Author: wakeupthedreamer

Ten years feel like…

…five years because everything since we had the kid went by in a flash

…a pretty well-ticked yet ever-growing bucket list of places to go, foods to try, and shows to watch

…keeping up with all the changes in our minds and bodies, holding tight so our hearts could remain the same

…fights like there’s no tomorrow but waking up in the morning, wanting to stay

…smiling at our kid and our cat-kids and thinking, Look at the family we’ve made

…pulling our hairs out over said kid and cat-kids, venting and/or problem-solving like a team

…we’re still finding who we are and continuously learning how to best be there for one another

…saying ILY every day for the last ten years in a mix of words and actions

…we must’ve done something right if we got this far

…I may have had my bullheaded and bitchy moments. But when I am calm and contemplating everything we’ve been through, like I am now, I’m so darn thankful for what we have

…I am the luckiest woman in the world to be chosen by you.

Happy Ten-year Anniversary, Papa Bear!

I love you.

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Substitute Human

The cat had lost her appetite, yet she did not have a physical ailment.

Her heart was broken.

Her owner, my husband had not been cuddling with her as much. She used to sleep on his side of the bed, acting like his little spoon. But due to his recent shoulder injury, he had not been sleeping on that shoulder. He had been sleeping facing away from her.

I know that the cat’s heart is broken. Not only did she stop waiting for him in the foyer to come home from work. She also just came to my side of the bed… to me, her less preferred person, at this odd hour to cuddle with me and ask for petting. She was so lonely, she gave her paw to me twice, and I stroked it, hoping that for now, I am enough.

First Night

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Dear Niko,

Tonight, it took me all my courage and acting skills not to cry in front of you.

It all began last Monday. You and I went to Target and you found yourself drawn to a coffee machine toy (you and your love for food and drink toys). You asked if we can buy it and I said we’ll buy it if you ever sleep in your own bedroom. You agreed and asked to add one more toy to the deal, preferably a Transformer. I said okay, thinking it’s too soon anyway. You were still too clingy to not sleep in the same bedroom as me. We left Target without buying any toys.

Then, today, we had to make another Target run. You mentioned the coffee machine toy again, that Fisher Price rip-off of Keurig. You remembered our deal. Coffee toy plus a Transformer = you’ll sleep in your bedroom. I was amazed that you remembered and apprehensive you’d keep your end of the deal. So, I negotiated you open the coffee toy today and if you sleep in your bedroom, you get to open the Transformer tomorrow. If you don’t, we return the toys. We did a pinky swear because those are sacred to you.

We bought the coffee toy, a Transformers toy and walkie talkies (this was my idea – hoping we could use it to talk from different bedrooms). Your papa installed the toddler rail on your new bed and relocated your humidifier/night light to your new room.

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You were excited at first then you were afraid. We reassured you that we’ll stay with you until you fall asleep. Being around us, you were hyper for a bit but finally, you’ve fallen asleep.

Part of me is so proud of you… of what an awesome negotiator and brave little boy you’ve become. But part of me is also wishing you’d wake and come running back to our bedroom, back to me like a little baby.

You’re growing up and becoming more independent so fast. Way too fast for your emo mom.

This is super selfish but I still wish time would slow down for us. When you’re a teen and feel like hating me, I hope you read this. When you’re a grown man and want to leave the nest, I hope you read this.

Love you forever, Baby Bear. As long as I’m living, you know the rest.

Love,

Mama Bear

Heart on my sleeve

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I love how you kiss me before you leave for work, how you text me every weekday just to say hello, how you do the laundry conscientiously (thanks bjj), how you cook the best dinners and weekend breakfasts, how you take me on Community Day dates, how we rotfl while catching up on our shows, how you play with Niko and look after him while I’m busy or tired, how you gobble up the food I make even if it’s meh or of questionable quality, how as an IT professional and all-around techie, you put up with my Luddite qualities, how you understand and appreciate me. I want you to know, that even if you don’t say it often, I feel it. I love you, too.

Happy Valentine’s, Papa Bear!

