Moving On

Moving On

I really missed my blog! I was so busy with so many things these past weeks that I wasn't able to come up with anything to post here. I feel so guilty, it was like promising a friend a visit and failing to do so. I kind of lost my guts to write about anything when I felt so depressed about my work. It nearly broke my heart when I was told of awful things that I believe I don't deserve. I remember it was 2 days before Holy Week when I marched in and out each day with a heavy heart and a crushed spirit. I just can't find the inspiration to do anything special. I just do the usual things I needed to do; live, be a mom, work (because I have to), talk to people at work I don't want to set my eyes on (because I have to), wake up early each day knowing it'll be another sad one and coming home forcing back tears so my family won't see my sadness. For a moment I lost my identity, I lost my dreams and I started to think about what those three persons at work told me. Am I really a failure? their voices were like echoes following me everywhere I go and I started to hate myself.

Holy week came and I was able to stay home for 3 days, 3 complete days with my family, 3 days hearing my kids' laughter...those 3 days were the most peaceful, heart and mind calming days of my life. I reminisced my childhood when Lola Esing (the owner of the house where I lived since birth who treated me like her real grand daughter) taught me how to pray the rosary, and pray the novena to Our Mother (Our Lady) of Perpetual Help. She taught me to pray and go to church every Sunday, when Lola Esing died I don't have a regular companion anymore in attending mass on Sunday. My white rosary (she gave me) can be hardly recognized, I became busy finding myself in this busy world. Maybe God allowed me to have her for a Lola to make me realize that whatever happens along the way I will learn that prayer is the best solution. Those 3 special days taught me to offer everything to God; happiness, hatred and sorrow. I once again prayed the rosary, regained confidence in myself and wake up each day believing that each new day is a day closer to my dreams for my family.

When I went back to work I no longer feel hatred towards those who hurt me but instead I feel pity for hearing them spread gossip about others and failing to use their authority to inspire and influence people in a good manner. My husband and I were surprised after a few days when his aunt, a real estate agent invited us to a house tripping. Come May 1, after our tripping, we ended up with a decision to start availing of a property. That day opened a new door for us and gave a step closer to one of our dreams...building our own home. Prayers healed me and taught me not to stop dreaming and believing in God's kindness.

A Taxi Driver Hit Me (An Inspiring Story)

I dedicate this story to the Big Guy up there...next time when I feel like you landed a present on my lap I'm going to open it at once and to the taxi driver I met this morning...Thank you.

A had an appointment this morning and the funny thing was I didn't know where the exact address was. I was supposed to call the person I was about to meet but my phone was playing tricks on me. Poor me, I said to myself and then I hailed a cab and gave the driver the incomplete address. Driver #1 refused to run the car at once because he wanted a higher fare. I went down without a word; I was in such a hurry to get into an argument. Driver #2 arrived and asked me what the other driver said; when I told him he frowned and offered to help me find the place.

Traffic! Heavy, bumper to bumper traffic, just what I needed! I angrily thought to myself. I was crossing my fingers for a miracle to happen; I was like praying for the cab to have wings. A lot of things were going on my mind when the driver spoke up. He started telling a story about taxi drivers who were trying to cheat their customers, okay, so we had the ordinary passenger and taxi driver conversation. Then he started to ask me about my job and well I felt kind of awkward at first. Then all of a sudden a weird thing happened, I started telling a story about wanting to earn more money because of my kids. He was an old man driving a cab that was the only thing I knew about him. Don't talk to strangers, how many times did we tell that to our kids? But you know, sometimes we do have to break the rules. 

As if the old guy read my mind, he started a lengthy story about himself being a father. His story had a funny start, said that his late wife was extremely jealous during the early days of their marriage which caused them to produce total of nine children. He even advised me jokingly not to be too jealous so as not to have a bunch of kids to worry about. I laughed and paused, waiting for the next part of his story. He married young he was just 18 years old back then and his wife was 16 when they had their first child. His mother-in-law hated him and constantly called him names. She also blamed her daughter for marrying a young and poor taxi driver. Their family grew and it was then that he realized to ask God how he could possibly raise all nine children. He worked long hours day and night driving his taxi and when he earned a handsome amount he went to Saudi Arabia to work in a construction site. He earned big bucks and saved each penny he got. He sent most of his salary to his wife and kept just a little for himself for food and few things he needed. He fought homesickness and worked real hard. He even said that he never hated his mother-in-law in return for despising him; she served as a challenge that someday he will win her approval and realize that his wife was never wrong for marrying him.   

