—–
Tatay suffered a stroke last Saturday and we’ve been busy talking to people and making arrangements for his recovery. The past few days have been pretty crazy.

Very briefly:

He went to his office at the UPLB Graduate School early this Saturday to do some overtime. He was alone at his office when he suffered a stroke. He had the presence of mind to make it across the room and knock on the door repeatedly until a couple of students at IH heard him and came to his aid. They called the University Police Force.

The police responded immediately and rushed him to the infirmary. That was when someone called my mom to tell her what had happened. They brought him to Healthserv to get some tests and a CT scan. By that time news of his stroke was already spreading rapidly. People started going to the infirmary to wait for the Tatay’s ambulance to return. Some of our churchmates started organizing volunteers to pray for him every hour of the day.

When they brought Tatay back to the infirmary, he was weak and couldn’t speak very clearly. His right side was limp. In spite of that, he was in high spirits and praising God. Tatay is as tough as nails. In a matter of hours, he was already trying to move his limbs. After a while, his right side grew warmer, and he could already move his arms and legs. He could already flex the fingers of his right hand. Results of the CT scan showed that a very small part of his brain was bleeding. The bleeding stopped quickly and formed a small clot. The other test results came in, and thankfully, everything was within the normal range.

The attending physician advised us to bring him to the ICU of PGH. He’s still there as of this writing. He is out of danger, stable, conscious, clearheaded and raring to go home. He recognizes us, and he can understand us when we talk to him. They’re keeping him in the ICU so they can monitor him for a couple of days. But the doctor said he’ll probably be moved into a regular room by Tuesday.
As for the clot, there won’t be any need for surgery. The doctor says that the clot is causing some pressure on a small are of his brain, but did not cause any damage. They’re confident that Tatay’s body will be able to dissolve the clot in about a month’s time. (We’re praying it won’t take that long.) They’re giving him medication so the clot will disappear quickly.

I’m thankful, and joyful. My father is in good hands. He is strong and determined to recover. People are taking care of us and our needs. We have no reason to worry because God constantly shows us that He is with us and that He is in control.

We continue to hope and wait and pray.

More later.

So anyway, here’s what happened:

December 23
We began our Christmas festivities by attending two wakes. The first was for an old family friend, the kind your dad got into scrapes with as a child and got drunk with as a teenager, the kind you wind up calling Tito (Uncle) even though you aren’t really related. The second was for my friend’s father. Both died two days shy of Christmas.

Tito Ochie Baes was a geochemist by profession, a musician and composer by blood, and an activist by conviction. He lived in the house behind the place my dad grew up. He was raised in a family that was always making music: composing it, singing it, or playing it.

What I didn’t know was, Tito Ochie was one of the people who started the student activist movement in UPLB way back during the Martial Law days.

So there I was at his wake, sitting quietly on my monoblock chair, watching people come and go, eavesdropping on people’s conversations. A lean guy with Chinese features and spiky hair walked by, carrying an RC car and remote. It took two seconds for me to realize that he was that same kid my dad and I used to refer to as “The Marshmallow” and “The Pillsbury Doughboy” on account of his size and build. (Imagine a small, round, cuddly, fair little boy who looked like he would go “dooooing!” and bounce back up if ever he fell over.)

Couple of minutes later, they started arriving. I knew the mold. I had seen and talked to them before. I was related to people like them. They were wearing malongs and ethnic garb. Mojo sandals and faded jeans. “Abu Sayyaf” scarves. Some looked like old hippies gone respectable. Some looked like academics. Some looked like members of Joey Ayala’s band. But they all sounded like they regularly sat down to a breakfast of Renato Constantino and Paulo Freire. I heard familiar words from the snatches of quiet conversation: Samahang Demokratiko ng Kabataan, Martial Law, cadre…

Someone set up a karaoke, and LCD and a laptop. And then they started the program. Several people stood up to tell the rest what they knew about Ochie Baes. His brother. The friend he grew up with. His co-workers. His mother.

