Dance with the Sun

Moved!

2011-03-11T19:58:00.001-05:00

Dear friends... come visit my new home at www.dance-with-the-sun.com!

I look forward to seeing you there! :)

Garage sale

2007-12-05T00:01:00.000-05:00

Wordless Wednesday

Someone's junk could be somebody else's treasure!

Photo: C. Mercado

More than words

2007-12-04T20:06:00.001-05:00

... a sentimental favourite....

Photohunter theme: Red

2007-12-04T15:24:00.000-05:00

PhotoHunt

Fascinating red door at an episcopalian cathedral off St. Catherine Street, Montreal, Canada

Photo: C. Mercado

Winter mornings

2007-12-04T13:14:00.000-05:00

The temperature read minus 10 degrees. It is only the third of December. This time last year, we had our first major snowfall, but the barometer was quite steady at around zero to minus 3 degrees. We did not even have snow until the very end of December, making Christmas not really the white one we expected it to be. The Farmers' Almanac predicted a colder winter this year, and they are probably right.

And we just had our first major snowstorm. Kara and I woke up yesterday to a quiet street covered in white.... lucky she had no school and I had planned to take the day off! I ventured outside at about 10:00 am to see how it was, by this time, the temperature had risen to around minus five so it was not as cold as it was earlier in the morning. Armed with my camera, I shot a few frames of the white specks falling from the sky and took one of my car which by now was starting to be covered with snow. Our stairway outside needed shovelling, and perhaps some salt..

We stayed in, it was a lovely time to be indoors, I baked a cassava pie in the afternoon and basically just chilled.

Today, Tuesday, Kara asked whether she could stay home. She had just finished her exams so I agreed, and I also needed some more time off and decided to relax as well. We needed to go out and clear snow off the car, though since by this time, there was such a thick cover on it, we could hardly recognise it as our car! We were also worried that if we did not do it, the snow could get compacted especially if the temperature continued to rise, and it would be really hard work to take it off...

We had a late breakfast, dressed up in warm clothes and proceeded out.... It was amazing.. there was almost a foot and a half of snow on the windshield, about a foot on the roof, and the whole car was sort of buried underneath mounds of soft, fluffy snow! So we set to work, armed with our neighbour's snow shovel, we decided we would clear the doors first so that I could turn on the heat, and it will help melt the snow.

"How on earth will we clear all this snow??"

Shovel, lift, breathe.... Kara and I worked steadily.... we were both laughing since it was quite fun and it was not as cold outside. It was refreshing, with a light snowfall... just beautiful, actually!

Kara hard at work...

At some point I decided to lie on the snow! I had never done this before, and it just felt so good! It felt as if I was lying on a feather bed, since the snow was fresh and this is really the best time... powdery to the touch and simply wonderful! I closed my eyes and put out my tongue to feel the snow.... oh... I just loved the feeling...

Getting up was not easy!

Once the tires were clear, and I was able to get in the car, I started it, and I just kind of ploughed through the snow, and my car just breezed through it... and I moved it to an empty spot just in front of the House. I love my Subaru, I will not exchange it for the BMWs in the world especially during winter. It performs really well particularly in these conditions, the winter tires with the four wheel drive combined make it a really steady and safe car in the winter!!

Almost cleared, only half of the windshield is left to be done

It was an hour's work, all worth it. I cleared our steps as well since I was already out and doing stuff anyway. So, even if if my foot was aching a bit because of this condition I have.... Kara and I enjoyed the exercise.

There is also something about the quietness of snowfall that somehow makes it so peaceful. After clearing the walkway, I stood for five minutes with the shovel under my chin, just looked around and just felt so much tranquility around me, and I was comforted....

And it has not stopped snowing yet...!

Photos by Cecilia and Kara Mercado

Small spaces of time

2007-12-01T18:00:00.000-05:00

Photo: C. Mercado

I can divide my life into small fragments of space and time...
Where often it feels like the gaps are fillers in a film, and
the important bits are the highlights... the small boxes of beauty, truth, lies, pain, absolute joy, jealousies, love, tenderness, deep affection, drama, births and deaths....and so many many more
Different emotions difficult to articulate, but strangely real and true when they happen.

My "compartments" are full... any space left means squeezing the ones that are in it,
Reducing them to smaller pieces.... I often wonder if in doing so they lose a little bit of the importance they used to have?

New memories challenge the old ones: should I keep these,

should I discard those?
Choices.
The options are never easy... Do I really have that vast capacity inside me to store everything?
I want to. I can't. I have to let some go, I have to keep room for new ones.
Spring cleaning. Or they can just gather dust where they are, and hopefully a future will find some use for them. Like the small trinkets I keep from the places I have been, each little one has a story to tell.

The beautifully carved glass perfume bottle from Egypt brings back smells of the Khan-el-Khalily market, the billowing smoke of the hookahs, the short trip to Coptic Cairo, the love and friendship around, with the people I was with....
Dainty lacquer finished coasters from Yangon speak of a life that could have been, but never was and never will be...
The tall, elegant metal candle stick, one of a pair, signified promises, promises that have somehow been broken... of a fire that was to be kept burning but flickered out anyway...

I could go on.

Then there are those freeze frame moments,
captured in the mind without any prejudice,
recorded just because they happened: in black and white, in technicolour and some in sepia.
Each denotes a specificity of that instant, that precious point in a continuing tale....

My life exists in small bits of space and time, and I do not want it any other way.

Call me...

2007-11-28T09:00:00.000-05:00

Wordless Wednesday

Photo: C. Mercado

PhotoHunt Theme: I love...

2007-11-21T09:49:00.000-05:00

Photo: C. Mercado

I love.... the blue walls, and the shadows of candle light splashed on them. The covered lamp that lit your face subtly as you sat next to me... times of love, laughter, movies, music... You know who you are, and you know I love you...

Haiku

2007-11-21T09:24:00.001-05:00

The night covered me

while I lay barely

asleep with my own wild dreams.

Photo: C. Mercado

Bali sunset

2007-11-21T09:17:00.001-05:00

Wordless Wednesday

Photo: C. Mercado

Business travels

2007-11-12T11:38:00.000-05:00

I am on the third flight of my journey to the East, on my way to Bangkok with a final destination of the island of Bali in Indonesia. As I sit on the plane listening to its constant humming, I feel this urge to write down my observations about this particular flight.

I am lucky my job takes me to places. Overall I may have perhaps visited over 150 cities around the world but if I am asked how each of them were, my memories were mostly a blur, and perhaps the most vivid were those spent at airports and airline lounges.

The first leg of my flight took me to Detroit from Montreal. Seated in business class on an early morning flight, the first thing that I noticed was that I was one among two women in that section of the flight. Around me, these men who I assume were either going to meetings or going home from one, were chattering on cell phones. One was asking an assistant or colleague to check a letter before it got sent out, one was asking about prices of materials, and I could hear intimate low voices talking perhaps to loved ones saying they were taking off soon, and would be turning their phones off.

On the flight from Detroit to Narita, I was in the upper deck of a 747 jet, and once again observed that I was one of three women in this group. It is interesting though, the kind of people one meets on these flights. The lady I was sitting next to was flying to Singapore through Tokyo, and informed me that she is originally from Nova Scotia, but now lives in Michigan but based in Singapore working for an IT company. A nice gentleman who helped me get to my gate in Detroit came from Montreal on business and was on his way home. People like these make me think that truly the world has become a smaller place.

In my job, traveling to different countries is an integral part of my work. My organization works with almost 140 countries around the globe, and project implementation is always much more effective if these visits are done on a regular basis. Since my move to Montreal, though, my trips are far less but it always takes me a long time to get to my destinations which are almost always in Asia and the Pacific. While I love returning to Asia, nowadays I really feel the weariness that creeps in with each long flight. For this one for instance, my travel time is even longer than the number of days for my meeting, but it is important for me to be there, so there really isn’t a choice.

I still remember my very first business trip: I was an eager and naïve twenty something, traveling to Moscow. My very first trip abroad was to the USSR back when it was still a communist country. You can imagine the thrill I got from the mere thought of imagining that I would be standing in the Red Square and can see the interior of St. Basil’s cathedral! This trip did not disappoint, and it was only the beginning of an often interesting relationship with airplanes, hotels, airports and airline lounges….

As I get closer to my destination (I am now on my fourth plane ride as I finish this post), I am excited. Bali holds special memories for me. I will be meeting people I know and worked with for a long time and whose achievements and efforts I respect and it will be good. The discussions will as usual be animated, but this trip also gives me a bit of butterflies in the stomach. While I am meeting familiar people, I am also sitting at this meeting in a different capacity. We will be discussing issues that are sensitive to the countries and I am representing an organization that facilitates funding for these projects, so the responsibility on my shoulders is quite heavy.

But I am a person who loves challenges, and this will be just one of those, and again another learning opportunity. I will leave the meeting with a feeling that I have gained something, that my storehouse of knowledge has again been increased and I have shared a lot of what I know to the people I met, and for this, the long plane rides are all worthwhile.

Note: written on board NW 27 Narita-Bangkok, 10 November 2007

Warning!

2007-11-07T08:44:00.000-05:00

Wordless Wednesday

Photo: C. Mercado

Festival of Lights

2007-11-06T16:00:00.000-05:00

The "Indian" me is feeling very nostalgic. It is because the celebration of Diwali makes me feel this way sometimes, especially here in Montreal where I have very few Indian friends.

Diwali is an Indian festival. One might ask why a Catholic like me finds this important, but I find joy in celebrating festivals of other beliefs and religions, and I do not think it goes contrary to my own beliefs. I wished my friends Happy Eid after they finished Ramadan, and they did not ask why I was saying this despite the fact I was not Muslim.

For Indians, the festival of lights, as Diwali is also called is the time to celebrate the victory of good over evil. The significance of lights is in the fact that it illuminates one's way through the darkness. Tiny clay lamps called diyas are lit in homes to usher in abundance, prosperity and peace and to ward off evil.

I remember my first Diwali party in the Philippines. It was at the home of cousins of a very good Indian friend, and practically the whole Indian community was there, many of them Bengalis. We had food, sweets like homemade carrot halwa, laddoos, barfi, gulab jamuns. There were fireworks as well! I especially enjoyed putting out the diyas in the garden and lighting them. There is something about the flickering light of tiny lamps in a wide space that is so beautiful and exudes an aura of peace. I recall that this was how it made me feel.

My daughter Kristina was around 5 years old at that time. She was asking me why we were having fireworks in November, and I was explaining to her somehow what the significance of this was. This was probably all lost to her, but she had fun with kids her age and they stuffed themselves with all the sweets and snacks that were available.

There was a time when an old friend gifted me with a beautifully carved clay elephant, that had diyas around it. It was such a lovely, delicate thing, and I was so happy with this special gift and put it in a prominent place in the house until one day my daughters were playing around and accidentally hit the shelf where this was and it fell into pieces on the ground. I picked up the clay bits with tears in my eyes.

The last time I celebrated Diwali was two years ago, it was with a special someone. Instead of going out to a party, I just lit votive candles outside in his balcony, while we could hear the fireworks in the background. Then we just sat quietly together watching the lights and shared a glass of wine. That was pretty special to me, and I look forward to another opportunity to do this!

So tonight at home, I will light the candles in the living room, burn some incense, and sit quietly for a few moments to let the positive energy flow, to meditate on how life has been good, very good, and hope for blessings that it continues to be happy, peaceful and full of love. I will also imagine how nice it would be sitting around the table with my friends, eat some nice hot jelabis with a cold glass of lassi, which I could get if I was in Dilli! Ahh!

To all my Indian friends, Happy Diwali, and may peace, love, and prosperity be yours not only this time, but always!

Our Halloween night

2007-11-04T18:00:00.000-05:00

Our front porch

Photo by: C. Mercado

It rained the day before, and it was a little chilly. But the forecast for Halloween promised warm weather. And as we walked out of the house that morning with Kara transformed into Dexter, the disguise she was wearing to school, complete with orange hair, and nutty, nerdy glasses, we were looking forward to the evening ahead. The previous night I had already stocked chocolate eyeballs, cut up chocolate body parts, caramels, lollipops, and other goodies, and Kara and I were both ready to greet the trick or treaters.

I managed to leave the office early, and as I drove through Westmount at around 6 pm, I could see all sorts of "creatures" trawling the streets with their goodie bags. The little ones were dressed up as fairies, cartoon characters, wizards, and held on to their mother's hands with their plastic pumpkin candy containers. The parents rose to the occasion, too, some had on horrendous looking masks and flowing robes. There was such excitement in the air, and the weather people were not wrong this time, it was a lovely cool evening. The kind where you would love to stroll around the neighbourhood, and this is exactly what everyone was doing.

When I reached home, my neighbour and landlady had plunged our front porch into darkness, with a few candles lit around, and our main door open. She worked very hard over the weekend with her two daughters to decorate the front of the house, and it was one of the scariest in the street. A large bat was hanging over the ceiling of the porch, and we had mummies and ghosts stuck to the door, and "cobwebs" everywhere! Even the small bush in front did not escape her hands, it was decorated with ghost shaped lights. I learned from the neighbours that once you put on Halloween decorations, the kids know that there are goodies available. The open door was proof of that.

Kara was waiting, still in her disguise, all excited over giving out candy. There was a steady stream: the younger kids were coming first probably because they needed to get to bed early, and they were followed by teenagers, and even adults! There was this cute little Ninja turtle, a boy not more than 6 years old. A group of well disguised teenagers also came to the door, someone looked like Charlie from Roald Dahl's famous book, I was really quite amazed at the effort that some people put into their appearance, and it was fun to watch.

Our chocolate eyeballs and body parts were the most popular, I was right to have have picked them up from the supermarket! By 9 pm, everything started to quiet down, and by then we closed our door.

Kara and her bowl of candies (Photo: C. Mercado)

Halloween as celebrated in North America is not a tradition that we are used to. In the Philippines, the end of October signals the arrival of All Souls' and All Saints' days, and while we do not dress up as ghouls or anything scary, I still remember from my childhood that this was also a festive time in the most unusual place, the cemetery.

The week before All Souls' day, cleaners would go to my grandfather's small mausoleum, clean it, make the whole place spick and span. The neighboring tombs will also be sparkling clean, and the local government would string lights throughout the cemetery to allow people to stay there late in the evening. On the day itself, my grandmother would be making steamed rice cakes, and other native goodies. Then after saying the rosary at my grandma's home, we would all troop to the cemetery to my grandfather's tomb.

There another rosary would be said, all of us cousins would sit through it impatiently, knowing that after that the adults would bring out the food and we will eat around my grandfather and chat with him like he was with us. The we would all clamber on top of the tomb, and play cards, my cousins and I with our aunts and uncles.

After a while, when we started getting bored, we would go around the cemetery collecting candle wax that dripped onto the tombs, yellow, red and white wax, and we would make them into balls. We would also meet friends and go around visiting the tombs of friends parents' and all others that we know. We would kneel and say a prayer at each tomb. I am scared of cemeteries, the mere thought of having so many people in one place really frightens me, thoughts of zombies often come to my mind. But this was a time when we were not afraid to be here.

This was tradition, at least in the province this was how it was, and we all looked forward to it.

This was the only time we celebrated death, or perhaps we celebrated the memories of our dead loves ones. This was our Halloween.

Weave me a rug, please?

2007-10-24T08:00:00.000-05:00

Wordless Wednesday

Photo by: C. Mercado

The sky is falling! Protect our ozone layer

2007-10-16T13:34:00.000-05:00

Blog Action Day

16 September 2007: 20 years of the Montreal Protocol

Two Nobel Prize winners, Dr. Mario Molina and Dr. Sherwood Rowland share the podium with Mr. Achim Steiner, Executive Director of the UN Environment Programme

Photo: C. Mercado

This post was supposed to be for Blog Action Day on 15 October, but I could not make it for Monday because I have been extremely swamped and buried in paper! But since I have made that promise to post something, here is my small contribution to this day, a post about something close to my heart.

During the second week of September, I became part of an historic event in the area of environmental protection: the celebration of the 20th anniversary of the signing of the Montreal Protocol for Substances that Deplete the Ozone Layer. More than just a celebration, the countries who gathered together in Montreal to commemorate the signing of the Montreal Protocol proved their continued commitment to ozone layer protection by agreeing to a faster phase out of another set of ozone depleting substances called HCFCs.

In the last twenty years, so much has been accomplished by this treaty. Studies have in fact shown that the Montreal Protocol has phased out, in its lifetime, a large volume of greenhouse gases (CFCs are also greenhouse gases) therefore is also a large contributor to the fight against climate change!

The Protocol is also the only multilateral environmental agreement that has a dedicated financial mechanism backing it, the Multilateral Fund.

These subjects come easy to me, I have been working in this area for the longest time, but I thought writing about this could perhaps bring people's attentions to something completely ubiquitous in our daily lives that we do not know that it affects something that our future generations will probably have to suffer from.

The ozone layer is a very thin layer of gas that protects the planet from dangerous ultra violet radiation from the sun. When my kids were very young, I explained to them that this could be like the umbrella over our heads that protect it from the sun. That little story has stuck with them because it was easier to imagine it. I am sure you can too.

A number of people do not think very much of ozone depletion as a major environmental problem. It is not as apparent as deforestation where images of vast areas of denuded forests portrays something very real. Nor is it like looking at solid waste where a picture of children swimming happily in floating garbage and debris in river bodies evokes empathy from readers or spectators.

But it is a problem that is as real as those narrated above, only it is more abstract. The ozone layer problem has been portrayed by the size of a "hole" that appears on either of the poles during spring time, and on measurements of ozone gas in the stratosphere. Its depletion causes stunting growth of plants and can affect other living organisms as well. People can get skin cancer from increased UV radiation.

So what are ozone depleting gases? These are the the gases that are in our refrigerators and air conditioners as the coolants (it is also known as freon), the chemical that is used to blow foam for our mattresses and chairs, the substances used in dry cleaning applications, and even those that are in our portable fire extinguishers, and the chemical used to treat soil for vegetable cultivation and food storage in many countries.

Everyday we encounter ozone depleting gases and yet we are not aware of it.

The Montreal Protocol works towards reducing and finally eliminating the use of these substances. In 2010, for instance, because countries have signed onto this treaty, there will hopefully be no more CFCs in the market in developing countries and whatever one sees will be those that are traded illegally or smuggled. Developed countries completed their elimination of CFCs way back in 2000.

HCFCs on the other hand, were initially treated as "transition gases" meaning in a number of CFC applications especially on the use for foam blowing, HCFCs were used as an alternative gas to allow for ending CFC use. Most domestic air conditioners contain HCFC. Think about the sheer numbers of these air conditioners in countries like India and China, not to mention the rest of the world! But the Protocol also included the phase out of these substances, although this was not until 2040 for developing countries.

In Montreal last month, there was a flurry of activity mostly on the corridors of the Palais de Congres where discussions and negotiations were going on about how to eliminate HCFC's faster. Many developing countries were quite concerned about how this acceleration in the phase out date would affect their economies and their industries. By 9 pm on 21 September, the working group on HCFCs finally came to a consensus, and the closing plenary could begin.

I have been involved in many of these discussions in the last 13 years of my working life, but what really struck me at the closing plenary of the Meeting of the Parties to the Montreal Protocol was the statement made by the head of the Chinese delegation. China was one of the countries that needed to negotiate really hard for this adjustment, or rather against it. They are the largest consumer and producer of HCFCs in developing countries.

He emphasised the fact that moving up the deadline for the phase out of this latest substance was something that would mean sacrifices in order to achieve these goals. He said it could mean the loss of jobs for many people in some industries, and stressed that he was somehow going to be a bearer of bad news back home. Despite all these, he mentioned that China realises how important this new control measure is, and that their support is unwavering, for the protection of the ozone layer. This sentiment was echoed by many developing countries in the hall.

The plenary closed at 11:00 pm that night, but despite the fatigue clear in everyone's demeanour, we all felt quite in a celebratory mood. We achieved something important that week, in the end, that was all that mattered.

It was a long and difficult week, but it is during these times that I feel that my job is really worthwhile, and being among people and old friends and colleagues whom I have worked with and shared a commitment for ozone protection, I feel a sense of having achieved something, and contributed to something that I often take for granted because it is something I do everyday.

Plain insecticide won't work on these

2007-10-11T10:21:00.000-05:00

Take-off … a mechanical fly from the Harvard Microrobotics Lab.

Photo: Robert Wood

If you hear any buzzing above you when you are at a public place where some policy discussion is going on, be careful about swatting these "dragonflies", you might be destroying millions worth of research into tiny surveillance equipment that seems to be the "buzz" right now in some places in Washington. Other than that, you might hurt your hands in the process!

Check out this article from the Sydney Morning Herald and tell me whether this is not paranoia at its best!

A Grey Mood...

2007-10-11T08:53:00.000-05:00

Montreal is covered in mist. It is a very grey day today. From my office I can hardly see the tops of adjacent buildings, enveloped in fog as these are....

The weather is finally changing. After a few weeks of unusually warm weather for the season, we are now well into autumn, and I feel quite excited that winter is coming soon, then many thigs will be white. I am feeling colour today, I don't know why.

Grey is an interesting colour, it is one which is "in between" like the moods we get into when we say we are "feeling grey".

So as I look out my window, I wish I can take a box of crayons and color the landscape, transform it into something more vibrant, more alive.

But then I realise that no matter what it looks like outside, what is inside is what matters most. Like people. But very often it is simpler to recognise the superficial physicality of things because it is far less complicated and does not need scrutiny. Nevertheless, I believe that we should look more closely than what is there, because as one saying goes "there is more than meets the eye"....

----------------------------------
Note: This is an old post that I have resurrected and changed just a bit. The funny thing is I feel almost exactly the same as that time I wrote the original post almost a year ago today, and the view outside is a carbon copy of what it was! It has been and will continue to be a busy time, at least until the end of this month, so bear with me folks!! :)

Where am I?

2007-10-03T00:00:00.000-05:00

Wordless Wednesday

Photo by: C. Mercado

Sunrise

2007-09-26T12:04:00.000-05:00

Wordless Wednesday

Photo by: C. Mercado

Haiku today

2007-09-26T00:00:00.000-05:00

"Love lasts forever",
but he meant that it fades quick...
Faster than the sunset

David's weekend question

2007-09-25T07:54:00.000-05:00

Who was your best childhood friend?

(David's Post of the Day, 26 Sept 2007)

Feet on the beach
Photo by: C. Mercado

David always asks these questions that make me think. I struggled with this for a bit before it hit me.

