Grateful Heart

Except if you’re a Filipino living in the States, Pinoys generally don’t observe Thanksgiving. For me at least, I’ve only been directly affected by that American holiday when I worked for an inbound call center more than a decade ago. It’s one of those rare times of the year when reps rejoice because of the low call volume.

A relative in the US told me that Thanksgiving Day, which is celebrated on the fourth Thursday of November, is a big deal for most Americans as Christmas Day would be for us Filipinos. Families gather together for a Thanksgiving feast of large roast turkey with stuffing and cranberry sauce. They usually have enough leftovers to last them for many days, that people in the office and in school would get sick of eating turkey in sandwiches, salads, casserole, pie, etc.

Another one of their age-old traditions is watching the NYC Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade in the morning and the NFL in mid-afternoon.

After which they wait for Black Friday, the Friday following Thanksgiving Day. It’s the official start of the Christmas shopping season where many retail stores are on sale. I heard how a lot of people would camp out the stores to get the first dibs on the sale items. In recent years, Cyber Monday became a thing. It’s the Monday following Thanksgiving when retailers encourage people to shop online, to probably prevent frantic shoppers from raiding the stores on Black Friday.

“Parang mga baliw!” (They’re crazy!) — an older cousin (who had been in the US since the late `70s) once said, obviously not one to risk stampede for sale items.

***

While it all sounds like fun to me, it’s not like we’re missing out on anything just because we don’t have Thanksgiving. We have our own traditions worth mentioning.

If it’s just about spending time with family and friends over food, we have Noche Buena, Medya Noche and town fiestas for that.

If it’s about dashing to stores for sale, duh—we have that too. Make that all weekends from the beginning of ‘-ber’ months.

Turkey? I bet lechon is waaaay better.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not being a Thanksgiving grinch here like Chandler Bing. I’m not even going to burst your festive bubble by telling you about the genocide and slaughter behind the commemoration of this holiday. Instead, I’m here more to say that whether we celebrate it or not, one thing rings true: We should always focus on giving thanks for all our blessings.

My heart is full of gratitude that every day for me is actually Thanksgiving Day. No matter how tough circumstances may have been for me at times, I begin and end my day thanking the Lord for all the blessings, graces, lessons, hope and even trials that He gives me. Thanksgiving is not just for answered prayers because I know how some unanswered prayers lead us to a better way based on His grand plan.   

Remember: A grateful heart is a happy and contented heart.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Infinity plus 1

I woke up to sad news this morning. My former Math teacher and class adviser in junior high school passed away.

The details of his passing are still unclear as of this writing. From what I initially heard, his body is already showing early signs of decomposition because he had been dead for 2-3 days when he was found inside his condo unit.

This teacher was notorious for being strict. Unfortunately for me who’s struggling in his subject, he’s never short on the insults and the name-calling. I will never forget how he once threatened me; that he’ll throw a stapler right smack on my forehead because I was having a hard time solving an equation on the blackboard. (Do that at this day and age, and that will be enough to get him to Raffy Tulfo’s show.)

Except for when I was already in college, I was never, ever a teacher’s pet. When I look back and think about why some teachers didn’t like me back in high school, I honestly can’t find a justifiable reason. I mean — I know I might have been talkative in class, but I was never rowdy or unruly; I might have been a slacker at times, but I was never irresponsible; it may look like I was cold and indifferent, but I was never disrespectful.

Maybe it has something to do with how I come off to them. Perhaps it’s my overall mien that made me somewhat unlikeable to some members of the faculty. 

Then again, compared to other teachers who hated me just because, sir would only lose his cool on me during his class. And I really can’t blame him if he flips out on me. My brain cells usually go kaput when I am asked to solve an equation in front of the class.

I understand even then that his anger is more of frustration, especially when he knew I am pretty good at most of my subjects (and an academic scholar even). When the bell rings signaling the end of his class, nothing becomes personal. As a matter of fact, he’s particularly nice and fair to me. 

This sets him apart from the other teachers who resort to berating a pupil beyond the usual teacher-student interaction. Bully teachers criticize you not because you are struggling on the subject or for having bad behavior, but just because he or she doesn’t like you.  

I see nothing wrong with having a strict teacher if the purpose is to build up the student to be better. That’s how sir was to me. His approach may be to instill fear but it worked in earning my respect. It’s no wonder why despite his notoriety, he is well-loved by his former students.

Through infinity, sir. Rest in Peace. 

Potent

If you openly cough and sneeze around me without covering your mouth and nose, know that I will let you see that I’ll cover mine. I will let you know I’m utterly disgusted; I will let you feel that IT’S NOT OKAY.

