Termaits

May He, who can clear all memories
give my heart a moment’s respite
from all the pain
that has held me
shackled to the past.
May He grant my mind
a moment’s rest
to contemplate life’s beauty, and not delve on its misery.
And may He provide
my eyes
with new sight,
that I may be cured of the blindness that insists on what is not real,

That I might finally see
the reality
that would set me free..

“There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy” [from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, as quoted in Dan Brown’s Digital Fortress].

I grew up in a generally loving home. My parents made sure that my two brothers and I were well provided for in every possible way—food, shelter, education and other comforts of life, which some might well consider a luxury. Of course, my growing up days would be peppered with conflicts here and there, but not one of them has ever been enough to incur the ire of my parents. That is why when I read Adeline Mah’s Falling Leaves, I was naturally transported to a world where fact seemed really stranger than fiction. It was certainly a place I never knew existed save for in books, soap operas or the movies. This is one of the first reasons why I liked this book. It made me see a world beyond the limited scope of my own rose-colored-sometimes-dappled-with-gray world. Having experienced much love from my family, the book made me want to walk with this little girl, Adeline, through her sadness and pain and let the love I’ve received overflow into her.

The book is purported to be akin to a Cinderella story. While there are a lot of parallelisms to the fairy tale most of us know so well [wicked stepmothers, fairy godmothers in the form of a loving aunt, fathers too weak to protest the harsh treatment of daughters], it veers away from the classic fairy tale formula of meeting one’s Prince Charming and living happily ever after. In this modern-day fairy tale, the main protagonist, Adeline, takes it upon herself to save her own self. Ever since she could remember, she used the only thing that belonged completely to her in order to lift herself out of the quagmire that was never of her own doing in the first place. She used her mind in order to get high honors in school. This would eventually become her ticket to freedom.

However, physical freedom does not readily translate to emotional independence. For even while Adeline had already left her ancestral home in order to study, her family ghosts kept on haunting her. “Suan Le,” Adeline’s older brother would often remind her as they were growing up. Let it be. These are words meant to pacify… to keep grievances locked up in the deepest recesses of one’s heart in the hopes that they would not wreak havoc in the family system. “Sweep the dirt under the rug,” one might say. In writing the book, she decided to do otherwise. Realizing that bad things need not stay the way they were, she wrote Falling Leaves. The book talks about family histories, patterns and dynamics, snippets of which we could probably see in our own lives. It tells us how sometimes, even in the microcosm of one’s family, one has to device different ways of surviving. It shows us that some people would bow down to power just so they would not get crushed by it, while others would choose to empower themselves in order to gain freedom.

Falling Leaves can boast of having a great impact on me because it talks about real choices made by real people. At the same time, it poses a question so universal it matters not whether you’re a child or an adult, a man or a woman, a believer or a non-believer for you to answer it. What do you do when bad things happen to you? A friend of mine once told me that she feels the real character of people shows when misfortune stares at them in the face. While others blame their sorry lot on what happened to them when they were younger, others rise up to the occasion and acknowledge, “This is what happened to me as I was growing up and I refuse to let it imprison me.” That is what Adeline Mah did when she wrote the book Falling Leaves. True, it might be her way of battling old ghosts from her past or of healing wounds too deep to have healed in time. However, it could also be her way of telling us to refuse to be seduced by the easy lure of using our old family histories as scapegoats for what we would eventually make of our lives. In that sense, it provides us with a compass with which we could steer our life’s ship to its proper course.

I just had a breakthrough! I’m sure it’s not much for everybody else, but it is for me. I rode the Torrance Transit all by myself to the Katy Geissert Public Library and the Del Amo Fashion Center! :nerdgirl: And today, I finished Shadowlands! What I started at El Camino Library, I was able to finish at the Katy Geissert. Nakakaiyak–I loved it better than the film! And so I quote:

” We are like blocks of stone out of which the sculptor carves the forms of men. The blows of his chisel, which hurt us so much, are what make us perfect.
No shadows here. Only darkness, and silence, and the pain that cries like a child.
It ends, like all the affairs of the heart, with exhaustion. Only so much pain is possible. Then, rest.
So it comes about that, when I am quiet, when I am quiet, she returns to me. There she is, in my mind, in my memory, coming towards me, and I love her again as I did before, even though I know I will lose her again and be hurt again.
So you can say if you like that Jack Lewis has no answer to the question after all, except this: I have been given the choice twice in my life. The boy chose safety. The man chooses suffering.”

