effect of this big mess.

My husband now works for the US Postal Service. For many years, USPS used to be one of the best companies many people aspire to get employed with. Excellent pay, competitive benefit package and very secure. Join it, do your job and rest assured you’re good till retirement day. Not so anymore. Modern technology has paved the way for the indispensible internet. Even seniors have learned to e-mail and search for their long-lost high school classmates and cousins on the internet. John need not mail the new baby’s pictures for Grandma and Grandpa to see. He just has to e-mail from his digital camera. Need to pay your bills right away? You don’t have to mail checks, just pay them online. And so who needs stamps? There have been less and less advertisement and promotion through mail. They just pop up as soon as you open your computer. Save for Disabled American Veterans and the Trinity Broadcasting Network, my mom has long seen the demise of a number of mails sent to her via USPS. The USPS has been getting less and less mail to process which means less and less work for their employees. Some of the warehouses which used to store tons of mail and parcels are getting closed. Several distribution and processing facilities are shutting down as well. Do they need the same manpower? Unsurprisingly, management has to let go thousands of men and women from their workforce. People who used to make $25 per hour land jobs which pay only $10 - if they’re lucky. As for many, they end up jobless, lining up at EDD for meager unemployment benefits.

I believe this is exactly why we are facing hard times. See, those who used to work for Bank of America as processors and those who used to work for USPS are probably the new American Dreamers who bought houses. But since they lost their well-paying jobs, they faced foreclosure and now have to rent apartments instead. Maybe they are the couples who started renovating their houses. Now they just look at Home Depot from a distance. It could be that they are the ones who used to have spare money to buy new electronics at Circuit City. Or they are the husbands who used to upgrade their Chrysler or Ford cars every few years. Most likely, they were regular customers of food chains such as Krispy Kreme and Starbucks. They are the folks who want to enjoy life so they set up savings to spend on vacations or outings, like a few days in Las Vegas or a day in Six Flags. They are the working middle-class wives who used to enjoy shopping at Linens n’ Things, Mervyn’s, Gap, Rite Aid, Macy’s and eat in restaurants such as Rainforest Cafe or Sbarro. They were the ones who used to sustain the profitable existence of these business establishments. These are the people who used to keep the economy going but are now very restrained to do so. The economic crisis has rendered their activities limited. And so, these companies either file for bankruptcy, significantly trim down operation, or apply for bailout.

What I’m trying to say is, many of us do not realize that a simple decision like paying bills online instead of mailing the check can actually affect everybodyelse. I’m thinking, if only we could go back to the simple, traditional and basic ways of doing some things, maybe, just maybe, we can turn around from the crisis. I’m pretty sure that those “geniuses” who thought of “making our lives easier” by inventing those advanced technologies are not facing foreclosure. I’m pretty sure that a lot of them are still living in their multi-million dollar houses. Still driving nice cars. Still spending vacations in luxurious resorts. Still eating in nice restaurants. The thing is, they’re only a handful. They cannot get the economy going at a scale that this working class can.

I may sound anti-modern technology. I am not. I know that technological innovations are inevitable, necessary, and one of the vital keys that pave the way towards progress. But as I look around and see more and more people suffering from this crisis, I believe, majority of us are not ready yet or have not been adequately prepared to face the fast changes that technology brought about. Somehow, the timing is not right. Eduacation, social awareness and updating of skills of the workforce shouldd have been done hand in hand with advances in technology. There should have been clear warnings like what’s being done with the switch from analog to digital TV. Now, people who avail of unemployment benefits are asked to acquire other skills in their local adult schools to give them more career options. Most of these require them to learn using the computer. These men and women in their late 50s suddenly found themselves back to school learning how to type, save and e-mail for the first time. You think they’ll find a niche in this high tech world soon enough to beat the effects of unemployment? Tell me about competition with the younger tech savvy sector of the workforce.

I know that this economic recession is too complicated for my simple mind to comprehend but this is my piece of the big pie. Give back the jobs to our people instead of giving it to machines. Stop dehumanizing businesses. Technology and man should complement each other. They should not compete with each other. After all, man made technology. It should serve him, not render him jobless.

By: Bernice Novicio