i
white snow-laden trees
outlined by shadowy bark
winter once again.
ii
green winter giants
arms reach out in silent plea
weighed down with wet snow.
I’m Sorry, Mama
0Last night, like most nights this holiday season, I went to bed at 3:30 a.m. I had not heard from any of my family about my mother’s condition since she was hospitalized on the 23rd. In this case, no news was not necessarily good news. I had difficulty falling asleep and was constantly tossing and turning, throwing off my blankets then pulling them back after a few minutes. At 5:00 a.m. I woke up for no apparent reason, so I went to the bathroom. I tried to get back to sleep, but was terribly uncomfortable–it was like the worst hot flush attack. I finally dropped off after a while, woke up at 8 a.m., and left home to buy some art supplies and other materials for my classes in January. When I got home around 2:40, my phone started going off, buzzing like crazy, and that was when I saw all the messages coming in.
Apparently, my mother passed away at exactly 5:01 p.m. Manila time, which would have been 5:01 a.m. here.
As the proverbial black sheep and bohemian, I should, by all rights, be duplicating the Irish celebration of Margaret Thatcher’s passing and singing that particularly celebratory song from the Wizard of Oz. Out of respect for my dead mother, I will not.
I am thankful that she passed away quietly. I know she believed she was doing the right thing all the time.
Do I mourn her passing? No. She has lived a full life and must have made peace with her demons.
Do I celebrate her life? Yes. After all, she bore me and raised me as best she could.
Will I miss her? No.
I am glad that others will miss her and mourn her passing. She deserves that. She has devoted so much of herself to so many other people. She has made so many others feel like they were her daughters, given them advice, hugs, warmth, help, whenever they needed it.
I’m sorry to say that I cannot share that feeling because I never did get those hugs, warmth, caring, and help when I needed a mother most. She was a mother to many–to my sister, my sisters-in-law, family friends, relatives. But not to me. Somehow, that connection never was established between us. Every time we were together, I was wary, knowing that, given enough time, sparks would be set off.
My sister-in-law says she talked of us often, talked about how proud she was of us. That’s nice to know now. It should be comforting, in a way, I suppose, but it doesn’t really change a thing now. Others’ memories of my mother will be very different from my memories, but that’s okay too. They saw a face of hers that she chose not to show me.
I’m sorry, mama. Ours was not the mother-daughter relationship anyone would envy. But because it was what it was, I became more determined to be my own woman, to be independent, especially of you. Our relationship has made me stronger, because it was not an easy one to survive. But I have, and I am me. I define myself by my own terms. I am not defined by my children or my failed marriages or my family. I am defined by what I choose to make me happy and fulfilled and successful.
I wish I could say more good things about you. You sacrificed your career for your kids. You moved heaven and earth to keep your husband alive and healthy for as long as he lived–and it was long. You helped other people as much as you could. You made yourself the consummate doctor’s wife, except for the part where you refused to attend many social functions. You proved to everyone that you could be what you wanted to be without the help of anyone else. You kept the house absolutely clean, we were always clothed, and we always had good food (sans salt, pepper, mayo and butter because they were bad for papa). We had every material thing we needed–you made sure of that. And you kept yourself busy making sure all that was happening, and happening efficiently. I know I learned how to be efficient from you. I learned how to be a perfectionist, but not to let it control my life. I learned how to be meticulous with details. I learned how to be independent… And I learned that I needed a lot of loving, and warmth, and hugs–and that I had to find them elsewhere because they were not going to come from you. That was more important to me than anything else–than all the material things you made sure we had. Unfortunately, it was too late for us.
Strangely enough, this is more painful that I thought it would be, even if I’d gone through it. I thought I had closed that door, but hearing what other people have to say about you just rubs it in more painfully.
So, again, I’m sorry, mama. I’m just glad that you had people around you during you last days who loved you, cared for you, and will miss you very much.
The daughter is her own woman
0I found out from my sister-in-law yesterday that my mother was seriously ill. Only after bombarding my sister with Facebook messages did I finally learn more about the situation in the Philippines, where my family is. She has sent me updates since then, although nothing seems to have changed in the last 20 hours, or so it seems. My mother suffered multiple brain infarcts, a.k.a. strokes, which caused her to collapse and hit her head. Apparently, she was also suffering from severe pneumonia which was flooding her right lung and causing extremely difficult breathing. CT scans also confirmed that she has vascular dementia in an advanced state.