You have set my heart off
in a labyrinthine maze
of ifs and maybes:
Holding on
to what could have been;
Forging ahead
but always running
into a dead end…
I should have tied my heart to a string,
so I could find my way back home;
Or like Icarus,
flown on wax-made wings,
unmindful that the sun’s harsh rays
could
send
me
to
my
watery
grave.

For almost an hour, I felt I was indeed an Art Major :lol:After lunch at McDonald’s , A.M.P. brought me to the El Camino College Art Gallery—I saw online that they were having a showcase of the artwork of their faculty members. As I was slowly going through each piece, I was distracted by some students and a man telling them that they were to start at the entrance. I figured they were having an actual class. After a second’s hesitation, I suddenly knew what I had to do.:idea: Clad in my jeans, t-shirt and sweater, and carrying a backpack befitting any college student, I marched outside and joined the group.:wink: I wouldn’t have thought of doing that before, but I realized there would be times when I would have to go out of my comfortable shell in order to make my experiences more enriching. Anyway, I looked more like a college student than some of the people in the group. There was even a vibrant seventy something old man and a boy of around ten years in the group. They initially seemed to be gallery passersby, just like I was, and they probably decided to join in the class, just as I did. Or maybe, the old man was indeed an Art student—not a lot of things surprise me nowadays.

Michael Lewis Miller, the professor in the class, seemed to be talking about a class homework. It had to do with planning an art exhibit—something that I did with a group of my good friends back home. He talked about the rubrics of a good exhibit and told the class to critique the show that was put up by their fine arts teachers. Monotonously dubbed, Faculty Show 2004—Works by El Camino College Fine Arts Department Faculty:roll:, Mr. Lewis himself told the class to start their critique with the title of the exhibit:lol:. He said it would have been better to have called it Undercurrents. However, he mentioned that the faculty usually protested whenever their collective name was left out when planning for any of their exhibits. Oh well—to each his own. Of course I would not trade our own exhibit title, Balik-Tanaw, for anything!

Mr. Miller’s pieces are aptly called enigmatic psychological furniture pieces. He said that he wanted to evoke as much reaction and interaction with his audience whenever he exhibits his work. He also tries to make his pieces as close to his home of origin as he could. And home for him was the Appalachian Mountains in Virginia. He said that his father, grandfather and great grandfather were all carpenters and that he inherited the tool box of his great grandfather, so as much as possible, his roots show in his work. He showed us two pieces—one was composed of two green wooden boxes with drawers and belts attaching the boxes to one another. They had all sorts of thingamajigs inside the drawers. He said it was meant to be worn and that was what he did. As he mentioned before, he always wanted his work to be conversation pieces. The second furniture was an adage cabinet or cupboard coated with blue milk paint. On the side, Mr. Lewis said he had a formula for making milk paint using tempera and powdered skim milk but that it could easily be bought online nowadays. [Maybe I should try that medium one of these days. My teacher Jeric Sadullo said they even used coffee and other such food items when he was still taking up Fine Arts]

On to the exhibit…The furniture was shaped like a chair, only the back rest was filled with drawers, and the seat could be lifted up to reveal something inside. The back of the chair-like piece could also be opened. All of the drawers, when opened, revealed an adage—one that he constantly heard his parents say to him as he was growing up. For instance, one would say “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” In each drawer, he also enclosed objects that were representative of his wise sayings. For instance, in the cleanliness drawer, he added a soap where he carved the word God resting on a Last Supper soap dish. Upon opening the seat of the chair-cabinet, one would see the words “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” He said that has always been his comeback to his parents. Inside were toys—not his own, but representative of the toys he had as he was growing up.