A poet stood up and read her poem entitled Paghahati (which translates roughly as “Dividing” or “To Halve” Jeez, I suck at translating Filipino). My initial reaction was “I want to write like that!” After the first minute of envy, I started getting drawn into the poem. It spoke about how things must first be divided before they are made whole, destroyed before they are recreated. There is struggle in creation. There must be brokenness before things can finally come full circle. 

Which brings me to the first lesson of the day: only the people who are willing to be broken are those who will learn about wholeness. Only those who are willing to lose their life will gain it, and live it to the fullest.

I would have stayed longer at Tito Ochie’s wake, but I had to pay my respects to my friend’s dad. So I left for wake number two.

My friend’s house was a short jeepney ride away. When I got there, the pastor of the Evangelical Baptist Church was in the middle of a short message. There were people than a ticket line for an Angel Locsin movie.

(NOTE: By no means is this essay finished. But I have to do the dishes and tidy up my room. Part two follows shortly.)

hey, i read your poem published in Philippine Graphic. Asteeg.
arvin (Posted by: Arvin | December 25, 2006 09:33 AM)

*inhale*

!!!!!!!!

*skips giddily around the room with exessive amounts of glee*
*skip skip skip*
*exhales slowly*
*sigh*

Okay. My little moment of joy is finished. Now my question is, DOES ANYBODY KNOW WHERE I CAN GET A COPY OF THE PHILIPPINE GRAPHIC??? They never informed me that I got published. Either that, or my Spamguard ejected their acceptance email into the void.

Anyway. Back to my rejoicing.

*resumes skipping*

1. stars are blind parishilton: When she heard unshackled patch, she incontestable stars are blind parishilton carillon in. (reminds me of the useless English you read stationery and mugs imported from some Asian countries. The ones with lines like “Spring of Picnic! Daisy and Donald happy day!”)
2. parishilton video: I complimented her on the decor parishilton video then asked if i may worn her in France pissoir.
3. Also expect of parishilton own single procreant situations to manufacture your anecdote hot and earliest. (What is it with Paris Hilton????)
4. (And my favorite) good blog is dead blog:-)

I know now that Sheer Terror is a rather large Labrador named Magic. His lair is somewhere in Umali Subdivision in Los Baños. I was hanging out with Gani and Bom at Bom’s uncle’s house. (So many apostrophes.) The two had gone out to the garage for some manly conversation, perhaps discussing the finer points of Monty Python and the Holy Grail (”Pshaw! It’s just a flesh wound!”). On the otherhand, I had opted to lag behind, since I was still struggling to put on my left boot.

By the time I caught up with them, there he was. The gigantic, friendly, slobbery Labrador otherwise known as Magic. Who is a normally friendly dog. Unfortunately, he had been cooped up for the past few days without being walked, and was therefore as perky as a hundred caffeinated, extremely hormonal jackrabbits. This was no dog. This was the Furry Juggernaut of Doom.

And Bom had just let him out of his cage.

Magic, otherwise known as The Furry Juggernaut of Doom (The FJD), was snuffling around Gani’s feet, when I shuffled towards them. The FJD looked up at the hapless newcomer (me) and ambled over to smell my shoes.

And then he struck. The FJD leaped at me, and gave me a great big, enthusiastic, doggy hug, nearly bowling me over. I didn’t see it coming. Next thing I knew this massive, snuffling, slobbery furry thing had me in a headlock. My left boot came off.

Bom and Gani stared dumbly, perhaps frozen in surpise. I imagine they were both thinking: “Hey. A seventy-pound labrador is attacking Lynette,” (Yeah, yeah, so maybe it was kind of funny) before realizing I actually needed help.

They managed to help me get away from FJD’s doggy headlock, but before I could scurry to safety, FJD was at it again. This time, it was my leg he went after. He was attempting to hit on my leg. And since my leg didn’t exactly respond favorably to his amorous advances, he went at it anyway.

