The Ice Cream Conspiracy

John discovered this most delicious ice cream – Selecta Gold’s Vanilla with Almonds. Yummy. Super yummy. Every spoonful is creamy, and has just the right amount and size of nuts. But, I remind him (and myself) - that's calories, sugar and tons of cholesterol - all the wrong things to be putting into our aging bodies. Let's not eat ice cream! Please, let's not eat ice cream.

He keeps two half gallons of it in the freezer, so there’s at least a full container that’s always ready. He treats himself to a bowl-ful practically every night, and before going to the kitchen, would sweetly ask me if I also wanted some. Even when I decline, he would come back to the room with two bowls of this yummy ice cream – one for him and another for me. I try to say no, but the temptation is strong. I succumb. I surrender. I meekly accept the ice cream.  Hmmm, yum, yum. As I enjoy the ice cream, I forget the calories. Forget the sugar. Forget the cholesterol. Forget about nagging John that it's not healthy. It's really yummy ice cream.

Oh, he just handed me some. Excuse me, but I’ll have to put my computer down. J

2009 Annual Report

The dark clouds of worldwide economic gloom, which started to gather in the last quarter of 2008, ushered in the new, but not very hopeful, year. While we are thankful that we survived it, last year was a year that we are glad belongs to the past. However, if we chose to look at life in 2009 in a more positive way, the slow business calendar actually allowed us to do other things for which we are grateful.

John was able to devote time to his advocacy, started in 2008, which he now calls “Touching Lives Through Photography”. Two Autism Society of the Philippines (ASP) chapters – Cavite and Baguio – joined “Colors of A Spectrum,” a photography workshop for families touched by autism, while Makati’s Persons with Disability and Company (Perdisco) offered it for children with various disabilities. John also helped organized “Skywalk” for the Down Syndrome Association of the Philippines. In all of these projects, Canon (for which John has become an official endorser) was very supportive.

I, on the other hand, made serious moves to do things other than manage Adphoto – not for business reasons but as part of my wish to retire. Perhaps the most major step was teaching “Business of Photography,” to graduating A.B. Photography students at the College of Saint Benilde. I was also able to start researching on John’s 1970’s photos by making a few trips to the National Library. I still have a long way to go in archiving John’s photographs, but as the great saying goes, “the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step…”

A brief but exciting challenge was co-curating a mixed art exhibit, Glimpse of A Soul” by my artist-friends at the Carl Jung Circle, which segued well into my participating in a group photo exhibit, with 18 of my students and one co-teacher. I chose three photos from a recent trip to the U.S. East Coast.

Somehow, having bucked the downtrends during many crises in the Philippines made us confident that we would survive and maybe even prosper, but the numbers were not helping. Billings were very low and collections even lower. Newly hired employees were the first to be discouraged and left. When Weng, our messenger, resigned, we decided not to replace him and instead promoted our cheerful houseboy, Ronel, to do deliveries. Ninfa, who started as Kathy’s yaya (nanny) in 1981 and moved up to fill different office positions, opted for early retirement to take care of her ailing mother. G-nie, our photographer of 18-years, after parrying many offers from abroad, finally made the move to try her fortune in Dubai. Before she left, she garnered awards and international recognition (Cannes Lions, Singapore Spikes and the Philippine Araw awards) for a series of ads done at Adphoto for Boysen Paints/TBWA. Online chats continue to connect her to us, and Ninfa occasionally visits.

With a lean staff and some deft cost-cutting measures, we managed to end the year with all assets intact and even a slim profit. We even managed to do major physical renovations at the studio, and do some meaningful team building activities – to get us ready for when the economy is better (which I believe is now).

All our preoccupation with declining business and the troubled global economy screeched to a stop in October, when floodwaters from typhoon Ondoy inundated all of Metro Manila and nearby provinces. Setting aside normal work activities, we helped affected families – by cooking hot meals, packing rice, instant noodles and canned provisions, gathering old (and some new) clothes, donating towels, rubber boots, mosquito nets, hammers, shovels, saws and some cash to families in Tanay and other places. (Thanks for donations received from Ching and John, Sacha and Wayne, friends Barbara and Sarah, and thanks also to Kathy for leading our very own relief operations).

Throughout the year, there were a lot of “hellos” and “goodbyes” when friends came in batches – former college friends and dorm-mates Aida Reyes (from Davao) and Genie Abiad (from Baguio and U.S.); International Club of the Philippines members who came from various parts of the country and the world; and dear relatives like Tia Remie who hosted a family reunion of the Valentinos, Lomboses and Dumasals. Skype allowed for regular communication between us and Gary and Sylvia Bement, and my dear 86-year old namesake, Harvey E. Jewell in Tennessee.

It was also hello and goodbye for our family. On staggered schedules last December, Ching and her John (from Singapore), Kathy’s John (from the Middle East and Holland) and Sacha (from Canada) came home for a brief but fun holiday – giving us time to enjoy each other’s company in Siargao (the surfing capital of the Philippines). Ching, John V, Kathy and John G showed their form on the surfboards, John C tried valiantly but did not quite make it to standing position, while Sacha and I became the enthusiastic audience (and official photographers) of the surfers in the family. Before everyone left, we managed to pose in color and style-coordinated Columbia outfits for a family picture with all the pets – Lucas, Ginger, Bob (African love bird) and would you believe, Maali (John’s non-resident pet elephant, through the magic of Photoshop).

Looking back, except for the damages wrought by the typhoon, we might have anticipated worse than what came, and thank God, the first two months of this year actually offer us hope that we are back on track. Goodbye 2009. Welcome 2010.

Going Physical

At 64, I am still hoping to find out more about myself so that my life can be balanced, joyful and productive. The list below is part of a much bigger questionnaire (there are questions on other aspects of life) and deals more with my physical skills. I was shocked to find out that I could not check even one on this list.

Having finger dexterity
Good hand and eye coordination
Gross motor coordination
Having agility, speed & stamina
Crafting, sewing, carving, sculpting
Finishing, painting, restoring etc
Cooking, baking
Assembling machines or equipment
Operating, driving machines/equipment
Maintaining machines or equipment
Constructing buildings or rooms
Gardening
Taking care of animals

How could that be? What did I do with my life? Or with my body? For sure, I was never a couch potato. Except for Oprah and Suze Orman, TV holds no appeal for me. Did I just read, write and do paperwork? I don’t suppose account servicing and managing could be considered physical activities. Did I just sit in front of my computer? Although I must admit that I enjoy long after-dinner conversations, do I just spend my leisure time chatting with friends? Am I essentially a spectator, a passenger, a listener?

