Urban Dwellers, get involved! We can plan our future!

delivered before the participants of the Public Speaking Seminar at the Pag-IBIG Fund Corporate Headquarters
on October 7, 2009
(upper photo)

Speech No. 2 - Organizing your speech
delivered before the members of Butter N Toast Toastmasters Club
on October 8, 2009
(lower photo)

A day before typhoon Ondoy unleashed its wrath in Metro Manila and nearby provinces, I was preparing my and my six-year-old daughter Luce’s week-end gear. We were to spend the next two days in Makati, as we were supposed to join the 3-km event of the New Balance Power Run. Makati was a more convenient take-off point to the event at the Fort on September 27, rather than our home in Marikina, a couple of hours away. As an afterthought, I placed her Enchanted Kingdom poncho raincoat atop her I Can Serve Foundation shirt. “In case it drizzles during the run,” I told myself.

As we all know, it did not drizzle that week-end of September 26 and 27. The gates of heaven opened wide and poured far-from-heavenly rain on Filipino urbanites, drenching not just our bodies and our homes, but our souls as well. In the aftermath, as the people waded through floodwaters, as they dug through their belongings mixed with mud and garbage, different sectors started blaming each other, pointing an accusing finger on each other’s negligence and supposed role in the tragedy that Ondoy brought us.

The Ondoy experience now proves to be a good wake up call for all of us, whether we are mere citizens of the Philippines or officials, policy drafters, or lawmakers of the land. All of us, no matter our status in life, are stakeholders in our planet, in our country, in our habitat, in our urban dwellings. And as stakeholders, we hold responsibility for our future.

Allow me to share with you these passages from the UN Habitat website: “The United Nations has designated the first Monday of October every year as World Habitat Day. The idea is to reflect on the state of our towns and cities and the basic right of all to adequate shelter. It is also intended to remind the world of its collective responsibility for the future of the human habitat. This year’s theme “Planning our urban future” aims to raise awareness of the need to improve urban planning to deal with new challenges of the 21^st century. This is because urban settlements in all parts of the world are being influenced by new and powerful forces. In both developed and developing countries, cities and towns are increasingly feeling the effects of climate change, resource depletion, food insecurity, population growth and economic instability.”

I now take this opportunity to challenge you, my fellow urban dwellers, to take action towards a well-planned future in urban Philippines. For starters, I share with you three circles of influence within which we can start planning our urban future.

The first circle of influence is the easiest, as it involves only our individual selves.

Perhaps, we can start by taking stock of our personal practices. Do we drive our self to the community mall when we can walk instead? Do we ride the elevator two floors up, while we can take the stairs? Do we run our errands crisscrossing the metropolis, while we can plan our route and maximize our errand time? Do we throw our small items of rubbish here and there, while we can keep them in our pockets and later throw them in a garbage can somewhere? Do we lavishly take long baths and showers, when we can use timba and tabo? Do we prefer motorcycles over bikes, battery-powered items over wind-ups, plastic bags over eco bags? I hope we can proudly answer, “No, I don’t. I care for my habitat.”

A caring individual carries the good habits with him or her, constantly practices them, and eventually becomes their embodiment, possibly inspiring the bigger circles around him or her.

The second circle of influence is not that far from us, as it includes our family and friends.

Let us now widen our circle and invite our families and friends to join us in our quest for a better urban future. Do we place our garbage in one bin instead of segregating them? Do we use separate cars instead of carpooling? Do we spend much time on television or video games instead of playing electricity-free and creative-rich games? Do we prefer a concrete backyard over a greener one, new items over recycled ones? I hope we can proudly answer, “No, my family and friends don’t. We care for our habitat.”

A caring family passes on to the younger generations and even future generations the traits of responsibility and accountability, creating generations of individuals who care.

The third circle of influence is much wider, as it now encompasses our community, be this our residential community, office community, or online community.