Simply put, why would I even care if you get offended when you were the one who’s reckless and insensitive in the first place?

I took a jeepney ride to work one morning. This lady seated next to me had been coughing and she didn’t even bother to cover her freakin' mouth. Not an “excuse me” even. She just hacked for a good two minutes like she’s a cough and cold machine indiscriminately firing virus at us.

Because the jeepney is almost packed, the most I can do is to shift in my seat, take out my handkerchief (I always have one) and cover my mouth. The lady noticed my uneasiness and my not-so-amused face, but that didn’t stop her from barking some more. I seriously think she’s well aware that I’m bothered based on my disapproving looks, but I think part of her wanted to be stubborn and show me (or us) that she can be obnoxious and she doesn’t care.

I was so baffled at her lack of concern for the people around her in such a cramped space, to think that she looks like an employee in one of the buildings in Makati, so I assume she’s educated. I mean, where is her etiquette?  Even my four-year-old nephew, with his short limbs, knows how to cough inside of his elbows.   

***

I don’t get sick very often, but early this year, after watching the Chinese New Year festivities in Binondo, I caught one of the worst cough and flu ever (that is, even if I get the yearly flu vaccine). It was so bad it took me several weeks before I can fully recover.

I believe I got it after using a crowded public restroom inside Lucky Chinatown mall. I remember that while waiting, there’s this lady behind me who had been sniffing and coughing. As it looked like she’s a senior, I let her use the toilet first and then followed shortly afterward. 

Use your imagination.

I’m one who washes her hands thoroughly after every trip to the loo, but maybe the virus that got me (or I got) was airborne. Just thinking of this made me wonder how many ended up with the same symptoms considering that there’s so many of us in that very crowded room.

Infectious diseases unheard of decades ago, are on the rise. Viruses are more potent; outbreaks have been very common that some are even fatal. I go home to two little kids and an almost octogenarian mother. I don’t want to be a carrier of a virus that I may likely pass to them.

It’s hard enough to get sick but at least I have leaves that I can use and I have a comprehensive health plan paid for by my company. But that’s not the case for some of my other family members. If they get sick, it would spell a lot of trouble. And I’m not just talking about the hospitalization and medication costs, but more about their overall well-being.

So yes. You can call me squeamish or “maarte”, but if you don’t take steps in making sure that we won’t get what you have, be ready to see the disgust on my face. If you even dare call me out for behaving as such, then be prepared to hear my bitchy tirade on why I think you don’t have basic manners.     

And you can be sure I practice what I preach. When I have the colds or flu, especially if it’s severe, I call in sick and stay home. I don’t take mass public transport. If I’m well enough to come to the office but still coughing and having the sniffles, I make sure I have my face mask on, a bottle of alcohol and wipes within arm’s reach.

I keep my distance. When they get close enough, I let them know that I’m sick and I don’t want them to catch what I have. In short, I care for the people around me. So much so that I do the necessary measures to make sure I won’t transmit what I have.

Sadly, not everyone thinks the same. There are people who — when they feel miserable and sick — would like others to feel it too. These are the kind of people I would gladly punch in the face if I could.

Levels

I’d like to think years of one’s life as “levels” in a game. The higher the level, the higher the character progress — every level unlocked, the more badass you become. When you think of years as levels, it can take off that terrifying feeling one would normally have as he or she approaches another birthday. Your age — to put it simply, becomes some badge of honor.

I am about to unlock Level 43 of life in a few days. As far as badasses go, I think I have paid my dues and can already consider myself much better than when I was younger in handling whatever life hurls at me. I am at a point where I am the best version of myself.

For one, I stopped giving a f*** about many things. People who knew me since my early twenties can vouch that I was one who worries, complains and reacts too much about practically everything. I tend to burden myself with trivial things that don’t matter; I get triggered by current issues, social media posts, perceived inconveniences, and off-putting remarks.

Now, I hardly react impulsively. Even if I have an opinion on most things, I learned that it’s not always necessary to let people know about it. I have gotten calmer and more at peace with things that would otherwise provoke me before. I hardly participate in casual debates and arguments because I feel it’s no longer worth my time and energy. I’m getting too old for drama and petty issues.

On the contrary, while I may not volunteer my thoughts and views that much anymore (especially on social media platforms), but I developed a shorter wick when it comes to dealing with people with an attitude. Now more than ever, I have no reservations when calling out belligerent drivers, rude service crew, nasty coworker, etc. 

Let’s just say that I now know when to shut up as much I know when to speak up.