All my life, I have known my mother to be the worst patient ever. She refused to see doctors and always self-diagnosed and self-medicated, relying on her own knowledge and skills as a doctor. The only thing she always ever complained about was her varicose veins, which she refused to have treated and which made walking and standing very difficult for her as the years progressed.
She would never admit to any other pain or illness. She would never admit to or show any sign of weakness. Everyone who knows her will say she is a very strong woman. Many will say she is also a very stubborn woman. All her life that I have known her, she would not show emotions. Seeing her laugh was a very rare thing. She did not really smile–the most would be a sort of half-twisted grimace that was meant to pass as a smile, one eye blinking shut in the way you make a face when you taste something sour. She always had a serious, stern face. Because of that, she didn’t develop any creases or wrinkles on her face. I haven’t really seen her in several years, but I don’t think she had wrinkles the last time I saw her.
That’s probably why nobody ever realized that she already had dementia. At some point, she was becoming somewhat forgetful, but not anything serious. She has always been an extremely organized person, and had a system and a routine for everything so that she was not likely to forget things. She was always in control of herself, was not spontaneous, and followed a schedule. She was also very good at being nice, friendly, and generous to other people. She would fawn on them and flatter them and coo and chirp. Her side of the conversation consisted of a lot of questions that would focus on the person she was talking to. I don’t know if she ever really gave a solid answer or shared feelings or personal opinions with anyone. She could be completely displeased and angry at us, but would be all syrup and sweetness the moment she turned to face someone else. So I’m not surprised nobody saw her dementia coming on. All she needed to do was to pretend she was perfectly fine and never admit to any of the symptoms she might have been experiencing.
But what do I know? This is all just from my point of view. I have never truly interacted with her in any way besides her being a strong and distant authority figure in my life. I was never taken in by her public persona because I had experienced otherwise.
I don’t blame her for the way she treated me or dealt with me. I don’t blame her for all the times she betrayed me or my trust. I have gotten over that and have made a life for myself several times over. I have shaken off the need to please her or be accepted by her because I have realized that I don’t need her approval or praise to be successful at anything. I have realized that I don’t even need her love to be me, to be successful. I have succeeded in detaching myself, letting go of her, because I did not want to be drawn down by the negative emotions that always surfaced after spending enough time around her. I have learned not to care and to leave her be, just as she left me to my own devices.
Which now brings me to her current serious condition. Is it wrong that I am not distressed, not distracted, not depressed, not emotionally affected? I am certainly not going to go out of my way. I know I will be of no use anyway. All her favorite children are with her. I don’t imagine she will even miss me–she wouldn’t remember to invite me to any casual occasions they would have, expecting me to just magically show up when I didn’t even know there was any occasion to do so. She never missed me on all those outings and never went out of her way to include me, even if she included many others whom she had “adopted” into her family. With her favorites and her daughters-in-law and grandchildren all surrounding her, I’m sure she’ll be perfectly fine.
I have defined my own life, my own happiness, my own success. I might be her daughter, but I am my own woman.
An open letter to my son Justin Amador on his 18th birthday
0If anyone who knows Justin Amador comes across this letter, I beg you to please let him read this. I have not been with him since December 27, 2008, through no fault of mine. I have been estranged from him all this time and only want him to know I wish him well. I do this with the hope that somehow it will reach him.
18 December 2013
Dearest Justin,
I hope this note finds you well and happy on your 18th birthday. I can only hope that this reaches you and that you read it with an open mind.
Little did I dream that I would not be sharing it, or the last 5 years with you, but do know that I have and always will love you. Leaving you was not my choice, and I’m sorry that you believe everything your father has been telling you since you were 6 years old, when I had to return to work full time because we had no other source of income. I’m just sorry that I could not stay with you all those years because I had to provide everything for a family where I was expected to do everything, from being the breadwinner to being the homemaker with no help at all. Even then, I still tried my best to spend as much time as I could with you and provide you with as many positive learning experiences as possible, all of which have helped you become successful in school here in Canada. I am hoping that, as you have grown and matured, that you are able to think and reflect on things and see them in a different light.