When I was little, my best friend was a girl named Lynn. She was my neighbour. Her family and mine were friends, our mothers taught in the same university, and we grew up together. We literally lived across each other, the distance between our houses a mere 20 meters, and we used to have a lot of fun when were were children. We were also related by affinity. Her father is the sister of my uncle's wife, my uncle being my mother's younger brother.

Lynn had three brothers, two older and one younger. At that time, she was the only girl. Lynn's father was very strict. She was not allowed out after 5 pm (well, so were we, but our parents were a little less hard on us), and she would not even be allowed to peek out the window, especially during school days. But she was a very good girl, and she obeyed without question.

But when we were together, we had so much fun! When her father was not home, we could come to her room and play, and our favourite game used to be "house", where we pretended we were parents, had children, cooked for them and looked after them. As children, this was our way of trying to figure out how real life was. But of course, we were just acting out how our own parents behaved towards us, because that is what we knew.

We would also bring out our cooking sets, cut out leaves and flowers and play cooks. One time when I was about 9 years old, I took out some wood and did some carpentry work and made a wobbly table. This became our little play table for a while, until it fell apart.

Despite being in a small city, Lynn and I went to different schools, so the time we would have together to play would be a little bit between getting home, washing up, homework and dinner, and the weekends. I remember our nightly routine. We would both go home after playing a bit, then after we had washed up, we would both look out our windows and shout at each other across the lane, and show off our nice pajamas! I remember having fun doing that. Little girls loved cute and fancy jammies, and we were no different.

Lynn and I used to share stories about boys, our first crushes, and we would go to the movies together with Marie, an older girl who was also a neighbour. We also took piano lessons together. Their family had a piano while we did not, so the teacher would come on the weekends to her house, and we would take turns with our lessons.

Our playground was the small compound where we lived, made up of not more than ten houses, all of them owned by professors at the university my mother taught in. It also went beyond that, to the grassy coconut grove behind our houses where old fox holes left over from the Second World War were still there. The tall grass often served as hiding places for us kids when we played games. We were outdoors most of the time, and would even climb trees and chase the neighbours' chickens!

While there were also other kids in this place, Lynn and I were the two girls closest in age, and we just bonded.

I cannot remember exactly when it was and how old we were, but I guess it was just the year we turned 10, Lynn's family moved to the big city. This was very traumatic for me since I felt I lost my best friend.

But we kept in touch, wrote letters to one another. They also ended up living in the same subdivision as my uncle, in Manila. Whenever I would come and visit during summer vacations, Lynn and I would carry on as if we were never apart. We were teenagers by this time, and we would take our bikes and just go off biking inside this much bigger compound and meet young boys, mostly friends of her brothers. After they moved, Lynn's mom had two more children, and this time she had another sister and another brother.

We remained friends through the years and saw each other as often as we could, until we finally and truly grew up. When my daughter Kristina was born, I made Lynn one of her god mothers.

But it has been awhile since I saw Lynn, or heard news about her. I was told by my cousin that she has two children, but has not ever married, and that one of her older brothers passed away some years back. I wonder how she is now, and how her whole family is.

David's weekend wandering made me miss her.

A roof with a view

2007-09-24T08:49:00.000-05:00

On the rooftop of the Hotel Place D'Armes

Photo courtesy of www.hotelplacedarmes.com

Friday evening, we were desperate for a drink. The meetings we were in were far from over and we needed to come back at 9 pm for the final plenary. We were told there was a an interesting rooftop bar that was THE place to be seen on Thursday and Friday nights and it was in a hotel a few steps away from the Palais de congres.

Tucked away in Old Montreal is the quaint Hotel Place d'Armes, a boutique hotel housed in old historic buildings. We walked towards it, not knowing what to expect. Getting in through the first door we see which led to a restaurant, I approached the waiter to ask how to get to the rooftop. He promptly points us to the lift and tells us to go to the 7th Floor.

We get off on a small hallway, with a door to our left, and a steel staircase on the side of the wall. There was a wooden terrace after the first set of steps which had two tables and some funky looking chairs, but it was empty. Steve and Julia were quite skeptical about the whole thing now, but I carried on, walked a little further and saw another set of stairs, climbed, and was greeted by a most wonderful sight: the orange setting sun in the horizon, silhouetted between two buildings, the mountain in the distance, and tables filled with people having a drink, chatting and just chilling out after a long week... It was a lovely find. I did not have my camera so missed another photo opportunity (Ok, David, I do get your point now!).

It was not high enough to have the whole city spread in front of us, but the view was still quite breathtaking, and the place felt like an oasis in the midst of the bustling city. Exactly just what we needed at that time. While my friend Steve was saying it was too "cosmopolitan" for him, it was just his old fashioned, hippy comment about the well dressed people around us. Not that we were looking bad ourselves.

The mojitos and the beer helped a lot in getting our groove back. I leaned over the railing and looked down, and saw horse carriages waiting for their fare, across the Notre Dame cathedral. I have always dreamed of getting on one of these, and made Steve promise he would take me... of course he could not refuse! It is so nice to have friends that you can bully to do things like these!

It was nice to hang out, and this new discovery was even better. This goes on my list of favourite haunts from now on....

We were so caught up chatting that we did not realise that time just flew. As I peeked at my wrist watch, it was almost 9 pm, and we needed to get back to work!

My day ended at midnight.

Dream

2007-09-10T09:00:00.000-05:00

Early morning, at home

Photo by: C. Mercado

A rambling old house, who are all these people?
I am walking around, looking for something/someone familiar.

The table was wood, antique wood, with carved legs, benches around it.
Family and friends filled it.
Laughter, banter, food.
There were tens of candles all around, throwing shadows on the walls.
It was domestic bliss at its best.

Then I see a bridge, I walk towards it, and see my father.
He helps me cross since he knows I am scared of bridges.
I don't know why, but I felt the fear, that sensation of stepping onto something stable, but not.. weird feeling.

Suddenly I am in a room, people there, some I know, some complete strangers.
Two catch my eye, my favourite aunts.
But they passed into the other world many years back!
I was happy to see them, hugs, excitement, ceaseless chatter.
I wanted to spend as much time with them, since it has been awhile since I last saw them.

Afterwards, I am walking towards someone, his face is in the shadows, I am not sure whether I recognise him or not.
I felt like this was what I was searching for in the chaos.
Then we were in a garden, the scent of magnolias filled the air.
We sat on a bench, held hands and talked. It was light, happy, filled with tenderness and affection.

Then people stared coming to the garden too, the magic was gone....

I hear a ringing in the distance, and I realise it was my alarm clock. The spell was truly broken this time, since I am awake.

Happiness is....

2007-09-04T01:00:00.000-05:00

Flowers at Chatuchak market, Bangkok, Thailand

Photo: C. Mercado

David asks this weekend question: What makes you happy?

This was quite timely since sometime back, I had made a list of the things that made me smile, ergo, made me happy. Since it is such an easy thing to do, I thought I would just copy that list here, and that would basically answer David's question, and that would be a new post! Is that cheating? I did add a few new ones....

So here is a list of things that make me smile, just in random order...

watching Kara and Kristina sleep like angels

hugs and cuddles from people I love

when my two daughters smile

getting emails from my daughters

personalised cards that my babies make for me

surprises, anything

sunrises and sunsets

poetry, especially if it is read aloud to me

being surrounded by family

knowing that my father and mother are healthy and growing old gracefully

getting my feet wet on the beach

catching snowflakes on my tongue

the smell of incense, coffee, anything baking

when I am looking at old photos and remembering when these were taken

flowers, especially roses, lilies and tulips

warm gulab jamuns

ice cream and apple pie

talking to my family on the phone

Scrabble games

new issues of the New Yorker

cold winter evenings in front of the fire sipping hot chocolate

curling up in my favourite chair with a new book

new shoes!

sitting and holding hands at the movies with my loved one

love letters

baby pictures of Kara and Kris and my nephews and nieces

a nice long walk in the park

Nirmal's goofy grin

chatting with Tanya

the sound of rain

a trip to the hairdresser

a nice, long massage

the smell of lavender

birthdays, birthday cakes, Christmas, any holiday where family is together

being with my friends, simply enjoying their company

And, I am saving the best for last, blogging, reading my friends' blogs and having them read mine and leave lovely comments!!

What makes YOU happy?

Roast chicken noodle soup

2007-09-03T16:30:00.000-05:00

These chickens are still alive, they were not cooked for this story!

Photo: C. Mercado

I think it comes naturally to mothers to try and find ways to prepare left over food, so that our children eat it again. My culinary talents are reasonably okay, but it always is a challenge to convert something that was left from last night's dinner into another culinary delight.

This happened very recently after we had some leftover roast chicken in the fridge. I was looking to make something speedy for my hungry teen aged daughter, and thought I would make the chicken into a soup. Kara was very skeptical, having had the experience of a disastrous left over leg of ham that I tired a soup recipe for after Christmas, so she was not very enthusiastic about it.

Well, to be perfectly honest, I was a bit in a tizzy as well since I felt that Kara had already judged the meal before tasting it, so it was a real challenge for me since I needed to prove that this would be a very tasty dish. I was at least selling it as such.

So, I started chopping tomatoes, onions and garlic and sauteed them in a wok, added the chicken and some chicken flavoured broth cubes, water and left it to simmer. I was at first thinking of putting potatoes and carrots, but decided on noodles instead since Kara is a pasta freak. I rummaged through the pantry and all I could find was spaghettini. Hmm.. I decided to cut these into three pieces and added these to the soup. Seasoned it with a bit of salt and pepper, and I just left it there for a few minutes, hoping that the flavour will come out, and of course I needed to wait for the pasta to be al dente. It was smelling beautifully as well, so I had high hopes.

After ten minutes, I called out to my daughter who was studying in the basement and she asked whether we could have dinner down there. After Kara came to help carry dishes and all, I took a tray with the soup which was looking quite delectable, and asked her to take the first taste.

She tried it, and a big smile broke out on her face, it was delicious! She told me it has this had a familiar, homemade chicken taste, the kind of soup that would be very good on a really cold evening, or when one has a cold. She also said that the flavour of the roast chicken was in there somehow, and it make it a bit different from the normal chicken soup I make. Oh, we had a really nice dinner that night. There was a bit of it left and she had it for breakfast the next day!

This was a one dish that definitely did not have left overs! Now Kara thinks I can whip this up all the time. I can always try...

Sun, sand and surf and family time!

2007-08-26T08:30:00.000-05:00

The kids were all excited. It was a school day, yet they were allowed to stay home. The family was going to the beach. Excursions to the sea always bring pleasure especially to the smaller children.

We do not live far from the beach. Tacloban City is a coastal town. It takes 10 minutes by car. Getting ready took longer. My daughters were still in bed when the littlest boy cousins arrived, which prompted them to rush into our bedroom and roll on the bed with them calling "Ate, ate, wake up! We are going to the beach!". The girls of course were unfazed by the commotion. They were beginning to enjoy this small town life, and with their cousins surrounding them most of the time, they loved the attention they were getting.

Of course the small kids were getting impatient. Floaters were being blown up, there was a yellow ducky, and a shark. I was just the photographer, and all I did was take pictures of everyone. Bathing suits were put on, the girls by this time were up, amused by the ruckus being created all around them. These two young women are not so used to be surrounded by many people, and they enjoy the attention and the chaos and the running around getting things organised.

By 8:30 am, everything seemed to be ready. We had drinking water, snacks for the kids, and some other eats. We were not planning to stay for very long, perhaps until midday, and come back home for lunch. The sun is at its hottest by this time and I did not really want the children to be unnecessarily exposed to UV radiation and get sunburnt. There were of course groans of dissent when they learned we were coming back rather soon, but all agreed it was better than not going at all.

So off we went, in a an apple green multi-cab van, fourteen young people and five adults, my younger brother driving. My mother and sister stayed at home since someone needed to prepare lunch, and make sure that these hungry beach goers get fed when they reached home.

We came to a place we in Tacloban call White beach, but the sand here is not the powdery kind of white you get in other islands in the Philippines, but rather the grey dark volcanic one. We selected a "resort" called Sahara, and settled into one of simple thatched roof cottages that line the beach front.

I lined up the kids and slathered sun screen on each of them, especially the small ones, and they were off to the water in no time, the smaller ones unfazed by the waves. But this is a calm area, and there are no very big waves to speak of, so they were all busy frolicking on the sand, and surf, calling out to each other and just busy playing and having fun. I was telling my daughters that this is the very same beach that I used to come to with my friends when I was in school. It had not changed very much really, except the cottages were a little nicer.

Here, everyone still swam in shorts and t-shirts, women wearing bathing suits were quite rare, since people would ogle and watch. This is after all, still a small and quite conservative town. We do not get very many tourists and only the locals swim in these parts.

I also pointed out to them the sign that read "Swim at your own risk", a very Filipino warning, so I told the bigger kids to make sure they looked after the younger ones, and were always counting to see that everyone was accounted for.

This was bliss for me, my camera and I had fun taking snaps of the kids playing, they were calling out to me from the water, and I was content to watch all my babies (I am very protective of my nephews, nieces and my own girls!) enjoy themselves. I did not get into the water myself, but just waded knee deep to enjoy the warm water.

It was also great to see the cousins all bonding, they were playing sand castles, and burying my brother in the sand, and obviously they all posed for pictures!

I could see fishing boats in the distance, some of them getting ready to come in with their catch of the day. I told one of my nephews to look out for some of them in the hope of getting fresh fish.

When we were very young, we would come to the beach at 6:30 in the morning. The sun would just be warm enough, and we would have a refreshing dip in the water, wait for the fishing boats to come, buy some fish and grill them for breakfast. We had fun then, and I could see that everyone was having the same fun now.

Three hours after, we gathered the kids and told them it was time to go home. It was a lovely morning that did not end there, more adventures were to come in the afternoon.

But that shall be the subject of another post!

Photos by: C. Mercado

A simple life

2007-08-24T07:30:00.000-05:00

Coconut trees in the clouds

Photo by: C. Mercado

The rooster was crowing outside, and I could see a bit of sunlight drifting into my bedroom. As I was lazily stretching and slowly waking up, I could hear small noises outside my door, signs of a household slowly awakening to another day.

It was 5 o'clock on a Sunday morning, and I could already hear the church bells pealing in the distance. My father reminded us all the night before that mass was at six o'clock. I watched my daughters stir, these city girls who are not so used to the early waking hours of provincial life. I slowly got up, kissed my parents good morning (oh, it is so wonderful to be able to do this each morning, brings me back to when I was a child where we would hug our parents each morning as we awoke!). I decided I would use the bathroom first, give the girls a few more minutes of time in bed.

All the other nephews and nieces in the household were now up as well, each one getting ready, in Sunday's best as it always is when we go to church, and by the time the bell started to peal frantically, signalling that Mass was about to begin, we were on our way out. The church is just across the road from our compound. The priest had just arrived as we were settling into our wooden pews. My two girls by now were dressed and were quite wide awake, the younger one remarking that God gets up very early in the province!

The church is just a large chapel really. I still remember how it looked like many years back, when it was just a square wooden structure with thatched roof, a wooden table for an altar, and each one had to bring their own chairs to Mass. A few years after, the townspeople decided they needed a bigger place and started a collection drive, people contributed building materials, etc, and now it stands as a simple concrete white building, just big enough to hold maybe 100 people or less comfortably, with its own wooden pews and some plastic chairs, a more decent altar and a simple tabernacle.

The choir was made up of four young girls dressed in white togas, singing to the accompaniment of a guitar and drums making beautiful music. Filipinos are after all quite good singers. I was surprised by the drums, expecting a keyboard more than anything. The local hymns were suddenly familiar, and I found myself singing along with my family, as the mass went on.

The chapel is located on a main road, so you have the additional sound of colourful jeepneys rushing by the drivers respectfully trying to keep their hands off their horns, motorcycles roaring through, and all sorts of vehicles plying that road to the airport. Worship suddenly becomes not just a spiritual experience but a noisy one as well!

While the priest continued his sermon, I am half listening and looking around observing those who have come to pay their respects this Sunday. Many faces are familiar, I grew up in this little town and while I have become somewhat a "stranger" having been away for so long, many of the old residents recognise me, mostly as a the young, gangly high school girl who giggled a lot and had a ready smile for everyone.

As the Mass ended and the last hymn was sung, we kissed our parents, the kids their grandparents and people came to say hello. They were mostly curious of my two daughters who spoke a different dialect, which is always something unusual. We also gave my sister a big hug and a kiss since it was her birthday, and Kristina bought her flowers from a young vendor waiting outside the chapel.

Some of the young kids then went and bought pan de sal, a local breakfast fare, bread which is a bit salty and sweet, and we made our way back home. We had a big feast to prepare that day, to celebrate birthdays: my sister's, my father's two weeks before and my mother's which was the weekend after.

Everyone was looking forward to that... and to meeting aunts and uncles and other cousins who were invited to share this party.

This is where I grew up, my life.... my parent's life, my family's, and for me, it is a most unusual feeling that after living so far away, when I get home, it seems as if it just picks up where I had left it, years ago.

Jetlag

2007-08-22T04:00:00.000-05:00

It is three in the morning, and I am wide awake. We just got back to Montreal the other night, and I am still feeling the effects of jet lag. It is such an unusual feeling, your brain seems to be wide awake, yet your body craves sleep. I tried very hard to shut my eyes and stay in bed, but it was not working, so here I am, posting something short while drinking hot chocolate and eating cookies. At least I am feeding my body with a bit of nourishment, if not sleep.

But the main thing is I am back, and I have missed all of you my blogger friends out there, but I know you all understand the need to get away and recharge.

I had the most wonderful time in the last three weeks, and it was truly great to be around family and friends and to feel their love and affection.

This trip was also important in understanding some things in my life... getting clarity and certainty about issues, and feeling happy about them. I had talks that made me even more certain about my feelings. It is wonderful to know that I am loved, that I love as much in return, and that hope springs eternal. It is all a matter of faith and trust. I now understand better the saying that life is a journey that needs to be savoured, and that we should let it carry us, and not control it. And time is on my side.

I am in a good place now, and life is good...

Back Home

2007-08-05T08:09:00.000-05:00

The air was thick with heat, and I felt enervated. It has been awhile since I have been exposed to this heavy, humid weather and I could physically feel how my body was reacting to the pervading warmth.

The sky was filled with dark, brooding clouds. My father told me it has been like this for the past week, the threat of rain hovering, yet not quite making it. This compounded the humidity that hung in the air. One wished the sky would just open into a downpour to relieve this, yet there was nothing one could do.

Today, as my brothers, sister and I were driving to a shop to get some stuff, the rain finally fell. Large torrents of water, gigantic raindrops. When it rains in the Philippines, it really pours. It felt like a blessing. The earth here has been parched for so long. The news is rife about rivers and streams drying up, cracks showing on the shores of many water bodies.

The power of this downpour was accompanied by thunder and lightning. My usual kind of thing and I was exhilarated. I felt the rain on my face while running towards the car, and I was laughing so hard when I got in that my 5 year old nephew was very amused, and kept repeating, “Aunty is wet!”

I have been back in my hometown for four days now. My last visit was two years ago. Nothing has changed here, except perhaps for the fact that there are more people, more cars and heavier traffic. The city centre is all too familiar, and it seems a bit disconcerting to be walking in the same place I used to stroll through when I was young.

The drive to the city goes through a boulevard where the view of the Bay is the highlight. Well, for me at least. I guess everyone who lives here is so blasé about the whole thing, that this is just a natural part of the scenery which of course it is. But the smell of sea and the images it conjures of fishing boats coming in laden with the day’s catch never fails to impress me.

I live in a large island, you see, and we are surrounded with water. The beach is fifteen minutes away, and while I have not had the chance to go there (blame it on the jetlag!), this is definitely in the works for the next few days.

My nephews and nieces have grown up. They gather round me and shower me with hugs and kisses, laugh with me and tell me jokes. The teenagers share their stories of girls and boys with me, and the younger ones recount their days in school, when they get home in the afternoons. I have the chance to help them with a bit of their homework, it feels so good to be home and surrounded by my family.

Mealtimes are always a treat, although chaotic. We are a big family. My two brothers have three boys each, and my sister has five children, while I have two. Since I have come home, everybody eats at home at dinnertime so you can imagine how it is. Two tables are set, one for the adults and the older kids, while another for the younger ones. There is so much banter going around at mealtimes, but the kids are also in charge of preparing the table and putting things away. I am sometimes amazed at how these kids have grown up, the same way that I still look upon my daughters with awe when I realize that are at the cusp of adulthood now.

My two girls came yesterday. It is not very often that they get a chance to spend time with my family, this will be one of the few. Sometimes when I look at my nephews and nieces and the natural closeness they have with my parents, especially my father who has looked after them for so long, I feel a little tinge of regret that my daughters did not get to experience this. My father often voices out very similar sentiments. This is why these few visits are always very important to me, and to them, I suppose, an opportunity to reconnect with family and roots, to explore where we came from and see where we are right now.

It may be too short, but the memories that will be collected will last a very long time.

Tacloban City, Philippines

Alone time

2007-07-27T01:00:00.000-05:00

Stranger reading under a tree, Murray Hill park, Montreal

Photo by: C. Mercado

It has been two weeks since my girls left for their summer hols. I have been on my own for most of this time, and I discovered something extraordinary: I actually LOVE my solitude!

This is all really new for me. While I used to cherish the few times I was on my own in the past, I have always been surrounded by people. My recollection of the last time I was truly alone was when Kara went to a school trip for a weekend. Otherwise, there are always different folks in my life.

The wonderful thing about being on my own is that I am not responsible for anyone but myself. And I can tell you that this is BLISS, even if it is only for a short while. For the past two weeks, my mornings are always unhurried, I wake up lazily while letting myself feel how lucky I am to be alive, and prepare myself to face a new day. I sometimes take a bit of time after I get up to do a bit of yoga, stretch my limbs and open my mind.

I savour my cup of tea and biscuit , very often in complete silence with only my thoughts for company. It is amazingly refreshing to explore new ideas in the morning. For me, each dawn comes with a new resolution, whether it is just being calm for the day and to go with the flow, or realise that certain decisions have to be made. I have never really enjoyed my imposed solitary life more than in the mornings when I am just awash with new and positive feelings. It is always during this time when I have clarity of purpose for some things in my life.

My day does not often end up the way I want it. But in the recent months, I have also realised that even the best laid plans can go awry, I am sure everyone will agree.

