Dynamics

Photo by George Bakos on Unsplash

This had been sitting on my drafts for quite sometime now and I’ve been holding off posting this on my blog. See, if I could avoid it, I don’t like to embroil myself again over things that I write and post online. 

But I had to say this piece. I’m tired of trying not to offend the same people who had no qualms about offending me.

***

Sometimes blood relatives can be the most critical and toxic people you’ll ever meet. Over the years, I’ve learned to deal with them by not dealing with them. Never mind if some see me as aloof and a stuck-up, as I stopped caring on how I am perceived by other people anyway—relatives included. I figured, no matter what I do, if I’m not liked then I will never be liked. 

My attitude towards such people is more for self-preservation. I thought, if I’m more effacing, then they won’t bother me. The less they know about what’s happening to me, the lesser they have saying something about it.

As I’ve said in this post, we grew up in the disadvantaged side of the family. Most of our relatives may not be rich but they had it better. And whether they admit or not, some of them (not all) made clear of that gap as we were treated differently when we were kids. We seemingly belong, yet not the same way as the others in the family. Sometimes when my brothers and I would look back, we are reminded of the unfair treatment we experienced from some uncles, aunts and older cousins. Some of which, they might not realize, were very hurtful. 

But I guess we just accepted such family dynamics as they were. We were taught to respect the elders, no matter what. My father did little to stand his ground and speak up for us, as he’s not really confrontational. Perhaps he placed higher values on peace and harmony than resorting to conflict, or maybe he’s just afraid to burn bridges especially that we live with our relatives. And as the wise quote goes, you teach people how to treat you by what you allow, what you stop, and what you reinforce. 

And for this reason as we got older, we tried very hard to get out from that so we will not be at the mercy of our relatives. Slowly, we managed to make things better somewhat, able to afford a few things. While we aren’t still considered “moneyed” or financially successful, at least we come a long way from how we were. 

Most of the older relatives had passed on, including my dad, and all that remains are my older cousins so we vowed that we are not going to be pushed around anymore. Mistreatment, especially with my nephews, will not be tolerated. I actually hoped that since we’re already the next generation, that we should put a stop on the toxic approach of our elders but it’s funny how some of my older cousins still follow the same pattern. 

This is why we tell the kids to always be in their best behavior. Some relatives can go that low that they’ll even involve or criticize the innocent kids when they have issues with the kids’ parents. Even at a young age, we educate them by teaching them what is acceptable and what is not so they wouldn’t have to put up with it like we did. We tell them the importance of self-worth and standing up for oneself. We tell them that there will be times they might feel excluded or they may hear upsetting words about them and that’s okay because we are here for them.

When playing with their cousins, for example, I always tell them not to touch their toys and stuff unless it was lent to them. Some parents are so particular with this. My nephews were taught to share what they have so it pains me when they aren’t treated the same. My kuya, in particular, can be quite vengeful when this happens and ends up buying nice things for the boys, so they won’t be left out. “Ginawa na sa atin, gagawin pa sa mga pamangkin ko?” (They did it to us, they’ll do it to my nephews too?)    

***

Nothing irks me more than those relatives who’d see the faults of others, but not the ugly and unpleasant things happening in their own “yard”. There’s this one who thinks everything about their family is peachy keen, so they thought they have all the right to criticize others. What they don’t know is word gets around and “the tea” also reaches us, so we know basically what’s been going on with them, and it’s also not pretty. The only difference is that I was never the type to talk about other people. When a rumor/news reaches me for example, I don’t ask for further details. I just don’t. I’m always told I’m no fun because I hardly react or comment when a gossip is passed to me. Whenever I hear rumors within family, I usually ignore them. My take on it was, I don’t care how others live their lives when I have mine to worry about. I’m also counting on the fact that since I’m not nosy or prying, then they will give me the same courtesy. 

But that’s not the case. Some of them still can’t stop themselves from sticking their noses into our personal affairs. It ticks me off when I hear them talking about my family, or even about another relative. When you hear how they talk about others, you’d think they have the most perfect family. They love to spotlight the faults of someone while praising a family member in contrast. 

Ang sarap sabihin, O eh di ikaw na! 

