…a brief glance…

I have been wanting to blog for the last two weeks but I can never begin. Or more, I begin but never finish. It’s all in jumbles in my head that I can’t discern it to construct a full sentence, let along come up with a full blog entry.

So week seven, as hard as we all try to not move on, new routines are being set and new traditions are being formed. Though necessary, it’s also heart breaking.

…I miss my Mom!

The mark of the 40th day, though we expected it to be hard, was harder than we all thought it would be, but I think it was more the anticpation of it that made in unbearable.

Days that followed only presented new challenges, more politics that I have to say I wasn’t quite prepared for but should have expected, received but didn’t appreciate. It’s the very circumstance that I would run straight to my Mom for, and ironically it was about her, and I couldn’t anymore. I have come to a stage where I throw my hands up in the air in defeat, my shoulders droop and I shake my head in utter disappointment. Anger creeps in if I let it.

…Life is hard enough at the moment, and I don’t need this!

Initially it had hurt and disappointed me, as I felt it was aimed in one direction, mine. Attempts to shrug it off was made numerous times, but it always came back to the same place… I don’t need this!

The weight of it did not hit me till Sunday morning after I woke up from a dream. I dreamt of my Mother. For the last seven weeks, straight sleep has become a foregn land for all of us who have endured the last few weeks. Especially for my brother, my sister, myself, and I’m sure my Aunts. More often than not I would dream, and my mother would be there, whether in the background or whatever. This last dream I had of her was pivotal. I had woken up deeply comforted, but I was also washed over with sadness. There was a finality in the dream, an acceptance almost. For the last few weeks my dreams varied from her being in the background of generic dreams to scenes from that ill fated night.

In the dream my Mom was hugging me to her, as I told her about all that was going on. The politics, the issues with what’s become a sensitive topic, to the somewhat unmet expectations that external beings thought we should and shouldn’t do, everyone has a ‘fix it’ scenario and the responsibility fell on us. As if we didn’t have enough at this point. As I told my Mom this, I broke down in tears. She told me that it would be okay. That we were strong and that we could get through this. That I would survive this. I just had to hang in there. I just had to understand because only I can. Words she had often spoken to me when she as alive. What made it sadder was that the whole time I was in her arms, we both knew that she was gone. That she had passed away. It wasn’t a memory, it wasn’t a product of my sorrow for all that has happened and is happening, but it was my Mom being there, despite the fact that she couldn’t be there in person, because she knew I needed her. This topic we discussed extensively, for it was always so close to her heart, despite the unfortunate circumstances. This particular topic was always a sensitive one in our family. As the bunso, I was always expected to just understand, to not impart judgement but just understand, for the most part I did, well I surely tried.

The feeling of comfort mixed with sadness is a combo I have grown to get used to. That dream, though comforting because she was there and believe always will be, it was confirmation and acceptance from both parties that she was gone. She looked peaceful, though troubled by my grief for the loss of her and current circumstance, she was no longer burdened as she was when she was here. Again comforting and sad!

Last Monday after the weekend of the 40h Day, I couldn’t make it to work. I craved for a day to myself, a day away from the whole world. Though I appreciate the constant togetherness I had realised that I had not been alone since the accident. I took the day off and just hung out at home. Did nothing in particular but just be alone. It was necessary.

When I had come back to work my Recruitment Contact was kind enough to make sure I was ok. In all appreciation my current workplace and Recruitment Agency have been uber supportive. Which has been a huge blessing, more than words can say. But after my mini meltdown the day before the 40th, not going to work on the 40th day, as well as that following Monday they had discreetly handed me a piece of paper with contact numbers of people I could talk to if I needed to. They were quick to say that it wasn’t because they thought I needed it by looking at me, but it was an option available to me if I wished to take it. The intentions were gracious, and appreciated from my end.

It made me think. The road ahead is long, and there will be good days and bad, and though as a family we have come together, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea. As a family we are all wrapped up in our grief and we have been blessed with an amazing support system. Our family, the Siblings, Aunts, and especially Cousins have never been closer (to a point separation anxiety attacks), we talk like we have never before, we share the sadness, a lot of tears, but also a lot of laughs. For them I am grateful.

