Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Buy Your Own
It was only when my cat sprawled his body against the crack between the bedroom door and the floor, did I remember the lessons of my youth . He did it one summer, in the vengeful heat, to feel the breeze of air seeping from the only room in the house which had air conditioning. The cat had opened doors while laying outside one, and then the stories came like the chilled air and became a little more than comforting.
When I was four, I would wake to the sun shining on my face, shortly after my nanny would leave our bed to make breakfast for the family. I would get up and walk to my parents' bedroom, which would always be locked, and feel the conditioned air on my feet from under the door. I would curl up outside their door with the cold air on my face and fall asleep there, until my mother or father tripped on me when they left their room for work.
"Why can't we have air-conditioners in our rooms?" we would argue with our parents, who would berate us on how expensive they are, the ridiculous electric bill, and how we should study hard and work hard so that we can one day buy and keep our own airconditioners. It was always a lesson on self-reliance, perseverance and gratification. No fancy notebooks, no candy bars, and no television. A request for a rationale would always be met with "One day you can buy your own.."
And so we did. We vowed to (and eventually did) move out of our scorching rooms and our restrictive home. We bought and kept ACs, fancy notebooks and candy bars. I never did get into TV (the greatest blessing of all) but I did discover, during one of my trips back to our family home, that all the bedrooms now had air-conditioning, although nobody had ever lived in them since we all moved out.
"Why did you install ACs in all the rooms?" I once asked my mother in honest curiosity. Her answer was so surreal I tried not to give it too much credit.
"So that maybe you guys might want to stay here longer."
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Back in the 'Hood
After a hectic summer and the sale of our upstate hideaway in Roscoe, we have found ourselves spending the past two weekends like logs in our home in Brooklyn. No complaints here, it's good to sleep in (actually, sleep again after walking the dog at 8 am) and spend some time at home and with each other without any solid plans or schedule. Of course, we miss our beautiful weekend home in the mountains, but it was the right time to sell, and it helps us focus on other pre-occupations aside from being Home Depot Dykes or spending hours on the road each weekend.
Today was brunch day with friends down the street, followed by the WNBA Championship game between Phoenix Mercury and Detroit Shock, starring our favorite Diana Taurasi whom we've followed since her college days at UCONN. Okay, enough pretending to be the jock that I am not. It's just that our Diana hasn't really been in the limelight since she went pro. Blah blah blah. This must be boring you to pieces. Oh well.
Have a good week, everyone. I would like to have one myself for a change.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
In the Late Eighties....
(A response to Myrza's recent post - I think I'll just make a career out of blogging to her blog, what do you think?)
In the late 80s to the early 90s, I was in high school as a very unpopular girl who just got braces because of years of thumb-sucking. Although I did grow 8 inches over one summer, I was awkwardly pre-pubescent, and a minority being two years younger than everyone else (damn these smart genes!). The only conversations my fellow Catholic school girl classmates would have with me would be about my (then) model sister Myrza, who was at the height of her career and whose popularity I gathered droplets of attention from.
During the last quarter of 1992, Myrza, who was the oldest and bravest among my pack of four, decided to travel the world, finding meager modeling stints in Hong Kong, Singapore and London -- the sound of those countries' names over the telephone line seemed so glamorous, I excitedly told stories to my classmates about how she is part of London's fashion scene. To me, her sojourn brought images of fashion shows and paparazzi camera flashes, fans asking for autographs -- the epitome of fame and fortune. Little did I realize that my idea of exporting oneself to another nation was far from realistic.
I remember the Noche Buena (Christmas dinner) that year had one chair empty. Mama and Papa told us not to finish all the food because we would eat again once we fetched Ate ("big sister," in Filipino) from the airport. When she arrived, she regaled us with stories of Filipino contract workers from Singapore clapping their hands and singing Christmas songs when the plane landed. I was distracted. She had brought with her presents for all of us that were the fanciest gifts we had ever received, thanks to our parents' effectiveness in not spoiling their kids. She gave me the one and only Walkman I had ever owned! I don't remember what everyone else got, but I know that everyone was in awe at her "success" and ability to lavish her family with treasures from her successful world stint. Or so it seemed.
It was only during a post-holiday private sisterly conversation that she told me that while she had the time of her life traveling, it wasn't always easy. She had spent months on friends' couches, saving every penny to eat, and she even showed me her supply of hotel disposable toothbrushes and toiletries she had been using to save money. She said, "You know, Kee (a childhood nickname of mine), I really didn't earn much money but I don't want Mama and Papa to think that my trip was in vain so I bought nice presents for everybody." I felt both sad and honored that this tall, beautiful lady (not!) I happened to be related to, actually had a heart a hundred times bigger than her ego.
And thus ends another formative lesson in my childhood. It has to do with family, and generosity, and pride. Most times those things don't really fit in one sentence but Myrza, in all her splendor, did it all at age twenty-six. And the best part is that, at seventeen, I stood there watching.
