Letter to Luce, my seven-year-old

“Seven na ko? Parang walang nagbago!”

“I’m seven? Looks like nothing changed!”

Nothing really changed, anak, iyakin ka pa rin! You’re still a cry-baby.

Seriously, though, I want you to know that you’ve certainly changed. A lot!

Seven years ago, you were born a month early. Your birthday would have been September 28. But like the child you’d eventually grow up to be, you were in a hurry, and showed signs that you have to be taken out from my tummy on August 25 instead. So, the doctors had to unzip my belly to take out my wee, wee, baby girl. Before three in the afternoon, the delivery nurse showed me God’s blessing to our family, a small package wrapped in green clothe, weighing just two kilos and measuring 43 centimeters – you, with eyes closed and lips puckered. You barely whimpered, I think, giving out just a kitty-like sound. Yet, you received an APGAR score of 9; that’s a high score for a premature baby like you!

Seven years later, you are still in a hurry. After we have set the date for your seventh birthday party, you want to chase the calendar dates forward. “Why weren’t I born in June?” you lamented when we were thinking up of games for your party. A few weeks later, you next exclaimed, “My birthday should have been in July!” when we were giving out the invitations. A couple of weeks before your party, when we were cutting up your horse banderitas, you declared, “August 1 is MY birthday!”

Now, we both know that’s MY birthday. But to appease your excitement, or perhaps, to further feed on the anticipation of your seventh birthday, your Tatta and I gave you your Percheron family. You wanted a horse for your birthday, we gave you three Percherons – a Daddy stallion, a Mommy mare, and a Luce-like foal. I know, I know, you wanted a REAL horse. But as I’ve told you countless times, we don’t have a REAL barn to place one in. Thus, small figurines would do for now, anak. At least, the Schleich catalogue states that: “To achieve the highest quality standards, the figurines are modeled true-to-nature and painted by hand.”

Yes, seven years down the road of your journey called life, you are still in a hurry. Nothing seemed to change.

But wait! A lot of things have actually changed since God gave us that particular green-wrapped package in 2003.

That wee baby who whimpered her way out of my tummy grew into a feisty girl who holds no qualms in voicing out her thoughts and opinions, the latter whether asked for or not. A few more years, and you would be proudly declaring, “I am a Filipino TOASTMASTER!” The kitty-like sound transformed into alley cat wails when you cry or complain, into lion growls when you assert yourself, into contented purrs when you successfully negotiate yourself into a winning argument. Not to mention your Cheshire cat grin when you get one over us. Nakaisa ka na naman! You certainly have the meeting of a toastmaster, not just from any other club, but from the Butter N Toast Toastmasters Club at that!

You have been showing a level of maturity which, I admit, I don’t recall to have shown when I myself was aged seven.

Remember when you asked me about the small laptop which you are supposed to receive when you turn seven? When I promised you THAT sometime in 2008, I never thought time would really fly so swiftly and your seventh birthday would land on us after what seemed to be just a few winks. I had to think up fast for a way out and I asked you, “Which do you want, a laptop or a party?” To which you gave me your reply, fast and firm, “Birthday party siyempre, para mas maraming gifts!”

Relieved of your choice, I next enticed you to help me prepare for your party, calling it your Horseplay. The two of us were in horse-mode for two months – thinking up of horse games, preparing horse decorations, putting some horse sense into our family and friends, reminding them to saddle up and giddy-up to your Horseplay. In the process, you realized what fun it would be to celebrate your birthday, not on your lonesome with a laptop, but amidst the warm collective love from our family and friends. Afterall, you are not just the child of your Tatta and me. You are ALSO the child of Nanang and Owwo, of Nanay, of Lola Abat Ganda, of Lola Menea, of Lola Elmy, of Lolo Jerry, of ALL your other lolos and lolas, aunties and uncles, titos and titas, cousins, teachers, friends.

At your Horseplay, you heard the wishes from several of your Horsewhisperers, some of our elders sharing their thoughts in life, that these may guide you as you walk, trot, canter, and gallop into seven and seventy more years of life full of love, laughter, and lightness of being. You were advised to aim for the ideal as you appreciate the beauty of a unicorn, a horse so mythical yet real in the world of a child like you. You were reminded, after you have galloped so many years, to look back to that day, to thank God for all the people who have come to give you their blessings.

But today, anak, I thank God for the special blessing He gave us seven years ago and whose wonders He continues to unfold before us.

You have brought change into our lives, anak. You may be a fledgling foal, but it is you who enlightened the lives of your Horsewhisperers. While before we lacked energy, you brought bounce into our bodies. While before we lacked joy, you brought happiness into our hearts. While before we lacked love, you brought spirit into our souls.