But I also know within me I am struggling with how to cope, and my ability to just break without warning was something I didn’t want to continue, and definitely not escalate, and given the opportunity, I know myself well enough to know that I would. I also knew that though my faith is strong, in my darkest moments, I am capable of shutting down. I didn’t get this far only to do that.

So as a personal decision I started going to GriefShare through church. As I stood in front of those doors every fibre of my being wanted to run back to the car and forget the idea, but I knew in my heart I had made that decision for a reason so I went in (thanks Ashe for the shove). I walked in and was faced with a few women, all of which were considerabl older and I uncomfortably sat in my chair having a conversation in my head. ‘So, I’m here. I’m sitting here. I said I’d go, so here I am’. Just as I was talking myself out of walking out, in comes this chick and it floored me.

J was a girl chick from Hillsong London, for almost two years I had been walking in and out of doors with her holding them out for me, welcoming or waving me goodbye. From the quick waves we eventually got to the excited hugs and quick catch ups every Sunday. Though we were never in the same circles, nor did we do life together, we always had a connection, and when she and I laid eyes on each other we both grinned. In that same moment, we understood why we had met all those years ago. It was for that moment of uncertainty, she was the instrument that prevented me from walking out of there. How amazing is the God positioning? After that, I don’t even know how I could ever take that for granted again. J and I hugged fiercely, excited to see each other and comforted.

That evening, sitting among a company of people who have endured similar things, some more tragic that others, I knew that for me personally, it was going to help me. Don’t get me wrong, it definitely had tha AA feel to it (funny reference from me I know, the none drinker/rare drinker and all) and at times it is uncomfortable, there is definitely a reason and a purpose as to why I was there. In a lot of ways, hearing everyone else’s story made me even more appreciative of how she passed, that it was peaceful, that she didn’t suffer, that I got the chance to be with her…the littlest things. The memories I have. My last moments with her. Being in that room, and hearing about where everyone was out, I understood that what I was feeling, the erratic changes to my mood and extreme emotions were part of the grieving, which is all good in theory, but hearing it from those who have been there…comforting. It was a relief to hear that what I was feeling, others have gone through. Some people have been grieving for years and had only began to let go now, others were new to the whole process as I was. At the end of the day, we were a company of people who had one thing similar, and that was Loss. The course if for 13 weeks, and it’s not supposed to fix me, it just equips me better. It keeps me accountable, and keeps my faith in check…if that makes sense.

Wow, blogging is exhausting!

There’s plenty more floating in my head, but articulate just flew out the window, so I’m going to sign off before I don’t make sense at all.