Let us next enlist our respective communities in our move to have a better urban future. Do we confine ourselves inside our houses rather than go out and participate in community endeavors? Do we practice kanya-kanya, tayo-tayo, or sila-sila, rather than join forces as one community? Do we tend to complain rather than suggest alternatives or passively receive benefits rather than actively participate in planning? I hope we can proudly answer, “No, our community don’t. We care for our habitat.”

A caring community leads to stronger and more collective action, an advantageous leverage if we want our Congress Representatives to hear our calls for a greener district.

A little over a week after typhoon Ondoy left the Philippine area of responsibility, the world celebrated World Habitat Day last October 5. This year’s theme: “Planning our urban future” now sounds more personal to us, Filipinos. The Filipino urban dwellers face the seemingly unsurmountable task of rebuilding our homes and our lives.

A mere raincoat will not surely protect us from future typhoons, as our urban kingdom has lost its enchantment. However, no mud-filled floodwater could wash away the Filipino people’s strong spirit. Let us be caring individuals from a caring family, in a caring community. Let us do our part as individuals, as a family, as a community. Let us get up, get out, get involved!

The child giving birth to the mother

Speech No. 1 – Ice Breaker

delivered before the members of Butter N Toast Toastmasters Club

August 27, 2009

Six years ago today, I held my baby girl in my arms for the first time. We did not expect her until September 29. My husband even hoped she’d have the same birthday as John Lennon, October 9.

However, God had other plans for us. On my sixth month of pregnancy, my amniotic fluid level was not as high as it should be. It was still stubbornly low on my eighth month. Thus, on a Friday afternoon, 21 days after I turned 31, I was hospitalized for rehydration.

Despite the low fluid level in her uterine environment, my little girl was in a fighting form. My earlier ultrasound sessions showed her to be within the normal weight and length for her age. How proud and relieved I felt when her biophysical profile scores always turned out perfect. Not even having come out of my womb yet, my baby was already being graded.

By Sunday night, I had to be injected with drug X to strengthen my baby’s lungs, in preparation for premature birth. The next day, Monday morning of August 25, I still had a low fluid level. A little after noon, I transferred to a nearby hospital. Like a salmon going back to its breeding ground, I wanted to give birth in the hospital where my own mother gave birth to me.

When I was opened up, the doctors told me that my uterus was small. So small that my baby had to get out, to be free, as eight months in my womb are enough time for her to gestate. At 3PM, my baby girl, Luce Domini, was scooped out of my womb. She weighed just 2 kilos and measured 1-foot-5 inches; but her APGAR score was a high 9, remarkable for a prematurely-born infant. “Hello, baby,” I told her when the nurse showed her to me, swathed in hospital-green clothe, so small. Then I drifted to sleep, to be awakened by the Angelus as I was wheeled to my room.

It was not until 2 days later when I would see my baby again. To avoid possible complications, she didn’t room-in with me. Later that day, I held my baby in my arms for the first time.

Fast forward to summer 2009. My husband and I now have a young girl bursting with confidence and showing such negotiating skills, she usually ends up getting the better deal after most collective bargaining agreements.

At that time, she has been attending Kumon Reading sessions for three months. My little girl’s progress is summarized by a graph. Three more lines show advanced levels at one year, two years, or three years, where the child can receive bronze, silver, or gold medals for being ahead of her actual school level.

Luce and I would often look at her graph. That summer, we set goals for her. “Finish Level 2A before your birthday and you’d be getting a bronze,” I showed her.

I wanted her to learn to read, to enjoy the printed word as much as I do, or even more. Thus, I’ve surrounded Luce with books since she was a baby. In fact, I started reading to her in utero. Oh, I’d read to her the places she’d go; I’d tell her of Yertle the Turtle and Daisy McFuzz. Now, oh, the joy I feel, the pride that makes my heart swell when she reads to me the exploits of Cat in the hat, or the little red hen, or the house that Jack built.

I guess, like any mother, I want a mini version of me in my daughter. Since she’s undoubtedly her father’s daughter in looks, in humming to tunes, and in tapping to the rhythm, I explored other avenues to create a little Faye in my Luce.

