Jesus, You've Got Mail.

I've mentioned before in an earlier post about wondering why and how did Sandra's teachers and guidance counselor took a special interest in the fact that her parents are separated. And now I know why.

Went to her school for Parents' day. The ex and I agreed (well, we fought first. sigh) that I should be the one attending it, you know, to avoid making a scene. I was late as usual. The classroom was already packed with earnest kids and matching doting parents, the sight that would be teeth-tingling if I totally lacked any wholesome Brady Bunch family empathy. I was alone, but okay. Maybe just a wee bit envious, but I thought if I can just go through the motions as quickly as possible, this event would be painless.

Or so I thought.

There were lots of cards displayed on the class bulletin board. Parents' day cards with a Dear Jesus letter. I thought it would be a great idea to go scoot over there and look at 'em cards and avoid socializing altogether. I caught the teacher making a sideways glance at me as I approached Sandra's card. And before I could say Holy Press Release, I caught The Dear Jesus part in her missive. I don't want my parents to have problems and pls try to put them together and love each other agin (sic). Talk about bringing in the big kahunas, my daughter is now asking Jesus what she couldn't ask me. The thing is, THIS card isn't a personal letter, it's a class project for the teacher, the whole class and all the other parents to see. I glanced at the teacher again and she smiled at me. Hmmm... So this is what it feels like to star in your own reality show. LOL

At home, I asked my daughter about the card, and she told me not to worry about it. "Besides, I asked Jesus, Mommy. Not you. You don't have to do anything about it".

I wish it were that simple. I wish I can call on divine intervention and have my prayers answered. But even the most pious of people cannot afford to have that much faith, or be just fatalists. And oftentimes, people being human, would pray for the wrong things anyway, and God knows (if and when he's listening) if he'll take these prayers seriously.

I thanked Sandra for the prayer. Yes, maybe Dad and I shouldn't fight anymore. I'd pray for that. But right now, just that.

The Breakables

UPSIDE: Wow! They're finally giving the trophies away!
DOWNSIDE: Um, Er... Where should I put them?

Lots of changes happening now. Our Chief Creative Officer is revamping the Creative Department -- not just the organization, but also the decor. Among those eased out were the old trophies from the past Ad Congresses and Creative Guilds Awards. So when they announced if it has your name on it, you can get it , I grabbed mine. Having them now fills me with both pride and regret. I remember being a young writer, winning an award and feeling like a hotshot. But now that I'm handling accounts that are more hungry for profit rather than accolade, it's harder to get this chunk of glass.

Anyway, since I don't have the space in my flat (and would be petrified having breakables around) they now sit on my cubicle window. So when I get writer's block or when I feel blue I could always say hey you, you didn't do too bad. .

Here Comes The Rain

It's more like a storm, actually. It's been raining for days, and I've been coming to work drenched to the skin. The city I love is engulfed in a dull gray hue, even after lunch, which is when I snapped this pic. Being a closet clinically-depressed person, I took pains to appear peppy in times of gray. I play music, I put on make-up, and unlike the UV-ray avoiders here, I am the only one in the creative department who'd pull up the window blinds. I like looking at the cityscape, the coastal view, the sunset. It really takes so little to cheer me up. Blue skies and white puffy clouds enchant me most of the time and I stare at them when I'm brainstorming by myself. But now, with the skies so dim, so is my disposition.

Miss_Conception

UPSIDE: People mistook me for a very educated Japanese American with an L.A. valley girl accent, thereby sealing a preconception that I must be a sophisticated, cosmopolitan woman.

DOWNSIDE: Except for being educated, I am not any of these. And I'm not comfortable being in a social circle that only accepts me because they thought of me differently. Like, "she can't be pinay, because she doesn't project 3rd world".

The international community would often perceive Pinays to be either dowdy, or if they put on some bling they must be hookers. Only the mestizas and Eurasians can get away with flash. That's Manila for you. Perceptions haven't changed since the Spanish Era of colonial brain washing.

