Junior Stylist

They are Indie's toys-of-the-moment. She puts them in a bag and wherever she goes, they go. At home, she plays dress up with them, never mind if not a single one of them looks the least bit like Barbie. And so it's Styling 101 morning and night for the cast of Madagascar...

Day Wear
Evening Wear

The Naked Truth

My husband Nubs was about to slip into his boxers when little Indie came bursting into the room and got the biggest shock of her young life — the sight of her father in his naked un-glory.

And —

"Papa has a tail! He's a monkey! A big monkey!"

A is for...

INDIE : Inay, A is for—

LOLA : Apple.

INDIE : Ant!

LOLA : Airplane.

INDIE : Alligator!

LOLA : Axe.

INDIE : Apricot!

LOLA : (Long pause to think of easy A-words for 3 year-old Indie's benefit.)

INDIE : Auroraaaaaa!!!!!!!

Aurora is her Lola's first name...

In Black and White

A tide of euphoria is sweeping across the globe with Obama's victory. But I couldn't care less. Not because I'm pro-McCain. Not because I'm anti-Black. But simply because whoever ends up occupying the Oval Office really has nothing to do with us, us citizens of this poor republic. Let's face it, with the Cold War over and the bases long gone, we're just a tiny speck on the map for any US President to give us the time of day. While the most powerful man on earth switches faces every four or eight years, the consequent changes hardly ever have any impact on our Third World lives. Obama might just put an end to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. He might just resurrect his country's economy and that of the rest of the world. But even if these do happen, we little brown Americans are certain to be just as worse off as before. And we would be fools to think otherwise.

Oh, if there's anything I'm glad about Obama's triumph, it's the fact that the American people have risen above the stigma of racism. Martin Luther King should have lived to see this day.


Just a thought — newly elected American President Barrack Obama won by 7 million votes. American Idol David Cook won by 12 million. Like I said, just a thought...

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P.S. The morning after I posted this entry which was last morning, a quick look at the Inquirer told me that President-elect Obama was too busy to take our li'l President's congratulatory call. I should have warned her or maybe she should have read this blog. Tsk. Tsk.

* Photos from Yahoo.

Sick of My Sickness

Hyperthyroidism, according to my doctor, is caused by stress mainly. Looking back now, it makes sense that I had it when my father was battling with cancer and, subsequently, lost it.

There was a time when I stayed with my ailing father for a few days at the hospital and I came home feeling ill myself. I couldn’t get out of bed for more than a week. I had the flu (yes, for the first time in my life), had a splitting headache that didn’t leave me until the ninth day and generally felt weak all over. I was no hypochondriac. But I was convinced there was something terribly wrong with my body.

And so I was off to a neighborhood clinic to get my blood pressure checked. It was normal. Then there was this eye doctor who made me do this costly periphery test and made me wear a pair of new eyeglasses. Nothing there. Then I consulted an EENT specialist as there was a constant buzzing in my right ear. I had a hearing exam and a few more tests. Again, nothing. It was the same doctor who, upon inspecting my throat on my next visit and finding it bigger than usual, recommended that I get a test for thyroid problems. With results in hand, I went straight to an endocrinologist who finally confirmed that I was sick with hyperthyroidism.

Before my bout with hyperthyroidism at 125 lbs., May 2006

Sick with hyperthyroidism at 105 lbs., September 2006

So without having to undergo these needless tests and without unnecessarily parting with quite a hefty sum, how do you know if you’re afflicted with this particular disease?

1. For me, the first indicator was weight loss which should have been a good thing except that it wasn’t since it was brought about by some form of illness.
2. My hands, suddenly, had a life of their own and I couldn’t stop them from trembling. This was especially evident in my handwriting.
3. I was always feeling weak and tired which was weird for a hyperactive person like me.
4. I couldn’t do anything without panting like a dog in the end. Plus, I would have palpitations that would sometimes make my chest hurt a little.
5. My skin was so dry “you could actually write the word dry right on your hand”. (Vaseline or Jergens?)
6. My hair was falling at an unbelievable rate it made me panic. There was lots on my pillow, on the floor, in the bathroom. Everywhere.
7. I had to make frequent trips to the bathroom which I guess partly accounted for the weight loss.
8. My mood swings were becoming more frequent. And no symptom could be worse as far as my poor husband was concerned.

