I hate confrontations. I get too emotional & when I’m really mad, tears fall without caution. It makes me appear weak.

But what I hate most is not coming up with retorts quick enough. I always feel like I have a big ‘L’ sign on my forehead.

So here is my sayang moment number 1:

I was 9-10 years old, in a pedicab. It was the start of the school year & a Philippine rainy season. An old man (probably in his 30′s) rode the same pedicab, he’s got splashes of mud on his trousers (so does everyone else). He turns to me and asks if I have some tissue & I said no. He comments “babae ka pa naman wala kang tissue“. I know I should say something but my tongue was unwilling to move, my brain was unwilling to work. I was indignant. When I got to school I was in a foul mood. And now, 20 years after, I’m still fuming hehehe

Sayang moment number 2:

I was 18-19 years old, a selective group of sisses in my academic org decided they had enough of me always preferring my then-boyfriend than our org. They ambushed me in what was supposed to be a girl’s nightout, they turned it into a bull session. I was the bull. The precious few members who tried to defend me were all powerless from the bullies. I was powerless & offered no defence, why?? Because I was stupid. I had my revenge the following day instead. But it was still too late. I still wished I said a million things to them that very night.

I thought the whole month’s gonna pass without any problems. But last weekend after a kiddie party, my son got sick. Hubby & I have to juggle work & nursing the little boy. There’s much discussion about who should stay at home. I insist I did last time & it’s his turn.

We’re both very busy. But of course I felt I deserved to work coz it’s my last 2 weeks & I’m still recruiting & training the testers. I feel guilty that I might leave the company in a lurch (yes I know I should be guilty of thinking that when my son is sick). Thankfully hubby’s got 2 days off so it wasn’t that bad. For his side, he insists he’s needed at the hospital coz he’s a “sister” & the rest of the staff are juniors.

The perils of parenthood with no grandparents as backup.

Anyway, two nights ago, my son was fighting with hubby to stay awake though he’s clearly sleepy. He hasn’t been eating well and… well, he’s got gastroentiritis, it’s not pretty.

I was groggy & tired from work, I just want to sleep. It was 8pm & was half-awake when my mobile phone rang. There were so many voices in the background all giggly & I thought maybe I know them, I just don’t recognize the number. A guy said hello & said “ayan na” & gave the phone to someone else. Still patient but yawning, I asked who it was. This time a Filipino girl answered, said my name & said “Nanay mo” (your mother) & started to giggle. I hang up.

We’re miles away from home (the Philippines) and Filipinos still waste each other’s time with crank calls. So two days later I remembered & gave the number a call. A girl answered & when I told her who I was she was very apologetic. She won’t say who she was except that she’s a nurse. I asked why she felt the need to call me at night to celebrate their drunken-ness & she started to stammer. Naman… We’re all trying to make a living far away from loved ones & you still get idiots following you around.

Negative muna

I can’t stand dopey people. I can take & even enjoy dopey conversations but not when the person you’re talking to actually thinks he/she’s being smart.

It is highly possible I’ve got an attitude problem but I have zero tolerance on stupidity. If you have shown someone how to work a kettle once, I’d expect them to know it in one second. It’s not that difficult unless you have a learning disability. But what I hate most are people who don’t listen but will nag you every minute to show them how it’s done – again.

I disdain dimwits. I cannot suffer fools. Yes I am acting all high & mighty but there is no worst torture for me than listening to stupid people who think they’re the bomb. And before anyone points it out, yes I can be stupid too.

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My lifetime’s work

I finally found time to put all my work files & extra-curriculars in one place. I have yet to back them up on a disc for safe keeping but I’m getting there. I was also able to collate my contact list from PAB to Outlook 2003 Contacts. Now all I need is to export them also for safe keeping.

Anyway I’ve been reading my works since 1997 & had a bit of flashbacks. I am getting old. Age shows in my works. I would like to say maturity but really the big change is my focus. Before it was all parties (& men) but now… Well some people will say focused on more boring stuff
:-)

The Little Prince would say “matters of consequence”. Time really flies.

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On the tube post…

When I was pregnant I started noticing expecting mums everywhere. There was a time I’d see at least 2 a day. I’m sure the Universe has been like this even before but, suddenly, I actually “see” them now. Since I have struggled getting a seat on the tube when my tummy was big enough for everyone to see, I am now courteous to the mums-to-be in giving away my seat whenever I can.

But then I committed the most embarrassing mistake I could. I offered a woman my seat when she was not pregnant at all! She didn’t correct me but when I looked again it was highly probable she was just having the same problem as me in the “extra pouch” department.

London Underground has started a button campaign that pregnant women can wear which announces their state to everyone & will give them “power” to boot anyone out of their seats. But it didn’t catch on. Women today are too proud. And most critics said it was too condescending to women. Oh well. Good intentions, bad move.

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My son, my son.

The light of my life made me really proud today & he doesn’t even know it. I’ve known Mother’s Pride since I gave birth. I know my son is special & he can be really cute & handsome. I am also aware he’s smart for his age… Ok Ok please let me go on. He’s my son! hehe

We arrived 10 minutes before the Nursery’s official opening time. We went to the reception instead, to escape from the freezing morning air. Sister Margaret arrived at the same time. She’s really nice, she knows all the kids in the nursery, as in individually not just by face. That’s no mean feat as there are least 50 kids at any given day.

