Flawed Fem

My Flawed Life as a Mother, Sister, and Daughter -To my Family, With fellow women, & In Christ.


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My Babies’ Father

Let me be straight. If you are the type of guy who expects, nay, demands his wife and baby mama to cook and clean, and does nothing of the same, then do not waste both our times reading this post. This is not for you and you are not deserving of me. Even back in a land of tradition, I have always been the resistance. God bless her soul, but there was a time my exasperated grandma told me that I will not be able to find a husband because I cannot cook.  My response, I’ll find a cook/chef husband. Of course I was labeled a smart ass from then on, but that’s another story. Many years later, how do you think I fared with my baby daddy?..

 

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Father’s Day gift to Daddy Dark Lord  😉

 

When I met my now husband, one of the first things he did was cook for me. He made me oxtail soup which I would not have the patience to do (I specialize in 15 min meals:) He is also notoriously neat, he loves clean floors, so in submission to him, he is in charge of deep cleaning/ vacuuming in the house. Being a stay at home, I cook and clean more frequently. But it was never an imposition, it was never an order from the Husband Highness. It was a teamwork of chores, just as I have always envisioned marriage to be.
But baby daddy is more than just Mr. Clean. The birth of our kids brought out so much more…
~ He is man of service. Sometimes to a fault. While this can be a source of conflict in other areas, this is a much desired trait in the child rearing department. He is lovingly involved with our children’s lives: Lovingly changes diapers (!) Lovingly supports/his kids’ #1 sports fan. He can be Tiger Dad, but mostly because he really cares about our kids and wants what’s best for them.
~ He is sweet. Comforting and playful. His boys can never get enough of rough playing with him. His boys scream in glee every time he comes home, their adoration of him they can barely contain.
~ He is committed. To his kids. To his beloved boys. He spends time with them and cares for them so much. He tries so hard to understand them. And trust me, they can be a rambunctious pair. He tries to break free of traditional fear-based parenting. I know this doesn’t come easy to him, but he’s trying.

His heart is full. His love for his children boundless. He is all in. He is my love. He is their love. He is their #1 hero. I am proud to call him my babies’ father.


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M.O.M. (Mother series 3)

For a woman who loves herself least, and loves God and her family most. MOM.

She was a simple girl. She is a simple woman. A gentle soul who seeks to help others throughout her life: She was a beauty queen by chance and a star dancer by passion, and in both instances, it was her humility and kindness to her peers that made her so well loved.  She was a teacher who has so much compassion for her students/ children.  She was the oldest of 6 who stepped up to be her siblings’ caretaker when her father died early in life. She was the new wife who moved to the city and became her husband’s mother’s dutiful daughter, through the good and bad, caring for her in many sick and difficult times. She lived out God’s love and light, even through her own tears, even as her family struggled through finances and death.

She is most patient with her children, 4 unique souls, with distinct personalities, with different sets of challenges. She is not perfect, but amidst moments of frustration, she finds a way to transcend anger and show kindness. She seeks to understand us even as we misunderstand, dismiss her. She remains steady, even as we rebel, then and now. Her faith in us never wavers, her heart for us continues to beat strong in the storms. She never fails to teach us about God’s love, and how that defines her love for us.  She is our first glimpse of heaven, with all the comforts of an unconditional love.

Her goodness knows no bounds. She has a big heart for the downtrodden. She has a sincere empathy for the poor and disadvantaged. She is unusual in her ways as a boss, whether it’s in her workplace, or at home. Unusual because while her colleagues show a short fuse towards the less educated workers, she instead bears and teaches them skills. While other homeowners treat their help with contempt and high demands, she befriends them, and treats them as equals, as human beings deserving of basic rights and respect. Her goodness reflects her righteousness. She lives a life of integrity and value. She always tries to do the right thing, even if it causes her undue hardships. She will fight for her children, her mama bear instinct always seek to protect us from harm. She is simply a light force that shines beauty in dark realities.