They will pit their children against other relatives, as if there’s a contest to begin with: Who has the better job, who has been to more countries, who has cuter kids, who has more money, etc. And make it seem that they’ll always win in this imagined competition. What they don’t realize is that this can cause resentment between the people being compared, even if they don’t have any issues with each other to begin with.    

How was it that they have a lot of things to say when they’re not even involved? Why would their opinion matter if they’re only looking at one side of the story? 

The irony is that people who like to meddle in other people’s affairs don’t like it when someone meddles in theirs. 

***

Another thing that gets under my skin are the off-handed, condescending comments. I have this aunt who I don’t see very often who’d greet me with, “Huy, panay ang check-in niyo sa hotel ha!” (Wow, you always stay at hotels huh?) or “panay ang kain niyo sa labas ha!” (You always eat/dine out huh?) — like their family doesn’t do it too. And before you argue that it might be an innocuous comment, trust me it isn’t. She’s really hinting at something and does this every single chance she gets. I mean, so what if we do? Even that is an issue to them now?

Jeez, we’re not even bragging, because there’s really nothing to brag about having simple staycations or eating out. The very few times I post about our small family events, we’d get such patronizing comments as if they’re saying, wow, you can afford such things already? — and that can lead to remembering old pains and memories of the time when we don’t have much. 

***

It is so frustrating because who doesn’t want to just get along with everybody? But some of my relatives are making it hard that sometimes you’d rather not exchange pleasantries when you’ll still hear nasty things said about you or other people afterwards. 

And they wonder now why I’m somewhat distant. Suplada daw ako. Hindi makabati. Being distant is my protective bubble. They villainize me yet they didn’t realize it was how they were to me that made me like this. What’s the point of fighting preconceived notions about me? 

They say you can’t choose family, but you can choose how you let them treat you. It is maturity to steer clear from the toxic relatives. I don’t have to attend every single gathering, or interact with some of them. I don’t have to get along with people I share the same bloodline and last name if they don’t respect me enough not to say bad things about me or my family behind my back. I don’t have to tolerate people who judge my choices and decisions. I refuse to be manipulated and controlled by the elders as if they’re always right. 

And if this is how I am only because I’m trying to avoid stress, conflict and misunderstanding, I know that can’t be wrong.

Winning the Closet War

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

My mommy had this closet upstairs that daddy had made when we had the third floor constructed back in 1997. It is big enough to keep our clothes and other stuff. 

In the past few years, mom hasn’t opened or cleaned it; she knows tackling it can be overwhelming and it isn’t something she can do alone. Most of the things she kept there hasn’t been used in years and is practically garbage (after all, she has a separate closet and drawer for the clothes and stuff she actually use). But even if we tell her to get rid of some of the stuff in there, mom would go on a tirade and wouldn’t let us touch it. She’ll even blame me as to why she’s unable to organize it as much as she wanted to, saying my bed was blocking it.

In the past few months, we noticed a strong, musty smell coming from inside the closet. We would also see cockroach eggs and mouse droppings falling in very rare times we open it. We have called the attention of our mom many times, but she kept saying she’ll take care of it one of these days, which of course she never did. 

The next time my older brother opened it to check one of his suit jackets, he was shocked to see that the clothes has become a nesting and feeding area for cockroaches. No wonder I would sometimes have the worst allergy attacks even if I keep my area clean from dirt and dust.

But mom doesn’t seem to be alarmed about the obvious infestation. She told us to leave it to her and that one of these days she’ll fix it. That is, despite us telling her that the closet is beyond organizing and fixing because the mere inhalation of the acrid odor could be potentially harmful. We told her that it wouldn’t be safe for her and the kids. 

The pleas fell on deaf ears; all she’d say when we tell her that was: “Huwag niyong pakelaman `yan, aayusin ko yan!” (Leave it alone, I will handle it.) God knows we love our mom to death, but we are so close to wringing her neck sometimes. I don’t think her refusal to act on it is because she’s oblivious about the dangers her hoards present to herself and to other people living with her, but maybe it’s more of asserting her control in the household. 

Yes, my mom has hoarding tendencies but to be fair, mom can rival Marie Kondo in her younger years. She was a fantastic organizer, and we are in awe how she can fit a lot of things neatly in one spot. We grew up in a small but clean house. But as she got older, her hoarding progresses. She found it difficult to get rid of things and always had that need to save them. What was once a tidy house is now filled with her clutter. Every nook and cranny, trust that there’s mom’s stuff sitting there. Her refusal to part with a lot of items has become the common cause of our arguments and shouting matches with her.