The evenings are even better. The last few days have seen me savouring all the different events the city has to offer. Outdoor concerts, dinner out with friends, or plainly just hanging with people I like. I get home feeling quite good about myself. The strange thing is there have been a number of times when I did not feel like being with anyone, and wanted to hurry home and just be on my own, curl up on my comfortable chair and read.

I have even surprised myself by actually letting life just carry me, and I marvel at how when I let go of things, these somehow become easier to bear. With this I also realise with certainty that this is where I am meant to be at this specific place and time, and it is not too bad. I have learned to roll with the punches, and I am definitely teaching myself to better appreciate me, myself and my needs.

I know that may sound very selfish, but I found out that when my needs are clear, I am in a better position to know what I truly want and go for what I can get. I also find that nowadays, I am often very demanding about this aspect of my life. While I do not want to come across as very onerous and difficult, I do think that the people who truly value me in their lives will give me the respect and allow me to express what I sincerely want, and try to accommodate this. I say this because I do the same for people who are important to me too.

I also find that when I love myself enough, I am able to give more to those I care about. At the same time, I also allow myself to accept love and cherish it.

When I love myself enough, I can also easily say to myself, "hey, you are not too bad, in fact, you are quite something!" and believe it.

Haiku

2007-07-26T18:00:00.000-05:00

Twilight quickly fades..
I taste your skin on mine lips..
I’m lost forever.

Phnom Penh, Cambodia
Photo: C. Mercado

Shapeshifters

2007-07-13T12:30:00.000-05:00

Mystique of X-Men

Photo courtesy of : http://xmen.ugo.com/

I am fascinated by some comic book characters who can change shapes. Metamorphose into another physical being, either a different person or an animal. When I was a child I read a lot of comic books and fairy tales. Escape into the world of fantasy was something I loved doing. I read X-Men, Fantastic Four, Superman, all the superheroes who were normal people during their normal lives but change into powerful beings when they needed to save the down trodden.

While the idea of shapeshifting is more prominent in mythology and folklore rather than reality, I feel that we humans are shapeshifters ourselves. Perhaps not in a truly physical sense, but the fact that we can be different personalities in front of different people, is a form of changing oneself. Teenagers are the perfect examples. They can be smiling and happy at one given moment, and suddenly change completely into a total stranger even in front of our very eyes.

Each of may have had similar experiences ourselves. Isn't it odd that we feel very happy in front of other people, then when someone who we are not very comfortable appears, we feel like we are being transformed into another person? Our eyes glaze over, we feel angry and annoyed, or just distant, somehow we are overtaken by another personality, and we wonder where the other one went.

This is what draws me to the subject. Is this transformation voluntary, or does it happen without us being aware of it? Surely even these temporary changes in personality have a reason? Maybe sometimes we want to hide our real selves, and in so doing involuntarily acquire the qualities of the person totally our opposite. It can be very disconcerting at times, to be in a state where one feels that there is some "acting" going on, and even if one is aware of it, the situations seems to be beyond the person's control.

Have you ever been in a situation where the consequences made you ask, "Who was that person? Surely that wasn't me, I would not have acted in such a manner?"

In the X-Men, Mystique transformed into someone familiar to her enemy, to get close, to be able to do something without the other person being aware of it until too late. In the TV series Heroes, one character was also a shapeshifter, she took on the faces of her enemies as well, pretend they are someone they are not. When Sylar stole her powers, he used it to his advantage, he pretended to be Nathan after he destroyed him, and in doing so opened up many possibilities for him to exact revenge on his enemies.

Have you had similar experiences yourself? Something for you to think about over the weekend!

Thunderstorm

2007-07-11T23:00:00.000-05:00

Photo courtesy of :earthobservatory.nasa.gov/.../2005011118157.html

My daughter Kara had a doctor's appointment this afternoon. As we drove to the hospital, the sun was shining brightly and it looked like the beautiful weather will continue until the evening. There is a bit of a walk to get to the doctor's offices, the parking lot being on the other side. No more than perhaps 200 meters. Well, the building is, but the block where the office is located is a maze of underground corridors and lifts, and it took us a while to get used to it.

As we sat in the doctor's office waiting for him to finish his notes of the consultation, I could see heavy rainclouds gathering on the horizon, moving faster towards where we were. Kara and I looked at each other, the sky looked like it would open up any minute, and we did not really want to get caught in the downpour! Thankfully, the doctor also got up to shake our hands and wish us a happy summer, afterwhich we both hurried to get to the car.

When we stepped out of the building, there was still a bit of sun, and I was trying to make my daughter walk faster, since I could feel a drop or two of rain. She was not worried, but as we got closer to the parking lot, it really poured, and we had to run the last 20 meters to the car but we were already quite wet by then, almost drenched to the skin but not quite.

We laughed and giggled as we settled into the warmth of the car! It is very seldom that we get wet in the rain. We were both quite thrilled and excited over this experience. You see, there is a Filipino belief that if you get rained on, you will fall sick. I have always been wary of getting wet in the rain although I love it from indoors. In my whole life, I could probably count with my fingers the number of times I was actually out wet in the rain, without a brolly. Five max, I swear!

The heavens clearly seemed to want to empty all their misery, is all I can say since it was really pouring, and thunder and lightning followed its wake.

I love thunderstorms. I love it especially at night when I am cuddled up in my warm bed. The sound of thunder and the flash of lightning evokes memories of the song "My Favourite Things" from the Sound of Music. When the kids were small, we used to all huddle under the sheets together. I get scared of them too, but have to be brave for the smaller ones!

It is nature's light and sound show.

I always wonder how it would be like to step out into one, to feel almost one with nature raging all around you. The beauty of thunderstorms is that while these can be very destructive when bad ones really hit, those quick and fast ones are always a sight to behold.

Today, I sat by the window and watched.. for a little while.. and thought about my own inner thunderstorms. I realised that the strength of my emotions can sometimes get the better of me, but when these wane, it always signals better days to come!

Haiku

2007-07-10T10:30:00.000-05:00

Flickering candlelight
threw shadows on the blue walls
when I fell in love.

Photo by: Nirmal Ghosh

Rock the Casbah!

2007-07-10T00:00:00.000-05:00

Sunday night's concert was a very fitting end to the 28th Montreal International Jazz Festival. Rachid Taha in person, au plein air. Have a look at the touching review on how he rocked the house down!

It was a cool night. The cab driver who brought me to the corner of St. Catherine and Bleury wondered loudly whether summer had passed us by, since it had been raining the last few days and there were scattered rainshowers the whole afternoon. I was in fact wondering whether I needed an umbrella, since the evening's forecast was for more rain. I was saying a silent prayer to hopefully keep those dark clouds away, since I did not want it to ruin the final show!

As I walked towards the Scene General Motors (the main stage) on St. Catherine at Place des Arts, people were already spilling out of the sidewalks, and I wondered how I would find my friend Ruth in this crowd! Thank goodness for cellphones! While waiting, I was trying to figure out the best way to get closer to the stage, to at least be at some vantage point where we could see what was happening.

Ruth finally came with about half an hour left to spare. We jostled and pushed our way through a very polite crowd, I must say, and braved standing on what we knew was the pathway to the exit. We tried to push ourselves to the side, and for some reason got through to the barrier and decided this was the best place: close to the exit path with lots of fresh air, and bit of space to dance. Well, the last bit was a bit of a dream, there was just about enough room to wiggle, and if one tried belly dancing, it was certainly a challenge!

While I have listened to Rachid Taha's music, this is my first time to see him perform live. As the clock ticked closer to 9:00 pm, there was an electricity going through the crowd, and the palpable anticipation of a good time. Beer overflowed, many young men with large trays of glasses and glasses of Heineken were weaving their way around the crowds since no one could navigate to any of the make shift bars close by, for fear of losing precious floor space!

After the usual introductions, Rachid appears on stage, with the strains of Summertime on the trumpet, and this Algerian activist and rock icon brought the whole house down. It was a hot evening with rai, techno and other beats emanating from the stage, and obviously people could not help but dance to the rhythms! And when they played a classic from the Clash "Rock the Casbah", his version, Mick Jones, an ex-Clash guitarist was there to lend a hand, and I can tell you, the whole crowd was wild!

We did not realise how big the crowd really was until we left the venue at around 11:00 pm, when the party was still in full swing, but the concert was on its last song. All the streest around the Place des Arts wwere packed with people, content to watch the whole concert on the wide screens that were around. I wish I had my camera!

The Jazz Festival is over for this year, and I still wished I could have seen more of it. I missed Manu Chao, Angelique Kidjo, Bob Dylan and even Nikki Yanofsky, a 13-year old Montrealer who can scat like there is no tomorrow.

But this week, the African music festival starts, and it promises to be an interesting week again! Let us hope that the weather holds and gives us some sun, to make the open air concerts more enjoyable!

In the meantime, I leave you with a YouTube version of Rock El Casbah from Rachid Taha to show you what you've missed.

Inspiration

2007-07-09T13:22:00.000-05:00

something red along Westmount Avenue, Montreal

photo by: C. Mercado

It is funny how I get brainwaves from anything. These could be lyrics of a song, or even just the song title. Sometimes the weather provides me with ideas. In a few instances, snippets of conversation, or even a word in a discussion makes me think of writing something. A memory, a familiar glance, a picture, these flashes of inspiration at any time makes me reach into my deep bag to to unearth the little notebook I carry with me for these purposes exactly. I scribble a few words for fear of losing them, because this has happened to me many times, where I compose beautiful prose in my head, and forget them just as promptly as these words come together.

Inspiration comes in many forms, and we see these differently as individuals, since often they reflect our own experiences and our unique view of life. The word itself is seen to be positive, often conjuring happy images... Saying "I have an inspiration" or "I am inspired" quickly projects that one has something quite important to tell, something wonderful to share.

But does inspiration always have to be positive? While these may bring a acceptable outcomes in the sense that thinking about something makes one more sensitive to emotions, can't we also have insights to do something that could make other people listen up and take note, albeit not in a nice happy way?

I like to think that I always feel inspired. Even when I am sad, I am inspired to think of happy thoughts, to lift my spirits up. Isn't that an odd thing to say? I hear the strings of a familiar song, and I feel compelled to write something about it. I see a beautiful sunrise or sunset and the urge to capture it in a photograph is so strong. A sad memory drifts through my mind, and I become even more convinced to just let the feeling wash, the pain stay and feel it, deeply.

Is this inspiration?

As I sit here writing about this, one thought occurs to me: what would be the opposite of inspiration. Desperation? Does the word convey enough of total discouragement?

Think about it and let me know.

Poetry

2007-07-07T00:00:00.000-05:00

Bako National Park

Nomad

weary feet, aching arms, take me home, please….
around the world, he goes around in circles
seeking yet never finding,
wanting but wary of having,
he who tries too hard never gets it.

while she waits… stalls, bides her time.
“stick around,” he says…"i like being with you"...
she wonders why..

she still wonders why.

Not a typical haiku

2007-07-06T00:00:00.000-05:00

I, the little child,
Barefoot, laughing in the wind,
Sun-kissed face, hands outstretched... catch!

Le petit Julien
Photo copyright: Jon Higgins

Hellos and goodbyes

2007-07-05T11:00:00.000-05:00

Cristina and me, at her farewell dinner

I hate goodbyes. Last weekend I just said goodbye to a beautiful and amazing woman who became a friend in the past year I have lived in this city. We clicked immediately when we met, she actually remembered that we had seen each other earlier, about 2 years ago in Bangkok where we were at the same meeting. She has gone back to Nairobi, our headquarters and we don't know when we will be in the same city once more, breathing the same air.

I will miss her, miss having coffee each morning and just yearn for those moments whe we sit and chat and talk about life, over a glass of wine. She somehow always knew if I was not feeling okay, perhaps a little depressed for personal reasons, or just feeling out of sorts. I will definitely look for these in the next few days and weeks and perhaps the next few months

The trouble is, because of the nature of my job where I tend to move around countries for assignments, hellos and goodbyes are a characteristic part of my life. Well, I guess it is for most people too. But there are friends out there who remain friends despite the distance, and these I cherish very much. There are also those who promise eternal friendships yet these remain just words and cannot even keep in touch. I try to keep them at arms length, maybe as natural way of shielding myself from being hurt.

I have lived in four countries in the past 44 years. The travel and the excitement never wanes for me, but the adjustments are never easy. I have to say that luck has always been at my side that I never really had a hard time adjusting to the new places I find myself in. I always manage to find wonderful homes and good neighborhoods to live in, and seem to find it easy going around. Even different languages do not really deter me. These can be daunting at first, I have to admit, but I always keep an open mind.

But the attachments and the friendships I form are the most rewarding of all these. A colleague once told me that she tries to become less attached to the new people in new places because she does not like feeling sad when she leaves again. I guess sometimes I feel the same way too, but I think that defeats the purpose of personal interaction. Sadness is an inevitable consequence of happiness, and vice versa. Such is life. I cannot imagine my life without the richness that all these different friends have brought into it. I will not allow myself to be superficial with people I meet and like just because I am scared of leaving, and being potentially depressed when we part. I just will not.

I move around the world gathering memories, embracing the differences and similarities that I have with these people, giving and taking affection and love, expressing honesty and openness, just giving a little bit of me because what I receive is much, much more. And when we are full, we tend to give more and more back because there is just so much to share.

I am who I am because of these experiences and I would not trade it for anything in the world, even if eventually I will have to say goodbye.

But come to think of it, when we say good bye to someone, the next time we meet we will have to say hello, isn't that a wonderful feeling to anticipate?

Haiku

2007-07-02T12:00:00.000-05:00

Bask in sun drenched me
You, only you my dearest
My soul aches for you

Angkor, Cambodia

Photo copyright: C. Mercado

The Interview

2007-07-02T09:00:00.000-05:00

Bob the Bear, himself

I have been fascinated by this blog interview stuff. It reveals things about our blogger friends that we did not know, and often they make for interesting discoveries! I was put in the hot seat by Chewy in my post Unravelling Me (well, I volunteered, but...), and I was fortunate to have Bob the bear ask to be interviewed!

It is not easy writing interview questions for a bear, but I thought I would try anyway. After sending these by email, I received a response from Bob's mum really worried that little Bob would find the questions "too grown up". As I was getting ready to draft more "bear appropriate" ones, I got another email telling me that the cheeky little bear found his way to the questions and answered them as is!

Believe me, it makes very interesting reading, so please if you want to learn more about a little bear and his philosophy in life, visit Bob T. Bear's Diary. I can assure you enjoyment in learning about this little nose hugging bear!

My mantra

2007-06-29T12:00:00.000-05:00

At home

Photo by: Tanya Ghosh

Every day, think as you wake up.

Today I am fortunate to have woken up, I am alive, I have a precious human life, I am not going to waste it.

I am going to use all of my energies to develop myself.

To expand my heart out to others: to achieve enlightenment for the benefit of all beings.

I am going to have only kind thoughts towards others.

I am not going to get angry, or think badly about others.

I am going to benefit others as much as I can.

The Dalai Lama

--------------------

Note:

I found the above quotation at my friend Karoline's site, and for some reason, it reflects what I really feel about life lately, and thought I would share it. The wisdom that often comes with time and healing hits during the most unexpected times, but I know and feel that it is all good!

If you have not visited Karoline, please do, she is an extraordinary woman!

Unravelling me

2007-06-29T00:00:00.000-05:00

Clouds over Montreal

Photo: C. Mercado

I volunteered to be interviewed by Chewy, I thought this a good way to respond to random questions, hopefully giving a bit more of an insight into me than what you can find in my blog. I was so fascinated by the responses of other blogger friends like Carol, Bart and Chewy, that I decided I wanted to be part of this too.. So here goes.....

Let me know if you want to be interviewed, I can dream up bizarre questions for you to answer. If you do, leave me a comment saying "Interview Me", and we shall go from there.

1. "Dance with the Sun" is a great title for your blog and phaseoutgirl makes me wonder... Are you the moon? (I am not being funny.)

While I do not thrive very well in hot weather, I love the sun. My post title and my pseudonym (phaseoutgirl) actually both have something to do with my work. I work with a big international initiative to protect the ozone layer, and therefore encourage the elimination of the use of ozone depleting substances. The ozone layer protects us from the harmful UV rays from the sun, and if I truly do my work right, then I can Dance with the Sun without fear of getting skin cancer!

I had initially thought that this blog will be more about my work, to record the international work that we are doing, and to try and convince people to do their own bit. But it has somehow evolved into something of a more personal space which I do not really regret since I think this also shows a side of me that not too many people know. Again it provides me a respite from the very "serious" discussions and work that I do on a daily basis, and writing here in a more creative way keeps me sane! David from authorblog does have something to do with the continuation of this blog. He is my inspiration, the guy is just wonderful, he is a true mentor, and I am proud to be his friend!

Well, I never thought of being the moon, but I know that when it is a full moon, it affects me. Does that make me a bit of a lunatic? Hmmm.. perhaps!

2. You seem to be deeply spiritual. Do you belong or relate to any religion?

I was born Catholic, and continue to practice as much as I can, which includes regularly going to Sunday Mass. I do feel that I am a spiritual being, but this spirituality emerges not just from the fact that I am Christian, but also because I often learn from other beliefs like Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam etc and bring this into the way I live life. I believe that as long as we respect each other's beliefs we should all be able to live in harmony because when we come to think about it, there is really nothing that makes one religion or belief better than another. I believe in a Being larger and bigger than any of us, and this is not contrary to what other faiths believe in, too. I just wish more people would be as open minded.

3. You love to travel. The plane is boarding, where are you off to? Why?

My boarding pass says Bangkok. I guess this is where I want to be. I left my heart there, and it will always be a second home for me. It was not easy for me to leave, I had to make a few sacrifices for the whole career thing. I have often wondered whether it was a good thing to do, but I am also now more certain that it would not have changed the situation that I am in right now had I stayed. But I still want to be in Bangkok, right now, right this instant!!

And I realise as I look at my boarding pass again that Bangkok is just a transit place, my final destination is India! I have said this over and over again, and I know many people find this very odd, but if I had to live somewhere when I am old and grey, it will most probably be in India. I will be in the hills, planting mushrooms!! Call it karma, call it reincarnation, or whatever, I just feel very strongly about this country, and really think I was probably an Indian in my past life! Don't laugh!

4. The world will end tomorrow. How will you spend your last day?

As we sat and watched TV, I asked my daughter this question. She said "We shall eat!" I thought that was funny.

But with only 24 hours in a day, how can you cram everything you want to do or hope to do in that span of time? I will most probably spend a lot of time praying and meditating, and going through a bit of my life, a contemplation, a review so to speak. I will also be on the phone with my loved ones telling them I love them... I will play Scrabble with my daughters, lie down and cuddle up with them in bed and tell them stories like I did when they were little, and I will tell them how much I love them, and how my life would not have been the same without them in it.

It honestly is not an easy question to answer, but my most fervent wish would be for me to spend it with my daughters and do whatever we used to do: pillowfights, bake and eat, chat, dance, sing.... I will just savour what I can in this little span of time..

Oh Dar, that was hard! And it made me sad!

5. Who's your favorite photographer or artist?

One of my favourite photographers was a personal and dear friend who is sorely missed, Naresh Singh. I thought he was very creative and I admired his work so much.

Being the romantic that I am, I also loved Robert Doisneau's photos, especially the kiss. I am not so original in this, but that photo for some reason, struck me even before I lived in Paris. And even more so after experiencing the city.

Artists? One of my earliest recollections of works that stayed with me was Dali's Persistence of Memory, I guess that makes him a favourite although I don't really like his other paintings. I don't know why this painting of melting clocks and watches affected me.
Oh, and Monet's waterlilies series... they are absolutely stunning!!

I do have to add that I like your (Darlene) paintings, too, and not just because we are iFriends (hehehehe) but because I truly do!

----------------------------------------------------------
Do YOU want to be interviewed?

Interview rules:
1. Leave me a comment saying "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with a post containing your answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

One last time

2007-06-28T00:30:00.000-05:00

Photo by: Nirmal Ghosh

The plane touched down at the small airport, and she was filled with excitement. She stole a glance at the man next to her and thought to herself how lucky she was to be with him! They both shared an affectionate glance, one that promised that the next few days will be filled with beautiful moments.

But she could not help the butterflies in her stomach. This was to be the last time they would be together for a long time. She was going away and no one knew that the future held for both of them. She wondered what he thought. She shrugged these thoughts off and promised herself that she would only be positive and live for the moment.

This beautiful, sleepy town was the perfect setting for their few days together. They were both very busy, him particularly, and it was quite a feat to be able to take time off and just chill. She was looking forward to these days very much, and so was he.

It would not be the first time they travelled together. They did once, at the end of last year. That was the first time, and it did not go too badly. While she had expectations of how that trip should have turned out, these were met with high marks, and she was very pleased.

The hotel's service car was waiting for them, and the driver was a nice, quite chatty man who kept asking questions. It was quite amusing to humor him and respond to all his excited chatter, but they both wanted to get to the hotel and freshen up, perhaps take a little nap, maybe a short walk aiming towards an early dinner.

It was not a very long drive to the hotel, and their first impressions of this small city were not disappointing. They both knew that there was not very much to do here, friends told them that this was really a place where one just relaxed, walked, and basically get away from it all. That was what they wanted anyway, to be far from the madding crowd, to have these few days to perhaps talk without any interruptions, to just be there for each other and for no one else.

The hotel was a quaint place. Recommended by a friend, it was a renovated old house with large wooden doors that folded to the side to reveal a large, airy open space where the reception was: a medium sized desk in the corner of the room which doubled up as the lobby, the bar and the restaurant. It was tastefully furnished, with big hanging lanterns in the middle and a wonderfully comfortable couch to the side.

Food in the restaurant was good, they were told the owner himself was the chef. An Englishman who decided to stay in the region and make a life as a hotelier cum restaurateur. Not a bad thing to do, since the place really really cool and chic.

Their room was just lovely. It was very simple, yet elegant in a way, with a big hardwood bed in the middle. Everything was wood, the floors, the furniture. Blue curtains fluttered on the shingled and carved large windows. A door opened onto a small balcony overlooking the street, and as she stepped out to check the view, a light rain started. Across the road was a river, this was part of a larger one that snaked through the whole city. The gathering rain clouds covered the view in mist, and gave it an old world feeling. Imagine being on a slow boat on a quiet river, with a bit of rain, and no sound except those of crickets and the slow sloshing of the paddle on the water. That was how she felt.

