The girls are again with their dad today while my SIL and nephew went to church. The girls’ dad is trying to make up for lost time and he has been out with them every weekend and on their birthday. He knew he has little time left before we leave QC for good. Once we’re there, it would be more difficult for him to spend time with the girls on a whim.

It’s only now that the reality is sinking in for him.

🤷‍♀️

Well, he wasted 11 years and it’s only now that he realized that he has not spent quality time with them.

What an idiot.

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When I was trying to arrange something special like lunch at a hotel or cook something extra for the girls’ birthday, Twin I said that there is no need for me to do that. “It’s just a birthday,” she said.

I admonished her. “Don’t try to make yourself small and think that you’re not special, that you don’t deserve this. That’s wrong.”

I continued. “I thought the same way all my life and look where I ended up. Darling, if you don’t believe you are special to people who love you and you don’t deserve these little things like celebrating your birthday, you will think your entire life that you don’t deserve the good things that come your way. That you will just accept things the way they are because you think you don’t deserve better outcomes. You will just accept crappy treatment from people; you will always think you don’t deserve love and that whatever comes your way will be the best thing that you will ever have.”

“Don’t think that way,” I said. “That’s why I ended up with bad men. I just accepted whatever crumbs they gave me and I thought going the extra 1,000 miles would make them love me. That’s not how it works, anak.”

“And I’m doing this for your birthday because you are special. Because you are my daughters. Because I love you, OK?” I said with finality.

I hope she takes this to heart because that nugget of wisdom I imparted to her would have made a big difference in my life if only my mother taught me that. But no, she taught me the opposite: how to be small to accommodate a person who doesn’t want to grow up.

She told us children that we just have to adjust to my father and understand why he is a drunkard. Why he became a raving lunatic whenever he came home drunk, which was often. We children had to lock ourselves in our rooms and cower in our beds when we hear his big motorbike, when we smell alcohol—because that’s all that we can do.

She told me not to complain about our husbands and talk to others about their negative traits. Do not make them look bad to other people. Absorb all of these because we must love them.

Lord God, she basically told me to accept the emotional abuse. Which I did.

They were so toxic, these lessons imparted to me by this supposedly very intelligent woman. It’s only now, after graduating from therapy, did I learn that these are very damaging. It’s only now did I learn those are the words uttered by a co-dependent wife, trying to excuse the abominable treatment from a man who is supposed to love and cherish her and her children.

It’s a complicated thing, but this is what I know: narcissism + co-dependency = recipe for disaster. I received little affection from a narcissistic father and I never felt special. I always had to chase his affection, like trying to make good drawings but I didn’t measure up. He told me they were bad. So I drew in silence.

All my life I had to chase the affection of narcissistic men, happy with the crumbs they were leaving me. Ignoring the others who were ready to lay the red carpet for me. I don’t know why I didn’t gravitate towards them; I just went after the ones who didn’t treat me right.

No one taught me the things that I just told Twin I. I had to learn the very hard way.

We went to UP Town Center today to check out some craft stores and books. I held myself from buying more books because I still have dozens at home that I have yet to finish. I just checked out some titles that I had put in my mental checklist of “things I will buy next time when I stop being a tsundoku.”

I was looking for more Diane Wynn Jones but none came up. I think I have completed her titles.

Since the girls were given birthday money by their aunt, Twin A was able to buy a manga that she liked.

I remember when I was growing up, we had a Booksale branch just outside the university campus. I bought books there every week whenever I received my allowance. I had many joyful afternoons spent there, rummaging through used books and seldom did I come out of there empty-handed.

My SIL told me that the franchise holder for the lone Bookesale branch in our town already moved to another town so they had to close the shop. I told her that one day when I decide to slow down, I will get a franchise from Booksale and open a branch with a coffee shop. I need to buy real estate though, because rent is expensive in the same area where the first Booksale was located. I don’t want to be a slave to landlords anymore.

SIL said it’s also her dream to run a bookstore and she will partner with me if I do decide to do that.

I just need to build up my savings again and generate enough capital for that bookstore venture. My plan to have a small house in Anilao would have to be pushed back further.

I love books and it has been my secret dream as a teenager to open up a bookstore so I can read all the books I want while still running a business. It will not generate much income but it’s something that I can do on the side while doing something else that earns me enough to live on. It didn’t occur to me at that time that the complementary activity to that is being a writer and deriving my main income from writing could be possible.

See? I may not live a high life but things like these bring me joy and contentment. Only a few people are lucky enough to be able to live comfortably on an income of a writer. I shouldn’t lose sight of that and shouldn’t be distracted by the noise that pushed me to look for alternative careers because I need to prove that I’m successful and had to keep up with the Joneses or with superficial people that I had once been with.

This sums up my fantasy business: books, art, and a coffeeshop where artists and writers can hang out, where ideas are exchanged. Just like the European salons of the past where artists and intellectuals usually hung out. Where art exhibits and poetry reading can be held. Where musicians can play acoustic sets if they want to.

But dreams do come true, right?