I wish I could put into words what I have been feeling these past few days, this last week or so, but words can’t express. To say that everything is slowly becoming real would be an understatement, the numbness that came from shock has somewhat worn out and all that is left is the pain of the void you have managed to convince yourself, didn’t exist. Now it does. For days now the ability to burst into uncontrollable tears has been an art form that I have unwillingly mastered, and all I want to do is close my eyes and sleep, but sleep is not a refuge. The rare times that I manage uninterrupted couple of hours, they are haunted by dreams, though they are mostly pleasant and even comforting as they are almost always including my Mom, it hurts too. Guaranteed none of my siblings have completed a more than a couple of hours of sleep at a time. The tiredness in their eyes, the bags beneath them, are only some of the tell tale signs of our inability to sleep. We chuckle and compare notes sadly, as we are all haunted by the same things, the degrees and scenarios vary, but it’s pretty much the same thing. We had the 40th day gathering, which in the Catholic Faith is a major event. It is the time when they believe the soul moves to heaven. Though I firmly believe that my Mother has been in heaven from the moment she passed away, the tradition was comforting, though excruciating. My siblings and I had once again without consensus taken the day off. We spent most of it together, preparing for the night ahead, which admittedly left my stomach in knots. The 40th day meant it was the last thing, that it was real. I mean aside from burying her, which we will do only with the immediate family, this was goodbye for everyone else in her world. Something about the day, made it real and as I drove Friday morning to pick up my sister from her house, I was overcome with such grief that I cried all the way there. The moment the novena began I was transported to those first days after her death when we first started praying, once again the dam broke and the flood gates were opened, and there I sat between my two cousins, head down, shoulder slouched tired, angry and sad. She was gone. That was it? Now we were supposed to move on with the rest of our lives without her? I don’t think I can ever fully explain what it feels like to lose your mother. My mother was by no means perfect, but I know in my heart that she did her best. My mother was the most critical of us, but with the same heart, she was our cheerleader, and though a quiet one…our biggest fans. She wanted nothing more than for us to succeed and I know now that she was proud of the way we turned out. She had always wanted us to be self sufficient, and never failing to remind us that though friends are great, it is our family that will stick with us to the very end. I think she would be proud that through her death, this was not only realised, defined, but also strengthened. I can be sad and wish that we had more time, I can be angry that she passed away when I’m no where near the adult I’m supposed to be, and I am so tired that I can’t even form thoughts in my head, let along sentences to communicate. But at the end of the day, the most important thing would remain the same, she would still be gone. I am exhausted, I am sad, and maybe even a little angry, but I am only human. Despite the tiredness, the sadness and the occasional anger, it is within my reach that I find my gratefulness. For the events, and the good that such a tragedy brought. She is at peace, she is at rest, and though I wish she were here right now she deserves to be at a place where she is no longer suffering. One day the habit to pick up the phone to call her will be gone, and the brief moment of denial you visit when you walk into the house that she will be there will no longer be a viable option, but this day will be a bittersweet day. Though I know this day will inevitably come, for it is necessary to move forward, a part of me feels like it would be a betrayal to her and her memory, so as hard as it is, and as painful as it is, we hold on, and tightly, for as long as we can. I miss my Mom. I miss the Tuesday nights we would go see a movie if there was something we wanted to see. The impromptu dinners at the malls, grocery shopping. Sitting on the kitchen stool as she cuts fruit or prepares dinner, talking and sharing our day, more often than not we’d be joking about one topic in particular. I miss her mere presence in the house. It’s amazing what you miss, and what you realise you took for granted. I am grateful for the last 6 months with her, that I was home, that we had some time together, that I was with her when she took her last breath. Thank you God for your abundant grace!

You can shed tears that she is gone

or you can smile because she has lived.

You can close your eyes and pray that she’ll come back

or you can open your eyes and see all she’s left.

Your heart can be empty because you can’t see her

or you can be full of the love and friendship you shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday

or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember her and only that she’s gone

or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back

or you can do what she’d want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on

(Unknown)

To say that the last couple of days has been somewhat tough would be an understatement. This week has been the toughest yet, not counting the week of the accident. Perhaps it’s because things have died down. No more novena, the funeral has come and gone, everyone has returned to their respectable homes, Christmas and New Year was endured, and now pretty much routine has been revived. I guess that was the most painful realisation of all, going back to old routines without the basic ingredient. How weird it was to be dropped off and picked up from the station by someone else other than my Mom. When it hit me that she was no longer an option to call for a ride home, I found myself in that ‘Oh my gosh I’m going to lose it’ phase. It doesn’t help that my train passes the very hospital in which she died. From the train you can see right through to the Emergency driveway, which inevitably pulls me back to that night, to that ambulance ride.

I wish I could say the visions of that day were no longer haunting me, but they are. How do you erase the worst moments of your life? The thing is, you can’t. You can only pray for the strength that God has equipped you with to endure the loss you have suffered, to try with all your might to take one foot and put it in front of the other. We all have our demons from that night, from that Sunday that will forever haunt us. They differ, but are all equally devastating. We all have images in our head that plays over and over again, some bring us comfort, while others are so painful that you don’t realise that you are holding your breath when you play them in your mind.

You try to put into words what you feel, and all you can come up with is blank. You try your hardest to thank those who offer their condolences, and you try with all you have to just survive their commiserating. Though you know they mean well, their condolences and sympathies transport you to a place that hurts so much you can’t breathe. So you do your best to nod and acknowledge because you appreciate their sentiment, and you walk away wishing someone would stop ripping the temporary band aid you keep putting on your heart.

You look back and you realise how intricately it had all fallen to place. The events to happen as they did.

