Nobody owes anyone anything.

Quite recently, a frenemy sent a private message to my husband and may I quote a few lines from her email, “… i hope to reconcile with her, forgetting the past hurts and pains….. i plan to give her a visit in your home... and i hope she can accommodate me, i am hoping for her positive response to my visit. i hope she will consider welcoming me back to your home. Yours in Christ, ….”.  That came as a surprise, a big one at that.  What could have triggered this sudden urge to get in touch? It’s been like twelve or more years since we’ve last seen each other. Oh… I know, there’s a reunion coming up.  That explains it. I would have considered patching things up… why not? I’ve “moved on” (for lack of better words), without them.  But wait ‘til you read her next email and again, I quote, “ …There are always three sides of the story: hers, mine/ours and the truth. I don’t really intend to surprise her coz i know how emotionally she could react. and i don’t know how she will handle the situation with the mere fact that she will see me….. Pareho kaming sinaktan at siniraan … with our classmates and her friends.” Oh dear…

As I was reading another article (as I always do at midnight), I can’t help but react and write about my thoughts again and here is what I wish to say to those who have wronged or hurt me. 

I don’t have to listen to what you have to say. You can apologize. That would be nice... but not necessary. I don’t have to hear the three sides of every story because I know perfectly well one side of it and that’s all that mattered for so many long years. I don’t have to like you and you don’t have to like me either. I don’t think we can ever bring back the past or be chummy with each other ever again. I have forgotten you and I wish you would do that too. I don’t owe you anything. 

Forgiveness is giving up the right to get hurt because you hurt me. I have done that for a very long time. That’s the only way for me to go forward. 

The article I read said that nobody owes anyone friendship and that nobody owes anyone forgiveness. It further said and I quote, “ … if you grovel every day and somebody says, “Nope, don’t forgive you,” that’s fine, too. It doesn’t mean you have to grovel forever, but their refusal to forgive is not an offense against you. You did the wrong thing. So long as they aren’t violating your rights or looking to harm you or people you care about in retaliation, they are allowed to despise you and it doesn’t make your apology any less necessary.” The way Ijeoma Oluo wrote it is much more subtle, not offensive at all. Thank you for your words of wisdom Madam Ijeoma.

This is what I have to say … Moving on is something that has a lot of interpretations or meanings. It does not simply mean forgetting or erasing an unfortunate event, unfavorable situation or unpleasant people in one’s life. Moving on will never delete what happened in the past. What it means is one goes beyond, surpasses or rises above the disappointment, the sadness, the anger or the injustice.  Inner peace is when you do not allow unfortunate events, unfavorable situations and unpleasant people to control your emotions. (betsisanders 2014)

Nobody owes anyone anything.

***

I didn't want to "ride the bandwagon" and join those millions who posted blow by blow accounts of His Holiness Pope Francis' visit because I kept on crying every time I see His Holiness; or  proclaim my faith and claim to be holier than what I really am, ... 

 but this is what I have to say, 

"I owe everything only to Him who loves me.

It's between me and my Creator. 

I will make peace with Him.

I have lifted it all up to Him, to judge us all."

I hope to get some shut eye.

Good night.

Wish me luck.

It's just me, typing away on my computer.

I am sad for him ...

“There are two kinds of pain, the sort of pain that makes you strong, or useless pain, the sort of pain that's only suffering. I have no patience for useless things.” I heard Francis Underwood say these lines at the beginning of the series, House of Cards.

I am used to useless pain, the physical pain that debilitates; one that causes me to take unlimited amounts of NSAIDS; that which keeps me awake at night; that which makes me shed buckets of tears; that most human experience which does not make me stronger; that is just suffering… and I can deal with that any time.

That isn’t the reason why I am typing away on my computer at two in the morning. I am dealing with a different kind of pain. 

After taking my nightly dose of painkillers five hours ago; while it seems to be peaceful and quiet where all I can hear is the hum of the air-conditioning unit; while I’ve waited and longed for this tranquil state; I am still unable to fall into deep slumber. It’s not about me or Hubby nor my frenemies.

He said, “ Mom, would you take it against me if I quit law school?”  We were on our way home, with him driving for his dear old Mom. He probably expected me to scream at the top of my lungs; to crush his soul with sharp dagger looks; to be extremely furious;to  shout or swear at him.  I didn’t do any of those.  I totally understood him.  I knew where he was coming from. Something flashbacked in me … that time when I wanted to quit dentistry in my senior year and go to art school.

