Because she will never read this

The more time I spend with Willa, the more I realize how talented she really is. She has never taken professional lessons in photography, baking, cooking or make up, but she really has a knack for all those things I mentioned. Whatever pictures she takes using our low-end, low-tech digital camera, the pictures always come out beautifully. The other night, she gave me my trial make up for my upcoming engagement, and my make up turned out pretty but still natural looking. And when we bake, she's very OC, paying attention to every detail. So her cookies come out all beautiful and chewy, while mine are... er.... okay... I have my Delici brand name to look after pala. :)

But that's not why I'm writing this post.

My mom saw the trial make up Willa gave me, and decided that she will give me a trial make up too. Now, my mom's idea of make up is -- the darker, the better. So, after our make up session, I looked like I had black and blue eyelids. We asked for other people's opinions, and they all commented that my eyelids were too dark, while my face was too pale. But to my mom, I looked very pretty and flawless.

And then she hinted that she will be doing my makeup on the day of the engagement.

I panicked.

How do I say no? How do I tell her that I don't like her style? My face said it all - lips frowning, eyes all wide with fear and panic....

"Diba gusto mo yung mukhang payat na payat ang cheeks? Ayan o, lagyan natin nito....," she said, while applying something on my face with a blush brush.

"Ano ba yang nilalagay mo?" I asked. When I looked at the mirror, I had streaks of brown and black running down my cheeks. I don't know what my mom applied, but I looked like I was going to a Halloween party.

I couldn't stop it anymore. The whole time she was making me up, I was holding it in. But at that moment, I just let it all out. I let out a big laugh, and she laughed too. We laughed so hard.. and it was something we've never done before. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. Tears of panic, tears of guilt and tears of joy. Because in all our 20++ years of living together, we have never laughed about anything.... together.

I feel so guilty, because I know that she tries to be a part of the engagement / wedding, and I just won't let her. And I have all sorts of excuses for all her ideas. They're too old fashioned. They're too weird. They're too magulo. As I mentioned before, sometimes, I think I contradict her just because I want to.

I told Liza about the incident, and she made an interesting confession. She said, that while we were growing up, she always thought my parents were separated.

Huwaaaaaaaat?!?!?! Why? When? Wha?!?!?!

"Because you almost never mentioned your mom."

I didn't?!?!?

I didn't notice that I never mentioned my mom. But then, during my growing up years, my mom didn't really play a big part in my life. Until I was in college, I thought relationships between moms and daughters were supposed to be formal all the time. I guess she had wanted to be a part of my life back then, she just didn't know how to. I was so furious when I learnt that she read my journal, where I really wrote down everything I felt about her. That incident started a year of silence between us. Looking back now, I realize that she read my journal because that was the only way she knew she could get to know me.

People always talk about walls in relationships, and I never really understood what that meant, until I looked at my relationship with my mom. Somehow, even when we were talking, I knew that I was holding back. And even until now, I can't explain what it is exactly that I'm holding back. Or why I'm holding back.

Now that I am just a few years away from having children of my own (I hope), my thoughts have turned to how I would be as a mother. I had promised myself years before that the relationship I would share with my children would be very different from the one I have with my mom. Ours (my children and I) would be the relationship that you see on powdered milk commercials -- where the moms are always made up prettily, with their kids looking at them and hugging them with big smiles on their faces.

The question is, would I know how to be that type of mom?

Another question, how would I handle it if my daughter was like me? What if, even after all my efforts to bring them powdered milk in my prettiest outfit, they still end up walking slowly towards me with a guarded look in their eyes? What if they act reserved, stiff, formal and guarded, just like I did?

How would I handle it?

*sighs*

Because I want Rory's lashes...

Yes, I am jealous of Rory and her thick, long lashes.

I don't know if it's a Chinese thing, but I have yet to meet a Tsinay with long lashes that are curled naturally.

So when I saw Vivian sporting curled lashes, I asked her if she used an eyelash curler. "Pina-perm ko, sa 'Let's Face It'," she said.