As I guided my child towards enhancing her reading skills, I began contemplating on my own enhancement. There was my daughter, progressing towards a bronze medal before August ends. What about me? Towards what goal am I moving forward to? Am I moving in the first place? I didn’t think so.

Last summer, I felt stuck in the quagmire of self doubts. I felt immobile as my spirit was like a flat tire, devoid of air, no wind to life me up. I felt sad, tired, lost.

Yet my daughter, true to her name, Luce, light, she enlightened me. I once wrote a poem for my husband, referring to him as my north star, my lighthouse. Last summer, as I felt lost, adrift at sea, my daughter beamed her own light. Smaller than her father’s, yes. But as bright, as lively, as inspiring.

My little Luce, my little lighthouse, lighted my path. My little Luce, my young daughter, showed me the way. My little Luce, my very own child, gave birth to a new me.

I embarked on a new mission. Codename: Finding Faye.

I aimed to shed my old self and looked forward to seeing the new me. I bade goodbye to some scars, literally and figuratively, as I uncovered the real me. I started with a leg peeling treatment, followed by a writing workshop, and then a speech course. By the time my legs had been scrubbed clean of dermal debris, I have finally transformed a few ideas into several written pieces, and with enough confidence to pitch my written work to others.

Last month, I finally attended Butter N Toast sessions, a plan I have wanted to do since 2007. Like my daughter with her Kumon, I am now working towards a goal, towards becoming a CC after a year, towards becoming a CL a year after that. I turned 37 last August 1 and have just been born again. I see myself growing in Butter N Toast.

I have swept away the cobwebs in my mind, I have flexed my muscles into action. Here I am. I have found Faye.

And tonight, six years after I first held my baby girl in my arms, I stand before you and present my first speech. It is my hope that as tightly as I embraced my daughter that August night in the hospital nursery, you would equally accept me in your fold.

Me Morphing Myself

I turn 37 today. I read in the New World Encyclopedia that insect growth and metamorphosis are controlled by hormones synthesized by endocrine glands near the front of the body. I wonder, is a person’s desire to transform oneself controlled by hormones as well? Thus, the changes one undergoes when one reaches midlife, or nears midlife - a stage when hormonal levels lose their seeming steadiness achieved after overcoming the teen years?

I ask these because I have been contemplating on them since June, roughly two months before I turn 37. The age thirty-seven marks moving to a new demographic category. I am no longer in my mid-thirties. Starting today, August 1, I am already tagged as someone in her late thirties. Although the common saying connected with midlife is “Life begins at 40,” I am starting to feel that my hormones may already be playing me up towards midlife.

For example, I already feel not-so-young (okay, “a-little-bit-old” may be more apt), with my joints cracking when I get up, with backpains becoming more frequent, with memory lapses now and then. The woman in the mirror is no longer the Faye in my mind, although I still cherish the spiderlines beside my eyes and the laughlines on both sides of my mouth. The lines reveal my age, but they also represent the happy smiles and boisterous laughter I threw around with my loved ones and my friends. Yes, I am getting old; but who isn’t? Even my five-year-old daughter, Luce, is turning a year older later this month. She used to be this wee-bit baby, and now she’s grown. And I used to be this young woman, and now I’m older; but still a woman who loves herself, enough to undertake activities to keep her on the go. Yes, it’s true, I am undergoing pre-midlife transformation.

I have recently taken some steps to achieve pre-midlife transformation.

First, I underwent leg peeling treatment.

Physical transformation is the easiest way of changing oneself. It is something shown by the person undergoing transformation, something seen by the others around him or her. A new look could entail superficial changes like a new hairstyle, a darker shade of blush, a thicker mascara, a different outfit. Or it may call on more physical changes like vampier boobs and fuller hips, or defined biceps and a six-pack abs. But when I decided to experience change in myself, I thought of getting rid of the ugly dark spots in my legs as these have been hounding me for ten years.