Musings on Fat-calling

At least 9 out of 10 times, when told in the Philippine/Filipino setting that you are getting/being “fat” or “big” there is no clear communication of the commenter’s intention e.g. I am letting you know because I’m concerned about your health OR I am sharing my unsolicited observation because I don’t think you’re self aware OR I’ve been through what you’re going through and I’m now about to drop some knowledge on you OR look at my ability to maintain my figure and look at you OR the worst unspoken and most often assumed implication: I think your weight makes you look ugly.

I’ve always felt strongly about this so for those hearing it from me for the first time:

  1. Weight may or may not equate to good health.
  2. Weight is a f—ing outdated way to gauge beauty.
  3. Real weight struggles may have reasons that should be respected: not all reasons are excuses.
  4. Your experience or lack thereof doesn’t make you qualified to give unsolicited advice or make other people feel like s—t.
  5. Before you comment on someone’s weight, ask yourself: Am I really helping? Also: is this really any of my damn business?

Through the years I’ve gotten less and less comments about my weight. Not because I’ve been able to fit people’s standards but more because I don’t want to take sh*t anymore. If you are one of these people still giving away these amazing sh*t comments – please stop. I swear it’s the right thing to do.

33

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I’m 33 today. I got a few wrinkles, permanent eyebags and white hairs hiding among the purple.

Age is just a number. Apart from my looks, questionable health, being sleepy at 9pm, I do feel younger. Maybe it comes from acting too old for my age in my youth. My mother did tell me multiple times that since birth, I have always been in a rush to get ahead. I was originally due on Christmas Day.

I watched too many Calvento files and Days of Our Lives episodes as a kid. I may have started liking boys at too young an age.

I became competitive with my studies, quiz bees, sports, research contests, joining the next cool company. In many ways, I’ve felt like I was pushing myself to do things an older wiser person would do.

Then, my body started feeling older. I got hitched. I have a kid. The universe doesn’t $@#*% slow down. Thank goodness my experience with anxiety and depression taught me this cool trick of focusing on what I can control.

I feel younger because I’ve learned that I may not be able to stop time and &@$! hitting the fan but I can choose to slow the $@#*% down.

“I don’t love Mama”

Warning: Super emo post

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Dear Niko,

The other night, you told me you like Papa better. Last night, you said you don’t love Mama.

I wanted to leave. Just walk away. Show you what life would be like without me. Some people might say, he’s just a child. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. But you do know. You can tell that I am too busy or too tired to give you the attention you need. You see me as the mean parent because I am the one asking you to do things you don’t like most of the time – potty train, change clothes, clean up, sleep. I am not the fun parent because I can’t make your toys do funny things.

I cried when you said it. I am crying now, remembering it.

But I’m still here, while you are sleeping beside me. Son, this is love. Staying even when you’re in pain because you are not loved back or appreciated.

I hope that tomorrow, when you wake up, I can repair whatever parts I broke in our relationship. I hope that someday, you can fully understand why I ask you to do or not do things. I just want you to be safe and grow up to be a good person. I am trying to do what’s best for you.

You’ve told me many times that I’m your best friend. Even if you stop believing that, even if you stop loving me, with my broken heart, I will still care for you. I will still love you.

Damn. You’re not even a teenager yet.

Love,

Mama Bear

Remembering how to play

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Dear Niko,

It’s been a long time since I wrote.

Truth is, I’ve been overwhelmed. By a career path I’m good at but don’t love. By a dream I need to pursue even if it means facing the truth that I’m not good at it and may never become better at it. By being away from you, physically, mentally, emotionally. By recurring health issues in mind and body.

I’ve had a rough past year. I’ve made a lot of drastic changes but I’m still adjusting. One of the changes: stay at home to care for you full-time.

I thought I would be awesome at this. I thought I would be on top of house chores. That I would be exercising Zen like patience when you don’t listen, when you lie, when you hurt me, when you forget to say you’re sorry. I thought your potty training would be a breeze and that I would have your home schedule all figured out, along with my efforts to care for my health and follow my other dreams.

I thought I’ve had some challenging roles. But this is the hardest role I’ve had thus far. Every day, I’m still winging it. Sometimes, I feel so blessed I get to spend so much time with my sweet, smart, talented child whom I love with all my life. Other times, I wonder: what the hell was I thinking? What made me think I could handle this level of responsibility?

