Things Always Change For the Better: May 2015

I borrowed my Dad’s beat up Ford Ranger, the only vehicle of his five cars I feel confident driving, just because it already has bangs and dents and dings that my adding another one would hardly matter.

I’m a terrible driver, I admit it and no amount of care on my part could spare the poor vehicle injuries when I am at the wheel.

My best buddy Jeremiah, whom I call Maya (he’s transgender and is saving up for a gender reassignment operation in Thailand), has some good news. We both passed the accountancy board and he got a cushy job somewhere in the city. He’s treating me to doughnuts in our favorite hangout place. Coffee and doughnuts, actually. I hate coffee and doughnuts, but Maya loves them, so I go with her (I get confused sometimes, my friend prefers to be referred to as a female, it’s her inner identity, she says. I don’t really mind) whenever she gets a craving.

I picked her up from the neighboring farm and we proceeded northwards to the city. I pulled up at this new community development and we scouted for a parking spot. Maya fussed over her makeup, which was flawlessly applied and her white mini skirt and red chiffon top. She’s an awesome dresser and doesn’t like to show too much skin, she says she’s a cross dresser, not a ho in training.

We found one a little way away from the mall, we like to walk a little, it’s the country girl in us, I guess (I’m an anatomically correct female by the way). I was wearing cutoffs and a Bart Simpson t-shirt and brought my olive drab backpack. I was feeling low. I ran into a lamppost while parking.

“That’s why you need a man, Lilly. Someone to drive you around, you know. At some point, you’re going to have to accept you’re not made to drive, you know”, it’s a common refrain between us.

I made a moue with my lips, which Maya says is terribly cute. She went on and I sighed, lip synching to her next line. “Or at least get one of your Dad’s drivers to drive you around. You know, he’ll take care of you if you let him. You’re his little girl. I’m sure he’s not to blame for your Mom’s death. I’m sorry but you’re just going to accept it. Your Mom was emotionally incapable of being in a relationship. Her suicide was nobody’s fault, you know.”

“Okay Ms. Freud, if you’re such a hot shot psychologist then why can’t you stand up to your older brother? Why do you let him humiliate you like that, and in public too?” I shot back hotly, tears stinging the back of my eyes. She does love to bring up that sore point a lot and I was getting tired of it. I grasped at what I thought would be a painful topic for her, but her eyes lit up with amusement instead.

We got to the doughnut shop at this point and she made me sit at one of the indoor tables. She ruffled my hair as I sat down, and asked me “The usual?” I nodded, and took out my nicotine patch pad and stuck one on my arm. Coffee makes me crave for cigarettes and I’m trying to quit. I smoked like a chimney during my review for the accountancy board to keep up with the stress.

Maya came back with four doughnuts, three for her and one for me, and two cups of coffee.

“We’re accountants, not the police you know,” I told my best friend wryly.

“Whatever,” Maya mock glared at me.

“Oh shit! May, Dennis is here!” I exclaimed.

“Goodness! Where?” she was alert to the emergency. “Got your Ventolin?”

I get asthma attacks when I see my Dad unexpectedly. I guess that’s how much I let my resentment affect me. I used to call him Dennis, I always have because before my Mom died, we were closer than close. But so much changed since she overdosed on her sleep medication. I stopped calling him Dennis and keep him at an emotional arm’s length by addressing him as “Father”.

“He’s coming over, he’s with that woman you always see him with”, Maya was giving me a blow by blow account.

“Let’s leave”, I told her, standing up and gathering my belongings back into my bag.

“But hon, we haven’t eaten”, she said slowly, a mischievous smile creeping through her lips.

“Aaaaaaaaargh! I hate you.” I sank into my seat again, crossed my arms across my chest, and grimaced.

“Hi Dennis!” oh, yeah, Maya, it’s a great time to be Miss Congeniality right now, I thought furiously. Maya and I have been friends since we were five, so Den—Father lets her call him by his first name as well. I’’m an only child so he was happy that I got company. I have an acerbic personality so that my father was happy when I finally made a friend when we moved to Laguna so he can establish his organic farming business.

“And who’s this lovely lady with us? Do sit, do sit. There’s plenty of room,” Maya said, a wide, genuine smile making her face even more beautiful.

“Oh.” Dennis hesitated. Shit, there it is again. I called my Dad Dennis again. This is not good. “Are you sure it’s alright with Lil?”

Maya laughed. I kicked her foot under the table. “Oh, I’ll wring her lovely neck if she objects.” Then to me, by the side of her mouth, “Manners, girl!”