My kuya and I would buy nice containers so we can throw away the unsightly empty bottles and plastic containers only to find it stacked inside cabinets. Mom’s one who would inspect our garbage to make sure we aren’t tossing anything there that she can still use. Last year, my kuya spent a fortune renovating the kitchen and it irks him now to see old pots and pans and containers taking so much space inside cabinets and on top of the counter.  

This old plastic catsup bottle, for example, I have thrown this very bottle twice but my mom would get it from the garbage. What it’s being used for exactly, we don’t know, but it’s been sitting on the sink.

Meanwhile, my nephews sleep with me upstairs in cushions on the floor. And because they’re getting bigger by the day, I thought it would be better to convert mom’s big closet to a spot where we can put a double deck bed for the kids. I told kuya about this and he liked the idea because at least the spot can be used and maximized instead of making it a breeding ground for pests. 

Convincing mommy was another story. “Saan ko ilalagay yung mga gamit ko?” (Where will I put my stuff?). We told her that the old clothes, curtains, pillowcases, etc. are beyond saving anyway. We cannot just dump it in a washer when there’s that risk of getting hantavirus and other pulmonary diseases. I would even forward her videos of the dangers of roach and mouse infestations just to prove it isn’t something we’re making up. But no, for the longest time, she stood her ground. 

Then one morning, finally, I was told that mommy agreed to take down the closet. I still don’t know how they talked her into it but kuya wasted no time and contacted someone to take it down before Mother Goose changes her mind. It was quite a shock seeing the actual state of the closet as soon as we took out everything. Apart from the roach and mouse infestation, we realized that the musty smell was coming from the damp clothes due to a hole in the ceiling where rainwater had been leaking. A lot of our stuff had disintegrated from the humidity. We showed this to my mom who then said we could still give it to people who might still have use for it. Mommy thought there’s nothing that a good laundry detergent and bleach can’t fix. Of course, we said that it’s not safe to give away roach-infested, mouse-peed clothes and so another round of argument ensued which ultimately end up with her giving all of us the silent treatment. 

Most of my old stuff toys have also been damaged so I have no choice but to throw it away too, save for a few that were kept in vacuum-tight plastic. My brothers also had to throw away most of their clothes kept inside to show mom that we all have our own sacrifices to make. I also tossed away books, photo albums, bags and other things that I had forgotten I owned. My ruthlessness to declutter won against any silly sentimentality. I thought, if my stuff has been kept inside for that long, then that only means I no longer have any use for it.

My mother has amassed incredible amount of garbage over the years. We can’t fathom her need to keep outdated, stained, and faded curtains. When we asked her why she’d kept it, she said she will still use it even if all our windows now have Korean blinds installed. Daddy had been dead for four years and yet most of his clothes are still stored somewhere. We also can’t understand why she kept all those oversized, out-of-fad jackets and winter coats that were sent by relatives in balikbayan boxes, only to say that we might still use it someday (never mind if we end up looking like MC Hammer). My mom has also kept those imported, hotel-quality, Cannon™ towels that she could have given us to use and now she insists we keep it when it’s already reeking of mold and mildew. As expected, another fight followed as we are all adamant in telling her we don’t want any of her hand-me-downs. 

By the end of the day, we have accumulated enough trash outside that a garbage truck had to be called as garbage collectors in carts can’t bring everything. The guy who took down the closet agreed it was such a waste of space when about 80% of it are stuff that we cannot salvage anymore.  

When the spot was cleared, my mom wasn’t at all amused. If for anything, she felt attacked and violated. What she doesn’t realize is that we always think of how she would feel and hurting her feelings is the last thing we want to do. If we were that inconsiderate as she thought, we could have easily thrown away a lot of her things—knowing that she doesn’t remember owning most of it anyway, but still we can’t bear doing that to her. We still ask her permission before getting rid of anything.

