The Impromptu Parent

That old photo kept nagging at me. It was taken more than thirty years ago and I cannot even remember now when I last saw it. In the picture my father was wearing a long-sleeved shirt with an Indian-American inspired pattern that was prominently made of reds and yellows and blacks. I was standing beside him, wearing my favorite Superman shirt and bell bottoms. We were both smiling.

What is extraordinary--to me at least--about this photo is that we were inside a hippopotamus' open mouth. I think millions of Filipino children must have posed for a picture inside that particular hippo's mouth at least once in their childhood. It was dirty in there, stank of urine, and had graffiti on the walls. Yet we smiled and were genuinely happy.

That old hippo lives inside the Children's Playground in Rizal Park where my parents brought me dozens of times on sunny weekends when I was growing up. Now that it's my turn to raise a kid, I have always felt a bit of shame for not being able to bring my son to meet the hippo with the funky smell.

Shame because once upon a time, it became my smiling place with my father.

***

He usually wakes up at 6:00 a.m., on good days. We would spend a bit of time engaged in conversations like this:

Me: Wake up, sweetie. You'll be late for school.

Him: You were the one who made me sleep, so you make me wake up.

Me: Okay, which button should I press to wake you up?
(I try several buttons: ear, tummy, armpit, nape.)

Him, squealing and giggling now: No, not those buttons!

This goes on for about 15 minutes, after which he would be alert enough to go and brush his teeth and so on, until he is ready to walk through the front door at 7:30 a.m. to jump into Mr. Fulgencio's waiting Strada.

This morning, however, is different. First, Mr. Fulgencio won't be picking him up. Second, the usual morning hustle got extended as every single movement happened in slow mo. We left the house thirty minutes later than usual. Still we walked sloowly, feeling each soft step and basking in the glowing 8:00 a.m. sunlight.

I heard a strange bird calling and had to stop to visually scan the trees. We analyzed the cirrus formations and talked about the many possible "reasons for tardiness" to write down later on his late slip.

"Just write, We bought water," I tell him.

"How do you spell bought?" he asks.

"You can spell it any way you like," I say, waving to the guard on duty at the subdivision entrance.

We actually bought a big bottle of drinking water from 7-11, and then we hailed a cab. I should have said "E. Rodriguez" to the driver, because "E. Rodriguez" is the right thing to say when you find yourself in a cab with your child and it's a school day and you are, actually, supposed to be on your way to school.

But I didn't. I said, "Luneta."

* * *

Sometimes--not all the time--but sometimes, children learn more about life outside the classroom than when they are in it. I believe this is why parents need to become impromptu mothers and fathers once in a while.

With wide eyes, they would question you: "I'm skipping school??" (Stress on the word skipping.) And with as much maturity as you can muster, you would reply: "Yes."

That day, in Luneta, my child learned things that he couldn't have learned sitting at his desk inside a small school room. It was such an unsophisticated destination (Luneta, where the maids hang out on their day off), and we spent only P70 (for the park entrance and calesa ride), but I rest with certainty that my boy will remember the trip for the rest of his life. In the same way that I still cherish that short moment I spent with my father inside the mouth of a hippo.

(This essay was published on Rappler: http://www.rappler.com/life-and-style/20531-familysunday-the-impromptu-parent)


Looking at the relief map of the Philippines


There is a little boy who lives in a shoe :)


He knew all of the creatures by name...


...and climbed each and every one of them








Feeling Steve Irwin
















Bowi and Lapu-Lapu!


Bowi took this picture of me.


Short ride in the calesa.




It was hot and we got tired from all the walking. Time for orange juice.

The spirits move among us

I have always known this, and I try to remember this. Sometimes I forget. But on that day when I covered the Buhay Babaylan event in UP Diliman, it was my very own central theme. Baylan Undin reminded me of what I know. An old friend I saw and talked to during the event also spoke about it. They are with us, moving alongside, maybe even through, us. They are in our homes, in our rooms. They watch us, listen in, try to touch us. Sometimes they get angry, and then we need to ask for forgiveness. I know there are many who don't believe this, but it doesn't matter. Those who do should be more careful, because we share this world with those who are unseen.