After the class left to be given their homework, I stayed on in the Gallery to savor the experience. Now armed with the knowledge that studies have shown people only lingering for an average of three seconds per painting in an art exhibition, I made a mental note to stay a bit longer :lol:. Of course, there were art pieces that made me stay a lot longer, some that did not interest me enough and a few that made me cringe and leave after less than three seconds of viewing them [like a miniature glass dome filled with spools of hair taken from the artist’s friends or their cats :cat:—definitely not my kind of art!].

All in all, the experience was indeed an enriching one for me. Not only did I get new art techniques out of it—more importantly, it emboldened me to do something I would probably only try in my dreams before.

Today was another day well-spent. After mass at the Nativity Catholic Church, my friend’s husband, A.P. brought me to Borders where I decided to spend the morning. Borders is another bookstore here in the U.S., and it was very fortunate that I decided to stay here this morning as there was a story lady coming over to entertain children [and the child at heart]. What fun—I could experience seeing someone akin to Meg Ryan’s Kathleen Kelly in You’ve Got Mail!

The storytelling session started with moms and their little ones getting comfortable in their seats while the story lady prepared her repertoire for the day. To get the children [as well as the adults] revved up for the session that was to follow, the story lady invited everyone to sing some well-loved preschool songs. It was wonderful listening to the children and singing Itsy, Bitsy Spider, This Old Man and other preschool songs with them. It was like being transported back to my classroom. Only, my classroom is a lot quieter, my students being older than the group gathered at the bookstore. Come to think of it, even my former preschool students were a lot more settled than this group. It could have been the size of the group [or for all we know, the discipline].

“One-two-three shhhhhhh…” the story lady said, and there was silence. For about three minutes, that is. I guess a big bookstore is not the best place to conduct story telling sessions—there are just too many things that would distract children in a bookstore—the Spongebob Squarepants book that was just within reach, the dog sticker book that would beckon any child to just grab and bring to the cashier. Of course, most children [with a few exceptions I have in mind] would probably prefer Toys ‘R Us over Borders. Some were very attentive, though. Even the parents were—they were probably eyeing some techniques in storytelling so they could use them on their own children before bedtime. I have to admit I was doing the same thing—I want every possible experience in the U.S. to help me with my teaching and so far, it has been nothing but enriching. My future students [whoever they might be] will definitely be one of the first beneficiaries of this trip.

As of this writing, I am sitting on a comfortable purple couch by a window overlooking trees and buildings. No, I am not back in Barnes and Noble—I am in the library of El Camino College where my friend A.M.P. works.

When we arrived in the library, we naturally headed for the couches. After making sure I was settled, A.M.P. went to her division with the understanding that we were going to meet up for lunch later on. About an hour ago, there were just two children [in most likelihood, children of faculty or staff members] making themselves comfortable on the chairs—lounging, trying to eat silently [as if you could hide the crunch-crunch of crisp plastic packaging] and listening to their Discmans. Now they are almost lying on the couches, feet atop stools and just resting. Five other people have joined us—community college students of different racial backgrounds. California is indeed the melting pot of different nationalities and I think it’s a microcosm of the bigger society.

