The "I Will Survive" Guy

I called him the "I Will Survive Guy."

He was a short, scrawny man of indeterminate age, with shoulders always hunched over, whether due to poor posture or to the extreme cold, I could never quite tell.

It was difficult to discern what color he was because of the grime and filth that had blackened his face, hair, hands and tattered clothes. He had a distinctly aggressive odor about him so one could not help but be aware of his presence whenever he was around. And he always had a toothless grin in a gaping hole of a mouth with blackened gums.

I met him in the New York City subway, on the red line where the Number 2 and 3 trains ( the express trains) or the Number 1 and 9 trains ( the local trains, meaning, they stopped at all stations) plied their routes, from uptown Manhattan in Harlem all the way downtown to the World Trade Center towers in the Financial District.

I took the Number 1 or 9 train every morning from my Upper West Side station on 86^th street, two blocks away from my little apartment on the West End. I disembarked four stations down at Columbus Circle on 59^th street, a block away from Fordham University's Lincoln Center-Manhattan campus, where I was attending graduate classes in business.

It was December 1999, the cusp of a new millenium. One bitterly cold morning, I took the train as usual on my way to school and encountered "I Will Survive" Guy for the first time.

It was the midst of morning rush hour and I was jammed cheek to jowl with other morning commuters. Almost everyone was dressed in suits, clutching their briefcases and copies of the Wall Street Journal or the New York Times. Some people were face-deep into the city's favourite tabloid and everyone's guilty pleasure, the New York Post: catchy headlines, lurid pictures and deliciously naughty gossip about the rich and famous on Page Six.

It was a particularly dreary, gray morning and everyone's winter pallor and sour facial expressions matched my own.

Although I had just moved to the city, I already hated it. It was too cold, too loud,  too dirty, too foreign.

I was homesick for my family in Cebu. I missed Hong Kong and my friends terribly. And I was glumly wondering to myself, what on earth had possessed me to choose a New York school when I’d had alternative choices in the more favourable climes of California and Arizona. I was cursing myself for not pursuing grad school opportunities in Barcelona, Spain, a school of which I’d actually visited the summer before.

The subway doors opened. Someone came in and into the car wafted a most peculiar, intensely nose-twitching aroma. The commuters around me bunched even closer together and seemed to be clearing a lot of space for the new arrival.

I glanced up and that's when I saw him. Standing there in the middle of the subway car, with a little circle of space around him. He looked around and everyone, with typical New York attitude, just ignored him.

Everyone in New York ignores each other on the subway and in the streets but everyone seems to ignore the homeless bums wandering around the city with particular intensity.

All of a sudden, and to my great astonishment, he burst out into song and dance.

It was Gloria Gaynor's disco tune "I Will Survive", but done at an extremely rapid pace, the indistinguishable words all running into one another. It was like watching someone dance "The Cabbage Patch" fast-forward to a song being sung fast-forward by someone who was not only toothless but also did not even know the lyrics very well in the first place!

The toothless grin was flashing throughout this entire routine. The whole effect was extremely comical.

I had to look down at my feet and bite my lips because I could feel the beginnings of a smile on my face. And that just would not do. I was in New York. New Yorkers do not smile at each other.

He abruptly finished the song and as someone from the back of the car actually clapped, he bowed to his waist and said something like: "Hank you."

And just as abruptly, toothless grin beaming, he launched into Brian McKnight's ballad: "I Believe I Can Fly."

That's when I lost it, completely. I burst out laughing. He looked and sounded so darn funny! As I laughed, I caught the eye of a guy in a suit and spectacles across from me and he started laughing too. Before I knew it, everyone in the whole car was roaring with laughter. And it wasn't even 9:00 in the morning!

The "I Will Survive" Guy, obviously pleased with himself, preened, got several pats on the back, pocketed some dollar bills and grinned his toothless smile to no end.

It was a classic New York moment.

From time to time, I would see him on the subway. Always got on the 1 or 9 train during morning rush hour. He seemed to favor the Upper West Side.

And it was always the same routine, rendered at the same breakneck fast forward pace. Much like life in the big city.

"I Will Survive", always followed by " I Believe I Can Fly". Songs of hope, of picking up the pieces after loss, heartbreak or suffering. Of following your dreams, no matter what.

Songs capturing perfectly the soul of a city which I had hated in the beginning and later grew to love. Songs reflecting the spirit of its people, who, after experiencing absolute horror on one life-altering, deceptively beautiful morning in September of 2001, eventually started to heal in time and move on.

Songs about survival.




This is the first in a five-part series of personal narrative essays about New York City, dedicated  to the victims and survivors of 9/11/2001. This writer can be reached via email at bamboostiletto@gmail.com or via her personal blog – The Bamboo Stiletto, http://bamboostiletto.wordpress.com

 

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Diane Fermin Roeder is a reformed marketing communications expert in the hospitality and financial service industries. She enjoys being an expat's wife and founding wordsmith of DFR+word.works, a consultancy specializing in content solutions and development for luxury hotels and resorts in China.  She carved a 15 year leadership career spanning the Philippines, Hong Kong, the US, and China, with an American MBA to boot. Diane suffers from an incurable addiction to killer stilettos. You may to The Bamboo Stiletto (personal blog)  http://bamboostiletto.wordpress.com and Follow tweets: https://twitter.com/bamboostiletto

Like Magic

By Janet B. Villa

 

My mother, a retired public school teacher, thinks of life in simple terms. Feeding and caring for us has been her crusade and her redemption. Many years ago, while I was rushing work while vacationing in Cebu, she watched me feed a page into the fax machine. She was entranced. “The page goes in here, then comes out in Manila?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Mura’g magic,” she said. Like magic.