Embroidery, sewing, pottery, carpentry, cooking, baking – I’ve tried them all but could not go beyond introductory levels – there was not one that I was passionate about to pursue through the years.

You would not believe how many times I’ve enrolled in driving classes – maybe 5 or 6 times, and yet I still don’t drive alone. But, hey, I have a driver’s license.

I love animals but have not taken care of any of them. One daughter raised a cat; another takes care of our dogs and an African lovebird, while my husband volunteers as an elephant-keeper at our local zoo. Which pet can really be mine to take care of? Not even Tomagotchi, I’m afraid.

Playing a piano? Nope, never learned it, even though I bought a piano for our home, and encouraged my children to learn it.

Boy, I’m starting to feel useless – I love gardens and plants, but don’t do any gardening. My thumb is brown, or maybe red or orange!

Now that I’ve reached six decades and four, I can perhaps offer my advance age as my excuse for not having stamina, agility or speed, but I don’t remember joining any sports or race even in my youth, so I would be unfairly blaming old age for my lethargy. There was a time I tried Tetris but have yet to find a computer game, or a physical activity such as volleyball or badminton, or even ballroom dancing in which I could excel. Oh, no, we’re not even talking excellence here; we’re just talking “do.”

Please help! Where, when and how do I start to acquire physical skills? Do I choose one and not give up until I’ve mastered it? Then which one? I always tell myself that it’s never too late to learn something new, but is this checklist telling me that physical skills are really not in my DNA?

A Chinese Decision

A Chinese Decision

In 1985, having made the decision to stay in the country, we had offered to buy the house that we had been renting since 1980. It housed our studio as well, while we lived on the second floor that had two bedrooms, one for my husband John and myself, and the other for the children. The living room and a ground floor masters’ bedroom had been converted into photo studios, the library into an equipment room, and we shared the dining room and kitchen with the staff and clients.

When we informed our landlady, with whom we had become friends, that we were interested to purchase her house, she did not want to name a price. Instead, she wanted us to make an offer.

To help me arrive at a fair price to offer her, I decided to look around in the neighborhood to see how much properties were selling for. Then, one day, one of the real estate agents asked me to check out a house in San Lorenzo Village (or San Lo, for short), a first class gated subdivision right next to the Makati Central Business District. Although San Lo was a residential community, they were quite lax and allowed businesses to be established in some of the homes (as long as they didn’t build obviously business buildings). She assured me that San Lo prices were at par with Bautista’s, since Bautista was considered a commercial area.

My only intention for looking around was to get an idea of how much to offer for our house, but I was thrilled to think that there was a possibility that we could live in a nicer neighborhood.

True enough, I found a house in San Lo that met one of the most important specifications that my husband had set – that it must have a living room large enough to be used as a photo studio. I showed it to my husband and he gave his imprimatur. I liked it myself because it had a yard and was near the community park. I envisioned having my young children biking around in this safe neighborhood and making friends with other kids in the neighborhood – something they could not do on busy, noisy and traffic-dangerous Bautista Street.

Since I had a friend in the real estate business who lived in San Lo, I took her to the house to get her advise on how to negotiate with the owners. To my chagrin, she immediately said we should not get that house. I asked her why, and she said “Tumbok yan, and that’s malas” (“tumbok” is the Tagalog word for being at the intersecting point of two roads connecting like a T, and “malas” means to be capable of bringing misfortune). It was my first time to hear the word “tumbok” and I certainly did not believe in superstitions. I argued that my husband and I work very hard and can offset or overcome whatever “malas” the house would bring. “That may be true,” she said, “but many people believe that houses like this are ‘malas’ and if and when you need to upgrade, you would have a hard time selling this property.”

I went home frustrated that we could not push through with buying a house because it was “tumbok” and “malas.” I went to bed early, very disappointed and slightly depressed at seeing all my happy dreams and visions of this San Lo house going pffft, and at the thought of doing house hunting all over again.

All of sudden, a thought came to me that pulled me out of the pits. My inner voice was saying – “Why feel bad? In 1970 when you started the business, you had nothing and hardly any money, and today, you almost bought a house in an exclusive community in the city. You’ve come a long way, Harvey.” That thought was enough to perk me up, and I went downstairs to the studio to reassure my husband that I was feeling okay and not to worry about me.

I saw him working overtime in the studio with a Chinese client. We talked about the house and he (Felix Wu, formerly of Ajinomoto) said he would like to share a story with us of two businessmen – a Chinese and a Filipino.

Here was the story:

There were two entrepreneurs, one Filipino and one Chinese. They both had a “sari-sari” store (a humble variety store that sells, in retail, only small low-priced everyday items).

After a year, the Filipino used the profits of his store to buy himself a TV set. The Chinese man reinvests his money into the store, and turned his “sari-sari” store into a mini-grocery.

After the second year, the Filipino bought himself a second-hand car while the Chinese continued to commute using public transportation. He expanded his store, while the Filipino still had the same “sari-sari” store.

After the third year, the Filipino bought himself a house in BF Homes (a medium-level suburban subdivision) while the Chinaman continued to live in a tiny room above his store, which was by then, close to looking like a department store.

At this point, my husband butted in and said, “You see, the Chinese way is better,” to which I replied, “Better for the business but look at the two and see who is smiling.” It was easy for the three of us to reach the conclusion that the Chinese knew how to do business, while the Filipino knew how to enjoy life.

“Let’s have a Chinese decision,” John said. “Let’s offer to buy this house. After all, the studio is here, we won’t need to transfer, we might lose clients if we transferred, we won’t have to change business forms and stationary, etc.”

“Okay”, I said, “for now, we will have a Chinese decision, but I hope someday, we can enjoy a Filipino decision.”

We offered to buy the house, our offer was well received, and for the next 20 years, we lived and worked here, raised our children and grew our photography business, combining home and business as many Chinese families would. We continue to live our Chinese decision, while waiting for the opportunity to enjoy a Filipino decision.

Telepathy

Harvey V. Chua John went north to the HAB fest. I'm going south to Alabang so I can write, check my students' works and prepare for Tuesday. Will pass by MMP to visit my dad's grave - it's his death anniversary today. He passed on in 1978. I wish he were still alive to tell me family stories.

Harvey V. Chua John just called. He's driving back from the HAB. He told me to prepare the house in Alabang as he does not mind spending a few days there. That's mental (or emotional) telepathy. :)

These were my updates on Facebook yesterday morning. John had invited me to go with him to the Hot Air Balloon (HAB) Festival in Pampanga, two hours away from here, but going there meant waking up at three in the morning. I told John “thanks, but no thanks.” Unlike John, I don’t like walking up early.

