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Bare Nanay

Motherhood | Marriage | Freelancing | Lifestyle

Mothers are fonder than fathers of their children because they are more certain they are their own.


Aristotle


When I was young, I thought I was adopted. Or I believed I was. I used to have bizarre dreams of me walking in an unknown neighborhood and meeting my "real parents".

My hair was lighter. My skin fairer. My eyes were smaller. I was not very good with genetics and heredity that time, and it was sort of scary that I didn't seem to look like any one of my family members. Although my looks never really changed, I'm doing fine with science now, and I have noticed I resembled Papa.

There were a few Christmases I hated Joey Albert's Pasko na, Sinta Ko; and I clung to Mama's legs and begged her not to give me away to my real parents. My mom laughed and assured me that I am her own.

I bullied my little sister as a kid. Her ultimate revenge were screaming, "I wish they didn't adopt you" or "I wish you're adopted".  As we grew up, she had concocted an elaborate story that she was actually older than me and on her family's trip to China, they found me as a baby inside a trash bin. It lasted even after graduating from college.

I remember exchanging messages with Mama sometime before Christmas back in Oman. She told me she'd give me some yema (custard candies) for me to give to colleagues for Christmas. I asked her what was her Christmas gift to me. She said, "Yema din. Nakakaiyak. (Custard candies, too. I'm teary.)"

Deciphering things like this was a bit of a challenge because I used to lack emotions. I didn't get it.

I replied with a joke, saying I thought she'd give love or care or support, to which she replied that unconditional love is in the candies.

I could already picture her eyes welling up. Mama had always been rather emotional especially when watching family movies or Maalaala Mo Kaya. She had been a former accountant for hydraulics companies. She was a workaholic, but always had time to attend our school functions, make breakfast, bring us to work on Saturdays, and take us to the mall. She was amazing. If Superwoman was a real person, she would be my mom.

It pains her that she is unable to give anything now. A kiss for Papa, a greeting for my sister, and candies for me were all she could afford after being resigned from work since we entered high school. But to me, even if she had said her Christmas gift was love or loyalty or trust or that she would braid my hair, whichever would have been enough.

When I started working, my only goal was to make them happy; to be able to provide whatever it was that we couldn't have before, and slowly, I am able to make that dream come true. I told Mama, that it was all right; that it was my turn to give now.

Whenever I invite her to eat outside or when I buy her new things, she smiles at me, like the child that I was when she was the one who used to take me out. When she tells me to take her pictures or comb her hair or walk with her or take her to the grocery, my heart becomes so big, I could die in that moment. All the butterflies in my stomach flutter in an unbelievable speed that I could throw up a rainbow or a unicorn or anything wonderful for that matter. I had always been in love with her being so amazing all the time.

So, if there is absolutely anything that makes me happy, it's being with her; watching her; hearing her tell me stories; eating the dinners she makes; cheering her while she plays Zuma on her laptop; and a million other things, as long as she's there.

So this year and the rest of the Christmases in my lifetime, I give it to Mama and to her unconditional love inside the custard candies.

I love you, Mama. I am always your child. I will forever look up to you.


Merry Christmas!
4:26 AM No comments
"Dear Mommy... Love, Jeanne." ~ Jeanne Obmasca, anak

Dalawang araw na ang nakalipas mula noong natanggap ko ang sulat mo na may kalakip na larawan. Dalawang araw ko na rin itong paulit-ulit na binabasa at pinapakita sa mga katrabaho ko. Sabi nila parang magkamukha raw tayo.

Halos tatlong taon na. Apat na taong gulang ka pa lang noong umalis ako. Pitong taong gulang ka na ngayon. Ganoon na katagal. Hinhahanap-hanap ko na ang mga ngiti mo.

Naisip ko, sana pala dinala ko 'yong litrato nating dalawa noong bininyagan ka. Natatawa ako tuwing naaalala ko na akala mo ay kuya mo ang karga kong sanggol. Mahal na mahal pa rin kita.

