Archive for the ‘Dose of Inspiration’ Category
Sunday, May 18th, 2008
The most touching gestures a friend can do are those that are done out of the blue. Done out of concern. A friend recently gave me unsolicited advice about money matters. She just didn’t know how much I appreciated it. I didn’t have to ask her about it. Just out of the blue, she gave me a lot of tips on how to maximize my monthly income.
Then, another friend gave me an advice about being single and giving time for oneself. Sobrang na-touch talaga ako. She thought she offended me with her messages but in all honesty, I appreciated everything she wrote.
And then I had a chat with my ate. I told her my health concerns and it was very comforting to know that there is someone who is willing to stay with you if and when the time comes that you’ll need her.
I know my friends are concerned about my being still single. I am nearing 30 and have no boyfriend at the moment. I am not concerned but they are telling me that I should be. I want to have a baby and being a little bit on the heavy side, friends are telling me I might have a hard time getting pregnant. Plus I have health issues to deal with… Another friend is quite concerned when I told her that I am now working at home, freelance, doing consultancy and blogging full-time.
Well, let me just tell you guys that I appreciate everything. Every little thing. I may not be very vocal about it, I may not be able to return messages and comments right away, but rest assured that I read every comment, email and messages you send.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Happy weekend everyone!
Wednesday, May 14th, 2008
Here in the Philippines, we call our grandmothers as lola, nanay, mamang, nana… I call my maternal grandma as Mama, while I call my paternal grandma as Nanay. I love both of them dearly but I am closer to Mama. I grew up at the ancestral house with my two grand-aunts and mama. Although I lived at Mama’s house for quite sometime when I was growing up, my parents never forgot that it was their obligation to take care of me and provide for my basic needs.
Unlike what I saw from the news magazine The Correspondents a while ago. They featured three grandmothers who are taking care of their grandchildren left by their mothers. The three stories are heartbreaking. One grandmother, already in her senior year, is taking care of 5 little kids, the eldest being 12 years old. The kids were left by her 2 daughters who never went back to see their kids or even send money for their basic needs. The grandmother had to salvage some things from the garbage and then sell it to be able to buy rice to feed the kids. But it will have to take her a week before she can sell the junk. In the meantime, she asks neighbors for some rice. The plate of rice together with a spoonful of bagoong (shrimp paste) is shared by the grandmother and the 5 kids. If that didn’t break your heart…
I cannot imagine those women leaving their kids, much more to their mothers who should have been enjoying a worry-free life in their old age. Grandparents should be taken cared of, not the other way around. The lolas featured in The Correspondents should have been enjoying life because they have already paid their dues, so to speak. They already did their part and should be relaxing and playing with the kids and enjoying their retirement. A 70-year-old lady who is also sick should never be made to work in the fields.
It just broke my heart watching the old ladies. I am a lola’s girl. I was thinking the whole time that what if that’s my lola, crying and looking like her spirit is already broken because of too many hardships in life…
Wednesday, May 14th, 2008
Here in the Philippines, we call our grandmothers as lola, nanay, mamang, nana… I call my maternal grandma as Mama, while I call my paternal grandma as Nanay. I love both of them dearly but I am closer to Mama. I grew up at the ancestral house with my two grand-aunts and mama. Although I lived at Mama’s house for quite sometime when I was growing up, my parents never forgot that it was their obligation to take care of me and provide for my basic needs.
Unlike what I saw from the news magazine The Correspondents a while ago. They featured three grandmothers who are taking care of their grandchildren left by their mothers. The three stories are heartbreaking. One grandmother, already in her senior year, is taking care of 5 little kids, the eldest being 12 years old. The kids were left by her 2 daughters who never went back to see their kids or even send money for their basic needs. The grandmother had to salvage some things from the garbage and then sell it to be able to buy rice to feed the kids. But it will have to take her a week before she can sell the junk. In the meantime, she asks neighbors for some rice. The plate of rice together with a spoonful of bagoong (shrimp paste) is shared by the grandmother and the 5 kids. If that didn’t break your heart…
I cannot imagine those women leaving their kids, much more to their mothers who should have been enjoying a worry-free life in their old age. Grandparents should be taken cared of, not the other way around. The lolas featured in The Correspondents should have been enjoying life because they have already paid their dues, so to speak. They already did their part and should be relaxing and playing with the kids and enjoying their retirement. A 70-year-old lady who is also sick should never be made to work in the fields.