Cheers to you, Luce, for at age seven, you have become our family’s foremost toastmaster – leading us towards positive change, providing voice to our inner feelings, and ensuring that our family’s future will indeed be bright!

Seven ka na, anak. Marami nang nagbago – sa iyo, at lalo na, sa aming lahat! We have all changed!

Basic Speech No. 6: Vocal Variety

Delivered before the Butter N Toast Toastmasters Club on 23 September 2010

Morning Mayhem

KRI-I-I-ING!

Mornings, especially weekday schoolday mornings, definitely exemplify rousing moments. That hopefully-brief time of waking someone up can actually be an unforgettable bonding moment between a mother and her child.

Let me share with you my morning moments with my own mother, before and after the Philippines became the SMS capital of the world.

Twenty or so years ago, when I entered university, the usual mornings for me and my sister, Liv, would start with ... “Faye! Liv! Wake up!” Mommy would have been awake for half an hour, preparing our breakfast and packed lunch downstairs. Meanwhile, upstairs, there would have been me and Liv, still in dreamland after the first call. At that time, a snooze still meant “to take a nap.” Mommy would then belt out her second call, “Faye! Liv! You’d be late!” Lazy stirrings from Liv and me would then follow, with one of us urging the other to get up and be the first to take a bath. Seeing none of her daughters descend the stairs, Mommy would then let out her warning, “Faye! Liv!” And that would be enough to rouse us, indeed!

Ten years later, our mornings would not have the same vocalization from Mommy, but the storyline remains the same. She would have been downstairs, with breakfast prepared. Liv and I would have been upstairs, with our dreams. Then...toot...toot or maybe ting-a-ning-ning-ning. We’d stretch our arms to reach under our pillows, slowly unfold our eyelids, click a button, then sleepily read...”Get up so you’d have time to eat breakfast.” A sigh emanates from our lips. We close our eyes. At this era of cellphones, a snooze already meant “five minutes after your alarm went off the first time.” Mommy would then send her second message, “Get up for breakfast.” Another sigh and we stare out at nothing, eyes glassy from sleep. Toot...toot! Ting-a-ning-ning-ning! New message: Mommy – “Get up.” And as ten years before, that would be enough to rouse us, really!

Another ten years later, I am now having my own morning moments with my own daughter, Luce! Since we live in a bungalow, I could easily reach her sleeping self, shake her shoulder, and start our own morning ritual, “Wakey, wakey, baby! Time to get up!” No movement. I’d then follow this up with “Stretch your arms! Stretch your fingers! Stretch your eyelids!” A little movement here, a little movement there. Since Luce owns no mobile phone yet, I would still vocalize my final message, “Better get up so you won’t rush with breakfast!” Then she would be roused, finally!

Like my mother before me, and perhaps her own mother before her, I am verbalizing my mother’s own words. My present-day morning moments, with me now taking the mother role, make me appreciate all the rousing made by Mommy all those mornings past.

My mother has been an effective rousing catalyst in my life.

In addition to waking me up in the morning, Mommy also guided my eyes to view the world from the perspective of gender equality. As I enrolled in gender and development courses, I got to appreciate her more, to better understand our own little world. Ours may not have been perfect, but Mommy showed me the importance of women being independent in all aspects of life.

Aside from having me get off bed every morning, Mommy also inspired me to act and develop my own individuality. As I started working, I got to realize the difficulties she herself must have encountered. Mommy became my model of a working woman.

With all her urgings for me to eat breakfast, Mommy also motivated me to nourish my soul with the love of my family. As I am now a wife and a mother like her, I get to grasp the significance of feeding the body, feeding the soul. Mommy is right. And I am now passing that knowledge to my own daughter, though she may be too young to fully comprehend.

Mothers know best. Sometimes we, as children, fight this natural flow of things. We want to be anybody but our mother. We want to be different. We want to stand at the opposite pole of the spectrum.

Yet in the end, beyond the morning mayhem, afternoon angst, and evening nightmares, we are roused by the realization that our mothers love us and want only the best for us. Do you agree?

From the youth of long ago to the individuals that we are now, weren’t we roused by our mothers to go the distance, to raise the bar, to rise to greater heights? I was. I am.

Kri-i-i-ing! Toot...toot! Ting-a-ning-ning-ning!

Tomorrow morning, after waking up, may the first text message you send out be to your mother. Mine would say, “Hi, Mommy, good morning! Let’s meet up!”

- Basic Speech No 5, Your Body Speaks
Delivered before the Butter N Toast Toastmasters Club on 12 August 2010

The June Bride and other stories of Tatang Louy

Vente-otso! Nagasat nga aldaw dayta!