I remember what he said to me on his first week in law school. “Mom, if I don’t make the cut-off in law school, I’ll  just find a job.” I said, “What?”… “kaya mo yan, matalino ka.”  … “Mom, I’m not happy in law school. I wanted to quit in September.”  I asked, “Did you fail any subject?”  “Yes." "Why? How?” …. “ After thirty minutes of badgering, of being harassed and insulted by that teacher, I told him, … “You think this law profession is so high and mighty? It is not. In law practice, you bribe and pay the judges, you corrupt lawyers….” He didn’t finish and couldn’t remember everything he said to the professor.  He walked out and never went back to class.

I understood where my son was coming from and it hurt more than my useless physical pain. I am sad for him. I’ve been crying quietly, haven't told his Dad about what happened.  

Everyone knows how my son is such an obedient boy, soft-spoken, could not harm a fly. But he just lost his temper.  He said, “Mom I studied hard. I made notes. I read that thick bunch of Xerox copies.” He motioned with his fingers, about two inches thick. 

“Will you be kicked out?” .No Mom.  I will be dropped from the roster and will be given an honorary dismissal. But I can’t enroll this semester for post-graduate studies.”  “I’ll probably take Masters in Psychology.” I said, “.. and be a Doctor of Psychology.”

At this point in my son’s life, he is lost. His dreams crushed by that fucked up ill-mannered professor.  I remembered his Grandfather telling me, “Hindi pwede magattorney si Alvin. Dapat matapang. Malakas ang sikmura.” My Dad was right all along.

I am just very sad for my son. Angel of God, his guardian dear…please guide and guard him.  Dear God, please show him the way to make him happy again.  Thank you dear Lord.  My son talks to me.  I love him so much more than anything in this world.

Flowers, oil paintings by betsisanders

Title:  Flower

Size:  5 x 7 inches

Medium:  Oil on Museum Wrapped Canvas

Artist:  betsisanders 2014

I love flowers. I love food.  I love art.  (betsisanders 2014) 

******** 

“As we strive through life, we are warned and cautioned about what we cannot do, should not do, better not do. Rarely are we encouraged about the things we can do, must do, because God needs them done and has chosen us to do it. That thing you have come to life to be, which you do with all of your heart and soul, which you think about in your every waking hour, which brings joy into your heart, satisfaction into your life: that is your purpose.”  

(By:  Iyanla Vanzant)

Flower, an acrylic painting by betsisanders

Title:  Flower       Size: 5 x 7 inches

Medium:  Acrylic on Museum Wrapped Canvas

Artist:   betsisanders 2014

********

Oh soul,

you worry too much.

You have seen your own strength.

You have seen your own beauty.

You have seen your golden wings.

Of anything less,

why do you worry?

You are in truth

the soul, of the soul, of the soul. 

(RUMI)

Inner Peace, an acrylic painting by betsisanders

Title:  Inner Peace

Size:  5 x 7 inches

Medium:  Acrylic on Museum Wrapped Canvas

Artist:  betsisanders 

********

Inner peace is when you do not allow unfortunate events,

 unfavorable situations or unpleasant people to control your emotions.

(betsisanders 2014)

Fly away ...

Title:  Fly away

Size:  8 x 11 inches

Medium:  Acrylic

***

"Someday I'll fly away too. Until we meet again."

betsisanders 2014

Dad would have been 85

That's my Dad ten years ago, 

in front of a pine tree that he planted

at the front yard of my sisters' home 

in Windy Hill, Aurora, Chicago.

***

Dad was born in the remote barrio of Santor, Bongabon, Nueva Ecija.  I've written about my summer vacations spent in that poor little barrio where  Dad made us harvest onions, cabbages, string beans whenever we went home to visit Inang.  I'm glad he never asked us to join him fishing using his bare hands in the river or harvest palay (rice). 

Dad met Nanay at the Port Area where he worked as a clerk at the Bureau of Customs, South Harbor. Nanay was following up the death benefits of my Lolo, her father, who was then the Customs Collector of the South Harbor. Dad asked her out and treated her to a dinner of "sugpo" / huge prawns.  Dad wanted to make a good first impression.  

