Gold Pumps

I think I may have developed a new Tuesday after class habit --- SM, and why not? After all, it’s near, only a jeepney ride away from school. After all, the merchandise is within a college girl’s price range. And after all, it burns time and is fun. It’s lovely, really.

Of course, I, being a girl inside a hallowed hall of commercialism, had to browse through whatever they sold there, and it is there that I saw them.

They beckoned to me, yelling “Me! Look at me!” and grabbing my attention. The gold leather shimmered from where I stood. Drawing me in, they revealed a black suede design that made them even more interesting and added more character. As I approached them, more and more reasons to fall for them were shown --- the 3 ½ inch heel (Any person who’s known me very much remembers that I have a penchant for stilt-like heels), the craftsmanship, the interesting toe, the P400 price tag. By the time that my trembling hands grasped them like a gem, I was basically already telling myself this:

“Gold pumps by Parisian, you shall be mine."

So I approached the first saleslady I saw and excitedly told her I wanted that glorious piece of footwear in a size seven. She obliged because, well, that’s her job. I sat down on the couch just thinking of how many delicious concoctions of looks I can create with those pumps and my clothes. Then, with one sentence, all my lofty thoughts were halted.

“Ma’am, size eight po yung pinaka-maliit natin eh.”

Oh no! For a girl, that’s heart-wrenching. It was the perfect gold shoe. It was calling me. Me! And now, you guys tell me I can take them home? (Oh goodness! I sound like an adoptive parent struggling with papers.) I walked away from the shoe department rather crushed. Gah! This is the trouble with small feet.

But then, I realized something. Wait a second! The smallest size is an eight, right? That means that if I bought those cork insoles they use to tighten the shoe, it can shrink to my size seven. All I needed to do was to put something extra to be able to say hello to those gold pumps.

It’s pretty much the same with life. We could never measure up to God’s standards alone. We are way too miniscule to fit ourselves to the immenseness of God’s plan. But much like those cork insoles, there’s Someone who mediated on our behalf so we can enjoy His enormous destiny for us. And what’s the best part? There is no need to pay an extra P15 or so to have Him. It’s done. All we need to do is believe.

And of course, Jesus is way better than just a pair of gold heels.

He's Not...But Who Cares!

Breakin Away - Al Jarreau

Sometimes, I'm astonished at the amount of amazingly cool people I know! And this man? No way is he any exception!

So no, he's not Steve Lukather nor Eric Clapton nor Joao Gilberto (though he somehow resembles him! Haha!). No, he is not the man responsible for all those bum-kicking rifts in all those Toto songs. No, he is not the astonishingly talented guitarist world-famous for "Changing the world so he can be the sunlight in someone's universe". No, he is not a Brazilian bossa nova legend renowned in the music world for his syncopated singing. But he is one passionate musician who relishes in searching for the right note on his Gibson guitar. He is a man whose diverse music library contains Tower of Power AND John Legend. He is someone who doesn't mind singing out loud and even dancing to Earth, Wind and Fire's Fantasy as he listens to it on his iPod. He is a man who may not play to an audience of millions or even thousands (like he did back in his youth) but knows he rocks out for the One who matters most!

So no, he's not Michael Kors nor Tim Gunn. No, he is not the New York designer known for his divine dresses. No, he is not the famous Project Runway mentor known for his impeccable style. But he is truly one guy who's always in style. He is the type of person who isn't afraid to wear his Marks and Spencer beret at the mall. He is a man who can easily tell the difference between cream and ecru. He is his daughter's and his wife's favourite shopping buddy and fashion consultant (Yes, he actually enjoys shopping!). He is so en vogue that he can use expressions as "That's hot!" with aplomb!

No, he's not Joel Osteen nor Dr. Miles Monroe. No, he does not speak weekly to his 15, 000 plus -member congregation at Lakewood Church. No, he does not have a Doctorate in theology and travel from nation to nation to discuss his books. But he is someone who lives and speaks with passion about his amazing God. He is one guy who always seeks his Father first in all he does. His words to those he mentors always have the fire and breath of God. He is a mighty example of what a man of God is.

