DOOR BANGS, ANTON CALLS FROM INSIDE THE BEDROOM.
ANTON: I fell down! Mommy, it's me!...Anton!?
AFTER A FEW SECONDS...
ANTON: I'm okay, Mommy!

Ang problema sa kultura natin, at ang hindi natin maalis-alis sa atin, yung attitude ng matatanda sa mga bata na, "Walang malisya, bata lang yan."

Lahat sa footage ni Jan-Jan ay nakakabagabag, at ito ang hindi nakikita ng marami sa posters dun sa YouTube comments. Para bang sa iisang footage na ito, nailagay sa ilalim ng isang magnifying lens at napalinaw kung ano ang malaking kamalian ng television media sa paghubog ng panlasa sa entertainment ng publiko. Nakikita nating napakalaki ng responsibilidad ang media sa paghubog ng values ng mamamayan, at clearly, sa nakita natin sa episode na ito ang failure ng telebisyon.

Ano ang nakakaaliw sa manonood? Ang pagtawanan ang may kakaibang hanap-buhay (sa parlor nagtatrabaho ang tatay ni Jan-Jan), ang marinig ang malulungkot na kwento at minsa'y nakakagimbal na pag-"air ng dirty linen" ng kapwa nila, ang pagtawanan ang may kakaibang anyo (sa isang punto ay tinawag si Bonel Balingit upang itabi kay Jan-Jan), ang makitang suklian ni Willie ng pera ang panatikong pagsubaybay sa kanya ng mga mga manonood, at higit sa lahat, ang pagnakaw sa kabataan sa mga bata sa pamamagitan ng sapilitang pag-expose at pagpa-involve (dahil hindi lang si Jan-Jan kungdi mga batang manonood din ang biktima dito) sa isang obscenity—sa isang sayaw na simulated na sex move. Kung walang nakitang mali dito ang libo-libong manonood ng Willing-Willie, ito ay dahil ginawa silang manhid ng telebisyon. Hirap na silang alamin ang mali sa tama dahil pinalabo ni Willie Revillame ang pagkakaiba sa dalawa sa pagsampal niya sa publiko ng salapi (ni hindi man kanya) kapalit ng dangal at dignidad ng mga taong nagpaparticipate sa kanyang show, hindi lang si Jan-Jan.

Pinagtiyagaan ko panoorin ang kabuuan ng footage, kahit nagdugo ang puso ko, bilang isang ina, para kay Jan-Jan.  Pinilit ko ang sarili ko, dahil alam kong iyon lang ang maitutulong ko sa mga kabataang tulad niya, ang bigyan sila ng boses.  Ang karanasan sa aking panonood ay surreal, na lalo pang ginawang parang isang masamang panaginip ng canned laughter, at ng cutaway na close-ups ng mga tumatawang mga nanonood sa studio.  Halos cinematically perfect, parang staged—ang biswal at ang audio.  Di sinasadya, ngunit ang footage ay parang naging kahindik-hindik na paglalarawan ng bangungot ng isang bata. 

Hindi lang sapat na i-protesta ko ito bilang manunulat-pambata. Kailangan akong maki-aklas sa kapwa kong mga manunulat at mga mamamayang may malasakit, at ipunin ang aming mga boses upang ipagbigay-alam aming opinyon ukol dito. Kailangang ikondena ito, in very strong terms, at ipaabot ito sa PBBY at lahat ng kasapi nitong mga industriyang may kinalaman sa bata, hanggang makaabot sa mga kinauukulang maaaring makagawa ng aksiyon ukol dito.

Napapanahon na talaga upang mag-ingay tayo nang tuluyan nang maiwasto itong maling kaisipan ng mga Pinoy na "walang malisya, bata lang yan." May karapatan ang bata na tratuhin nang may dignidad.  Hindi sila mistulang mga ari-arian ng kanilang mga magulang, at sa katunayan ay may nakasaad ukol dito sa ating saligang batas, sa R.A. 7610:

Section 1. Title. – This Act shall be known as the "Special Protection of Children Against Abuse, Exploitation and Discrimination Act."

Section 2. Declaration of State Policy and Principles. – It is hereby declared to be the policy of the State to provide special protection to children from all firms of abuse, neglect, cruelty exploitation and discrimination and other conditions, prejudicial their development; provide sanctions for their commission and carry out a program for prevention and deterrence of and crisis intervention in situations of child abuse, exploitation and discrimination. The State shall intervene on behalf of the child when the parent, guardian, teacher or person having care or custody of the child fails or is unable to protect the child against abuse, exploitation and discrimination or when such acts against the child are committed by the said parent, guardian, teacher or person having care and custody of the same.

It shall be the policy of the State to protect and rehabilitate children gravely threatened or endangered by circumstances which affect or will affect their survival and normal development and over which they have no control.

The best interests of children shall be the paramount consideration in all actions concerning them, whether undertaken by public or private social welfare institutions, courts of law, administrative authorities, and legislative bodies, consistent with the principle of First Call for Children as enunciated in the United Nations Convention of the Rights of the Child. Every effort shall be exerted to promote the welfare of children and enhance their opportunities for a useful and happy life.

I had always found sage advice in this line from "Leo the Late Bloomer"—that a watched bloomer doesn't bloom, and so after we had transferred Anton to Magis Academy, I learned how to relax more.

What a difference the months in his new school make.  He is less shy, is more talkative (he talks all the time now, from the moment he wakes up to the time his eyes go droopy with sleepiness), and he is interested in reading, art, playing, and just these last couple of days, I found out that he also now knows how to play the piano, too—well, at least his little toy piano.

At dismissal time, Anton's classmate Hannah runs up to me and hands me a Valentine's day card. "This is for you,"  she says.

"Oh, thank you, how sweet of you,"  I say; am overwhelmed and a bit puzzled by her generosity because I thought she made the card.

