Lost in Uncertainties

After one week of paternity leave, I resumed office last 20 March. Seven days are not enough to understand fatherhood and I secretly wished for longer days. I now understand why most fathers I knew go home early from office, seldom join the boys-night out, and have graduated from bar room jokes to diaper/milk talks. I have not realized that fatherhood also affects my net life. My google key words changed from [MUSIC, MOVIE, CAR, BUSINESS, SCANDAL, TRADING] to [BABY CARE, BABY GROWTH, BABY MILESTONE] and anything with baby on it. My most visited website is the blog my wife prepared for Karl. I joined some mailing groups whose members are all professional & working fathers talking about baby matters. And, if you observed, my recent posts were all baby-centric. Indeed I am a certified baby addict convert.

After two months of maternity leave, my wife will resume office next week, 15 April. She’s been on leave for 75 days but it seems like yesterday. She really enjoyed motherhood that the thought of coming back to work sort of saddened her. She surely loves her job but she loves Karl more. Perhaps all working mothers have went through that stage, and all managed to survived. Motherhood is entirely different from the corporate career, yet it is a career in itself. I admired my wife for being the best in both worlds.

After 64 days, Karl turns 2-month old today, 08 April. He does not understand the concept of time yet, and we are grateful for that. At least he does not need to look at the clock from time to time to check if it’s going-home-time, or hope everyday is weekend or a holiday, or wish Mommy & Daddy will not leave him anymore for office/business. Because if that happened, I wonder how me & my wife could refuse him.

His name is Karl Isaac. It was decided months prior to his birth.

Karl means "manly" and "handsome"; Isaac means "he who will laugh" or simply "laughter". The name is our top choice since we wanted a kid who has the proper blend of charm and humor — strong yet gentle, brave yet compassionate.

For his nickname, we opt to call him "Zac". It’s my choice since I have certain preference to names starting on the last letters of the alphabet (XYZ). But our family, upon learning of his full name, started to call him "Karl". I did not have the chance to correct them so it became the popular choice. His cousins started to call him that too and it is quite unusual to correct little kids.

I thought the naming will stop there. But sometimes me and my wife find it habitually-funny to call him names. When he’s so cute we would call him "Bait " or "Batuts", short for "bata-batuta", and he seems to like it since he would behave for longer time. At times when he’s crying too much and it seems impossible to pacify him, we would call him "Buknoy" or "Baknot" or "Pangit". We knew those are ugly names, and I usually joked I will stick to any of those if he does not behave. Amazingly, that would be enough to pacify him.

At night before bedtime, we used to say a little prayer with him. Before saying goodnight, I would kiss his cheeks and whisper to his ears the words "goodnight, our sweet little Angel". It made his sleep more peaceful. When he wakes up in the morning, we still say a little prayer, and I still call him "Angel".

When he’s active and in playful mood, we call him "Incey-Wincey" since he’s so fond of the song "Incey-Wincey Spider" and perhaps he associate it as his playing name. I wonder if we will call him "Humpty Dumpty" or "Twinkle Twinkle" too when the "Incey Wincey" magic disappeared.

Since he’s a little chubby now, we sometimes call him "Batsoy". When he’s dimples appeared, we call him "Dimples". But those are not that popular since he did not like them compared to the other names.

As days passed, we could not help but creatively come up with new & unique names, usually coined ones. The new names are not to confuse him, but perhaps our way to express how special he is. Right now we have names like: "Biko", short for "Baby ko" and "Malko", short for "Mahal ko". And the list goes on.

His first birthday will be ten months from now. And since the currently most popular and decent of his names is "Karl", it might be the letterings on his cakes and balloons. However I  realized later that mono-syllable words do not blend well in the Happy Birthday song. So there’s a possibility that it will not be "Karl".

But definitely not "Buknoy".

In my initial attempt to be a better parent, I decided to consult the stars.

He was born 08 February 2008, a lucky date according to news report from one of the local dailies. So lucky that many would-be parents rushed to the delivery room of Makati Med as early as 1am. All private rooms are occupied, all seats outside delivery room taken, long queue in the admitting, and you could actually feel the tension among staff & nurses tending to irate patients.

Prior to his birth, I consider 14 February as the perfect date. I think it’s an asset to be born on Valentines although our OB wanted to induced France as early as 07 February. We decided last minute to wait another day since the 7th falls on Thursday and I prefer Friday so I can have the weekend to assist France. Good thing too that it falls on the 8th, a lucky number according to numerologist.