Twenty-eight! That’s a lucky day!

I had heard these words tens of times, perhaps a hundred – each time when my grandfather embarked on his journey back in time, back to the years when he was young, much younger than his 70, 80, 90 years, his actual age depending on the instance when he would enchant me with his stories.

I am the eldest grandchild. I grew up in Ilocos with my grandparents, Tatang Louy and Nanang Atting.

Tatang planted the seeds of storytelling in my being – introducing me to the world of his youth, widening my imagination, urging me to enjoy my own life – so that someday, I will have my own stories to share.

But for tonight, I will share with you some of the stories of my Tatang Louy.

On top of the list would be on that particular day in 1933 when it showered in Vigan.

It was June 28; yes, the lucky day! Tatang Louy said that the number eight signifies good luck, for the last stroke goes up. Thus, he set his wedding date on a day that ends in eight. Tatang and Nanang felt doubly happy, for on the day they became one, the heaven opened its gates to shower on them. A shower, Tatang said, meant blessing from heaven. It may have rained in their parade, Tatang and Nanang may have gotten slightly wet from the brief shower; but this just whet their appetite to build a happy life together.

There was Nanang Atting, the June Bride, too shy to let Tatang have her picture taken even for posterity. There was Tatang Louy, the dashing groom, hopeful that luck and divine blessings will help strengthen the family they are to build in the next decades.

Two Mondays ago, they would have been married for 77 years. Who would have thought that a shy girl from the provincial village of Camangaan will end up being happily married for decades to a poor-boy-turned-debonair-young-man who left his equally provincial village of Naguilian for the pineapple plantations of Hawaii and busy streets of Chicago?

My second story would give you a glimpse on what happened months before that lucky and blessed day.

It was November 1932. A decade or so before, Tatang boarded a ship to Hawaii using his uncle’s cedula, for he was too poor to pay for his own. For the next ten years, he had his share of being a waterboy in Hawaii, an unfocused man in the mainland, until becoming a well-appreciated houseboy in Chicago. A thousand dollars richer after, Tatang decided to come home, for good. And his path crossed with that of Nanang, a neighbor whom he hardly noticed in the 1920s, she being 5 years his junior. Using Nanang’s brother as ambassador of his love, Tatang started to write letters to Nanang. The courtship started with a formal letter addressed to Miss Fama, followed by one for Mr. Quitevis; progressing to one for Patring, followed by another for Louy; and further progressing to My Dear Patring, followed by My Dear Louy.

There was Tatang, now a cosmopolitan bachelor with the confident airs of a landing, someone who landed on the pier from an international ship. There was Nanang, still the village girl whose farthest place she traveled to was Mindanao, who initially resisted Tatang’s charms but eventually fell for it.

Tomorrow, I will air out their love letters. More than any material things, I treasure these as part of my memories of my dear Tatang Louy and my dear Nanang Atting.

My last story would be a memory of a memory, as I remember how Tatang remembered Nanang.

It was February 1985. Tatang and Nanang had been married for more than 51 years. I had been living with them for little over ten years. Tatang was on one of his business trips to Pangasinan. Nanang and I were left behind in Ilocos. With diabetes already affecting her health, Nanang had an episode of low blood pressure, and we had to rush her to the hospital. Two days after Valentine’s day, Nanang left us, without Tatang by her side.

There was Tatang, arriving hours after Nanang breathed her last. He kept on saying that day, and on lonely days in the next twelve years, that Nanang slipped away without even saying goodbye. Naglibas. Her soul left her body, and she left us just like that. There was Nanang, no longer with us yet will always be in our hearts.

Tonight, I remember Tatang and Nanang once more. By sharing their stories, as told to me by Tatang those countless nights we had together, I am with them again. It is my hope that the seeds of storytelling planted by Tatang in my being will continue to bloom into a passion for learning and for sharing the lessons in life.

Luck in numbers, luck in showers. Love for our dear ones, those with us and those long gone. Lust for learning, with the taste of the BnT life.

If Tatang Louy would have been alive today, he would have exclaimed, “Otso! Nagasat nga aldaw tatta!”

Eight! Today’s a lucky day!

The future is bright at Butter N Toast!

- Basic Speech No. 4: How to say it
Presented at a Butter N Toast Toastmasters Club session on 8 July 2010

Save a peso, gain a future

A centavo saved is a peso gained.

Who among you had a piggy bank in your youth, from which you probably attempted to retrieve a coin or two on several occasions? Who had a Kiddie Account in your parents’ banks, for the free stickers and pencils if not the minimal interest? Who moved on to more complex financial portfolios like regular savings accounts, time deposits, stock options?