Gusto na uli kitang makita. Nakakalungkot din naman na hindi kita makasama. Nakakalungkot talaga. Wala nang tumatalon sa kama ko tuwing umaga. Wala na ring kumukuha ng make-up ko o nagpapalibre ng Mentos at Chuckie  sa 7-11. Hindi ko na rin naririnig ang pag-kanta mo habang nagmamaneho ako.

Naaalala ko pa tuwing isinasama kita sa kolehiyo ko. Milo (a.k.a. kape) lang ang katapat mo para hindi ka maging makulit. Ayaw mo pang kausapin ang propesor ko kahit nagpapapansin sa'yo. Wala ka namang masyadong pinapansin, kahit sa SM. Ako lang ang kalaro mo. Siguro ngayon marami ka nang kalaro kasi wala na ako.

Gusto na uli kitang isama mamasyal kahit kailangan kitang buhatin lagi palabas ng sasakyan dahil tinutulugan mo ako  tuwing pauwi na tayo. Gusto ko na uling magpakuha ng litrato sa'yo. Kung hindi siguro ako umalis, ang dami na nating naipong litrato. Baka propesyonal ka na ngayon kahit bata ka pa.

Sabi ni Ate Reides bago ako umalis, "Umiiyak ka na. Hindi mo pa anak 'yan."

Sabi mo naman sa 'kin, "I love you, Mommy."

Bahala na. Kahit hindi ako ang nag-luwal sa'yo sa mundo, basta ikaw ang Bebe ko.
_________________________________________________________________________________

*Sa kolehiyo. Nakakita kami ng nasagasaang palaka habang naglalakad.
Mommy: Bebe, alam mo ba yung frog prince?
Bebe: Hindi.
Mommy: Nakikita mo ba yang frog? Kapag hinalikan mo 'yan, magiging prince 'yan. Try mo.
Bebe: Ayoko nga.
Mommy: Sige na.
Bebe: Ikaw na lang. Try mo.
Mommy: Ikaw na. Hindi ko kailangan ng prince.
Bebe: Ayoko nga sabi eh! Ang kulit mo naman.

*Sa bahay. May crush na raw si Bebe.
Danzel: Ate Nini, tanungin mo si Bebe kung sino yung crush n'ya.
Ako: Aba! May crush ka na? Sino?
Bebe: Si Mark Enverga.
Ako: Governor 'yun ah.
Joza: Mana sa'yo. Lumalaking kikay.
Ako: Magaling pumili.

*Sa labas ng 7-11. Habang kumakain si Bebe ng Mentos na ang panulak ay Chuckie.
Bebe: Kuya _____! Kuya ______! (Hindi ko na babanggitin ang pangalan ng batang tinatawag n'ya.)
Ako: Danzel, sino ba yun?
Danzel: Yung kaibigan ko.
Ako: Ay! Yung crush n'ya maliban kay Mark Enverga.
Danzel: Yun nga.
_______________________________________________________________________________

Konti na lang gagawa na uli tayo ng bagong mga alaala.
8:25 AM No comments
Do I start a story with: Once upon a time...?


I started telling stories about my past, the good ones, mostly.

Recently, it was about pre-school. Wow, really! I think I was between four to six years old at that time. It all started when I have unearthed my nursery ID (circa 1992) in one of my boxes. Surprisingly, I am in another country, and it still baffles me how it got into my things when I left Philippines two years ago.

I was told I looked like a Chinese doll as a kid; and according to my Egyptian colleague, I didn't really change much, especially after seeing a photo of a three-year old me in Facebook while I was scanning a book.

Amazingly, I kept track of pre-school classmates and most people in my whole twenty-three years stint on this world. My first best friend, my first enemy (who probably doesn't know I exist now because he refuses to add me in Facebook), my second best friend (because the first one left for another school), the boy who won the elocution contest consecutively, the smart girl who lived near school, and a childhood sweetheart. Unfortunately, I was not able to find the boy who cried after I slapped him in nursery class.