I met two equally excited fathers (Fathers X and Y). One will name his baby Elijah Miguel, the others Patricia. We were the earliest birds. Like me, it’s the first for X so we kept on asking Y, who is now on his second. We were all armed with a digital camera, ready to take shots when the moment comes. I saw X reading some parethood book while Y holding some baby album/book. Parenthood nowadays really comes with a manual. I smiled at the idea.

Since France dilation did not improve, the doctor recommended a C/S after almost 8 hours of labouring (that’s another 8!). By 2:15 pm (2+1+5 = 8), our baby boy came out. He was so cute, so adorable, so handsome, so fragile, so tender, so irresistible. The nurse showed him to me and I was quick to take some picture-perfect shots. At the nursery, he was the biggest & you can’t help noticed him because he’s a tearjerker and very active. The nurse kept on coming back to him to fix his swaddling blanket, and it appeared comical because the nurses seem out-of-control perhaps due to too many babies in the nursery. And he was so "pasaway". People in the viewing room could not help but smile at the situation and commented, "ang kulit ng anak mo".

By 6pm, we got our room and visitors started to come. Our personal thanks to friends and families who visited and/or sent us inspirational/congratulatory messages. I created a folder in my cell, saved all messages received on that day, and named it Lucky Day. From time to time, until now, I find myself opening that folder and happy memories keep coming back.

On that "lucky day" I made a fearless forecast. My baby will be the kindest, brigthest, most charming, most caring, most gifted, most successful among babies of his generation. And since he will be the best, we will try to be the best parent too.

By the way, his name is Karl Isaac. You can know him more by visiting his blog at http://karlisaac.wordpress.com

See you there!

They said I’m his favorite because I looked like him. We have the same hair, height, nose and built. His friends usually joked I am really his, and I remind them of his younger days.

He was 26 when he had me, his first son. I was 26 now and will be having my first baby, my son, any day this week. Ultrasound results show he looked like me, and most of the time I wish he will really get some of my best features, and of France of course. I am so excited like never before. Perhaps my father was excited and wished the same too years ago for his first son.

I might be his favorite, but he is my least favorite of my parents. I am a certified mama’s boy eversince, and many times I disrespected him. But it does not affect his preference: he still loved me, cared for me, and was proud of me.

Until now, when I looked in the mirror I cannot see what others saw. Perhaps mirrors lie, or maybe I am just neglecting the obvious. I might not admit it, but I loved him too, was proud of him, was thankful that I came from him. I am sorry and grateful it is not too late.

Salimpusa is a wonderful word, salimpusa is not in our dictionary.

Every master was once salimpusa. "Master" is also a wonderful word and it is in the dictionary. Maybe the "master" who made the dictionary had really bad memories of being salimpusa, enough to scratch the word from his masterpiece.

Salimpusa is not popular, not even great. But "great" and "popular" are great and popular words, so that made them to the dictionary. "Lonely" is a lonelier word than salimpusa, but you can make a great poetry out of loneliness. "War" is more devil than salimpusa, but you can weave great history through war and heroes were born out of war. So that gave "lonely" and "war" an elite spot in the dictionary.

Salimpusa is an overused words. If the world’s population is six billion, expect that salimpusa was used more than double or thrice that number because everyone was once salimpusa. Even the animals has their own version of the word. And salimpusa comes handy and very flexible: it could be an "ultimate mockery", or a "saving grace" to start the ball rolling. All the words used in this paragraph are in the dictionary. Except obviously for salimpusa, because salimpusa means "salimpusa", and the "meaning" salimpusa is an alien word because it is not in the dictionary.

Salimpusa has all the reasons to be out of the dictionary but its legacy continues. If you care enough, I dare you to bring out your salimpusa story and help salimpusa achieve its long-due recognition.

The salimpusa war has just begun!

I finally told her I will stay for good. But first she needs to listen.

First, I am a christmas-sy person. I’ve always looked forward to this time of the year when all the goodness in life are within my reach: toys, new clothes and shoes, chocolates, sweets, crispy money, and fancy foods. Sometimes I wish I could hang a sock again, write a long letter to Santa, visit my ninongs/ninangs, kiss baby Jesus after Simbang Gabi, light fireworks, form a group of carolers, party all night, and pray not to fall asleep until Christmas eve.

Second, Christmas is synonymous with family, and friends as well. It is the only time when familiar faces you haven’t seen for quite some time came into life, when you realized the people in the pictures are real, when distances between nations got nearer, when a P300 load can be consumed in less an hour. In my family, the holiday season is a torn between two places: Marinduque or Bicol. But anywhere it would be it’s still a time to celebrate.