"Happy Vaneltime's Day" the card said.  I open it and find out that it's from Anton.

Hannah's eyes brighten up as she sees my shirt and she says, "Nice shirt!"

"Do you know who this is?" I ask, engaging her.

She nods, and calls out  "Tinker Bell!"  before she runs off to join Paris and her other classmates who'd already gone to the playground.

Meanwhile, Anton approaches me—tired, big grin on his face, snack bag slung across chest—dragging his feet;  behind him he drags his trolley bag. I hold out my arms to him in an exaggerated manner.  It makes him laugh.

"I love you, Mommy,"  he says, and smilingly wrinkles his nose as he braces for the kiss I plant on it.

As soon as he sees the card in my hands, however, he stops.  Then frowns.

"Thank you for this, Baby.  It's so nice!  I like it very much!"

He gets the card from me, looks at the cover of the card, and the frown on his brow deepens. "Where's my eraser?"

I immediately know what upset him—the misspelling.  Although I thought it weird he had misspelled at all.  It just wasn't the type of mistake he'd make.

Before I could get his pencil box from his bag, however, Anton had already run back to his classroom.  But the door is locked.

"My eraser.  I want my eraser!" He cries.

"It's okay.  Your eraser's in your bag.  And you can work on it at home,"  I reassure him.

"I want my eraser," he insists, as we walk back to the shed where we left his bag.

To make him happy, I erase the offending letters from the cover of the card.  "But you don't have crayons in your bag.  You'll have to work on it at home so you can do it properly."

And the first thing he looks for as soon as he gets out of the car as we reach our house was a brown crayon stick.

Now, on hindsight, I am thinking, maybe Anton was working so slow on his card and Hannah helped him—hence the misspelling, and his dismay.

One morning, as I was driving Anton to school, he said, "What's that?"

Usually that's my cue to ask him the question, and he'd answer, a house! a tree! a car! a cloud! But that morning, he said "A rainbow!"

A rainbow? Where did you learn about rainbows, I asked, did you take them up in science class?

"There, Mommy!" Anton excitedly pointed at the sky.

And, true enough, as we exited the gates of the subdivision to cross Marcos Highway, there was this wide expanse of colors stretched across the overcast sky.

It was simply a most breathtaking and magical sight.

ME: Anton, we have to take your temperature. Daddy bought this really cool thermometer.
ANTON: Ayaw temprecher!
ME: But it won't hurt. We'll just put it under your arm.
ANTON: Ayaw temprecher!
ME: But we'd need to see if you're still sick.
ANTON: But I'm not sick, Mommy...just—happy!

Strange, but Anton has gotten into this habit lately, of changing the subtitle setting of his Disney DVD movies into Chinese, then making up the dialogue. I've tried switching off the subtitles, but when I check in on him again, the Chinese subtitles are there again.

Sometimes I find myself turning to the web for answers to questions such as, "Why does my preschooler scream?" the way I look for answers to "Why do cats' eyes glow in the dark?" or "Why do bats sleep upside-down?". They are very strange animals, little children are.

We got Anton's report card yesterday. His one and only O (Outstanding) is for "Washes Hands Without Any Reminder Before Eating and After Using the Toilet."

3 years old lang ako noong una niya akong dalhin sa palengke.  Minsan-minsan kasi, pag sobrang malikot at matigas ang ulo ni Anton, tinatanong ko siya kung kumusta ako nung maliit pa ako.

Ikinukwento naman niya. At ito yung ideya sa likod ng aklat na ito.  Ibinili talaga ako ni Mommy ng maliit na bayong. At dahil naaliw daw sa akin ang mga suki niya (at siguro din para manatili siyang isang suki) ay nilalagyan nila ng saging, lansones, at kung ano-ano ang aking munting bayong. (Haha, akala ko libre, yun pala kadalasan, dagdag lang 'yon pag tumatawad si Mommy.)  Ang Nepa-Q-Mart ang palengke na pinupuntahan namin noon, noong nakatira pa kami sa Cubao.  Tunay siyang palengke, hindi kathang-isip.  Mega-Q-Mart na siya ngayon.

Naaalala ko, natatakam pa ako dun sa kape na dinedeliver sa mga tindera.  Parang ang sarap-sarap.  May mamang umiikot sa palengke na may wire basket na may lulang maraming maliliit na baso (yung makapal na baso ng maliit na Nescafe) na may timpladong kapeng may gatas.  Naaalala ko kung paano ako nagtatago sa likod ng daster ni Mommy pag nagpapakatay siya ng manok (di pa uso ang Magnolia Chicken Station noon).  Grabe, ang bilis!  Pipili si Mommy dun sa mga nakataling manok.  Yung manok, ang ingay-ingay.  Tapos tatahimik. Sisilip ako at makikitang inilulublob siya sa kumukulong tubig para tanggalan ng balahibo. At sa susunod na sisilip ako, naka-chop na siya at inilalagay na ng tindera sa plastic bag.  Naalala ko rin si Aling Choleng, ang suki ni Mommy sa bangus.  Sing-edad ko ang panganay ni Aling Choleng.  At pareho ng sumunod sa akin na kapatid kong si Gigi na pre-mature ipinanganak  ang ikalawa niyang anak. Hanggang mag-hayskul ako ay nanatiling magsuki--at magkaibigan si Mommy at si Aling Choleng. Naaalala ko may dimples siya. At wala siyang ngipin sa itaas.

Naalala ko rin ang mga kargador ng baboy o baka. Ang mga mamang nakabota na humahataw ng malalaking banyera ng isda. Malinaw na malinaw pa rin sa akin ang lahat.  Ngunit hindi ko posible mailagay ang lahat ng detalyeng ito sa aklat. (Ngunit, heto ang sikreto: dalawa ang bersyon ng "Araw sa Palengke".)