It just broke my heart watching the old ladies. I am a lola’s girl. I was thinking the whole time that what if that’s my lola, crying and looking like her spirit is already broken because of too many hardships in life…
Wednesday, May 14th, 2008
Here in the Philippines, we call our grandmothers as lola, nanay, mamang, nana… I call my maternal grandma as Mama, while I call my paternal grandma as Nanay. I love both of them dearly but I am closer to Mama. I grew up at the ancestral house with my two grand-aunts and mama. Although I lived at Mama’s house for quite sometime when I was growing up, my parents never forgot that it was their obligation to take care of me and provide for my basic needs.
Unlike what I saw from the news magazine The Correspondents a while ago. They featured three grandmothers who are taking care of their grandchildren left by their mothers. The three stories are heartbreaking. One grandmother, already in her senior year, is taking care of 5 little kids, the eldest being 12 years old. The kids were left by her 2 daughters who never went back to see their kids or even send money for their basic needs. The grandmother had to salvage some things from the garbage and then sell it to be able to buy rice to feed the kids. But it will have to take her a week before she can sell the junk. In the meantime, she asks neighbors for some rice. The plate of rice together with a spoonful of bagoong (shrimp paste) is shared by the grandmother and the 5 kids. If that didn’t break your heart…
I cannot imagine those women leaving their kids, much more to their mothers who should have been enjoying a worry-free life in their old age. Grandparents should be taken cared of, not the other way around. The lolas featured in The Correspondents should have been enjoying life because they have already paid their dues, so to speak. They already did their part and should be relaxing and playing with the kids and enjoying their retirement. A 70-year-old lady who is also sick should never be made to work in the fields.
It just broke my heart watching the old ladies. I am a lola’s girl. I was thinking the whole time that what if that’s my lola, crying and looking like her spirit is already broken because of too many hardships in life…
Wednesday, May 14th, 2008
Here in the Philippines, we call our grandmothers as lola, nanay, mamang, nana… I call my maternal grandma as Mama, while I call my paternal grandma as Nanay. I love both of them dearly but I am closer to Mama. I grew up at the ancestral house with my two grand-aunts and mama. Although I lived at Mama’s house for quite sometime when I was growing up, my parents never forgot that it was their obligation to take care of me and provide for my basic needs.
Unlike what I saw from the news magazine The Correspondents a while ago. They featured three grandmothers who are taking care of their grandchildren left by their mothers. The three stories are heartbreaking. One grandmother, already in her senior year, is taking care of 5 little kids, the eldest being 12 years old. The kids were left by her 2 daughters who never went back to see their kids or even send money for their basic needs. The grandmother had to salvage some things from the garbage and then sell it to be able to buy rice to feed the kids. But it will have to take her a week before she can sell the junk. In the meantime, she asks neighbors for some rice. The plate of rice together with a spoonful of bagoong (shrimp paste) is shared by the grandmother and the 5 kids. If that didn’t break your heart…
I cannot imagine those women leaving their kids, much more to their mothers who should have been enjoying a worry-free life in their old age. Grandparents should be taken cared of, not the other way around. The lolas featured in The Correspondents should have been enjoying life because they have already paid their dues, so to speak. They already did their part and should be relaxing and playing with the kids and enjoying their retirement. A 70-year-old lady who is also sick should never be made to work in the fields.
It just broke my heart watching the old ladies. I am a lola’s girl. I was thinking the whole time that what if that’s my lola, crying and looking like her spirit is already broken because of too many hardships in life…
Wednesday, May 14th, 2008
Here in the Philippines, we call our grandmothers as lola, nanay, mamang, nana… I call my maternal grandma as Mama, while I call my paternal grandma as Nanay. I love both of them dearly but I am closer to Mama. I grew up at the ancestral house with my two grand-aunts and mama. Although I lived at Mama’s house for quite sometime when I was growing up, my parents never forgot that it was their obligation to take care of me and provide for my basic needs.