I think of Mama now, about to turn 84 in December, while I write this. I think about how these words have been borne through the years and grown from her insight. I think about how my words will meet you wherever you are and whoever you have carved yourself out to be. I think about how they will meet Anna one day, perhaps when I’m no longer around to share them, perhaps when she’ll need them the most. Like magic.

We tend to lose sight of such magic. We complicate things. We lose our awe. We peg our happiness on the wrong things. In our neediness for something monumental, we overlook the momentous.

A few nights ago, while I was journaling, I thought: Nothing remarkable happened to me today. But that’s the thing: nothing has to. Writing isn’t just about recording the fantastic; it’s recognizing that the very ordinariness of our days are worth writing about, are worth being grateful for. Each day is carved into its own space, separated from the gush of time—each day is sacred and each day’s delights are sanctified. What we do with that grace is our gift, but also our accountability.

Each day Anna’s eyes—trusting, expectant, unpolluted—reintroduce me to life. We feed our parking access card at the automated reader when leaving a mall without thinking about it. Anna, strapped to her car seat, leans forward and asks, “What that?” The boom barrier lifts. Like magic. She marvels at the numbers that flash on the screen. “Five! Zero!” she shouts. She speaks in exclamation points. Her joys are uncomplicated. In her world, things are magnified.

We walk on the pavement, and she points, “Mommy, look!” She tugs at my hand and says again, “Look.” She speaks in italics. In her world, things are highlighted. So I look. And I see how the roots of a tree had broken through the concrete, refusing to accept the limitations of the city. Like magic. In the hills and vales of the roots, Anna finds a playground. She clambers up one root, goes down the other, up and down.

There are wonders even in the shower. She lingers after a bath to watch the water flowing through her fingers. It is the same water that she swims in after she uses it to make a sand castle on the beach. The same water that washes her clothes and cleans dishes. The same water that wiped off the face of the earth in 40 days of rain, but also sustains her, sustains plants, sustains life.

Anna, like any child, has what Henry Miller considers a divine awareness: “The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, severely, divinely aware.”

My purpose, like that of any mother, is to guard that awareness and to live it.

 

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Janet Villa practiced Law for nine years before she received a fellowship to the Philippine National Writers' Workshop and to the UP National Workshop. Her first published sotry "Undercurrents" won the NVM Grand Prize in 2003, and her sond "Closopen" won the NVM Grand Prize Special Prize in 2005. She is now finishing her MA in Creative Writing. Her biggest adventure is being best for husband Jojo and daughter Anna, while pursuing her passions in writing and teaching. Janet maintains CreW, the creating writing special interest group of Mensa Philippines after being the Mensa Philippines president in 1998.

http://motheringonapostit.wordpress.com

http://usingaborrowedlanguage.wordpress.com

OSM! Event: Cultural Confluence VI in NY

 [slideshow]

Loida Nicolas Lewis aptly described Celso Pepito's artistry as value-filled as well as modern. "It is distinctly Filipino that imparts values on hard work and family ties. Highly impressive."
The Art Exhibit Cultural Confluence VI was graced by Consul General for New York Mario de Leon Jr., Miss Lewis, Miss Nena Kaufman, and Mr. Clint  Ramos. It was the first event sponsored by OSM!, in partnership with the 5th Avenue Lions Club and the ArtPortal Cebu.

Thirty works of art by Cebu-based couple Celso and Fe Pepito are up on exhibit until October 5, 2012 at the Philippine Consulate in Manhattan.

The event was also supported by Xocai Healthy Chocolate.

Celso and Fe will also hold an art workshop on October 2 for interested art enthusiasts during the course of the exhibit, which opens at 9 am till 5 pm.

The sixth of the series of art exhibits, Cultural Confluence has been toured by Cebuano artists in Manila, Paris, Singapore, and New York. It provides art enthusiasts and collectors a glimpse of the life in Asia and the values it holds dear. For several years now, it has become a hub for artists like the Pepitos to forge unity and understanding among the culturally diverse roots of fellow artists.

By Ruth Ezra

CASSAVA STEAM CAKE

This cake was a success at my abode. As a first timer, I was very pleased and my palate was satisfied as well.

Only 3 ingredients were used in this cake.

1 pack frozen grated cassava thawed.

1 can condensed milk.

1 pack, 2 oz coconut powder.

Much easier, the ingredients were in my kitchen.

Back home in the Philippines, this is being wrapped in banana leaves, and I believe someone who can wrap it has a special skill. Not me! The easier the better it is for me, as long as it tastes great!

I managed to save two containers and shared this cake with the Markines sisters who just came back from their Philippine vacation.