So how did I get cured?

1. I took an anti-thyroid agent, the dose of which was gradually decreased as I got better.
2. I took steroids for about three months for my thickening throat.
3. I abstained from sugar for a month so that my limbs won’t go numb. But this was more preventive than therapeutic. And this, I must say, was the hardest part.

Is it a serious condition, you may ask.

1. Not so much. But if left untreated, hyperthyroidism could lead to heart failure or, worse, thyroid storm that may cause coma or death.
2. Yes. If you do not want an unsightly scar on your neck.
3. Absolutely. If you have enough vanity in your make-up not to want to look like you came straight from Halloween, bone-thin with eyes that would make anyone think they were about to fall off their sockets.

Now, my thyroid problem is back — for reasons I have yet to know — though not as bad as before since I have become quite an expert at detection. But still, I hate having to stay away from sweets. I hate queuing at the drugstore for my medicines. And having to come back again and again to my doctor who has over 30 patients waiting in line each time — God, that's what I hate the most.

I See Dead People

Yes, I know it's a famous line from a movie but my experiences with the unknown are anything but reel. Well, not really unknown. After all I know these people, er, souls I mean.

My very first sighting was way back when I was still a college kid who slept on a big bed with my sister beside me. It happened sometime between midnight and 4 in the morning. I woke up with a start for no apparent reason. And there standing on the foot of the bed was an old Spanish-looking lolo with white thinning hair wearing dark-rimmed glasses, black knit cardigan over a pair of dark carsonsillos. He was enveloped in brilliant white light and he was looking straight at me with a benevolent smile. Of course, I did not smile back! How could I? I hurriedly put my blanket over my head and moved a little too close to my snoring sister. It was a wonder I did not let out a scream at all.

By morning, I had forgotten all about it and was only reminded of it when my sister complained about my cramming into her in the wee hours of the morning. Oh yes I said, I saw a ghost but had no idea who it was. So I described the apparition and she promptly said it was Mamay, our paternal grandfather. Yeah, that was him all right. I was only 4 years old when he died so I did not recognize him when he appeared before me. And wait, that day was his death anniversary!

Another sighting was right after I gave birth to Indie in the room where I was confined at St. Luke's. You see my old maid aunt, whom we fondly called Ate, passed away just 20 days before. She was like a second mother to me and my sisters. And I was sure she would have wanted to see her new apo and take care of me after labor. I saw her at the door smiling a happy smile. She asked if she could visit me and I readily said yes. So she glided (yes glided, as if she were on roller blades!) to the foot of the bed and stayed there, forever smiling, until I fell into a deep sleep.


The last was Christmas of 2007. It was our second without my father and I just thought I missed him. I remember saying it aloud, not for anything. But maybe somehow he heard me. Because as I was sitting somewhere in the dining room in our Batangas home, I saw him walking from my mother's bedroom to the living room and then poof! he was gone. He was my father so I wasn't the least bit scared. What struck me was the clarity of the vision, not hazy at all. He was wearing his favorite Christmas outfit of red shirt and white shorts. He did not move nor act in a ghostly kind of way. It was like he was alive, so alive that for a moment I forgot he was already dead.

There were other encounters with strange souls but I'd rather not go into these. That would be too creepy, even for Halloween.

P.S. When Indie saw Ate's picture, she said she knows her and she has seen her already...

Project Run Away

One afternoon at home...

INDIE : Mommy, I want to go home—

ME : You're home baby.

INDIE : No, I want to go home to Balayan.

ME : Why?

INDIE : I want to go home to Inay's house. I want to sleep there. I don't like na here.

ME : Why? Are you not happy here?

INDIE : (Nods her head emphatically.)

ME : Why? Tell Mommy.

INDIE : Because Papa is mad at me.

Today's generation is far more advanced than ours it seems. When it occurred to me to run away from home, I was a teenager with angst in my heart. And here's my little girl, sans angst — I would like to believe — but already with big plans of leaving home. At the very young age of three.