Unlike what I saw from the news magazine The Correspondents a while ago. They featured three grandmothers who are taking care of their grandchildren left by their mothers. The three stories are heartbreaking. One grandmother, already in her senior year, is taking care of 5 little kids, the eldest being 12 years old. The kids were left by her 2 daughters who never went back to see their kids or even send money for their basic needs. The grandmother had to salvage some things from the garbage and then sell it to be able to buy rice to feed the kids. But it will have to take her a week before she can sell the junk. In the meantime, she asks neighbors for some rice. The plate of rice together with a spoonful of bagoong (shrimp paste) is shared by the grandmother and the 5 kids. If that didn’t break your heart…
I cannot imagine those women leaving their kids, much more to their mothers who should have been enjoying a worry-free life in their old age. Grandparents should be taken cared of, not the other way around. The lolas featured in The Correspondents should have been enjoying life because they have already paid their dues, so to speak. They already did their part and should be relaxing and playing with the kids and enjoying their retirement. A 70-year-old lady who is also sick should never be made to work in the fields.
It just broke my heart watching the old ladies. I am a lola’s girl. I was thinking the whole time that what if that’s my lola, crying and looking like her spirit is already broken because of too many hardships in life…
Wednesday, May 14th, 2008
Here in the Philippines, we call our grandmothers as lola, nanay, mamang, nana… I call my maternal grandma as Mama, while I call my paternal grandma as Nanay. I love both of them dearly but I am closer to Mama. I grew up at the ancestral house with my two grand-aunts and mama. Although I lived at Mama’s house for quite sometime when I was growing up, my parents never forgot that it was their obligation to take care of me and provide for my basic needs.
Unlike what I saw from the news magazine The Correspondents a while ago. They featured three grandmothers who are taking care of their grandchildren left by their mothers. The three stories are heartbreaking. One grandmother, already in her senior year, is taking care of 5 little kids, the eldest being 12 years old. The kids were left by her 2 daughters who never went back to see their kids or even send money for their basic needs. The grandmother had to salvage some things from the garbage and then sell it to be able to buy rice to feed the kids. But it will have to take her a week before she can sell the junk. In the meantime, she asks neighbors for some rice. The plate of rice together with a spoonful of bagoong (shrimp paste) is shared by the grandmother and the 5 kids. If that didn’t break your heart…
I cannot imagine those women leaving their kids, much more to their mothers who should have been enjoying a worry-free life in their old age. Grandparents should be taken cared of, not the other way around. The lolas featured in The Correspondents should have been enjoying life because they have already paid their dues, so to speak. They already did their part and should be relaxing and playing with the kids and enjoying their retirement. A 70-year-old lady who is also sick should never be made to work in the fields.
It just broke my heart watching the old ladies. I am a lola’s girl. I was thinking the whole time that what if that’s my lola, crying and looking like her spirit is already broken because of too many hardships in life…
Saturday, May 10th, 2008
MOTHERHOOD… IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE
Time is running out for my friend.
We are sitting at lunch when she casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of “starting a family.” What she means is that her biological clock has begun its countdown and she is considering the prospect of motherhood.
“We’re taking a survey,” she says, half jokingly. “Do you think I should have a baby?”
“It will change your life,” I say carefully.
“I know,” she says. “No more sleeping in on Saturdays, no more spontaneous vacations…”
But that is not what I mean at all.
I look at my friend, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of childbirth heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will be forever vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will never read a newspaper again without asking “What if that had been my child?” That every plane crash, every fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will look at the mothers and wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think she should know that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will immediately reduce her to the primitive level. That a slightly urgent call of “Mom!” will cause her to drop her best crystal without a moment’s hesitation.
I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might successfully arrange for child care, but one day she will be waiting to go into an important business meeting, and she will think about her baby’s sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure he is all right.
I want my friend to know that everyday routine decisions will no longer be routine. That a visit to Mc Donald’s and a five year old boy’s desire to go to the men’s room rather than the women’s room will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that danger may be lurking in the rest room.
I want her to know that however decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother. Looking at my attractive friend, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not so much to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish his.