No, he is not Florentino Ariza nor Romeo Montague. No, he will not eat camellias for the woman (or women. Let's not forget his daughters!) he loves. No, he will not finish off Tybalt. But he is someone who loves his family truly, deeply, passionately. He is someone who isn't afraid to lavish his love and affection on his wife and children (Showy love isn't really that attributed to men. So yeah, it's a big deal!). He's someone who's big hugs his loved ones could get lost in.

He may not be all of those renowned people. But he's more than all of them combined to yours truly. Why? Because he's none other than my sweet, talented, handsome Dad!

Happy Father's Day to you who truly deserve it!



PS: Who else deserves a Father's Day greeting? Well, my even more amazing, incredible Heavenly Father, that's who! You are matchless!

Typical Filipina

One afternoon in early December, I went to one of the nearby malls to get my Christmas shopping partially done. I was walking around, looking for little things that beckon me to buy them as gifts when I saw a crowd of humanity convening at the centre activity area. I checked it out and saw that it was a sort of exhibit of different nations and some of their products, an international bazaar of some sorts. I ask myself if I should check it out. Why not!

I dive into the mass and go to the first booth that grabbed me, the lady with champion weightlifters for ears (My friends can attest to how big my earrings can get!) --- Pakistan's accessory booth. I make my way and go peek at all that glittery goodness when I notice the proprietors stare at me with mouths gapping open. I decide to ignore it and continue my scrupulous inspection of Pakistani jewelry when I hear a deep voice speak in Urdu. I look up and see the owners smiling at me, eyes wide open, expecting a reply. So after a good blush, I try to explain to them as best as I can that I'm not Pakistani and that I don't speak any Urdu. They, rather embarrassed, then tell me in their thick accent, "We're sorry! We just never thought you were Filipina!"

Little did I know this was to be only one of many instances where my nationality would be questioned!

Typical Filipina. It's something not usually attributed to me. For some reason, one look at me is enough to make people automatically switch to English just to talk to me from the vernacular (which I sort of don't mind since I'm more comfortable in English anyway!). For some reason, a very much overused question posed to me is "How do you find your holiday or stay in the Philippines?" In fact, I've even shocked a NAIA customs officer by the mere fact that my passport had "Passaporte Pilipinas" emblazoned on it!

My looks are certainly not typical Filipina. No, I may not have auburn hair and sparkling emerald eyes or something like our Caucasian cousins. But apparently, my jet, India ink black hair is too dark for a Filipina. My eyes are actually a deep shade of midnight blue, so deep it almost looks black (but with proper lighting you'd see the blue undertones). Then there's my high, protruding cheekbones --- a feature usually seen in our Arabic and Indian cousins. (So, I guess that explains the Urdu! Haha!)

But it doesn't stop there. My tastes are not very typical of a Filipina. The average Rihanna-listening, comedy-watching, Twilight-devouring Filipina girl might find my preferences too stuffy. My Norah Jones, Adele and 70's music-filled iPod is usually mistaken for my Dad's. My movie collection (most of which requires subtitles) leaves many people scratching their heads in confusion of why I like them. And my books? Gosh! Too long of a story to put here!

So with all of that non-conformity, it's pretty clear to see why even foreigners mistake me for a...well, foreigner. I mean even my primary language speaks of my being atypical (English, not Tagalog). I guess that means I'm not really that Filipina.

But wait a second? Is Rihanna really the sole basis of whether you're a Filipina or not? Can you be deemed a Filipina and still enjoy your Jean-Pierre Jeunet? Is nationalism really equivalent to conforming?

If you think about it, some of the people the Philippines considers most nationalistic aren't typical Filipino at all. Rizal spoke over 6 languages, atypical from the usual 2 (Spanish and Tagalog). Bonifacio relished in reading about the French revolution, a topic that wasn't really of interest during his time. No, I'm not saying that Filipino pop culture and taste is bad (That would just lose the subjectivity of art and culture.). I'm just saying that there's something more important to be considered in nationality: Love.

Love is what drove these people we now consider heroes to stand up and make a difference for the country. And it is what drives today's modern heroes to still stand up today. It is love that drives a Filipino to pick up the trash and throw it in the appropriate bin. It is love that drives a Filipino to follow traffic rules. It is love that drives a Filipino to help out in worthy causes. It is love that drives a Filipino to fulfill his responsibilities, aside from know his rights.

