RelinqWish

He is obsessed with these for some reason.

I forgot all about this so I decided to repost it here from http://relinqwish.tripod.com/sockstory.html

It was a dusty box filled with yellowing socks that we passed by each morning to fish out a pair that didn’t look too worn or holed out.  My brother and Ramses and I would argue as to which pair we would wear for the day, and the spats were worse when we each of us picked a sock from the same pair. There were knee socks, ankle socks with balls at the heel, yellow striped socks, you name it, it was in that box buried beneath all the other plain white ones. 

None of them were new. We had to wear them with rubber bands to keep them up, and even then it was a task of picking the right rubber band which wasn’t too loose (like the big office rubber bands that came in boxes) or too tight (the yellow ones with red and green stripes on them, the ones you use to make stars or Chinese garters with) to bite on our skin.  Most of the time, however, we’d end the day with rubber bands on our legs and socks which had been swallowed whole by the shoes we were wearing. And if we were unlucky enough, our father would notice that we had rubber bands on, and reprimand us on the dangers of gangrene. 

I remember pulling up my socks as a major part of  walking while I was growing up. If I was in PE class it would be worse, as “calesthenics” (an exercise craze in the 80s) would warrant the pulling up of socks each time I reached for my toes. For my seventh birthday I got my prized Mighty Kid sneakers with the zippers on the sides for easy access, and I faintly recall my sadness at not having good socks to wear them with.

Tough life? Not really. I had three other siblings, and socks, like crayons,  were in surplus.  Aside from the policy of “No new crayons or colored pencils”  (all these coloring materials were in an empty Pringles can, and it was impossible to draw anything in a single color because they had all chipped and stuck to each other), was the policy of “No new socks.”  There  was a whole box filled with socks anyway, and we could not justify why we had to get new pairs unless we threw them all out. And of course we couldn’t, because we wouldn’t have any socks to use until the new ones were purchased. These would come like manna from heaven, a pair at a time from the sale racks of SM, and like the hungry we would fight as to who got to wear it first. Usually, by the time I got to wear it, they’d be loose already, and fall off again from having been stretched by my siblings’ bigger feet.

When I think about it now, I guess my parents just didn’t realize how pathetic we had become with our yellowing and hardening socks falling down on our ankles. There were quite a number of days when I’d go to school with socks that didn’t match, and I had to fold one because it was longer than the other, which was good since then I could hide a rubber band underneath it. 

And then, there was a miracle. After much pestering, my mother finally agreed to buy me the Marks & Spencer socks that everyone in St. Scho was wearing. I was a junior, and after agreeing to wear with shame the socks that her officemate crocheted (which didn’t fall off, but had a top garter that left my shins sore and my feet numb and the rest of the sock looking like a sack) for three years, she finally took me to pick out the St. Michael’s socks I wanted. 
They were a hundred pesos a pair, a lot of money at that time, and after rebutting her every argument on my socks getting lost in the wash (I had to promise to wash them myself every night and watch out for them by counting that all were present at all times), she finally bought me three pairs! I was ecstatic, and I wore them proudly with my boyish shoes and Snoopy bow-biters. 

Every night I would take them off and wash them carefully with bath soap. And through the months they got darker and darker but I couldn’t make the maids wash and bleach them, so I just made the most out of them, sewing up their holes after a while; even if by the time I got them everyone else was wearing another style already – knee socks now, and they were 200 pesos a pair so I didn’t even dream of it!

What I learned from all of this was how to make socks fit. The over-the-toes maneuver was good and more comfortable than folding it underneath, but you couldn’t do that with girly shoes or Spartan sneakers (Keds white sneaker lookalikes, but of course we’d die before we’d get the real thing!) because the socks would bulge on your toes and you’d look like you had a case of elephantiasis. I also learned that newly washed socks usually don’t fall off if you don’t stretch them too much when you put them on. And that it was okay to wear the ones which didn’t have heels, if you were wearing your high-cut rubber shoes or boots. Doubling socks also reduced the socks-at-ankles incidence. And the best rubber bands were the thick and flat ones, but they also hurt the most.

Looking back at it now, I’m glad we didn’t have too much of everything. We were not poor and what we got was a far cry from what our parents had, growing up during the war. My father always told us the story of being given one pencil at the start of each school year, and if he broke it or lost it, he wouldn’t get another one until the next year.  We had so many socks! Not very useable ones, but at least they were there. Sure, we got teased a lot by our classmates, but it took us no sooner to realize that all of that was superficial, and that we were much smarter than all of them combined. I believe this was the lesson our parents had wanted us to learn.

