Rainy Saturday

Pong bended the blinds strip and saw it raining hard outside. Bored of watching TV with me and his younger brother Robyn, he wanted to stretch his muscles and play basketball in the garage.

“Ay, umuulan. Gusto ko pa naman play ng basketball.”

There was a tinge of disappointment in his voice. His babysitting aunt (i.e. me), wishing for a streak of color to brighten up this gray Saturday, had a quick thought. I heard the words stumble out of my mouth before the rational part of me reasoned against the idea.

“Gusto mo maligo sa labas?”

It was like asking a chocoholic if he wanted a bar of Toblerone. His face lighted up and he loudly replied, “Sige!” When it registered to the mind of 3-year-old Robyn what would soon be happening, the excitement immediately rubbed on him.

And so outside we went—They, half-naked, with only their shorts on, and I, uhm, well, let me just say I “dressed for the occasion” too. Robyn opened his mouth wide and turned his head up, drinking the water from the sky. Pong dribbled the basketball and made more than a few successful shots. Seeing me by the side, they cajoled me into joining them where all the action was happening. They passed me the ball and watched me fumble with it (I’m no match for them but I think they were happy just to see me try.)

Soon, the heavy rain started to turn into a drizzle.

“O, pag tumigil na ulan, pasok na tayo ha.”

“Bakit wala nang rain, Tita Beng?”

Chuckling, all the answer I could muster was, “Eh wala na eh. Sige pray kayo na mag-rain pa.”

Little Robyn folded his hands and followed my advice, “Loooord, tenk yu por dis fud…”

My chuckle turned to laughter. Meanwhile, Pong’s contribution was an adaptation of a popular children’s rhyme. He sang,“Sun, sun, go away, come again another day. Little boy wants to play…”

But then all good things must come to an end. Finally, I convinced them that our time's up. I dried their feet and we headed towards the shower where they imagined they were still outside, playing in the rain.

There are some seemingly irrational things we adults shouldn't mind doing: Eating dirty ice cream in the street where our officemates might see us. Risking looking silly (don a giant goldfish costume, anyone?) in the name of good fun. And playing in the rain with kids. It's refreshing to revive the body; much more refreshing to revive the soul.

Table for One

I had a late lunch at 3pm, that is, if you could still call that lunch. This Saturday, I decided to take it easy. After all, I earned this lazy Saturday after almost being swept away in a whirlwind of weeklong activities which I logged in at work and out of work.

While sipping my iced tea, I told myself that I don’t want to get used to this. This, the independent, carefree single life.

Most people look at a single woman and blurt out, “Why are you still single? Maybe you’re too picky.” Based on the expression registered on their face, you could almost read the unspoken message: “What’s wrong with you?” And sometimes, you don’t even need to have a face-to-face conversation to decipher this message. Three days ago a married friend called me at the office. After exchanging how-are-you’s with her, she broke the news: “Our friend L is getting married. When will yours be?” My first reaction was surprise. I didn’t even know that L had a boyfriend (it turns out to be a long-distance relationship). The second was irritation, due mainly to the way she asked it. It was as if she was irked that she couldn’t hear any change-of-status news from me. My saner side stopped me from saying, “Thank you for giving me a reason to gripe to God this day about my singleness. I definitely needed that boost when I am days behind my editing projects because I’ve been helping my boss with her presentation.”

If she (and the rest of the world wondering why I’m still unattached) had the time, I would probably whip up a presentation worthy to be delivered in an international forum. Let me answer two points usually brought up when my singleness is the topic:

Maybe you’re too choosy.

Will you play Russian roulette on something that will affect the rest of your life (and your future children’s as well?) Don’t get me wrong. I’ve given up on the illusion of meeting Piolo and him finally seeing the light that I’m the girl for him. “You're too choosy” in your language could translate “I just know what I am waiting for” in mine. When he turns around the corner (or makes his presence felt more deliberately), this seemingly-choosy girl will finally make her choice.

Maybe you’re intimidating men because you’re too smart.

Do you think I hand books to guys and ask them to submit a 50-page book report? Or that when somebody gives me a love letter I will edit it using a red pen? No, of course not. I’ll use blue. Kidding aside, I can enjoy shallow conversations as much as I do the mentally stimulating verbal exchanges. Yes, we could talk about books and ideas but we could talk about popcorn and the weather too.