But globally, cultures are accepting change and cities are becoming diverse. So to some, my own eurasian look and accent are misleading, but to others, these are just manifestations of being a global citizen. One who works in an international community therefore must have the look (and in my case, accent) that is acceptable and understandable.

I am Pinoy as one can be, with an improved system and packaging.

The Magic of Roses

I must've looked like I'm at my wit's end for someone to hand this to me. I would rather get pity, or money, or make-up --anything. But Flowers are different. They symbolize a lot of things, and open a lot of questions with answers I'm not sure I want to know. Flowers have the power to make me gush, a feeling I almost hate to admit. Historically, I only receive them when there's an occasion (get well, valentine's, birthday, mother's day) but never without one. When asked what's the reason for this, the answer was charity. A forlorn rose peddler with no sale was the subject of pity. And the second subject was me, with my obvious streak for glum, paranoia and lack of confidence, I must have been the perfect recipient. I placed them in an old crystal vase, in between bills and clutter. And in the middle of that disarray, was a ray of light. a thing of beauty. It's like seeing hope.

The Trip to the Guidance Counselor

There it was, a note on her student diary. She has been interviewed by the guidance counselor again. Those words filled me with apprehension. What do they want with my daughter? Much as I'd like to think of her school as just another mass money-making educational facility, I am slightly pleased, surprised and yet scared -- yes, very much so in fact -- that they have taken an interest in my daughter's psychological well-being. An interview means they're making assessments. Of what, I have no idea.

So I asked her. She replied carefully, in short sentences, as if she was focusing on keywords and thinking about editing them if I make the slightest wince. They talked about her favorite subjects, where she lived, playmates if any, etc etc etc.

I was cutting pictures for her art project and I was hoping to keep my hands steady. I'm quite certain they asked about me, about her Dad. For crying out loud, they have 13 sections on the 2nd grade, why this particular interest on my daughter? They must be taking into account that she's a product of a broken family, and therefore needs special attention. And I was right.

"Mommy, there are three of us in my class who have separated parents, and they talked to all three of us", she said. Aha. Oh well, I expected that.

"So what did they say to you?" I asked.

She smiled and shrugged, "oh stuff I already know. They told me IT will be ok. And I already know that".

I hugged her. Yes, darling, it will.

On Dina Lohan and Lynne Spears

I stumbled upon this article a couple of days ago at NYTIMES.com and got a bit affected by it. People are just quick to dismiss that a child is the way he or she is because of the mother (and just the mother, as if dad has no influence whatsoever!)

I guess what struck a nerve is I do have something in common with these moms (and no, my child is not a superstar). I am like them, a single mom, human enough to do the occasional partying -- though I hardly drink and I don't smoke -- I try to raise my child as protectively as I can, but I am the unconventional mother. I urge my child to question, to fight back, I drill her with schoolwork but at play, I allow her to make mistakes. After all, children as well as mothers are just human. And the mistakes will happen, whether you're a fun-crazy mom or straight-laced tight-assed matriarch.

SOMETIMES MOTHERS CAN DO NO RIGHT
By KARA JESELLA
Published: July 29, 2007



“I FEEL bad for Lindsay. I feel very strongly it it her mother who is her worst enemy. She has planted that seed in her that the party crowd is the place to be.”

“i blame her mom. father wanted to do the wright thing.”

“her mom doesn’t even act like a mother figure, she acts more like a sister to lindsay!”

On Tuesday morning, just hours after Lindsay Lohan was arrested on charges of driving with a suspended license, driving under the influence and felony cocaine possession, the typically vituperative posts (also, typically, grammatically challenged and typo-ridden) showed up on celebrity gossip Web sites like TMZ and Us Weekly.

Dina Lohan, Lindsay’s mother, was their target — not her father, who has served time in prison, battled his own addictions and was mostly absent during Lindsay’s childhood. While some people may point fingers at him for her problems, most bloggers and celebrity-gawkers see him as a lost cause, and put the onus on her mother.