I woke up at 8:30am and after breakfast, I turned on my computer to check emails, Facebook and a couple of photography forums. It was Saturday - my schedule for going to Alabang. Since we don’t really live there, I had our landline and Internet disconnected, so I had to finish all my Internet tasks before leaving for Alabang. Just a couple of minutes after I updated my status on Facebook, I got a call from John – he was on his way home, and would like to spend the night in Alabang. Wow, is that mental or emotional telepathy or what!

It was thrilling (in Tagalog, nakakakilig) to hear that John was thinking of the exact same thing I was. Maybe it comes from being in tune with each other. I remember one incident in the 70’s when we were courting (this is the politically correct way of saying it now but in my time, we would say, “when he was courting me” – I don’t know why women allowed this change), and he invited me to go to an air show. True to the way he is, he wanted to be early, while I needed to attend to other things first. By the time I got there, there was a big crowd and I did not know where or how to find him. As he would be busy taking pictures, I did not ask him to stop shooting to be waiting for me at a certain place, and of course, there were no cellphones or even pagers then.

So I put my personal “radar” on, sent a telepathic message to John that I was there and where could I find him - and maneuvered my way through the crowd, going straight to the center of what was “happening” while John was leaving that center to look for me. John and I were both thrilled that we located each other right away!

P.S. This status update came after the ones above.

Harvey V. Chua John and Kathy came to Alabang, but decided not to stay (because we have no Internet or Cable TV here). Instead they asked me to join them for dinner and a movie "Dear John" but I need to be back at home for a 10pm Skype date with Harvey E. Jewell. So I'm back here in Makati. It's okay.

On Getting Old

Tomorrow, I’m turning 64, just a year shy of the SSS-decreed retirement age.

Sometimes, I feel old and out of synch.

I may remember a name after the person has left. Or, hours later.

My energy is completely zapped, and it’s still morning.

I misplace a lot of stuff. If it’s my cell phone that’s missing – that’s usually easy to solve – just ask somebody else to ring it for me. But what if I can’t find my keys, eyeglasses or laptop? When will there be an invention that could ring them?

When I meet friends, we discuss illnesses, medicines and home remedies. Or aches and pains. One friend suggested that a bar of soap anywhere on my bed would save me from muscle pains. I’ve been trying that, and it seems to work – but I have no explanation for why it works. But hey, at my age, I’d gladly trade relief for logic.

I used to be embarrassed to bring out my senior citizen’s card, but now it’s a card of entitlement. It gets me free movies, discounts at restaurants and salons, or on my medicines. Or to get on an exclusive MRT car – reserved for seniors. It’s also a great pass to skip long queues at government offices and some commercial establishments. After queuing for a taxi for 1-1/2 hours at SM Baguio the other night, I’m going to write Congress for a special queue for seniors at taxi stands.

A friend reminded me not to knock getting old, because the alternative is dying young.

So I talk to myself about the virtues and benefits of getting old, accept a few compliments on how I “have not changed,” and I turn around and actually feel younger than 64. Tomorrow, I’ll sign up for dance lessons or exercise class.

Now, where did I leave my keys again?

Chet, My Writing Buddy

A Malaysian friend, Chet, reminded me that she has been waiting for me to resume writing my blogs, while at the same time admitting that she is going through a writer’s block herself. Needing someone to nudge me every now and then to write, I offered to be her writing buddy so she could be mine.

She posted a message for me on Facebook (one of those diversions, together with emails, that actually keep us from doing serious writing) asking me two questions that got me stumped.

She asked me what my writing goals are, and what are my schedules for writing. Even though I have read a few books by Julia Cameron that emphasize the need for writers to write their journals in the morning, I had not thought of my own writing goals or writing schedules. Well then, last night was as good a time as any to write my goals and schedules.

Hmmm… Writing goals? That’s easy. I’m not very ambitious or confident about my writing, and all I really want is to write family stories. So there! That’s my writing goal! And writing schedules – oh no, when do I find the time?

Well, why not now? I will write one family story, right now. Sacha and I were talking earlier about wedding photographers and I remembered a story about her not wanting any photographer other than her papa to take her picture – that’s the story I will write about. But wait – this is such an old story – maybe I had blogged about it before?

I checked my site if they contained this story. Scrolling down to check the table of contents and browsing through my old blogs provided a good excuse to be procrastinating instead of writing. The site listed three measly stories in 2009, six in 2008 and 41 in 2007. Wow, did I really write 41 stories in 2007?

What happened in 2007? I was spending weekends, and sometimes 3 days out of every week in our house in Alabang. That’s it- I like writing when I am in Alabang. I should spend more time in Alabang! But a little voice inside me reminded me that I should write no matter where I was. It was a lesson I learned from Julia Cameron that needed to be applied.

And dutifully I obeyed that little voice and went back to finishing my story about Sacha, and posting it on my blogsite. Done. Fini. I felt good about myself as I posted my first blog for 2010.

Now I can bug Chet, my writing buddy, to help her get over her hump.

Sacha's Favorite Photographer

When my daughter Sacha was 3 years old and preparing to graduate from nursery class, her teacher called for me frantically. She had her young students in their togas, queueing to pose for their graduation pictures with the school photographer, and Sacha was upset. Normally a very cheerful and cooperative child, Sacha was crying and refusing to be photographed. She would not tell her teacher what was wrong.

I rushed over to the school, just a couple of blocks away from our home cum photo studio, and found Sacha sitting in one corner, pouting and visibly upset. I knelt down so I could be face-to-face with her, and asked her gently what was bothering her. She murmured between sobs – “I don’t want him to take my picture, I want my papa to do it. Papa is my photographer.”

I tried to explain to her in the simplest terms possible that we don’t do school photography, and that the school photographer was better equipped to do this job, but she was adamant. “I want my papa!, ” she said with such loyalty. (How I wish all our clients would show their preference for us with the same conviction. ☺)

Her teacher understood and offered to lend us the toga. I watched the school photographer do a photo of one child so I could explain the set up to my photographer-husband.

Sacha and I walked home where she had her exclusive photo session with the photographer of her choice. She smiled sweetly for her dad - her photographer.

P.S. Thanks to my Malaysian writer-friend Chin Chet Mooi for reminding me that I have not blogged in a long, long time.
P.S. @Sacha - Can you look for that graduation picture and post it here?