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This is my mom. A woman of extraordinary beauty and light. Her open heart invites sharing life, and I cannot help but live for our chats, ranging from the mundane day to day, to the big ideas. She is my yoda, simple in her speeches, yet wise in her insights. Even as we relate differently now, in spite of conflicts in views, my relationship with  mom remains the most beautiful thing I have in life.  It is her sacrifices that gave me life choices.  It is her faith that pushed me to live my dreams.  It is her nurturing soul that has enabled me to live. So today, and for the rest of my fortunate life, I would like to live a life deserving of her sacrifices. I would like to honor her with my faithfulness, to protect her as she has held me, to comfort her as she has calmed me, and to pass on her Godly light to my own children. I would like to thank God every day for giving me her, and for giving me the highest honor of being called her child. Happy Mother’s Day Mom!

 

 

 


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My Other Mother (Mother Series Pt.1)

Mother’s Day. We celebrate motherhood in all its forms- birth mothers, adoptive mothers, foster mothers, fur mommies. But I would like to take this time to remember some unsung heroes, who are neither of the above. I would like to write in honor of my yaya for Mother’s Day, as a tribute to our caretakers, our nannies, our help. Those who may not have birthed us, nor formally took us in. But they take care of us as our mothers do, sometimes even more.

Everybody knows I love my mom. She is my best friend, my advisor, my teacher. She worked hard to provide for us financially and still be present for us emotionally and spiritually. Growing up, I was always amazed how this tiny woman would work 6 days a week, come home and cook our dinner, and tutor us after school. She also took the time to talk to us, really listen and know us. However, on those times she works late, we were left in the care of nannies or yayas.

Growing up, me and my 2 bros had the privilege of having the most loving, sweetest yaya in the world. We call her Manang Sili. (Side note: Sili means chili, she might have gotten that nickname because she loves spicy food, and she passed on that love of spicy food to all of us 🙂 Manang is our second mother, I still refer to her as my nanay-nanayan. To this day, my mother has nothing but fond memories of Manang. My mom beams with pride and loves telling me how Manang is a sage. Every time I ask my mom about baby advice, she would refer back to Manang, and would tell me how Manang has the best technique and has the best instinct on how to care and soothe babies. My mother never considered Manang as something less than her, or as her competition. My mother regards her as her partner in crime, her confidante. Manang was family.

My own memories of Manang was just as good. When I was little, my dad had to work late hours to provide for a growing family. But I was oblivious to our financial hardships because of Manang. She gave me a magical childhood. She instilled in me a love of nature, of climbing trees and resting by the waters. My fondest memories of early childhood was waking up at 5-6am, going to the bakery for the first batch of bread, pandesal, and playing by the coconut trees and the rocky shores of Manila Bay. Breakfast with Manang consists of said bread, chicharon doused in vinegar w.sili, and coconut drink or softdrinks (soda) in clear plastic bags. If I’m lucky, I get a balloon in the park before I go home.

As we grew older, we see less of Manang, as she had her own grandchildren to tend to. My youngest sibling, my sister, never got the honor of having her as her yaya, because Manang had a new grandchild at that time. Even though she wasn’t working for us anymore, she would still visit monthly and give us eggs and fruits from her family’s farm. But as I reached my teens, the visits became less and less. I heard that Manang worked in his son’s business full time. I heard that she finally mended her strained relationship with her daughter and lived near her. Much as I was happy that she got to live her life with her biological family, I missed her. And my mom did too. She started asking around her old neighborhood to find out where Manang now resides, but nobody really knew. And because we moved around as well, we lost touch with her. I felt the loss of her deeply. I would have happy dreams of her and her big laughs. I could feel her tight hugs and hear her loving whispers in times of sickness, reminiscent of when I was a sickly child, and her frail arms would cover mine for comfort. I may not be a sickly child or a crying toddler anymore, but I would always long for the sweet pure love of my Manang Sili.

Wherever she is, my only hope is that she is happy where she is, and that she knows how forever grateful we are to have her in our family. I hope she knows that I am beyond honored to call her not simply my yaya, but my beloved one. She was more than our help- she was our protector, she was our friend. She was like a second Mother to us… She was, and always will be, my other Mother.