“People like to blame Dina Lohan,” said Janice Min, the editor in chief of Us Weekly. “I think there’s a belief that mothers will do anything for their kids, while fathers come and go.”
(Dina Lohan did not respond to requests for comment for this article; after her daughter’s arrest, she told the celebrity news TV show “Insider,” “We are doing everything in our power in support of Lindsay and I won’t give up. This is my daughter and we love her.”)

She is hardly the only mother of a high-profile daughter to be verbally tarred and feathered. Kathy Hilton, the mother of Paris and Nicky, and Lynne Spears, who is now estranged from Britney, have also been held publicly accountable for their daughters’ wild-child antics like homemade sex tapes and padding around public restrooms barefoot.

And though Dina Lohan told Harper’s Bazaar earlier this year, “You can’t blame parents for kids,” in the same interview she chastised Lynne Spears for not defending her daughter after Britney’s quickie first marriage fell apart.

What have Dina, Lynne and Kathy done wrong in raising their daughters? That’s what the media and bloggers want to know. Meanwhile, most of the public doesn’t even know the fathers’ names. (Michael, Jamie and Rick.)

Mother-daughter relationships have long been a topic of Hollywood and media fascination. And mothers have always been an easy target for public condemnation, said Devra Renner, an author of the book “Mommy Guilt: Learn to Worry Less, Focus on What Matters Most and Raise Happier Kids.”

“I think most people feel they can give a more informed opinion about someone’s parenting than about the Hollywood industrial complex,” she said. “And, of course, moms are still seen as the primary parent.”

Indeed, though statistics show that fathers are now more involved than ever in their children’s lives, the perception remains that mothers are ultimately responsible for their children’s behavior. Not to mention that experts say that since the 1980s, expectations of what a so-called “good mother” should do have grown.

“We have a long history in this culture of mother blame,” said Susan J. Douglas, an author of “The Mommy Myth: The Idealization of Motherhood and How it Has Undermined Women.” In World War II, women whose sons wouldn’t fight were condemned for tying them too closely with their apron strings. A host of illnesses, including autism, were once traced to mothers, often with dubious scientific proof.

And without mother blame, where would Freud be? “An ideal was set in place by pop psychologists and Freud that the big problems in American society could be traced to excessive mothering,” said Beryl Satter, an associate professor of history at Rutgers University, Newark. “Mothers who smothered their children with affection created unstable characters,” she said, and yet mothers who were withholding were perceived to have created problems as well.

To be sure, it’s not as if some celebrity mothers haven’t brought an extra level of scrutiny upon themselves by seeking the spotlight. Ms. Hilton was the host of a reality TV show, “I Want to Be a Hilton.” Ms. Lohan, Lindsay’s mother/manager, or “momager,” is not exactly a shrinking violet when it comes to media coverage.

Most mothers don’t ask for that kind of attention. And media images of the “bad mother” serve to police all mothers, said Professor Douglas, who is the chairwoman of the department of communication studies at the University of Michigan.



By portraying Lynne Spears, Kathy Hilton and Dina Lohan, who was essentially a single mother raising four children, as bad mothers, “we get these class stereotypes about bad mothering that are meant to flatter middle-class mothers,” she added. “What Britney Spears evokes is this whole down-market, ‘trailer trash’ upbringing. Paris evokes the opposite — very rich parents who spoil their kids rotten and set no boundaries.” It’s as if these “bad mothers” couldn’t achieve the balance that middle-class motherhood prizes. They did everything for their children — but maybe too much. They became their friends — but maybe to an extreme.

Worse, perhaps, is that they refuse to apologize for their unconventional behavior. Ms. Lohan freely admits to partying with Lindsay at clubs when her daughter wasn’t old enough to drink.

No one is saying that parents are blameless when it comes to their children’s risky behavior. “Parents are the strongest influence, positively or negatively, in decisions by a young person to engage in drinking, smoking or drug use,” said Susan Foster, the director of policy research and analysis at the National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse at Columbia University.