Lagi din niya kami ibinibili ni Gigi ng palayok-palayukan.  At lagi namin din itong nababasag.  Nilalagyan talaga ni Mommy ng totoong bigas at tubig ang munting palayok.  Tapos lalagyan niya ng uling at nilukot na papel, at papaningasin niya ang munting kalan. Kaya kami natutong magsaing.  Tapos dun sa isang palayok naman, maaaring maglagay naman kami ng putol-putol at hiwa-hiwang sitaw, okra, talong, at dadagdagan ng tubig para mailaga ito.  Nakakain namin talaga. Ang saya pag nagbabahay-bahayan kami.  May totoong pagkain!  Sana balang araw si Anton maisip niya balang araw kung paano ginawa ng nanay niya na mas masaya ang kabataan niya.  Mapalad kasi ako dahil marami akong masasayang alaala ng kabataan ko, dahil kay Mommy.

Ang Mommy ko talaga ang sumulat ng aklat na ito, noong maliit ako.  Inalala ko lang.

Salamat, Mommy!  I love you. 

Pinaka-maswerte si Anton sa lahat ng mga apo mo dahil araw-araw ka niyang kasama at nayayakap. Pero alam kong pantay-pantay mong mahal ang iyong mga apo--at siyempre, kaming iyong mga anak.  Sana'y patuloy kayong maging malakas at masigla ni Daddy sa loob ng matagal na panahon.

Salamat din sa Adarna, lalong-lalo na kay Bb. Ani Almario, na nagbigay sa akin ng pagkakataon maibahagi ang munting kuwentong ito sa mga mambabasa. At kay Isabel "Pepper" Roxas, kung kanino ang mga iginuhit na larawan ng maliliit na batang babae ang mga larawan na nasa utak ko habang isinusulat ko ito. Ang ganda-ganda ng pagkakabigay-buhay niya sa teksto.  Maraming-maraming salamat!

Citation from the 1st National Children's Book Awards 2010:

"Listen well," her mother tells her. "Hold on to me tightly, ha? So you won't get lost. And don't point at things that you want me to buy for you." And so the story begins with a promise: "Yes, Nanay, I promise."

Early one morning, a little girl accompanies her mother to the market. They take readers with them. The market is hot and noisy, smelly and muddy, but it's also fascinating and colorful, because it's seen from a point of view that's only about three feet tall. When they arrive home, and our little girl unpacks the bayong (bag) to find a surprise wrapped in newspaper at the bottom, it's her joy we feel in the little dance that she does.

Araw sa Palengke is a true marriage of text and visual image. The story by May Tobias-Papa is gentle and straightforward, and the illustrations by Isabel Roxas are charming and finely detailed. The result is a lighthearted picture book that is nuanced, controlled, and thoroughly engaging. A really good read.

Will attempt to rank Anton's favorite books from most favored to least:

1.  WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE (Maurice Sendak)
Anton is just so crazy about Max and the wild things, especially as he could read the book now all by himself.  He even does voices, too--doing the narrator with a snarly voice, and Max in a very bossy one ("Be still!").  I love especially how he pronounces "RHUM-pŭs".





















2. THE VERY HUNGRY CATERPILLAR (Eric Carle)
This was his favorite for a long time--because it was one of the very first picture books he read by himself-- till it got dislodged by "Where The Wild Things Are" when he got more confident with his reading. This is the book that made Anton crazy about Eric Carle books. He looks for Eric Carle by name when we go to Powerbooks or National Bookstore. (Yes, he knows the concept of authorship;  I introduced it to him early by reading the byline whenever we read a book. One time, I showed to him the byline of "Araw sa Palengke", and he said, "Cool!" =D) Of all authors/illustrators, Anton has the most books by Eric Carle.  He started with "The Very Hungry Caterpillar's Favorite Words" and "The Very Busy Spider's Favorite Words".  I think this developed his appetite for picture books with nice, colorful illustrations.  He seems to like works by authors who also happen to be illustrators.  Well, except for Dr. Seuss.


















3. A CHILD'S GOODNIGHT BOOK (Margaret Wise Brown/Jean Charlot)
Before he liked Eric Carle, Anton loved Margaret Wise Brown, and he still does.  I think he finds the words soothing.  He loves reading Wise Brown aloud--you can tell by his sing-song voice whenever he reads her books that he relishes the words coming out of his mouth.  (He seems to love to hear himself read.)  This is his newest Wise Brown book, and ever since I bought it a couple of months ago, Anton has read it every night--and every day.  The nicest thing about the book is that it ends with a prayer.  I am guessing that it is the reason why he loves it.























4. THE RUNAWAY BUNNY (Margaret Wise Brown/Clement Hurd)
Along with "Guess How Much I Love You", this was Anton's favorite book from babyhood to pre-school.  We used to read it several times a day.  It only dropped in popularity when he started to learn to read by himself.  Reading opened up his interest in so many things.

GUESS HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU (Sam McBratney/Anita Jeram)
Though we don't read this as often, Anton was still distressed the other day when he was looking at his very worn copy of the book.  He was crying;  I've never seen him so upset over a book, and I didn't even know he cared that much how a book looked.  He only stopped crying when I took out a spare copy I had bought at a book sale.  I bought it because it was in mint condition--for only Php 60!  For a pre-schooler, Anton handles his books rather well.  He even puts them away if I ask him and he happens to be in the mood to be a good boy.

5.  TWO LITTLE TRAINS (Margaret Wise Brown/Leo and Diane Dillon)
The only other Wise Brown book Anton owns that isn't illustrated by Clement Hurd (the other one is "A Child's Goodnight Book"), but by the award-winning husband-and-wife illustrator team of Leo and Diane Dillon.  Perhaps because it is about trains, and because he used to love to "puff-puff-puff" and "chug-chug-chug" the part of the two trains when he still couldn't read that this is one of the books he's liked from back when he was still a baby up to now.