Suburban Breeze

I am here now in Alabang, enjoying the quiet of an empty house. The tenants left two weeks ago but I have not been able to come, except to do an inventory and accept the keys from them on their last day, and very briefly last Saturday just to water the plants. Today, I brought the driver/maintenance man, a houseboy and a maid to help clean and make it attractive for prospective tenants who may come to check out the house next week.

The electric fan is not even turned on, but nature provides the breeze that I need to be comfortable. I sit at the dining table trying to write about this feeling of gladness to be here. The sounds I hear are sounds of a quiet life – the neighbors’ little boys playing basketball, the driver scraping off stubborn epoxy from the kitchen sink (I did not like that orange epoxy was spread all over the rim of the stainless steel sink – it was that way when we bought the house and never found time to fix it until now), the houseboy plucking dead, dried leaves from betel nut trees at the front yard, and the maid moving the aluminum ladder as she moves around in a methodical manner, dusting the windows and furniture.

Just for comparison, over in Makati where we live and work in the same house/building, the cacophony of sounds that predominate are those of buses and cars that run on our busy Bautista street – the street that our house directly faces, without benefit of a front yard to serve as “buffer” or “sound barrier” - and the constant ringing of phones interspersed with someone’s insistent voice on hurried paging announcements. Add to this auditory cocktail the stillness of the stagnant air, trapped within the confines of each of the rooms, artificially brought to a comfortable level by almost 24-hour air-conditioning.

I am not asking for the pristine air of the mountains or the sea. I know that Alabang is not an idyllic rural paradise. Once in a while, but thankfully not too often, the purr and spurts from motorcycles of men who come to deliver pizzas or provide maintenance service to us or our neighbors compete with muffled but nevertheless revving engines of neighbors’ cars negotiating the rise in elevation of our slightly hilly street. So I know I am not in dreamland and that I am not too far from the city.

All that I am wishing for, really, is some suburban breeze – that rhythmically weaves in and out of trees and into the house to provide me with a natural balm from the tropical heat, and as an additional treat, brings in the music it creates by rustling leaves. Today’s slightly active breeze undeniably resonates with my heart’s longing for quietude and comfort in a home.

Naturally, even if only for a day.

Happiness Mapping

Here's something Sacha did that you might want to try doing so you can identify what makes you happy. And when you know what makes you happy, then you'd know how to get to that feeling.

http://sachachua.com/wp/2009/04/23/mapping-what-makes-me-happy/

Empty Nesters' Christmas Holiday

For the first time in 32 years, John and I were spending Christmas and New Year holiday alone, without at least one of our three daughters. Maybe it’s because of my being a mother, that I seem to be more affected by the “empty nest syndrome,” than John is. Sensing my loneliness, he stayed close to keep me occupied, entertained and reassured.

John’s diversionary tactics included two nights at Ridgewood Residences in Baguio, a leisurely 3-hour outdoor lunch at Cantinetta in Camp John Hay, a candlelit dinner at Mario’s (one of our favorite restaurants), and a productive morning meeting with the Baguio chapter of ASP (Autism Society of the Philippines).

Coming down to Manila to fulfill a promise to join the ASP UP Diliman chapter’s photography workshop, we spent a full day with children with autism and about 20 volunteer photographers.

The following day, we went ultralight flying in Pampanga, a thrilling activity he has not done in a long time. He took me up and we flew over the rice fields of Pampanga, He spent more time flying while I chatted with old friend and former flying club manager, Mel Troth.

On the day before New Year’s, he took me to Serendra which offers many choices for restaurants, and the promenade mall that I prefer over big shopping centers. We chose Chelsea, where we opted for something light - a salad and a pizza - and a long conversation. Then we strolled over to Fully Booked, our favorite bookstore. We grabbed the books that we fancied, sat on chairs that faced each other, and managed to read and talk without disturbing anyone. When we got tired of sitting down, we went out to have a stroll on High Street, getting in and out of shops, fully content just to look. Characteristically, I waited while John checked out Recreational Outdoor Exchange. On the other hand, John was very uncharacteristically patient and even joined me in browsing at furniture and homestyle shops. To cap the day, we went back to Fully Booked for Starbucks coffee and tea. He never once rushed me, and seemed indeed to enjoy having a slow day for a change.

We promised the household staff that we would join them for a New Year’s eve dinner. Norma cooked our favorite stuffed chicken, and served chestnuts and round fruits - grapes and small oranges - which to Filipino-Chinese families signify prosperity. By 8pm, we were done with dinner and just needed to wait for midnight to come.

I was tired and feeling a bit blue (must come from spending the holidays without my children, no matter that they are grown), and decided that I would nap for a short while. I asked John to wake me up at 11:30 but at 11, he, too was ready to crawl into bed. He told me to put my cellphone to silent, and he did the same with his.

Half-asleep, I could see my phone’s light flashing on and off, which it does when there were incoming calls. I turned the lamp on and saw that I missed three calls by Kathy, and one by Sacha’s friend Clair. I returned Kathy’s call and she said she was on Skype. While I turned on my computer, I called up Clair. We greeted each other Happy New Year, and she told me that Kathy had called to tell her that I was not answering my phone, and asked her to find out what was happening.

Kathy and her John came online to greet us at the stroke of midnight (plus half an hour before and another hour after), and witness the fireworks in the part of the sky that was visible from our window (as picked up by the built-in webcam on my computer).

The following day, the first day of the year, I was filled with tremendous sadness and loneliness. Neither Ching nor Sacha had called to greet us, and I felt totally devastated. I felt so bad that I did not want to get out of bed - and John saw right away that the monstrous feeling he kept trying to protect me from had succeeded in invading my heart. I felt unloved, unappreciated, and unworthy. It was a painful emptiness. As I was beginning to bash myself with crucifying questions like “where did I fail, did I not raise my children well,” John just very quietly held me in his arms and whispered, “Don’t feel alone, I’m here.”

To keep me from feeling blue, he asked me to dress up and we went out to look for a restaurant that was open on New Year’s Day. Even nearby Cash and Carry was considered far enough as to distract me from our empty and quiet house. The supermarket was closed and so was the food court, but the fastfood restaurants were open. We had lunch at Pancake House, a family favorite.

All through out New Year’s Day and for the next few days, whether we were at home or visiting favorite places, John’s glance would come my way, and if I showed the slightest sign of loneliness, he would come near me and whispher, “I’m here.”

