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 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.