6.  GOODNIGHT MOON (Margaret Wise Brown/Clement Hurd)
Anton did not like this as a baby (he liked "In My World" better), but he has newfound appreciation for it now that he could already read.

7.  CORDUROY/CORDUROY'S DAY/CORDUROY GOES TO THE DOCTOR (Don Freeman)
This is Anton's newest favorite.  I still have to find out why.  Save for Corduroy's coming to life at night in the toy store in "Corduroy" which has similarities to Anton's favorite movie, "Toy Story", I think Corduroy as a character is less remarkable than, say, Max in "Where The Wild Things Are" or the baby bunny in "The Runaway Bunny".  But then, maybe it's that.  Maybe Anton could relate to Corduroy and his rather ordinary adventures like going to the doctor.

8.  OWL BABIES (Martin Waddell/Patrick Benson)
One of the books Anton learned early to read  by himself.  The narrative voice and the three characters Sarah, Percy and Bill are engaging, and this is probably what made Anton want to badly learn how to read.

9.  ALLIGATOR ARRIVED WITH APPLES:  A Potluck Alphabet Feast (Crescent Dragonwagon/Jose Aruego)
Anton likes it--because it's an alphabet book, and it has all these long, multi-syllable words in it which he loves reading out.

10. TASTY BABY BELLY BUTTONS (Judy Sierra/Meilo So)
This is the only book among his favorites that he still couldn't read because it is very long and the plot is already more sophisticated.  It is already a storybook for probably a third-grader or older.  Anton liked this book ever since the very first time I read it to him probably around the time he'd only turned three.  I think he likes the main character, Uriko, because he kept saying her name even after we'd already stopped reading.  He also likes it probably because Uriko was helped by her animal friends.

The past 10 months since he turned three has been nothing sort of amazing--from mere word recognition he's now attempting to story-tell using his voice and phrasing creatively--just ask his fans, his Grandpa and Grandma who are his usual audience. I believe that what helped speed up Anton's learning of reading was my own reading to him because I do voices, and I take time and effort to enunciate each word, exaggerating the syllables at times if I must, so that he learns the connection between the visual and verbal.  I enrolled him in some classes this summer, and I was honestly so very disappointed with the teachers.  I could only compare what I try to do with Anton with how his teachers read to him and his classmates. The cost of his fee could have been better spent on books or toys, instead of on teachers who have poor book choices, very poor eye contact with their students (I observed one teacher for the good part of one hour.  She wouldn't even look at Anton even if she was talking to him), and whose own voices are drowned by the very voices of their preschooler students.

Another thing that made him even more fascinated with books, I believe, were the videos we found on YouTube of "The Very Hungry Caterpillar", "Where The Wild Things Are", and "Goodnight Moon".  Set to music, the words of the books became even more alive to him.  And you can tell, by the way he excitedly exclaims, "Oh, Mommy, look!  It's a bea-u-ti-ful BUTTERFLY!" or he notices something he's not noticed before even if he'd already seen the video millions of times, "Mommy, the moon--IS HAPPY!"

Just listening to him and seeing the smile on his face makes me happy.

Does he make repetitive movements?

When she asked the question, I immediately could tell what she was at.It was around 1:30 PM, and I’d convinced Alcuin on his off-duty day, a Monday, to come with me and scout for a pre-school for Anton.  We were interested in two schools which came very highly recommended by friends.  But they are both in Quezon City, a good 30 to 45 minutes’ drive from our place in Antipolo.No, I said.  Why do you ask? From the corner of my eye, I saw Alcuin stand up and motion with his hand that he and Anton were stepping out.

You said that he’s already 3 years 7 months, she said.  Which will make him—and she raises fingers to count—3 years 10 months in June.  Almost 4 already.  And yet he doesn’t talk yet, you say.

He doesn’t talk in sentences, I explained. But he says—words.  And he could also read.

He may be echolalic.

Don’t get me started on echolalia, I thought. Because I know what you are thinking.  Oh—I said aloud—he’s not hyperlexic, I think.  I’d hoped to impress her with my knowledge on the subject.  I always buy him different versions of books about the same subject (anton, for instance has 2 versions of 'wheels on the bus' song books), I said. Just to test if he’s just memorizing or he really can read.  He can read.  And he can figure out how to read new words when he encounters them.  He’s known his alphabet ever since he was 2.

But she seemed unimpressed. Our slots are filled up, she said. And our summer school’s already started.  Teacher P did say you were coming, she said, looking at a piece of paper. I really think you should take your son to a developmental specialist for assessment.  How’s his eye contact?

Anton, who was going around, reading words aloud from posters in the room, wandered near me and I tried to pull him.  Come, baby, I said.  Teacher wants to talk to you.  I thought that if I mentioned “Teacher” he would pay attention so the lady could talk to him and change her mind.  I was wrong.  He squirmed and broke away from me and ran to his dad.

And that was when she’d started to chip away at my conviction that there was nothing wrong with Anton.

He really should be talking by now, she said.

He does tend to not look at people when they call his attention, I said.  But I can get him to follow instructions--like pick up his toys.

How does he interact with other kids?  You said that he’s attended school already.  Does he play with the other kids?

He doesn’t play with them as they play with him and fuss over him.  He’s the youngest boy in class, I explained.  And he’d gotten used to being babied in school.  I’d even had to call his teachers’ attention to it, because I didn’t want them to spoil him.

Maybe, it’s their way of handling him.  Maybe he’s unmanageable.  Consulting a developmental psychologist may be your best course. Have him assessed. While it’s still early.

We danced around each other in circles, and around the word we never mentioned, not even once. Could you recommend someone, I asked.  I thought there may be no harm in doing as she advised.  Maybe the specialist can recommend a therapist, or something.

I don’t have the name right now.  But there is someone, she said. She holds clinic at Medical City. Your son seems to be showing some signs…she said.