John’s strategy worked. His schedule of events for us, his patience and reassuring message all helped us (actually, me) survive Christmas and New Year’s as emptynesters. And now that regular work days have resumed, there’s been little time to feel lonely. In addition, Ching and her John came to visit twice (in January and in February), our Skype sessions with Sacha are back on regular schedule (every Sunday night), and Kathy and her John are back from Holland.

We’re back on track.

P.S. Now, before anyone makes the same mistake I did, let me tell you what happened on New Year’s eve (something I did not discover until two weeks later) - it turned out that something went wrong with my gmail, preventing it from delivering mail addressed to harvey@adphoto.com.ph. I discovered greetings from Sacha, Ching and many, many friends and relatives when I checked our server and saw more than two hundred undelivered and unopened messages.

Footnotes:

Ching, 32, lives with her husband in Singapore, and could not come home, as they had planned a holiday vacation in Sarawak, Borneo.

Kathy, 28, and her John, were in Holland to spend Christmas and New Year’s with his parents and to arrange for their wedding there in the spring. Kathy was a bit worried that we would be too lonely all by ourselves, so up to the last minute, she tried to persuade us to spend Christmas in Holland.

Sacha, 25, said she could not afford a third trip to the Philippines this year, having come home to visit us in March and August, but promised that she would be here on Christmas 2009.

Finding Harvey Jewell

Have you ever lost contact with someone special in your life?

I was named after my father’s friend, an American navy man named Harvey Jewell. As a child, I grew up hearing stories of my dad’s friendship with him. According to my father, they were such good friends that he had wanted Harvey to be his future child’s “ninong” (godfather). Unfortunately, Harvey J. had to leave the Philippines the night before I was born, but not before receiving a promise from my father that the baby, boy or girl (no ultrasound tests in those days), would be named Harvey. And so it came to pass that a Filipino baby girl was named Harvey.

Immediately after getting back home, he did write my father. With his letter came a picture of him and his bride, Norma Jean. They were married in Lafayette, Indiana in 1946. My father had kept that picture and letter through the years, which he would show to relatives or friends when he had to explain how I got to be named Harvey.

For many years, I was resigned to the fact that I would never get to meet the man after whom I was named. My hopes were raised with the introduction of Internet, and especially Google. I would “google” his name but finding no real leads, I soon gave up.

However, last December, a friend urged me to search for Harvey again, reminding me that new information is being added to the Internet everyday. I followed her advice, and googled for Harvey Jewel (I had mistakenly thought that his family name had only one L), but nothing came up. I searched for “Harvey Jewel Lafayette Indiana” and again nothing. I tried Harvey Jewel Norma Jean Lafayette Indiana and boom… an entry in the Lafayette Gazette appeared… Harvey E. Jewell and Norma Jean, married March 23, 1946. Bingo!

From there, I tried one of the best sources of information if one is trying to locate a person. I went to 411, and entered his name and Lafayette, Indiana. There were other Jewells, but not Harvey or Norma Jean. I decided to expand my search, and simply put Harvey E. Jewell. Quite a few Harvey Jewells were listed, but one entry said “Lt. Cmdr. Harvey E. Jewell. My heart skipped a beat, and with my fingers shaking with the exciting thought that I had found him, I clicked on his name.

Then, lo and behold, there it was. His age was listed as his 82 – a very plausible age. But, there was no email address – only a home address. I wrote him a letter and mailed it on December 2, 2007. In that letter, I told him that I was leaving the U.S. on December 8, but gave two cellphone numbers and all my landlines in the Philippines, plus, of course, my email and home address.

On December 14, I saw an email from a Gary Bement that I almost deleted because I did not know him, and I thought it was spam. I was very thankful that I went on to read his email, and discovered that he was Harvey Jewell's son-in-law.

Since Harvey did not do emails, we communicated through Gary. We soon had an exchange of emails going back and forth. Gary would write for his dad-in-law, based on letters that Harvey would write on paper. He had many stories about my father, and it did not take long for me to decide that I wanted to meet Ret. Lt. Cmdr. Harvey E. Jewell in person!


To be continued…

David's

It was still early enough so my husband, my daughter and I could go our separate ways in the mall and then meet up for dinner. My husband asked – “Where do you want to have dinner?” It was important for my daughter and I to agree on a place because whenever we were undecided or could not agree, our default place was my husband's favorite (maybe perennial is a better word) restaurant, David's Tea House.

I wanted us to decide it then, but my daughter, who was still not ready with her choice, said – “Let’s call each other when it’s almost dinner time.” My husband agreed.

Concerned about how we were all being spoiled by technology, I reminded my techie family that before the days of cellphones, we would agree on where and when to meet before going separate ways. “We are too dependent on our cellphones, and calling is expensive!” I exclaimed.

Just our of curiosity, my daughter asked, “What did you have before cellphones?”

“Pagers”

“What did you have before pagers?”

“Beepers”

What did you have before beepers?”

Feeling defensive at this “interrogation”, I said sarcastically “Smoke signals”

“Before smoke signals?”

Now, getting a little peeved but determined to keep my upper hand, I just insisted: “Let us agree on the time and where to meet, and make sure our watches are synchronized.”

“Before you had watches?” There she goes again!

I was determined to win this argument “We would look at the sun and define the position of the sun to tell the time, and agree to meet at…”

“David’s,” my husband chirped in.

End of discussion! We all laughed at that very clever move.

Compliment from a Stranger

Sometimes, we get compliments from strangers that affirm what we already know about the people we love.

The other Sunday, John, Kathy and I were attending Mass at the Greenbelt chapel, a modern, circular structure surrounded by ponds and gardens. Families with young children usually listen to the Mass from this grassy area outside the chapel to keep their noisy youngsters from disturbing people quietly praying inside the church. We, too, prefer to stay outside so John could easily walk around the chapel when he gets restless, as he is wont to do when he sometimes finds the homily uninteresting.

John had stayed through the end of the homily when we noticed a Caucasian man scolding an Asian woman who was carrying a child who looked like the baby could be their child.

He was very agitated and told her to stay put at that spot, which happened to be near where we were standing. Then he left her and we wondered if the woman was his wife or his baby’s yaya (nanny). We wondered what she did that earned his ire. Moments later, he was back again, mumbling something at her before leaving again, weaving in and out of the big crowd that attends the 4:30pm Mass. He was still huffing and puffing when he came back again, and continued to scold her. We were not sure if they were having a marital spat but when we heard the man say, “You should have looked at where he was going,” we knew right away that he was concerned about a missing child.

