Family status is very quo

After a fun two-week vacation with friends, it really didn't take very long for the parental bloopers to come rolling in.

Oh by the way, the two conversations below transpired in Taglish, but for the sake of my non-Filipino-speaking readers who rely on the unreliable Google translate (I'm looking at you, Malinda), I've translated everything.

Story #1: On the night of my arrival

Me (showing some of my favorite pics on Mt Titlis): Look at how pretty the snowy mountain was! Nice view, right? 

A very. nice. view!

Mama: Wow! You rode on the SkyCable!
(As in the local cable TV provider) 

Dad: Hahahaha. SkyCable!?! Hahahaha!!!
(I think they take turns laughing at each other's booboos, just FYI.) 

Me: Um, actually ... it's called --

Dad (still laughing): SkyCable!?! It's called ... hmm ... wait ... *isn't* it called SkyCable? Seems right. Hmm. (then, convinced) It's SkyCable!

OK then. As long as they agree.


Story #2: Two days after I arrived

Dad: I want to watch the Batman v Superman movie. It looks good. And in the ending, Superman ... (PROCEEDS WITH WHAT I'M THINKING IS A MAJOR SPOILER BUT I'M NOT POSTING IT HERE IN CASE IT IS!!!) 

Me: Um, first of all, spoiler alert? I haven't seen it! Also, I thought you haven't seen it either? Why do you know?  

Dad: I read it in the newspaper. But you know, the person I really want to win is ... Robredo.
(As in Leni. A real person. Not part of any comic universe. The VP candidate. The *best* one.) 

Me: Well that was a big topic change.

So there's that. All's well in the homestead. Except no one has seen the movie yet. Maybe I can just wait for it to be shown on ... wait for it ... SkyCa --

OK, I apologize.

My memory palace is in ruins

I suppose very few people in the world can't relate to forgetting names. Everyone's familiar with that sinking feeling of meeting someone unexpectedly in a public place – or worse, while you're with a friend that should be introduced. You can forget the name of the person you meet. You can forget the name of the person you're already with. It happens. It's messy. It's hilarious and perfectly natural and messy. I've heard people who automatically move away from their companion when they encounter a familiar face to spare him or her the agony of introductions, just in case a name is forgotten.

I admit having a strange name means that people rarely forget it, but just in case they do, I often point to myself while saying "Orange!" Hashtag charity work. Hashtag toddler habits.

I've also become very comfortable admitting to people that I'm ... well ... old and forgetful. More often than not, I just blurt out the generic "Um ... I'm sorry I can't remember your name." There was one time though, when I probably got too honest. It happened in the mall, while I was striding down an escalator. From where I was, I spotted a very smiley woman who was waving to me and, as expected, I couldn't figure out who she was. I had half a mind to run back up the escalator but I wasn't feeling particularly confident in my grace so I approached her and said, "I'm sorry, I'm sure I know you but ... can you tell me why?"

*Sheepish grin*

The most embarrassing encounter happened a couple of years ago, after I accompanied Joemar to a chemo session. We were walking out when a really pretty girl turned to me and happily said, "Orange?! Hi!!!"

Aaaand, as you could probably guess by the way this blog entry is going, I couldn't remember her name. I knew I liked this woman from my past, and I so desperately wanted to make introductions because it was a good-vibe moment. Joemar – who knew all too well that I had a history of not recognizing people* – was just standing there quietly, no doubt amused and waiting for the comedy to ensue. As it usually did (does).

Seeing no way out of it, I said, "Please don't hate me, but I don't remember your name."

And this pleasant, wonderful woman said:

"Orange."

Her name was Orange. HER NAME WAS ORANGE!!!

NYAAARRGGGHHHH.

I knew her from high school – she was a year younger than me. I remember I had to call her home phone one time (it would be futile to try and recall why I had to) and had so much trouble trying to explain that I was Orange looking for Orange. The person who picked up the phone was having none of it. I ended up saying I was Anna just to finally end our shared misery.

So ... permanent nametags? Discuss.