It went well with coffee.

Here is my step-by-step instruction:

Prepare steamer by putting water to boil.

While waiting, combine the cassava, coconut powder and condensed milk in a large bowl until thoroughly mix.

Pour into individual molders that you have available to fit into your steamer.

Put in steamer with the water in rolling boil for about 30-45 minutes.

Let it stand to cool, about 10 minutes.

You may serve warm or room temperature.

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Ruth D. Ezra is a culinary queen in her own right through experience and training. She works at the AllState Roadside Services in Northbrook, IL. Her greatest delight is serving good and healthy food to her husband Heman and only daughter, Isabelle. Kit would love to receive feedback on her recipes, and exchange them with yours at ezraruth@comcast.net.

Chateau Renaissance Wines: Sweet Despite Bitter Times

By Marivir R. Montebon

The rugged country artistry of Chateau Renaissance Wine Cellars stood out in the teeming Green flea market at Union Square last summer. Both by its looks and the outright friendliness of its marketing person, Allen Zausner, had caught my attention. The uniquely shaped wine bottles were inviting.

Zausner was busy attending to some customers, but made an effort to say hi. And so our chat begun.  "Times are tough, and being here in the flea market is part of aggressive promotions to survive.  But we have a great market who loves our unique taste, that's the bottom line," he quips.
Allen would later introduce me to Patrice De May, owner and winemaker who comes from a French family whose lineage with wines dates back to 400 years ago in France.

Chateau Renaissance's labels are remarkably handcrafted in watercolor painting, something which absorbs you into the time of centuries old conoisseurs.  Its logo, the lutin (an amusing goblin which popped up from the cork), is distinctively French.

The labels alone were an attraction.

On display that sunny Saturday were the champagnes and fruit wines which the Fingerlakes-based company has been famous for.   Its champagne selections include Naturel, Brut, Demi Sec, Doux, and Rouge.

Its Brut Champagne won a gold medal in California's 2001 Grand Harvest Awards wine competition, with a rating of 91 points from the judges panel.

Brut Champagne is one of five actual Methode Champenoise Champagnes (the process of blending wines) made one bottle at a time by Patrice, using a 400 year old recipe from his family  champagne cellars in the Loire Valley of France. Its cuvee wines are made in the traditional European style using spontaneous wild yeast fermentation.

The label used on the Naturel, Brut, Demi Sec, and Doux champagne bottles was commissioned by Serge DeMay, Patrice's father, for the DeMay-Gremy Champagne Cellars in France in 1933 while the artwork for the Rouge label is by Patrice which features a painting of his father working on the champagne dosage machine.

Champagne Rouge is for meat and chocolates, Demi Sec for light meats and salad/medium sweets, Naturel for any food, Brut for lobster and seafoods, and Doux for pastries.

Chateau Renaissance's "Fruit Sparkles" or champagnes dosed with 100% fruit wines are as amazing.  They come in Pear, Peach, Raspberry, Cranberry, Blackberry flavors.

Its white wines include Chardonnay, Reisling, Late Harvest Vignoles, D'Artagnan, Basset Blush, Joie de vidal, and Frosty and the red wines are Merlot, Sangria, DeChaunac, Cabernet Franc, and Vineyard House.  All the wines are completely from local grapes and pressed at the winery.

I bought the Cranberry and Raspberry fruit sparkles, on a discounted price.

Then Patrice comes back to the booth, in bright red shirt and beige shorts.  "It is hard doing business these days. People buy 3-4 bottles instead of the usual 2 boxes at Fingerlakes. That is why we are here at the flea market," he immediately said.

Survival is the name of the game, Patrice said, who had to cut on labor cost and work the entire business process all by himself and his wife. He admitted to having lost $60,000 in revenues last year.  The recession also meant aggressive marketing in the midst of cut throat competition.

He has some bitter words at political leadership today.  "This is the worst presidency in my entire business life," Patrice opines. He believes that taxing small entrepreneurs like him who earn $250,000 isn't a good idea.  "The taxes are killing small entrepreneurs. We better have someone who can straighten things out."

It is not surprising for many businessmen like Patrice to admire Presidents Reagan and Clinton, who were staunch bipartisan leaders who stood in the middle to unify the ideals of the Democrats and Republicans in the economic and fiscal spheres.  A seasoned winemaker, Patrice also teaches wine making at the Corning College in upstate New York.

He said he doesn't see hope in President Obama and wished that things change in Washington by November, to breathe a new life into his business. Meantime, his centuries old family enterprise is on survival mode.

Seasons, Reasons

EDITORIAL

SEASONS, REASONS

By Marivir Montebon

We welcome the season of autumn in this issue of OSM!

It is this particular time of the year when the trees change from green to gold, red, yellow, and orange. It is the season of classy fashion too, when women step into their formidable boots and wear trench coats to shield their bodies from the chill. I love the look of autumn.

This fall, OSM! has embarked on two projects, one is the co-sponsorship of an art exhibit CULTURAL CONFLUENCE 6 by Cebu artists Celso Pepito and Fe Madrid Pepito. I have known this couple since my Freeman days in Cebu and I have high respect for their works of art and professionalism.