One of the most embarrasing things that could ever happen to a girl is to have a dog  boink her leg while she’s in the company of two guys. Two guys she happens to respect. A LOT. So much for poise.

Eventually, we managed to get the dog off my leg. Bom escorted a very dishevelled Lynette indoors, and Gani retrieved my missing boot. And they returned a frustrated Magic back to his cage.

Now that I think about it, it was kind of funny actually.

Once again, I find myself cramming. I should have started working on my “unprescribed” assignment yesterday, nay, last week even. Then I wouldn’t be in this jam. But I (and a small team of equally nit-picky, delightfully demented individuals) had to make little painted cutouts of Nativity characters for the kids’ Sunday school last Saturday night. And I was working with my obssessive-compulsive mother who has serious choleric tendencies. She insisted that we finish all  four of the backdrops (one meter by one meter plastic sheets with little pockets to stick the characters in) before Sunday. (Incidentally, the Sunday school teachers only used one of the backdrops during Sunday school. *Sigh* no matter.) We wound up sleeping around one am.

And THEN there was the matter of singing The Prayer for Sunday service. Which took plenty of practice time.

So come Sunday afternoon, I was a semi-conscious lump on the living room couch. I woke up around three pm. I should have started working THEN, but noooooo. I had to go out with my dad, to hunt up some DVDs. (Got the GTO compilation, and a DVD of Animaniacs. Wheee.) And then we went shopping for an electric fan. And then we had siopao at Chowking and poked fun at the tacky Christmas decor. They had a raindeer…or maybe it was an elk…in their Nativity. The raindeer’s head was made of those Chowking paper cups they use for halo-halo. The three wise men were bearing gifts of chao-fan, chicharap, and halo-halo.We got home around 5 pm.

I should have started working THEN, but nooooo…we had to watch Fahrenheit 9/11.

To make a long story short, I didn’t do a thing. I made a lame-ass attempt to get some readings done, but found myself drooling on a page about social phenomenology. I went to bed around 12. And swore to wake up early to do my work.

Hello, Monday. Woke up at 4. Managed to finish two-thirds of the whole thing. Found it kind of fun even (I swear I must have latent masochistic tendencies or something.) But somewhere between symbolic interactionism and the ethnography of communication, I discovered that my brain was beginning to slosh around in my skull. So I decided to take a break.

So here I am, blogging.

Break over. Back to work.

“You better tidy up yourself….”

That’s selective perception for you. Ladies and gentlemen, my mother. There ain’t no one like her.

pradhyuman_rai: hi
pradhyuman_rai: hi
pradhyuman_rai: can I see you?
me (referring to the display image that was too late to turn off): that’s my picture.
pradhyuman_rai: is that really you?
me: if you don’t believe me, that’s your problem.
pradhyuman_rai: u r so beautiful

(long silence from me)

pradhyuman_rai: ur hobby?
pradhyuman_rai: hi
me: yeah. right. hi.
pradhyuman_rai: what is your size?

(The freak turns on the “falling hearts imvironment”. *SHUDDER* Which I promptly turn off.)

pradhyuman_rai: why?
pradhyuman_rai: Do u want sexy chat?
me: no.
pradhyuman_rai: why?
me: i’m sorry, but i really have to trim my toenails. It’s very urgent you see.  I have to prioritize.
pradhyuman_rai: ok dear
pradhyuman_rai: ok dear
pradhyuman_rai: your size?
BUZZ!!!
pradhyuman_rai: R u busy?
BUZZ!!!
me: i have supermodel proportions. but i don’t like presumptious men who don’t respect women. i think you’ll find a brainless bimbo if you look hard enough. happy hunting. im putting you on ignore now. bye.
pradhyuman_rai: sorry dear
pradhyuman_rai: My intens was not breeak your heart

People with atrocious spelling always break my heart. But it’s okay. I think I’ll recover somehow.

*sex eyeball (now that I think about it, it’s a really stupid-sounding term. whoever coined this should be hanged by his or her thumbs)