For the first time in my life, I read a book from cover to cover without any interruptions. :nerdgirl: I have always stayed in the library at the Ateneo to do some studying or research so I did not really get much fiction reading done there. Conversely, staying in our library at Centro Montessori where I have to look after my flock of 25 children has not really given me much time to do some serious reading without any interlude. So now, sitting comfortably on one of the least conspicuous places in El Camino Library, I settled down to read a book I got from one of the shelves lining up the wall of the first floor hallway. I read the author’s name—Madeleine L’ Engle—and decided to get it. Previous to that, I had in my hand Stephen King’s Carrie but reading it today went against my better judgment. I didn’t feel like starting my day off with something disturbing, as most [if not all] Stephen King novels are wont to be. I have a job interview to go to later and I don’t think I want my thoughts plagued with gory and macabre tales. Together with L’ Engle’s The Young Unicorns, I also took Shadowlands, William Nicholson’s play based on the lives of C.S. Lewis and his wife Joy Gresham, as well as Beckett by Jean Anouilh. It took me the whole morning and around two hours of the afternoon to finish The Young Unicorn and after that, I ate a quick lunch of pizza and bottled water before heading back to the library. Now I sit, recounting the day’s events so far and wondering whether I should start Shadowlands, from which I am bound to get interrupted as my interview is set for 430 pm. No matter—I will probably start it for I’m pretty certain I would be back at the El Camino Library one of these days. And so I leave my writing and go back to my reading…this should be an interesting read.

The other day, I had a glimpse of what I felt heaven must be like—a huge bookstore where I could choose a book and not necessarily buy it, bring it to a comfortable reading corner, and read it to my heart’s content. Of course, heaven must be a lot more than that, but I would like to believe there would at least be such a room in what I would unabashedly call “Maita heaven.”

After a good breakfast at Carrows with my student, her mother and her sister all of whom were on vacation here in the U.S., they brought me to Barnes and Nobles where I would spend the rest of the day before one of my closest friends and her husband [now my friend, too] picked me up at around 4 pm. It was not even 11 am then. What bliss—five uninterrupted hours of pure reading and book window shopping fun [my very first official time by myself here in the U.S.]!

Upon entering B&N, I went straight for the ladies’ room—I figured I must get that out of the way so I don’t even interrupt myself from whatever book I so chose later on. Afterwards, I headed for the bargain books—the only books I could think of buying while in the U.S. [believe it or not, most of our books in the Philippines are a lot cheaper than the regular-priced books they have here]. As I was looking at the stacks of books, my gaze landed on one of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. “Chicken Soup for the Romantic Soul,” it read. Hmmmm…should I even touch it? Having been disillusioned many times from believing the fairy tales that childhood dreams were made of :bhearted:, I almost put it back. In the end, my practical side won—this book consisted of essays, I told myself. At least I don’t have to finish the whole book if I find it too sentimental for my taste :roll:. To back this up, I made a mental note of another book that I might just read afterwards.

Book in hand, I hurriedly went to a corner where I felt I would be most comfortable. It was a couch facing a huge window overlooking the street. The street was not too busy—a couple of people walking, cars and buses passing by, tall buildings and trees on the side. My haven was a perfect place for shutting out uninvited people [I guess the oft used “Do not talk to strangers” of my childhood days is still very much in my consciousness]. Besides, I easily get distracted by people so I’d rather not be facing them when I’m reading a book. Of course, there are things beyond my control—like the guy sitting on the couch next to mine punctuating my reading with his almost endless chatter on his cellular phone :shock::arg:. I almost told him to keep quiet, but I remembered I was not in Maita heaven where I could ask him nicely and he would immediately go to the heavenly phone booth or at least in a library where silence was the name of the game.

So, taking the good with the bad, I continued reading my book. There were indeed some fairy tales—people meeting for the very first time and hitting it off, two coins in the Trevi fountain for love, old lovers being reunited after decades of being apart :heartbeat:. And the list goes on. Surprisingly, I didn’t at all feel they were too sappy. In fact, some of the stories brought tears to my eyes [it was a good thing I was facing a window and not a roomful of people]. It must have been so because they were written by old people whose marriage endured throughout the years. Just the way I pictured my romance IF I ever decide to get married later on.

That trip to B&N and the serendipity with which I chanced upon the book fits in so well with my soul searching in the U.S. It made me renew my trust in the likelihood that true love would indeed find those who honestly search and that it would never allow the boundaries of time and space to get in its way toward those who truly believe :nerdgirl:.