But the amount of derision directed at mothers seems out of proportion.

“We still have a virgin-whore binary in American pop culture, and this governs motherhood as well,” Professor Douglas said. The same way in which girls are labeled either good or bad, so are mothers. The same level of censure does not seem to apply to sons, whose risky behavior is often seen as merely a rite of passage.

Professor Douglas thinks the reproach directed at some celebrities’ mothers speaks to the particular kinds of lessons that mothers are supposed to teach their daughters — lessons Lindsay, Britney and Paris seem not to have learned. “It’s supposed to be a mother’s job to train her daughter into how to domesticate her various desires,” she said. “If we see a young woman who hasn’t done that, the mother has failed her tutorial.”

Part of the anger toward seemingly bad mothers may be an outgrowth of the fact that the mother-daughter tie is the strongest of all intergenerational relationships, said Karen L. Fingerman, an associate professor of child development and family studies at Purdue, noting that research shows that this is because both parties are women, and women are the ones who are taught to nurture relationships.

Mothers are now seen as responsible for their children well into adulthood, Professor Fingerman said. Ms. Lohan’s detractors are “not just saying that the mother screwed her up but that the mother should still be there — that’s a societal shift,” she said.

From the mid 19th century until the 1920s, Professor Satter noted, middle-class mothers were held up as some kind of ideal, one that working-class mothers were supposed to aspire to. But she noted that many women realized this wasn’t a good strategy. “The more politically minded and savvy understood that blaming other women for not being good mothers was ridiculous,” she said.

Funny Internet Observation

Stumbled upon this while surfing mybloglog, and chuckled a bit. There's some truth to it, you know.



I know somebody who's a total Mac fan who stopped dating a PC advocate because they just kept arguing about processors and programs. And as for people who keep inviting me to Facebook, sorry, it just won't work out. Facebook is banned at my office.

Musings on Rugby

Watched the Tri-Nations Rugby Final yesterday between the All Blacks vs the Wallabies. A friend asked who I was rooting for and I didn't answer. They were sort of expecting that since they support the Kiwis, I should as well. Hmmm. This reminds me of La Salle vs Ateneo rivalries where I had to cheer for La Salle because of "affinities".

In the first place, I'm not even a Rugby fanatic. I followed the Football (soccer) World Cup last year and stayed up until dawn. And even then I had no allegiance to any team. Rugby is a sport I just started to understand and now appreciate more than Football. Maybe because I find Football players faking injuries quite wimpy. Whereas Rugby players would have blood gushing about and would still keep on playing. Anyway...

In a semi-detached fashion, i just watched and considered the whole atmosphere of the game. The weather was a nasty downpour of rain that made the ball and the players skid more than usual. The All Blacks were playing on home soil, and the extensive amount of cheering must have fed their adrenalin. And in desperation, the players would usually commit errors and be confused when they have the ball. They usually couldn't decide whether to kick it, pass it on (sometimes they just throw it to no one in particular) or just run with the ball and get painfully tackled. The referee was also consistently fair, though he threw more penalty kicks in the All-Blacks favor. And these were factors why the Wallabies lost.

Both teams were pretty good, though I would think the Aussies had more solid defense. I also was admiring the consistent performance of the Wallabies' Gregan and the leadership of Mortlock rather than the All Blacks' McCaw. The All Blacks were good but they were also lucky. So in an existential sort of way, I'd say the stars just aligned for the All-Blacks.

Life is like that... You can always try to be the best you can be, but sometimes life won't pull enough aces for you. But you get up, ignore the pain, and ready yourself for another tackle.

More Tri-Nations Photos and news at PLANET RUGBY

Woes of a Clinically-Depressed Pinay

This piece of news has been disturbing me a bit. Here's an excerpt:


PINAY ARRESTED FOR KILLING HUSBAND, SON IN ITALY
By: Pia Lee-Brago, Mayen Jaymalin, Philippine Star: 7/18/2007

A mentally unstable Filipina is now under the custody of the Italian police for allegedly killing her husband and son and seriously injuring her daughter, the Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA) confirmed yesterday.