There. Modern technology has given me an answer to sparse, straight lashes.

So the next day, I went to their Timog branch. I was told that the whole process would last for 1.5 hours, and I had to keep my eyes closed the whole time. Will it hurt? The lady in charge (Jessica) assured me it won't. So I lied down and welcomed the 1.5 hours of peace and quiet.

The first few minutes were bearable. Willa told me that Jessica rolled a strip of tape to hold my lashes in place, and used a tweezer to stick my lashes to the tape. I had my eyes closed the whole time, so I couldn't see what exactly she was doing. The tugging and pulling became a bit rough though, and for a few minutes, I was afraid that I might end up with no lashes at all. But Jessica assured me that my lashes were still in place. :)

It was when she applied the perming solution that my eyes started to hurt. Not stinging-hurt. More like how the eyes feel when they're dried out. I became teary eyed, which made it all the more difficult to hold my lashes in place. Even though I was told to keep my eyes closed, I opened them a bit just to check if I can still see. And when I opened them, the solution would seep under my eyelids, making my eyes hurt even more. So I'd close them again, and let the pain subside. But because of the pain, I would open my eyes again to check if I'm going blind. In the end, I decided to just keep my eyes closed. Otherwise, the cycle wouldn't stop.

After an hour, Willa came in to check up on me.

me: How do I look?
Willa: Mukha kang umiyak the whole day.

Great. Even with my eyes closed, I looked like I had sore eyes? Oh joy.

After 90 minutes, Jessica came in and removed all the gook and solutions on my eyelids. I asked for the mirror to see how they looked.

Hallelujah!!! I do have eyelashes!!!

The left lashes were more curled than my right lashes, because my right eye was tearing up the whole time, while my left eye was surprisingly unaffected.

Nobody notices my newly permed lashes, but I feel more dainty and feminine because of them.

I wish though, that I had chosen the lash extensions instead of the lash perming. Because my lashes are still sparse. Curled and pretty, but sparse pa rin.

Crash course in parenting

I am, at 28, a mother to six children. Or an older sister, depending on how you look at it.

It's like a crash course in parenting. Suddenly, my brothers, my dad and I have to fix our schedule on who brings my cousins to school, and who will pick them up. The schedules have to be well coordinated.

But for their school enrollments, requirements etc., I sometimes feel that it has become my sole responsiblity. I have two cousins currently enrolled as seniors in an unknown highschool somewhere nearby. The responsiblity of getting application forms and checking their testing periods has fallen on my shoulders.

Yesterday, I called DLSU to ask them something about their requirements.

DLSU: Taga-san ba yung mga mag-aapply?
KT: Taga -(name of school here) ho.
DLSU: May highschool ba yun?!?
KT: Aaaah.....uhm.... opo.

From that single question alone, can I conclude that DLSU has never accepted or encountered applicants from that school?

I ask my cousin, "So, anong ginagawa niyo sa school?" And she replies, "Nagkwekwentuhan, nag-gigitara, walang nakikinig sa teacher...." ?!?!? Sus... they can do those things here at home. No need to pay the school for that. And obviously, nobody from the school handles the college applications of their senior students.

If there's anything I learned from living with my cousins, it's this -- it's hard being a parent. Either you're the cool dude who allows the kids to do as they please, or you're the stern adult who says no to everything. There are times when my dad vents out his frustration over my cousins to us. And I am tempted to ask him, "Dad, nung bata pa ako, binigyan ba kita ng ganong sakit ng ulo?" But I don't ask him, because I'm afraid I won't like the answer. :)

Maltese pups for sale!!

These Maltese pups are cute (sob!), loveable (sigh...), and for sale (bawwwwwwwwl!!!!).







The puppy on top is Mickeyboy. That's him again in the second picture, looking straight at the camera. His father's name is Chickyboy. :) We have eight puppies in all. And it breaks my heart to have to sell them. Not all of them, but most of them. Either we sell them, or we take care of them. Choosing the latter would bring the total number of dogs in the house to 18. Which will probably drive us nuts.