In those few days, they laughed, made love, talked. Oh they talked a lot, and cried together. They tore apart their pasts, tried to battle the demons that stalked them, all in that space of time. They were both quite scared about what the future would bring, but they promised to love each other, and look after one another, even at a distance. They even mentioned the potential of a more permanent relationship. It was an uncertain time for both of them. But they were both very positive, and despite the insecurities that each felt, they knew deep in their hearts that they would try as much as they can to make it work. They already gave too much of each other to one another to just simply throw this all away. They were both aware of that.

It was also one of the first times where they were able to share feelings and emotions without inhibitions. They were themselves, nothing in between, just their raw, exposed selves, letting the other know truly how they felt, shared their fears, knowing that perhaps it will be a while before they have the opportunity to do this again. They spoke aloud what was in their hearts. It was not surprising that a stronger bond was forged between them after that.

They explored the city, walked a lot, discovered little nooks and crannies everywhere, and made their own memories. They put their own stamp to this place, this very special place that would forever be remembered for simply being beautiful for both of them.

On their last night, they celebrated their love in the only way they knew: to give themselves to each other with the passion, intensity, closeness and affection that only each other knew the depth of. These two lonely souls who met in the most unusual of circumstances, and whose relationship blossomed in the oddest of situations finally became one.

It was the most exquisite way to say goodbye.

Haiku

2007-06-21T11:00:00.000-05:00

Do not think me gone
just because you cannot see.
My heart is in you.

Photo by C. Mercado

A dream's kiss

2007-06-20T14:30:00.000-05:00

So, ok, since we all seem to be in this writing mode, I am inspired by Carol's news, and in following a little bit of what Bart has done, I am posting here an excerpt of something that I have been writing forever. I am still not sure what form this will take, but it has been a work in progress (more work than progress!) for a few years now. I do need to maybe take this a bit seriously if I truly want it to go anywhere, but at the moment, I am only writing for myself, and will decide what to do when the whole story and plot are firm in my head. At the moment, I have about 25 pages of text, but I don't even know where this will go!!!

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She had a strange dream. In it, she was having a conversation with him, a very intimate one. The details escape her now as they did then, but she recalls feeling so much warmth, affection and love in that dream. She also recalls leaning her head onto his shoulders and him kissing her. It was a short kiss, not a lingering one, yet it was filled with feeling and she felt it all over, in the dream and physically in her sleep.

She awoke with a start. The feeling of his lips still on hers, it felt so real. What is the matter with her? Why is she having dreams kissing a stranger? Her subconscious must be telling her something, but what? How can she face him today? Is that how his lips really felt, warm and moist on hers, and so full of love? Shaking off these feelings, she decided that there was no point in trying to get back to sleep. The night was cool, and she wanted to take a walk to clear her head. But she was not really brave enough to go out on her own, not in a strange city and and an even stranger country.

She threw a glance at her surroundings. Her hotel room was tiny, the bed was barely big enough for her. She thought about him again and wondered how he managed to fit in his own bed. They were all the same, these rooms: old and drab, insignificant little spaces, just a place to crash after a long, hard day when there is very little need for comfort. Sometimes she wished it was a little bit more lavish, but then she was not here for a vacation, so she told herself to forget it.

She was very disturbed by this dream, and needed to shake off these feelings of unease, yet she also felt exhilarated, in a way when one is expecting something to happen yet not know what it is. Like when you are waiting to exhale. But she knew that this sense of anticipation was treading on dangerous ground, and she wanted to be careful.

Was he thinking of her too? Did he dream the same dream? She’s caught him a few times photographing her on those walks they all took, and he always looked very sheepish when their eyes met, as if he was caught doing something he shouldn't be doing. She has also sensed his stare on her back a few times, feeling like he was running his eyes down her whole body and willing her to turn and meet his glance. She felt the tingling sensation of this look. Their eyes sometimes met across the room, very often just a fleeting but meaningful awareness of each other. This was so disconcerting, and she did not know what to make of it, and how to react.

Sometimes, she feels very trapped by her very conservative and almost prudish upbringing, where everything needed to be within the confines of what society dictated and there was no room to be anything else. Although her family was more open minded than other people in the small town where she came from, she still felt that there was something more out there that needed to be explored, yet her existence has been so much in conformity with what everyone expected that she could see no room to move around. Very often she feels this need to push this to the limits and wonder what the consequences will be.

But there is also that fear in her that somehow her very settled world will all crumble to pieces if ever this happens, and she would not know how to feel and how to deal with it.

Heaving a deep sigh, she turned to her side and willed herself to sleep, praying that she would not have the same dream again, or did she?

Photo by : C. Mercado

The Royal Palace, Phnom Penh

Sir Salman Rushdie

2007-06-19T09:00:00.000-05:00

I just came across a story on the knighthood of Salman Rushdie, writer extraordinaire, which has again sparked controversy and threats to his life.

My interest in Sir Salman is personal. I was introduced to his work almost twenty years ago by someone who would affect my life tremendously. The Jaguar Smile was the very first work of this writer that I read. It was an introduction to a brilliant author in the most unusual circumstances.

Picture this: I was a naive and impressionable 25 year old travelling abroad for the first time. It was August 1988 and I was in Rostov-on-Don by the Russian steppes, in the then USSR. I was with a group of experts on desertification, the baby in the group, and was in sneakers all the time (except when we had our official meetings!).

I was in awe of everything, and had this urge to want to embrace anything new that I encountered. We travelled to a few places in the Soviet Union: after Rostov was Krasnodar, then Stavropol. I walked in a park where I saw a bust of Pushkin, drank vodka with Russian colleagues, and ate borscht with officials of a collective farm. Somewhere we saw part of the Black Sea, then our last stop was Moscow.

Standing in the middle of the Red Square gave me goose bumps and being inside St. Basil's cathedral filled me with so much wonder.

There was no stopping me, I felt as if for the first time, I could explore facets of myself that were not possible where I came from. It was a very strange feeling in a sense, because the reason for me being there was related to my work, yet this whole trip became a life changing experience.

And Mr. Rushdie enters the picture, this Indian writer who irreverently writes about my country's President in this book which became a standing joke between me and this newfound friend. The very first Indian novelist I read, While this work had nothing to do with India, he definitely influenced my interest in looking up more Indian writers and devouring their work!

So each time I see Salman Rushdie's name or work mentioned, I cannot help but feel nostalgic. I want to be 25 again, to be reckless and carefree and believe that fairy tales could come true!

And yes, after that first trip abroad, I did not stop, I have travelled to places that in my wildest dreams I would never have thought possible, but that very first sortie will always be the most special, for the bittersweet memories that it evokes!

Letting Go

2007-06-17T17:00:00.000-05:00

Waterfall, Luang Prabang, Laos

Photo by: C. Mercado

We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned,
so as to accept the life that is waiting for us.
-Joseph Campbell-

Letting go may lead us to believe that our world has ended. The truth is, it has just begun.

The reality however, is that once we let go of something or someone that is important in our life, we hurt. Often the pain manifests itself in a physical way, we weep, and we cannot stop weeping. Our world has crumbled, and nothing anyone says can make us feel better nor fill that void inside us. Suddenly life goes by in a daze, without meaning and time abruptly slows down. There are so many questions in our mind, and we let these go round and round in circles in our head because truly there are no right or wrong answers to these.

But we ask anyway. How can our life change from one day to another so drastically? How can someone who has been an integral part of our lives just quickly become almost a stranger?

However, we should also never lose sight of the larger picture, because in our grieving, we allow ourselves to look at where we are, to resolve what is really important to us, and to focus on this. Our sadness is an opportunity to clear our mind and concentrate on how we can make things better for ourselves.

A wise friend said that it is like a child learning to walk. Sometimes we falter, we fall over, but we get up and become better at it. One day we can walk on our own, unaided, without needing someone to hold our hand. We use these odds to gather more experience to hopefully emerge with strength and wisdom. After all, this wise friend continues, a love shared is never a love to be regretted.

Now it is time to settle with the past, engage in the present, and believe in a future with many possibilities that we can only hope will bring us happiness.

As I allow myself to heal, all I am certain of is that while it is difficult and agonizing, I have learned to let go, to accept, and to trust life with all my heart.

It's a matter of faith

2007-06-14T15:00:00.000-05:00

Photo by C. Mercado

I know many who are regular visitors to this site have wondered where I have gone. For those who have posted messages for me, I'd like to thank you for remembering and for your concern. I just needed a bit of "solitary confinement" as I call it to deal with certain issues that take priority over everything else.

Sometimes, life throws us curve balls. When everything that we hold true and dear suddenly changes, it throws us into a tizzy, into an unfamiliar and often dark place where we are so disoriented that we just do not know which direction to take. And I hate the dark, it brings forth the monsters in my head that I try so hard to keep in. Or maybe sometimes I like being in this crepuscular place because here no one sees me, I am alone with my thoughts, and I can let these roam into the farthest recesses of my mind. Not good yeah?

But then one cannot stay very long in some dim and murky place. It is just not right, so we climb out of it. Slowly, gradually, perhaps even resentfully, but we do because we have to face reality, and as much as we want to run away from it, there is just no doing so.

This year has been very trying so far. It has taken so much of me to endure. My strength and determination have been sorely tested. I have made decisions which I question until now, but these had to be made and whether they were right or wrong, I just have to trust and live with the consequences, and hope. But then it is just one thing after the other. We get over one then another comes along. The hardest part is being helpless and not knowing what to do. Being the control freak that I am, this is the most difficult.

I attempt to look at all these from another person's viewpoint. I should say that overall I have a good life. I have two wonderful daughters, a job that other people wish they had, many dear and close friends, and a family that is there for me. These are all that matter in the larger scheme of things. My cup is full.

But as I encounter these difficulties, I see these as those bumps in living life, that whatever outcome these produce will help me become a strong and wiser person. I look at these as opportunities to re-discover myself, to question my own beliefs even, in a positive way. It makes me stop and think about myself in general, about my relationships with people that I love and others around me, about what is important to me and what can be ignored. I also see what is important to them and what I can do to help them achieve this.

And we will get through this, we always have. That is what gives me the courage, steadiness and purpose to go on. Of course I get affected, who would not, I am after all only human. But this fear does not deter me from pursuing what I believe is the right. Deep in my heart, I know what I have got to do.

While my stability is very threatened, I keep the faith. I believe. When I feel like I am completely flailing and in a free fall, I know someone will be there to cushion this, someone will be there to catch me. I believe in that.

At the moment, I feel like I am looking after an oyster, waiting for the pearl to be finished, maybe I am the little irritating grain of sand that is slowly but surely determined to create something worth waiting for. And it truly will be worth waiting for!

And with love, hope, compassion, and patience, I close the circle around my little family, and trust that everything will be alright.

P.S. I promise my next post will be more positive!

A mother's prayer

2007-06-06T21:30:00.000-05:00

Photo copyright: C. Mercado

When I first became a mother, I realised that I ventured into completely unknown territory. Motherhood is not something any woman can prepare for, whatever it is that everyone says. It is not something that is taught in schools and can be learnt from books. It is something that one learns as one goes along this path of nurturing an offspring, and helping them grow into their own selves. At least for me it is.

In many ways, being a mother means more than just being a caregiver for someone whose life is wholly dependent on you when they are babies, but is a role that evolves as children grow up.

I can say that my own personal journey began not necessarily when I gave birth to my two daughters, but when I had to raise them alone. I did all I could to be breadwinner, mother, father, disciplinarian, friend, all rolled into one, and trusted my instincts and gut feeling all throughout this process. I taught them the values that were taught to me as a child, of love, generosity, compassion, forgiveness, respect for themselves and for others, tolerance, importance of family ties, loyalty, integrity.... all these and others hoping that by imparting the same they would develop their own character and be equipped with tools to make it out on their own when the time comes.

I raised my children to be true to their own selves, to not be swayed by what was popular at the moment, but to learn how to be among those who do, yet be strong enough to make a firm stand about what they believe in. While growing up, they were given boundaries and limits appropriate to each stage and age so that they learned to venture out in little steps and see whether they are ready for bigger ones.

All I could do was to stand beside them as they created their own personalities because really, this was what made them unique. What they become are their own personal choices, influenced hopefully in a positive way by their upbringing.

As both of them step into the threshold of adulthood, all I can do is hope and pray that they remember most of these. That they know deep in their hearts who they can trust, who they can share their innermost feelings with and not feel that they need to hide.

I have promised my girls that I will stand by them, unconditionally, for whatever it is that comes through their lives, the good and especially the bad. That I will always be there to share their happiness and hopefully kiss away their pains, like I did when they were little. I will be there and support them to see them through anything, anytime. That is a promise I intend to keep.

My daughters are the two most beautiful things that happened to my life. They ARE my life. I love them to the core of my being. And being their mother is the most precious thing in this world for me, because they are a joy to be with and to have seen them grow into the young people they are right now, fills my heart with pride and happiness.

They say there is no such thing as a perfect parent (in my case, mother), but that there are a million different ways to be a good and loving one.

I hope I did a few things right.

The Dixie Chicks rock!

2007-06-02T10:00:00.000-05:00

Note: Reposting this while I gather my thoughts together...Added new feature is the music video.

I have never been a fan of country music. Well, as many of my friends and my daughters will say, my musical education leaves a lot to be desired. I heard the song I'm not ready to make nice many times on the radio long before it won the Grammy, and I was quite affected by the refrain since it somehow echoes similar feelings I have about a lot of things. The music of the Dixie Chicks is meant to be heard, to be listened to very closely since their lyrics are down to earth, strong, make a statement and hit you right where it counts: the heart.

I feel very positive about myself when listening to them. They are my kind of women!!

So here's how the refrain goes:

I'm not ready to make nice
I'm not ready to back down
I'm still mad as hell and
I don't have time to go round and round and round
It's too late to make it right
I probably wouldn't if I could
'Cause I'm mad as hell
Can't bring myself to do what it is you think I should

Those balmy summers...

2007-05-31T11:57:00.000-05:00

White Beach, Tacloban City, Philippines

Photo by: C. Mercado

This is somehow inspired by my eldest daughter Kristina's college application essay where she talked about her summers while she was growing up.

My daughters grew up in the city, I grew up in the province. How summer vacations were spent in these two places were very different. My little city was more like a large provincial town where everyone knew each other, families, shopkeepers, it was just full of familiar people that it was very difficult to keep a secret!

We lived in a small compound about 7 kilometers away from the city centre, a tiny cluster of nine houses built for some faculty members of the university my mother taught in. My immediate neighbours were these nine families. All of us kids grew up together.

"Summer" was usually the name given for the period during school holidays, it really had nothing to do with the season because if you know the Philippines, we have only two seasons: dry and wet. No winter, spring, summer or fall. It started towards the end of March, and finished early June, then classes will start again. By the end of it, the rains would have come, too.

I remember those bright, sunny and hot days where we literally had nothing to do except play. We did not have to be "productive" during the summer. Of course there were the chores around the house, but after these were done, we would be free to do whatever we wanted to do until lunchtime. After lunch would be siesta time, and this was obligatory.

The afternoons were the best. Our friends and my siblings would often climb up the guava tree in front of our house, and pick these succulent green fruit. Or we would play marbles on the ground. In our shorts and t-shirts, we would be hot and sweaty, but we had fun. We also played hide and seek, there were so many places to hide outdoors, and it would take to long to find everyone! At some point in my childhood, my friend Lyn and I were veritable tomboys. We played with the boys.

At the back of our house, beyond the compound was almost a jungle. Well, when I was a child I thought it was a jungle. There was a coconut grove, but the underbrush was was tall, high green grass that could hurt your hands when you touched them. In this jungle were the foxholes, remnants of the Battle of Leyte Gulf during World War II. We LOVED these foxholes. We would hide in them. We had no sense of history then, we just thought these were pretty cool places: holes under the ground. Some of them looked like small concrete bunkers, maybe they were.

We played war games when we were kids: we would divide ourselves into two teams, each one would take turns hiding, and the team that was it would look for the members of the opposite one, take them as prisoners, and tie them up. While they were tied up, the other team would hide, and the captured ones would try to escape. We had ingenious ways of cutting through the strings that tied us, but the challenge here was getting out of these before the opponents had a time to hide, otherwise we would not find them! Of course, we had no idea how real wars were fought, we were kids and we were just having fun.

There was a small river that ran at the back of our house. My father told us never to get into the small dugout canoe that was by the dike, because he was worried about accidents. One day, my brother who always got into all sorts of scrapes, decided he was taking the canoe out for a little spin. He somehow convinced my other brother and my sister to join him. I pleaded and pleaded, but he could not be stopped, so I did what a good older sister had to do: get into the little boat with them! I was so scared since I knew we were going to get into trouble.

Anyway, we paddle along, and a few meters upstream, the canoe turns over! We all fall overboard, but we get back to the dike quickly, but not quickly enough since the neighbours saw us and told our parents when they came back from work! My goodness we all got a good spanking that evening! I was scolded even more for not looking after my siblings! I wanted to throttle my brother...

The weekends were spent on the beach. Warm early mornings waiting for the fishing boats to dock, where we would buy some fresh fish and crabs then light a fire and have a barbecue on the beach. After playing in the water. It is a shame I never learned how to swim being so close to the sea all the time!

I loved it most of all on the days that it rained, because then I could hide in my room and read. I was happy being outdoors, but I was equally happy getting lost in my books. This time, I was with myself, and I loved that too!

Then it would be time to go back to school again.. those starched uniforms and heavy bags, but our thoughts would linger on all that we did during the holidays, because we knew that on the first week of our English classes, our teachers would always ask us to write on the topic "How I spent my summer vacation".

Oh such beautiful childhood memories! My own daughters missed these kinds of outdoor games really. Theirs was a a city life in Manila, and the more organised parks in Paris. But each time I would take them home to my parents, they would play with their cousins, and just feel so free. When you are young, you have nary a care in this world.

To be a child again....

Who's the mother here?

2007-05-30T00:00:00.000-05:00

Hua Hin, Thailand

Photo copyright: C. Mercado

She looks at me with her wide eyes, and asks, "Mom, did you finish that glass of water I left for you on the table? I don't think you drink enough water and then your kidney stones will act up again." My daughter tries to be stern with me. Sometimes I ask myself when our roles were reversed.

This evening, over dinner, as I opened a small can of soda and was trying to take a big gulp from it, she hurries to me with a glass, and says "you should not drink from the can, Mom, you never know where these things were stored and what nasty creatures have crawled all over them". Hello? I ask her, who is the mother here again?

Somehow I guess me being the only parent with them, my girls often believe that there is no one to look after me, and have taken this task upon themselves. Kara especially here in Montreal, since it is just the two of us. She will often be the one to remind me about my doctor's appointments, and scold me if I miss them. She does not think I take care of myself well, and she makes that very clear. Her disapproval is sometimes quite daunting.

I know it is very sweet of them to feel responsible for me, and even if I tell them not to, they still do. One time, when we had just moved here, I was going through a very bad time adjusting to the change and was feeling quite depressed. Both girls were trying hard to make me smile, and Kris called me at work and asked me to email her the things that make me smile.
I promptly did, also because by writing these down, they did make me smile.

When I got home that evening from work, I saw a pot roast bubbling on the stove, and the smell of something baking wafted through the house. The girls came out to meet me, and they were both in white, and had halos made of cardboard on their heads! I was looking at both of them and started laughing hard as tears rolled down my eyes.

Two things that were on the list of those that made me smile was the smell of baking and watching the two of them sleep like angels... that was why they were dressed up in white, and the reason for the cake and the pot roast. They did this because they wanted to see me smile. My heart was so full of love for them at that time.

But each time, they need me, a shoulder to cry on, just to chat with, or to snuggle up in bed when they have nightmares, I am still their mama. Who else will be?

It is just a comfort to know that they are there for me too, this constant presence that provides stability to our lives.

I hope I am not giving them a complex that they have to make sure they look after me. I always tell them that I am not really their responsibility, well, to remind them that I am not the daughter who needs looking after. After all, I am the mum. Sometimes I feel that when things happen to me, they worry, they fret and I know because I can feel it from them. One thing that I am sure of is that the love that the three of us share is more than enough for us, and for those who choose to be in our lives.

As I tucked Kara in to her bed tonight (yes, I still do that, sometimes we take turns, she tucks me in too!), we said our goodnights and our I love yous, and she reminds me not to stay up too late. Wasn't I supposed to do that?

Sugar, sugar, oh, honey, honey!

2007-05-29T09:30:00.000-05:00

For Chewy and Deb Gamble:

In the Big Manzana: a photo trip

2007-05-29T00:00:00.000-05:00

During the last week of August 2006, my daughter Kara and I visited NYC, where we met up with my other daughter Kristina. We stayed with Grace, in her lovely apartment on 38th Street, right smack in midtown. These are some pictures taken of our "adventure" Filipinas running loose in NYC....

View across Ground Zero, the Millenium Hilton, the reflection of the clouds in the building is an accidental bonus, and looks really nice!

Times Square, here you can get a sound and light overdose!

MoMA: Andy Warhol, Picasso, Dali... some of their works are here... quite an interesting visit! And you can get the best orange marmalade in the coffee shop!

Sabrett hotdog stand.. they say you have not really been to NYC until you have tasted a Sabrett!

The lit top of the Empire State Building, view from Fifth Avenue. At 10 pm, the queue was unbelievable, but we braved it and went up!

On our way to the ferry taking us to Ellis Island we meet this drummer, and he was just a happy man, hitting away at his drums, entertaining those who were waiting outside in the sweltering sun...

Liberty Island and the Statue, it was a beautiful day!

Inside the Ellis Island Museum: these were how much the immigrants were paid for these specific jobs when they landed in the US. Look where many of them are right now!

Grand Central Station at rush hour: have you ever thought what it would be like to be in a movie that is moving fast forward? This was it! Amazing how people can rush to and fro like this!

And moi, photo taken by my daughter....that's Manhattan behind me!

All photographs copyright: C. Mercado

Music to make my heart feel better

2007-05-27T22:30:00.000-05:00

I have the tendency to feel my suffering. I know it sounds weird, but I am a very sentimental being, and believe that in many ways when we let the sadness and pain wash over us, in an unadulterated way, we somehow feel a lot better afterwards. And we then come to better appreciate the beauty around us, and the little things that bring us joy.

These are two of my favourite songs, and favourite artists. And today, since I learned something from Terry in his blog Terry's Cauldron on how to post a YouTube video, this is the result! Thanks, Terry!

I find both songs so beautiful, wistful and perhaps a little melancholy. These are my songs, the kind I like, and those that reflect me. Not too many people know that. But there have been times when I could not even listen to them because I feel misty eyed just after hearing the opening notes. However, tonight, as I sit here in front of my laptop, I feel like sharing these, and I find my heart growing stronger...

