Happiness is… (iii)

…knowing that distance only matters to the mind, and not to the heart.

For P-Angel and Panda Patch

And since pandas always make me happy, here’s another picture for good measure:

Too Cute!!!

Isolation

From HerWord.com, March 17, 2010

“I’d like to make myself believe that Planet Earth turns slowly.”~ Fireflies, Owl City

When Alphonse was diagnosed with autism more than 13 years ago, one of the very first things to go was our social life. But no, it didn’t happen overnight. Slowly, my husband and I found ourselves walking this one-way street where autism consumed our every waking moment, and before we knew it, we had left friends and family by the wayside. We lost friends because there simply wasn’t enough time—we focused on “saving” Alphonse and nothing else. And yet, others we lost because they chose not to have anything to do with us. The diagnosis, with its attending complications, was simply too much for them.

It got worse when Alphonse started having behavioral problems. Manifesting as aggression and self-injury, these behaviors isolated us from the world. We could not leave him alone; we were all he had. Even relatives stayed away, hiding their children when Alphonse was in sight. For more than five years, we looked for help where and when we could find it. We tried everything we could, yet nothing worked. Except for my closest family, few really understood what we were going through. We felt abandoned and alone. And so, we learned to become a self-sustaining unit of four.

In recent years, however, the sun has finally found its way to our little spot in this world, and Alphonse has, for the most part, been agreeable and steady and calm. Even his outbursts have lost their angry hostility and violent desperation. And although he remains excitable and emotionally fragile, we are grateful that our angry child has evolved into a generally happy young man.

Kittymama and A with Pisay 85 friends

The question that comes to mind now is: What next? After all these years of burrowing underground, staying hidden and safe, and operating under everyone’s radar, it’s not easy giving ourselves permission to even ponder on the possibility of a social life. Just the very thought scares me to death.

Yet, just this last week, my husband and I took the first tentative steps to reconciling with the outside world. I don’t know about my husband but just preparing for it was hard for me. I had to work on the smile to hide my fear. I had to muster the courage to feel less conscious and less wary of people. I fought with myself constantly on our joint decision to make this leap—were we too hasty? Did we really even need to? I tried to talk myself out of going many times.

Kittymama with some MCS friends (photo by Ms. Grace Gonzales-Tanchanco)

In the end, my fears were unjustified. The world opened its arms to me and I felt kinship and friendship where I least expected it. In the comfort of people I had known since I was a child, it didn’t matter who I was today and what I have made of myself. There was no scrutiny, no judgments. The long road I took led to only one place, where the thing that mattered most was that I was there. Just that.

And for me, that was enough. My faith in friendship was restored.

News on the Sylvanian (Families) Front

One of the best things about having friends is that you get first dibs on any news related to your shared interest.  Take my Sylvanian Families friends J, Kit, and Harriet. These three are my lifelines in the local SF world, as I am, hopefully, to theirs. As soon as any of us gets news of arrivals in the city (via confirmed visual sightings or through local contacts in the SF sales world), the text brigade is activated instantaneously and a flurry of messages gets passed among ourselves. Often, they take it a step further by posting pictures and prices, as Kit did here, and as J (aka moodswings) did here.

Last week was a particulary busy week as far as SF fans were concerned. We could not believe the sudden downpour of arrivals in toy shops all over the city. We had been praying fervently for new items and when they finally came, we were all beside ourselves with joy and excitement, and yes, even the accompanying frustration of not having bottomless pockets. With Kit’s and J’s guides, however, we were able to make our individual lists for our budgets and will hopefully be able to stick to them without getting ourselves into debt. (Crossing my fingers!)

I do have some new items which I have not posted yet. Early last month, I received a package from London’s Sylvanian Shop courtesy of my friend Tanja. I was so pleased to receive the Delightful Doughnut Set and a Home Interior Lights Set.  I will add them to the courtyard restaurant, a sweet addition to the various fares offered by the Chocolate Rabbit Family. Thank you so much, dear Tanja, for this lovely gift!

Later in the month, another package came in the mail, this time a late anniversary gift (another anniversary!!!) from my husband. It was the cake shop I’ve been watching at eBay but which A got much, much cheaper from another site. He also threw in the cake display stand for good measure.

I am most happy with these gifts because the Keats, my favorite Sylvanian family, are bakers. (See their family description below.) My husband got me the baker and patisserie maid outfits last Christmas, and together, they complete the set. Happy, happy!!!