I actually didn't want to name the puppies, because it's harder to let go of them that way. But of course, to distinguish them, we need to label them. There's Mickeyboy nga, and he's the eldest and the biggest. Then there's Bibo, who got lost in the second picture. Bibo because he wags his tail and plays with anybody who approaches him. So far, only two pups have been named. And already, I cannot imagine the thought of selling them. O.A. ba masyado? But I really can't.

BUT I guess I have to do the right thing. Any takers out there?

Delici

Delici cookie pics! Played around with Picasa (thanks Daday!) and came up with these! Pics were taken by my cousin Willa. (Daday, the CD you gave me, I can't open it. Something wrong with my computer.)





Any comments and suggestions will be appreciated! Will post the other pics as soon as I open the CD. :)

A long overdue post

The Birthday Post

It's been 5 days since my birthday.

Last Thursday, 20% of my loyal blog readers asked me why I haven't been updating my blog. (Hey, one out of five is 20%!) Wala bang bday blog dyan? Sawa na ako sa lumang post mo a!

If I were still in college, then the last two weeks would be my hell week. My day often started at 530 am and ended at 11pm. And the weekends, I spent baking for Delici. Looking back now, I don't know how I managed to survive. :) I'm just glad my hell week is over.

Anyways, my birthday came and went without much fanfare. Mike called me 12am to remind me how old I am now. Harhrhar.... he sometimes forgets our age gap. Then there was the deluge of text messages from suppliers, irate customers and well wishers. Client meetings throughout the day. Lunch at Max's Pulilan -- where their waiters sang a birthday song and gave me a scoop of ice cream with a candle on it. I almost cried. :) By the time I got home, I almost forgot it was my birthday. All I wanted to do was sleep, sleep, sleep.

I turned in early, but before I closed my eyes, I thought about how much things have changed since last year. How have I changed? What have I learned? How many lives have I touched?

How have I changed?
I'm getting married eight months from now. I now live with six other cousins, who, in reality, are people I barely know. We now have 18 dogs in the house. Yes, the dogs outnumber the people.

What have I learned?
I learned that there is nothing to fear but fear itself. Things DO happen. Things WILL happen. All up to me how I'll handle it.

I have learned that people who disagree with me aren't always wrong. They are just seeing things from a different point of view. I can learn from them too.

I have learned that I can get through the day with 4 hours of sleep.

I learned that there is nothing wrong with being an introvert. For years, my mom had criticized me for being one. There were the not-so-subtle sermons that said introvert = not going anywhere in life. And for years, I was frustrated with myself for not being able to instantly click with people I just met, the way an extrovert could. And then I met some quiet people, who were wise beyond their years and preferred to observe rather than be the center of attention. So now, I don't make a huge effort to click with strangers. If the spark is there, it's there. If it's not, then it's no big deal.

How many lives have I touched?
I don't know. But I know that the number is not big. So next year, when I look back, I want a bigger number.

Third Time's the Charm

I was pulled over by the police, three times in one week. First incident happened on Thursday, I was happily driving out of McDonald's drive thru in West Ave. when I saw this police car with a police man inside waving. I thought it just wanted to clear the traffic, but after a few seconds, I realized it was waving AT ME, motioning for me to pull over. I saw that if I stopped where I was, I would be causing traffic so I parked in front of their car. The police man frantically went for his gun, and acted like he was going to shoot me. Was so pissed! Anyways, the first thing they did was ask for my OR / CR, which I dutifully gave them. They then said that the photocopy was so blurred it was difficult to see who the car owner was. I looked at the paper, and saw my name CLEARLY printed on it. Pissed, I pointed it out to them. Not satisfied with the papers, they circled the car, sniffing like a pair of dogs gone mad. They checked my tires, checked the trunk, and then they said I had no validation sticker on my windshield. Question: Is it illegal to not put the validation sticker on the windshield? Even if I have them plastered all over the plates? They probably saw the stickers on the plates so the next thing they proceeded to do was to ask me to open the hood, which I blindly did. Ah ha! Things started to go downhill from there. They asked all sort of questions about things inside the hood. I was already panicky by this time. The two policemen were from the TMG -- traffic monitoring group ata or something irrelevant. An uncle (family friend) belonged to the same group. I called him up and asked him to help me. He knew the policeman pala. So he talked to him and things went well.