I am grateful for the fact that I had those last few days with her. The impromptu meet at the mall which we hadn’t done for so long, how she had looped her arm through mine as we wandered around aimlessly at the mall, as I had noted that very night that she hadn’t done in quite awhile. Our dinners together for the next two nights at home, just the two us, talking and joking around. For the amazing opportunity to have her come with me to church, and watch the Christmas Spectacular and Carols, and how she loved Christmas Carols. How for the first time, she fell asleep while I drove her car. I remember thinking on the way there that the only time I will know that my Mom would feel incredibly comfortable with me driving, and me driving her car is the day she falls asleep as I drive. That evening, on the way to home, she was fast asleep.

Her last moments were filled with laughter. We were doing what she loved the most. Getting ready for Christmas, she was happy, and she was content. We all have our own regrets, of things never done, and things never said, things we can never take back, but everything that happened, as they happened, happened for a reason, and they happened just as they were meant to. As I said before, we all have our own demons to fight, images in our heads we can’t erase, time we wish to do over, but at the end of the day what is important is that she died peacefully, the way she has always wished to. I know in my heart that she would not have gone if she did not think we could cope. To her, in her heart she believed we would be ready, as ready as we would ever be to lose the Mother who loved us much. She loved us so abundantly that when she was gone, that love is what bound those she left behind together. Without that, we would not survive.

I want nothing more than to turn back the hand of time, and have my mother back. To have her nag and frustrate me, if it meant she would be here. To hear my every whine as I walked in from work, for all the little things she did to make this house our home. The little things we took for granted. But how selfish would that be, knowing that she is at rest, at peace, and without pain. How could any other place compare to heaven?

I am grateful for the abundant grace that God is equipping our family, I know in time, we will all heal. My mother will never be forgotten, and there will forever be a void in our life, but in time the excruciating pain will be replaced with one not so paralysing. That we can remember with fondness without the sadness.

Life is bittersweet… my mother is in heaven, finally at peace… and we are here mourning for our loss.

Current Theme Song: Warrior is a Child

Lately I’ve been winning battles left and right

But even winners can get wounded in the fight

People say that I’m amazing

Strong beyond my years

But they don’t see inside of me I’m hiding all the tears

(Chorus)

They don’t know that I go running home when I fall down

They don’t know who picks me up when no one is around

I drop my sword and cry for just a while

‘Cause deep inside this armour

The warrior is a child

Unafraid because his armour is the best

But even soldiers need a quiet place to rest

People say that I’m amazing

I never face retreat

But they don’t see the enemies

That lay me at His feet

(Chorus)
They don’t know that I go running home when I fall down
They don’t know who picks me up when no one is around
I drop my sword and cry for just a while
‘Cause deep inside this armour
The warrior is a child

I drop my sword and look up for His smile

Because deep inside this armour

Deep inside this armour

Deep inside this armour

The Warrior is a Child

| View Show | Create Your Own

…a month ago today our world was turned upside down…
…a month ago tomorrow, it would be irreversible…

Well, it’s 2007! A new year lay before us, and I wish I hold the same anticipation as I did before, but circumstances have put my enthusiasm on hold. I had looked forward to the brand new year.

There was so much in 2007 that was awaiting me. Beginning Uni and studying something that has been in my heart for so long. My cousin’s upcoming wedding which meant going back to the Phils for a few weeks. A few births of a handful of my favourite people in the world, perhaps even a wedding of one of my friends. Trips to take, weekend away and road trips, the possibilities were endless. Though all those things are still in place, I am finding it hard to embrace them with the enthusiasm I would have.

Our New Year was bittersweet. We were all together at a New Year, all my cousins together (with exception of those overseas). We had spent the day at Cynt’s flat which overlooked the Harbour Bridge, ready for the New Year fireworks. We had a nice lunch and settled into what has become familiar ‘hang’ with each other, as we have for the last twenty one days. Our families weaved and intertwined in such a way that night that being together has become a safe haven that I admit I take comfort in. It is only at these moments that I feel as comfortable as I am going to get during these times. I feel it is for these very same reasons that all of us have felt more than drawn to each other. We joke of separation anxiety from each other, but as the bunso, the youngest of our crew here in OZ, I appreciate their unfailing presence.