Father, Rossetti Longfellow Keats, his delicate puff pastry is a special treat. The Pastry Chef extraordinaire, he fills the kitchen with panache and flair. They say he’s a poet with flour and yeast, because those chocolate dainties are a feast. Mother, Bronte Keats runs the Patisserie like clockwork, hard graft she’s never known to shirk! Efficient she is in every way, she even has time to chat and play. To all her customers she is a friend, to all their whims she does attend.

Brother, T S Eliot Keats, a name no one beats. The longest name of all, a real mouthful to recall. So Bronte has shortened it a lot, from Tennyson Swift to TS Eliot. Sister, Shelley Keats, the apple of her father’s eye, works with him and makes him sigh. Her artistic flair with just plain dough, can turn a cake into a rich Gateau, and a plum-duffing into a princely plum pudding.

Cake shop with the costumes

I did break my Kittybank to buy some items just to get the new Sylvanian Families calendar over at Toytown Eastwood. Okay, okay, unscrew is more like it, as my Kittybank is actually a candy jar, heehee. At the time of my purchase, there weren’t new items available yet so I settled for doubles of items I already had. I wish I waited a little, though; I would have still made it in time for the new arrivals. *Toinks.* Another lesson learned.

Sylvanian Families Calendar available only at Toytown Eastwood

Still, you’d think that with all the toys I still haven’t opened, I would no longer be drooling over new arrivals. And as much as I want to say that I am a model for a smart shopper, the truth is, when it comes to SFs, I am most definitely not. This time, however, I think I did my husband proud by not succumbing to temptation easily. (Also, I think he rather enjoyed not being nagged to come with me to the toy store.) 

How did I comfort myself in this period of self-restraint, you ask? Well,  I made a picture list, printed it out, and used it to calm myself down when my addicted nerves craved for more. Looking at pictures helped a lot; I simply relied on my imagination to do the rest.

Besides, behaving has its rewards, as I soon found out. Not long after, A got me some of the items in my list. Not all, he said, because the most expensive items would have to wait for a sale, but the ones he could afford to buy, he got them for me. More happy, happy!

Racoon Family, Dormouse twins, Buttermilk Rabbit twins

Stefania plays piano, Mama Diana and ref, Father Aaron and Marco and the vegetable garden

Wedding car, high chair (one of two kinds)

I’m trying to squeeze in time during the day to play with all my toys. It’s my biggest indulgence- to find some quiet time for me- away from the boys and all the chores- and spend an hour or two with my Sylvanians. It’s not everyday I get this time, but when I do, it is a real gift.

Still, while having my ME time is a real joy, I realize that in my life, this is made possible only by friendship, sacrifice, and love. To Tanja, J, Kit, and Harriet, my deepest thanks for your friendship. And to A, who after 28 years is still my bestest friend in the whole wide world, what can I say except “I love you”?

New Sylvanian Friend

Since I started collecting Sylvanian Families last September, I haven’t really had many opportunities to meet SF collectors in the country. Perhaps SF collectors in this country are a rare breed (this reminds me of a post I read at a local action figure forum: “Gusto niyo ng walang kaagaw na line? …Sylvanian Families) and if they are not, then maybe they don’t like advertising themselves as such, not unlike, say,  Transformers collectors who come in manic droves at events and sales.

As such, when I do meet one, like in the case of my good friend J of My Sylvanian Collections, it’s always a cause for celebration. (I feel like a child anticipating a playdate.) And even if the chances of bumping into a Sylvanian Families collector may be quite small,  I think that when fate decides that your heart is open to welcome new people again, it finds a way to let you know just that.

A few months ago I came across two items on eBay Philippines that were still posted but already reserved to a Ms. Harriet J. That was the first time our paths ever crossed.  Because she won that auction, she was oblivious to my existence until early January when she found her way to my blog. Since I invited her to join our little band of SF sisters, she and I have also started corresponding on the Net and sending occasional text messages.

Alex, A and I were in Shangri-La Plaza last Thursday evening when I received an unexpected message on my phone. It was Harriet, sharing her news of the latest mall updates. A and I were hoping to catch the last few days of a sale to get Alex a dress shirt and  formal pants for the prom. While Alex was doing a jig in the dressing room and entertaining the sales ladies, A was browsing the racks for a dress shirt and I was checking out the pants section.  As it turned out, by a happy coincidence, after a few sent messages, I found out that Harriet was in Shangri-La too. Voila, what started out as prom clothes shopping ended up as a brief Sylvanian Families collectors’ meet.

Kittymama and Harriet

You know how you feel when you meet someone and the connection is instantly there? I think that is how I felt when I met J and Harriet for the first time. When you are at ease, you can’t stop talking; that’s how easy it was making friends with my SF sisters J and Harriet.