My mother left for the States to finish her Master's Degree at the Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland, where she was a Ford Foundation scholar.  

A few years later, she came back to Manila to marry the man who won her heart, the man who made a good impression, that dashing young man in white.  

Taken during my sister's wedding.

Dad brought Nanay to Nueva Ecija to meet Inang and the rest of his family.  Nanay had the shock of her life.  She used to tell me that she had never seen anyone as poor as my Dad. She said,  "They were poorer than poor." ... Yes, Dad came from a poor family of farmers, but they owned the land they tilled. 

Dad strived hard to finish high school. His school was in the middle of town, many kilometers away from their barrio and he used to walk to school everyday. I remember him telling me that he wanted to become a soldier and applied at the Philippine Military Academy. Unfortunately, he didn't pass the height requirement.  Dad was a WWII war veteran, a guerilla.  He was able to finish Civil Engineering at the MAPUA through the scholarship grant given to veterans or their dependents. He was a working student back then and lived with rich landed relatives in Quezon City. Dad finally ended up working at the Bureau of Customs as a clerk. Dad never made it to Collector level, like my Lolo.  He was just one step away from becoming the bureau's Collector.  Despite being best friends and tennis buddies with the Cabinet Secretary in the late 80's, he never used his friend's influence or used padrinos  to achieve the position he aimed for.  

A former dentistry schoolmate needed to interview a war veteran for her thesis.  She asked me to do the interview with my Dad.  Gave me a list of questions, a cassette tape recorder, pen and paper.  In the course of my interview, my Dad cried. That was the first time I saw him cry.  I asked why he was crying.  He said he remembered how difficult life was during the war.  He was only 12 years old then, when he and his older cousin joined the US army, carried heavy mortars (hidden in sacks), climbed mountains and walked for days bare-feet. He said the Japanese didn't bother inspecting their sacks. They were just young farmer boys carrying palay.  

***

Dad at the INS pledging allegiance to the United States of America.

Dad left for the States in July 2000, a month after my Nanay died and became a US citizen four years later.  As soon as he got his citizenship, he came home for Christmas 2004.  That was the last time he visited.  He started hemodialysis treatment in early 2005.  Treatment was thrice a week for almost a decade. He was the oldest and longest hemodialysis patient at the Renal Clinic.  

Dad is  fondly called Bentol by his peers and friends. His siblings and older people call him Benig, short for Benigno.  He is also known as Tata Ino or Tata Inong. That's how my cousins or younger people from  Nueva Ecija call him.  (A friend (Dr. R) remembered Dad's nickname.) Other people or strangers sometimes call him Doc, because he  always wore white and thought he was a medical doctor.  He had a whole cabinet of white Lacoste shirts and another cabinet for white pants. Cesbau remembers how he would always come home at noon on weekends, wearing a white cap, white Lacoste shirt and white shorts, after his tennis matches at the Ateneo covered tennis courts.  He used to play singles with young men half his age and beat them. But his closest friends, his tennis buddies, Mang Fidel, Mang Ping, Mang Gus and Mang Tony,  simply referred to him as Mang Ben.  / The Americans couldn't pronounce the G in Benigno and would call him Benign-no. So when Dad became a U.S. citizen, he used Ben instead of Benigno. / Dad's grandchildren call him Papa. He never liked to be called Lolo. ----  I just call him... Dad.

***

Funny Dad

Dad the Hunter and Sharpshooter!

Dad went hunting with his tennis buddies.

From L to R:  Dad, Mang Tony, Mang Ping and Mang Fidel

The Tennis Player, but not wearing white.

***

Dad at the Colosseum

Dad and Nanay when they brought us to Europe

when we were teenagers.

Thanks Dad!!!

***

I visited my Dad last November 2013.  That was the last time I saw him.  

Dad and me on his 84th birthday.

***

My Dad would have been 85 years old today,

November 20, 2014.

Dad's handsome photo near the altar
with four of my very recent paintings of flowers.

I should have visited you in August
 when you had a heart attack.
I planned to pray the rosary for you.
I never got to whisper in your ear.
I never even wrote it in my emails.
But I am confident that you know.
Until we meet again ....  Happy birthday Dad!!!

Goodbye Dad........