My godchild sat on my lap as the 9:00pm fireworks began, and I couldn’t help but feel incredibly sad that my mother had missed the fireworks. How she would have loved them. Straight after the fireworks I glanced at my brother and nodded, it was time to go home to spend New Year at home as my Mom would have wanted to. As our tradition from as long as I could remember, Christmas and New Year were for family, and spent at home. A tradition I once felt restricted by has become more than a comfort to me. As we said our goodnights, tears began to well up in all our eyes. The holiday season was officially over, and it was time to come out of hibernation and the comforts of the cocoon we have all been living in with each other. It was time to face the rest of our worlds, the worlds that did not necessarily understand what we had to endure the last few weeks. Like children we clung to one another through tears recognising that though a new year had began there was something missing, a great something.

My Aunt who has barely left our sides since that night arrived to kick in the New Year with us along with my Ate Lei and her husband Kuya Jamie, and Glenda. We had a somewhat ominous later dinner as we waited for countdown, and as we waited, it just didn’t feel right. I missed my Mother! At that point my Mom would holding a pot and a spoon in her hand ready to make the noises to welcome the new year, excited for the fireworks that we can watch from our front lawn. The moments from the countdown to the fireworks seemed to go by incredibly slowly. It was the New Year, but it seemed wrong to celebrate a new year without my Mom. As we watched the fireworks, only footsteps away from where the accident occurred, we clung to each other as uncontrollable silent tears began to pour out. When we thought no more tears could be shed, the floodgates of my tears opened. How hard I wished that my Mother was there.

Tomorrow I go back to work, and to say I am apprehensive would be an understatement, but it’s never going to be easy so I may as well take that first step. Here’s praying that I can hold it together for at least the 9 hours I am at work.

…merry christmas!

it’s christmas eve and i’m here at my sister’s awaiting christmas celebrations. it’s weird a couple of weeks ago i thought this christmas would be a reflection on last christmas, where i was and how different it was. well it seems it is different this year, i just never thought it would be different because my mom is gone.

the last couple of weeks have been filled with chaos, funeral arrangements, family coming over from the States, keeping it all together, having the novenas every night for 9 evenings, etc. now with the funeral over, the nightly evening prayer/novenas finished, and relatives back in their respective homes, we are forced to face the rest of our lives. the rest of our lives without my mom.

i find myself fading in and out, some days it’s easy to slip into thinking that it never happened, that she will walk into the house in her usual glory, but every time i look out on the porch, i know better. the littlest things trigger memories, and regardless how hard one tries to think of anything else, it always comes back to the fact that she’s gone.

the other day as we tried to get all of our christmas shopping done, i found myself all teary eyed as i realised that i will never again walk that mall with my mom. i realised just how much christmas it wrapped up in her and the traditions that seemed to have built themselves over the years. shopping for presents for everyone together. trying on clothes, picking out my christmas outfit which would be her christmas present for me. going home and wrapping all of the presents she bought for everyone else because it was my job. sitting in the kitchen as she prepared the christmas feast. more often than not i would be obliged to chop vegetables and wrap hundreds of spring rolls. we would often joke about how frustrating it is that it takes us so long to prepare and wrap and it only takes seconds for people to devour. despite that, she loved it. she loved preparing the meals that would bring us all together after midnight mass. i can’t believe she’s not here this year. my first year back from being away. my first christmas back in sydney, and now it’s my first christmas without her.

it’s bound to get easier, and this i know. god’s grace has been abundant, and i am grateful for much.

i am grateful that she did not suffer, and she passed peacefully as she would have wished.

i am grateful for my brother and my sister and the bond that not only exists but strenghtened during the last couple of weeks.

i am grateful for my aunts, my mom’s sisters who have rallied around us providing comfort, grieving along side us for a person they have loved for far longer than we have.

i am grateful for my cousins who from the moment we were at the hospital have not left our sides, who have become our own personal bodyguards, assisting with our every needs and making sure that if someone was to upset us they would be there to jump in front to take the bullet. my cousins who have been like my own personal crutch, quick to jump to my aid when i most need it. for their love and support. for their shoulder and unlimited supply of dry clothes as i inevitably wet them with my tears. for the endless hugs that continue to keep coming spontenaeously.