I have a few pictures from this totally unplanned meet-up (yes, Kittymama is always prepared for a Kodak moment or two). Harriet is a lovely young mother of two daughters who share her love for Sylvanian Families. I like that she’s starting them young. Our SF club is slowly growing. Better yet, we’re building it one friendship at a time.

~0~

P.S. Thank you, Harriet, for the heads up on the new releases. Kittymama  is now playing with her Courtyard Restaurant and her houses are now all equipped with lights!

If Friends Were Flowers

Kittymama and J (aka Moodswings) show off their SF!

Just recently, I made the acquaintance of a young woman who shares my interest in Sylvanian Families. It started with a message left on my blog, then e-mail correspondence, then SMS and Facebook (!), and finally, with a meeting just a few days ago.

It always surprises me how friendships develop when and where you least expect it. I’ve been quite lucky in this account. My interests, be it Hello Kitty, or Sylvanian Families, or even just in writing, have led me to discover people I would not have otherwise met in my life. In the process, I have grown from the experience of meeting them, of sharing a part of their life, and of savoring the collective experiences that define a relationship.

J is half my age and yet, we have a lot of things in common. Though we prefer to talk shop — Sylvanian shop, that is, haha — I’ve found that many of her interests also closely hew to mine. She collects SF, she likes arts and crafts, and she blogs! (Visit her at My Sylvanian Collections.) Best of all, I like that she shares her passion for SF with her mom. (Oh, what I would give to have Alex play with me and not set my critters on suicidal missions! Or just to have Alphonse show a smidgen of interest in imaginative play without ripping and chewing on Squirrel Father’s tail.)

So, to J, my new friend and younger sister, thank you for the friendship. I look forward to meeting and making friends with your mom too.

“If friends were flowers, I’d pick you.”

Love In A Time Of Grief

Tonight, A, Alex, and I attended a vigil mass in honor of the father of Alex’s classmate and friend, G. After classes today, the parents and young men of Alex’s high school class gathered together to pay their respects to G’s dad and show their support for their brother.

It has been five days since G’s dad passed away in unexpected circumstances that have devastated their family. The boys were on a spiritual retreat Friday night and were awakened from deep slumber with the sudden news of G’s dad’s passing. Many wept with G as they received the news. Many found themselves in tight embraces, weeping and consoling each other. Brothers-in-class that they were, that moment, they simply became brothers.

from Hands of Hope, http://www.gatewaycommunityepc.com/

As we celebrated mass in G’s dad’s memory, I had to swallow back my tears many times. I have never seen these boys in somber circumstances; these boys are often clowns, always joking, always able to bring out laughter from all of us. But tonight, they stood as brave young men, their lives touched with the sorrow of one of their own. They clung to each other in groups and propped each other with encouragement and kind words. I hope that G, in the center of their group embrace, found strength and love when he most needed it.

I was amazed at G’s composure and maturity. G is a natural leader, an inspiration to many of his more jocular classmates. Even Alex is in awe of him. When the “commander” (their good natured nickname for G) speaks, everyone listens. And tonight, we all did. In his short speech before the end of mass, he said that before this, his life had not weathered many storms. This would be his biggest, most difficult test. I almost cried then, were it not for G’s calm demeanor. He misses his dad very much, he said, but he had faith that where his dad is, it is where the Lord is. To see such faith in the face of adversity makes my heart sing and weep at the same time.

To G, his mom, and his brothers, you are all in our prayers and our hearts are with you.  God bless you all.

No Words Spoken

Image by © Martin Meyer/zefa/Corbis

Alphonse and I were waiting in the car last night for A who had gone to run some errands for me (I had him buy some glue sticks from the bookstore). I was reading some messages sent via SMS, quite oblivious to the giggling I was hearing from the back of the car. A few minutes later, Alphonse turned on the interior dome light, apparently to see who he was giggling with. Instinctively, I turned around to tell him off (one of his repetitive habits is switching the lights on and off) when I noticed a young boy standing beside Alphonse’s window. The boy was probably no more than ten years of age, scrawny, dressed in threadbare clothes. He was one of the street urchins who usually offer the use of their umbrellas on rainy days for a fee. Separated by the sheet of window glass, they stared at each other for a few seconds.

Then Alphonse started to giggle, as he looked expectantly at the boy for a reaction. The boy started chuckling in turn, moving his arms in the air, even jumping up and down. This went on for a few minutes until they were both howling in laughter. After a while, the young boy waved goodbye. Alphonse waved back.  He smiled all the way home. 