This is the second collaborative work I have with Celso. The first one was when he did the artwork for the cover of my first book, Retracing our Roots: A Journey into Cebu's Precolonial and Colonial Past. As an art professor at UP Cebu, Celso is known for his cubism which takes inspiration from the great Pablo Picasso. We welcome you to the exhibit at the Philippine Center in Manhattan from Sept. 24 to October 5.

OSM! has also embarked on a book donation drive for the benefit of the preschoolers of the Tipolo Elementary School in the city of Mandaue in Cebu. It is an idea born out of spring cleaning. Instead of throwing out books and old clothes, I asked friends to keep good books for me so I can ship them to the Philippines where so many school children are deprived of what good books really are, and the magic they bring.

Thank you so much to our donors, mostly my friends. Leading the way is Carla Mayol who is also a Cebuana. Thank you too to teacher/project manager Anita Aguirre who is a tried and trusted friend who never stops thinking of my well-being and that of others.

Content and digital editor Leani Auxilio did the packing of the books for the children. And while glossing at the colorful pages of the children's books, she was once again transported into the magical world of books when she was a child. I smiled and said to myself, indeed, I have ushered in the formation of a happy book worm.

Finally, to the memory of the innocent lives lost to the horrific bombing of the World Trade Center, OSM! pays its due respect. Eleven years later, Manhattan's financial district rose from the ruins of revenge and hatred.. But I know, in the hearts of those who saw and survived the devastation and the families of the victims, there is still that wound that may never heal because of the senselessness of the loss.

How could I forget 9-11? I was working at the Philippine Congress in Manila at that time. I sat on the couch after a hearty supper to watch news on TV. Then the infamous clip on two airplanes crashing into the WTC was shown, as breaking news. Was I watching a new action film trailer!? God, it was real! I rushed to my computer to email my relatives in New York to check on them. Thankfully, all were spared in my clan. But minutes later, the world was cloaked in fear. It was definitely one of the darkest days of history.

Today, New York has stood in resilience.

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An Instagram Morning at Casa Stiletto

By Diane Fermin Roeder

When Instagram first became the latest social networking plaything, I remember registering for an account right away and then...nothing. For the longest time, my Instagram account languished, unused, while I stuck to my usual social networking tools.
This morning at Casa Stiletto, since I had no appointments to go to or assignments to work on for once, I thought it was the perfect time to play with Instagram! I was SO relieved to find how easy and user-friendly this app is, even for a newbie like me. Here's a look at some of the fun this morning at Casa Stiletto, as captured on Instagram:

The view from my home office window. My early morning ritual consists of pondering this view and sipping a hot cup of coffee while checking my blog, emails & all social media doo-da. Yes, Stiletto-istas, this is what I feast my eyes on while contemplating my thoughts for you & putting 'em down into words on my laptop. Sometimes if I'm lucky, there's an occasional piece of eye candy of the male persuasion lounging around, for additional visual inspiration :-)

A "cornerscape" in our foyer where we dump keys, the occasional pair of sunglasses & my beloved trusty tennis racquet. Little red table with door (used for storing slippers) is vintage, which I found dumped in the bin of my old apartment building in Manhattan; I rescued it & lugged it 5 flights of stairs to my walk-up. Silk lamp is from Saigon, Vietnam (where Herr Hubby used to live), the wooden warrior puppet with sword is from a market in Chiangmai, Thailand. His name is Krishna (we name all puppets, teddy bears & ceramic animals in Casa Stiletto) & he guards our foyer. Sandalwood chair with Chinese silk fabric & embroidered "good fortune" cushion from landlord.


Herr Hubby and I share a love for art. We just wish we had an unlimited budget to indulge this love, haha! We tend to acquire art from the places where we’re from, where we’ve lived or have had an emotional connection, e.g. the Philippines, Germany, Vietnam, the US, China. With limited wall space in our home, what’s my fave decorating solution? Stack them on top of tables, let them peek behind chairs or let them simply rest on the floor!

I tried my hand at "tablescaping" in the dining room by putting together these random pieces from our former homes in China & the US: "his & hers" stainless steel espresso cups with porcelain saucers from American designer Ross McBride's Anamorphic series, silk-screened floral Chinese tea pot, cup & saucer in one (all elements are separable) a gift from our life in Beijing, China, pair of inscribed ceramic-bottomed wine glasses from a divine shop in my old Upper West Side neighborhood in Manhattan: Our Name is Mud. The wine glasses remind us that:" Life's too short for bad wine." Round wooden tray from Ikea.



Here’s another amateur attempt at “tablescaping”, using our collection of coffee table books, various Chinese knick knacks from our lives in Beijing and Shanghai and personal wedding portraits. An exciting dilemma had presented itself when we moved into this apartment – seems that I had 2 beautiful long tables! (Yes, I hyperventilate with excitement over furniture, so there.) One was a lovely stone-topped table from our landlord and the other one was a gorgeous old, distressed, long wooden table I’d inherited from a very good friend who was graduating from Harvard b-school at the same time I was entering Fordham b-school. Feeling sorry for me that I didn’t have a proper table in my NYC apartment (and seeing as she was getting married upon graduation), she shipped her study table from Boston to New York. With all my moves since then (New York to San Francisco to Beijing to Shanghai and now, to Guangzhou, I’ve lovingly kept the table, fondly used for dining or “tablescaping”, ever since.