And yes, Filipinos can be brown or white skinned. And yes, Filipinos can be brown or blue-eyed. And yes, Filipinos can listen to Rihanna or Adele, watch Joey Reyes or Jean-Pierre Jeunet, be spoken to in Urdu or not!

Wannabe Ilongga

Ti? Oo gani! Kabalo ako sang Ilonggo ba! Ay! Gani!

Indi ka magpati? Oo! Namian ko sang Ilonggo! Oo, amo gani hambal ko!

Indi ka? Ay! Bala ka da!

Yeah, that's right! I speak Ilonggo! This girl who punctuates a lot of her sentences with "yeah" like most Aussies can go and tell you before she leaves "Ga lakat na kami!" This girl who spells paediatrician like so can tell you that the supper you prepared for her was truly namit! This girl who uses expressions like "scandalously azure" and "immensely enchanting" can go tell someone to shut up by just one utterance of "Hipus!".

Yeah, what's that? You're asking me if I'm Ilongga? Well, no, I'm not. I was born and raised in Manila and so have my parents. My bloodline also has not even a smidgen of Ilonggo (Right now, I'm giggling at the fact that I have Hungarian in my heritage but not Ilonggo! Talk about me being mixed!). I'm neither a frequent visitor to the Panay provinces. In fact, the only time I was in Ilonggo territory was when I went on vacation to Boracay (in Aklan. But it's an indisputable fact that it's really tourist-oriented).

But yes, I do speak their vernacular dialect. I'm guessing it started when I was about5 or 6. My governess, a jolly middle-aged woman from the Bacolod suburb of Murcia, had apparently been so used to her Ilonggo expressions that she used some of them unwittingly on then-purely English speaking me. Being the precocious child that I was, I wondered what those magic words of "Ambot sa imo" meant. I asked her but only got a loud guffaw as an answer. That made me ask myself just what magical, secret language this was. For some reason, from that point on, I was fascinated with their words. I've always found Ilonggo very much full of passion and emotion (Don't believe me? Ask an Ilonggo to argue with you and you'll see what I mean!). I've always found it very much bursting with vitality, much like the people that speak it and their celebrations. From that point on, I vowed to plunge into the language and actually learn it (Yes, I was already a wannabe linguist at 5!).

And so, little by little I learnt my Ilonggo by picking up whatever words I could and using context clues (or sometimes asking. Thank God some of the people I asked obliged) to get the meaning. And now --- after 15 years and 5 Bacolod-born governesses/maids --- here I am, actually capable of holding a conversation in the dialect!

And apparently, according to my Ilonggo friends, I sound like them too! I have the accent down pat! Whee!


Okay? I see your gapping mouth and bulging eyes. You're shocked? Oh, yeah! I get it! I mean since when have you seen someone that sounds like a Kylie Minougue-Keira Knightley amalgamation in English say "Waay ko pamangkot"!

No? That's not it? Then what... Oh. That.

You're asking me how my upper middle-class, caramel half-caf non-fat macchiato sipping, Jostein Gaarder and Gabriel Garcia Marquez reading self could possibly want to learn a dialect of Filipino attributed to people who cook my supper (and by the way, what is wrong with that --- associating with them?). You're asking me why I, city-bred, have to learn a language only provincial people understand. You're asking me why I don't just stick to my French or Portuguese or improve my English further. You know, stick to the upper-class languages.

But that's my point exactly. Who says Ilonggo (and Cebuano, Chavacano, Kapampangan --- any language or dialect, really) can not be considered upper-class? In fact, who insinuated a general Caste system for languages anyway? Language is not to be used as status symbol.

If you think about it, all languages are lovely because they are used to express the thoughts of a people. It is the bridge that connects people through the ideas conveyed by it. And that in itself makes any language beautiful --- the fact that it stimulates relationship and connexions betweeen people. The fact that because of it, we can communicate with people. The fact that because of it, we live normally.

Objectively, there is no such thing as a better language, really (BTW, yes, it's still okay to have preferences for some languages. It's just a matter of what appeals to you more, really). They are all the best because they serve their function --- to connect people.

So yeah, it's okay for me to be a wannabe Ilongga!

Now that I've made my point, I'd just like to say to myself "Ay! Kagahod sa akon! Hipus na be, Alexis!"!