If I put my mind to it, I can make it happen ❤️

My cats went nuts and got so stressed when my sis in law and my nephew arrived at the apartment with me. They ran to my room and hid under my bed. I had been coaxing them to come out from hiding for hours.

And it’s 3:38 in the morning and they’re still there. And I’m still effing alive.

How are they going to deal with the move next month if they’re so scared like this when there are going to be other people (movers) around?

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Finally was able to make the cats go. After my SIL and nephew quieted down, I saw that they were moving towards the edge of the bed. I knew then that they were already plotting their escape. I left the door slightly ajar and when Sushi felt that my guests were asleep, she sped away towards freedom. Kimchi, on the other hand, took her time and went sniffing around my guests’ bags, sniffed around the bed, peeked at the sleeping people on my bed, then felt her way out quietly.

That was 4 am.

I’m so groggy now, trying to finish an edit.

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This is my current speed in Quezon City

This was my speed yesterday at my house.

Now you see why I keep pushing Converge to fix it? Because I know that upload speeds can go beyond 300Mbps. Something is really wrong with their settings in my new location. 🙄

See? The upload speed is even faster than my DL speed 😑

I cannot have slow upload when I conduct a lot of Zoom interviews and I have a several regular weekly calls.

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I will be very busy in the next few days leading to my departure for Singapore since I would be moderating two panel discussions during our conference/s. Meeting with the panelists, outlining the flow of the panel discussions…I need to keep my notes on hand.

I have no room to buy new clothes for this event since I’m on a super tipid mode now as I just issued a check for my waterworks and did bank transfers/cash payment for my laundry area construction.

Anyway, I need to brush up on some topics and read so many materials so I would not look stupid and uninformed, especially on the political and regulatory front in Southeast Asia.

I had been moderating conferences in the past so I’m picking up again that duty.

Doing this is not easy since you have to have more than superficial knowledge about the topic to be able to ask intelligent questions and draw out valuable insights. Otherwise, people would have just wasted their time listening to the discussion.

I have my hands full next week.

Prior to 2010, I didn’t know if I wanted kids. I wanted a carefree life, I wanted to travel that’s why I applied for scholarships abroad. I wanted to spend on myself. I told my mom I’m scared of being a mom. I was not prepared.

No one is ever prepared, she said.

So for 12 years, I was groping my way into parenthood. Up to this moment, I’m still unsure if I’m doing fine as a parent, especially a solo one.

Until I became a mother on this day 12 years ago, I didn’t know that adults are just winging it. That the truth was, everybody was just winging it and pretended to know what she/he is doing. I always thought when I was a kid, my parents knew what they were doing that’s why they were the authority on everything.

They were just faking it, my mom admitted to me one time. She was just feeling her way.

I just get some kind of validation that I’m doing fine as a mom when my kids show empathy towards everybody, are polite and respectful to everybody, know what is right and wrong, and know how to spend wisely. They do not want much and are happy with what I give them and with what they have. They never asked for iPhones or ostentatious things. If they want something, they save for it, like roller skates or an acoustic guitar.

I told them we should eat something special at Grand Hyatt today. They told me, no mommy, we just do it on your birthday. We just cook at home.

And they were happy with grilled steak. They were just happy sharing a meal with me everyday, especially today.

They are the reason why I had to pull myself out of the rut I was in in the last two and half years. And they will always be the reason why I am doing the best I can. I’m doing this move for them, to give them the best safe and loving environment for them. For them to have fun without having to suffer the headaches of living in the city.

If not for them, I wouldn’t believe in the concept of love again. A mother’s love is endless.

I had dinner with friends at Podium earlier tonight as the host of the evening came back home from New York for a vacation. P works for a competing news agency but is doing more data journalism/analytics.

Conversation was light and fun until it came to the point that P told me that last week he saw M–the girl that my ex J was playing around with back in 2021. He told me she told him about me and J and her.

Like WTF!

So she can’t keep her mouth shut while I kept my peace, can she? L and I just looked at each other from across the table when P was talking about what this girl, M, has been tittle tattling about.

P has been away from the country for quite some time and he is not the kind of friend I would tell this kind of thing. But here we are, Ms. Little Tattle Tale…🤷🏻‍♀️ Like is she even proud of that?!

When I was driving L back to her house in QC, I said that this dinner should have had a trigger warning. “Should I tell P that, oh yeah, M is the 1/2 reason I got so drunk in August 2021 and the next day I phoned a psychiatrist because I have gone nuts?” I asked L.

Good thing that I no longer go ballistic when I get triggered. I’m stable, thanks for that year-long psychiatric therapy. It works wonders, I tell you.

I’m just trying to shake off the nasty feeling inside me. I may have to continue painting tomorrow to make me feel good. Art therapy also saved me last year as it helped me channel all the negative energy into something prettier or more productive.

Why is it that even after almost 2.5 years, I still get haunted by this? By him? Ah yes, as my shrink said, this is trauma response. Like a soldier with PTSD who gets triggered by a sound of a gunshot. Even after years of not being in combat or being in a war zone. Trauma response is a way to cope with traumatic experiences.

I wish I have no more fucks to give. And just flat out be numb.