John approached him immediately and escorted him to a security guard who quickly notified other guards in the area. I saw both John and the man walk back and forth, passing in front of me several times as they scoured the area both inside and outside the church. Kathy left me to do her own search until I could not see her anymore. (Based on her own insight – there were at least a couple of instances when she was separated from us when she was a child - she went a little farther from the church, going to the places where she thought little children would be attracted to go – to the fountain, the pond where ducks swam, and to the restaurants).

When it was communion time, and people were queuing to receive the Holy Sacrament, I thought I should look for John and this man to suggest that they make the announcement using the public address system of the church, but John was already on his way inside the church with the missing child’s father.

The mass lector made the announcement about a missing three-year-old boy, describing him as wearing blue pants, blue shirt and white slippers. The priest, an elderly American by the name of Fr. Jim Perry, made an additional appeal to anyone who may have seen the boy and offered a short prayer for them to be reunited, and then finally, the father himself appealed to the mass goers, describing his son once more and adding that he did not speak any English or Tagalog as the mother is Thai (He did not say where the mother was at the moment). Just a couple of minutes later, before the final prayers were said, Fr. Perry announced that the little boy had been found. The mass goers clapped their hands in hearty cheer. (He was found by the park security, wandering - unfazed and not crying- near Café Breton, more than 50 meters from the church).

While this afternoon drama was going on, an elderly woman who stood beside me, noticing what John was doing, faced me and remarked, “Your husband is a good man. I hope there will be more people like him.” After the father and the son were reunited, John and Kathy came back to where they left me, and I asked the elderly woman to repeat to John what she said to me. Lightly touching him on the shoulder, she said, “You are a good man.” I proudly nodded in agreement, whispering to John, “I’ve always known that.” But as she probably did not notice Kathy join the search for the missing boy, I whispered to Kathy, “I’m proud of you, too.”

Padasal for My Mother

Today, I went to my hometown of Paranaque, now part of Metro Manila, to commemorate my mother’s 30th death anniversary.

During death anniversaries, the tradition here is to have a “padasal,” a prayer session for the dearly departed, usually conducted and participated in by some of the oldest women from our part of town. This we held this afternoon at my cousins’ house (my parents’ house burned down a few years ago and was never rebuilt).

While waiting for old relatives to come for the padasal, my cousin suggested that we honor my mother by talking about what we remember of her, and this is what I shared:

When I was a child, we were poor and could not afford electric fans or air conditioning. During summer months when heat was unbearable, my sister, two brothers and I would all sleep on a banig (women mat) on the living room floor so we could take turns being fanned by my mother.

Unlike my siblings, I had a hard time going to sleep, or staying asleep when I was feeling too warm. My mother would lie down next to me and she would stay awake most of the night to fan me with an anahaw hand fan. As soon as she noticed me tossing and turning, and probably while she herself was half-asleep, she would raise her arm and swing her fan to and fro to create a breeze over my face.

This is one of my fondest memories of my mother, who passed away thirty years ago of ovarian cancer at the age of fifty-five.

Dear Nanay,
I thank you for taking care of me when I was growing up. I miss you. I will always love you.
Your daughter,
Harvey

Language of the Heart

Should we speak in our native tongue, the language of our heart, or in a second but more universal language, such as English, even though we have not mastered it?

Different people reacted differently to Filipina beauty contestant Janina San Miguel’s fractured English. Some people in the audience heckled, as she struggled to speak in English, confusing her p’s and f’s and committing many mistakes (her interview is on You-tube (http://www.dlisted.com/node/24445) but the judges must have disagreed with the less-than-kind audience because they declared her a winner here and named her as our official representative to the Ms. World 2008 pageant in Ukraine.

When she goes into the question-and-answer portion again, some say she should speak in Pilipino and ask for an interpreter. My own humble opinion is that she can do as she chooses – to speak in her own mother tongue, or make the valiant attempt to speak in a language she has not mastered. (I liked the way she laughed at herself when she realized she was having a hard time trying to answer in English). However, since the contest will be held in Ukraine and not in an English-speaking country, trying to speak in English may not matter, and she just really might be better off speaking in the language of her heart.

This language issue brings to mind a recent conversation with my future son-in-law, John.
John is Dutch and wanted his parents and himself to follow the Filipino tradition of “pamanhikan.” (http://www.weddingsatwork.com/culture_traditions.shtml)
Unfortunately, his mom is too frail to travel, and he asked me if it would be alright if his parents wrote to us instead, to ask for our daughter’s hand in marriage. But since his parents speak and write only Dutch and a couple of other European languages but not English, (and my husband and I only know Pilipino and English), he wanted to know if we were okay with receiving his parents’ letters in Dutch.

I said “of course.” I explained that to me, what is important is not the language we use but the message that we want to put across. Even more important is the fact that we want to connect and communicate. (We don’t have to look far for an interpreter -John being the best for this task). If they chose to write in Dutch, to me that would mean they are speaking from their hearts, and that would make it very special. But if they chose to try to put together a letter in English (or get someone to translate for them) I would take it to mean that they want us to have an easier time understanding what they want to say, and that would be sweet, too.

Earth Hour

An environmentalist group is organizing Earth Hour to happen tonight from 8 to 9pm. During the hour, we are supposed to turn off all lights, to let the darkness serve as our reminder that we need to protect Mother Earth and her resources from abuse and overuse.

I thought – it may be difficult to do that in one of our studios because we have a photo shoot that might go beyond 8pm, but surely, we can easily turn off lights, even air-conditioning, in our Alabang house.

Well, I came home to Alabang to find that whether I like to or not, we’re participating in Earth Hour. It has been almost two weeks since we came home (got too busy and stayed in the studio), and I found the front yard littered with newspapers, flyers and, horror of all horrors, – bills! One of them was actually a termination notice from Meralco, the electric company. I looked at the date of the termination notice – March 28. That was yesterday! They cut off our electricity yesterday!

Rushing out of the house to go to Meralco to pay our bill and request for reconnection, we got there at 12:25pm. To my dismay, a sign on the door says “Office Hours – Monday to Friday 9am to 5pm and Saturdays, 9am to 12 noon.”

There is nothing I can do until Monday.

In the meantime, we are joining Earth Hour, which to us, will be Earth Weekend. My husband, who is still at the studio, just sms’ed: “just put up a big sign that says ‘We support Earth Hour 24/7.”

Airports and Angels

December 1, 2007

I came back to Boston today, after having known the helpless feeling of possibly being stranded at the Los Angeles (LAX) airport where I was coming from and maybe having to spend the night and probably even the next day there. When I saw the crowded departure lounge and learned that the flights were fully booked, and that many flights were either delayed or cancelled, I knew my chances to find a seat on a low-priority, non-revenue buddy pass that I received from a friend were slim.