Here are photos from the event.


Baylan Undin, a Manobo babaylan from Agusan, with her niece Robilyn (left) and Grace Nono (right)


Robilyn is a Manobo youth leader and a master of traditional embroidery and beadwork. She has led her people through arts and crafts revitalization projects.


Baylan Undin with her niece and interpreter Robilyn.


Offering sacrifices for the spirits: betel nut, eggs, tuba

Here is the full story on GMA News Online:
http://www.gmanetwork.com/news/story/291441/lifestyle/people/brief-encounter-with-a-manobo-babaylan

An email that made me remember these poems

Today I received an email from a certain Mikaela. Here is an excerpt:

Good day to you Ms. Imelda!

Before I start, I must say although there are only a few of your works I could find at the moment, I am already a fan and looking forward to more of your poetry :)

I am currently a student in a university. I have a paper to write on three poems from third-world/Asian poets and originally submitted a proposal with a different set, but when I read your poems "Old House", "Photograph: Father and Kids at Home", "I sing", "Morning Shadows" and "A Little Before Dying" I immediately thought of changing the poems I have to use because they were so close to the heart. I really went through the first five pages of google to search for your works and those were the ones I found.

Now that I've read them over and over again (because understanding poetry takes an immeasurable amount of time for others like me), I still need more information so I could add input to my paper. I know that I'm supposed to be doing this on my own but I'm the kind of reader who gets overly-attached to what she's reading and I really want to know the history behind what I'm reading.

I just had to ask you a few questions because it is intriguing and I'd like to further understand the poetry based from you; if you would do me the honor of answering them.

These are my answers to her questions:

1. Some of your poems are focused primarily on family and within the grounds of their homes; why is that?
In my life, the most meaningful changes and actions happen in the home, with people closest to my heart. My poetry seeks to freeze these moments through words to help me remember, not only the images but more importantly, the feeling. Poetry does a good job of doing this.

2. What is the significance of the number 17 from "Photograph: Father and Kids at Home"? I can't quite put my finger on its juxtaposition to the water meter, and mailbox.
It is the number of the house from my childhood. The same house I grew up in and the place where all of the early milestones in my life happened. This particular poem was written about the photograph.

3. Is the person speaking in first person point of view from "Photograph: Father and Kids at Home" the Father in the title? Is he also the father of his own nephew? Because that's how I understand it especially when you mentioned "naughty grin".
No, the speaker in the poem is the one looking at the photograph, apparently the father's daughter, who is not in the picture. The title is the caption of the photo. The nephew is the observer's nephew.

4. In "A Little Before Dying" was the woman in the poem dying of cancer? She had a slow death, but does the woman have a family? What can you say about its setting?
It was not said what afflicted the woman, it could just be that her loneliness was slowly killing her. It was also not said if she had family, but that she was waiting for "things that will never arrive." And this could be people, or thoughts, or feelings. The setting is obviously the woman's sad and small home, filled with furniture that have sharp corners.

5. "I sing" obviously is about a mother-child relationship; Was the point-of-view based from your own experiences as a mother?
Yes.

6. Where did you find inspiration for writing "Old House"? I'm referring to the dramatic situation and the figures of speech po (I really loved the line "It has memories of lives other than ours"!!!)
After I left my childhood home in "Photograph: Father and Kids at Home" I, together with my ex-husband, lived in a series of rented houses. I could never forget the image of me trying to wipe off the writings on a cabinet door in an old house we rented in Los Banos, Laguna. I wondered then how many lives were lived in that house, how many people it had known, how much sorrow (or joy) it carried, and so on.

7. I have only to choose three, which would you suggest I pick? I love all of them but which are the ones you love most?
Definitely these three: "Old House," "Photograph: Father and Kids at Home," and "A Little Before Dying".

###

In the chaos and fullness of my days in the past months (years?), I have forgotten all about poetry. I'd pick up a poetry book, or read an essay, write a few lines now and then. Sometimes I needed to be prompted by patient friends and FB friends (like Angelo Ancheta!) to write a few poetic lines. Daily. Something that I should be doing, but not. Oh, shame on me!

Happy New Year to the one or two readers of this blog.