I’ve read a lot on the subject, I told her.  But I never thought…

You live in Antipolo.  Why’d you take him all the way here?

Your school is highly recommended by my friends.  We were considering your school, and Raya, for the progressive curriculum.  There seem to be no good schools in Antipolo, at least near our area.

What's wrong with his present school?

I just don’t like the teacher-to-student ratio.  There’s around 20 other kids in his mixed-age class, and only 2 teachers are handling pre-nursery to prep. I don’t think he’s getting the attention he needs, especially as he could already read.

I suggest you see a developmental psychologist right away.

You do realize that this comes as a shock to me…

Shock? she asked, as she raised an eyebrow and tilted her head.  Or isn't it, rather, a confirmation?

Shock, I insisted, because I’ve always thought my son was extraordinarily gifted. At the back of my mind I thought, till this day, I’d thanked the Lord every day for the unexpected blessing, of having a gifted child.  And you, whom I’d only met today, in the span of not even 30 minutes, just planted a seed of doubt in me.

She consulted a telephone directory and jotted down a name and a number on a piece of paper.  He might be able to help you. You'll have to book early.  Their schedules get filled up quickly.

I took the slip of paper and extended my hand.  Thank you very much for your time, I said.

Alcuin extended his hand to the woman as well.  In his other arm, he carried a sleepy Anton who was rubbing his eyes.

I felt like crying but there were no tears.  My heart felt like it was deflated with a thousand little pin-pricks.

------------

That night, at bedtime, I was a wreck with all the thoughts running in my head.  Alcuin had not come home yet.  We went home without him because he had to meet up with somebody.

All afternoon I just felt crying, for a lot of things, wondering what was going to happen now, what did i do wrong...was it because he had cord coil just before he got out of my tummy?  Was it anything I took during my pregnancy? Was it the stress during the third trimester?  Was it because he once fell off the bed? Did a yaya drop him and we didn't know? Was I in denial?  Did I already see some signs and yet refused to acknowledge them?

And I felt really sorry for Anton, as I looked at him, so clueless as he was looking at his books.  Several times, I tried to call his attention, to see if he would look at me.  He wouldn't.  His brows were knitted and he wouldn't look at me.  He wouldn't even ask me to read to him like he usually does every night. I then pull him and force him to look at me.  Anton, look at me, I said.  Look at the clock. He looks.  Look at the window.  He looks.  Look at your feet.  He does what I tell him to do.  Then I told him, Look at Mommy's eyes.  For probably the first time I could remember that whole, long day, he looks into my eyes.  His brows were still knitted.

I prepare him for bed and we pray, but the tears finally come as we pray.  Side by side in the dark, we hold hands.  Pausing from praying, I tell him once more to look at me, just to reassure myself that everything's alright.  He refuses to turn his head.  I guide his face with my hand to turn it to face me.  By the dim light of the night lamp, I see that he is crying, too.  And he says, "Ayaw sad." And he sobs, "Don't cry, Mommy!"

------------

The next day, I finally got to talk to Alcuin about it.  He told me, you do realize that I had to step out of the room because I didn't like what the lady was insinuating. 

But what if she's right?  I asked. 

She'd made the conclusion so quickly, he said.  I have no doubt in my mind that Antonio is alright.  We might need to see a specialist, though, if only to allay our fears. I'll ask my friends for a referral.  But she had no right to give her judgment right away.

So it was her, then.  It felt like a barrage, I said.  She seemed so convinced already there is something wrong with Anton.  The worst was when she asked me if it confirmed my fears...

Later in the day, I will tell my dad and my mom.  She said that?  But your brothers didn't talk till they were five--and they were in kinder already!  She's wrong, don't believe her.

Daddy said, "Sino ba 'yan, pupuntahan ko 'yan!" (Who is that person, I'd like to give her a piece or my mind!)

Nanang. Angga. Ateng, Auntie. She was everybody’s favorite aunt. And hands-down, the Manalang clan’s best cook.

For all the major clan gatherings, you can be sure Auntie Milia had a hand in the food preparations because she was the most sought-after cook—even among non-relatives, and so unless she was sick (which was rare) and unless there was another celebration in another town or city that required her expert culinary skills at the same time, she will most likely be there at every baptism, debut, engagement, anniversary, wedding and milestone birthday party. And true enough, as you neared the buffet table at such events, your suspicions will be confirmed as you could hear her familiar, perpetually hoarse voice in the kitchen, calling out her instructions in Kapampangan to her various assistants as they rushed with their trays of food out into the dining area.

Auntie Milia remained single till she breathed her last. Perhaps her being a spinster was one of the reasons why everyone loved her. Her easy demeanor was atypical of aunts who are always too nosey and who could never seem think of any other opening line to conversations aside from, “So, when are you getting married?” As a city girl I married relatively late (from my point ot view, though, I would prefer to see it as “fashionably late”)—at least later than my cousins in the province--and heaven knows my exasperation, as well as all my frustration in finding the perfect answer to shut them up, all those years I was still single. It’s only now on hindsight that it occurred to me that even Auntie Milia--in her golden years--was probably not spared the taunts. How did she feel? Was she really as happily indifferent as she made us think? Or did she have any regrets, or any doubts at all that gnawed at her all those years?

Among us female cousins there used to be a running joke: as each of us hit our twenties and then then eventually left it unattached as the years passed, we blamed our ill luck with men and relationships on what allegedly was some sort of a family curse: Auntie Milia allegedly wanted to find a successor to whom she could already bequeathe her crown and sceptre for spinsterhood.

The funny thing was, Auntie Milia in her time, they say, had more than her fair share of suitors. According to family legends, she was even the prettiest of all the four daughters of my granduncle Tino Manalang. And according to yet another family legend, her suitors consisted of a range of characters – from a man they suspected to be a mangkukulam (witch) to a very fine, gentlemanly doctor.