Just one of those sentimental posts from me....

Elvis Costello (with Chet Baker)-- I'ma fool to want you
Chet Baker and his trumpet with Elvis Costello's voice is a beautiful combination. I listen to this and wish I was dancing in my beloved's arms... stuff my dreams are made of.

Katie Melua -- The Closest thing to crazy
I discovered Katie's music one afternoon while browsing through CD Warehouse two years ago in Bangkok. They had her CD featured in the new jazz artists section where you can listen to the music. She blew me away with her voice, and this song never fails to move me... And tonight, I too took out my guitar, found the chords to this piece and just sang it... for me..

Saturday brunch

2007-05-26T12:00:00.000-05:00

Le cafe Marly, outside the Louvre, Paris

Photo copyright: C. Mercado

Don't you just love weekends? My favourite time of the week! Saturdays especially. My small family has always made Saturdays very special. It was always the time when we would wake up later than usual, and just pad around the house in our jammies for most of the morning. Well, the girls did...

It was also time for our most anticipated meal of the week: brunch.

Saturdays in Paris, a little trip down memory lane....

I could hear my mother puttering about in the living room. It is about 8:00 am. She would make her coffee, get dressed and leave the house at around 8:45. The mass at the church around the corner starts at 9:00 am, and she likes to be able to walk leisurely. I hear the "click" of the door as she leaves, and I settle back in bed, I have another hour, I tell myself while I steal a glance at the two girls sleeping next to me, like beautiful angels.

But in half an hour, I hear the two of them whispering. I always pretend to be asleep, well, I am often between sleepiness and wakefulness, and they slowly get out of bed, go to the living room, and I can hear them turning on the TV for their favourite cartoon and kiddie programmes on Saturdays. I smile to myself, and this time, I do get to close my eyes and catch some more of the much needed shut eye. The hum of the television, and the low conversation from the girls carries to the bedroom, and is music to my ears.

At around 9:00, before my mum comes home, the girls take turns trying to get me out of bed.

"Mama, I am really hungry," Kara will whisper into my ears.
"It should also be time for you to get up, we have been awake for sometime now" she says, "and Nanay (grandma) will be home soon, and you are still in bed," she sometimes says with indignation, all eight years old of her.

Kristina will take another tack. "Oh Kara, let us go and make tuna!"

She has somehow discovered a tuna dish that she says she has "made up" which is canned tuna sauteed in onions and tomatoes, and cooked with tomato sauce as well. The first time she made it, it was a hit with her sister, and made Kris very proud. The second time, we tolerated it, but now she wanted to make it each weekend! It had a lovely flavour but after four Saturdays of having the same thing, we wanted something else! So that statement about her making tuna was a guarantee that I would scramble out of bed and say "Oh, but I promised to cook today, didn't I? Maybe we will have pancakes and bacon, wouldn't that be nice?".

But Kristina by now is adamant that we make her tuna. And believe me, my oldest daughter can wear you down with arguments when she has her mind made up!

After a few tos and fros on why tuna is not the best thing this Saturday, Kara just agrees because by this time she is hungry and just needs nourishment! At the same time, my mom would walk into the house and promptly go to the kitchen to make something for brunch when Kris comes and announces we are having tuna. My mom gives me this glance that says "you should put your foot down," while I just throw my arms up helplessly with the message "what can I do? let us just let her be".

My mom is from the school that kids should just be told what to do, no arguments. I am more accommodating, more open to suggestions, so brunch that morning was tuna.

In Bangkok, it would be Thai specialities that the girls craved, which we would get from the market.

But these Saturday mornings always signified time for us together. In Paris it was not very often I was home on weekends since I travelled a lot. It was almost the same in Bangkok, but whenever we had the chance, we loved to sit around the table and share this leisurely meal, and just feel each other's closeness.

Oh there have also been Saturdays when we were annoyed with each other and not had our brunch, but this was the exception rather than the rule. Most of the time, we looked forward to it, since we also got to eat our favourites and order them to be made... especially on the weekends!

Kara and I do the same thing here in Montreal. This morning, I made some banana bread, and Kara wake up to the smell of baking. Then she sleepily walks out of her room, and asks if she can have eggs and bacon, and some toast. Sometimes this is all she wants, but most times I make rice, and corned beef and eggs.... just for the two of us!

While eating this morning, we reminisced and laughed at the number of times we had to eat Kristina's tuna. This was what inspired me to write this post.

Aimless chatter....

2007-05-25T18:00:00.000-05:00

Sculpture at the Jardin des Tuileries, Paris

Photo copyright: C. Mercado

Conversation over breakfast with my daughter Kara, yesterday:

Me: "If there is a yesterday, how come there is no yesternight? If there is an afternoon, how come there is no aftermorning?" (this is what happens when I try to be philosophical in the morning before getting caffeine into my bloodstream...)

Kara: "Hmm, am I supposed to take this as a serious question, or is this just one of your nonsense ramblings in the morning, Mom?" (looking at me with this glint in her eyes that says, what the...? my mom is off again...)

Me: "But what do you really think?"

Kara: "Well, you see mom, the words yesterday and afternoon mean something to us, the rest don't. If we had that now, I think it will just confuse people. We are used to these words, often I think people are somehow almost brainwashed. We learn things, and often we take these as true, and don't even question them. Don't you think sometimes people do not ever challenge what is placed in front of them? Seriously... " (oh, and where did this come from, I wonder, my daughter does not eat breakfast, she sits with me while I do, and she somehow says sensible things on an empty stomach!)

Me: "Hmm, yup, you are right. Someone just told me the same thing. But challenging ideas and all have to done in a constructive way, not just for the sake of challenging them right?" (I needed to save myself now..)

Kara: "Yeah, you are right. But don't you think I have reason to believe that people are easily brainwashed?"

Me: "Of course you do, and that is a dangerous thing to happen... hopefully you won't be easily swayed by people with sweet tongues, etc."

Kara: "Hopefully not... you have noticed the number of times I have disagreed with you, right? (cheeky girl says it with one of her really sweet smiles!!) , but hey mom, think it is time for us to go or I will be late....."

And we left it at that. It was just another of those morning talks over my tea...

Anniversary

2007-05-23T11:37:00.001-05:00

Hallway, Apsara Hotel, Luang Prabang

Photo copyright: Nirmal Ghosh

Today I am feeling very nostalgic, and torn between feeling sad and happy. I arrived in Montreal on 23 May 2006, exactly one year ago to take up a new job. On this very day.

I arrived here feeling a bit lonely, but full of promise, hope and optimism, that everything will be alright despite the distance. How my life has changed in these last 12 months, particularly in the last three. I have had dreams shattered, expectations crushed, and generally feeling just let down. But then life goes on.

The upside of this is that this experience has taught me how to value myself more, and has made me realise who my true friends really are. Now I am more comfortable expressing my own needs and wanting these to be met. It has made me, in a sense, fearless.

Fearless. I like that word.

Life is short. I have often heard that being said to me, and I do believe that. But if it is that short, what is it then that makes us hesitate to take that step, of taking that risk, of showing people that we truly care? Fear. I read somewhere today that love is the total absence of fear, yet what we fear most is love. Isn't that tragic?

Fearless. Now that makes more sense.

There are no guarantees in life, in the future. True. But it is in our power to create situations that can make us and those we love feel more secure about it. And that is what I want to be able to do: share the same desires of faith, hope, love and family in the face of all these uncertainties.

Do I regret moving to Montreal? Would circumstances have remained the same if I stayed where I was? I don't really have an answer to that.

My daughter and I have settled here for the moment, in this place where I know is a temporary pit stop in my continuing journey of self-discovery. Someone told me that I am still a work in progress, and I realise that it is a painstakingly slow process. But these things cannot be rushed, and do we really expect anything less if we wish to create a masterpiece?

At least now, on my first anniversary here, I know where I stand. It then gives me confidence that wherever I choose to go from here will hopefully turn out well! When we realise and know what is important to us, what we truly want to keep, we want to do everything in our power to nurture it, and to make it grow. Again to expect anything less would be terrible.

When I left a year ago, I took a leap of faith. There is still some of that faith left in me hopefully to last for a long time...

Cookies and Cream

2007-05-23T00:00:00.000-05:00

Image courtesy of FlourPotCookies.com

"Ding, dong" went the doorbell. I open it and smiling parents are at the door, dropping their daughters at my home. "We shall pick her up at 5 o'clock, is that alright?", they ask. I nod and they look at each other and say they were going to a movie. "Good luck!" they called out as they were leaving.

A few more ding-dongs and my 80 sq. m. apartment in Paris is filled with 15 kids. Kristina's and Kara's friends having fun but wreaking havoc in my normally very orderly living room! The music of the Spice Girls is blaring loudly on the stereo and the girls are all singing along. After a while they put on the Spice Girls video and they start dancing too. Imagine 10 nine year old girls together in one place dancing and singing. It was quite a riot!

They opened the windows, and since our apartment was located on a street corner, the music blasted out of the house because they turned the volume full high. Passers-by were actually looking up and the girls were waving and singing to them from the windows.

In the meantime, Kara and her friends were on the upper bunk of their bed, and were drawing and colouring and cutting shapes from paper.

This was December 1996. Kristina was nine and Kara was six. It was all Kris' idea, something that she picked up from a Babysitters' Club book that she was reading. She came up to me one day and said she wanted to organise a cookie party. It was December and almost Christmas, and she thought it would be a good idea if she told her friends that they should bring cookies from home. Not ordinary store-bought cookies, but something that her friends and their mother should bake together.

My kids are used to us baking together, well, the kitchen sometimes looks like a disaster zone after these episodes, but it was always fun (except on the rare occasions that I would lose my temper since they wanted to do things themselves!!), and they both liked the time we spent together creating something. She thought perhaps her friends might like to do this with their moms too. She made this idea very clear to them. But of course, I cautioned her, you cannot expect all of them to do this, and they should still be welcome to your party anyway.

Kara, being smaller, was asked just to invite her friends, we did away with the baking bit. Although she told them it was a cookie party and they were expected to bring cookies too. Any kind.

They all came bearing cookies. All shapes and sizes, most of them bought from the store or from the patisserie, but those who had homemade ones were the proudest. Of course, we made our own too. The night before was spent making cookies, and thinking of some simple but filling finger foods that we could serve these children. I settled for baguette pizzas, but made some spaghetti as well since kids always love pasta. Thank God a girl friend was around to help me organise things!

This was a special time in Kris and Kara's life. This was their first year in a new country, the kids they invited were new friends, and this was their very first party! It was an opportunity for them to forge bonds with these new people in their lives. Until now, when we talk about the cookie party, we all smile in a nostalgic way. Kristina showed her keen sense of organisation and creativity very clearly that time.

Starting at 5:00 pm, parents arrived to pick up their kids. Some of them came in for a coffee and a cookie. When they realised that I had 15 children at home the whole afternoon, they looked at me in admiration and said "You are one brave mother!" I just smiled.

That evening, after clearing up, we were all tired, but very happy. The two girls, most especially. And I could not stop them from chattering on and on about the party!

Losing my religion

2007-05-22T00:00:00.000-05:00

Interior of St. Patrick's Basilica, Montreal, Canada

Photo copyright: C. Mercado

My late paternal grandmother, bless her, exerted a big influence in my religious upbringing. I am Filipino with Catholic parents, so I was automatically Catholic at birth, like it was part of my genes. That was how I was brought up.

On weekends, my brothers, sister and cousins would visit with my grandmother, she would prepare meals for us, and we played there the whole weekend. Sometimes we would also cook stuff together.

These weekends and most times we spent with my grandmother were always opportunities for her to provide us with practical examples on how to live as a good Catholic, her version. Remember this was a lady who was born in the early 1900's and calling her a traditional and conservative Catholic would be an understatement! And the reason I am writing this is not because of her lack of wisdom, believe me, she was full of it, but there were things that she said that when now I think about it, were quite hilarious.

During mealtimes, she would always remind us kids that we should be careful about not dropping food on the floor. Being Filipinos, we ate rice everyday, and us children sometimes spilled some on the floor.

She would look at us very sternly, she was quite strict, this one, and say "Do you remember what I told you about purgatory? This place where your soul stays when you die before God decides whether you go to heaven or hell? Well, if you drop your rice and food on the floor, you will spend all your time in purgatory picking these all up one by one!".

We kids would look at each other in horror and quickly clamber off our chairs to pick up what was on the floor! None of us knew what purgatory was, neither did not think we were dying anytime soon, but the thought of spending time picking all these up was scary. We were little kids! But believe me, it worked. Every mealtime even without my grandmother, we would always think of purgatory and eat carefully.

After dinner, we would pray the rosary all kids kneeling in front of the altar and we would take turns to lead the prayers. Being kids, we were actually just mouthing all these prayers automatically, since we had them all memorised from the time we learned to talk. And we would also get tired, and sometimes we would sit on our hind legs. When she saw that, she would stretch her arms and give the offending one a little pinch, to straighten him up, without missing on her litany of the saints!

When we did something wrong (like my brother who would raid her cupboard for biscuits without asking her permission) the punishment would be to kneel in front of the altar with hands raised up on the side. You think that was easy? She would put salt under the guilty party's knees! And we were supposed to pray to ask for forgiveness for being "bad".

I got the brunt of it too, since I was the oldest grandchild. If I got fussy and did not want to eat dinner, she would tell me that if I went to bed hungry, my soul would leave my body when I was asleep, go to the kitchen and search for food. The trouble comes, she continued, if my soul gets into a pot, and it gets trapped inside, then I won't wake up. I was quite traumatized by this!

When I was a teenager, she would always remind me not to have boyfriends until I was much older and ready to get married. At that time I thought, that would be a very long wait! She also had these discussions with me about sex. She used to say that sex outside marriage is a sin, that it is not done.

But the message that somehow came across to me was that having sex in general was a sin! So each time I would see a pregnant woman, and I kid you not, I would always think that she did something sinful and dirty and I would be embarrassed for her! It took me a very long time to get over this idea.. I laugh at it every time I remember it today.

I used to get pinched when I wore shorts because "good Catholic girls do not show their legs"... and we were scolded for wearing jeans to church because this was not "Sunday best".

It is a wonder that none of these actually put me off going to church and practicing my religion!

My grandma went to church everyday. Everyday, even when she had difficulty walking. She did not just go to mass, she said novenas too. She prayed for everyone, for all of us. This seemed to be her life's mission. She was so full of life until the time one of my aunts died of leukemia. She seemed to have been hit very badly with this, and when she fell sick, she did not recover as we wished she would.

When my grandma fell very ill and could not go to church, my aunt who was a nun would ask a priest to come and say mass for her especially.

I still remember the day she died. That day day we were all together in the hospital. All my cousins, my brothers and sister, my parents and my aunts and uncles. She had been in a coma for a week now, and we were all asked by our parents to come home. My two cousins and I who lived and worked away from our city hurriedly rushed back. The whole family was complete. We took turns sitting with our grandma and talking to her, me especially since I felt very guilty. She was very sad at the way my marriage had turned out, and she really wished that things would turn out well. We never got to talk about it, since I lived in another city then.

At midday, we heard mass in her room. My aunt organised this. Afterwards, as it normally happens when we are all together, we were chatting, laughing and just enjoying the company of each other, of being surrounded by family. We were happy. Then my sister called out, she was sitting with her, and she called out that my grandma had stopped breathing. We were all rooted to where we were at that point, and suddenly we were mobilised trying to call the doctor, some of my aunts were crying, I was too... when we realised that she was really gone. When the doctor came, the whole family asked that she not be revived.

She was eighty-two. That day she died, we all felt that she did it on purpose, the timing of her passing. It was as if she was listening to her family, all together and happy, the way we always were when we had our family gatherings, and thought, now I can leave, they will be alright without me. This was the very thought that crossed all of our minds immediately after.

When I tell my daughters these stories, they always have a good laugh. They were small when she died, and they did not really know her very much. But these stories help bring back her memories. I always remind them though that I have taken all my grandma's teachings quite seriously. I have of course adapted most of it to the current generation, but the basic principle is the same. And nowadays I do explain real consequences of things, and not make up scary stories to traumatize them!

But my grandmother came from a different generation. I always believe that all the influences of these stories from different times of our and our ancestors lives make us better people, as long as we know how to adjust and adopt, without sacrificing the real values that are around these principles.

She has set many family traditions that we still keep today and she is synonymous to family, even up to now. We all miss her.

The true test of friendship

2007-05-21T00:00:00.000-05:00

Murray Hill park, Westmount, Montreal

Photo: C. Mercado

A few years back, I went through a very traumatic experience of finding out that someone who I thought was a good friend was in fact stabbing me behind my back! Smacks of high school stories of “best friends” doesn’t it, but the truth is, at whatever age we are, we encounter situations like this, we are often very reactive, and we can get really angry, and let our blood pressure soar. But I felt really betrayed.

On hindsight I think I may have contributed to what happened. When friends get together and chat, sometimes we let our tongues run away with us, we share information and occasionally respond to what is being discussed maybe in a dismissive way without malicious intentions, but the listener thinks otherwise. This is when trouble starts. What starts off as an innocent, friendly talk of what happened during the day become weapons by which relationships are destroyed. Words are now misinterpreted, and the state of affairs becomes difficult. Remember the game “Chinese whispers” we used to play in grade school?

The true test of a person’s character is how one responds to such an attack. My first instinct was to hit back, to say nasty words as well, even nastier than what I heard, and to just break the person as I thought she was breaking me. I felt betrayed, foolish and very gullible. Not very flattering for me, yet it was a very natural and human reaction. When we are hurt, we want to hurt people back. It has also made me think of why we invest in friends when they can just hurt us in the process.

The bright side of it was that it also taught me how to value my real friends more. I know people who have touched my life in more ways than one, and many of them are scattered all over the globe, me being the globe-trotter myself. I love these individuals dearly for they have helped make me into who I am today. Each experience with a person we meet is unique. If one is open, each person you meet will teach you something, and you can choose to ignore this, or use this to enrich your life.

Friendship is a very precious commodity. One offers it, and the other one has to accept before it can bloom into a real relationship. And like any other relationship, there has to be sincerity, love, trust, understanding and communication for this to work. There is also the negative aspects of each other, that each one needs to take as well as the good. Of course mixed in these are the misunderstandings that both might have, which makes the relationship stronger especially if understanding and compassion is present. With two individual personalities joined together, you will not get anything else.

I am not sure whether this person still considers me her friend anymore, but considering her attitude, I don't think so. But my life is open for her to come back to it if she wishes. I only wish that she will talk to me and let me know what happened, and why things turned sour without any advance warning.

If true friendship is valued, and the people around you who care and love you are loved by you in return, then you and they are truly blessed indeed!

My baby turns seventeen...

2007-05-18T01:00:00.000-05:00

Photo by Kristina Mercado

Two days before my estimated due date in May 1990, I stayed home. For some reason, I was feeling a bit tired, I realised that perhaps I could start my maternity leave early. I was starting to get bored when one day my contractions started. It was the morning of May 18. By late afternoon, I had given birth to a little girl.

That was 17 years ago. Today that little baby, Kara, turns seventeen.

Oh, she was tiny! She was born just a little over 2.5 kilogrammes, even by the time we took her home, she was still this little, teensy-weeny baby that could fit in a shoebox! She was not premature, she was just a small baby. If you see her now, one cannot believe that. She is a beautiful young lady, with long black hair, mischievous eyes and a shy smile.

How do I describe my baby daughter? Other than the fact that she hates to be called a baby even when I explain to her that mothers can't help it, she is a super lovely, sweet and gentle girl. She always has been. When she was a baby, she was never fussy. When she was around 2 years old, when she felt sleepy, she would ask for her bottle and climb up on the bed. On her own. Then she will give you this wide smile which meant, lie down with me please, I want to sleep.

I remember around the time she was around three or four, her favourite cartoon movie was The Land Before Time, and oh, I loved to watch her face as the baby T-rex came broke out of the egg, it was pure happiness! And she watched this every morning until she got really tired of it..

She and her sister came to live with me in Paris when she was five. On her first day of school, I was really worried for both of them since they both did not know a word of French, and mine was not any better. Each day, I would ask her how school went, and she would just shrug and tell me it was ok. One day, during the parent teacher conference, her teacher tells me the story of how Kara first spoke in class. It was apparently on the third week of school or something, when the whole class was almost convinced she could not speak, that she started to converse in French. The whole class clapped, and she has not stopped speaking French since then.

My young one is a late bloomer. She has only really recently come into her own, and developed her own personality. When she first meets people, she is quite reticent. It takes her awhile to get to know a person and be comfortable with them, but if she likes you, you are hers for life even if she does not show it all the time!

Here in Montreal, it is just the two of us. We have bonded more than we ever have before. She has complained fondly a few times that I was almost an "absent mother" when she was growing up. But here and now, I have become a mother again. It is as if I have been given a chance to be closer to her. I love her hugs... they are always special since sometimes you have to beg for them!

Each time I see her, my heart swells with pride. She carries herself with grace, she has very definite stands on certain issues, she is quite a tough one, and she has a very big heart, full of love and compassion for people. She is a dutiful daughter, and beloved younger sister, and Kristina just dotes on her. Nowadays it is a wonder to see the two of them together, how they can chat and talk about things and how they share confidences. Sometimes I feel left out, but my girls are growing up and I have to accept that.

Today as she turns 17, I know that she is once more embarking on a new path in this journey of life. I used to worry about her a lot, motherly concerns like the usual will she be okay, etc. But now, she has shown me that she is a young lady full of strength and character, and that if she sets her mind to something, she can do it. I look at her and I know she will be alright.

I love you, dearest Kara, and happy, happy 17th birthday!!!

Need directions? Map it!

2007-05-17T00:00:00.000-05:00

The facility of getting directions from web-based mapping sites has made it easier for many of us who have to get to some destinations for the first time. I found this very helpful during our first months here in Montreal, and continue to use it whenever I have to drop or pick up my daughter from friends' houses. I have such a poor sense of direction that the detail provided by these sites are really helpful. These are good alternatives to a GPS system.

Anyway... this is a small game actually, and I would like you, dear readers and friends to indulge me. It is something that made Kara and me laugh the other day, and I thought I would share this with you all.

Here are the steps you have to follow:

1. Go to google maps.
2. At the top of this page, click on Get Directions
3. In the box that says Start Address, type New York, New York
4. In the box that says End Address, type Paris, France.
5. Then hit Enter.... wait......

...... Look at the map provided and the directions, which are normally at the right side of the screen. Scroll down to direction no. 24, and tell me what you think!!