August 13, Friday, North Hollywood, California– My cousin -in -law, Liza, asked me if I wanted to watch The Exorcist with her :evil:. I agreed, on the condition that she would walk me home after the movie :lol:. I went to their house, which was a good thirty second’s walk from the house where I’m staying at. My niece, Emeliza was then watching a movie so we had to wait a bit before starting our own. It was probably around 9:30 in the evening when the first movie ended so our own viewing would end close to midnight! I would say that’s the worst time to watch a movie as graphically grotesque as the Exorcist!

My nephew, two-year old Evan, was lying on the sofa beside his “Liza-Mama” when we started the movie. Liza said she’ll just cover his eyes during the film’s scary moments. In the beginning, I was almost ready to drift off to sleep, as the scenes got to be quite dragging. However, the thought that something terrifying would unexpectedlycome into view kept me awake and in anticipation. As the movie progressed into the more gory details, including the never-been-shown-in the-old-version “spider walk” scene, I couldn’t help but let out a scream. This seemed to have jolted little Evan and made him cry. Ate Emeliza, who was then by the computer, told Evan to come to her instead. He would come back to his “Liza-Mama” afterwards. It was a good thing his eyes were not glued to the t.v. At two years old, I wouldn’t have been able to stand it had I been allowed to watch that movie.

More scenes ensued and I told Liza that the movie was not as scary as it was disturbing. On hindsight, I would now say that it was BOTH scary and disturbing. That a child could be invaded by something so evil is antithesis to the innocence and purity that we usually denote with childhood. Towards the close of the movie, there still seemed to be no hope in sight. The two Jesuit priests who were trying to exorcise the evil spirit both died in their attempts. Yes, the spirit left the girl’s body and transfered to the younger priest’s body, but he hurled himself out the window. At first, one would think that the spirit seduced the priest to commit suicide, but a second look at the event would give an otherwise senseless death, more meaning. The priest seemed to have taken it upon himself to save the little girl’s soul–even if it meant dying in his attempt to “win” her back.

On a more metaphysical and macrocosmic level, isn’t that what Christ did for us on the cross? Or more specifically, isn’t that what Christ did for ME on the cross? That age-old story which I’ve known since I was a little girl–the story which I am supposed to remember every time I go to mass, but most of the time take for granted…who would have thought that a horror movie like the Exorcist would call it to mind and give it even more meaning for me?

My friends here know the funny story about how I literally ran down the street, hurriedly opened and locked up our gate, rushed up the stairs and almost did not brush my teeth so I could lock myself in the safety of my room after the movie. They know how I watched comedy shows afterwards in a futile attempt to rid my mind of the movie’s gruesome details. What they don’t know is how cried that night after I re-realized [if there is such a word]how great God’s love is for me. It is my fervent hope that I would not need another movie as gruesome as the Exorcist to jolt me out of my oftentimes complacent attitude towards God’s love and mercy. :heartbeat:

I have a two-year old nephew, the son of a first cousin, who lives across the street from where I’m staying here in North Hollywood. Everyday, Evan is brought here when his parents go off to work. This makes me happy as it gives me a semblance of my old and familiar life in the Philippines. You see, I also have a nephew there [Martin], the son of another first cousin, and I get to visit him every so often. Being an elementary school teacher [and formerly a preschool teacher] also makes it doubly difflicult to have no children around me. I could probably compare it to being in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory without anyone to share it with. That’s why I’m so happy Evan comes over to the house everyday.

This daily routine also gives me the chance to be who I truly am–a teacher. Evan is by far, the youngest child I have attempted to teach He’s still learning the correct pronunciation of most words so it’s really funny hearing him speak. But we have progressed from him calling me Tita Ma-ta to Tita Maita [big leap, huh?]. And “cadado” has finally become “avo-ca-do” and “paya-paya,” “papa-ya.”I kinda liked the way he said things before, though As one of my favorite shows goes, “Kids say the Darndest Things”