These inspirational words from our collection of fridge magnets are what greet us first thing in the morning when we grab our milk out of the fridge. Kinda like a real-life version of a Pinterest board! Aren't they hella cute???


In the guestroom, a little Mexican hand-painted wooden chest which I picked up in a Manhattan flea market provides extra room for storage while some of our collection of culinary & beverage books make a nice prop for a hand-sketched fun cartoon of Herr Hubby & myself by a South Korean artist during a memorable "mini-moon" in Jeju Island.


Every civilized home has to have a bookcase filled with books that have been collected, read and loved through the years. Casa Stiletto is no exception. During my move from Hong Kong to New York City, I made the foolish mistake of selling or giving away all my books. The result? Buying the same books all over again. Ain’t gonna happen again…

Soft early morning light filters through the sheer white curtains framing a view of palm trees from the guestroom. Wooden sailboat, tiny lighthouse & cottage (partially seen) are mementos of a trip to the coastal town of Svenborg, Denmark while white cotton curtains, hand-embroidered with tiny flowers (can't be seen clearly in photo) are from France, provided by our landlord.

Isn't Instagram FUN, Stiletto-istas??? This is totally our latest addiction, haha! What about you, have you been Instagramming too?
If you'd like to share some fun Instagram-scapes of your interiors and home decorating efforts, I would LOVE to see them...and I'm sure your fellow Stiletto-istas will too! I will make sure to ask your permission first before posting them online and give photo credits where it's due. And don't sweat it, if you would like to remain anonymous but would still love to share your Instagram-scapes, you can do that too! We absolutely respect our readers' privacy here at The Bamboo Stiletto. PLEASE, PLEASE, pretty, pretty please email The Bamboo Stiletto with your pics and privacy preferences at bamboostiletto@gmail.com.
My email inbox is quivering with anticipation! :-)

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Diane Fermin Roeder is a reformed marketing communications expert in the hospitality and financial service industries. She enjoys being an expat's wife and founding wordsmith of DFR+word.works, a consultancy specializing in content solutions and development for luxury hotels and resorts in China. She carved a 15 year leadership career spanning the Philippines, Hong Kong, the US, and China, with an American MBA to boot. Diane suffers from an incurable addiction to killer stilettos. You may to The Bamboo Stiletto (personal blog) http://bamboostiletto.wordpress.com and Follow tweets: https://twitter.com/bamboostiletto

THIS GREAT LAND OF IMMIGRANTS

By Marivir R. Montebon

OSM! is 16 weeks old today, pretty much an infant. But for a such a short time, we are happiest to enjoy tremendous readership all over the world. Thank you dear readers, and the advancers of technology, we are able to share good deeds by silent, dedicated individuals meant to help make the world a little better.

The United States of America is a home of greatness, despite its imperfections. A country doesn't become the world's richest or most powerful for nothing. It means vision, it means hard work, it means being resourceful, it means being faithful. And America is ran by immigrants, great immigrants, since the founding forefathers until now.

Former US State secretary Condoleeza Rice aptly puts it Wednesday night at the GOP convention, we must continue to welcome the most ambitious people to be a part of us, citing the immigrants' role in fueling "the knowledge based revolution in the Silicon valley in California, the research triangle of North Carolina, in Austin, Texas, in Route 128 in Boston, Massachusetts, and all across America".

I like her positive note. She did not have to lambast President Obama and the Democrats to put her message across, which was impressively spontaneous. Without having to read a written speech from the teleprompter, Rice knows America and she knows what best to say, about herself and where should leadership focus its direction.

Among America's imperfections is the absence of a comprehensive immigration law. Right now, the immigration system here is broken, having produced about 12 million undocumented immigrants. Clearly, the problem is systemic, and not a matter of individual discretion (how silly for 12 million people to want to be illegal, right?).

In this election year, we are yet to see a no nonsense plan on how to tackle the burgeoning problem on illegal immigration. It is imperative for leadership to provide an immediate path to citizenship for deserving and good immigrants. This means both economic and social benefits to communities and government coffeurs.

We badly need leaders who walk the talk, especially on crucial internal issues on the economy and immigration, if America were to remain great.

Our writer psychotherapist Debbie Almocera adds a smart note on immigration in her Cranial Corner today.

Our must read mom Janet Villa shares with us a triumphant episode of her life in God is in the Details in Mothering Heights. The Bamboo Stiletto of Diane Fermin-Roeder raves on the marvels of digital technology. Main Feature writer Bisai Ya scribbles on the heroism of a volunteer teacher for street children in Cebu, and Ruth Ezra fills our stomachs with Breakfast Sliders, a good idea to kick off a busy day.

So much for women power writers.

I close with an end note on gender fairness, as an essential element in leadership and personhood.