I can only trust that everything I have taught you as a young boy has stayed with you…and from what I hear, they have. You have a personality and identity of your own that is not the same as your father’s. I hope that you are able to find what is best in the world, in life, and learn from that. I hope you are able to choose what is best for you regardless of what others say, but also that you are smart enough to listen to all the advice you can find. I also hope that you persevere and work towards earning a University degree so that you can achieve great things. I sincerely hope that you pick up a moral and realistic work ethic because all things can be achieved through hard work, perseverance, and open-mindedness. Please be kind and honest to girls, respect them, and protect them. They are not men’s playthings and they are not sex objects. They are not there for the pleasure of men, but rather, there to be partners. They are not there to serve men, but rather to share. If you respect them, love them with all your heart, share the burden of living, and help each other in every way you can without expecting the other to do everything or always keeping tally of who does what, then you can have a happy and healthy relationship with them, especially whoever it is you choose to be with. Always remember that you are no better than anyone else. What some have, others don’t. Be fair to everyone. Be open-minded. Don’t judge. And above all, don’t condemn. I only wish that you are never put in a position where you are manipulated, then shunned, judged, condemned, and hurt where you are most vulnerable by someone you thought you could trust.
Please forgive me for having stayed away, but neither you nor your father have made anything easy for me. I cannot bear confrontation and the accumulated emotional and psychological pain have been too much for me. I also knew that you would only become more reticent if I persisted in trying to contact you until you were ready to hear me. I don’t know if I will ever be able to forgive your father for all he has done and not done, but I do forgive you for choosing the way you did simply because there was no way you could have known my side of things, nor could you have known why your father behaved the way he did. If you knew exactly why I did certain things, you would understand what really happened, but there are some things about parents that children are not privy to. Perhaps, when you are in a serious relationship with a woman, you will finally understand. I pray for that time.
With much love,
mum
On a quotation by Arthur Schopenhauer…
0I would say with greater confidence that he who is cruel cannot be a good man. It does not matter who or what the object of that cruelty is. Goodness of character certainly displays itself in the ability to be kind and connected with ALL beings, ALL living things, and ALL things. To neglect any aspect of one’s environs, whether living or not, shows a lack of respect, consideration, and responsibility.
From this poster circulating in Facebook:
My 2013 ArtSmarts experience
0For the first time, I had the opportunity to join Culture PEI’s ArtSmarts program, and I must say it was an experience to remember!
This year, the program was organized in collaboration with the PEI Association for Newcomers and Sandy Macaulay’s Project-Based Learning class of pre-service B.Ed. students to fulfill the theme “Celebrating Diversity: Exploring Culture, Language, Identity and Global Citizenship.”
I was lucky to be matched with pre-service teacher Robyn Christensen and Todd James, 7th grade Social Studies teacher at Birchwood Intermediate School, to work on a project that would be displayed at the Confederation Centre for the Arts on the 11th of December.
The first month, from mid-October to mid-November, was spent planning with Robyn. Todd had given her free reign over tackling the chapter on World War I. Originally, we began planning a performance that would be a combination of narratives and acting, more in the spirit of mime, but pretty much a “silent film news reel” type of performance so the students would not need memorize anything, considering how little time there was.
At our second meeting, Cecile Arsenault, who was then in charge of the ArtSmarts program, reminded us of the “diversity” aspect. Robyn and I agreed that the students would interpret the War from the points of view of the different nations involved. The prospect of creating a full production was daunting, so I suggested we use Asian shadow puppets, called Wayang Kulit, to introduce a new art form to the students. Robyn was reluctant at first, but warmed up to it when Cecile and Sandy both thought the idea was exciting. At our last planning meeting, Robyn constructed a shadow puppet from a model I had made, and from then on, she was completely hooked.
We decided that, to simplify the construction of puppets, that I would create the templates for the students to cut out and assemble, which they did in one hour. We spent another hour painting the puppets. Then, we took a whole afternoon to piece together the whole performance.
That afternoon was pure chaos. Needless to say, we did not finish blocking the performance and the students were all over the art room, where we were rehearsing. At the end of the day, Robyn decided we should just record the puppet show on video. I suggested that we might as well dub it with the sound effects and the students voices, so that I could continue directing even as we recorded each scene of the puppet show. I did a quick rewrite and blocking of the script over the weekend in preparation for our Monday afternoon recording session. We took the whole afternoon and completed 13 of 20 scenes. Then, we took the whole morning of Tuesday and finished the last 7 scenes. Robyn did the editing and dubbing and we spent all day of Wednesday at the Confederation Centre showing off the students’ work–puppets and puppet show–to all comers.
I must say that 5 meetings of putting a 15-minute puppet show all together, from making the puppets to staging the show, was a HUGE accomplishment for 7th graders! Everything they did was amazing. Understandably, the process of recording, which took 3 half days, proved taxing for everyone, considering these were 11- and 12-year-olds we were working with.