Dennis looked pleased. He sat down next to me. I waited for my asthma attack. None was forthcoming. I was stuck. “This is Doctor Myra Lee, by the way,” he declared, keeping his eyes on me.

My jaw dropped. “Dr.Lee? Oh Dennis, you idiot!” Tears were running down my face. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I was all over him, hugging and sobbing. I held on to him, like the way I used to when I was a little girl and afraid of the imaginary monsters under my bed.

I’ve seen Dr. Lee visit our farm regularly after my Mom died, too soon I thought. I made so many assumptions, I gave myself a mental kick in the butt. I thought Dennis was having an affair prior to my Mother’s death, and he couldn’t wait to bring home his little girlfriend after her suicide.

I knew who Dr. Lee was because it was me who had my Mother’s prescriptions filled at the pharmacy after her check-ups, although I’ve never seen her. She’d also give me thoughtful little notes of encouragement as I helped care for Mom, which helped me get through my Mother’s bad days. She was a well known neuro-psychiatrist in our town, although I never saw her.

Dennis explained, “I half-expected you to jump to conclusions, Lil. You were always touchy about the women in my life, you know. I know how much you hate it when it’s not you or Mom that I’m with, but I thought about taking my life, too when your Mom died. I tried to be strong, but I needed a friend, too, you know. It made me sad that you wouldn’t even give me a chance to clear the air.” I felt his tears on my shoulder.

“But why did I never see her while she was treating Mom?”

“Because you might sit in the consultations and imagine you have her symptoms, and think you were sick like her. You’re a bit, actually, a real hypochondriac, and I couldn’t afford to have you believing you were an emotional cripple, too. You’re a baby, in many ways, I know, but I’m sure you’ll mature. I lived for the thought of keeping you okay all those years, darling, that’s why I kept you out of it,” Dennis said.

“Oh, Dennis, the mess we made. I’m sorry, Dad, for making all those years miserable for us.” I was still sobbing, blinded by the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing.

“Oh dear, Dens,” Maya said. “You just threw me a Texas chainsaw mascara blow! Look, it’s all over the place!” She took out a compact mirror and blotted at her makeup, her eyes brimming with tears, too.

“You’re a couple of proud asses is what you are. So we’re a happy family again?”

Then to Dr. Lee, “Doughnut, Doctor?”

A lot of my family members are jockeying for the title of being my number one fan, but I consider my childhood sweetheart (first and last) the most rabid of them all. He asked me to write a little about myself and post a current photo (which he directed and took), just so people will know I’m not a creature from another planet with two heads, and such.

I’m a very private person, so I won’t talk much about my personal life. Suffice it to say I am very much unavailable, ergo, not single, and very much a family woman.

Writing is my first love. I am very precocious, as my Dad, Charlie (yes, I call my parents by their nicknames, it’s an eighties thing, mom is Fran) tells it. I first learned to read when I was two and at six I could solve Calculus problems. I’m very good with Maths, I enjoy Investment Mathematics very much, but writing stories is my passion. I love telling stories, I love creating worlds into which my readers can disappear for a while. It does not give me a sense of power, rather, humility in recognizing that I was given a gift to entertain people in my own way.

I trained as a journalist and creative writer at the University of the Philippines-Diliman in the mid-1990s and I was born in 1977, the year of the Water Snake in the Chinese Zodiac Calendar, but the creatures terrify me. I will never understand why some people care for them as pets (though I have nothing against them).

I’ve lived in three continents already, but I can say wherever my sweetheart is is home to me. I love boats and travel, the beach, the sun, and the rain. This is why I can say I live in a locale that’s ideal for me: we have summer for a few months, the rainy season for a few more, and cool, dry winters (without snow, mind you) for the rest of the year.

I’ll do a Holden Caulfield now and shut my virtual trap at this point. I’m like his parents, whom, as he describes it, are touchy as heck. I really don’t like talking about myself much, but my sweetie dangled an irresistible deal in front of me: a ride on his German handmade bike along the beach on a private island for my birthday in exchange for this vignette. It comes with a lot of photo opportunities, so I took the bait. By the way, photography is my other passion. I love graphic arts, too, and I love doing layouts (it’s part of my duties at work in Marketing and Communications).

‘Til then!

Things Always Change For the Better

Monday, May 11, 2015

gaws|swag

iNSPiRED

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

/symmetry/

Mercurial

Sunday, May 3, 2015

Serendipity at Noon

Friday, May 1, 2015

Narcisa

Alaala sa Himpapawid

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