The leg peeling treatment was a novel experience for me, not having tried it before. Around mid-June, my husband and I were scouting for a clinic in SM Marikina which would remove his facial warts. I remember teasing him that he’s getting older since he’s starting to show numerous age spots. Little did I know that I would actually be the one contemplating on my age and on undergoing changes in order to look better. The experience was made easier by the presence of my husband.

There we were, husband and wife lying beside separate beds, him having his warts cauterized and I having my leg scars peeled-off. The clinic had a sterile atmosphere, the silence broken by soft music coming from the centralized sound system. It would have been a sad solitary experience if not for the company of my dear, slightly-getting-old, aiming-to-be-wart-free Mahal. After the first visit, I had to go back to the clinic the next day and the day after that. In each visit, the process was the same. The clinic staff applied a certain type of acid solution, of which the exact name escapes my memory, around my thighs and legs. First in front, then I had to lie facing down, then the back. This was done three times each visit, with each visit lasting an hour.

The night of my first application, I had to focus on a vision of scar-free legs to prevent myself from scratching them. These have become itchy due to the acid applied on the skin. Fortunately for me, the itchiness eventually subsided. After the last application, my legs started to look a bit leathery, with a thin film of medication covering my skin. It felt like chicken skin minus the protruding pores. It was like wearing a very flimsy and slightly loose stockings.

The peeling process took place around ten days later. It started on top of my right foot, and then the left. A small patch of skin fell off my thigh, then my leg. Another patch here, another one there. Sometimes the patch would be a size of a ten-centavo coin, sometimes a five-peso one. I felt like a snake molting, although the process was in bits and pieces.

A month later, my legs and thighs sported new skin, and my scars have lightened. Indeed, I had a physical transformation, literally new skin for me.

And so, for my first step in pre-midlife transformation, I underwent a physical one – undergoing leg peeling treatment.

Next, I attended a writing workshop.

Writing has always been a favored activity for me. Since my youth, I have looked at writing as my means of expressing myself. I would write daily entries in my diaries or long letters to friends. I would write poems to describe my youthful foray in romance, or essays to capture my views on certain things. At present, I feel lucky for having writing as my work. My current writing may border on the technical, yet I still see it as an activity which involves introspection. Yes, writing could be a spiritual activity. My current pieces may be about programs or projects; but when I write them, I have to look into myself, to ask myself for the message I want to put across, to consider the tone and style by which I will relay my message. Indeed, the act of writing could be likened to a spiritual retreat, where one looks into one’s being, into one’s soul, in order to understand the self better.

Thus, in my journey of pre-midlife transformation, I enrolled myself in a class on Writing Online Workshop. The Workshop was offered by the Filipinas Heritage Library, and was facilitated by award-winning writer Luis Katigbak. The first of three sessions started around the time my legs started peeling. There were thirteen or fourteen in the class, meeting with Luis for three hours on one Tuesday and two Thursdays, from six to nine in the evening. The workshoppers were a mixed bunch of several freelance writers, a businessman, an accountant, an engineer, a couple of PLDT employees, another couple of Bible Society staffers, an abstractor, a mother who just resigned from a job she has been doing for twenty years, a publisher, a reader who wants to be a writer, and me.

We discussed blogging in Day 1, then web design in Day 2, then online writing as a means of earning money in Day 3. The fee included workshop materials plus food and drinks. The food became heavier as our writing exercises became deeper as well. The first session saw us eating biscuits and muffins, when we tried writing a possible title for a pre-written blog entry. The next session showed us partaking pizza slices, when we tried coming up with features for hypothetical websites. The last session presented cake eaters out of the workshoppers, when we tried writing introductory paragraphs for a blog entry, and on a deeper level, when we came up with life statements.

The workshop challenged me to resume my personal writing, to open myself more, to start blogging. I am not the traditionally spiritual person who frequents Sunday masses, but I came out of the writing workshop refreshed, akin to someone who underwent spiritual retreat.