Decades later, when we were all earning, we each bought ourselves the biggest sets of Crayolas and Coleen colored pencils. Ate Aya even went as far as buying every available color of Keds sneakers!  I still buy my socks at the SM sale rack at 3 pairs for a hundred, and fortunately they make socks better now and they no longer fall off. For me there is nothing that compares to the smell and feel of new white socks, and I don’t think you can have too many good pairs. 

The only problem is, I wear only one pair from the three and wear it out before using the other two. So I can smell the rest, and know that in my box there will always be a perfect pair I can use at any given time.

I had been watching the blog of a Manila celebrity at http://happybattle.multiply.com since he had been diagnosed with leukemia last year, hoping that he would pull through somehow. Even if the last entry in February described a harrowing ordeal at the ICU, I figured no news was good news, there was some mention of a bone marrow transplant in the next month so that kept me hopeful.

I had a little bit of downtime this morning so I was able to browse through local news websites and unfortunately discovered that the celebrity I had been following died a couple of weeks ago from complications associated with AML, the form of leukemia that he had.

I’m not a fan of Francis M or rap music, and aside from his very popular songs used for TV commercials, I don’t really know his music, but his death compelled me to read all the articles and blog entries written on the day of his death, because it felt so close to me. I feel this way when someone is diagnosed with a cancer, especially a blood cancer, most especially any form of leukemia. The process, the treatment and the pain is too familiar to me.

When Francis M was diagnosed last year, I was praying that new medical breakthroughs could save him, that leukemia was no longer the death sentence it used to be when I had my hands deep into its technicalities back in 97-98. I was hoping that one of his 8 kids was a bone marrow match and it would only be a matter of time before he would be back in the limelight and that all my panic was premature.

Unfortunately the past eleven years seems to have done nothing for the survival rates of adult-onset leukemia. Either that or healthcare in Manila is flawed (which I doubt, especially for a celebrity). Reading the blow-by-blow accounts of his treatments on his blog for the past few months looked like the treatments, drugs and chemo regimens are still the same. His photos showed the same yellow skin, sunken eyes, and that grimace of pain that I can never seem to rid my memory of.

It has been almost 12 years since one of the most pivotal moments in my life. Although I think I am a better and stronger person for having gone through caring for a loved one as they withered away from disease, I could never wish the situation (or the disease) on my worst enemy. It hurts too many, the suffering is unnecessary, and the physical pain would make anyone question their beliefs on euthanasia.

Maybe that is why my bar seems to have been set low after that year. I feel like I don’t need to be rich, or famous, or achieve great things. If I don’t ever have to go through pain like that again, or be a witness to a slow and horrific death for the rest of my life, I think that might be enough for me. If I can use the rest of my time wisely, and love someone completely for a few good years, I might consider my life well-lived.

Rest in Peace, Francis. May your family heal and may your children be stronger and wiser because of their loss.

So I just oblige because they wait for it and bug me for the next one. This is from the meme “My Firsts,” though I’ve anonymized the names because unlike FB this blog is completely searchable:

My Firsts (The Cheating Meme)

These are my firsts. Copy and paste this note into your notes, delete my answers and fill yours in. Tag me back and anyone else whose "firsts" you wanna know about...

Your Firsts

1. Who was your FIRST prom date?

V1nc3nt C0rpu5, the son of the bicycle shop owner beside our store in Magallanes. I went to an all-girl school and didn't know any boys so I asked my mom to have his dad make him go with me. We were the same age but he turned out to be only in the 7th grade! He didn't talk. My high school bullies tricked us into going into the ballroom early so we got the "Adam & Eve Award" for being the first couple.

My dress was by J0el 3spin0. My fashion model sister took me to his house and gave him a page from a magazine to copy as her payment for doing a fashion show. The grownups seemed to like the dress. I thought I looked like a suman/caterpillar. But then that's just my aversion to dresses. Dear relatives, do NOT post the photos on FB.

2. Do you still talk to your FIRST love?

I don't know what language they speak over there in that parallel universe. Maybe nanunanu?

3. What was your 1st alcoholic drink?

I have a faint memory of a family driver giving me beer when I was four. After that, punch at a family party where I locked myself in the bathroom at 9 years old saying, "Hindi ako lashhhennngggggggggggg!!"