We had a good laugh over this, hopefully you will too!!!

A blend of cultures

2007-05-16T07:00:00.000-05:00

My guest writer, Kristina

Note: The following essay was written by my daughter, Kristina, almost three years ago as part of her college application process. I asked her if I could share it, since it is quite heartwarming and speaks a lot about how she looks at herself, and the influences in her life, and I am glad she agreed. She was 17 when she wrote this. Today, she just finished her second year at the University of Virginia, and turned 20 in January! I am very proud of her and what she has achieved in her young life. I posted this sometime back in January, but thought would put it up again for those who may not have seen it then.

Tap Tap. I heard someone tapping on my car window one Saturday night after dining out with my family in the Philippines. I look up and see a young boy, about the age of six, barefoot and covered in rags selling flowers. There was obvious desperation is in his eyes as they locked with mine. Life is truly unfair, I thought, as I look around inside my car and saw my new red Sketcher shoes whilst the boy’s feet must be covered with scabs and blisters. I sat on uncomfortably on the cozy leather seats, hugging a soft pillow as the air conditioning was quite cold, as the boy continued to stand outside in the heat of the night, surrounded by honking cars and peeking through my window with longing. Ironic how two absolutely different worlds are separated only by a half-inch of glass.

Born to an average family with hard working parents, I first grew up in a 3x4 meter room. Although cramped, it provided me with love, care, and shelter from harm. Afternoon games in the middle of the street wearing only shorts and a sleeveless shirt were my past times. At home, I would be half dirty, and hot, but I loved my childhood. Now, three countries later and with dozens of new friends around the world, typing rapidly on my own computer in my room, I think of my past and realize how my life has changed. A door opened, allowing me to live in Europe, a chance that few had.

In the 15th arrondissement in Paris where I lived for six years, the streets were constantly busy. My neighbors were mostly old couples who limped their way unhurriedly to their apartments. The absence of children of my age in my apartment building made me more mature as I spent afternoons after school in my mother’s office, talking to adults or making my “famous” fudgey brownies that my sister craved for every week. A maid was expensive, thus I became independent as I helped with washing dishes, cleaning the house, and cooking from time to time. I would never have done this in the Philippines, where help is cheap and always available.

Currently in Thailand, I am studying in a school where Pakistanis and Indians are together in a rock band. Muslims do not eat pork and Hindus shun beef, thus when pizza parties take place, the two flavors ordered are double cheese and chicken barbecue. Unity and equality is often preached not only by the school priests, but also by children in clubs such as Amnesty and Model United Nations. A competitive environment is present as brave students choose the most challenging courses, fervently hoping to obtain the “Most Outstanding Student” award of the class by the end of the school year.

I am unique because of a blend of these experiences, and of the cultures that I have been exposed to. I find a strong sense of purpose in helping the unfortunate, and in moving forward innovative ideas that could contribute to change in the world, especially my country. I see college as a place where I can continue to practice this harmony with various cultures traditions, while collecting even more. I do not know very much of American history except for what I have read in textbooks. Being in the state where the Mayflower docked will make me feel like the pilgrims, as they got ready to settle in a new place, and open themselves to learning new things. I am ready to learn, and I am confident that college will give me the opportunities that I need to reach my goals.

Author: Kristina Cathrine T. Mercado

She moves in her own way

2007-05-15T12:00:00.000-05:00

I am so proud of my daughter Kristina. Today she starts her first job! She went for an interview to get a summer job at their university bookstore and she got it. Now she is part of the working class.

When I told her sister Kara that I was going to write about this here, and she should think of a cool title for the post, she came up with the one above. She moves in her own way. It is the title of a song from The Kooks, and this describes my daughter perfectly.

Classes at the University of Virginia finished last week. Kristina initially planned to stay on to take summer courses. One day, she called me and said that instead of spending money for additional classes that she can take during the regular semester anyway, she was staying on to find a job instead. She would thus be able to save and have a little extra for the coming school year, which would help me a lot financially, she said. I was very touched by this, and realised that indeed my daughter is becoming more mature, and now starts to understand responsibility.

When she called me on Sunday to wish me a Happy Mother's day, she told me that all her friends were out on the beach so she was alone in their apartment. I wondered about that, since Kristina is not one to miss out on a party. After a little prodding, she hesitatingly said that she decided not to go since she did not really want to ask me for the extra money it would cost. They needed to share the house rent and other expenses, and she did not have the heart to ask me for more, especially since I have been having a tough time in many ways.

I cried. I cried because I am very proud. My daughter has been a strong pillar of strength for me these last few days. She has made me realise how valuable I am. She is there for me, and I appreciate that very much. As a daughter maybe she has no choice, but her maturity comes across when she offers her unconditional love and support for me even when I know that what happened hurts her too. And I truly love her for that.

As a mother, one thing I try to teach my children is how values are important, and how these drive our lives. I teach them responsibility, to themselves, to each other, to family most of all. Perhaps it is too heavy, perhaps I am too demanding of a mother, but when I hear them react to certain general issues, or just they way they treat people, I realise that they have learned something from me.

When they were small, I used to worry very much about how inadequate I felt about being a single, working mother. My parish priest whom I would go for advice all the time told me that he sees me bringing up my children the best way I can, making sure they grow not only physically but emotionally and spiritually as well, and this was enough. At the end of the day, they will become their own people, and what I have imparted will be what they will have as their tools to deal with life, he said, and I really will have no control over that then.

I tried very hard to live a life of example for them, because I know that saying something and not living it will really not teach them anything. It was not an easy life, but on hindsight now, it was what I needed to do, and I would do it all over again if I had to. And truly, the three of us had fun.

I am very proud of my two girls. They are my life's biggest achievement. Whatever success I have in other aspects of my life pales in comparison to what I feel when I see my two beautiful daughters today.

Kristina starts her first day of work. This morning, her sister could not help repeating to herself how proud she is of her ate (elder sister in Filipino). How her ate has grown up, and how lucky she is to have an older sister like her. Truly, my oldest daughter moves in her own way.

I am sure you now understand my own pride and love for them both.

P.S.
Oh, and by the way, I should be "back" regularly from now on. My head does not like being stuck in the sand for too long, and I don't really like this hole that I have crawled into!

Time out

2007-05-09T00:00:00.000-05:00

Photo copyright: C. Mercado

I need to take maybe a few days off from blogging. I am feeling pretty down, and need to do some mental and emotional "spring cleaning".... Comes with the weather, maybe. I am just going through a tough time and just need some quiet moments.

But I promise I shall be back, hopefully wiser and calmer. Maybe the Muse will visit me during this time, and I will stock up on stories that all I have to do is post them.

To all my friends out there, I will still be visiting your sites, and will miss seeing your comments on mine, but I just need to keep my head down a bit..

Childhood memories

2007-05-08T00:00:00.000-05:00

I still think about him. My memories of my lolo (Grandpa) are actually very hazy. The strangest thing is that there are very vivid ones, and I always wonder why I can remember some things only, although I am grateful for these few.

I was five years old when my grandfather passed away. I don't have very many recollections of life with him, but a few stand out. For some reason my mind can go back to some instances, often just bits and pieces that I can somehow relive in my mind.

We used to live in this old rambling wooden Spanish style house. It was in a compound. My family lived in a smaller one next to my grandparents. Between the two houses was a big pomelo tree. It looked big to me in any case, anything bigger than 3 feet was huge in my eyes. I cannot forget this tree because once there was a strong typhoon, and all its fruit fell on the ground, and I remember seeing all of these green fruit strewn on the grass. Just that.

Lolo used to jog around the house. After filling the water tank. At the back of the house was this big metal container held up by a wooden structure. There was a hand pump elevated on a concrete platform, and he used to pump water to fill the tank each morning. I recall sitting on a small stool watching him, while he told me stories. Then he would jog around the house, I alongside him, with my little steps and my bangs and pony tail bobbing on my head. He always jogged slower when I was with him so that I could catch up.

Then he would carry me inside, call out to my grandmother that we were done. We filled the tank, and had our jog. My lola (Grandma) would give us a big smile.

My life was filled with fables and tales, from my grandfather. The monkey and the turtle was my favourite. He had so many versions of these each night during my story time that I could not keep up. I never wanted to go home. Well, home was just next door, but I always wanted to be with my grandparents. They spoilt me.

He also smelt of menthol. He had a personal masseur that came to the house, and he would lay down in bed, my little self sitting on the side, while I listened to the familiar whirring sound of this small hand machine.

When he had his stroke, I did not understand why he was not coming home from the hospital. I did not even know what a hospital really was except that was where one got shots, and where one stayed when sick. I badgered my grandma every day and my father asking them when he was coming home. I missed my stories. No one told the tale of the monkey and the turtle as well as he did. And how come I could not go visit?

One day they took me to see him. I was so excited. I was finally going to see my grandfather again! We walk into his hospital room, and I remember everyone looked really very solemn and serious, while I was all smiles. The I saw him on the bed, I think it was my father that carried me up to kiss him. I sat with him for a while, but he was not really talking, and he looked asleep to me. So I asked, why is he sleeping so much, and why is there a tube in his throat? I chattered on and on...No one answered me.

My grandma asked me to kiss him once more and told me it was time for me to go. I was resisting because I wanted to talk to him, but to my eyes he was fast asleep. It was years later that I realised he was in a coma. That was the last time I saw him.

After the family buried him, I was told I would keep asking about him every night. One memory I have is of standing by the door to my grandparents bedroom one afternoon and, I know I was about to ask my grandma about him again, but I saw her crying in front of his picture. I stopped asking after that, because I realised it made her sad. I did not know why.

Sometimes I still miss him. I wonder if I somehow made all these memories up in my head. But my parents, aunts and uncles tell me they were all true. Can a five year old really remember this much?

I am the only one among my brothers, sister and cousins who has memories of him. I was young, but they were much younger. I cherish these thoughts with fondness. I have shared these with my daughters. They need to know a little bit of the man who was my grandfather. Each little memory every bit as precious as the little time I spent with him, the time where I experienced his love.

I always believe that he and my grandma are my angels, they look upon me and watch over me and my girls. I am sure of that.

Photo copyright: C. Mercado

Lost

2007-05-07T00:00:00.000-05:00

She was about two and a half feet tall, wearing red leggings and a white shirt, with a ponytail on top of her head. She was holding a plastic bottle in her hands, and was walking very calmly through the supermarket aisles, searching for a familiar face. She never thought to call out, or cry. She was just looking. People were curiously observing this cute, tiny girl walking slowly on her own, they did not realise she was scouring her surroundings for someone she knew.

When her parents met on another aisle, "Where is Tintin," she asks him.
"I thought she was with you", he replied. She started telling him Tintin got the plastic bottle of sauce from her, and was walking towards him to put in the cart. She was proudly showing off that she could carry the bottle herself. She watched her daughter walk towards him, and reassured that her little girl would be safe, she continued browsing through the shelves.

A cold fear gripped her. How was she going to find a three-year old girl in this large supermarket? Her first instinct was to call out loudly, but she was also quite embarrassed to let people know that she had lost her daughter. How can you lose a child?

She and her husband walked through different aisles, searching. She asked people "Have you seen a small girl about this high, in red leggings and a white shirt?" hoping to keep the panic off her voice. As each person shook their head, she felt more and more apprehensive.

It was on the news lately. Children were being kidnapped for ransom, and an incident already happened at this very supermarket. Mentally she was beating herself for not making sure that her dad saw Tintin before turning away. And this kidnapping stories were not helping her see things very clearly. What if someone took her daughter? She was walking with a purpose now. They did not even think of calling security. They were just both very agitated, and this added to the confusion.

After a few minutes, she was ready to find a supervisor when a lady behind her asked "Is this the little girl you are looking for?"

She looked back, saw Tintin, she was so weak with relief. Her daughter looks at her and says in a confident voice "Papa is lost, mama, and I am trying to find him." She took her daughter in her arms and hugged her very tightly, and she could feel the tears stinging her eyes. Her husband saw them at that instant, and he too was so grateful to find his daughter that he did not know what to say. Tintin looked up at him and said "There you are, Papa, I was trying to find you."

What can you say to that? In piecing the puzzle together, it seemed that Tintin walked past her father, and since she was so tiny, he did not see her either. Her mother thought he did, since as Tintin was walking towards him, he was looking at their direction, and she signalled that her daughter was coming his way.

Tintin is now 20 years old, and prefers to be called Kristina, but this is a story that she often refers to as "the time my parents lost me in a supermarket", and loves to rub it in that we could have truly lost her!

Have a little faith in me

2007-05-06T11:00:00.000-05:00

We need that one thing to believe in, to erase that cynical view of life that we have. To have something to hold on to. To dream, to trust, to appreciate, to know that we are worthy, to not fear love because it is the most beautiful thing we can have. At the end of the day, I truly believe that it is the heart that matters most. I wish that I would be given just this little faith!

I love this song... It reflects the mood I am in right now...

When the road gets dark
And you can no longer see
Just let my love throw a spark
And have a little faith in me
And when the tears you cry
Are all you can believe
Just give these loving arms a try
And have a little faith in me

Have a little faith in me
Have a little faith in me
Have a little faith in me
Have a little faith in me

When your secret heart
Cannot speak so easily
Come here darlin
From a whisper start
To have a little faith in me
And when your back's against the wall
Just turn around and you will see
I will catch, I will catch your fall baby
Just have a little faith in me

Well, I've been loving you for such a long time baby
Expecting nothing in return
Just for you to have a little faith in me
You see time, time is our friend
cause for us there is no end
And all you gotta do is have a little faith in me
I said I will hold you up,
I will hold you up
Your love gives me strength enough
So have a little faith in me

Note: John Hiatt sang the original, but I love Mandy Moore's version. Click on the link above to a YouTube video. Best way I can do to get the audio!

P.S. One of my new readers, Mushy, said that this is, according to him, one of Hiatt's best songs. I have added a second link to a YouTube video of him singing this, it is a beautiful one too! Enjoy!

Photo copyright: Nirmal Ghosh

Dancing Queen?

2007-05-05T00:00:00.000-05:00

When I first saw this on the list of activities at the Y where I frequent, I was very intrigued. Hmmm, I thought to myself, what an interesting session, but was I brave enough to really try it out? I had visions of how I would do this dance, because even if I loved to dance, I have always felt that I am a terrible dancer!

But anyway, it was already a tremendous effort and commitment on my part to even sign up at the Y (me getting my lazy bum to the gym...!) and I thought doing something out of the ordinary for me, like dance classes would be proving a point, right? Other than the fact that it would be more motivating to do something that I liked and enjoyed, as compared to running alone on the treadmill listening to my iPod! So what class did I sign up for?

Taa daa! BURLESQUE! It is the art of strip tease, where a woman can be herself, classy and sassy and be confident about her own body. Hah! That's what I have been telling myself!

Oh well, I walked into my first class, looked around, and felt quite hopeful since the group of women in the class were all from different ages, and I thought it was a good sign. Our teacher walks in. She is tall, blond, and quite sexy. She lowers the blinds, so we cannot be seen from the outside. Then the lesson starts... The thump of the music was quite enticing, one could not help but gyrate to its beat.

I cannot tell you how liberating it is to be with women and just be a bit adventurous! Our moves were not quite as easy as it seemed, they were more the Pussy Cat dolls type of sexy dancing, and it was fun, fun, fun! Sarah, our young teacher was encouraging us to feel free about moving to the rhythm of the music and just feel spunky about our bodies. And boy, she can get down and dance!!!

She was telling us that since no one was really watching, we could strike any pose, do the sexy walk, and just feel free to enjoy the dance!

I did not realise exercise can be sexy and fun! Bump, grind, shimmy and shake to keep in shape is becoming my motto!

So now, every Tuesday, for an hour, I am with all these cool women. Oh we work quite hard. After that workout, I am beat, but I feel good about myself. And I practice at home. Ok, my daughter laughs and is very amused by this new interest of mine, but it has made me appreciate my femininity even more.

I always enjoyed dancing. This is the best form of exercise for me, and my daughter even made me a dance CD mix for my morning exercise. I would, for half an hour on my own, just dance. Better to burn calories this way, I reckon. But now, now my dance class has me really inspired. It is much more enjoyable to dance with a group rather than alone.

And it is certainly a delightful way to keep one's figure! It is also good therapy for giving you back your own self confidence, believe me!

Dog day afternoon

2007-05-04T11:00:00.000-05:00

This post has nothing to do with a bank robbery, nor with the movie of the same title, but it certainly has something to do with a lovable pooch!

Her name is Stussy, our little pug that we had to leave behind in Bangkok (sniff, sniff!). This is a photo of her taken by Jay, the son of a good friend who bought our house, and also "adopted" Stussy. She has always been a very spoilt little princess, but you cannot believe how even more pampered she is right now!

I still recall the day my oldest daughter Kristina brought her home. This tiny little bundle with an "ugly duckling" face, that we knew will never get transformed into a "swan!". But she was sweet, and it did not take long for this cuddly and adorable little mutt to captivate our hearts.

It was not easy at first. The whole household had to shift gears. Toilet training was an important priority, and I am sure many of you dog lovers out there will agree with me that is is not very pleasant at the beginning! But this precocious dog surprised us by learning stuff really fast!

We also needed her to establish her own space in the house. She slept in the kitchen, she had to follow rules: no feeding at the table (well, my kids sometimes slipped her something during meals while I pretended not to look..!), no jumping on beds (unless accompanied by one of us), etc. Okay, so I am a no-nonsense and draconian mom, feel sorry for my daughters being subjected to the same stern discipline while growing up!

She became the little baby of the house. Her shrill barking could be heard when the gates opened to let the car in, and she was always happy to see all of us home. She loved sitting on the sofa with us while watching TV, and she would start licking whoever was lazing around since she always wanted to play. The garden was her space, she chased after birds and her ball and anything in sight that was amusing to her.

Our maid was her "mom", she was bathed each day (Bangkok is hot!), she had her nails trimmed regularly, and her visits to the vet were always an adventure since she was initially scared of the car ride.

You know what she loved to eat? Apples, oranges, and carrots! She was odd, this one. Every time my mother peeled an orange and the smell would come wafting through the kitchen. she would start jumping up and down and barking, and not stop until she was given her share of the orange. The carrots and apples thing, I have no idea where she got from, but love them she did.

Jane, my friend in Bangkok told me that her son has bought a bicycle with a sidecar, and takes Stussy out each afternoon for a ride in our little gated community. Pugs can't really run very far, they start wheezing. How spoilt is that! That makes their three other and bigger dogs (one is a Lab) jealous...

I miss our dog. Kara does too, sometimes we turn very sentimental and recall her cute antics, the way she would sulk in a corner if you came home and ignored her, or her joyous barking when you played with her. She who loved unconditionally, and comforted us when we needed.

We are not brave enough to get a dog to live in our apartment here in Montreal. So, hopefully, when we visit Bangkok in August, we will get to see her and that she still recognises us!!

Don't burn the house down!

2007-05-03T00:00:00.000-05:00

When I was a teenager, I almost started a fire at home. This was because I was such an avid reader that I would read even when there was no electricity, only with candlelight.

I grew up in one of the smaller cities in the island of Leyte in the Philippines. Although we had electricity, we would have regular, scheduled black outs in sections of the city. That was part of our daily life, and we just got used to it. We always had candles and kerosene lamps on hand to illuminate our home.

My parents were always very careful about candles and would remind us kids to make sure that we blew them out, especially before going to bed.

When we were growing up, we slept with our windows open and under mosquito nets. These were the best way to keep out these buzzing pests who can really bite! I loved sleeping under this cotton netting, I always felt safe and cocooned and felt like I was in my own little space when I was under it.

One evening, I was reading a book when the lights went out. Often when this happens, it automatically becomes bedtime for us, so my mother herds us to our rooms and kisses us good night. Well, I did not want to put down my book, so I carried a candle to my room, set it on my small side table, and continued reading. I was under the netting during this time, but could read anyway (no wonder my eyesight is so bad!!).

Anyway, as it often happens when I read in bed, I had fallen asleep. Suddenly I felt like something woke me up. I opened my eyes and there was this blaze on my side table, the flames were very close to my mosquito net, and the whole room was full of smoke! I was panicked, but I was also scared. I was afraid of getting scolded for bringing a candle into my room!!

The candle had burnt out, and the wax spilt over the side table which was made of wood and started to burn.

I called out to my father, and told him there was a fire in my room. Of course he bolted out of bed quickly and was in my room in 10 seconds! He started to put out the fire, by this time, the room was full of soot, but the damage was thankfully very little, although we had a real scare. I think my brothers slept through the whole thing, only my sister woke up since we shared a room.

One look at my face showed my father how deeply sorry I was, and I was grateful he kept quiet. He just told me to go back to bed and get some sleep. I was sure he must have been really concerned. Imagine if I had not woken up when I did? I still think it was my guardian angel who shook me awake.

The next day, we were subjected to a long lecture about making sure that we blew out our candles, and other stuff about fire safety. After this incident, my father would, every evening call out to me and ask whether my candle was out. I don't think he had the heart to tell me to stop reading, he knew how much it meant to me.

To this day, I can still remember the burning smell in my room, and it gives me the shivers when I realise that I almost burned our house down!

Photo copyright: Kristina Mercado

My Love Affair with India

2007-05-02T12:00:00.000-05:00

From the time I was in my mid-teens, I have had this fascination for the mystic Eastern culture, more specifically, poetry and works of very erudite Indian writers. My first encounter with Rabindranath Tagore’s work left me in awe and longing to read more. I was 16 years old, and very impressionable. I believed I had a connection with this well-known Indian philosopher and poet who wrote so beautifully, and whose writings matched my idealism. Little did I know that this would be the start of an on-going romance with India, and the South Asian sub-continent. And this is my story ….

India is a country of contradictions. To use an old cliché, you either love it or hate it. But one of my Indian friends says you can also love and hate it at the same time, and I truly believe that! Knowing the country only from the periphery, not having lived there at all, it is interesting that I have a strong sense of attachment to this beautiful, mysterious and chaotic land. Like an exotic lady welcoming a lover with open arms, I willingly let myself be drawn into it, to its sounds, smells, colour, energy, flavours, and most especially to specific folks who have influenced and changed my life forever.

A nation steeped in deep history, from the ancient Indian civilisation to the Mughal empires and the British Raj, one cannot help but admire the experiences of its people. Despite being torn and divided by religious strife, India has still managed to emerge strong from it, not totally unscathed, but wiser in a sense.