Not that there was anything so special, but I have a memory of an elephant. I remember most things, even my first birthday. It's scary, sometimes.

I was an excellent student during pre-school. Stars on my arms were my daily collection, and ribbons and medals were my annuals. Jayson used to tell me how pre-school was a play school back during his time (he's just two years older, by the way). The had floor mats to sleep on and toys to play with. I have no memories of such when I first started and that doesn't mean that I have forgotten. All I know is that I can already read by the time I was four. It was a classroom, and I'm sure it wasn't a playpen. We had small yellow desks and chairs, a blackboard in front, and a teacher who drew and wrote cats and dogs.

My best friend and I were almost the same height, so she's always standing behind me in the line. She lived a stone's throw away from the school, but our friendship was short-lived because she transferred to another school after kindergarten.

When I was around five, I met a classmate of mine in our neighborhood playground while I was walking with my sister and our nanny. To my shock and utter embarrassment, he screamed I love you to me while he was on top of the slide. Epic fail.

During preparatory, there was boy who was fond of me. I was not fond of anything, so you can guess how I felt whenever he was around. Our teachers knew about it. I never wondered why he always sat either behind me or beside me. In addition to that, our moms talk, sort of friends. It was a bit inevitable. On my seventh birthday, he gave me a heart-shaped jewelry box (and I still use it even after nearly two decades), and on our graduation, he gave me a kiss on the cheek. That was the first one ever.

Not just that, I know all my class adviser's names by heart.

In elementary school, I met my first best friend again during recess. She was in the top section in the whole batch. I wasn't because I was a transferee.

On my first grade until third grade, I was an achiever. Fourth to sixth was a bit rough. The competition was getting harder. I was able to get into the top section on second grade, but I fell a bit behind because practically everyone was good.

In fourth grade, I met my third best friend. She was the last and longest one, and I loved her dearly. I still dream we're best friends, sometimes, but that's only when I'm sleeping. We were together everywhere. We rode mini-roller coasters and octopuses, ate recess and lunch together, played in arcades, spent weekends, attended parties, and sang at recitals together. Then one day, because of a boy, as I have later found out, we fell apart.

I've been called many names, been described by numerous adjectives, and to be honest, not all were good. Some were a bit hard to digest, but hey, that's life. I can't please everyone, not that I want to, anyway.

In high school, I started out well. I talked in English, and I have no idea why, but my teachers liked it, anyway. After sometime, I was getting called to the discipline office because of bad influence friends from outside, and because I was letting people borrow my ID. But I was still at the top of my class. I guess it was just a phase.

There were numerous issues in high school. I was sick most of the time, not that I liked it, and I missed out a lot. When I'm in school, I sleep all the chance I get. On weekends, I am an aspirant in a Carmelite convent, and a leader in a church organization (until college). I have tried out for a CAT post twice, and I always ended up leaving a month or two before I actually finish it. That time, there were only three places you'll likely find me in: the classroom, the CAT office (my sister actually got in), and the clinic. My classmates thought I was a bit weird.

One of the good things, though, was that students read my write-ups in the school paper. I was an editor for Feature and Literary Sections, and I competed in inter-school journalism competitions. I won a few times. I even thought I was going to pursue it, but then again, it was just a phase.

I wanted to be either a psychiatrist or a lawyer, and ended up in hotel management instead. Truth is, naive as I was, I followed a boy whom I was in love with the whole time I was in college. He was my mentor in culinary arts, partner-in-crime, and probably my great love.

So, college.

A few days ago, a girl (two years younger than me) who came from the same college, told me as a reply to my post (a long awaited trip to Enchanted Kingdom) how she's excited to meet me. Apparently, I was excited to meet her and another friend of hers, too, that I have promised a coffee and EK date already. She explained why to me in these very words, Di kasi tayo nagpapansinan dati.