His wife persuaded him to come home and reasoned to him that four of their children already finished college and it was time for him to give himself a break. He came to the Philippines followed his wife's request but with fear that his youngest daughter might not finish her college education. Another one of his prayers was answered when his daughter got a scholarship in a good university. Now, the old guy is 72 years old, with 7 grown-up daughters and 2 sons who are now professionals. Among his children 5 became teachers, 3 engineers and his youngest daughter became a lawyer. He is now a widow and all his children together with their husbands and wives wanted him to stop working but never did because he wanted to save some money to give to his grandchildren. He said that life is like a wheel that keeps on turning; sometimes you're up, sometimes your down. He ended his story and put his cab into a stop, as he pointed to the building at our right. I arrived just on time, paid my fare and thanked him.

I came back to my normal world and proceeded to my appointment. During lunch I looked out the window of the cafe and saw a white cab and remembered the old taxi driver who told me the story of his life. Then I suddenly felt that something hit me real hard, like a cold breeze blew right in front of my face. I realized that all this time all I worried about was about money. I only have two kids, both my husband and I have good jobs, I have a huge support group behind me: my parents, my in-laws, close relatives and friends but I failed day by day to count all my blessings. The taxi driver was not able to finish school, earned not much, and his wife stayed at home caring for their 9 kids but he constantly asked for God's hand to guide him to give his children a bright future. It amazed me that God seemed to send me His message through the old man. I only sat in the cab for just a few minutes but he taught me so much. I didn't even know his name but in my mind and in my heart I thank him for being God's messenger and for lending me his eyes for me to see how blessed I am. 

Allen's Home

After the first letter I've written on March 15, 2011 which was Ian's 6^th birthday and a day before Ian and Allen's moving up Day, I've decided to have a portion in my blog entitled "Ian and Allen" which will be a series of letters and stories for my kids. My second post for "Ian and Allen" is for my "bunso." Allen has always been crying since we transferred from my parents' house to the place we're renting right now in Marikina last October 2010. He sometimes bangs his head, kneels down and falls on the floor on purpose when he doesn't get what he wants. He cries before he sleeps for as long as I can't remember and wrestles his way when we don't allow him to play "dishwasher of the hour" (this is what we call Him when he started to get fond of wasting as much water as he wants in the kitchen sink). Sometimes I feel like my blood pressure is so high, sometimes I try to smile to show that I'm under control and he can't test my patience (if that was what he was trying to do) and sometimes I wanted to cry as well. There were late nights when he had finally fallen asleep that I wonder what was wrong with him or is there something wrong with me? Did I fail to realize what message was he trying to make me understand?

Last night we (Ian, Allen and I) went to my parents' house because we decided that the kids will be spending part of their vacation with them. I carried 4 bags, with a little help from Ian (2 backpacks each with their clothes, a bag of Thomas the Train and his friends and a small bag where I put my wallet, phone and camera.) My nanay expecting for our arrival opened the gate minutes after we talked on the phone. When we went out of the cab, Allen flashed the brightest smile he got and ran as fast as he could through the open gate. Ian and I walked behind him and watched him running with quick small steps. He was so happy and it seemed that it was a relief for him to be there. It was like he felt he was coming "home."  He played wit his toys, wrote on the blackboard, nibbled at every food he wanted in the kitchen. Later, he held my hand and said "Mommy, sleep na Mommy and Allen" after he prayed he kissed me on the cheek and he was fast asleep. I kissed him on his forehead and watched his face as he sleep. He looked so happy and content it was a far cry from the "bunso" we know who cries his way to sleep. 

Mommy's Letter for Allen

When I look at your face while you sleep I wonder what are you dreaming of? That moment I like to say sorry for not understanding everything a mother is supposed to know about her child. I like to hug you and tell you not to cry; that Mommy is here…Mommy will always be here. In times when you hurt yourself I feel pain for the hurt you give to yourself, pain for the puzzled look strangers are aiming at you,  pain for myself for seeing my child unhappy and confused. I hear others say to give you time and in return I tell myself that we both need time to learn and grow. I'm sorry for not appreciating every tiny step you make and for expecting too much. Every time you cry I ask what again is your problem rather than understanding what you need. I didn't realize that you are looking for home; you are looking for a place where you are constantly reminded of your happy times as a baby until you turned 4 years old. I understand now that in many ways you are like me, finding happiness and peace in familiar grounds. Sorry for failing to shield you from people forcing you to do things you don't like and from their noise. I learned from you that mommies make mistakes too. They say that you are a smart kid…yes you are. I knew that from the moment I first set my eyes on you.  Thank you anak for the joy and wisdom you brought to our family. Always remember that Mommy loves you very much and so as your Kuya Ian and Daddy.

L♥ve,

Mommy