Third, I  completely forgot I am now a family man. Beginner’s mistake. I am too insensitive to assume I could do the same things I did for the past Christmas/es. I am sorry, I am really immature. This year’s christmas and all others to come will be different from those I’ve used to have, but this year will be happier. No doubt on that, especially with you and baby Ice.

Yes, I told her I’ll stay for good. And it feels good.

Happy holidays everyone!

My mom has the shallowest well of tears, it is an oasis. She cries at anything instantly, she’s our Judy Ann. I cannot blame her though. She’d been into toughest of times since her childhood. Actually, her stories were our scarecrow: eat rice or we’ll end up eating corn everyday like she did when she was a kid, study hard or else we’ll go nowhere than pulling grass in the mountain on a very hot day, behave or else they will send us to live forever with our disciplinarian relatives/grandparents. She has many award-winning moments but I have one unforgettable: that night she cried heaven asking and/or begging me to stay and take care of Papa while she’ll go home to find ways for the hospital bills.

My wife has the driest well of tears, it is a desert. She seldom cries, she’s my womanized Man of Steel. I am proud of her though. She’d been into toughest of times, braved all her problems alone, and eventually emerged as a strong and assertive lady. She fought for her principles and never ceases to surrender amidst life’s trials and/or rejections from the society. I am glad she succeeded yet many times she fell. I am there too, but she never shed a tear until that one unforgettable moment: she is really scared and in tears telling me what might happen with our baby, to her, and to our future family.

I am a closet cry baby. I cry in silent and when the lights are out. Others might think I have a desert of tears but in reality, it is an oasis. I used to be a certified cry baby when I am kid but after many times of being tagged a weakling, balat-sibuyas, or bading, I decided to repackage. The new me is a warrior, a MAN who never get hurt and cry, a rock. My mom begged me dramatically and I was cold-hearted; my wife wanted a crying shoulder and I was insensitive. I knew very well I succeeded in hiding the oasis in me but in the process I hurt my loved ones and most importantly, myself.

I guess I will wet my bed tonight.

College is my high school years. What I missed in HS, I got a taste in college. Its first day is my most unforgettable. I was a shy, clumsy, and nervous promdi who is quite conscious, not to mention, worried of my new environment.

I met few friends and their funny as well, but one thing hit me most. There’s this confident and assertive girl who stood out from the rest. She’s actually the prettiest, smartest, and most accomodating, I learned later of her name from my friend who had a crush on her.She’s Francia, and from that day on her name became my constant dreams.

The book says "one has to set a common ground to establish connection". I don’t know chess, her forte. Good thing, France is a DOST scholar and a Bicolano too. I grab that opportunity to talk to her. Everyday, I’ll ask simple questions like "dumating na ba allowance?" or"umuuwi kpb sa Bicol?". Sometimes I got the courage to ask "may extra money kb dyan?". Konting bakod & kwento and eventually, I sensed we’re getting closer, and things got more exciting.

And then I discovered my inner talent; I realized I could express myself well in writing so I took advantage of the situation to wrote my "young blood" piece for our campus paper. It was a real story, and after its publication everyone in college became curious of my existence. Actually, it was my love declaration to France and good thing she got the message. From that day on, my life became more colorful. Inspiration, they would call it, which lead me in writing poems and stories dedicated to her. [I became too mushy & baduy since then].

One love letter lead to another. And the rest is history. I will always remember the time we walked together for the very first time, it was my most unforgettable and although she’s still in undeniable state on that day, one things for sure: We loved each other & we’ll walk together until the end.

"I want to be an international flight stewardess someday!", a proud, dark beauty, glowing-eyed, 11-year old little girl bravely exclaimed this line infront of a thousand persons which served as her passport for wide applause and nods of approval. It was the finals of Mutya ng Agham and every contestants has their own tricks and style to gain audience acceptance (which constitutes 30%-50% of the criteria).

There were twelve contestants at all. Four of them wanted to be a doctor, three a lawyer, two a teacher and businesswoman, and only one wanted to be a flight stewardess, well to be exact, for an international carrier. That girl is the subject of this story, my sister Queency.

I don’t know what is dream for an 11-year old. At that age, I want to be a doctor since it looks good in yearbook. Prior to that, I want to be a priest; a year later a teacher, then an astronaut, then back to being a priest. In high school, I dreamed of pursuing an accounting degree then changed at the last minute of being a writer. Unfortunately, my father enrolled me in college and decided for my future. Five years afterwards, I graduated my engineering course. Now, I am busy and completely lost managing my career in government service, and running my own business.