I have suggested that more time be allocated to interaction between the artist and the students, especially in junior high. Our biggest disadvantage was that we had short isolated sessions sprinkled throughout the week, only 2 of which were full hours, the rest just half hours. All told, I had 6 scheduled meets with the students, but had to take over 3 half days just to finalize the project. If we could have collaborated with more classes or, ideally, with all the teachers of the class we were working with, and a full quarter with 2 or 3 whole days a week dedicated to the art project, then it would be an amazing integration of all subject matter into a single art project!
The only sad note was that our class did not get to see their own puppet show at the Confederation Centre. Neither did they get a chance to visit the Gallery@The Guild to see the artists’ works on display. One of the reasons the Arts Council mounted the artists’ exhibit was so that the students would get a chance to see works by the artists they were working with.
All that aside, I will definitely want to participate in the ArtSmarts program, every single year, if possible!
Black Friday and other madness
0I just don’t see why anyone in their right mind would camp outside a store all night to shop in a frenzied environment with people grabbing, pushing, and acting like they would die if they didn’t get that last sale item on the shelf. The suffering, hardship, and trouble they put themselves through is completely senseless. Not to mention the money spent, usually on things they don’t really need, that would be so much better spent if it were donated to people in need all over the world.
Does anybody really need all those things that businesses try to unload on us during these megasales? All it does is engender more crass commercialism, morbid materialism, and unbridled greed. Most of the time, these businesses just want to get rid of merchandise to make room for more new merchandise. Shame on them for even thinking up these insane inane events. They’ve already made their profit, this is all icing on the cake. They sell with “take it or leave it” and “no return no exchange” policies so whatever you get, you’re stuck with. Sometimes, you don’t even really use what you get. You get it just because it was such a good bargain you can’t pass it up. But if you didn’t need it in the first place, it might just sit in your basement or attic or garage or closet forever. In which case, it’s money wasted.
What if big businesses unloaded all that surplus merchandise on people and countries that really needed it? It’s called DONATING. So many people around the world have lost their homes and everything in them to natural disasters. So many people around the world don’t have clothes or shoes. So many people around the world don’t have food to eat or clean water to drink. So many people around the world don’t have a house of their own. It’s a shocking imbalance of wealth and those who throw away their money on more of things they already own have their priorities seriously scrambled. They need a big knock on the head. A really big one that will knock some sense into them and stop this madness.
Remembrance Day
0I wrote this piece before Remembrance day but forgot to post it here. Still, the sentiment hasn’t changed.
Remembrance Day is just a couple of days away and once again, Canadians will visit their War Memorials to pay their respects to those who fought and died for peace and freedom. It’s just ironic that to achieve peace, governments find the need to wage war. What is more ironic is that, while we honour those who fought and died as soldiers, we forget those who stayed home to keep things running, those who sat silently and patiently waiting for their loved ones to return, those who humbly accepted folded flags in exchange for their loved ones’ lives, those who live on with nowhere to run, no one to turn to, no help from a government that is more concerned with what it can gain for itself than what it can give to its people. Is it because those who are living aren’t crying out loud enough that the government pays no attention? Where are the PEACE, ORDER, and GOOD GOVERNMENT that our motto promises? Our government, on all levels, puts to waste the sacrifices made by our Veterans and their families, the sacrifices made by all families during the wars that have been and the wars that are. The government celebrates them one day out of every year but throws dirt over their stones the rest of the year. One day, we will see only the dirt that besmirches the memorials, staining them worse than the spilled blood that stained the fields of war.
The Lost Amulets: Factoid
0
What are amulets?
Amulet – from the Latin amuletum, literally, something that offers protection, and can be found in any form–from gems to statues, to even plants and animals.
Purists might argue that the amulets in The Lost Amulets are more of talismans (bring luck, benefits, and protection). As a matter of fact, the amulets in my book offer the greatest form of protection–not only for the owner, but for specific things in nature. Admittedly, I did not expound on the protective aspects of the amulets in my book and will be revealing more about them in the next book, The Amulet of Fire.
In The Lost Amulets, the third object, the spear of Anlabban, is a magical spear, a talisman that offers protection as well, rather than an amulet. I have to admit that the Amulet of the Tides also behaves rather more like a talisman. But then, I am not a purist–I’m a FANTASY FICTION writer!
Cindy Lapeña: Creativity Unlimited 