In my young life, she was the first person to make me realize that women really had a choice, and they can bide their time and actually opt to not marry the very first person who asks them, contrary to what my other aunts admonished me, “Hay, naku, huwag masyadong mapili! (Hay, don’t be too choosy!)". Auntie Milia had her reasons; maybe even the good doctor was not good enough for her. I would also know what was best for me, too, wouldn't I, when my time came?

Would she have made a good wife and mother? I had no doubt--Auntie Milia was everybody's favorite confidante, and with her sense of humor and trademark hearty chuckle she had a very generous, warm heart, and her superb cooking skills that were the envy of many of her married contemporaries would have nicely kept a husband loyal to her side through the years and grown-up children homesick for their their mother's cooking. Much later, wanting to write a story with a character inspired by Auntie Milia, I interviewed her and asked her if she'd ever regretted not entertaining the doctor and ending up being a spinster. She knitted her brows, and as if she’d just heard the funniest joke, laughed so hard in that self-conscious way she had (she had some teeth missing in front and even with her dentures on she’d still be self-conscious), and waved off my question. “That story’s been long past,” she answered me in Kapampangan. “He’d already married.” I wasn’t too sure, but in the dimming afternoon light I thought I saw her eyes glisten—with tears?

But as everybody’s favorite, huggable aunt (and cousin, grandaunt, godmother) Auntie Milia had seemed for the most part, genuinely happy and content in her life, basking in everyone’s love--surrounded by nephews, nieces and grandchildren who hugged and kissed her every chance they got. Goodbye, Auntie Milia. We will miss you so much.

† EMILIA PECSON MANALANG
   1923-2010

It might just have been the coffee.  It was a tad stronger than my usual mug.

Or maybe then again, not. 

Rereading the Noli (Penguin, translated by Harold Augenbraum) this morning, while waiting for Anton at his school, I had to stop every now and then, because the experience for me was just like staring at the sun--I worried that if I didn't pause and take my eyes off it to rest them, I would be blinded.  It made my heart beat so fast and hard.  Come to think of it, no novel has profoundly stirred me in a long time, in perhaps my whole adult life so far.  And I realize it was because I first read the Noli under very different circumstances--I was only fifteen, and it was required reading.  I cannot even remember if we read an English or a Filipino translation, but one thing I can be certain of was that it was a sanitized version, because I studied in a sectarian school. 

I read it before I could imagine seeing the end of the Marcos dictatorship.  I read it before I knew how it was to fall and be in love.  And I read it long before UP, Reynaldo Ileto's Pasyon and Revolution, Austin Coates' "Rizal", and all those other books, pamphlets and essays that opened my eyes to an alternative Rizal (that he never retracted, and that he never returned to the Catholic faith) and the realities in Philippine history not covered by the school-approved Gregorio Zaide textbook.

Reading the Noli the first time, I still had a very romantic notion of life.  I didn't  see at all how it and the Fili made a hero of Rizal.  Maybe I had skipped the crucial passages.  Maybe the discourse was poorly conveyed in the translation.  All I saw in the two novels was a story of unrequited love that spanned two generations and the subsequent story of revenge spawned by embitterment.  And I also relished the gossip (and I subsequently found a copy of a typescript, later in the UP College Filipiniana lib) of a missing chapter--about the second love story of Elias and Salome.

I am now reading (because presently I am now only at the 8th chapter) Augenbraum's translation, and I am just beginning to realize how rich Noli is, and how multi-faceted the characters.  I never realized how truly a genius Rizal was, and how gifted he was as a storyteller.  And because I am still so far from the ending, I am still not over how I was blown away by the beauty and magic of the fifth chapter. 

And this is what I love about reading, and books.  Read the Noli right after finishing another translation of a Spanish novel, Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "Of Love and Other Demons".  I would not even attempt to make a comparison of the two novelists.  If I were asked who I thought was the better novelist, I would be at a loss to say.  And to even mention I read  "Of Love and Other Demons" in only three hours while I am savoring each and every word of the Noli (and it looks like it will take me a week to finish it) won't even be of any help, because both novels affected me differently.  Perhaps, too, I've seen one too many of Garcia Marquez's sleight-of-hand in all the novels of his that I've read so far, and it was just my first time to read, after several years, a social realist novel, and by an author I know perhaps slightly better than the Colombian Garcia Marquez.

I don't know.  For some reason, I am just itching to read Nick Joaquin's "The Woman Who Had Two Navels" after I'm done with the Noli.

I am one.  And Alcuin is one, too.  So I suppose we never really expected Anton to be anything less than one, too.  We are all book lovers.

To inspire your little one to read, you'll have to love reading yourself.  And I'm so glad I love books.  I always buy books for Anton, even books that I think are still too advanced for him. I believe that a child who loves literature from a young age is predisposed to being a learner for life.

I am taking all these thoughts down, so if and when I do decide to pursue graduate studies in Education, I will have some notes handy.  To summarize, these are the tips I could share in raising a reader:

1. Read to your child as soon as you can sit him/her on your lap.  Track the words with your finger as you read, so that your child sees that there is a relation between the audal (your voice) and visual (the text).  Take time to identify the objects in the picture (for younger babies) or explain what's happening on the page (for older babies).  Encourage your baby to react or respond.

2.  Contrary to popular wisdom, videos per se are not bad for children. Or maybe I'm just lucky it worked to Anton's advantage to have the TV and DVD player as substitute nanny.  Anton mastered the English and the Filipino alphabets by watching Brainy Baby and the Jollibee videos respectively. Now he even knows how to count as well as name objects and parts of the body in Spanish. Just make time to watch through the first viewings with them, and take time to partially watch subsequent viewings with them whenever you can. Babies usually like their Daddies or Mommies to explain and clarify things they don't understand. And they love it when you sing along with the video.