Just wanted to share with you my latest escapade in the U.S…
Last Wednesday, my cousin in law, Lisa, and her 15-year old daughter, Ming brought me to Six Flags Magic Mountain. We were joined by Jackie, a schoolmate of Ming. I just wanted to share it with you because at 32, I got to do something I have never done in my entire life–that is, ride four really big roller coasters all in one day!!! The only big roller coaster I’ve ridden before this was the one in Enchanted Kingdom, so you can really see that this has been a big step for me. I still feel nauseated thinking about them, but I am glad I went on them all. At least I could tick that off my “things-I-should-have-done- before-I-reached-35″ list. [Hindi na 30, Tats–I’m way past that!!!]:roll:

My niece has been to Magic Mountain a number of times and so has her mom, so they knew the fun rides. We didn’t anymore go to those they felt were wimpy rides. We went to Viper, Goliath, Batman and Xtreme. We also went to two water rides, the names of which I already forgot and an Anchor’s Away kind of ride. I still have a headache from riding Xtreme but I felt it was the best ride. It’s also the newest ride they have, I was told. They move you up this ramp to a point that you’re already lying on your back. It was a good thing we did this last–around 9:30 pm. At least I had the stars to look at–that gave me a semblance of tranquility. Sort of like the calm before the storm . After that, there’s a great big drop and you get rotated [or should I say revolved?] in your seat while the ride is going on. Of course, I screamed my lungs out. I can feel the after effects of all that screaming now. Good thing, I don’t have to go to voice lessons here or my teacher might just send me back home!

Oh, I forgot to tell you. There’s another story within that story [as with all Maita-in-the- States stories!]. This could have well been more extreme than Xtreme! We have been waiting on the Xtreme line for more than an hour and a half when a bunch of teen agers–about 15 or 20 of them cut in the line in front of us. :monkey::monkey::monkey: Lisa and I were looking at the map, so we didn’t see it happening, but Ming and Jackie did and so they told us. That irritated us, of course and it’s a good thing there’s this African-American guy who went to one of the workers in the park and told him about the incident. We thought no one was going to take care of it as it took some time before a guy wearing the Magic Mountain uniform went out to talk to the “rule breakers.” They even had the gall to argue when it was very obvious that a lot of people saw them. Lisa hurriedly looked at the map she was holding and found the rule that said those who were caught cutting in line would be thrown out of the park. She went up and showed the park guy and told the group that they should just leave. One of them shouted, we’re already moving even if they were not. Ming shouted back, “We can’t see anyone moving at all!” To make the long story short, they were not allowed to stay in line and were sent away. Not out of the park as the sign said, but they were as good as thrown out as people were not allowed to line up after 9pm. Anyway, as we were waiting for our turn at Xtreme, with me, Jackie and Lisa saying how scared we were of the ride [it’s also their first time to get on the ride], Ming said she was more scared of what could happen afterwards. We were already thinking of the worst possible scenarios like the group waiting for us at the exit, or at the store where caramel apples are being sold and so on. We talked about Lisa removing her sweater and putting her hair up in a ponytail so she wouldn’t be recognized after we got off the ride! I made a joke about asking to be placed under the WPP [Witness Protection Program–I’ve obviously read a lot of John Grisham books!] I guess all sorts of crazy things run up your head when you’re scared. :heartbeat: The thing is, I wasn’t really shaking in my boots or anything close to that. It was very much like when we had a flat tire by the mountainside, Anne..I felt really calm deep inside–you wouldn’t think it’s the Maita you knew back in college! Oh well, things change in more ways than we could possibly imagine

Till my next escapade!

PS As an aftethought, there is after all a semblance of the Maita you knew back in college–I made the sign of the cross more than once before each ride I guess some things will never change, huh?:lol:

Swirling blue and orange water mist
Where river, sky commence to kiss
Screaming wildly from up high
Look at us, oh passersby..
But by the bridge
they just zoom past,
Until one stops gingerly at the fringe
Cusping her ears with tight, damp hands
She hears the scream, she hears the shout
When everyone just seems to move about.
Eyes open wide,
distress she could not hide,
she forms her mouth into an “O”
And lets linger a long wail of sorrow.
Hoping the river would carry to the sea
her long forgotten,
now remembered
memory…