Kung Hei Fat Choi!

I am not a Chinese, neither is my Dad. Nonetheless, the many times we were mistaken as one has already made him think that we have Chinese blood running in our veins or should I say “in our eyes”? Here are just two of our stories in different time frames.

(L-R) Dad; Mr. Sanny Galvez, my sister's father-in-law; Judge Annang, and Ninong Roman

Way back the early 90s our family owned a grocery store at Zaragoza Public Market. As such, Dad occasionally goes to Cabanatuan to buy stocks at stores owned by Chinese businessmen. One time, when he was with my sister Annie, who was then 6 years old, Dad was greeted with Ni Hao (你好), which means “hello”. My Dad of course replied with “good morning”, which puzzled the owner so he looked at Annie. As if Annie’s looks verified his feeling that Dad is a Chinese, the owner repeated “Ni hao”.

Alexander, my brother

In Dubai, 2001. I was at a mall looking for something to buy when two young Chinese men approached me with big smiles and said “Ni hao” plus a few other sentences which I couldn’t even word out. With a smile I answered “I’m sorry, I am a Filipina, not a Chinese.” To my surprise, the two looked at each other and laughed a little as if saying ‘is she joking?’ Still unconvinced, they kept on talking to me in Mandarin only to find out in the end that I was telling the truth. The three of us had a good laugh for what happened.

Kung Hei Fat Choi from Antoinette Paul

This year, my curiosity flared up to the point which took me buying a “Tikoy”, a sticky cake made from rice flour. Dad said, the Chinese like it for its “stickiness” because it signifies very close, if not tight, bonds among family members. Well, what do you say? I guess having a “Tikoy” isn’t a bad idea after all!

Kung Hei Fat Choi everyone!

God Still Moves

As I go older looking, observing and contemplating about life, I realized that there are as many different types of people and individuals as the stars – and a good number of them are starry-eyed. There may not be a problem about a slightly dreamy kind of thinking, but a Utopian one does!

Let’s read a story.

“An unknown guest in our community declared herself as a filthy rich businesswoman who owns a big company that is read in everyday’s news. But when asked which company she owns, she blurted ‘I don’t need to tell you.’ As if it wasn’t enough for her to think that she’s the only person alive who reads a newspaper, she further kept on insulting my country by saying it is the most boring place she knows. Perhaps that is the reason why her company is in Manila, not in L. _. where she said she lives.

Let’s cut the story here and focus our attention to the fact that life includes incomprehensible faces as well as turns of events. But, lo and behold, despite this God is still there and He moves.

Here’s “God Still Moves” by the Wesleyan University-Philippines’ Chapel Choir. God bless!

Long distance Parenting

My siblings and I grew up with different forms of love from our parents. Mom basically looked after us while Dad made things happen by sending love through balikbayan boxes.

Yes, we were members of the chosen few who receive boxes of Tobleron, crates of green grapes, roller skates and others.  But then, we were also those who had to import a grandfather on PTA meetings or had to recognize our dad two years after we were born – something that I feel sad for now that I already know how it is to be a parent.

Everything was not easy for any one of us.  Neither our parents praised the idea.  Mom had to be both mother and father to us.  She had to change the bulbs, fix the faucet, build a fence and like. She ought to be brave during storms and floods so as to keep us calm although she, too, was trembling with fear.  She dared not talk to our dad about our fever and other children’s diseases because she didn’t want to him to be alarmed.

Meanwhile, Dad had to think that writing letters would be a therapeutic hobby to forget homesickness.  He wrote letters everyday of each week believing that through it we’d feel his presence.  He talked to us through a PLDT line at least once a month to hear mom’s voice more especially.

While these were happening, we had to grow up without Dad to personally guide us – a dear price we had to pay for being members of an OFW family.

What We Missed. Arvid on Dad's lap.

Imitating what we went through was not something I’d recommend my siblings and friends to do, because although our parents  managed to raise us as good people, there’s still something inside which were not filled with tempting chocolates from other lands.

Time lost is gone forever.

Living anew

Each year, we welcome the first of January with a bang, a dozen or so of old and new resolutions plus a hundred of traditions that would “as old sayings say” bring good luck.

My family’s not spared from these. For years I’ve seen my mom preparing a polka-dot duster to wear and a number of round fruits for the table while I and my siblings await the New Year’s eve jump that was supposed to make us tall.

As the years passed, I’ve noticed that the dotted dusters came but were only given much importance on New Years. The fruits were eaten and forgotten, while the jumps seemed to confuse than to amaze us because only my brothers became taller even though they ignored the tradition.

More than these, I realized that each year comes to present itself as a circle of people and events which, like history, never fails to repeat itself. The same seems more evident in our government’s affair where issues focus mainly on our leaders’ blunders and how by turn of fate such unspeakable mistakes are put on hold and consequently erased when celebrity news such as “Pacman wins” snatches justice away from our people.

As if national news weren’t enough, we’d hear bombings from distant places like Gaza echoing a constant cry for survival and normal life. While we see these mad portrayals on tv and read each issue on the paper, something still whispers a thought in my ear – while for a greater number of us life is as easy as choosing the best polka-dot duster in town, there are still quite a number that lives without any options at all.

This year, my family stepped into a new way of celebrating New Year. It’s a great change. Although simple, it created a fantastic memory. I hope that our country, if not the whole world, would see life and living differently, for a better year.

Change is inevitable so let it be a good one.

Happy New Year everyone!