WHY SPEAK ENGLISH

"Mama, ngano sa ato country mag-speak man ug English sa school?" (Mama, why do we speak
English in school?)

I was brushing my teeth on a Monday rush. My son, who is usually ahead of me in all preparations for school, asked me this hundred dollar question, "Mama, ngano sa ato country mag-speak man ug English sa school?" (Mama, why do we speak English in school?)

When he told me he had a question, I was kinda preparing possible answers because I thought he'd ask me why I move too slow. 

This is our morning routine:
My phone alarm rings at 5:00 then I put it on "snooze" twice. After that I wake my son up. He gets up while I remain in bed most of the time because I preoccupy myself chatting with my husband. That's a very good way to start the day. It keeps me alive. 

However, at times, I'm really still asleep. He's voice yelling at me wakes me again. In worse cases, he had to come inside the bedroom again to wake me. And when I hear him approaching, as fast as lightning, I grab my phone and pretends to chat with Marion, my husband. And I tell him, "I'm chatting with dada, don't worry I'm getting up now." 

Well, I had to move twice as fast to keep up with him. When I'm brushing my teeth, he prepares my things, making sure I wouldn't have forgotten anything. That's my eight-year old son.

Back to the million dollar question. I was relieved he asked a different one but it took awhile before I could respond. I told him, the school trains the students to be globally competitive. I didn't explain further. 

I'm not sure he was interested with my answer. Instead, he said, "Aw abi nako naa mga Americano moari mao ga English ta." (I thought Americans are coming.)

A TALENT NOT IN USE

I used to have hands good enough to be able to produce a work of art as such above. This is but the only remnant of what used to be. Yes, I have such hands, passion and dedication. But not anymore. This, I insist on calling “not a forgotten talent” just something not used anymore.

When I was a lot younger, I am full of zest and oozing determination to accomplish what keeps playing in my head. What I have in mind, I usually stand up to accomplish it. I can’t stand just thinking about it. I can’t wait to see my thoughts in reality.

Now, I spend most of my time in pensive thoughts and at times, I just let the day go by and just forget about what runs around in this used to be very productive abode of creativity.

Way back in college, I earn out of these used to be the “purple cow” of a set of hands; sewing and drawing.

I earned when I do some projects for my classmates. Don’t get me wrong guys. When you’re in college, most of your professors wouldn’t really mind who drew whose, as soon as you pass the requirements for the subject,you’re good.

 I earned when I used to sell handmade greeting cards as well. I remembered being so poetic that every time a thought crosses my mind I can’t wait to get hold of a pen and compose what my heart and mind throbs in such fleeting moments.

Going back to the sketch above. That is the only remaining remembrance of my artistry. I remembered copying that from a liquor ad in a magazine. Remi to be exact.

Now, contemplating on the possibilities that my son might take up from me. He starts manifesting the signs. And I know how it feels when no one seems to support and worse appreciate talents.

My son and I started to awaken the sleeping machine my hands used to be.Like most machines, our greatest fear is always when they get rusty.

Of course it can't happen overnight. I've been hibernating for a decade. My son unconsciously awakened me. He sometimes ask me to draw for him but I always say no and ask him to find ways himself. Until eventually I found books to help both of us: to help him learn to draw by himself; to help me teach him how to do some tricks he might not figure on his own.

This is the first book I bought as a first attempt. I decided to buy the book since I was given a load to teach ART class for Grade 7 (Other than the hope that I might be able to regain what I lost.)

God knows I tried to learn painting too... I even bought brushes of varied sizes. However, when my ART class was over, (which I really struggled) I stacked this book in my shelf and has't opened it since then. But I would never say I haven't learned from this book. As a matter of fact I have. It's just that I struggled with finding the right moment, the perfect emotion. I couldn't find the drive.

Mark(my son) found this book and without second thoughts I bought it. This book contains step by step sketches on how to draw animals, people, trucks, planes, dinosaurs ( figures children really love). I was interested in it when I scanned. 

At last I've finally found the book that could help me teach my son how to sketch. This book brought me back in time. The time when I painted a dog on a black cartolina using only white, black and gray oil pastel. I really loved that painting but I gave it away, for a cause.

It was my first year of teaching in ACT. I had student who suffered bone cancer and her classmates, headed by their adviser (Ms. Joan Verallo), sold just about anything during lunch breaks. The proceeds were given for her medication. 

I felt for the kid. I gave my dearest possessions to be sold for her. My paintings and sketches. That was difficult but I did what I could that time. I felt I had to do my part. The sisters taught me that the truest essence of giving is when it hurts. Yes, it did hurt. The worst part is, she died... so young. What pain is ever comparable to death?

It was also the sisters who made me cultivate my art. The job of doing the bulletin to welcome visitors during special occasions was always given to me. I was given only colored chalk and the green board to do the task. I was happy with that job. I learned that craft because they believed in me.

Recently, I only have visions of those. And I realized, I shouldn't have stopped. I shouldn't have. Now, I'm back to square one. Does it really matter?

CNN REPORTER WANNABEE

BAGHDAD CAR BOMB KILLS AT LEAST 10 AND WOUNDS 70

At least 10 people were killed and 70 people wounded when a parked car bomb detonated in Baghdad's Sadr City district.

The car bomb detonated in Al-Habibiya and targeted car dealerships selling  used and new cars.

***** This is for a class performance

WHEN MOM WORKS

"Kapoy mag teacher, ma?" 

        It was midday on a typical Sunday. I was seated in a lousy position on my swivel chair at the remote corner of our living room (let's pretend we have a huge house) holding a red pen on my hand. On the computer table (yes, computer table but there ain't any PC at all but atop is a printer) are test papers.
        Well, you've guessed it right. I'm checking test papers.
Then my son came home from his to and fro routine (friend's house back to our house) to drink water or if not to get orders from his ice pop business (now ice cream stick). He took a bottle of water from the fridge. Took a huge gulp. Paused a while. And asked.

"Kapoy mag teacher, ma?" (Is it tiring to be a teacher, ma?)

        Instead of answering the question, I asked him another. "Why do you ask?"

"Dili ko ganahan kapoyon ka." (I don't want to see you stressed out.), he said.

Isn't that the sweetest thing?