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

*While I was writing this, I started having doubts about whether or not Joemar was actually there when the Orange encounter happened. I think my mind, in an attempt to cope with his loss, has transformed all memories of him into unreliable mashups of scenes. I do know for sure that one time, he saw one of his friends at the mall and started talking to her while I respectfully kept my distance. I realized all too late that he was talking to one of our med classmates, and I was respectfully avoiding someone I actually knew. Again, NYAAARRGGGHHHH.

Yes, you may laugh at me. Namaste.

My regular lunchmate (AKA Apple, AKA older sister, AKA frequent housemate) and I ate at the Om Indian Kitchen a few weeks ago just to check it out (and, you know, hunger).

Butter chicken!
(From the resto's Facebook photos)

No regrets there. Samosas were OK, naan was good, butter chicken was grrreat. I'll try it with rice next time. (Accept me.)

But that's not why I'm blogging about that particular lunch. I'm not a food blogger, after all.

(Side note: Many people have urged me to become a food blogger, but I don't think I have an adequate gastronomic vocabulary or enough objectivity to write about food. My intimate relationship with food cannot be put into words. Or maybe it can, and I'm just lazy. Yeah, that's it.)

Our server's name was Angel. This piece of information will come in handy later. Just wait for the horror.

Our bill for the very satisfying meal was PHP 501.25, which was money well spent, I thought. I got a thousand-peso bill from my wallet and gave it to Angel. 

After more than 10 minutes, I didn't have my change yet. Which was perplexing because there were just two other tables occupied, and Angel really wasn't doing anything after I paid. She was just standing by the counter, looking around. This made my blood start to boil a little because, honestly, how hard was it to give me my change? Some people! So incompetent!!! I HATE THE WORLD!!! (My emotions escalate quickly.)

So with all the control I could muster, I asked Angel (in Filipino), "Excuse me. Why is it taking so long? Where is my change?"

And the poor Angel looked at me kindly and said,

"Ma'am, 500 po ang binigay nyo. Actually, kulang pa po yung binigay nyo pero OK na po yon."

(Translation: Ma'am, you gave 500. Actually, it's not enough, but that's OK.)

HUUUWHAAAATTT? Mwahahahahhahhahahaha. I felt a direct punch to the solar plexus of my ego.

In the middle of laughing my face off and apologizing, I somehow managed to get 50 pesos (yes, it was really 50 ... I think) to pay for the rest of my bill and leave a little tip. I felt like I should've given her my entire wallet to ask for forgiveness and redeem my humiliated spirit.

Angel (who could not have a more appropriate name) saw the money I left on the table and said, "No, it's really OK." Someone please give this woman a raise. 

Anyway, I said it was for the 1-peso-something and begged her to take it. Then we left. In shame.

Needless to say, my sister (AKA moral support) couldn't stop giggling, if you define 'giggling' as an open-mouthed, throaty cackling. I couldn't blame her. For the rest of that day (and for most of the next), whenever I thought about that Indian lunch, I burst out laughing uncontrollably. Fortunately, I was alone for my LOL explosions the next day. I've reached my monthly quota of embarrassment, thank you very much.

Martina and marriage. Again.

I think marriage is a concept that interests my 9-year-old niece Martina to an unhealthy degree.

Over 3 years ago, I posted about Martina harassing her then 6-year-old friends about getting married.

Even before that, when she was 4 years old, she attacked me with the WHY AREN'T YOU MARRIED question. I thought my answer appeased her at the time because she never brought it up again.

Just recently though, my sister (Martina's mom) told me that her daughter was at it once more. Oh no. I was told the conversation went like this:

Martina asked her mom, "Why isn't Tita Eng married?"

And my sister answered, "She hasn't found anyone she liked."

(Just FYI, I liked this answer a lot. Apart from it being true, it was slightly better than her latest sarcastic reply to a family friend who asked the same question. "She's too young," my sister said, which made her crack up like a drugged hyena. Sisterly love.)

Then my sweet, lovely, thoughtful niece said, "That's unfair!"

When I heard this, I almost teared up. A thousand dramatic thoughts ran through my head: Yes, Martina, I suppose it's unfair in a way. Don't be sad though. Not all societies look down upon single women. Thank you for implying the world is cruel to me. Thank you for the caring sentiment. I'm so deeply touched that –

" ... It's unfair because I have only one cousin on your side!"