I wasn't sure how I felt when she told me that. A bit scared, I guess. People always thought of me in different ways.

One time during college, I was standing in front of the bulletin board, secretly trying to take a photo of my name to show my mom when I get home, when a girl who was in a younger batch told me, Ate nag-aaral ka pala. My insides felt funny. It was some sort of compliment, which sounded somehow wrong.

I had a rather wild college life. My friends and I were always drinking. I remember coming to school with drunk or with a bad hangover or without sleep. Sometimes, it was with a broken heart. I wore different shoes everyday, had different bags, wore dangling earrings, and had make-up on my face.I even came to school many times with just a piece of yellow paper and a pen. People must have thought I was dumb blonde minus the blonde hair. I was ok with school. I never studied excessively, but I always made sure I was focused.

So, I told the girl, that it's not that I was a snob. It's just that, maybe, there had been no chance for us to meet and talk. I even joked that if she could have met me before, she might have regretted it realizing that I talked too much. It just made me look forward to actually meet them.

Nowadays, I still like conversations. I've met a million people of different races and culture, and actually had to put up with those that I don't really like. My mom and sister are still playing their parts on my stage. I'm on to my second year of independence. I have a job to feed me, a flat, a car (although it's far away from me), a wonderful person who cares for me, and a new fridge filled with grocery items.

Sometimes, I still think I'm twenty-two. I still dream of reliving my innocence. But even though, I feel older than my age by now, somehow, I guess I have become better.

So, how do I end this story, now?

I bet I still have a few more paragraphs to make after this.
9:28 AM No comments
"Anyone could pick me up, my bleeding knees,
but no one could heal the wound with just a kiss..."


Sometimes, I would still come up to you with a comb and a ponytail, so you could braid my hair. When I was in college, I never took the initiative to enroll by myself. Whenever I fell sick, my classmates called you up and you rushed to the school. There were days during high school when you came with me and waited until my last class. You spoon-fed me for breakfast until sixth grade. You made hot water for my bath until fourth year college.


I was and still is doing it all for you.


I've always known, that one day, I would grow up, and I pretend that I can't do things on my own.


Thank you because you always held me up; because you have filled my imagination with so much color as a child; because you were always present in my every victory; because you have cried and laughed with me; because you have walked on lazy afternoons with me; because you believed in me and in the things that I do; and because I know, that even though I am not the best daughter in the world, you would never exchange me for someone else.


I am proud of you. You are the best mom in the whole world, and an even greater person. There is no greater dream for me than to one day be like you.


I love you, unconditionally.


Happy Mother's Day, Mama!
12:30 AM No comments

I've spent my whole four years with you clinging to me like a grapevine.


It makes me wonder sometimes how I ever managed to patiently take care of you every now and then, and yes, you are my first share of experience of being a mom.


From the chubby little baby you were when I carried you in your christening to the photos you shoot when you took up a career in photography at the age of four, you will forever be my little princess.


I love you Jeanne because you came from my heart. I have changed your diapers, sang you to sleep, spoon fed you, and even ran on a highway while carrying you. I may not be the one who went through the whole pregnancy process and I know I could never replace your Mama, but thank you because you have given me something special.


It's cool to have you around. Our memories together are one of the happiest and craziest that I can remember. I always recall those days you spent playing at the daycare in the mall with me, being so mean with the other kids and dragging me with you since you didn't want to play with anyone else; ordering chicken value meals in Jollibee but never touching the gravy and rice; sleeping me out on the way home and making me carry you; letting me dress you up, and you, asking me to put make up on you all the time; the gazillion times you borrowed my sunglasses; barging into my room to wake me up to early in the morning even if you know I just slept; holding my hand while we walk; hugging me when I say "love" and kissing me in public; screaming at me like I'm a kid your age; spending my money at the local convenience store just because you think the lights are pretty there; the weird way you're fond of eating mentos and drinking chuckie for snacks; keeping my secrets; being frank all the time; always asking me to get you the stuffed toys on top of my cabinet; crying when I don't take you with me; taking our photos like a PRO;  and helping me out all the time at school.