In my mind, I was trying to imagine Tom Hanks in the movie “The Airport,” and strategizing what I would do to make my stay as comfortable as possible. I checked out the eating-places – Starbucks and an unfamiliar deli offered not very appealing food and beverages choices (for me, anyway). The most accessible ladies’ room was under renovation, making me feel that my “bathroom” facilities were not “ensuite” – another inconvenience. There was wireless Internet, but to be used with a prepaid card – so that was an activity I could not do that night. Besides, my computer needed recharging and I didn’t know where I could plug for electric juice. I also surveyed the chairs at the departure lounge to choose one where I could park my body for the night, if need be. They did not look comfortable and were not the kind that could be reclined. How I wish I were at the Changi Airport instead - the Changi airport has a special lounge for air travelers who may need to spend the night at the airport which has fully reclining chairs with alarm clocks and all sorts of bells and whistles (my vote for the world’s most user-friendly airport readily goes to Singapore’s Changi airport but that’s another story altogether). But I settled in to wait and, despite the possible discomfort, accepted that it might be an adventure worth writing about if I got stranded.

I approached the ground crew at the gate every now and then, just to remind them that I was still there waiting to be accommodated, but at the same time, making sure I didn’t appear to be a pest. Knowing how important it is to be on their good side, I did what I could do to earn their sympathy, and avoid their ire.

Aliz, my friend Gay's friend, who gave me this free ticket, called at 11:00pm, worried that I may not get on. She asked if my friend from LA (Henry) was still there and I said no. I told her that I had asked him to just drop me off. She had been monitoring the flights and was told that it was almost impossible for me to get on. (She works with ground crew at the Boston airport and knew the real score). I assured her that I was fine and more willing to wait than to go back to the city and then go through the hassle of airport security screening again. Besides, it was a good hour driving to and from the airport, and I didn’t want Henry to have to go through that. She had called everyone she knew at the LA airport, and there was nothing more that she could do. Again, I re-assured her that I was fine, and that there was nothing to worry about.

While I believed that being stranded at the LA airport is not going to be my worst nightmare come true, still, I believe in prayers, and I prayed to get on the plane. I alternated between meekly pleading and having complete faith that my request would be granted, remembering to say thanks as if God had already given me what I was asking for, and scolding myself for now and then doubting. I tried some visualization techniques too, imagining myself receiving the boarding pass, going through the tube, going through the aisle, and finding my seat.


The plane was delayed to start with - it was supposed to leave at 9:10pm but the announcement at the gate said ETD 9:40, then 10:40, and then back again to 9:40pm. The ground crew finally started to board passengers at around 10:30pm. Before they could assign me a seat, they had to call some other passengers who were on the list but failed to board- maybe their connecting flights were not yet in, or they were wandering around in the airport. There were quite a few of us "stand-bys," including a pilot still in his uniform (there was no way I could get on before he did!). I could have a chance if passengers would not show up, so as they called out the names of the missing passengers, and as they trickled in, my chances dimmed. But my prayers were answered, and after they packed everybody in, including all the other stand-bys, there were two seats left on the plane, and I was told that I was free to choose which one I wanted. When I got in a little after 11pm, there was not even space in the bins for my carry on. I tried to stuff them – my computer bag and my silver photo-display bag under the seat in front of me, but the two 26” high angels that I was carrying in one of those bags were too long to put under the seat. (The angels are “pasalubong” for my two Boston angels – Aliz and Gay).

The plane was not given immediate clearance to leave. The weather was fine at the LAX airport, but the Las Vegas airport - where we needed to make a stopover before going to Boston - was heavily backlogged due to weather delays. We were told to wait, then told to refuel, so we would have enough fuel to fly at a higher altitude, in case we needed to fly above the troublesome wind and clouds (not sure if Nevada was having thunderstorms). At 11:15pm, the pilot acknowledged that some passengers had expressed their intention to leave the plane, but asked for their patience. No one moved to leave, but after another 30 minutes, some passengers actually started opening the bins to claim their carry-ons, and walked out of the plane. Aha - I suddenly had space for my own. Not only that, one of those passengers who left was my seatmate (I had the aisle seat, he was in center). After another 15 minutes, we were done with refueling and just had to queue to take off. We flew out at midnight. Too bad for those who opted not to wait. Now, I know, patience is truly a virtue.

As for the connecting flights from Las Vegas, we were told that most of the flights were also late, and there was a great probability that our connecting flights - wherever passengers were going after Las Vegas- were waiting for us (or late themselves), but our plane crew did not have information for all the connecting flights of the passengers on this plane. There was nothing I could do but to wait until we got there.

As soon as we arrived in Las Vegas, I inquired about the flight to Boston and was told to go to gate 14. I rushed from Gate 10 where we landed to Gate 14 (another cluster, not quite that near) and found the other Boston-bound passengers still waiting to be called. The board stated the scheduled flight and the new estimate time of departure – about two hours late. Thankfully, Gate 14 was not as crowded as the one at LAX.

Now, the Las Vegas airport's departing lounges are like no other. At the center of each cluster of gates are slot machines! Not that I would be enticed to gamble, but it would have been entertaining to watch people play (if we were stranded). We left at 1:50, about two hours later than originally scheduled.

By the next morning, we were taxiing in at 9:30, instead of 7:59am, our cumulative delays shortened by the force of tail winds. There, as soon as I exited from the plane, at the entrance to the tube, was Aliz, who gave me a big hug and was demonstratively excited that I managed to fly on that flight. She had monitored the flight as late as 11pm the night before (before I was called to board) and as soon as she reported for work at 7:30am and knew by morning before I flew in that I made it. Aliz was excitedly chatting with me, all the way from the tube to the baggage claim area. One of her colleagues at the gate reminded her to "hold it in" - I suppose that meant to keep her voice and excitement down, but it felt good to be so warmly welcomed.

It was also the right time for Gay, with whom I am staying, to fetch me at the airport, as she gets off from work at 9am (from 5:00am!). Those two gave me royal treatment, with Aliz escorting me from planeside all the way to Gay’s car, on the driveway just outside the arrival area. The two would not even let me carry my luggage. Talk about red carpet treatment! Friends and relatives have received me warmly at many airports around the world before, but this morning’s welcome was the warmest ever. Maybe it had something to do with the drama of almost missing my flight, and possibly being stranded at an airport.