Over the last few weeks, I’ve realized – I’ve forgotten how to play. As a child, I used to play pretend with my sisters all the time – with or without toys, inside or outside. I played multiple characters – protagonists, antagonists. I developed exciting plots – tons of humor, action and drama. Then, I grew up… got busy with school then work then life and slowly, I forgot.

But you’re teaching me. You’re helping me remember. You’re helping me find my inner child beneath all my hardened and broken pieces.

I’m not sure when I’m going to find things easy, I’m not sure if I ever will. I can’t promise to always be fun and not have any down days. You will likely still catch me off guard when you ask, “Mama, what are we doing today?”

I will never be perfect. But for you, I’ll keep learning and re-learning. I’ll keep working to find balance. To care for myself, too, so I can be my best at caring for you.

I love you. We’ll figure this out together!

Love,

Mama Bear

Second Birthday Blues

Hi Niko,

It’s your birthday.

You turn two today.

Time goes by so fast. I’m happy you’re growing into a smart, handsome, kind (sometimes crazy) boy. But at the same time, I feel bad that so much of your life is passing by without me at your side.

I often wonder how other moms do it. How do they go about with barely any sleep, cook all the meals for the family, keep the house clean, do the laundry, do budgeting, spend 50-60 hours working and still care for a young child?

Truth is, without your father and Tita (and/or Grandma) – I really don’t believe I can manage. I either go nuts trying to get work done or I feel extreme separation anxiety when I am unable to spend more time with you. So yes, the house is constantly a mess and the next meal is always a mystery. For someone who plans ahead and manages a lot of projects at work – I just plain suck at managing a home.

Often, I come from work tired out of mind – that I am not even able to give our family quality time.

But know that if I had a choice, if we can afford it (this state, and country in general is insanely expensive), I will leave the corporate world in a heartbeat to care for you full-time. I am not sure if I will be any better at keeping up with chores but I know I’ll be the best damn mom that I can be, not half-assing like I am right now.

Know that I keep working not only because I want you to have a better life, the best life. I also keep working because I want to excel at something (in addition to being your mom). So that when you grow older, you’ll know that at some point, in some other way, your mother rocked. Then, maybe, I could hope to inspire you like you continue to inspire me.

I love you, Son.

Hope you have a happy birthday!

Love,

Mama Bear

In the End

I was having a touchpoint with my boss when I got the news. She received a text message from another manager… about a Linkin Park member committing suicide. She knew I liked Linkin Park because it was only yesterday that she approved my half-day PTO, which I specifically scheduled for July 28th, the date of the Blinkin Park Concert (Blink 182 + Linkin Park). So, together, we did a search on her browser and found out that it was Chester Bennington – and it was suicide by hanging.

My boss seemed to be saddened by the news, too. She asked me if I knew Chris Cornell from Soundgarden and shared that she enjoyed their music and got the chance to watch them live. She said that it (suicide among artists) was happening too often. Then, awkwardly, we had to wipe tears from the corner of our eyes.

I’ve loved Linkin Park since high school, when most of the boys wore those dark polo shirts in salute of the group’s taste in fashion, despite the sticky Philippine heat. I borrowed my husband’s (then boyfriend) CD of Hybrid Theory and I later gifted him with Reanimation and Meteora. I never had a loud, raspy, screaming voice but for karaoke, I still sang all the Chester parts in their popular songs. I knew the rap, too, but often let my husband handle the Mike Shinoda sections.

I grew up with their music. I still put them on if I want to relax (yes, screaming and rapping is relaxing for me). Their music has evolved through the years but it still sounds pretty awesome… and I was truly looking forward to finally watching them perform live.

Chester’s gone though. Linkin Park as I know and love is no more. I mourn with his family and friends and once again, I mourn with everyone who lost a loved one to depression and suicide…

Strangely, hauntingly, below lyrics from my favorite Linkin Park song will never sound the same again:

“But in the end, it doesn’t even matter…”

R.I.P. Chester Bennington (1976-2017)