4. What was your FIRST job?

Technical Support Specialist at Sykes Asia, not sure but I think this was the first ever call center in the Philippines. It was 1999 and I completely dorked out on being tech support for Microsoft and two scanner companies. I was there for a month. Long incredible story. As you can see, I don't have time for stories. :)

5. What was your FIRST car?

I'm psyched that the first car I really drove is an X3. We owned a Subaru Forester before that and that was before Dana drove it on The L Word, okay!

6. Who was the FIRST person to text you today?

No one. Nobody seems to text here, although Google did text me back when I asked it for the weather today. I love you too Google, can you just respond with a smiley face?

7. Who is the FIRST person you thought of this morning?

A character in my story.

8. Who was your FIRST grade teacher?

Ms. Cenz0n. My sister typed labels for my notebooks (which I kept throughout the year) and it said "Ms. Sengsong"

9. Where did you go on your FIRST ride on an airplane?

1989 to the then immaculate Boracay with my mother on an office trip. I talked her into letting me rent a windsurf and I got stuck far away from the beach. The caretaker windsurfed over and said, "Do you know how to swim?" I said yes so he took my windsurf from me and said, "Then swim!" That was a long, long swim back to shore.

10. Who was your FIRST best friend & do you still talk?

Best friend is a tough call...childhood friends include Bekya, the maid's daughter from the mansion behind our house, Ariel Torres from the next-door sari-sari store, and John-John King, whose father ate our dogs.

11. Where was your FIRST sleep over?

J3nny M0nastr1al's house at 17 Beg0nia Street, Magallanes Village, Makati in 1985. Curse my effin memory.

12. Who was the FIRST person you talked to today?

Crayon girl, to bug her about tonight's dinner reservations.

13. Whose wedding were you in the FIRST time?

A cousin’s wedding to a 14 year old girl. My siblings and I said the bread smelled like feet. I have never been in a wedding entourage. That is perfectly fine with me, thank you.

14. What was the FIRST thing you did this morning?

feed the whiny ass cat

15. What was the FIRST concert you ever went to?

Spandau Ballet, around 2000 when they came to Manila as old fogeys and Tony Hadley was fat and panting the whole time. We're building foundation, yeahhhh...pant pant pant...

16. FIRST tattoo?

1994, a baby gecko on my lower back because I got jealous that #2 was getting a tattoo of a scorpion because of the story of The Scorpion and the Turtle in the move The Crying Game. The tattoo artist supposedly inked Francis M, his name was M1ke Sambaj0n and he inked us in his house in Paco, Manila. The second tattoo is another story...

17. First piercing?

Ears, age 6, I think it was at a doctor's office. When I was a college freshman I told my parents my ear piercings closed so I could get two additional holes in my right ear. In 2001 I got a navel piercing with bad results. I use the scar to scare teenagers now. In 2007 I stopped wearing additional earrings when I started my Manhattan job. Sigh.

18. First foreign country you've been to?

Hong Kong 1993? In the hotel I threw a lit cigarette in the bathroom garbage and it caught fire. Myrza and I woke up to a smoky room and she was like, "I DIDN'T KNOW YOU SMOKED!!!" The smoke alarms didn't go off and we didn't die. That wasn't even the highlight of that trip. Bless me if Myrza doesn't remember what it was.

19. FIRST movie you remember seeing?

Flash Gordon - I fell asleep.

20. When was your FIRST detention?

In high school I thought it would be cool to hide a classmate's shoe but then she cried so the teacher told me to go  to the principal's office, I walked out of the room, circled the campus and came back after that period was over. :)

21. What was the first state you lived in?

New York!

22. Who was your FIRST roommate?

J3nny Luma1n, Ana La5can0 and Br3nda Dal15ay at room 3210 Veterinary Medicine Residence Hall in UP. It was the size of a bathroom with 2 bunkbeds and a long desk. We secretly cooked and convened at noon to share 1 can of sardines or Century tuna and rice among 4 people.

23. If you had one wish. What would it be?

WTF- what happened to the FIRST? My first wish was probably for someone to change my diaper asap.

24. What is something you would learn if you had the chance?

Now this is just cheating. You can't just change topics in the middle of a meme, even if it's ending. Who makes these things anyway? Fine: a 2-month Spanish language immersion course in Barcelona.