I believe that clutter can trigger anxiety and with all the other things (and people!) that stress me out these days, it is the easiest to remedy. All we need is that vehemence in letting go of things and the memories that come with it. The past couple of years I’ve been levelheaded in dealing with my own clutter. I throw/give away things that I no longer use without putting much thought to it. I can’t let it choke the very little space I have at home.

As the silent treatment from mom continues, so was the plan to convert the spot. The next day, kuya was in a frenzy mode and bought the kids the double deck frame and mattresses. He’s worried that mom would do a 180° and say that she wants a closet made on the same spot. If the frame and mattresses are already there, then she won’t have any choice anymore. 

In just two days the ceiling, walls and the flooring was complete. This is the only time mom somewhat softened her stance, when she saw that the kids are enjoying their new spot upstairs. The loving heart of the lola for her apos prevailed.   

Now I have my nephews as my roomies. The boys can be another level of stress, no doubt, but I’d take that rather than sharing a space with a dirty closet that reminds me of that garbage compactor on the first Death Star in Star Wars: A New Hope.

I did not make this post to embarrass my mom, but only to point out that while we understand why elderly people tend to hold on to their possessions, we also have to intervene if this could already affect other people. God knows we just want to have a clean space not just for us, but more importantly, for her and for the kids. 

We can’t even win against mom on so many things being that she’s still and will always be the undisputed queen of the house. But this time we did, and it was sweet.

Call Me Pancake

Photo by Simon HUMLER on Unsplash

I can’t stress it enough, but I love massages! I make sure I get one when I need one. Sometimes even twice or thrice a month.

I’ve tried it all: Swedish, Shiatsu, Traditional Hilot, Thai, Cupping (Ventosa), Lymphatic drainage, Myofascial, Deep-tissue and my favorite: Combination massage! I’m lucky to be in an area dotted with massage places I can choose from. The services vary per place though, and I’ve had the worst experience in some. Good thing that there’s a good one which is just a block away from our street with skilled massage therapists and this is where I’ve been going for several months now.

I can no longer recall how old I was when I started getting massages, but I remember when a masseuse would drop by the house to work on me and my mom. I never liked home service massages for various reasons, so I don’t enjoy it as much. For one, I don’t get the relaxing ambiance when I’m home with all the noise and the distractions. I always try out new places if I could and see which ones I’d like.

Of course I only get full-body massages from women therapists or practitioners, because such massages are usually done topless and just in my panties. The only time I got a (professional) massage from a guy was during a chair massage therapy and it was mostly him assisting with the stretching. 

I’m not a difficult person to give a massage to. I can take hard kneading and a lot of stretching because I have a high pain tolerance. I don’t have many requests on how I’d want it, but I don’t like a lot of chit-chats while having one. I have had experiences where the massage therapist almost told me her sad life story, but I’m too polite to shush her.

Many of the massage therapists tell me that they like working on me because I have such soft body. Sometimes I think it’s an underhanded comment, which means my muscles are flaccid and flabby, not firm (think of Stay Puft Marshmallow Man). But yeah, I’ve been getting a lot on how they love to knead my body because of how soft I am.

Yesterday after work, I went to my current favorite massage place to get a combination massage because my right shoulder and scapula have been hurting for days. The therapist, once again, said she likes it so much massaging me because I’m “malambot” (soft). 

Apart from being fluffy like a pancake, the therapist also said that I’m so flexible. I chuckled at that comment because we all know I’m in my forties now and telling me I’m still “flexible” at this age is such a compliment for me. I always thought I’m brittle, but apparently not. I can now add that to my Tinder profile: Flexible (kidding!).

But yeah, I was so whippy that she got carried away because I was stretched and twisted as if I have a body of a teenager and I was surprised myself that I can still be bent like that. Sure, I can hear cracks while she’s doing it but nothing that I can’t bear. And every time it cracks, I let out an “Ahhh…” — like she’s exorcised seven demons.

A massage at this new place only cost me about PhP500 ($8) and I always make sure to give a decent tip. Some massage places can go to almost PhP1,000 depending on the service you like while spas like The Spa Wellness in Greenbelt can go as much as PhP3,000 depending on the number of minutes and suite booked. I’d probably get one on my birthday as a special gift for myself (and a Karada session too!).

I can’t get over the fact that I’m soft as a pancake and twisty like a pretzel. Eat your hear out, ex- boyfriends! Aren’t you getting hungry?