“Razors pain you,Rivers are damp,Acids stain you,And drugs cause cramp.Guns aren’t lawful,Nooses give,Gas smells awful.You might as well live.”~ Dorothy Parker, Enough Rope

“Razors pain you,Rivers are damp,Acids stain you,And drugs cause cramp.Guns aren’t lawful,Nooses give,Gas smells awful.You might as well live.”~ Dorothy Parker, Enough Rope
“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”
~ Clement Clarke Moore, Twas the Night Before Christmas
It is Christmas Eve, in the year of our Lord 2021.
I was able to fly home to the Philippines to finally see my parents whom I have not seen since before the pandemic in 2019.
Travelling here was no small feat.
Last Sunday, I made an appointment to get an RT-PCR test at 12:00 noon. I arrived at the testing site at 11:40 a.m. thinking that I would be about fifteen minutes early and be done by 12:03 as the place had promised. “Appointments are 3 minutes or less.”
But when I arrived there, it turned out that about fifty other people also had a 12:00 noon appointment, and there were only five testing personnel.
We all ended up waiting outside in the bitter cold for almost an hour. The actual swabbing test itself did take less than 3 minutes. A cotton swab swirl in one nostril, a swish in the other nostril, boom, bam, done.
I paid $175.00 for guaranteed results in 24 hours or less. I figured that was plenty of time for my early morning Tuesday flight. I did not have to be at the airport until about 23:00 on Monday night. However, as Monday afternoon turned into Monday evening and the time was getting close for me to start to worry, I suddenly started feeling sick, mostly with anxiety that (a) I would not receive my results in time, and (b) that I actually tested positive since I had been in the same vicinity as people in my office who had tested positive earlier in the week.
It was not until about 20:00 that I finally received my negative results.
Off to the airport I go. Once I arrived to check into my flight, the agent told me that the Philippines was only accepting passengers that were current Filipino passport holders or former Filipinos with proof of birth in the country.
“Please produce a copy of your Philippine birth certificate, or you will be denied boarding on the flight.”
Wait, what?
I thought I had read the travel requirements carefully, but apparently I had missed that requirement. I was thinking to myself how the f*ck was I going to be able to produce my birth certificate at that very moment. I definitely did not have enough time to go home and come back.
And then I had remembered Google docs. I had scanned a bunch of important documents and saved them onto my Google docs account. I logged into my account from my phone and there I was at the airport, sweating and praying that I had scanned my birth certificate.
There it was. I had scanned my birth certificate and saved it on my account sometime in 2011.
Crisis averted. I produced a copy of my birth certificate, boarded the plane, and settled into my seat. The flight was nearly eighteen hours long, but the sheer stress of the last thirty-six hours exhausted me to the point that I had slept through about ten hours during the flight.
When we landed on Philippine soil, we were immediately escorted to this large area that had the Philippine coast guard there. We were approached by guards who checked our papers and asked us a series of questions regarding our health. We were then instructed to complete an application for a OneHealth pass that you would have to carry for the duration of your time in the country. I had completed the application days in advance, but it was never approved because they had sent a follow-up email to me asking if I was pregnant, but I did not see that email because I had been on a plane for the last eighteen hours.
After about three more health station checks, I was escorted to the baggage area to claim my luggage, and after that, I was immediately taken outside to the official government taxi stand and then whisked off to my hotel where I am now to undergo a mandatory six day quarantine period (swabbing on the fifth day, plus one day to receive the results).
I am to be here until Monday, December 27. I will be spending Christmas locked in a hotel room.
“In this world, there is a kind of painful progress. Longing for what we’ve left behind, and dreaming ahead.” ~ Tony Kushner, Perestroika
“Through the blur, I wondered if I was alone or if other parents felt the same way I did – that everything involving our children was painful in some way. The emotions, whether they were joy, sorrow, love or pride, were so deep and sharp that in the end they left you raw, exposed and yes, in pain. The human heart was not designed to beat outside the human body and yet, each child represented just that – a parent’s heart bared, beating forever outside its chest.” ~ Debra Ginsberg, Raising Blaze: Bringing Up an Extraordinary Son in an Ordinary World
“How much does your life have to suck to want the Apocalypse?” ~ Laini Taylor, Daughter of Smoke & Bone
Highs:
Lows:
“I was looking at the photographs and I started thinking that there was a time when these weren’t memories.” ~ Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower
Day 403.
Death has been the theme for me this past month with my uncle passing away last week and the 21st death anniversary of my sister on March 31.
Because of the lockdown last year, I was not able to visit my sister’s grave. I had been dreaming about her recently and I took it as a sign that it was time to make the trek down to Maryland to visit her.
She is in a nice resting place. The grounds are well kept, and she is located underneath a tree next to the church. I sat with her awhile and told her that I missed her. I apologized for not visiting more often, but I know that she knows that she is always in my heart.
She died in 2000, so camera phones were not yet widely available, I don’t think. It was not how it is these days, with a camera readily available at your fingertips. These days, people take photos of everything, and I am grateful for the technology and to have the opportunity to document and immortalize important events in my life with videos and photographs.