i am grateful to my sister in law (ha!) for being my stitch and providing the strength when we needed it the most. for being with us all the way.

i am grateful for my cousins’ spouses who have been nothing less than like my own cousins.

i am grateful for my mom’s best friends who have been there with us. for my godmother for flying over to be with us and attend her funeral. i know it would have meant the world to my mom that she held her end of the bargain. that she was there to provide much laughter. for my sister’s godmother who has been like a mother to us all for as i can remember. for all that she did for my mom, and for all that she continues to do for us. for her love and support, without it would have left us more lost.

i am grateful for my friends. my posse who grieve alongside me for the mom that we all grew up knowing. the mom who cooked for us, and often chuckled as the four of us were together so frequently. my posse who i have grown up with. for their support, and for setting up our house after the funeral while our family wasn’t there. for being there to greet everyone on our behalf whilst we weren’t there.

i am grateful for the friends whom i can only describe as extended family in london, who despite the distance have been with me every step of the way. who have gone above and beyond to comfort and to bring a smile to my face. they totally rock!

there is much to be grateful for and god has blessed us with an amazing support system. i know that time will lessen the void that is haunting each of us. for the time being we can only take each day as it comes, and as hard as it is, we just need to keep moving forward.

Sonia Napiza

9th October 1943 – 11th December 2006

I am the youngest of Sonia’s children, and I am admittedly Mommy’s girl. From the time I was born to the day she died, and probably the rest of my life.

My Mom is the person that has played the biggest significance in making me who I am. If there is one thing that stands out the most about my Mom, it is her strength. My Mom is the strongest person I know, and it is through her strength, that we, her children, her family, and her friends draw from. No matter what the circumstance, my Mother faced it like a soldier, head on.

My Mom taught us the importance of family, and how above all else, sticking together is what was going to get us through the toughest of storms, and we have been challenged with quite a few storms. From as far as I can remember, there was the four of us. My Mom, my brother, my sister, and myself, beginning to the end of each storm we survived it somehow, together.

It’s easy to take for granted a Mom who’s always there, a Mom who selflessly gave to her children, who answered each request before it was even asked…when I was in London, money would mysteriously appear in my bank account during the times when I needed them most, without asking.

On Christmas’ and Birthdays that I was absent for, there was always a care package full of goodies from home that she knew would tide me over in my homesickness. When I had decided to go to London, she was supportive, when I arrived there and I was immediately homesick, she was on the phone with me every day till I was okay. She told me that she was proud of me that I had taken such a brave step, that she believed that I could do it, that I was strong. What she never realized was that that strength came from her. I knew how hard it was for her to have to sit with me every day as I cried, but she was willing to release me because she knew it was something that I had always wanted to do, and needed to do.

My Mother showed her love by the things that she did for people. From cooking our favourite meals, to buying what she knew we liked, to changing our sheets if we’ve been too busy to do it ourselves. To her friends she offered nothing less that her full attention. My Mom’s thoughtfulness and care for her friends is one that is admirable. Once you are my Mother’s friend, you’re her friend for life. Most of you who sit before me know this first hand.

My Mom was blessed with a servants heart. She approached each circumstance with the heart attitude of a servant. She served us as our Mother, available for every thing we could need and so much more, she serves my Grandmother in taking care of her, she is a faithful sister and loving cousin, and equally important to all those points, my Mother is an amazing friend. She is there for her friends wholeheartedly. In all of my growing up, I have watched the strong friendships that she was embraced by and admired the strong bonds she shared with those she considered her best friends. I realize now that such friendships were formed with time and endurance, such friendships should never be taken for granted, or lightly. For these friendships, were for a lifetime.

There are so many lessons that my Mom has instilled upon us, and to list them all would not even begin to do her justice, for she was far more than her deeds. My mother’s laugh was contagious, especially when she was in a silly mood. She came up with unexpected on liner’s that often surprised but amused us. My mother was known for her blooper moments, and I will miss that. I will miss coming home and she will be in the kitchen preparing dinner or cutting up fruit, and she’d share a funny moment with me. The four of us often had our private jokes, the topic almost always the same, and it was ours.