In my grandmother's old house, the old glass and wood china cabinet stood as an imposing fixture in the spacious dining area. On the topmost third level of the cabinet, two fine china dessert plates are conspicuously put. On one plate, the inscription says: WOMEN'S FAULTS ARE MANY, MEN HAVE ONLY TWO: EVERYTHING THEY SAY AND EVERYTHING THEY DO.

On the other plate, it says: I AM THE CAPTAIN OF THIS HOUSE, WHATEVER MY WIFE SAYS SHALL BE DONE.

I grew up reading these inscriptions over and over again, and realized that these were intended humor, and the joke were on men who knew what gender fairness is. Thanks to my late dearest, most respected grandfather Domiciano Rubi Sr. for showing us gender-fairness through his deeds.

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BREAKFAST SLIDERS

By Ruth Ezra

By Ruth Ezra

My hubby and I love breakfast, especially on weekends. We do not have to wake up early or rush on things! This is our time to chat, mostly catching up on the week we had.

Breakfast to us, consists of eggs, scrambled, boiled, sunny side up, hot dogs, bacon & rice! A typical breakfast don’t you think?

I came up with a concoction! My longganisa leftover mixture! I do not have any sort of culinary skill, but I do have a little creative mind and this is so, so easy to do.

Looking for an easy route in cooking, this is my skill, and I am proud to say.

I have cheese rolls I got from the Filipino store, (you can use any rolls you have in hand).
With my longganisa mixture, I formed them into small patties and cooked over medium heat on both sides.
I fried two eggs perfectly round by using a round cookie cutter.
Once the eggs and the patties are done, I assembled my sliders; I added some cheddar cheese as well.
Hubby and I enjoyed it over fresh brewed coffee! Our day is so ready to roll!

Ingredients:

1 lb ground beef & pork
1/4 cup brown sugar
1-tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
2-tablespoon oyster sauce
3-tablespoon light soy sauce
chopped garlic
salt & pepper to taste
Oil for frying

1. Blend all the above ingredients.
2. Scoop 1 tablespoon of the meat mixture & form into small patties.
3. Fry on medium heat both sides.

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Ruth D. Ezra is a culinary queen in her own right through experience and training. She works at the AllState Roadside Services in Northbrook, IL. Her greatest delight is serving good and healthy food to her husband Heman and only daughter, Isabelle. Kit would love to receive feedback on her recipes, and exchange them with yours at ezraruth@comcast.net.

The Broken Road

MOTHERING HEIGHTS


Janet Villa

My husband and I would like to share our story, which was published in a lovely anthology, Against All Odds: Coincidence of Miracle? Volume IV, produced by Flor Gozon Tarriela and Butch Jimenez. It was one of the hardest stories I had to write, not because I didn’t know how to tell it, but because the road we’d traveled, from there to here, had been pockmarked with hope and despair. It was hard to relive the journey, and much harder not to break down in tears for how God had blessed the broken road that led us straight our Anna. (Thank you, Rascall Flatts, for letting me borrow your words.)

God Is in the Details

In 2007, after a 13-year rollercoaster of fertility workups, a doctor issued death words to me and my husband, Jojo: we would never have children. A myoma the size of a five-month-old fetus had taken over my uterus. The doctor recommended hysterectomy.

Jo was taken aback, but only for a while. He told the doctor we would get a second opinion. He took over, doing all the paperwork and shepherding me from the clinic to billing to ultrasound. I kept bursting in tears—not just for the loss of a dream, but also for how I had failed my husband, for my inadequacy as a woman.

When all hospital work was done, Jo brought me with him to his basketball practice at St. Stephen. I was supposed to attend bible study, but he knew I was grieving far too much.

Jo had never been late for practice. Yet there he was, more than an hour late. The boys sensed something was wrong. Usually rambunctious, they were quiet as they huddled around him.

Jo was blinking back tears when he told them that I needed an operation, and he couldn't leave me alone while I struggled with the news. Then he choked. He took a full minute to just breathe, in and out. He squared his shoulders and motioned for the boys to resume practice. "OK, boys, let's move," he said, but his voice was breaking.

After practice, the boys huddled around him. Jo held out his hand to me and asked me to join them. "Boys," he said, "I want you to meet the most beautiful woman in the world. This is my wife, the love of my life." He put his arm around me and introduced the kids one by one—Theodore, Pique, Malcolm, Patrick, so many names. They were so young, so hopeful, so beautiful. "This is my baby girl,” he said, pulling me closer.

I cried: I wasn't diminished in his eyes. I was still beautiful to him.

Before we went to bed, Jo prayed for our via dolorosa to draw us closer. He told me that if the Lord didn't will a child for us, then he would just have to love me more. The Lord Jesus was right: love is the distinctive among His people. My husband’s love lighted my path in the valley of the shadow of death.

That week it almost hurt to hope. The list of OB-GYNs recommended by family and friends stretched to 20—it was overwhelming. But Jojo said, "We are not looking for the best doctor. We are looking for the RIGHT doctor." We needed the one whom God wanted for us.

Before praying for us, some friends asked us for our wish list. I wanted a doctor, preferably Christian, who believed in miracles and who could journey with us—no matter if God’s answer to us was no. Jo, if he had the money, would have brought me to Johns Hopkins Hospital in Maryland, Baltimore—the no. 1 hospital in obstetrics-gynecology.