Thank you because you can make me shut up and give in to your whims; because I tend to wake up early whenever you're around me; because you keep me patient; because you get mad at me when you have to; because you insist that I stay by your side; and because you shout to the whole world how much you love me.


Babe, you're such a smart little kiddo. I hope you can grow up and be better than what I am even if you look up to me all the time, and when you do, I hope I can still be your Mommy.


And yes, Mommy loves you very much even when you're a pain in the head, you still can make me smile.
7:55 PM No comments
April 2009 - God, I have forgotten the exact day. I feel older than my age.
 
I came home from the middle east after my three-month on-the-job training to graduate with flying colors. I have expected that, maybe, a year or so, before graduation, but never before I went to college. That day when I promised my mom that I'd take her up the stage after four years, I must have been lying; otherwise, I might have been crazy.
 
Not that I'm boasting.
 
I was a bright child. I've received a couple of medals as a kid, but I wasn't the student who had ten medals pinned to their gala uniform. I had only three at maximum. I was number one only once in my life and that was when I was in first grade. Because you see, when you're a bright child, someone else (or maybe, a gazillion of them) would be brighter or even brightest among all.
 
The funny thing was, people used to ask me what my worst subject was. I would always, without fail, say Mathematics.
 
And how bad is worst, you may ask?
 
It's the worst. I got a straight seventy-five for Trigonometry. Only one point less and I could have failed.
 
They used to laugh at me. Oh, they still do.
 
So it baffles me, still, how I managed to top college.
 
But what I'm really saying is, you can do it. It has been said a million times, and it's true.
 
I just realized now, that I wanted to tell so many things that time as I stood by that podium. Unfortunately, it was my moment and I was consumed by the fact that I wanted to thank so many people, which I did, and I have forgotten that it was the moment of around three hundred something students, too.
 
Today, I want to tell them I'm proud of them. If you have spent four, six or ten years in college, I want you to know that I blush pink with pride for you, and I hope you feel the same way for yourselves.
 
See, no matter how many failing grades you get or if you graduated college at the age of 60, if you have shared that awesome once in a lifetime moment with me two years ago, then it is worth it. I believe you have fought your way through, the way I did.
 
I wasn't smart to the highest level. I used to skip class and have my mom sign the excuse letter. On some days, I would come to school with a fabulous hang-over or without sleep. Sometimes, I'd come from a bad day. I was in college. You do a lot of things at that age. But the important thing is, no matter how drunk or how screwed up your day is, you should never let it get in the way of learning.
 
You have to motivate yourself, which I think is vital. If you value your dream of becoming a teacher, doctor,or engineer, then just come to class. For you, fortunately, every passed unit is one step closer to that dream. If you have a basketball star in you, then you could always look forward to finishing your classes to attend the varsity practice after class. Or maybe you like that girl sitting in front of you in Chem101 class, so you try to keep yourself awake for some three-hour class.
 
I motivate myself in the weirdest way. When I wake up to go to school, I always tell myself that I have to enjoy that day so the time can fly by fast and I can go back home and sleep again. That worked real fine for me.
 
Every student is dying to get out of college. Everyone thinks that sitting in an office on top of a skyscraper equals real life. But once you're there, you'd start thinking how monotonous your day is; how it's the same people everyday; or how you walk the same road on the way to your office every single day.
 
So, to the people who sat there with me two years ago, I pray that you enjoy what you are doing. In real life, it's a matter of loving who you are, who you will still become, where you are, who you're with while being the responsible person you should be.
10:20 PM No comments
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Hello! I'm Nanay Nini

Mom | Wife
Digital Marketer | Copywriter | Blogger
Breastfeeding Peer Counselor
Homeschooler
Speaker

Work with me: niezhining@gmail.com

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