The DFA received the report about the arrest of Teresita Aguila Lleva after she reportedly slit the throats of her husband Wilson and 10-year-old son Brian on Friday while they were sleeping, Undersecretary for Migrant Workers’ Affairs Esteban Conejos said. Lleva also tried to slash the throat of her eight-year-old daughter Bea, but the child fought back, sustaining wounds on her throat and hands.

The daughter was rushed to hospital for treatment and is still in the intensive care unit, although Conejos said reports reaching the DFA showed that the girl is out of danger.

Information gathered from the Overseas Workers Welfare Administration (OWWA) revealed Lleva had a history of emotional and mental problems since last year when she attempted twice to commit suicide by slashing her wrist then taking an overdose of undetermined drugs.

Lleva underwent a series of psychiatric examinations in Milan last year, and in October went back to her hometown in Batangas where she continued her medication.

In February, Lleva returned to Milan. Two months after, she started acting strangely, refusing to live in the town of Melegnano where her husband worked as a warehouse caretaker. Lleva reportedly urged her husband to move out of their place, but he refused because doing so would be costly for them.

Her unfulfilled desire to transfer residence reportedly triggered her depression.



I know how it feels to be miserable and not knowing how to snap out of it. Short of like having J.K. Rowling's Dementors suck out all the happy thoughts from you, it takes a lot of struggling. The misery seems so great, and the issues go into a loop again and again and again. In the same light Teresita must have felt trapped in her situation that she simply lost it. Nalokah in every sense of the word.

Speaking for myself, all one needs is to be out of the situation, find a change of scenery and think of the issues from a different perspective. Sure, I snapped out of it by over-swiping my credit cards, but at least I didn't do any bodily harm to myself or anyone. Anyway, if you feel emotionally burdened, here are a few (personal) pointers on how to deal with it:

* YOU'RE ALLOWED TO BE MISERABLE, AS LONG AS YOU KNOW WHY.
- It's easier to deal with issues if you have a grip on them. Be systematic. Know why you're sad, and devise of ways to deal with your issues.

* FIND SOME RELEASE
- talk about what ails you. Take up kickboxing or any sport that releases aggression. Travel somewhere and displace yourself, if that's not possible, just go to the next room. Take a walk. Write a blog (hmm, that's familiar)

* BE READY TO DISAPPOINT PEOPLE
- stop thinking about what other people might say or think, and focus on yourself. There's no point in putting up a front when your emotions feel like they just came from an Osterizer.

* BEWARE OF INSTANT GRATIFICATION
- Alcoholics, drug dependents and serial credit card swipers are never truly out of their misery. In fact, they get even more deeply entrenched into already miserable lives.

* IF MISERY PERSISTS, SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP
- If talking to a psychologist is too clinical for you, try seeking a life coach or a counselor.

Glasses

DOWNSIDE: I look like a nerd in glasses. I look like a librarian or a school marm that time forgot. But I have to wear them for my astigmatism and for UV protection.

UPSIDE: Nobody does those annoying wolf whistles anymore. The construction workers have ignored me. Ha ha! Plus, nobody sees my eyebags.

Beauty and the Bully

Last night I asked her, "how was your day?" She looked at me, shrugged and said it was ok, just an ordinary day. We then did the mommy-daughter bonding thing, took her scooter around Salcedo park and I bought Hi-protein bread at Delifrance. We laughed at the cute Korean kids who raced their neon scooters around, then we headed back to the flat. Had dinner and then I gave her a bath. While scrubbing her back, I told her how much I love her and how precious she is to me.

She then had this pensive look. And then she said "I want to tell you something. But please don't be mad".