I’ve had occasions when somebody would introduce a guy to me. The guy starts a conversation: Asks me where I live, where I work. His extra attention signals interest. Then drops the axe that will kill it: “So what do you do?” I tell him and then a few seconds of silence. Suddenly, he’s tongue-tied and feels the urge to check if his subject and verb agrees. Almost hilarious, really, if you’re not me.

If God wills it, I’d take the greatest risk of my life. But first, he, whoever he is, must also think I’m worth the risk. And then I can start writing from the other side of the fence.

But for now, I've got to finish my lunch in my table for one.

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Check out the amusing (and serious) travails of some single friends:

1 The top ten ickiest remarks made to singles
2 Singular perorations
3 Random thoughts of a single gal
4 Ano ba talaga ang type mo?

Times are bad, God is good

It was too early to cry. But as soon as I swiped my card to log in for work, I felt the tears well up in my eyes. By the time I reached my desk, there was no stopping me. I sobbed and cried like any brokenhearted gal. But can you blame me? We’ve been together for twenty months already—the longest I’ve stayed with somebody of his kind. Sure, he was acting a bit weird lately: not doing what I wanted him to do, conking out on me in the middle of a task. But I’ve grown to love him. I consider myself faithful and didn’t even think of replacing him on a whim. Not even if there were others out there more attractive, taunting me, tempting me to try them.

Now "he" is actually an it: my Nokia 6600 phone. And the last I saw it was yesterday.

Our parting happened on my way to work. When I was getting off the non-airconditioned bus, a man wearing a sports cap blocked me on my way down. Irritated, I asked him, “Bababa ka ba (Are you going down)?” Little did I know that his hand was already in the outside pocket of my backpack, getting my treasured cellphone. I’ll stop here with the storytelling. The memory of the violation still stings. (That word, violation, encapsulates what was done to me. I felt violated and it deserved a good cry.)

My tears yesterday were of anger and frustration. Ian, who was just a few steps away from my workstation, just stood by my side while I was sobbing on my desk. He had also once lost a cellphone and so understood how I felt. “It’s OK to grieve,” he advised. And so I did—for fifteen more minutes. My teammates (and other officemates) did a great job cheering me up. My boss, Ate Yna, ordered an extra Chicken inasal for me for lunch (I told her afterwards that it was the best chicken I’ve tasted ever). Marian graciously offered to wash my plates. Ruben gave me a Mr. Donut chocolate twist to sweeten my afternoon. The rest offered words of encouragement like, “You’ll get a better phone” or would sincerely check up on me, “Are you feeling better now?” They, my burden-sharers, made it easier for me to go through the rest of the day. In fact, by lunchtime I was already laughing and joking about my loss, thinking absurd thoughts such as “What if I offered to buy my cellphone from the snatcher? I could probably haggle for a discount.”

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Mine is a safe and sanitized world. The people I work with love God, pray before meals, and don’t cuss or swear. Outside work, I spend time with others who likewise love God, pray before meals, and don’t cuss or swear. Over time, maybe I’ve been falsely conditioned that the Fall of Man didn’t happen and that the Garden of Eden was still pristine and perfect. This one incident jars me back to reality that ours is a wicked world longing to be redeemed. Yes, there are cellphone snatchers out there whose hands are too calloused to feel their crime burn through their skin.

“Times are bad, God is good,” a line from Psalm 100:5 on my bedroom whiteboard reminds me daily. In the context of this truth I am praying—and yesterday, prayed more fervently—“Lord, even if bad things happen to me, please don’t let me sin against you. Don’t let the circumstances happening around me fool me into thinking that You are not good. That You are not loving. That You are not in control." I remember Job, the biblical character who had experienced exponentially greater losses yet did not sin. Tell me, what is losing a cellphone compared to losing your children, your livelihood, your health?

God is good—still is and always will be. All I have, material or otherwise, is His. God has already surprised me with extraordinary blessings before. He has answered more prayers than I can count. He has made me feel special with people in my life who are actually angels in disguise. The love of God is with me and no thief—a cellphone snatcher or even the Devil himself—can steal this from me. (Romans 8:5,38-39)