My plane pass may have been low-priority, but you would never suspect that from the royal treatment that I received from my two angels, Gay and Aliz, at the Boston airport. Their welcome really warmed my heart.

Sacha's Graduation

November 16, 2007 in Toronto.

It was a cold morning, and too early to be getting out of bed, but we were all excited to troop to the Convocation Hall where Sacha will be receiving her diploma – Masters of Applied Science at the University of Toronto.

I wore a long woolen skirt that hid my leggings, and on top of my thermal undershirt, I had my knitted shirt, a sweater, a jacket and a knee-length winter coat, plus a red scarf to either put around my neck or over my head. The black pair of velvet gloves that I bought at a bazaar in Manila came in handy, and helped me to feel warm. I carried a large bag – with “windows” that held photos of our family and scenic spots in the Philippines - to hold the winter clothing accessories that I had to put on and off.

It started to snow, very gently. Sacha said that it was the first snow of the year and season. She pointed at the round convocation building as the place where we should be while she dashed to go to Knox Building to get her toga. We found only one lady who was there ahead of us, waiting for the doors to open. She had a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in another, and we chatted. She assured us that we were at the warmer side of the building, as the wind was blowing on the other side. She turned out to be the Convocation Officer, and offered to take us where Sacha was.

We found Sacha (thanks to cellphones) at Knox in her full regalia. Aida – the Convocation Officer whom we met earlier– taught her how to wear the toga, and gave us tips where to take her pictures –stairs, hallways and courtyard of Knox building. We decided she was truly the expert on graduations at the U of T, and followed all her suggestions.

We had a few minutes to take pictures before Gay and I had to queue to enter the Convocation Hall, while Sacha looked for other graduates from her department.

We got good seats (for Gay, Wayne and myself) – right behind one row of seats reserved for those in wheel chairs. It was warmer inside so I started peeling off some of the warmer clothes that I was wearing – coat, jacket, sweater, gloves, scarf – but had to wear them again when the ushers opened the main doors to let the graduates in.

A man next to me complained of the cold draft, so in a friendly tone, I remarked, “At least you’re accustomed to this cold.” He said – no, he never liked the cold, and everyday, he said, he would imagine himself in a tropical island, sitting under a palm tree. At that point, I brought out my bag that showed pictures of Boracay and Cebu and he exclaimed – “That’s the place where I want to be right now – where is this place?” Beaming with pride, I replied, “The Philippines.” (We learned later that he was at the Convocation Hall with us because his wife was graduating with a Masters in Nursing).

It was not a very long ceremony – since they segregated the graduate students from the undergrads who had a much longer ceremony the night before. The main speaker – who gave a short, sweet and simple speech - was a professor at the University. So, in no time at all (about 2 hours), it was over.

We did a lot more picture taking before proceeding to one of the buildings where they were holding a reception for the new graduates. All alumni were given small gifts (chocolate) and letters exhorting them to be active members of the alumni association. Wayne excused himself to go back to work, while Gay, Sacha and I decided the food there was good enough for lunch.

Sacha then took us to her building and we met her adviser, Marc Chignell, and other colleagues.

After we left her campus, we went back to the inn, and then downtown for a quick visit to IBM where she now works. Sacha had invited her friends to a vegetarian dinner in the evening, but before that, we met up with Scott Ramsay, a friend of the family. Scott helped Sacha get oriented in Toronto and to find winter clothes when she first arrived in Canada a little over two years ago.

We met Scott at World’s Biggest Bookstore (now, no longer world’s biggest bookstore), and walking around the block – we found a nice coffee shop/bar, and chatted there until it was time to go to the vegetarian restaurant.

Scott dropped off Sacha at the restaurant (so she could be there ahead of her guests), and then gave Gay and me a short city tour, on our way to Cabbage Town to fetch his girlfriend, Nathalie. The four of us then went back to the restaurant where we found a large group (from U of T, Toastmasters and other people she met at conventions) of Sacha’s friends. Wayne and his daughter, Jessica, came shortly after. There was a stream of friends – some leaving early, some arriving late – but all toasting, praising and congratulating Sacha on her graduation.

It was fun evening. What a full day!

Remembering the Dead

Today is All Saints Day, and while almost everyone is at the cemetery or memorial parks, for practical reasons – (there will be less traffic tomorrow than today) - I choose to go tomorrow, which is All Souls' Day. Because of horrendous traffic jams on all roads leading to cemeteries and memorial parks, more and more people are choosing to observe the day for remembering our departed loved ones on November 2, while some even spend two full days (November 1 and 2) to honor their dead. I hope that I would meet with relatives and friends when I visit there tomorrow.

These occasions - All Saints Day or All Souls Day - are more than for remembering our beloved departed. These are days for reconnecting with family, relatives and town-mates. We meet at the graves of those with whom we share an affinity - by blood, family or personal history. This explains the annual exodus to the provinces on these dates, and why these occasions take on a festive, rather than solemn, nature in the Philippines.

When we troop to the cemetery, we bring not only candles and flowers to offer to our dead, but also food to share with the living. Lots of food, for what is a Filipino gathering without food? It’s a major picnic, yes, even a fiesta with food and drinks laid out over tombs and gravestones. There are tents to shield us from the sun or rain, and to define our space from those in neighboring plots who are not related to us. There are food stalls selling hotdogs or lumpia, halo-halo or fruit shakes, pizza or palabok. Children are running all over the place, gathering candle droppings, and competing with other children on who can form the biggest candle wax balls. To complete the party atmosphere, some even bring playing cards, scrabble or mah-jong, and we do not think playing them is irreverent. There is lots of storytelling – how life was when we were children, how life is now, and what our plans are for the future. We tell our own stories, but we also inquire about those who did not come. There are conversations about the living and the dead, and as we go home from the cemetery, we bring with us cheery or sad updates on a great number of people in our lives.

For many years, I was out of the loop for these occasions for family reunions. I live in the city, busy with the business and not too concerned with following traditions. However, I am almost 62 and there must be something with being at this age that has made me appreciate being in touch with my past and the people who make up my personal history. On All Saints’ Day or All Souls’ Day, I look forward to meeting the relatives whom I know – aunts and uncles (the few of them who are still alive), and first, second and third cousins – and the distant relatives I get to recognize and acknowledge only when we trace our common affinity with the dead whose graves we visit.

This is the Filipino way – and now my way - of remembering the dead – by reconnecting and enjoying joyous moments with the living. I am sure the spirits of our dearly departed are also partying in heaven and smiling on these Filipino traditions on All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day.