And so, for my second step in pre-midlife transformation, I underwent a spiritual one – attending a writing workshop.

Lastly, I finished a short course in speech.

I have heard that public speaking is the greatest fear of mankind, second is death. It really is hard to speak in public, especially in a language which may not be one’s first. One is conscious of the delivery, the accent, the grammar, the frills of speaking. Even when one speaks the contents of his or her heart, he or she still fears that the packaging may ruin the message. But one must learn how to speak well, for speaking is a social activity one cannot escape.

Therefore, to cap off my pre-midlife transformation, I availed of a promo of the American Institute for English Proficiency. I signed-in for the C3 Promo, a twenty-hour module focused on critical thinking, confidence building, and conversation fluency. Since it is a promo, I had to take the first class schedule, the 8-10 morning session. The schedule itself is already a challenge for me, since I live in Marikina City, and a two-hour commute to Makati City entails early early early morning preparations. However, I wanted to improve my speaking skills, to meet new people, to make new friends.

Thus, the Monday after the last session of our Writing Online Workshop, I saw myself getting up much earlier than usual, leaving Marikina and reaching Makati before heavy traffic began, and meeting Carmen our facilitator and M my lone sessionmate. I learned about the five elements: introduction, point 1, point 2, point 3, and conclusion. The introduction-body-conclusion is nothing new to me, since I have practiced this template outline way back my high school days of answering essay questions. (I could still remember the usual question: In five sentences, discuss such and such. My standard answer would be thus: first sentence would be a repetition of the question or a statement of my answer, the second to fourth sentences would be my explanation in defense of my answer, then the fifth sentence would be a concluding sentence repeating my first.)

However, I appreciated the critique at the end of each speech delivery. Those times that I was described as having a monotonous tone, I have to admit that I actually bored myself as I was speaking in front of the class. Those times that I was described as having done well, I actually felt good while delivering my speech.

As I improved in my delivery, I gained confidence in speaking in English. And my sessionmates have increased as well. I met E and R who had been returning students of AIEP, both with foreign sweethearts, thus their interest in improving their oral English skills. There was G who eventually went aboard his ship to Europe. And L who speaks fast and L who shares her personal experiences so well. Aside from my fellow Filipinos, there were also my foreign sessionmates who gave me the additional opportunity to practice my English further. Of course, there was M from Japan, whose speech on foreign domestic helpers gave me a different perspective. F from Iran, who was initially shy then grew more confident each session. C and H, the siblings from Korea, whom I met only once. Lastly, there was S from China, who looked technical at first and then eventually had personal stories to share.

To facilitate our sessions, we had Carmen as our Specialist – Car who was not ashamed to share that she turned 39 last July 12; Car who gave excellent sample speeches, making me wish I can also speak as confidently as she does; Car who runs and bikes, inspiring me to finally hit the gym (which I did for the first time after her birthday speech last July 13).

I enrolled in the C3 promo with the aim of learning and eventually mastering its three components. At the end of my twenty hours, I ended up with friends whom I will remain in contact with. It was indeed a social activity for me, an opportunity to practice my English inside the Institute and even beyond its walls.

And so, for my third step in pre-midlife transformation, I underwent a social one – finishing a short course in speech.

I am shedding my old self and I look forward to seeing the new me. I now bid goodbye to some scars, literally and figuratively, in order to uncover the real me. I started with a leg peeling treatment, followed by a writing workshop, and then a speech course. By the time my legs have been scrubbed clean of dermal debris, I have finally transformed a few ideas into several written pieces, and with enough confidence to pitch my written work to others. Doing these is a good metamorphosis as I turn 37.

It takes courage to plan to transform oneself. It takes greater courage to actually undergo processes to transform oneself. A monarch butterfly takes just 30 to 40 days to complete its life cycle, to metamorphose from a young caterpillar into an adult butterfly. Humanity is fortunate to be given more days, more years, to constantly transform oneself, to change oneself for the better, to reveal a new being. At 37, I feel like I’m in 7th heaven!