Wish that making friends were always this easy.  

~0~

Speaking of friendships, I can’t begin to tell everyone how the experience of blogging has opened the world for me with renewed friendships and new ones forged. With a few strokes of the keyboard and a few clicks of the mouse, I have expanded my world beyond what I know.

Megamom shared this lovely tag with me a few weeks ago (thank you, dear friend) and she has an inspiring (and heartbreaking) story to tell that relates to the origins of this tag. I invite you all to click on the links above and read it for yourself. Sharing The Love was created by a grateful mom named Crystal, in honor of the individual who gave her one year-old son Noah a new lease in life by way of an organ donation on July 7, 2007. Noah’s new heart represents not only the best in humanity- the capacity to sacrifice even in the midst of grief- it also speaks of hope and love that we, as sentient beings, all aspire to.

The rules of this award are: SHARE THE LOVE!!! Share this award with all those blogs out there that you love. All the people who make you smile. All those that make you laugh. All those that make your day. All those that leave uplifting comments on your blog. **All I ask, is that you include a link to this post with the award and ask your recipient to do the same**

I pass on this beautiful gift to the special people who have touched my life by way of the written word.

To Casdok of Mother of Shrek and Susan Senator, both mothers of young men with autism, my heroes in this fascinating journey of life with autism,

Susan’s Nat and Casdok’s C are leaving home to explore the world- to learn, to work, to have fun, to dream- and while I am as proud of them as their mothers, I can’t help but feel their moms’ worries,  apprehensions, anxieties, and fears. It takes a lot of courage and faith to set a child free to explore life. And so I send this to Casdok and Susan, with all the love I can muster in this world, for being the kind of mother I always dream to be.

To Odette of Little Miss Firefly and Gracey of XOXOGracey, whose ingenious crafts are as remarkable as their personalities,

As Odette starts a life in Ireland with the man of her heart, I send her this with all the prayers and best wishes for a happy life. And to Gracey, who brings the vibrant colors of our country’s summers to the Netherlands, I send her this, too, with blessings of more grace in her life. Thank you for bringing color to my life.   

And to Mark of No Special Effects, a brilliant young man whose talents never cease to amaze me,  

A physician in the cusp of his career, Doc Mark is the unusual soul whose interests in food and photography make him my all-time favorite food blogger. His gorgeous pictures never fail to heal my soul, and his kindness to an old fogey like me (he visits this blog, yay!) is truly a gift. Thank you!

 God bless you all, dear friends!

A Clean House: A Gift Graciously Accepted

Thank you, Teacher Julie, for the friendship award you gave me. I feel honored and privileged. I hasten, however, to make a distinction between an online friendship and a virtual friendship, because while the latter is acceptable in form when it comes to computer jargon, it also connotes something that is “existing or resulting in essence or effect though not in actual fact, form, or name.”

We have not always been friends, not in the conventional manner of friends who chat on the phone or see each other for coffee or go shopping or gab for hours. We lost track of each other for a long time, true, but I’ve always believed that time and distance were mere inconveniences to true friends. You were Alex’s first teacher, the one he looked up to with adoring eyes, the one whose word was law, and the one who helped me cope with two precocious boys in the first year of Alphonse’s diagnosis. For all the things you were to me and to Alex then, and for all the things you are to me now, you are and will always be a friend.

Friendship awards are no fun unless they’re passed on to loved ones, and this I willingly pass on to

Leirs (Can you imagine we’ve never met in person but we’re really good friends? I am also honored to be her daughter Adrianne’s baptismal godmother. ) 

Susan (She is a complete package – with beauty of face and beauty of heart. And though    I know of her only through her blog and her book, I will always consider her a friend.) 

NinJas & Joe (The exasperating peas that complete my sisters pod, whether I want them to or not)

Megamom (We lost a lot of years, Megamom, but we’re making up for lost time. Thank you for the renewed friendship)

Teacher Julie (No, I am not giving you back your gift but I sure hope you don’t mind that I give you the same gift.)

The clock ticks to forever

I wrote this eight years ago for my best friend, a few days before the end of the last century. Many years later, this still says everything I feel for this person, so allow me to share with you our friendship’s journey to forever.

At The Turn Of The Century

I remember the day I started on my life’s journey. I was nervous, yet determined. There was no logic, no order, no preconceived plans for what was to come after, but the absolute rightness of the decision overshadowed any qualms or indecision there might have been.