Of the 20 OB-GYNs recommended to us, only one was male: Dr. Rafael Tomacruz. He was the last one I’d consider: I didn’t want a man probing and invading my body. Jo, of course, chose him.

Dr. Tomacruz, it turned out, specialized in tumors—and in assuaging my fears. His voice and hands were gentle as he examined me. True to form, Jo grilled him. "What school did you go to, Doc?" Jo asked. "In Baltimore," Dr. Tomacruz said. Jojo could barely contain himself, "Which one in Baltimore?" And Dr. Tomacruz said, "Johns Hopkins Hospital." Jo was overjoyed. Since Jo couldn’t bring me to Johns Hopkins, God brought Johns Hopkins to him.

Dr. Tomacruz also specialized in the near impossible: he would save my uterus and remove the myoma—a procedure more difficult than a hysterectomy and entailing considerable blood loss. But that feat, for me, wasn’t the good news. It was when Dr. Tomacruz said that though my childbearing chances might be slim, he would journey with us. “Who knows what the Lord will do?” he said. “I believe in miracles.” Those were the words I had asked God for.

Raising money for the surgery required a bigger mustard seed of faith. One day Jo called me from the hospital where he was making arrangements: “Honey, we need to raise an additional P70,000.” I didn’t know what to say. We didn’t have that much that time; our savings had been depleted. “Jan,” Jo said. “As long as we’re together, we’re fine.” The next day, a friend e-mailed me. She had borrowed money from us several years back, and she was, miraculously, not only paying her debt, she also volunteered to add interest. The amount: P69,998. All we had to raise for my surgery was two pesos.

Such bounty is vintage God. A few years before, Jo had whispered to me in the middle of a dinner party, “We have only 245 pesos in the bank.” “That much?” I deadpanned. A few days later, our missionary friend, Benji, called us. He was getting married in a few months, and all he had was P6,000. Desperate, he had prayed, “Lord, what do I do?” God told him: Give a fifth of your money to Jojo and Janet. That is how personal God has been: He knows us by name.

A week before my surgery, Jo and I attended Healing Room, a prayer-healing forum. The ministers praying for us weren’t told what was ailing us; they would rely on the Holy Spirit to reveal what healing was required. I was there to ask God why He had denied us a child even before I grew a myoma. Perhaps my heart was the problem?

When it was my turn to be prayed for, a woman minister—a stranger to me and unknowing of my petition—gently touched my womb and said, “God wants me to tell you that you have a mother’s heart.” I wept, bearing the burden of the barren years. Then she said, “He says that this country has many children that need a mother.”

God’s answer: my child wouldn’t come from my body and wouldn’t inherit my crooked left ear. Adoption—I wasn’t prepared for this new twist, so Jo and I proceeded with my surgery. Yet even as I was wheeled into the operating room, God continued to affirm us. While I was lying on the gurney, frantically praying Psalm 23, a doctor leaned over me. “Hi,” he said. “I’m your anesthesiologist. My name is Christian Doctor.” I got my wish: a Christian doctor. God does have a sense of humor.

Three years after the surgery that successfully rehabilitated my uterus, Jo and I had somewhat given up on our having children. But God didn’t mind our lack of faith: He had been working on our baby project all along. In 2010, Working Mom editor Leah Nemil-San Jose asked me to edit an adoption special. I had to research on adoption, interview adoptive families and children, and talk to a therapist.

In the two months that I worked on the special, I finally understood how sanctified adoption is—a beautiful way of building a family much like birth is. Jesus had been more forthright when He took a little child and said, “Whoever welcomes this little child in my name welcomes Me.”

When Jo and I opened our hearts to adoption, our daughter was already living, breathing, somewhere. We prayed for her, and asked God to choose her for us.

We had a checklist (of course). Jo prayed that our daughter would be healthy, loved by her caregivers, given proper nutrition, and live in a clean and decent Christian home. His clincher: that she would look like me. I demurred. “No, God,” I interrupted Jojo’s prayer. “Please let her look like Jo.” And I asked God for birds: winged minstrels—unusual in our condo mired in the city’s pollution—to sing to our daughter every day.

We also prayed for a name. I campaigned for something original, something only she would have, something not Janet, something we cannot find in a souvenir keychain. But God had other plans. He directed us to the gospel of Luke, to the only three verses in the entire bible that referred to Anna, a prophet. Not so original a name, true, but what a woman this Anna was. Denied entry into the Inner Court, she fasted for the Messiah in the noisy temple grounds for several decades, never leaving, always praying among those haggling over doves and transgressions. When the infant Jesus finally arrived, she, at 84 years, recognized him immediately, and she gave thanks to the Lord. Our daughter was to be named after a woman whose heart had been sensitive to Jesus, patient and faithful—Anna the prophet had been the first witness.

Three months after we had filed the adoption papers, we received an SMS message: The DSWD social worker had matched us to a baby. Without having met the baby, Jo and I said yes. We had trusted God to choose His Best for us—this gift born from the heart, but also the flesh of our flesh, blood of our blood.