Like, how just recently, I confronted an officemate who told a friend of mine that I applied for a newly-opened position but didn’t make it. She even had the nerve to assume why I *didn’t* get it. If this happened to me before, I would just have chuckled it, to keep the peace, especially that the rumor wasn’t true anyway (not true as in I haven’t applied for any position for about four years now). But now I can’t seem to let something malicious like that to pass without me telling her that it’s not okay.

This may sound arrogant, but I also stopped striving to be liked. I have accepted that no matter what good I do, there will always be people who won’t like me. By taking this to heart, I stopped doing the extra mile just to please others. With it, I no longer need to explain myself all the time.

For most of my life, all I wanted was to get along with everybody. I cared so much how people see me, so I put up with a lot of things including bad behavior and treatment towards me. I even compromised my own beliefs and values in the process. When I hit forty, that went away. I have stopped making all the adjustments just to get other people’s approval. It has become more of love me or hate me and whichever they choose is just fine with me.

I have distanced myself from a lot of people who no longer serve me. I’ve learned to set boundaries because I finally now know what I want and what I deserve. After all, I always believed that how you are treated by people depends on what you allow them. Right now, the total number of people taking advantage of me is reduced to zero.

Don’t mistake these realizations as apathy. If for anything, it made me value the people who matter, however few. I nurture the real relationships I have remaining;  I have realized the importance of quality over quantity especially when it comes to friendship. I may have very few friends but I know that they are the best.

Not giving too much f*** made me more forgiving; to not hold grudges against people who wronged me. I no longer dwell on the things I lost—or of the past. When one accepts that people and things change, gratitude is easier.

Almost instantly, I have also become more forgiving of myself. I used to beat myself up for all the mistakes and failures I have in the past, including the wrong people I let in my life. That’s the thing about forgiveness: If you can forgive other people, you become as compassionate to yourself. It can become a part of one’s self-healing.

I also no longer compare myself to others and have accepted that we live different lives and timelines. That we have different priorities and opportunities. In reality, no one can really dictate how one should live another’s life. Some marry by 25, others by 45; some can get their dream jobs at 30, while some start their own business by 60. If I time my life based on how my contemporaries are doing, I would only be resenting my own existence. It’s also good to know that not everything I see on Facebook and IG is real and must be envied. After all, most of us post only the good stuff we want others to see.

But the most surprising lesson I learned about the accumulation of years is the understanding that I still have a lot to learn  — as opposed to what others think that age gives you the superciliousness of being an insufferable know-it-all. If for anything, getting by these levels humbled me a great deal. I have become more self-aware to realize I wasn’t the hotshot that I thought I was—and that it’s okay.

While being forty doesn’t make me an expert about life in general, it’s good that I’m learning a lot as I go through my fourth decade. Every year there’s something I view differently and it’s refreshing.

I believe that aging, so much so like death, is a debt we all pay. One day the physical and physiological changes will get the best of me. Time will come when I can no longer use the phrase“Older and wiser” any more than “Older and weaker”. Maybe when my cognitive deterioration starts, I’d probably morph to the grumpiest version of myself.

But until then, unlocking levels doesn’t sound that bad, right?

Stockholm Syndrome

When it comes to musical preference, I am what some would call “eclectic”. Although I’m partial to songs that came out around the '80s, saying that it’s my only predilection when it comes to music would be incorrect.

Mamma Mia! movies had been showing on cable and I always watch it every time it’s on. It got me playing my ABBA playlist on Spotify these days that early morning hours in the office are more bearable with the Swedish Pop quartet ringing in my ears.

It may be an acquired taste, but ABBA for me is one of the best acts to ever graced popular music. Benny and Björn wrote great songs and both Frida and Agnetha sang it amazingly well.

I grew up listening to my mom’s cassette tapes of this group so I was pretty much exposed. Mommy said they were two married couples who’re already separated (rumors of partner-swapping actually came out after); why I was told that trivia snippet at the tender age of five or six, I would never know.

For me to remember then who’s married to who—at least when looking at this cassette cover—I refer to the hair color: Brunette to brunette, blond to blonde. Now I know of course it’s Benny (the one with the beard) and Frida (dark hair), Björn (the guy with bangs decades before Beiber even did) and Agnetha (typical Nordic blonde).

L-R: Björn Ulvæus, Agnetha Fältskog, Anni-Frid "Frida" Lyngstad and Benny Andersson

I thought then that I only liked them because of my parents’ influence. It was only when I was in my teens that I realized that my bias had nothing to do with sentimentality or nostalgia—I really think they’re great.