As every mother would know, a line like that braces you for something. But I put my protective gear down and put on a friendlier face. She then proceeded to tell me that she saw an old bus mate at school, one that used to bully her and she thought she'd never see much of again.

Last year, she must have wanted not to add to the domestic problems (the separation) and decided to keep the bullying all to herself. This Bully would put trash on her bus seat and that would force to her to stand up the whole ride from school to the house. When she told me this last year, I fumed and cried. She was only a 1st grader, 6 years old, and the bully was on the 5th grade, She's technically still a baby compared to him. I ranted about how rude this kid was and how inconsiderate and I would talk to his parents, etc etc. But Sandra just said "It's ok Mommy. I'm on a different school bus now. I won't see him again. Besides, I don't even know his name."

"Anyway, so what happened today?" I asked.
"I saw him again, he was with his friends" she then reminded me "Mommy, don't be mad, ha?"
I gave a non-committal shrug hoping for all the patience in the world to be bestowed upon me.
And then she said the Bully saw her and yelled "Hey, let's go kick her bag!" So they kicked her pink stroller around like some football in the school corridor. Her stuff got sprawled on the floor, and they laughed as she picked everything up.
"So what did you do when they did that?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"I said something bad." and then tears fell from her beautiful eyes "I said, YOU'RE A JERK! GO TO HELL" and then she sobbed in my arms. "please mommy, I didn't mean to say something bad, I'm sorry..."

The first thought in my mind was how much of a good person Sandra is. That she actually feels guilt for cursing someone who wronged her. The second thought was motherly rage. No one has the right to do this, especially to a much younger child. But it wasn't the proper time to be mad. I first have to be my child's rock. So while holding her close I just said "Honey, we have to be smart about this. So no tears. Don't get emotional. When he does it again, let him kick your bag as long as he wants to. Make sure other kids witness him do this, But meanwhile, find a way to get his name -- on his name tag, on his school stuff, just get his name. Then Mommy will take care of the rest."

I cuddled her to sleep. I prayed for strength. Thanked my lucky stars for having a wonderful daughter. It broke my heart that she has a cruel world to face. But it makes me feel good that even mean people couldn't change her.

Inspiration from Frank Hoefsmit

Several years ago, I took photography classes at The Alcove: Portraiture, Figure Lighting (nudes) and Black and White Film Photography and Developing. I worked with both film and digital, but fell in love with film more. During that time, I was trying to make sense of the loneliness and the invalidation in my life. It seems poetic now, but it was an act of desperation then. I needed to be passionate about something... anything. And I seemed to have discovered it in photography and film developing. But as love affairs go, my love (for photography) was met with foolish notions and a lot of insecurities. I felt inadequate next to the geeks with the fancy digicams and their $3,000 lenses. As I balanced never-ending working weekends, or weekends doing nothing but chores or family obligations, I was envious with the people who actually had the time to pursue their passions. So in time, my love for photography died like a teen summer infatuation. But the desire for validation and soul expansion lived on.

Last thursday, I got a text from Frank. One of those marketing textblasts for an upcoming Photo Exhibit. It was held at the Piedra Bar at the Fort and was a brand-sponsored party by San Miguel along with two other fashion photographers whose names escape me right now. Anyway, though Frank had his fashion stuff being flashed onscreen, he also had his "Silence" collection on the walls of the bar. "Silence" is a series of abstract photography artwork that was part of his early works. When I say early, I mean his 2005 collection. I'm not sure what to make of abstract work, because despite of my being illogical at times, surrealism confuses me. There is one photo I liked though. It was a pink picture of a tree with digitally streaked lines. And I don't even know why I liked it (see, abstract actually requires more thought! ha ha). Okay, maybe I just liked pink.

Anyway, what's the significance of Frank and his work in all of my ramblings? I guess the point is, he was my classmate. We tinkered with cameras at the same time, made the same mistakes, felt our way through photography and fell in love with it along the way. But his love affair went on a different path from mine. He's now got photography exhibits as well as a newfound reputation as a hot fashion photographer. Me? All I got was 3rd place for one photo competition (architecture) and a lot of regrets for never finding the time nor the resources to pursue it. Romance cannot survive without finance, so my romantic inclinations with the camera had to die.