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Manang Sili is a lover and giver of fruits. She has instilled the love of fruits in me, that I am now passing on to my own children~


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My Reasons Why

A few weeks back I finished the show “13 Reasons Why.” The show was disturbing and compelling. Love it or hate it, it forces dialogue about bullying and mental health. I was personally affected. Deeply affected. I was pulled back into the pain of my past. Into my own dark abyss filled with a broken heart and a damaged mind. I do not have 13 reasons why, but I have an idea of my what, some whys, and the reason I am here today. This is my survivor’s story:

My early childhood started out innocent and happy. I grew up simple, but I had the assuring love of my family. We moved around quite a bit, and I experienced my first bullying when we moved to a new grade school. I was a tiny and painfully shy kid,
and I was easy target because I don’t talk much. Two girls decided to take my things
on a weekly basis. Pencils, pads, cases, hairclips, money. My mom started getting
suspicious because I wasn’t the type who loses things, so when I keep coming home
with lost items, she knew something was up. But I didn’t want to say anything because
these girls would threaten me bodily harm if I talk. One of them would pick me up and squeeze my body hard to show me that they were serious. I was horrified. Suffice it to say, it was my first rude awakening to the world of bullying and mean girls.

But that was just the beginning. Grade school got better when I made a few friends and fell in love with learning (aka I’m a nerd;). Then high school came. I was transferred to a new class and it was like the first day of grade school all over again. Oblivious to the high school hierarchy, I offended a Queen Bee (one of several, I later learned.) At that time, I was fairly soft spoken, so I must have uttered one wrong thing her way, and the war was on. Unfortunately for me, this war was pretty lopsided- since I was the new kid, she rallied everyone against me, she would make snide remarks loud enough for everyone to hear, she would make sure the other Queen Bees (or Queen Bitches, really) would spread the word against me, so that even people who barely knew me would think the worst of me. It was the war of the words..  Except I barely uttered one.

As much as the physical side of bullying hurt me in grade school, the emotional toll of gossip and ostracism in high school devastated me more. I was always a positive person. But I found myself slowly clouded with pessimism: First there were tears of disbelief and sadness. Then a heaviness and weariness overtook my body, making me sick and weak. My mind was filled with confusion and I doubted my self-worth. And finally, my soul was drained. It felt empty, with nothing left to give, and with no one to turn to.

I was almost completely taken over by my darkness. Almost. My story could have ended tragically if it did. I had some reasons to die. But I was blessed to have found better reasons to live:

  1. Parents- specifically my mom. They never knew how deep the darkness was, but they knew I was lost. For parents that value academics, they did not hesitate to pull me out the end of the semester to take me out of my personal hell. They did not know it then, but they literally saved my life when they did.
  2. Music/Poetry- my songs were my only outlet of expression. I couldn’t turn to friends for fear of betrayal (which some did) My early songs of love and rosy gardens turned into songs of heartbreak and loss. Edgar Allan Poe fascinated me. Nonetheless, dark songs and poetry gave me the courage to express the dark side of me and allow me to release them.
  3. Friend(s)- One particular friend is most significant. She remains one of my best friend to this day. I’m not sure she remembers this, but on one particular event when another Queen Bee (or King Bee) started another round of malicious attacks on me, she gently held my hand and smiled. No words, just the simple but most valuable touch of friendship. She had offered me the saving grace I needed on my most hopeless moment.
  4. GOD- the most important one. the one true Savior. First off, he gave me #1-3, so that in itself were more than enough reasons. He also revealed Himself at my lowest point. In the midst of tears and weariness, when I had wanted to give up, He came to me. His presence enveloped my heart and protected my fragile soul from completely losing it. My heart started to sing His songs, and my soul started seeing His hope. Through it all, He walked with me. And He carried me. And He lifted the burden that was long wearing me down. And as my circumstances pushed me towards darkness, His grace and love lifted me back up to the light.

(To the above reasons, I may have been too consumed by my sadness in the past to have expressed my gratitude then. Allow me to express my eternal thank you now. You have and always will be a most valuable part of my life. You have no idea how you saved me then. And continues to save me still.)  

I struggled to write this post… I am struggling as I am writing it now.  Digging into my past is never an easy thing. Bringing up a time full of shame, anger, and sadness can be overwhelming. And emotionally exhausting. I am in tears reliving my ordeal through this post. But as hard as it is, it is also freeing. And I do not write/blog just for personal venting alone. It is my one hope that one lost soul can read this, and know that there is light, that there can be light at the end of it all. Then I would feel that my difficult past was not for nothing. And my darkness would have served it’s purpose for the higher good.

SUICIDEPREVENTIONLIFELINE.ORG 1-800-273-8255

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13 reasons3

homage to the show

 

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(I actually had the same nail polish as Hannah’s, by chance;)