But they are not the Beatles; they aren’t the epitome of cool. So I admit to being a closeted ABBA fan for most of my High School years, enjoying their songs in the privacy of my home where I was with the presence of fellow ABBA fans who will not look down on me for my choice of songs. If for anything, I’d usually sing “Take A Chance On Me” with my younger brother (he’d do the “Take a chance, take a chance, take a-take a chance-chance.”-part).

So I can understand why most people would have their prejudices. There’s the very '70s glam-rock, disco-pop vibe (just watch their music videos on YouTube with them wearing dated polyester pantsuits and platform boots and prepare to cringe). Their choice of instruments like marimba, flugelhorns, tambourine, and maracas was not everyone’s cup of tea. There’s so much hate for ABBA out there you’d think they’re the worst.

It’s no secret that the band broke up in the early '80s; a sad aftermath of their marriages crumbling. By then, punk, progressive rock, synth-pop and new wave dominated the scene while disco-pop/glam rock took the backseat. People who were born after those years naturally weren’t as exposed as I was and didn’t know much about them (except maybe as the group who sang the videoke and gay bar drags staple, “Dancing Queen”).

***

Good thing the film versions opened a new demographic as now I can hear the younger generation actually singing and liking their songs. My nephews, for instance, can sing most of their songs even without us forcing them to like it. Gavin finds “Voulez-Vouz” catchy that I caught him singing it. The smaller one, Liam, goes in a trance when he sees the “Mamma Mia!” and “Super Trouper” music videos.

Even then I knew quite a number of ABBA songs even the obscure ones. Some of the not-so-known ABBA songs I unabashedly love include “Love Isn't Easy (But It Sure Is Hard Enough)”, “I Wonder (Departure)”, “Nina, Pretty Ballerina”, “People Need Love” and “Dance (While the Music Still Goes On)”.

I remember watching Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again on the cinema and when “Angel Eyes” was sung by Christine Baranski, Julie Walters and Amanda Seyfried, I found myself singing along with it, quite audibly, that the woman beside me had to ask: “Fan ka `no?” 

***

I also thank these movie musical adaptations because it also made me appreciate some of the other ABBA songs I didn’t know or like before. I remember not liking “Waterloo” that much but it kinda grew on me after a while. It was even included in The Martian soundtrack, where there was this scene when Matt Damon’s character, Mark Watney, grumbles on his crewmate's ABBA album.

“I’m definitely going to die up here if I have to listen to any more of this disco music.” — Yet he still plays it.

Many years ago, “Fernando” was a song used by a local candidate with the same surname for his campaign jingle that it became an earworm of some sort. For this reason, I never actually like it (much like “Chiquitita”), but then I loved how super diva Cher performed it with Andy Garcia in Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again (I mean, what could go wrong with Cher?)

Thanks to the films, I have a newfound appreciation for songs like “Why Does It Have to Be Me?”, “My Life, My Love”, “Lay All Your Love On Me”, “I’ve Been Waiting For You” and “I Have A Dream”.

ABBA songs might even be described by some as tacky bubblegum pop but there’s no denying that most lyrics were poignant enough to tug heartstrings—almost melancholic. I read somewhere that it was like that because some of the songs were written just around the time that they were separating, so emotions are pretty raw. Either that or Swedes are sad by nature (How true, Garet?)

“The Winner Takes It All” is an example of such, with lyrics that go: “But tell me, does she kiss like I used to kiss you? Does it feel the same when she calls your name?”— that even if I was listening to this way back when I have not experienced any major, life-altering breakup as of yet, I can very much feel the pain.

Mothers with daughters growing up, “Slipping Through My Fingers” can hit them really hard. Meanwhile, “Mamma Mia!” is something of an anthem for a ‘marupok’ (like me?) as it tells about falling for the same person again despite being cheated on. I mean, it was pretty straightforward on its first few lines:

I’ve been cheated by you since I don't know when 
So I made up my mind, it must come to an end 
Look at me now, will I ever learn? 
I don't know how but I suddenly lose control. 

(BTW, anyone remembers a very young Lea Salonga singing “Thank You for The Music” once upon a time?)

***

If I were to be asked to name my favorite ABBA song, I definitely can’t just give one. For me, there is an ABBA song for every relevant feeling there is. The words are so emotionally precise you would wish you have thought of it. The best thing about most songs of ABBA is that even if it was lyrically sad, you just can't help but dance to it. Remember how Meryl Streep sang “Mamma Mia!” on the roof of the goat house in the first movie? 

However, if there’s one ABBA song that struck a chord even when I was younger, it would be “Knowing Me, Knowing You”, which I think was in an album released the same year I was born. (Coming close would have to be “Super Trouper” and “Angel Eyes”).