India enthralls me with its intricate stories of self-sacrifice and love, of the ladies in purdah and the dashing men in horseback. It fills me with a sense of sadness when I remember the stories of the sati, of a woman lacking a voice in her own personal destiny especially when it came to sacrificing her life at her husband’s funeral pyre, and of the child-bride who knew very little about her future except that she is married off to a man often old enough to be her grandfather.

I lived vicariously through stories of friends who have journeyed to Corbett national park, of elephant rides, tigers and leopards, of treks to the foothills of the Himalayas and the banks of the mighty Ganga. I have been transported by tales to Bihar where the blackbuck and the chinkara can be found in watering holes, and loved the colours of Rajasthan in the desert.

Bollywood intrigues me. In Paris, my Indian friends and I used to go to “India-town” as we called it to get copies of CineBlitz and get free tapes of Bollywood music, go and queue up to see Indian films, and have our fill of gulab jamuns and other mithai we can can get our hands on. I can enumerate names of movie stars, movies and Indian writers, and friends who hear me speak about India wonder how this Filipina developed this love for a country that is for some very strange. I am sometimes told that I come across as speaking with an Indian accent! That I find a bit funny.

I can make a fair aloo gobi at home, and even imperfectly shaped puris. I adore Indian food, and this I have passed on to my girls. Give them boxes of kaju barfi anytime, and they will love you!

I have sat through cricket matches on TV and know what are runs and overs and cheered the Indian team, and can recognise Irfan Pathan. I cannot tell you how shocked some of my friends are when they witness me cheering at a game! What does this Filipina know about cricket? Aren't these small, noisy insects that are eaten fried in Thailand?

Dressing up in Indian clothes is also something that I am comfortable with. I have kurtis, kurtas, salwar kameezes, dupattas, although I have fallen short of wearing the sari. It intimidates me, I don't know why. I do have a sari, but am not brave enough to wear it, not even at formal affairs.

This part of my life is something that I find really quite interesting: to feel so connected to India, yet not being Indian at all. I am sure this happens to many people too and I am not unique in this situation.

If I truly believed in previous lives, I maybe convinced that I was Indian in mine.

I look forward to a continuing adventure with this country, and with its people, and hope that this coming year will see me visit more places in India. I promise myself I will go to Corbett National Park this year even if I have to do it on my own. And I will conquer my fear of the sari, and find opportunities to wear it!

Note: Another one of my older posts, and one of my favourites! I added the picture, just for a new touch!

Photo copyright: C. Mercado

"I will not resign", says the Wolf at the Bank

2007-05-02T00:00:00.000-05:00

I admire embattled World Bank President Wolfowitz's tenacity. For how else can you describe him clinging to his current post despite the calls for him to step down? Granted he may have been acting in "good faith" when he approved an over the top raise for his girlfriend and moved her to the State Department in order to avoid conflict of interest when he took over the reins of the World Bank, but that certainly does not excuse this type of behaviour.

People in these positions are always held at a higher level of integrity by virtue of the authority they wield. They are expected to set examples, be of a stronger moral fibre than most, and be fully accountable and responsible for the decisions they take. Many will probably disagree with me, but I feel very strongly about this.

Is it sufficient reason to say that the Ethics Committee as Mr. Wolfowitz claims, knew about his actions with regards to his girlfriend, therefore he is not guilty about granting special favours, or is this really only an excuse?

The international community has been abuzz with this story for a while now, and the outcome of it has far-reaching implications in continuing the aid and development work of the World Bank, and the other international organisations that work very closely with it. And we should not forget the recipient developing countries, those whose lives are affected by the policies of this large organisation who can dictate the direction of national economic policies that are often criticized to be detrimental to the country.

Mr. Wolfowitz needs to make a decision: is self-preservation really more important than the larger good? He claims that all these is a "smear campaign to prove that he is an ineffective leader", but the consequences of the current situation makes him practically ineffective anyway since it has become untenable. All the lame justification should get thrown out the window now. A capable and responsible leader also knows when is the right time to step down, and opt for a graceful exit.

So will he, or won't he go? Your guess is as good as mine!

I made it!!!

2007-05-01T14:00:00.000-05:00

Yes, my blog has finally reached 1000 hits (dancing the jig!!). Thank you very much to all of you out there who have visited and come back, and to those new blogger friends who responded to my "May day, May day!" call and "hit" me nicely today to help me reach this milestone!

Cheers!

Almost there!!!

2007-05-01T09:00:00.000-05:00

I am gunning for the 1000th vistor on my blog. As of last count, I am up to 991. Wow! I have a feeling that this will be the week, and I shall attain this big milestone in my short blogging history.

This has been an amazing journey so far, I have met really wonderful fellow bloggers, I have a cool mentor and friend, David McMahon and really, he is one big inspiration behind this blog. Others have been inspired by him too, and he has, through his Aussiejourno awards created a sort of "family" of bloggers whose sites are excellent, phenomenal, and most of all truly inspiring. I have never been so lucky to "meet" these incredible people!

So I am hoping I will continue to get visitors and if you have visited and liked what you see, please do drop by again! And if you think this little space is worthy, add a link to your blog, that would make me so happy! I am trying to organise my thoughts and I find that I have very many stories to tell, so look forward to these... Watch this space!

CHEERS!

What's that smell?.... welcome to Canada!

2007-05-01T08:30:00.000-05:00

This story is from my daughter Kara. She came home one day from a friend's house and was laughing because of an incident that took place at her friend's place.

One of Kara's friend's is a Korean girl. Her father is a diplomat, and they moved to Montreal from the Philippines. It is their first time to live in Montreal, like us. Both being new in school, both being "world travellers"and sharing the Asian culture to boot, they became fast friends.

Anyway, that morning, the whole family smelled something really odd, a distinctly redolent stink that pervaded the house. They were very concerned that it was a gas leak. They first started looking around to trace where the stench was coming from, and finding no source, her father calls the fire department and reports a leak.

The fire brigade in most cities in Canada are very efficient, and a firetruck comes roaring down with sirens blaring along rue St. Clare in the Town of Mont Royal, and skids to a stop in front of their house (ok, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but you all know what I mean!). Firemen hastily come out of the truck, and walk into the house.

They get their first whiff of the malodorous smell, and told the master of the house that it was not a gas leak, but a skunk! They were quite amused by the whole thing, and before leaving, they told the Consul General, "Welcome to Canada!"

A few hours after, Kara and her friends arrived, and she swore to me that the scent of skunk was still in the house!

These are a few of my favourite books (and writers).....

2007-04-30T07:56:00.000-05:00

Books have always fascinated me, from the time I could read and realised I could escape into the world of fantasy, romance, adventure, reality, I have always loved the written words on the page. I was told I started to read when I was five years old. Obviously I was probably reading these simple Jack and Jane grammar books, and those with words associated with the alphabet, something that goes "A is for Apple", a word-picture association book which I never really understood at that time since apples were not really local fruit in the Philippines!

I cherished my books, too, and used to keep them hidden away and never liked lending them to anyone who I thought was not worthy. This meant one had to know how to take care of my books, I hated dog ears, and especially writing and any form of marks on them. If you wanted to borrow my books, you would have to promise to return these in the same condition they were lent. Well, that is a normal expectation, one would think.

Through the years my reading "taste" has evolved, influenced by my experiences, travels, by people I meet who introduce me to new writers and works, and simply by reading different authors and styles. Somehow some books have become special to me because they remind me of certain points in my life, some happy, some sad, but memories nevertheless.

These are my own personal favourites:

Black Beauty
Anna Sewell
One of the very first "long" books that I read when I was a child, and one of those I owned. I remember it clearly: A brown package arrived for me in the mail, and when I opened it, I find this hard bound book inside, and I could not wait to hide in my room and read! I loved the adventures of this horse who was mistreated, made to work hard yet kept his faith and strength in these adversities. A childhood favourite.

Gitanjali
Rabindranath Tagore
This was my first exposure to this great Indian philosopher, I was about 16 at that time when someone let me read a section of this book, and I was hooked. He wrote with such clarity and wisdom that left an impressionable girl like me enthralled. I went to the library to read it, and although his philosophy went over my head at times, it was a discovery of a writer that would influence much of my reading and my life in the future, although I did not know it then, that strikes me now.

The Rubaiyat
Omar Khayyam
"Let lovers all distraught and frenzied be,
And flown with wine, and reprobates, like me;
When sober, I find everything amiss,
But in my cups cry, "Let what will be, be."
translation by EH Winfield
The above extract speaks for itself. Once again, this was one of my forays into Eastern mysticism when I was a teenager.

The Far Pavilions
M.M. Kaye
Truly wonderful, a sentimental book that I have probably read more than three times through the years, and this somehow sealed my love affair with India.

The Jaguar Smile: A Nicaraguan Journey
Salman Rushdie
When I was lonely and miserable in a land faraway, a new found friend made me smile with a quotation that had something to do with the political situation in the Philippines from the book he was reading. It was funny since it came across as a double entendre. It went like this: "Corazon Aquino?" or "Corazon, aqui? No?" For those of you who speak Spanish, you know what this means. He ended up giving me the book, and this was the very first work of Rushdie that I read, and he has since become one of my favourite writers.

The Golden Gate
Vikram Seth
Seth's writing leaves you hungry for more. This book is a classic, written completly in verse, rhyming sonnets that just left me breathless. I recall reading it completely on a long haul flight where I sat undisturbed and just lost myself in his words. I have read many of his books since then, and always enjoyed them. Another one of my favourites is A Suitable Boy, also by Seth.

The Girl with a Pearl Earring
Tracy Chevalier
With this book, I was very captivated with how the earring got into the painting and the story behind it. This was because one of my girl friends gave me a pair that she got from a museum she had visited, apparently inspired from the painting. A unique piece: one of the earrings had a black pearl, and the other one was white. People used to ask when I wore them, they probably thought I was mad to put on wrongly matched earrrings!

These are just a few of the books that I have learned to love, there are more, and perhaps one of these days I will write about them too.

Note: This is something I posted back in October, thought I'd post it again since more people come and visit this blog now! cheers!

One of those mornings...

2007-04-26T10:00:00.000-05:00

It was an ordinary morning, my alarm went off at 6:00 am, I stayed in bed for another 15 minutes contemplating my day, and saying a little prayer thanking HIM for letting me wake up to a beautiful bright and clear morn.

I did my usual stuff, turned the kettle on, took a quick shower, got dressed and waited for Kara's alarm to go off. I was downstairs in the basement when it did, since I was looking for a pair of shoes. Any woman out there knows that shoes are very important.

I also have this "genetic" thing about shoes. You see, I come from the same province as Imelda Marcos, she with the 4,000 pairs of shoes. Well, you can figure out what I am getting at.

Anyway, I digress. As Kara was getting ready, I sat and had my tea, a bowl of cereal, and was just quietly waiting for her to join me. I relish these few minutes that we share in the mornings, those 10 minutes of sitting together before we both go our own ways, school and work. We talk about mundane things. PE classes are so tiring, it will be hot when I walk home today, etc.. It is one of the best times of my day.

Breakfast done, cups cleared, I walk to the bathroom and am brushing my teeth when I hear Kara asking.. "Mom, where's my lunch?"

I feel this complete confusion with her question, and have this dread at the pit of my stomach: I forgot to make her lunch! And we needed to leave in like 10 minutes! I bolted out of the bathroom and ran to the fridge, took out a quiche, turned the oven knob to "HIGH" and plopped the little package inside. I could see and feel Kara's disappointment when she realised that her mom forgot her food! She is actually old enough to make her own lunch, and she normally does. There are days however when something needs to be prepared in the mornings that I do it. I love doing this for her too. And this was one of those.

On top of that, I get a phone call from my friend's kids telling me they missed their bus and asked whether I could drop them to school! Okay, I was in a tizzy now, I told them I was running late, and if this was okay with them, they can wait for me on the way and I would be happy to drive them. They live about four blocks away from us.

But peace of mind prevailed. Kara's quiche was ready in 10 minutes, we all hurried to the car, I took a deep breath and told myself, relax... it is just one of those days...Everything will be fine..

And they are!!

Too close to home

2007-04-25T18:35:00.000-05:00

When the shootings at Virginia Tech happened, I panicked. My oldest daughter goes to the University of Virginia, VTech's neighbour, and her boyfriend goes to VTech. I immediately looked at my Skype list, and found Christopher online. I was hugely relieved when I realised that he was okay. My daughter at that time was apparently still fast asleep. I can imagine what his own parents must have gone through when they heard the news. I was worried, and he was not even my son!

That was a very sad incident. I know this is an understatement. I also don't really know what could have been done to prevent it, these are situations that we do not have full control over. If the university had sent out a warning earlier, would students not have gone to class? Perhaps, but would the shooter have gone to the dorms instead? Or to the recreation areas where the students would have converged, or the library? I really do not know how to answer this.

What struck me was the fact that I can never keep my child safe. I have to live with that fact. I have to come to terms with the realisation that as she lives on her own, or even if she lives with me, I cannot be with her all the time. What comforts me is the fact that Kristina is a very sensible girl and would not deliberately put herself in harm's way. But that still does not make me less apprehensive about other stuff. All I can do is to pray for her and hope that her guardian angels will always be with her and keep her safe.

Christopher is back in VTech. He told me he was feeling unsure about being back, about how odd it feels like in campus. One of his professors was shot dead. He still cannot get over that. He was asking why this happened, I had no answer to that. He is doing the best he can to hang in there. As a mother, I can understand how he feels. I would probably want to keep him home and not let him out of my sight. But then that won't help either.

Kristina was affected by the shooting as well. She has friends there. Most of them are safe. But a friend of her high school classmate was apparently shot. She relates to the pain. She has not been sounding her usual bubbly self after that incident, and I know that deep inside her and her friends, they don't understand how this could have happened.

The other times that similar shootings have happened, I felt bad, I felt awful for those parents who lost their children to a disturbed person's bullet. But it was not something personal, it was just a normal show of compassion. This time, it just hit me more than it did before because it was too close to home.

Healing will take some time, but I hope that they heal, very soon.

The sun is out... finally!

2007-04-23T10:00:00.000-05:00

I caught a really nasty bug last week, and was home, feeling sick and sorry for myself. I am slowly but surely recovering, and today felt strong enough to actually venture back to the office, although I feel very wobbly and unsure. Five days of being cooped up at home is not exactly something one enjoys!

I was chatting with my neighbour over the weekend out on our deck, where the sun was shining brightly, amidst a cool breeze, and I told him that I realised I was not invincible after all. He was amused by that "nugget of wisdom" I gained by falling ill. I am made of stern stuff. I don't normally get sick, well, at least not the "simple" cold, flu types. It almost always passes me over. Hmmm, I guess I spoke too soon, didn't I? Even my daughter said so, she realises that it is probably the first time in a few years that I have been down with something like this.

And it was quite unpleasant. I realised I was really ill when that first day I stayed home, I slept the whole morning and part of the afternoon. I could not write, my head was throbbing painfully, and I was running a temperature. My eyes were watery, and I was just feeling really miserable. Friends told me that perhaps I needed to develop antibodies for Canadian viruses, that's why I was struck down. One said that this was perhaps a combination of the physical and emotional stress that I have been feeling the last few months, and that getting over this will be like getting a new life back. I don't really want a new life because I like what I have with all its fun, sad and quirky times, but that was a nice thought anyway!

What made me feel a little better was the fact that the sun is finally out, it was nice and warm and truly spring is in the air, even if I could not fully enjoy it! We all waited for months for the weather to finally improve, and yes, it is finally here!

So today, I have a little skip in my step, because despite being under the weather, the sun lifts me up, and makes me feel that everything will be alright...

45 years and counting...

2007-04-18T20:21:00.000-05:00

Today, my parents celebrate their 45th wedding anniversary. Being the only one in the family living far away, I had to content myself with celebrating vicariously with them through a very long telephone conversation. The whole family was there: siblings, in laws, nephews, aunts, uncles. I felt very homesick!

Forty-five years. I say it is amazing. It is not very often nowadays that couples reach this important milestone in their marriage. Especially not during these "modern" times where separation and divorce are the norm! My brothers and sister always tease our parents that this is 45 years of patience, of getting used to the others weird ways, of loving a person despite his/her flaws. It truly is something to celebrate!

All of us are witness to the fact that these two incredible people made it despite the many challenges that they both had to face. There were very difficult times for each of them. For me this is a testament to commitment, that they have stuck to each other through thick and thin, that they were willing to forgive each other their faults because they truly love and care for each other.

I would in fact have to give a lot of credit to my mother. She is the most incredible person, one that I always hope to emulate. She is the cornerstone of this marriage, she has held it all together with her tenacity and sheer perseverance. My mother is older than my father, eight years older. They married when my father was in his early twenties.

My father, he is a happy go lucky person. He believes in making other people happy. He has never lived away from our hometown, he is a small town boy at heart. His friends today are his college buddies. He just loves being where he is. He has a big heart, and always wants to reach out to others even if it is something he cannot afford to do.

I never recall them fighting, not at all. Of course they had their differences, but they kept these to themselves, the children have nothing to do with it, so they should not get involved. My mother's advice to me that I always remember and hope to keep is to "never let the sun set on an argument between your partner".

The funny thing is now that they are much older, they bicker. Oh, how they can bicker! We have to be the referees sometimes, but it is all done in fondness and affection.

My parents are extremely lucky. At least this is what I think.

Marriage is the highest form of commitment two people in love can give to each other. To love and to cherish, to have and to hold.... Imagine being stuck with just one person for the rest of your life? That is not an easy choice, we often run away from the mere thought of it.

My own marriage broke up more than 14 years ago, but that does not make me stop believing in this commitment. I have a number of friends whose marriage has fallen apart, but I also have many who are very happily married. I look at those who are happily married as the positive sign that it is something that I still want. I would like to still strive for that, if I can.

My youngest brother and I ended our conversation today by thinking that in five years, we shall have a big celebration. Fifty years is an even bigger reason to celebrate. And we are starting to plan this now, as a tribute to our parents.

The vagaries of change

2007-04-16T18:00:00.000-05:00

I had an interesting talk with a colleague and friend who has just recently moved to Montreal. She and her husband moved here after many years in Africa, and the culture shock was quite intense to say the least. Notwithstanding the fact that both these friends work for international organisations and have travelled to so many countries around the world.

She was asking me how I have managed to "feel at home" in this city, when she is struggling so much. Time, I said, and definitely a sense of perspective and acceptance. It was not easy, and it has only been in the last few months that I have really come to terms with the fact that this will be my home, at least for one or two years more, and I have decided to make the best of it. To enjoy the city and its people, and to embrace what it has to offer.

The interesting thing is that change does affect us in strange ways. For me, I was quite depressed for the first three months. I guess the first month was better because I was living in temporary accommodation, and I always thought I was going back to Bangkok each weekend! I felt even more depressed when our things came, and we moved into our house because then it all became "permanent": I realised I was not going anywhere, at least not soon. My friend felt the same way, and it was quite curious that she felt the same way.

She and her husband have just moved into their own apartment, and she confessed that seeing all her stuff somehow made her despondent. And the weather does not help... Snow in April is not very conducive to feeling upbeat and cheerful, one might say.

I truly sympathised with her, and remarkably, the knowledge that I felt exactly the same way somehow cheered her up and encouraged her a lot. I thought that was a positive thing to come out of it. But, I know how she feels, and I am happy I am over that phase now!

Change... everyone says that it is the only constant. How we accept it and react to it determines our happiness. I have never felt so positive about so many things in my life than today. Life always has a way of surprising us. I hope that one of these surprises will be meant for me, and soon!

A Catholic in a Hindu Kingdom

2007-04-14T00:00:00.000-05:00

Kathmandu. The name itself conjures exotic images of the last remaining Hindu kingdom. Sandwiched between India and China, this small country has plenty of character. It also has a very recent violent history that sometimes affects you when you are there.

I travelled there a few times in the last 7 years. On one visit, I was there on the day of a lunar eclipse. The whole country stood still, for the few hours of the eclipse. Quite eerie actually, people did not want to be caught outside, not with their shadows. We had to wait till it passed before our big shindig could start.

On another, I rode on a rickshaw with a good friend and colleague at night after dinner at the Yak and Yeti, in the darkened city streets, where the rickshaw young driver, I swear, had the whole route memorised because there was just nothing to see! He did get us back to our hotel in one piece and I was very grateful.

On yet another visit, I was there for the festival of Teej. I found an entry in one of my little journals about that visit:

Yesterday was the festival of Teej, women wore red and fasted for long and prosperous lives for their husbands. Kathmandu was awash in red saris, salwar kameezes, and I could only imagine the rumbling of their stomachs as they bow their heads and clasp their hands in their long pujas for dear husband's longevity. Never mind that he is perhaps completely useless at home and totally macho, and difficult to live with, one still prays for his long life. Do you think some women are doing just the exact opposite? Who knows what goes on inside their heads as they pray anyway?

I remember eating platefuls of momos, and feeling relaxed after glasses of their local brew. I enjoyed browsing through Pilgrim's bookshop where the books are so cheap and "not for sale outside the Indian continent", but hauled many of these back to Paris and Bangkok. I was not about to sell them anyway!

My last trip was with my former boss who has now since been promoted to a much bigger and more important job. That was an unforgettable visit. I was on airport duty at some point, and I think I went to the airport about 4 times in 2 days! We also made trips to the market with her helping me choose beautiful hand blown glass hash pipes. It was not for me, it was a present.

I look at the beautiful thanka hanging on my wall, the prayer bowls that make such beautiful music, and my Nepali hat, and I realise how lucky I am to have the opportunity to visit these wonderful places, and bring back unforgettable memories of each!

Note: All photos here are courtesy of a friend, Anil Sookdeo.

In my little corner...

2007-04-13T00:00:00.000-05:00

I took some days off last week. Other than the fact that it was Holy Week and I needed my alone time to meditate, it was also a much deserved break. Time on my hands with nothing to do, nothing that had anything to do with work, but loads of small things to do at home. Time to ruminate and sort things out in my head.

There is a small corner in the middle foyer of our apartment that I have been, for some time, thinking of doing up. I brought these big clay jars from Bangkok, and thought these would be a good base for a glass table top. Lucky me, I found exactly what I was looking for in Pier 1. Kara and I lugged it home, all 15 kilos of it!

Then I framed some family photos, took this Indian wall hanging (I think it is Rajasthani, although I am not certain) and just did all these on my own, while Kara was at school.

With a Baluch and a Turkmen rug in front, this little corner of mine looks quite cosy, it warms my heart. Putting all these little things together was not very much work, but it allowed me to clear my mind, to think of other things besides stressful stuff. I created something simple, yet personal. It is not difficult to do that when we find time to. I am not very big at decorating yet I apparently have an eclectic style that many friends like.