25. Who do you think will be the next person to post this?

You mean the first: Allan Banaag, then anyone who isn't vomiting from these endless memes

My Favorite Restaurant, I always order their specialty. :o)

12 egg yolks

1  12 oz can sweetened condensed milk

1   14 oz can evaporated milk

½ cup whole milk

1 tablespoon vanilla

1 cup sugar

1 cup water

Caramelize sugar and water in high heat until the consistency of syrup. Line pan/s with caramel.

In a large bowl gently mix eggs, milk and vanilla, avoiding the formation of bubbles. When blended, pass through a strainer to catch undissolved egg particles and other solids. Pour into aluminum mold, pans or muffin molds and cover with foil.  Place pans/molds in a bigger pan half-filled with warm water, bake in a preheated oven at 375 for 1 hour or until solid. Invert molds into plates and serve with caramel sauce.

Mangia!

One large pinch saffron

2 x 14 oz cans chicken broth

1/8 cup extra virgin olive oil

3 chicken thighs, deboned and cut in half

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

2-4 pieces chorizo, cut into half-moons

1 medium onion, peeled and finely chopped

1 tablespoon minced garlic

2 cups short-grain rice, such as arborio

½ pound medium shrimp, peeled, deveined chopped

1 large squid, cut into rings

½ cup fresh or frozen peas

15 green olives with red peppers inside

1 dozen littleneck clams, cleaned

2 tablespoons finely chopped parsley (optional).

Mix saffron into the broth and keep warm in a pot.  In an 18-inch paellera or a wide deep pan/saucepan with lid, brown the chicken in the olive oil and set aside. Brown the chorizo and set aside. Using the same oil, sautee onion until clear and garlic until brown, then add rice and mix until coated. Season with salt and pepper.  Add stock, chicken and chorizo. Cover and cook for 15-20 minutes then add the shrimp, squid, and clams hinge-side up. Add peas, and olives.Cover and cook until all the liquid has absorbed and seafood is cooked. If rice is underdone, add another cup of stock and return to the fire for 5 to 7 minutes. Season with salt and pepper to taste and, if you choose, top with parsley.  Serve with lemon wedges. (Adapted from The New York Times Magazine)

(Another response to a NYT article I found here: http://proof.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/02/05/why-and-how-i-drink/  )

 In my childhood dining room we had what the adults called “the bar,” a waist-high rolling cart with wooden panels and chipping chrome paint. It was always dusty and stayed in its place for as long as I could remember. There would be a similarly-patterned ice bucket and grimy bottles of amber liquor on it, but what was most intriguing to me was the soda bottle labeled Tonic Water. I imagined it to taste like Sprite but have the healing properties of eighties’ Manila AM radio show host Johhny Midnight’s Toning Water. 

I found it odd that we had a bar at home. Everyone knew that my father had a violent allergy to alcohol and at one point a story circulated that he stopped breathing and his nails turned black when he ate a candied cherry with chocolate liqueur inside. In our fridge there was never any beer, but dozens of bottles of gin and brandy were gift-wrapped and distributed to friends and associates during the holidays. My father, whose only vice after he quit smoking on his 40^th birthday was cooch, didn’t drink but knew how to play. He served alcohol during company parties and graciously received liquor as presents as his business friends received his Playboys with delight. The allergy was never discussed, all alcohol coming in was simply re-gifted out. 

For our Christmas and New Year’s Eve dinners there would be an obligatory bottle of champagne or wine on our table. As children my siblings and I would all have wine glasses or champagne flutes by our cups of water. We would toast, taste the served spirit and watch each other’s sour faces as we put the glasses down. I don’t think my father ever had more than a sip at a time, although during one of these meals there was a revelation:  my brother had turned beet red, started huffing and puffing and we all waited for his nails to turn black.  

One day my brother and I decided to finally open the bottle of Tonic Water sitting in the liquor cart. The cap was rusting and we knew at that point that my parents would never notice it being gone. In our heads we imagined sweet a lemony liquid, nothing like the tart spirits served in fancy glasses during our festive meals. As our faces wrinkled from the warm and bitter flat remnants of decade-old seltzer, the message was clear: nobody cares if you try the booze but it’s unlikely you will love it.

Alcohol was so ordinary to us that it was kept within our reach and was included in our place settings at dinner. The fact that any of their children might develop a drinking problem probably never occurred to my parents, just like the possibility of drug use wasn’t ever considered. It calls to question what you tell or show your kids and what they actually do.

As for me, there were only two things I remember being repeated over and over to us as children. One, that if you screw up you’re on your own (nobody ever dared). Two, that your virginity is the best gift you can give your husband. The result of the latter is another story. :o)