Frank is a Belgian expat who has his own software business here and services a lot of international clients. When I met him that night, in the middle of hugs and pointing out his cute significant other, he told me he plans to sell the company and pursue photography full time. I pondered over the pay cut he must be willing to face considering photographers in Manila (with the exception of advertising photographers) are grossly underpaid. But he looked good. He grinned the whole night, obviously in love --with someone and the life he's leading. He looked happy with the choices he's made to get where he is. And I thought, how inspiring! Life should be like that. To be lived with the pursuit of passion. I feel so happy for him, and I beamed with pride by saying "Frank Hoefsmit? I know the guy. He was my classmate!"

For more of his works, please visit
Frank's website!

Lunch at Verbena in Tagaytay

It's not often that I make my way out of Makati, much more out of town. So I do consider it a blessing that I found the time, energy and wonderful company to make it to Tagaytay this Saturday. Discovery Suites in Tagaytay is a wonderful, country-style inn with a lot of warmth of character. I've heard about Verbena Restaurant which had great reviews as well. And that was the reason I was on this road trip, to actually squeeze this restaurant in the itinerary.

When I look back at my once-married life, I get nostalgic about attending the Cheese Club at Manila Polo Club. My ex loved cheese and I guess he opened my eyes to it as well. But now that's a distant memory, and so is cheese. Sure, I can have the uninspired slices from Landmark supermarket or order fried mozarella at any bistro. But that would be eating cheese for the sake of it. Much as I love cheese by itself, I would sit upright for cheese that's prepared with a little more imagination. And that is why this Organic Mozarella Cheese Pot at Verbena melted my heart. On top, your basic mozarella. But under it hid a delightful Tomato Sugo with just a hint of spice. If I weren't with a companion, I would order three of these and not have an entree at all. It came with focacia that lets you dip in it fondue-style. I only touched a slice of that because I wanted this baby by itself. Yes, the cheese monster in me lives. Oh, I also liked the thoughtfulness of this being kept warm with flammable gel instead of the usual denatured alcohol. The flame was practically smokeless and odorless. So at least i got that played-with-fondue feeling without smelling like i played with kerosene.

For the Entree... The problem about rarely going out is that once I do, I hunger for everything. As in, everything on the menu. But since I'd rather keep my waistline as it is (actually, I'd rather have it smaller but that's a diferent issue) we settled for a bit of everything. And this is the phonepic that doesn't do justice for Verbena's Sampler Plate. At Php650, it's quite a good portion plus it has three of Verbena's best sellers: BBQ Lamb baby back ribs with polenta fries (there's two pcs of them there), the Salmon Fillet with Arugula-mushroom salad, and Short Ribs Goulash with Potato puree. Of the three, I liked Salmon the most (growing up in a Seafood loving family, I was trained not to prefer meat so my prefernce may not be fair). The goulash is very tender and the ribs just ok. The revelation here is the arugula mushroom salad tucked under the salmon which had a nice zing. That deserved special mention because I despise arugula, yet managed to eat this one. Yes, there's hope for green vegetables with a weird bitter aftertaste.

All in all, the visit to this restaurant is delightful, and I would suggest it to anyone driving up to Tagaytay. And much as I hate ending this like some stupid press release, I might as well put down the link:
http://www.discoverycountrysuites.com/main.php

Stumbling Upon a Secret

Had a tiring day and arrived home late. My little girl is fast asleep, with her books and notes sprawled on the bed. She must've been studying for her exams (and for a 2nd grader, she seems to be getting a lot). I was fixing her things when I saw this.



It was a homework for her Christian Living subject, that asked to make a letter to somebody. She never showed me the letter. Regardless of its brief thought, I can feel it was all heart as I was reading it.

How wonderful it is to be loved. :-)