3.  Encourage your baby to see the words they read in books or watch in the videos in the world all around them. Point out flowers, trees, sky, clouds, butterflies, houses, cars.  It may feel silly at first but tell them to say "Hello" or "Good morning" to objects in the morning, and say "Good night" to all these things before they go to sleep at night.  This familiarizes them with the names of the objects all around them.  For inspiration, get a copy of "Goodnight, Moon" by Margaret Wise Brown.

4.  You can never really tell which book your baby will like. It's really hit-and-miss.  But you will get a hint if you read it aloud.  Making a habit of reading to your child will develop in you a sense of what interests or bores your child, by the way he/she reacts to your readings. Really good books for babies and toddlers have very simple words, uncomplicated syntax. With Anton, I'm learning that he likes books that have lyrical sing-song, poetic quality about it (which is why he loves 4 books of Margaret Wise Brown's), he loves onomatopoeia (which is why he particularly loves books about trains and animals), and he loves mischievous main characters (Anton loves Max in Sendak's "Where the Wild Things Are" and when he was younger, he loved David of the "No, David!" series of David Shannon's).

5.  If you read a book often enough, the words will be so familiar to your child that he/she will be able to fill in the gaps in your storytelling if you let them.  They enjoy filling in the missing words, and later when they're older (yes, if they like the story enough, they will want you to read it to them every night till they're three or older), they will even recite whole passages of dialogue and can engage in role-play if you let them.

6.  And, make sure the books you keep around the house are books you wouldn't mind your little one picking up and reading.  I learned the wisdom of this back in college, when one of my younger brothers, then just 9 or 10 and in the fifth grade, started reading my copy of Homer's The Iliad which we took up in high school lit.  To him it was the most natural reading right after Bullfinch's Mythology, which was also another one of my books. Then he didn't need much convincing to take up The Odyssey after that.  Needless to say, stock up on quality literature.  And get rid of those pornographic ones, hahaha.

Oh, and to disabuse some notions that Anton is extraordinarily gifted, I'd like to mention that Anton still doesn't speak in sentences.  Although he pronounces words very well, taking care to enunciate the consonants and vowels precisely, he still speaks in a telegraphic manner and communicates himself mostly through gestures.  But I'm not worried at all.  I believe that one of these days, Anton will just talk to us and floor us with his eloquence.  Like Leo's mother in Dewey-Aruego's "Leo the Late Bloomer", I believe that "a watched bloomer doesn't bloom".

Sabi mo:  Punta ka dito.
Sabi ko:  Pahingi ng map.
Sabi mo: Wala akong map.
Sabi ko:  Paano pumunta diyan? Bigyan mo ako ng direksyon.
Sabi mo:  Figure it out. Wala akong panahon i-describe sa iyo.
Sabi ko: O sige, gawan ko ng paraan.

Sabi mo:  O, nasa'n ka na?
Sabi mo: Naka-dyip, papunta na diyan.
Sabi mo:  Matagal ang dyip. Wala akong panahon maghintay. Mag-taxi ka na.
Sabi ko: Di ko alam paano sabihin sa driver papunta diyan kaya dyip ang sinakyan ko. Isa pa, wala akong pang-taxi.
Sabi mo:  Basta, bumaba ka na sa dyip at mag-taxi ka na papunta dito--babayaran kita.
Sabi ko:  Paano nga? Di mo yata naiintindihan ano ang problema ko...Di ko nga alam paano pumunta diyan. Wala kang binigay na direksyon.  Ginagawan ko na nga paraan.  Can't you see where I'm coming from?
Sabi mo:  You know, I hear you...but please...just shut up and do it anyway.  Punta ka na dito.
Sabi ko:  Eh, paano nga?

My dad and mom are both already 73 years old, and out of their life savings and some loans, they'd just acquired this business just by the gates of our subdivision middle of last year.  In a few months they'd managed to turn around the business and it was only beginning to make profit when Ondoy struck last Saturday.  Even their days-old newly acquired and refurbished (because it was second-hand) delivery truck was not spared.  Ondoy plunged all the washing machines, dryers, and water filters and dispensers in silty floodwaters that rose almost up to the ceiling.

Even our house which my dad had built himself had to take in almost waist-high water, destroying some furniture and rendering some appliances useless.  Because his car had also been submerged in the flood (as all of our other cars--Sonny's, Alcuin's and mine), my dad could not even go to the shop to inspect the damage (it's a good 45 minute walk to the shop from our house). God bless my younger brother who'd taken upon himself the difficult--and painful--task of supervising the clean-up and coordinating with the technicians and repairmen. 

My dad had no choice then but stay home and help with the cleaning, but then he slipped on the muddy tiles of our verandah--good thing he didn't break a rib or shoulder.  Because of the pain, he has no choice but sit on his rocking chair and watch TV almost the whole day every day. I see him sometimes quietly dab at his eyes with his handkerchief as he watched the devastation this calamity had wrought upon the rest of Metro Manila and Rizal; he, his family and his employees victims--albeit to a lesser degree--as all the rest of them. But as we talk over meals, my dad doesn't show any of this--he remains upbeat and prods Alcuin to do an investigative piece on it.  My mom, too, reflected on what had just happened and she told us that Ondoy made her realize just how very little she needed and that she surprised herself by being calm as we sorted and cleaned up the mess.  My parents' bedroom took the worst hit;  I had to hold my mom as she opened the door to their room for the first time the morning after the flood. Mommy cried.  Daddy took a deep breath and didn't say anything; I thought he looked rather angry. My parents were understandably devastated by how their room looked.  Everything was in shambles.