My mother was far from perfect, and we are no where near the perfect children she deserved, but we are all what each other had and we made the best of that. Our mother loved us enough that it was more than okay that all we had was her for most my life. We lacked for nothing.

My favourite moments with my Mom are many, but those closest to my heart are those I spent with her in her last few days. The sound of her laughter as we got ready for Christmas is one that will comfort and haunt me for the rest of my days.

I will miss my Mom more than words can possibly express, but I know in my heart that she’s in peace. I am comforted in knowing that there will be no more sadness in her life, that there will be no more disappointment, that she is at a happier place.

I know you’re tired Mommy, and it’s okay…we’re going to be okay.

It’s hard to sum up in words what the trip was like. It was more that I ever thought it would be. Deep down, I knew my going was a form of escapism. As Bipo pointed out in our recent catch up, kudos to the bud, he still gets my psychie! As happy as I was about being back, I have never felt completely settled and that bothered me. After all, it was my decision to come back, I felt it was time, and by golly I went. Though things began to fall into place little by little, starting work, getting back into the folds of church, getting into a Connect Group, getting back on Team, making new Connections, catching up with old friends, sliding back into the lifestyle that was vaguely familiar, despite all that, it just seemed like I was still… wasn’t SETTLED. I pined for London. I knew I needed to be able to break that somehow, and when the opportunity of going back to the Phils for a couple of weeks presented itself, I took it. I welcomed and embraced it. I knew it would break the direct link that my brain and heart reference to when given the opportunity.

The best thing about the Phils, hands down, would have to be my cousins. I wish I could eloquently put it in words, but no amount of words could do it justice. From cradle to present, my cousins have remained the same. There are twenty of us first cousins in my Dad’s side, and our age ranges from 26 to 45+, and despite time and distance, we have this amazing ability to pick up where we left off. When we’re together, there is never a shortage of hysterical laughter, inside jokes and an endless supply of hugs and teasing banter. There is a rare form of unconditional love that runs between our veins, and despite differences, devotion to each other is hard to miss. Relationship dynamics change, closeness varies between seasons, but you won’t find a group of people who would fight to jump to your defense, or who would do their outmost to cater to your needs to the best of their ability as these guys do. Phils is home, because they make it home for me.

“Cousins are the INSTANT friends God has blessed us with” A. Rueda

‘Uyy Relax’ quote: R3 Arambulo

Two weeks sped by so quickly, and as I try to recover from lack of sleep and sift through the memories that encompassed the trip, it makes me smile. Most of my favourite memories involved my cousin Art and Mela. Admittedly I spent most of my time with them. Art, Mela and I are all the same age, with our other cousin Sol who’s currently in the States. This is the first trip that I have had the opportunity to hang out with Mela, as my previous trips she was always off studying or on duty at the hospital. On this trip, she happened to be on holidays. Getting the opportunity to hang out with her one on one, was an answered prayer. Out of my cousins in my generation, she was the one I hardly knew. She’s getting married in March, and I knew little about her, and even less about her future hubby. It had only been recently that I found out she had a boyfriend. We did a lot of hanging out together. Talking, watching movies, endless car rides. When Art could steal away from work he would join us. Art and I have always been close, well there are stories of us expressing our lack of love for each other when we were little. Ate Nelle always reminds us of our little shov-athon when we were kids. But in the last 13 years since our first reunion, he has been nothing less than my partner in crime. Being with Mela and Art meant loads to me. We communicated without words, and that bond, compares to none.

When I opened my mail on the Sunday morning that I arrived I found that I received an Early offer/acceptance to Macquarie University for Special Education (Early Intervention 0-6). I was ecstatic. Praise God totally!

Coming back from Phils I feel a lot more grounded, and it feels like I have finally released the last grasp I had clutched so hard on London. It finally feels like I am living my life here instead of just parts of it while the other parts was still co-existing in London. Though I miss my friends, modern technology caters.

In general, I am looking forward to all that is yet to unfold…