Who knows the moral of the story of “The Ant and the Grasshopper”? Yes, save for the rainy days. (All summer, the ant stored food while the grasshopper played. Come winter, the ant had lots of food while the grasshopper starved.) What are the rainy days for which we now save? Our children’s education, that dream vacation, our own house, that incredible car, our own business venture, our retirement years, what else?

Yes, saving can be considered the IN thing, the quest to aim for, the right thing to do if we want to gain something.

Tonight, I share with you a saving technique with an agency usually associated with housing. For the Pag-IBIG Fund is not just the Filipino workers’ partner in housing finance, it is also our partner in provident savings.

WHAT is Pag-IBIG Fund? When it was created 29 years ago, the Home Development Mutual Fund or Pag-IBIG Fund built a provident fund that encouraged the Filipino workers to save a few pesos of their monthly salary, the accumulated savings to be withdrawn upon maturity. Through the years, the Pag-IBIG Fund has grown from a workers’ provident fund to the country’s premier provider of housing finance. Thus, if we are not housing loan borrowers, we may likely complain of our Pag-IBIG deduction upon seeing our payslip. Why do I have to shell-out P100 for my Pag-IBIG contribution, when I don’t even plan on buying a house, you might say. I could have used those hundred pesos for other things, you might even add. But then, it is good to save with Pag-IBIG.

HOW do we save with Pag-IBIG Fund? Those hundred pesos from your salary coupled with another hundred pesos from your employer comprise your monthly contribution. And your monthly contributions are added up to become your total accumulated value or TAV. What’s more, at the end of the year, your TAV is further fattened-up by the annual dividend proportionately credited by the Pag-IBIG Fund to its members’ TAV.

WHY save with Pag-IBIG Fund? When we hear the good news that the Pag-IBIG Fund earns billions a year, we actually experience this good news in the form of dividends. Although it is mandated to set aside annually no less than 70% of its net income as dividends, in 2009 the Pag-IBIG Fund declared P8.5 Billion in dividends, representing 71% of its net income for that year.

Now, you may ask, What do I need my Pag-IBIG Fund TAV for? You might even strongly opine, It doesn’t amount to any substantial value, with two hundred pesos a month, twenty-four hundred pesos a year plus dividend!

I next offer you three ways of looking at your Pag-IBIG contributions, for you to appreciate your TAV all the more.

First, your TAV could be your NEST EGG, if you are an employee.

Think about it, we don’t pay much attention to the hundred pesos deducted from our salary, since we focus our eyes on the net pay. Now, what if we double our contribution, add another hundred or more? Our TAV will then increase double or more, depending on how much we increased our contribution. An additional hundred pesos or more equates to just a combo meal or a restaurant entree. We will hardly feel the added deduction. But we will certainly feel the added gains when we withdraw our TAV upon maturity.

Your TAV fills your wallet when you retire.

Second, your TAV could be your RETIREMENT PACKAGE for your employees, if you are an employer.

Think about it, if you are in business, you likely pay more attention on cutting costs than adding value to your personnel. Now, if you increase your employer counterpart to your employees’ Pag-IBIG contribution to more than the mandated hundred pesos, you will be sending a good message to your workforce. As a result of matching their increased monthly contribution, your employees’ TAV subsequently increases, providing them an ample fund for their retirement years.

Your employees’ TAV will fill their wallet when they retire, and they will surely thank you for their high TAV.

Third, your TAV could be your INVESTMENT, if you are a self-employed professional.

Think about it, you don’t consider Pag-IBIG Fund unless you plan on buying a house. Now, if you’re self-employed, either with your own small enterprise or with your practice as a professional, I invite you to look at Pag-IBIG Fund in a new way. Registering with Pag-IBIG Fund and growing your TAV could be an investment opportunity where you can place a part of your income in sales or professional fees into the Fund, a mutual fund. Remember, your TAV earns dividends each year, dividends which have been increasing every year since Pag-IBIG Fund is performing well.

Your TAV fills your wallet when you harvest the rewards of your passive income.

I now invite you to start looking at the other face of Pag-IBIG Fund, its provident savings feature. The Pag-IBIG Fund remains your partner, both in realizing your dream of homeownership and in saving for a stable future.

By adding a few pesos to your Pag-IBIG Fund TAV, you gain a brighter future. Let Pag-IBIG Fund be your piggy bank in your adulthood. Save up, save now, and save with Pag-IBIG Fund!

- Basic Speech No. 3: Get to the point
Presented at a Butter N Toast Toastmasters Club session on 11 March 2010

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!