Because my parents had been stranded on the second floor of the building of their shop (they were able to transfer to the second floor as they saw the floodwaters rising), it was just me, Alcuin, Anton and my sister-in-law Luz who were in the house when Ondoy struck. As fast as we could, we evacuated the framed photographs in the living room, the drawers of family pictures and Daddy's precious documents (I didn't realize there was such a lot!) in my parents' bedroom to the second floor, plus our supplies--food, drinking water,  Anton's milk, and candles.  We didn't even bother anymore with the appliances or furniture.  Later, Mommy will tell us that she was just thankful that everybody was safe, and that she was happy with what we were able to save, because she says they were exactly the things that were most important to her. Daddy feels the same way, too, and says that all that matters to him, at least, are still with him and were kept from harm's way.

At the height of typhoon Ondoy, while we resigned to the fact that the floodwaters will inevitably enter the house, we decided to shut down the power so we won't risk getting electrocuted as the water rose and we moved as much things as we could from the ground floor to the second floor.  Of course Anton raised a ruckus;  he had been watching a marathon viewing of his Brainy Baby DVD collection. 

We worked as fast as we could--Alcuin, my sister-in-law Luz and I,  and it was only when we were already standing in knee-deep water that I told everybody to stop and just let nature take its course.  Anton sullenly lay on the bed, sucking on his milk bottle--I gave him a bottle of milk to make him quiet, a setback because we had already successfully weaned him from the bottle, but it was necessary so I could keep him out of the way and I could help salvage my parents' things from the rising floodwaters.

After we finally decided we've done all that we could possibly do, I gathered some books and prepared to read to him.  My heart was pounding, what if the water reached the second floor?  It was already up to the third step of the stairs, and it was raining without letup. We had an attic, but what if it rose all the way up--what then?

My heart pounded hard in my chest;  my fears were mostly for my very young son.  How will I be able to save him?  It was a good thing my husband's trip to Cebu that morning was cancelled earlier that week. A good thing also that he was currently covering the Pag-asa beat so he got updates.  But there was no electricity, and it was only a matter of time before his phone's batt died on him, too. I tried to keep myself optimistic.  As calmly and as simply as I could, I tried to explain to Anton that it was not an ordinary day, and as much as Mommy didn't like it, too, there was really nothing much we could do except make the most of it. 

And that was how we started reading the books.  When we started it was only about 5:30 PM but because of the storm it was already a bit dark, but we had to conserve our candles (we found only 3 big ones) because we didn't know how long the storm was going to last.  We read books non-stop till 8 PM by candlelight, in the sweltering heat because all the windows were tightly shut.  I didn't eat dinner because I didn't feel like it, but Alcuin and Luz ate that morning's leftover rice and adobo.  We'd forgotten to eat lunch that day.

But wonder of wonders, Anton was surprisingly very cooperative, and he very gamely read book after book with me.  I was so exhausted by the time he nodded off to sleep. 

It was a story as dramatic and surreal as anything out of a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel.  Wading through waist-deep floodwaters,  through the streets of our village and out into Marcos Highway, her grieving family and neighbors bore her lifeless body wrapped in plastic on a neighbor’s carroza—that carriage they use for saints in religious processions—all the way to somewhere near Sta Lucia Mall (the story was rather sketchy), to have her embalmed.

It would seem such a fantastic story had we not known it was Tita Nenette, one of Mommy’s best friends.  Tita Nenette and Mommy belong to  this little close-knit circle of friends which heard the 6 o’clock Mass together every morning and afterwards shared the simple joys of having a breakfast they didn't prepare (most of them are great cooks)—at Jollibee, at Figaro’s, at Starbucks, and at their latest favorite, Fortune Bakeshop.  Sometimes they would even bring my son Anton with them.

Tita Nenette perished at the height of the typhoon last Saturday.  She had already been in and out of the hospital lately, owing to her frail heart, and last Saturday the rains must have made her too distraught, that she just decided to give up.

It would probably not be an exaggeration at all to say that Tita Nenette had died of a broken heart.

She and her husband lived in a bungalow, and when the waters began to rise at the height of Ondoy last Saturday, they made the very timely decision to evacuate to their next door neighbor’s house.  But, sadly, she did not live to see the morning.  They say that she passed on at about 6 PM, around the time the floodwaters rose to their highest level in our village.

Later, as they talked about their friend at the wake, Mommy found out from Tita Vicky why Tita Nenette had uncharacteristically been dressing up for their daily Mass and breakfast dates lately;  Tita Vicky said that Tita Nenette had told her that she had to wear all her nice clothes because she didn’t have much time left. From Tita Vicky, too, Mommy learned that one of Tita Nenette’s disappointments in life was that she didn’t yet have grandchildren because both of her daughters were still not married. Being the youngest, she was the only one in their circle of friends who didn't yet have grandchildren.

As we grapple with the unreality of the tragedy we’ve just been through, we wonder why we were spared at all and why those who weren't spared deserved to go first. We wrap our heads around the thought of why helpless little children had to suffer the cruel fate of being swept away by floodwaters and buried in mud while the greedy pigs in the government get to have their cake and eat it, too.

What could Tita Nenette’s last thoughts have been?  She had texted Mommy last Friday morning, “Let’s all pray for the rains to stop soon.  Please pass.”  At least, we know that Tita Nenette is now with her Maker.

What other catastrophe could there be in store for us?  God help us all.
















The Breakfast Club at my brother's wedding last year.





















Mommy asked me to make a portrait she could give to Tita Nenette's family.

I couldn't quite put a finger on it at first, but now I finally know just what about it I find most unsettling. 

Now, it makes me appreciate even better the sacrifices my parents did for us when my siblings and I were still small. In the hour of their direst need, they had the dignity to resist begging from relatives and friends for our family, and they summoned enough strength, presence of mind and creativity to pull our family through.  They took out loans, pawned and sold their belongings, took on extra jobs, gave up on luxuries and scaled down their lifestyle.

They never copped out and they never took advantage of the generosity of their friends to weather the storms of life.

And they never, never stooped so low to beg.  My parents have raised the bar on parenthood for us.  It's a wonderful challenge us their children can aspire to. I hope I will likewise have Anton's respect when the time comes.