“Knowing Me, Knowing You” is probably the saddest breakup song for me and I wasn’t the only one who thinks so, as it was once voted as the saddest song ever. Sure, it obviously speaks of marital demise, but there are lines from it that I could totally relate to as the feeling is so familiar: 

Knowing me, knowing you 
There is nothing we can do 
Knowing me, knowing you 
We just have to face it this time we're through 
Breaking up is never easy, I know 
But I have to go 
Knowing me, knowing you 
It's the best I can do. 

Frida did the lead vocals on this one, while Agnetha provided the hauntingly sad echoes, “memories, good days, bad days”. I also love how the guys do the second voice (“this time we’re through, this time I know we’re really through”), which Jeremy Irvine (who played young Sam in Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again) did just as well. 

As I’ve said, it’s all about one’s innate musical taste whether to appreciate ABBA or not. Loving them or hating them is a matter of opinion. One can critique their ridiculously garish fashion (which, from what I read was deliberate to avoid tax), naysayers can go on and on telling us what’s so uncool about them, but to say they aren’t good and deserving of the recognition would surely set off the music snob in me. Prepare to be schooled what rhythm, melody and harmony truly mean in a time when autotune didn’t exist yet and make sure you can argue around it.  

I don’t really judge people based on their musical preference – unless they do the sneering first.

Too soon to let go

People around my age especially the ones who already have their own families often neglect themselves whether on purpose or not. It’s very much understandable that vanity takes the backseat when you have three kids who could drain all the remaining youth out of you. I should know—sometimes just staying home for a day with my two naughty nephews is enough for me to age on a cellular level.

While it’s generally acceptable for middle-aged people who have children to be a bit slack on the looks department for obvious reasons, it’s a different story for us single women in our forties. People will not be as forgiving only because we don’t have any excuse.

I may already be at the age when I give zero f*cks on what people say about me and almost unapologetic about the person that I am, but taking care of myself is a personal choice. After all, self-care is not vanity. Self-care is self-love.

Vanity aside, I try to look good as much as I could. I spend a good half an hour in front of the mirror every morning doing my “rituals”. It isn’t right to go and tell myself that I don’t give a rat’s ass on how I look anymore because anyway, “I’m getting old”.

I don’t want people to look at me with pity and say to themselves: “No wonder she’s single!”.

I take care of my hair—cover the grays if needed, because going “grombre” may look good on some but not on me (and frankly, not on the majority of women).

I may need massive doses of collagen to fight gravity from pulling down my face, but I will not stop trying.

I may unabashedly parade around the house with my tummy jutting out, but I still watch what I eat.

I always had a set of eyebags even when I was younger, but I fight dark circles as fiercely as I could with a good skin routine and enough sleep.

I get a manicure and a pedicure because getting old doesn’t automatically mean Nosferatu nails.

I set an appointment with the dentist twice a year for oral prophylaxis because I don’t want them to think that I’m into chewing tobacco now.

I still wax my legs because I don’t want to be mistaken for a Russian weightlifter when I wear shorts in public.

I know I can’t go out wearing those tank tops like I’m the eighth member of Momoland, but I still want to rock a bodycon dress when I want to.

Doing all of these doesn’t mean I’m trying desperately to look younger or counteract aging. I don’t intend to compete with women in their twenties, hell no. It’s more about looking and feeling good about myself at my current age. See, just because one is getting old, doesn’t mean she had to stop wanting to be attractive.

We all have heard it: “I’m giving up. I won’t fight it anymore!”—people in their mid-forties to fifties just throwing the towel. This was perhaps because they were clinging to how they once were. I noticed this surrender most from people who were actually good-looking when they were younger. They find it hard coming to terms with the fact that they are no longer as pretty or thin as they were.

I have this friend who was once a print ad model and for most of her life, she’s what you’d call beautiful. She enjoyed a fair share of admirers and popularity within her peers.

Not that she’s unattractive now, but since hitting forty, the changes that were gradual then has become so obvious now. She gained weight, her hair started graying and some wrinkles and droops started showing in her face that it threw her in a pit of depression. Now she has told me she’s giving up and letting father time take the wheel. While we are not on the same boat because for me at least, it’s too soon to let go, I understand why she’s conceding.

Looking at my pictures from seven years ago when my double chin is nonexistent can be quite depressing. But while it is what it is, I can’t just do nothing about it. Embracing aging doesn’t mean neglecting how you look because that will be just wrong. It’s more about having a better awareness of yourself and knowing what’s good for you.

So forgive me if I ain’t gonna stop taking care of myself anytime soon. Anyway, someday I will be too old to even care how I looked. Until that day comes, I will try to keep pushing the envelope.

It’s no longer about looking young, but more about still looking good even as I age.