Queency, on the contrary, is a different story. While I’m lost, she’s very determined to pursue her dream. She knew what she really wanted & move mountains to achieve them. She ignored her scholarship grant, shifted courses, and didn’t mind even if she would stay another year in college. She joined almost 9 beauty pageants, bagged countless trophies, crowns and sashes, and gained a dozen of picture-perfect photo albums. She became Imelda Marcos, Mother Nature, Mother Philippines,  a Genie, a Man/Crazy Woman,a drug addict, a Beggar and even wore pineapple costumes for her talent piece. She confidently answered almost all sorts of hypothetical, practical and tricky questions while wearing two-piece suit infront of million spectators and amidst bright lights and constant flashes of the camera. She has her best smiles even if she’s still wasn’t on the list of semifinalist, and smiles better when her number was called.

Life is not always about winning. We thought she will bid her dream goodbye when she was rejected by the country’s major airline on her final interview. She cried heaven on that fateful day.  We knew it’s her saddest and desperate time. To think she undergone series of interviews, went physical, mental, and emotional exams, and spent a lot on improving her skin and face, her weight, and her near-sighted eyes. Besides, she expected a lot & nearly believed it’s already her call.

Her failure stopped her only for quite some time. But dreams are dreams, & a determined dreamer is never forgetful. Six months after, we’ve heard she got admitted in Kuwait Airways as Ground Stewardess. And for the next 18 months, she has her BIG news: she will be an International Flight Stewardess SOON via Emirates Airline in Dubai.

Back then, I don’t know how many of that 12 contestants ever to fulfill their dreams. Neither do I know how many of them has clear definitions of dreams and the motivation & willing power to achieve them. But one thing is for sure, one of that girls knew hers very well.

Queency never stops dreaming. That makes her dreams work.

I know of a young dreamer.

He has a good heart and dreamed of goodness and world peace. He brushes his teeth at least three times a day, sleeps and wakes up early, and greets every morning with a smile on his face.

Unfortunately he lives in the Kingdom of Reality where happy faces are history.

"Who is that young man with a contagious smile?”, asks the Queen to her servants.

"The DREAMER," they said. "He always has that smile; I’ve never seen him frown." "And a perfect white teeth," one of them added.

Her Highness feels insecure. This man, who is a NOBODY, except for his dreams, is a threat to the legacy of the kingdom. Who nowadays can still flash a happy face over bad economy, high crime rate, and too much of TV’s tear-jerky telenovelas? Who in the age of ice creams, flavored condoms, and all kinds of sweets can still have unstained white teeth?

He is not a REAL citizen, he is a FAKE. And for that, he should be punished.

So the Queen ordered to steal the dreamer’s HEART. She thought his heart is a bowl overflowing with joy, happiness, and love. Taking that away will rob him of the contagious smile.

The day after, the dreamer’s heart stopped beating. He did not feel envy, he did not feel hatred, nor did he feel love. It did him no harm; it actually made him feel good.

And his smile became sweeter than usual.

So the Queen thought, maybe his heart is not his life. I should take his brain- his wisdom. The flowery words and irresistible gestures are products of his head. Maybe taking that away will rob him of his identity, his inner self, and alas, his contagious smile.

The day after, the dreamer’s brain stopped functioning. He became dull, lazy and senseless. He is now a robot who knows nothing, acts without thinking, is careless and insensitive at all times and occasions.

Yet that robot knows to smile. His smile can last for hours or days without getting tired and is sweeter than usual.

Desperate, the Queen ordered her final target - the dreamer’s stomach. It is the easiest way to understand every man and taking that away will destroy his appetite and libido. That’s the worst thing you can do to a man: make his stomach empty and he’ll forget he’s still a man.

The day after, the dreamer is a new man. He is a criminal, the ultimate villain who is ruthless and bad. He is the most hated in the community except for his smile.

You heard me right, the dreamer is still smiling.

Impossible but true. The dreamer who has no heart and brain, and an empty stomach has still the whitest teeth. He who was deprived of his identity, morality, and happiness can still cast a contagious smile.

Actually, the Queen can take away everything from the dreamer. Except for his dreams.

And so, the Queen realized that smiles are INEVITABLE, dreams are ESSENTIAL, and ALL dreamers smile.

She also learned everyone can be a Dreamer.

Even the Queen.

The end.

[Fair Tales, n., 1. Children stories for grown-ups. 2. Expect more of these on my future blogs.]