I want her to know that a cesarean scar or stretch marks will become badges of honor.
My friend’s relationship with her husband will change, but not in the ways she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is always careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his son. I think she should know that she will fall in love with her husband again for reasons she would never have imagined.
I wish my modern friend could sense the bond she will feel with other women throughout history who have tried desperately to stop war and prejudice and drunk driving.
I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your son learn to hit a baseball. I want to capture for her the laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real that it hurts.
My friend’s quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes.
“You’ll never regret it,” I say finally.
by Dale Hanson Bourke
Chicken Soup for the Woman’s Soul
Saturday, May 10th, 2008
MOTHERHOOD… IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE
Time is running out for my friend.
We are sitting at lunch when she casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of “starting a family.” What she means is that her biological clock has begun its countdown and she is considering the prospect of motherhood.
“We’re taking a survey,” she says, half jokingly. “Do you think I should have a baby?”
“It will change your life,” I say carefully.
“I know,” she says. “No more sleeping in on Saturdays, no more spontaneous vacations…”
But that is not what I mean at all.
I look at my friend, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of childbirth heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will be forever vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will never read a newspaper again without asking “What if that had been my child?” That every plane crash, every fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will look at the mothers and wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think she should know that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will immediately reduce her to the primitive level. That a slightly urgent call of “Mom!” will cause her to drop her best crystal without a moment’s hesitation.
I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might successfully arrange for child care, but one day she will be waiting to go into an important business meeting, and she will think about her baby’s sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure he is all right.
I want my friend to know that everyday routine decisions will no longer be routine. That a visit to Mc Donald’s and a five year old boy’s desire to go to the men’s room rather than the women’s room will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that danger may be lurking in the rest room.
I want her to know that however decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother. Looking at my attractive friend, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not so much to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish his.
I want her to know that a cesarean scar or stretch marks will become badges of honor.
My friend’s relationship with her husband will change, but not in the ways she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is always careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his son. I think she should know that she will fall in love with her husband again for reasons she would never have imagined.
I wish my modern friend could sense the bond she will feel with other women throughout history who have tried desperately to stop war and prejudice and drunk driving.
I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your son learn to hit a baseball. I want to capture for her the laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real that it hurts.
My friend’s quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes.
“You’ll never regret it,” I say finally.
by Dale Hanson Bourke
Chicken Soup for the Woman’s Soul
Saturday, May 10th, 2008
MOTHERHOOD… IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE
Time is running out for my friend.
We are sitting at lunch when she casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of “starting a family.” What she means is that her biological clock has begun its countdown and she is considering the prospect of motherhood.
“We’re taking a survey,” she says, half jokingly. “Do you think I should have a baby?”
“It will change your life,” I say carefully.
“I know,” she says. “No more sleeping in on Saturdays, no more spontaneous vacations…”
But that is not what I mean at all.
I look at my friend, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of childbirth heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will be forever vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will never read a newspaper again without asking “What if that had been my child?” That every plane crash, every fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will look at the mothers and wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think she should know that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will immediately reduce her to the primitive level. That a slightly urgent call of “Mom!” will cause her to drop her best crystal without a moment’s hesitation.
I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might successfully arrange for child care, but one day she will be waiting to go into an important business meeting, and she will think about her baby’s sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure he is all right.
I want my friend to know that everyday routine decisions will no longer be routine. That a visit to Mc Donald’s and a five year old boy’s desire to go to the men’s room rather than the women’s room will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that danger may be lurking in the rest room.
I want her to know that however decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother. Looking at my attractive friend, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not so much to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish his.
I want her to know that a cesarean scar or stretch marks will become badges of honor.
My friend’s relationship with her husband will change, but not in the ways she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is always careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his son. I think she should know that she will fall in love with her husband again for reasons she would never have imagined.
I wish my modern friend could sense the bond she will feel with other women throughout history who have tried desperately to stop war and prejudice and drunk driving.
I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your son learn to hit a baseball. I want to capture for her the laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real that it hurts.
My friend’s quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes.
“You’ll never regret it,” I say finally.
by Dale Hanson Bourke
Chicken Soup for the Woman’s Soul
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