I stood there, in front of a judge, holding on to my best friend’s hand. With a few chosen words here and there, a wave of a hand, a beckoning gesture, it was over in minutes. I was so woozy I almost fainted twice. To this day, all I remember is the continuous reassurance of my best friend’s hand in mine. Nothing else.

The first time I met my best friend, I had no inkling we were destined for anything extraordinary. It was an innocuous day, one just like many others before it. We were high school students in a debate team. He was an excellent speaker, fluent and quick of thought. A thin, wiry snip of a boy, he held himself in a manner that seemed almost haughty. Yet, when he spoke, his voice loomed large over our heads, obliterating any formed idea in our opponents’ midst. He was a devastating adversary in any debate team, and that first day, I counted myself fortunate to be on his side. In the years that followed, we would end up on opposing sides, and our scorecards would almost always be even. Still, win or lose, the best debater’s award almost always went to him.

We didn’t start out as friends, I suppose. He was too small to be noticed easily then. At fourteen, I thought myself a woman of the world, a veritable poster girl for the eighties. I thought myself too old for friendships with little children and sought the company of more mature friends. Through some twist of circumstance, I found myself alone with him. We started talking. The longer I listened, the more I found out how amazing this intelligent, opinionated, assertive young man was. I found myself drifting towards him more and more often, until I would hold off a part of my day just to spend a few minutes in conversation with him. In no time at all, we became best friends.

(an old and faded photograph of the first years of friendship)

The friendship didn’t come too easily at times. In junior year, he and I had a severe falling out that left me hurting for a long time. We spent a few months apart, in silence, each tending to our wounds. One day he held out his hand to me and on that day of reconciliation, it was as if all those months of icy silence melted away and we were still all that was of the friendship.

We nursed each other through broken relationships. We wrote long letters to each other. We would hand them over in between classes as we passed long corridors. We read books together, some parts aloud, and savored the words as they fleeted between us. We shared our amateurish attempts at poetry with each other – all that was precious to us bound in two thick spiral notebooks. We would meet often and spend hours gabbing away, talking about our futures.

In college, he would trek all the way to Manila from the cozy enclave of the Jesuits in Quezon City just to spend a few hours with me in school, a sacrifice not even my boyfriend back then was willing to make. Of course, I should mention that his ex-girlfriend was my classmate in the university, and so, while he visited me, he also kept an eye in a reunion with her. This, however, became an exercise in futility as neither one was willing to budge from their stances. A year after they broke up, both gave up for good. At around the same time, I parted ways with my boyfriend. Once more, as in the past, we nursed our broken hearts and consoled each other with our friendship. “You are too good for him anyway” became his chosen mantra for me. Somehow his words seemed to ease the pain I felt.

My best friend left for the United States shortly thereafter. I had known that there were plans for his family to move abroad, but I hadn’t really thought it would be that soon. For the second time in our friendship, he and I parted ways. His stay in a foreign land left me disoriented, as if I had lost the other half of myself, but I was too proud to let him know that I missed him. I kept silent for a long time, afraid to reach out to him. And he, in his temporary life, kept his distance too, hurt as he was by my silence and seeming nonchalance.  

Almost a year passed before he returned. I found out from a mutual friend that he had been asking about me. That day, I knocked at his door and welcomed him with a warm embrace and a chocolate cake. It was really like coming home for me.

From then on, letters flew between us and the lines of friendship started to blur. We burned the phone lines with late-night talks, each one trying to make up for past mistakes. One day, we learned that we needed each other more that we should have. Rational beings that we were, we discussed our feelings objectively and tried to create new rules for ourselves. We realized that we could not be merely friends, though we were still afraid to move on to a different level. And so, for half a year, we referred to each other as “more-than-friends,” as if this absurd appellation would somehow cure us of our dreaded feelings.

Four years to that day, I started my life’s journey. With my best friend.

My life with this man, my best friend, is a life of blessings and joys. Yes, I admit we have gone through some bad times, times when I thought we would break from the strain, but we went through them hand in hand, together. Eight years to the day I started my journey, I can speak with pride and happiness of the life we built. Two young boys, the love of our lives, remain our testaments to friendship and love.

To this day, my best friend nurses the wounds of my heart and calms the discontent of my soul. He still whips my life in a frenzy. In his hands, I have found all that I have sought for in my lifetime. In his hands, I have found the courage to soar and to fly. In his hands, I have found love.

And so here I am, at the turn on the century, still holding his hand.

This is real life.

~0~

My best friend, my love, my husband, turns 40 today. More than just a numerical milestone of the passing of time, his birthday is a gift, a special reminder of the past, present, and future days of our lives together…as the clock ticks to forever.

Happy birthday, my love.