The thing is, if I didn't know anyone from TMG, the policeman would have impounded my car for baseless carnapping suspicions. I ask you, my five loyal blog readers, do I look like a carnapper to you? Ay naku!!! By the time the whole brouhaha was over, my voice had risen by a few decibels, and I was in no mood to understand their stupid reason why they asked me to pull over. Even more insulting was the fact that a small crowd of uzis had gathered around the car, and were all eyeing me like I was some sort of .... carnapper. I'm thinking of writing to the Inquirer's complaints section.

The next day, I was driving in Osmena highway, when I was asked to pull over... AGAIN. What did I do wrong this time? I still don't know, and I guess I'll never know. I rolled down my windows, and watched as the police approached me from behind the car. He took one look at the car and said I can go. WTF?!?!@*$!@) I think maybe he saw the seals plastered on the windshield of the car I was driving. But I would love to know what offense I committed that day.

And then on Wednesday, four days after the Osmena highway incident, I was on my way to a business dinner when I was pulled over for ... SWERVING. I was with our foreign supplier that time, and I asked him if I did swerve, just so I'd know. He didn't think so. So...

Police: Ma'm good ebning pow. Alam niyo ma'm, may mga kutsi kasing didiretso dyan sa lane niyow eh. Pakita nga hu ng lisensya niyow.
KT: (hands over license to buwaya in disguise)
Police: Ma'm paki labas lang ho ang lisensya niyow. (My license was buried under several business cards)
KT: Bosing, paki ulit nga lang ho, ano ba ang ginawa kong mali?
Police: Ma'm eh kasi how, may mga kotse hong didiretsow sa lane ninyow.
(Note: I passed by the place where I supposedly swerved, and I saw that the lane where I was driving that night was the lane specifically for cars who wanted to turn right. Crap.)

I called my brother to tell him I was pulled over, AGAIN, for the third time in one week. You see, I call my family for traffic problems because I really don't know how to handle situations like those. My brother told me to ask the police to let me go off with a warning. So I did.

KT: Manong, baka pwedeng pagbigyan na lang niyo ako kasi di naman talaga swerving yon eh.
Police: Ma'm, kasi how...may mga kutsi hong didiretsow eh. Akin na how ang lisensya niyow.
KT: Hindi sige ganito na lang. Papunta na dito ang tatay ko, kausapin na lang niyo siya.
Police: Bakit, ano ba posisyon ng tatay niyo?
KT: Basta kayo na lang ang mag-usap pagdating niya.
Police: (silent for a moment) Saan ho ba galing ang tatay niyo?
KT: Basta kayo na lang ang mag-usap. Papunta na yon.
Police: Naku, inabala mo pa tatay mo.
KT: Wala naman hong problema. Dyan dyan lang naman kami nakatira eh.
Police: (silent again, while staring at me the whole time)
Police: Bakit mo pa tinawagan ang tatay mo? Inabala mo pa. Di naman kita tiniketan ah.
KT: Basta kayo na lang ang mag-usap pagdating niya.
(Hey, I can repeat myself too!)
Police: Di mo naman kailangang tawagan eh. Pwede mo naman ako pakiusapan.

And there it was.... the tag line I had known was coming.

KT: Manong, kanina pinakiusapan ko na kayo. Ayaw niyo. Kaya kayo na lang mag-usap.
Police: (silent for a few seconds, then proceeds to repeat himself) Alam mo, pwede mo naman akong pakiusapan.

By this time, I had grown very tired of hearing him repeating himself. So I kept quiet and just stared straight ahead.

Police: O sige, nakakahiuya naman sa kasama mo eh. May pupuntahan ata kayo. Para di ka na din maabala.

Harharhar....