Anyway it was too early and the staff were just having a morning chat. pogiBoy, my boy, was looking around the place & was pointing to statues & other bric-a-bracs. Then I heard Sr. Margaret talking to one staff about pogiBoy. She said (verbatim) “…he’s a really bright boy, at his age less than 2, you can tell. He’s always playing with puzzles & he puts the pieces in the right shapes…” At that point you can probably tell I was floating & beaming.

My son, my hero.

So my in-laws are here & it’s like every nightmare I’ve had has come to life. They’re jet lagged. After cleaning up after my son, my husband & ourselves, I noticed my nanay-in-law sitting in the lounge trying to stay focused on “Princess Diaries”. I told her to lie down & rest. She immediately concurred as if it’s something she never thought of. Now, where was my tatay-in-law? He was in the bedroom happily snoring us to death.

Then it dawned on me, their relationship has always been like that. You know like “tulog-na-ko-di kita-aayain-bahala-ka-sa-buhay-mo” type. As in. I’ve seen it time & again, I just never put two-&-two together. There was a time a long time ago that Tatay brought Nanay to Manila & told her to climb the heady-heights of the MRT eventhough she was panting to death. Then there was Nanay, whom I keep asking to teach Tatay to use our super-hitech percolator. She insists he ought to know (though I just showed it to her too), then an hour later Tatay asks “pano magpakulo ng tubig?” with his grating waray accent (no offence to all warays). The worst to me was the night they arrived. They landed at 7pm but got home at near 10pm. I have some soup ready, hello it’s winter. I told Tatay to call Nanay & get take some soup as I clean my toddler’s bottles. What did he say? “Ah busog na yun“. Oookkaaayy. I mean less dish to clean ‘eh? Then who asks for food an hour later?? I told her she’s supposed to be full and she nonchalantly says she hardly touched her plane-fare.

It’s not that they don’t love each other. I’m sure they do. They’re just… weird? Unemotional? Too practical? Too unromantic? Too uncaring? Maybe. But what scares me is my persistent & nagging complaint to my husband. Malambing sya but there is something lacking. I have to tell him what to do, what I’d what to happen, where I want to go, things like that… do you get the picture? Sure he’s a good husband, does his share & all. He’s a good father. He tries but still fall waaayyy short. Maybe I’m just expecting too much — you know, decent meals out are so precious these days. Or even a surprise night out. Or even a backrub offer. Heck I’d settle for a foot massage!

I’m a miserable person, aren’t I? I ask for the impossible. If the man grew up with people who hardly looks at each other with affection, how can I expect him to know what it is? Egad! What have I gotten myself into?

Can I train him? Do I have the energy & patience? Moreover, do I want to? Who knows maybe I can live without whatever-it-is-I’m-missing. If I can’t, I can always blame the in-laws.

London Underground is my main transportation to work. For 5 years I know it can leave me drained, smelly, angry, frustrated, trapped, — stressed! I’ve had near miss fights. I’ve had a few elbow-run-in’s & a couple of groping hands.

For lack of something to write I will start a journal of what I think are “interesting” events in my tube journey.

In New York and Melbourne a lot of women in business suits wear sneakers/running shoes/trainers (british slang) to work. Here the practicality is just beginning to appeal the Londoners. So often you’d see women in killer stilleto heels running up & down the escalators. You’d also see some of them tumbling over, most get their heels stuck in the wedges of the floor. Foolish but it’s their choice & their ankle at stake, so who cares?

What irritates me are those women who insists on crossing their legs whilst sitted in the train. Their foot gently hitting your leg if you happen to stand in front of them. Most often people would trip if they pass them on the way in/out.

So ayan ang nangyari kahapon. Some blonde who thinks she’s really cool & fashionable in her suede boots kept her foot aloft a-bumping my leg, asking for revenge. Sitting down, I stepped on her foot only just slightly to annoy her. It worked, I was polite so I said sorry. On the way out, aba nakaharang pa din ang paa, I stepped on her foot again – hard.

I was shaking from anger last Thursday. I’ve been eyeing these sandals from a stall in Leather Lane market & when I finally decided to buy them, I encountered a most uncivilised Neanderthal in London. The owner appeared from nowhere as I was trying on one of the slip-ons, as it was a market you’d place the darn thing anywhere right? Apparently you meant to stand on the papers strewn everywhere except where I was standing. I decided to be polite and apologised but what followed shook me up. He apparently never stopped walking & when he heard me say “I didn’t realise…” he shouted back that I didn’t know ’nuffink’ in an accent so thick you can only assume he’s mal educado.

My jaw dropped. I was too shocked & before I could retaliate he was gone. It ruined my lunchbreak & I wanted to cry. This is the first time I’ve encountered an unexplainable rudeness from anyone. I am really bad with unprovoked arguments and my retorts are often poor. That’s why I felt so frustrated when I walked away from the stall. Can I really sustain a shouting match with someone who’s so obviously a yob?

I keep asking myself why he’d give that attitude & the only answer that sounds logical is because I am “brown”. I am obviously not British as I am neither white nor black. Plus my accent is not English.

I can only pray for that man’s soul, sana kunin na sya ni Lord.