Our Anna was ten months old and perfect. She looked so much like Jo that the caregivers teased him for merely reclaiming her. It was when I met Anna that I experienced what John Donne had said in The Good Morrow: “If ever any beauty I did see,/ Which I desired, and got, ‘twas but a dream of thee.”

God had taken note of our checklist: Anna was healthy; lived with Christian caregivers in Ministries Without Borders, a beautiful home set up by Norwegian missionaries; and was entrusted by a Christian woman when Anna was only a week old. When we picked Anna up, her caregivers cried: she had been carved in their hearts, and they wrote her letters for her to read when she grew up. As we celebrated with the caregivers with cake and Coke, my sister-in-law, Gay, took Anna in her arms and sang, “Jesus loves me, this I know.” Our social worker, Myrna Pineda, joined her. Jojo and I chimed in, and one by one the caregivers and missionaries sang with us: a celestial chorus.

The name our daughter had been given at the orphanage was Grace. The name Anna is the Hebrew word for grace. Our daughter’s name had been preordained.

In the first few months that Anna came home to us, two birds visited our tenth-floor home every day. They’d stay for hours, flying by, perching on our windowsill, singing. Today those birds—symbols of hope and God’s faithfulness—built a nest outside our living-room window, choosing to stay with us for the long haul.

God is in the details.

[caption id="attachment_1103" align="aligncenter" width="414"] For more details, contact tettobes@yahoo.com
Phone No. 1.702.545.5055[/caption]

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Janet Villa practiced Law for nine years before she received a fellowship to the Philippine National Writers' Workshop and to the UP National Workshop. Her first published story "Undercurrents" won the NVM Grand Prize in 2003, and her second "Closopen" won the NVM Grand Prize Special Prize in 2005. She is now finishing her MA in Creative Writing. Her biggest adventure is being best for husband Jojo and daughter Anna, while pursuing her passions in writing and teaching. Janet maintains CreW, the creating writing special interest group of Mensa Philippines after being the Mensa Philippines president in 1998.

OSM! LANDMARK PROJECT FOR EDUCATION

 

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OSM! the online magazine for awesome global citizens, has recently embarked on an education support project for the city of Cebu in the Philippines.  Executive Editor Marivir  Montebon inked a Memorandum of Agreement with Teacher Anita Aquirre for book donations for the Tipolo Elementary School in Mandaue City. OSM! will also support the education of scholar Yves Ai Culleta Tabernero of Oprra, Kalunasan, Cebu City. OSM! will also support the college education of scholar Yves Ai Culleta Tabernero of Oprra, Kalunasan, Cebu City.

Among the early donors of the books for preschoolers were Ms. Carla Mayol and Lauren and Carolyn Levin in Manhattan.

OSM! is accepting book donations from the neighborhood of New York. Please email us at marivir_a@yahoo.com, leaniauxilio@gmail.com, and cliqdosmness@gmail.com.

CELEBRATED CEBUANO ARTIST EXHIBITS AT NY PHIL. CONSULATE

By Marivir R. Montebon

It is to be the sixth of a series of exhibits on September 24 to October 5, 2012 by Cebu-based artist Celso Pepito, this time with his better half, artist Fe Madrid Pepito.  Cultural Confluence VI, is almost like coming full circle from Asia, Europe, and now the US.  The exhibit will be at the Philippine Center Gallery on 5^th Avenue in Manhattan aims to show Filipinos who have been living out of the country, images of life in the Philippines today while at the same time affording them the chance to imbibe snippets of American art and culture thereby giving them a deeper perspective of their individual artistic direction.



The art exhibit is organized in New York by OSM!, the online magazine for awesome global citizens,  the 5^th Avenue Lions Club, and the Philippine Consulate,  and ArtPortal Cebu.

The exhibiting artists will also hold an art workshop for interested participants in a separate venue which will be announced at a much later date.

The first of the series of Cultural Confluence exhibitions was organized in Cebu in September 2010 at SM Art Center under the initiative of ArtPortal Cebu.  The convergence saw a meeting of the minds of artists from Cebu, Davao, Manila, Kuala Lumpur, Seoul, and Paris.

Pepito recalls, “It created a sense of unity beyond diversity, and at the same time, helped promote the Filipinos' positive values and traditions.”

In March 2011, the Cultural Confluence II was brought to the Davao Museum of History and Ethnography through the initiatives of Welehito Pepito, Arnel Villegas and Josie Tionko. It featured a broad regional spectrum of painting represented by artists from Manila, Cebu, Davao and France. At stake at that exhibit were issues of identity, memory and cultural shifts.

In an effort to seek international exposure, Remy Rault, a French artist presently based in Cebu brought Cultural Confluence III to Paris in April 2011, putting up a show at the Espace Le Socle, le Establissement Culturel Solidaire. The exhibit caught the attention of the Parisian viewers, thus inspiring Rault to put up Cultural Confluence IV at the same venue in October 2011.

Cultural Confluence V at the JCentre Mall in January 2012 saw a reunion of the artists involved in the first exhibition plus many more artists from Cebu who came on board to showcase their individuality while still working in the spirit of unity and cooperation.