I realise that being in Montreal even with my very high powered and stressful job has given me more time to myself. I have been able to enjoy alone times that I never had in the last 10 years or so. I have come to appreciate my own self, understand and give way to my own needs, learned to manage my expectations, and have come to terms with my own quirky ideas about many things.

And you know what, I love what I see. I am proud of myself and what I have accomplished. I know what I have to offer and what I expect back. If others do not appreciate me for what I am, then it is their loss!

When the weather gets at you...

2007-04-12T15:05:00.000-05:00

It is mid-April. Well, almost. Springtime. Think of flowers, sunshine, barbecues, walks in the park, coffees on open air cafes, greenery...

Oh, but I forget, I live in Montreal now, and their definition of spring here is probably different from most places! Excuse me for being facetious, but as I look out my window, there is snow billowing outside, visibility almost zero. I cannot see anything except for these large snowflakes... In April...

In fairness, my friends and colleagues here tell me that in the last three years, this is the first time that the weather has been like this at this time of the year. I was here at the same time last year, and yes it was a bit chilly, but the sun was out, and you felt invigorated. Well, it gets to me. I want sunshine... I want heat, warmth, both literally and figuratively. But I will settle even for the literal... SIGH...

I do love the snow, but I love it in November and December when it is getting close to Christmas and that cool, crisp nip is in the air. Not now, not when all my hopes are up for the weather to hopefully influence my mood. When the sun brings this lift into your soul, into your life, where the energy it gives out somehow also rubs off on you, and you believe that everything will be alright, that life goes on, no matter what.

Well, I do promise to be cheerful about the weather. I promise, really.... With all the bad news I have been hearing lately about friends and other stuff, if the weather is all I have to complain about, I just bow my head and be thankful..

As they say, when things get really bad, they can only get better. Hopefully, the wheel will turn just a little faster....

New Look!!

2007-04-03T17:30:00.000-05:00

I finally did it! As you can all see, I changed the layout of my blog. It took me a lot of courage to do this because I always worry when I have to change something. I guess it is natural. When we are used to the familiar, doing something new is always daunting. But I did it, and I am quite proud of my handiwork! A friend of mine who looked at this new layout for the first time this morning told me it looks warm and homey.... this is what I always want to create!

I have to say thanks to two Anglo-Indian friends who helped me a lot, David McMahon and Terry Fletcher. When you consider that I am located in Canada, David is in Australia, while Terry is in Portugal, and we were working together on this, THAT is quite a feat! Thanks guys!!

A sentimental gift

2007-04-03T01:00:00.000-05:00

The above picture is the creation of artist Naresh Singh. A present for me on my 39th birthday. It is a very precious gift because other than the memories, this is all I have left of a very good friend (see my earlier post My Sikh friend: a small tribute). I am so happy it is finally hanging on my wall here at home in Montreal. The framers took their own sweet time to finish it!

Naresh loved photography, but he did not only take photos, he made them too. The first time I saw similar work at his home in Paris, I asked him to explain how he did it. He showed me his workdesk, his colours, and how he somehow draws on the negatives and paints them to make an original work.

Naresh was very versatile. He did landscapes too, and some of then were very stunning. I know there is one photograph that I want, of this woman carrying a child on her back, shot at dawn with a mist swirling around them outside a temple, in Bhutan. I told his daughter Aruna to save this for me.

For friends in India who might come across this post, Naresh's photos will be on exhibit, along with some other Indian photographers, from 7-17 April 2007 at the Sridharani Gallery, New Delhi. This photography exhibition is titled Vision Beyond.

The artist himself, Naresh Singh

La petanque

2007-03-27T22:10:00.000-05:00

Photos above: Nirmal Ghosh

As I looked out the balcony of our hotel room in Luang Prabang, Laos, the sight of young men playing a game of boules greeted me. Knowing the influence of the French on Laos, I was not really surprised that young people played this game too. This little sleepy town holds beautiful memories for me, something I will never forget for the rest of my life!

La petanque or boules is a favourite game in France. It originated in Provence. It is normally played on a hard dirt surface. The objective of the game is to get one team's balls as close as possible to a much smaller ball called the cochonet which means piglet in English. Each team has six balls. The other team can also hit the opposing team's balls just to have the most closest to the cochonet. The first one that reaches 13 points wins.

When we lived in France, we observed these being played in parks close by to the house, very often by older Frenchmen, who seem to really enjoy it. It looked to me like a very relaxing game, unlike some very physical competitive sports where adrenaline really gets pumped up as the game goes on. I am sure the boules players also get hyped up, but it just seemed to convey a sense of ease, combined with skill and strategy. No hitting and elbowing and jumping on one another. That impression stuck.

One day I got us a set of children's boules, and my kids and I tried this out too. We were hoping to duplicate those hand movements, where one somehow curled the fingers around the ball, the the arm gets pulled back to gather force then the ball is thrown with a single flick of the hand. Oh, that was quite an interesting sight! We never really got the hang of it, so decided to leave our boules set alone. I am afraid we did not have enough French blood to really appreciate the sport, or maybe we were just not a sporty family.

But as I watched the movie A Year in Provence based on the best-selling book by Peter Mayle, on DVD, I was struck with nostalgia, for those happy and carefree times in Paris, when my girls were little, and eating ice cream and strolling through the park watching this game being played was a part of our life. Oh, and if you get a chance to watch this film, you will really enjoy it, especially if you have some insight into the French culture, and the interaction between the French and the English. It is pretty hilarious, there were times when I was laughing so hard, I had tears in my eyes!

Moony me!

2007-03-26T20:48:00.000-05:00

What was I thinking? This is supposed to be a picture of the moon, apologies if it did not come out as I thought it would, but thought I would share it anyway, so those professional guys out there can advise me what to do.

It was Tuesday evening last week when I glanced up as I was driving and saw about 15 percent of the moon in the sky, all brightly lit and very mesmerizing. This was around 10:00 pm, I was on my way home from work. It seemed to follow me (or I was following it, depending on whose perspective), and when I reached home, I parked my car, opened the door and grabbed my camera. It was not the best idea, but I thought I might get a good shot.

I think I was a funny sight on our deserted streets when my neighbour came out to walk his dog. he saw me trying to get a steady shot on the roof of a car. We chatted a bit, he brought out his tripod to help me, then we walked a bit further up the street to see if I could get a better view. By then, more mist was setting in, and the moon was starting to hide behind it, and the clouds.

So this was one of the nicer shots....

Environment Watch

2007-03-13T01:30:00.000-05:00

Patch the ozone hole, Save our climate

I am starting a new section on this blog, an idea that I got from fellow blogger and "adopted" mentor, David McMahon. From today onwards, I will provide information on a topic close to my heart: the environment. I will link news items, important events , and write stories on various issues on ozone protection, climate, biodiversity, etc, and will call it Environment Watch. Hopefully people will find this series interesting and informative. I will also try to present information in a more reader-friendly way so that we can all do our bit to save our planet.

My first story for today is about a report that has recently been published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (PNAS) of the US that highlights the success of the Montreal Protocol on substances that deplete the Ozone layer, and its contribution to to climate protection, which is under the mandate of the Kyoto Protocol.

The report entitled The Importance of the Montreal Protocol in Protecting Climate Change shows the contribution of phasing out the use of CFCs and other ozone depleting substances to climate change. It reports that the "climate protection already achieved by the Montreal Protocol is far larger than the reduction target of the first commitment period of the Kyoto Protocol.

In layman's language, this means that by stopping the use of what are called ozone depleting substances, those gases we use in our refrigerators and car air conditioners , for instance which is an obligation of countries under the Montreal Protocol, this has actually slowed down climate change by a certain level.

This is really good news for the Montreal Protocol which celebrates its 20th anniversary this year, and the whole ozone protection community.

So now, when you buy a new refrigerator, please check the label to see whether it is ozone friendly, and when having your car AC serviced, demand that the technicians make sure that they use good practice and not emit the gas into the atmosphere, but rather recover it if possible!

Caught in between

2007-03-12T20:00:00.000-05:00

A Sri Lankan journalist friend of mine today sent me a link to an essay that he wrote which looks at journalistic detachment, and what it means to those who write on issues like natural disasters, where the impacts are so strong that one cannot help but get personally affected by it. Nalaka Gunawardene was the Executive Producer of the video Children of Tsunami, a video that looked at lives of children that survived the 2005 tsunami that hit Asia.

Should journalists be detached to remain objective, or can objectivity be retained despite a feeling of affinity for the subjects? I leave you with this question, and will let you read his essay Journalistic detachment tested by disaster yourself.

My friend Nalaka and I go back a long way. We have produced videos together and worked on publications and communication strategies. You see, I wear a number of hats, in this was one of those. There were times when we did not agree on the treatment of a subject, but we had such respect for each other that we often were able to come to a compromise on language and other aspects of the content.

I have only high regard for what Nalaka and TVE Asia and the Pacific have accomplished, and I know that he will continue to lead this organisation with vision and leadership. I am proud to have worked with him.

Writing poetry

2007-03-09T16:00:00.000-05:00

Note: A little foray into poetry writing. I often get these flashes of words in my head, sometimes I feel they are begging to be written. As I sat on the plane from Istanbul to Ashkhabad, and everyone around me was fast asleep, my mind was busy churning words. So I wrote these down in a small notebook I often carry with me.... Sometimes it is just one word or a phrase, but when I start to write, others fall into place... But often free verse is all I can manage. I love these journeys with the written word, they fill me with inspiration!

Untitled

Dust settles, noises cease….and all around is silence…
Heartbeats slow down…. a sign…of weariness? Of fatigue? Of calmness?

The sky is purple and orange in the horizon….it looks filled with promise.
She feels a tingling, an excitement…for something unknown.

She stands on the edge of a precipice…..
If falling is what it takes to soar and save this life, she will conquer this fear…

But that weightlessness is surrender,

to what is,

and what is meant to be…
Does she know what awaits her? Does she want to know?

Wind, cold and frigid touches her face and stuns her back to reality:

she is hurtling into nothingness….
No amount of persuasion,

love or tenderness can bring her back….

She decides herself..

She chooses to live in this darkness,

for here,

she is invisible…
In hiding her vulnerability, she has more power than she can ever imagine.

She invents a cloak of mystery
Where each of her faces is a mask.
Where strangers and lovers become one..
Where the past, present and future

become hundreds and thousands of different images….

like short films

without endings

nor beginnings…

Somehow, someone casts her a lingering glance…. she flinches…
….and it upsets the balance of this chaos

because the look is too familiar,

too poignant
like she has seen and felt it before..

But she cannot stop now for to do so would be betrayal…

of herself,

as the movie in her mind

continues to turn,

frame

after frame…..

Perhaps if she can play it all back
in slow motion….

perhaps

she can then clearly see

that tiny flicker of light ahead....

beckoning, captivating, compelling….

She stands, transfixed….
One eye on the light, while the other takes everything in…

And she is thinking to herself:

At precisely this moment, this is where I am meant to be.

Photo copyright: C. Mercado

Stranger than Fiction

2007-03-08T16:30:00.000-05:00

Imagine that you have been living each day of your life in a routine way, let us say, for the past so many years. The suddenly, you wake up one day, and as you are doing your morning routine, you hear a voice narrating your actions, and what you are doing next seems to follow everything that this voice is describing. As the voice continues talking, you realise that it is narrating and affecting your entire life, from your job, romantic interests, and completely changes you!

Freaky, yeah? But this is the plot of the movie "Stranger than Fiction" that I watched with my daughter and her boyfriend last night. It stars Will Ferrel in a completely different role than what he normally plays (not an Elf this time, I promise you!), and is an interesting take on fiction writing and life in general. The narrator is a writer (played by brilliant Emma Thompson) who is completing her book. The narration actually follows her writing, and for some reason, Will's character in the movie is somehow the main protagonist in her book. As she types incidents and situations in her manuscript, it happens to Will. It is interesting to know how he finds out about it, what he does, how this whole realisation changes his life, and the sacrifices that both of them make in the end.

The dilemma here for the Emma Thompson character, who writes tragedies, was how to finish her book after she met Will, and realised he was a real person, not just a fictional character. She was struggling with how to write his death in her book before they met. Their meeting then opens up a lot of questions in her. She then asks herself whether all the other characters in her previous novels were real too, and did her writing affect their life, as she had written it? She did not realise that this piece of writing was affecting her own life as well, and changed her.

What if life really was a book? Who is the narrator of our lives?

Is our life a work of "fiction" that we act it out in reality? I truly believe that there is an omniscient Master story teller who narrates our life, and decides which direction it takes. But in order to create a masterpiece, we need to leave our fate in His hands. At the end of the day, there is always a reason for whatever happens to us. We don't really see it as it develops, but the consequences can sometimes have far reaching implications.

Watch the movie, I am sure you will enjoy it, then leave me a post to let me know how it affected you. Think about what the message of the movie is for you.

Oh baby, it's cold outside...!

2007-03-06T07:00:00.000-05:00

This is our weather warning for Tuesday, 6 March, from Environment Canada's weather office: Clearing in the morning. Wind northwest 30 km/h gusting to 50. High minus 16. Extreme wind chill minus 38.

I just missed a snowstorm here last Friday. My daughter finally had a snow day, and the city had snow of around 30 cm, remnants of which are still on the roads and have to be cleaned up.

Clearing up snow on the roads is not an easy task, and it is not made any easier if the temperature continues to drop. Obviously those who drive the snow ploughs and snow blowers also feel the cold and cannot be exposed for too long.

In Montreal, salting the roads is a common practice. It melts the ice very quickly, but is not very friendly to the cars. My car is in dire need of a wash, otherwise the salt will start corroding its body, and I don't think I will like that.

Here are some photos of what my road looks like at the moment. There is about 2 feet of snow in front of my house, only the walkway is clear. Hopefully the sidewalks will be cleared by tonight, but the mounds and piles of now are quite dangerous for drivers. As I listened to the weather forecast on the radio this morning, I heard some cases of black ice in a few roads, and this is really bad, since driving under these conditions is not safe.

So, tomorrow, we need to keep warm and I ws told to put vaseline on our nostrils before coming out. At minus 38, you do not want that cold wind freezing your nose as you breathe in!

Photos copyright: C. Mercado

To market, to market...

2007-03-05T08:00:00.000-05:00

My trip to the market was one of the highlights of my visit to Ashgabad. On Thursday noon, I was waiting impatiently for my colleagues to get inside the carpet museum so that we could be on our way.

Almost half an hour later, we turned into a dirt road, and there were many things for sale even on the sidewalk. Honey in bottles on top of the car boots, plants, gourds, fruits, etc.

As we reached the market stalls, the familiar excitement of reaching a place which is always interesting and which I feel is the real life of a city gripped me. We strolled through the stalls admiring wares. I really wanted to see the carpet market, this was where I was headed.

These pictures should tell the story. I wish my other colleagues could have joined me. It was a lovely afternoon, we spent less than two hours there in the biting cold with the bright sun in our faces, but it was all worth it!!

The carpet market was my destination. When I finally found it, I was a bit disappointed since I expected wider display, but then it was winter, and perhaps the sellers would be out in droves when the weather was warmer. The carpets displayed here are called Teke, a design from one region of Turkmenistan.

It was cold, but no one could stop these sellers from making their day's earnings, so they sat patiently waiting for customers.

A child's traditional outfit.
This old lady was very sweet. She was selling silver jewelry, old ones. The Turkmen government is very protective of their cultural heritage that visitors are not allowed to bring these out, so I had to content myself with admiring them. She very nicely posed for a photo.

The Turkmens are quite good with their hands. They have a number of woolen woven products, and these ones are made like a quilt. These are wall and door decorations.

Walking around with a camera, I was a curiosity for many of the people in this market, but I tried to be discreet in taking photos, except for those where I asked permission. This group of ladies was very busy looking at the stall in front of them, all talking and pointing to things at the same time. Later, they went off with some purchases, as I observed.
This region is quite famous for its dried fruits and nuts. Here is a display of these, pistachios, dried apricots, peanuts, etc.

This lovely woman gave such a pretty smile, I could not resist a shot. She was selling scarves. Turkmen women wrap their hair with these colorful scarves and they go very well with their traditional outfits.
These hats are very warm on your head! I was tempted to buy one for myself, but I realised that was a bit of a silly thing to do since I would look very funny wearing it in Montreal!

This gentleman willingly opened this beautiful rug for me to admire. It was not easy to buy a rug from the market since you needed to get a license before you could take it out, and if you exceeded the allowed size, you paid duty for it which could be a large sum of money. We were advised to get rugs from the government shops, but there is nothing like buying from a market, so I got two small ones anyway.

A market is not complete without food. This is the Turkmen equivalent of the pulao. It has meat and vegetables in it, and is cooked in this large pan. The lady took a spoon and ladled a bit on it for me to taste. It was quite savoury except I found it too oily for my taste.

Photos copyright: C. Mercado

Central Asia's "city of love"

2007-03-04T23:30:00.000-05:00

Turkmenistan's symbol, inside the museum of history. You may not see it, but in the middle is a horse. Their late President loved horses, that's the reason.

I loved this lamp. Somehow with the new buildings and the flag on the backdrop, it symbolized the old and the new, which is what the city is all about.

"Ashkh" means love, "abad" means city. Askhgabad means the "city of love". I discovered this interesting nugget on my recent trip to the capital city of Turkmenistan in Central Asia.

After three hours in their freezing airport going through immigration, and waiting for our luggage, we we were on our way to our hotel.

As one of the countries of the former Soviet Union, Turkmenistan has had a very interesting history. Until his death last December, the country was ruled by Saparmurat Niyazov, who declared himself the leader of this country in 1991, after it gained independence. He was called "Turkmenbashi" meaning "leader of all Turkmen". His leadership was based on his country being "neutral and independent", his own version of complete authoritarian rule. Most people I talked to refer to the time before independence as "before neutrality". It is quite a strange feeling to be in a country which is still suffers from a form of social control through strict obedience to authority.

Askhgabad is quite a modern city, a far cry from my expectations of how it would look like. It is almost beautiful in a planned, structured, organised sort of way. New buildings litter the cityscape, visions of marble and stone, most of them white, with specks of blue domes in between. This recent wealth comes from having the opportunity to spend all the income they get from their natural gas and oil reserves. No more central Soviet government to give them peanuts for what they contribute to the coffers.

It is really a new city since an intensity 9 earthquake in 1948 totally leveled it, leaving only three buildings intact, a mosque, the prison and a bank. They say these three buildings left standing are quite symbolic of the country's future.

The roads are wide and spacious (a far cry from the pot holed streets of Montreal!), and are very well lit. It seems that the city does not suffer from energy crisis at all. Petrol costs US$1 for a full tank, each household gets free gas for all its energy needs. This is what we were told. Yet there were not very many people on the streets. Granted that it was quite biting cold, perhaps they preferred being indoors.

We were taken to see museums, parks, monuments, water fountains, all these built by the late President. We even visited the President's stables. He loved horses. We also went to a park where a giant replica of his book the Rukhana was displayed. This book was where each Turkmen was expected to get spiritual guidance and learn about the history and culture of their country. It looked like he spent a lot of money on these structures, and made us wonder how social welfare really was. We never got clear answers, except to be told that the late President did a lot for the country, and that all these modern structures were built only in the last ten years, a feat unsurpassed according to them.

The people we met, all of them, from the immigration officers to the customs people to the hotel staff, were all very nice, helpful and exuded hospitality. I had to have everything I said translated into Russian by colleagues, or the Turkmen language by our hosts, but it was a treat to be surrounded by such warm people who had a ready smile for me every time.

But I was feeling very restless since I could not shake off the feeling that I was not really getting a glimpse of the real Turkmenistan. This is always important to me when I travel, that I get a feel for the real culture and the people. I pestered our government hosts to take me to the flea market. I had seen pictures of this market on a website, and I was quite determined to go and visit it and see it for myself.

I finally got my chance one noon time, and was driven there by a friend. Once we got past the boundaries of the city, the landscape changes. It becomes a little bit "poorer", none of the white marble buildings were in sight, and there were more people around. I was quite happy.

Their flea market is like any other flea market in any developing country in the world. People selling wares from China, India, etc, there were second hand stuff, and trinkets, hats, woven products, food, everything you can think of. Here I was surrounded by the ordinary citizens of the country, those who have to eke out perhaps a more meager way of existence that those I am fortunate to come into contact with. But the warmth and sicnerity still comes from them. They were ready to pose for my camera, and give me a huge smile.

I ate kebabs from a street stall, and something that resembled a shawarma sandwich. I just took in the colours and flavours of the market. It was quite a sprawling place, and we did not have time to see everything. I wanted to see the carpet market most of all, and I did but was told that in the summer, it would be filled with more choices.

There was very little my colleagues could say about the new President since he has been in office only for less than three months. It seems that he is expected to follow through all the projects of the late one, but might also introduce reforms. One of his early acts was to allow the opening of at least two Internet cafes in the city.

I find the country a place of contradictions. One sees a modern facade, yet if one scratches beneath this surface, one would discover that there is a lot more that needs to be done before it can attain economic independence. The people seem to be happy with what they have, who are we to judge that they are not? Our host minister said to us one evening over dinner that his government will let its performance speak for itself. What we see around us, according to him, meant a lot of hard work for many people, and he hoped that we would bring this information out to those in other countries who judge their country very badly.

I don't really know what to expect from a place dubbed a "city of love", but I believe we should give the country a chance to prove itself.

Watch out for more photos of my visit...

A young Turkmen girl.

A view of the city at night. The white lights in the horizon are the white new marble buildings, notice how wide the roads are.

One of their monuments. Our guide informed us that the design of this is taken from an a silver ornament normally worn on top of a young girl's hat.

Inside their museum of history is this glass dome, it gave the room so much light, it was quite nice.

The Turkmenbashi of neutral independent Turkmenistan. You will see his picture everywhere in buildings in and out of the city.

The Rukhana, each Turkmen's guide to their country's history, culture and spiritual upliftment.
This place is called the "health steps", carved on one of the hills. This set of steps goes for 8 kilometers, another set on the other side goes for 25 kilometers. Apparently government officials are obliged to complete climbing these steps at least once in their careers, in order to stay healthy.

The facade of the museum of history.
Guess what shape this building reminds you of? A Zippo lighter? You are right! We were told that because of the significance of oil and gas in the country, a number of building were built in this shape. Our hotel was one of these, this was an adjacent one. There were more around that were being built.