I wish I had taken more photos with my sister. I don’t have nearly enough. All I really have are my memories, and those sadly tend to fade with time.
“And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn’t crying for him at all, but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again, he would never carve another piece of wood or help us raise doves and pigeons in the backyard or play the violin the way he did, or tell us jokes the way he did. He was part of us and when he died, all the actions stopped dead and there was no one to do them the way he did. He was an individual. He was an important man. I’ve never gotten over his death. Often I think what wonderful carvings never came to birth because he died. How many jokes are missing from the world, and how many homing pigeons untouched by his hands? He shaped the world. He did things to the world. The world was bankrupted of ten million fine actions the night he passed on.” ~ Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451
Day 401.
My uncle passed away last week. He was my father’s youngest brother. Among my father’s siblings, there’s only my father and his next oldest brother left. My father will turn 83 this year, and my uncle will turn 85 in June.
I had not seen my uncle since 2016, and prior to then, I had not seen him since I was a child. It is a curious thing how memories bind our love towards people even when we rarely see them. I have lifelong memories of my uncle from when I was about nine years old. We lived in California then and my uncle had not married yet. He came to our house often. I think he even lived with us for a time, if memory serves me correctly. Anyway, I remember how he was the “fun” uncle who would buy us candies and make us laugh. He had a wonderful singing voice too, reminiscent of Matt Monro. When I was around ten, my uncle married and then my cousin was born. After that, we rarely ever saw them, and some years later, my family moved to the East Coast, and I never saw him again until my visit to California in 2016.
I feel as though I am not worthy to speak of him since I rarely ever saw him. In a span of a year, I probably only thought of him a few days out of the 365 days, on holidays and such. But love does not keep score, does it? Time and distance have no weight when you love someone. It is just there. And now he’s gone. But the love is still there. It was always there. And I will miss him and mourn all the days we did not spend together, but I will hold tightly to the memories I have held since I was a young girl.
See you later, Uncle. ♥
“Be VERY careful about having friends of the opposite sex. If you have a “friend” that you tell things to that you don’t tell your spouse, then you are creating a toxic situation. Affairs don’t start in the bedroom; they start with conversations, emails, texts and communication that lead down a dangerous path. Protect your Marriage!” ~ Dave Willis, iVow: Secrets to a Stronger Marriage
“I hadn’t realized that music could unlock things in you, could transport you to somewhere even the composer hadn’t predicted. It left an imprint in the air around you, as if you carried its remnants with you when you went.” ~ Jojo Moyes, Me Before You
Day 356. Last Night was Friday night. The girls and I drove around the city and ended up on the Lower East Side. We parked the car and walked out in the blistering cold in search of a place to eat. With the restaurant gathering capacity still limited to thirty-five percent, we settled on dining inside a bubble at this place called Route 66.
The inside of the bubble was warmer, but by no means warm enough to take off your coat. It’s uncomfortable to eat in such conditions, but even more uncomfortable to just sit there idle, so I ordered a cocktail and some french fries. Not exactly healthy, but hey, you only live once.
After dinner, we got back into the car and drove around the city some more. I swear to God, New York is so bloody beautiful. We turned up the music in the car and with the lights of the city shining around us, it almost felt like we were in a nightclub.
“I have learned that success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has overcome while trying to succeed.” ~ Booker T. Washington, Up From Slavery: An Autobiography
Day 354.
I got a promotion at work this week. It is long overdue, so I am not even excited about it anymore. I am thankful about it though. So many people are out of work and are anxiously waiting for the next stimulus check in order to make ends meet, while I am here flourishing in my career. It does not seem fair somehow, but then again, I worked damn hard to be where I am in life, and so I do not apologize for my good fortune, but as always, I am, and remain, grateful that I have achieved some successes in life.
My brother, on the other hand, has not been as fortunate of late as I have been. Troubled by his increasingly turbulent marriage and failing business due to the pandemic, my brother retreated back to the Philippines to reset his life. My parents, ever judgmental, have not been very supportive of his decision to return home, albeit temporarily, and have been bombarding him with questions and accusations, and in short, have called him a failure.
Harsh. But that’s how they have always been – tiger parents that have instilled in the minds of their children that if you are not successful (translation: rich), then you are a failure. Or simply: a loser.
But, really, what is success? A good job? A good marriage? To be able to afford a big house and a fancy car? Why can’t success be something intangible, like achieving peace in one’s heart? Why can’t one be considered successful if they are able to satiate the hunger for freedom in their soul, or dull the ache in their core to feel the fullness of life, instead of the emptiness in their heart?
In theory, my parents consider me successful. I have a good job and a lovely daughter. My brother has a failing marriage and a failing business, and his biggest crime: he has no children.
But in reality, my brother is more successful. No matter what obstacles he has ever faced in life, he has always kept a positive outlook and is genuinely happy. I, on the other hand, despite outward appearances, am prone to depression and disparaging thoughts. I am empty inside while my brother’s soul is rich. To me, that is real success.