Um. Oooookay then, Marteens! Thanks for teaching me never to assume that a question about my status is about me.

:)

Martina in 2011, praying for the grace to ask the difficult questions

An open letter to a little CarBar

To my dearest Carlie Barlie Boo,


There are two important things I need to discuss with you today.

Number 1: You are a ridiculously cute 1-month-old baby.

And believe me, you were ridiculously cute from your first second of life. I know. I was there. When the doctor pulled you out, even he looked overwhelmed by your cuteness.

(OK, to be honest, he looked shocked because you were bigger than we all expected you to be, but it could've been about the cuteness too. So let's go with that.)

(Lesson: Honesty is a good thing.)

That's you on your birth day, emanating cuteness.

I remember when your cousins Juancho and Martina were babies and I couldn't get enough of them either. I could watch you all day long (and I do, mind you) and never get tired of your face. Your squishy, perfect face.

When you get old enough to read this, remind me to teach you about 'bias'. It's mildly related to what I said above.


Number 2: It's your mommy's birthday today.

Long before you came into existence, about 8 years ago, I wrote a blog post about your mommy on her birthday. So if you want to have some idea of who she was before you, you can read all about it here.

But I want to talk to you about your mommy after she found out she was pregnant with you. 

Your mommy was so thoughtful that instead of being 100% excited, part of her felt a little bad because she knew that we wouldn't be able to do all the things we wanted to do on my US trip. I had really planned to visit her, even before she peed on a stick (Again, something I can explain to you later). She apologized that what was supposed to be a long vacation for me would turn out to be a babysitting gig instead. Not all people are selfless, Carlie. But your mother is.

Your mommy made this ze-raffe
(who's wearing your bib and foot flowers, btw)

Also, when I found out your mommy was pregnant, I wasn't worried at all. I knew she would prepare for your arrival like crazy. She took her vitamins and listened to her doctors and made sure you were safe and healthy inside her. You see those stuffed animals around you? She made those! She researched everything that you needed (and you needed/need a multitude of things!) and read up on pregnancy and all things related to it. She definitely knows more about pregnancy and early childhood than I do, and I'm a doctor! She can tell you about foremilk and hindmilk and the cause of frothy baby poop and why it's important to pace your never-ending feeding. I know you will always be able to rely on her. 

Your mommy is determined and competitive. These are not always good traits when she's on the opposing team (I know this from playing Wii and poker and made-up games with her) but because she will always be on your side, these will be your blessings. She successfully pushed all 8lb 12oz of you even when she was in so much pain from back cramps and intense heartburn (after an epidural!) because she's a fighter and she will do anything for you. If you need to pick teams someday, pick her first. I promise she won't take revenge on you for not letting her sleep during your first month of life.

Your mommy's great, Carlie. You're going to have a fun time knowing her, as much as she (together with your daddy) will have an unforgettable time knowing you. Pretty soon, she will be more than a food supplier or a diaper changer or a hug provider to you. 

To you, she'll be everything she is to me, and so much more.

So mark the date, Carlie. October 19. Greet her when you get the chance. Or when you start talking or something.

That's your mommy.
You're somewhere inside.

That's all. And have I mentioned how cute you are?

Love,
Mama Omie


**********
One last thing:

(I know I said I would discuss just two things, but people lie. Take note.)

Your mommy calls you, among so many other nicknames, 'CarBar'. That's short for 'Carlie Barlie', which I called you when you were still a fetus and caught on. Interestingly enough, with two strategically placed E's, 'CarBar' becomes 'CareBear'. This is significant for no other reason except  it allows me to segue into one of my favorite childhood stories about your mommy.

The first movie your mommy forced the whole family to watch was the Care Bears movie. She couldn't have been older than 10 at the time. Just a few minutes after the movie started, your mommy complained and wanted to leave, and we all said something like 'NO WAY! WE ARE GOING TO FINISH THIS MOVIE WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT!' Which was ironic because the movie was about caring. And bears. The Care Bears. Look it up.

Lesson: Before asking to watch a movie, make sure you really, really want to see it. Your mommy has issues she's bound to take out on you.