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Getting married is a almost always a lifetime commitment- in my country at least, where divorce is not an option and legal separation and annulment require lots of money and a lengthy court process. Thus, before one ties the knot and seals the bond, he or she must willing to take the responsibility to make the marriage work “in good times and bad, in sickness and in health, ’til death do us part.”

In marriage, as in any relationship, rough patches and troubled times are bound to come. When these moments challenge a union, it is helpful to have a friend or family member to talk to so that another perspective may be gathered as to what went wrong and how best to solve a particular situation. Even when things are going calm and steady, talking with other married people is also a good way to learn strategies on how other couples are handling their problems which one can apply should a similar circumstance arrive in one’s own marriage in the future.

There are also chat rooms over the internet where married people from all over the world can meet and talk for free. Married Chat Rooms such as those in Married Chat City even offer webcam chat for those who want to let their chatmates talk and see them at the same time. Registration is free and convenient and allows you instant access to the chatrooms once you’ve filled up the form. It’s the easiest way to meet and share experiences with other married people online.

Just click on the link above to get started.

Since February is the month of love and roses, please indulge me. Allow me to get mushy: How far would you go for love? What are you prepared to risk? Let’s look at romantic love. When you meet someone you’re prepared to spend the rest of your life with, marriage eventually follows. Up to that point, nothing is ever really established. Going steady or getting engaged—all these do not have the same degree of commitment a marriage has. Backing out is always an option when things get rough.

Not so in a marriage. Not only is there no option for divorce in the Philippines, but the legal and financial aspects are something close to insurmountable. Legal separation does not allow for remarriage, annulment is practically impossible to get unless you’re a movie star or are extremely rich, and both procedures are far too expensive for the regular Filipino couple. So unless the love you have is serious enough for a lifelong commitment, marriage is definitely best saved for last. Yet we still know that despite either party’s steadfast devotion, falling in love and getting married are risky endeavors.

When I was a teacher in Manila, I came to know the parents of one of my students—an elderly couple, both lawyers, whom we would fondly refer to as “Attorney and Attorney.” From the time their son entered first year high school, both of them would always make it a point to come together for the PTC (parent-teacher conference) held every grading. They bemoaned their boy’s less-than-satisfactory academic performance but beamed every time he would show improvement the following grading. There was never a dull moment when these two wonderfully kind and happy couple were around. When their son entered third year, Mr. Attorney got sick and ultimately succumbed to cancer. Needless to say, Mrs. Attorney was devastated. She mourned her loss so intently that whenever she would attend the succeeding PTCs alone, it seemed to me that a part of her had died too. The old sparkle she radiated when Mr. Attorney was around had gone. Forever? Perhaps.

Loving necessarily implies losing. After all, death is a reality we have to face. The question then becomes: Are you ready to risk losing the one you love to death? Can you risk sharing the rest of your life with another person only to lose him or her at the precise moment when you can’t imagining living another minute without him or her? Are you prepared to risk yourself for love?

When my husband and I first met and ultimately got married, we never expected to deal with the trials as difficult as the ones we underwent. But together we did. Oh, we haven’t deluded ourselves into believing that we had faced the worst, yet I am optimistic that with love and prayer, things will ultimately work themselves out.

I believe that the beauty of love lies in its inherent strength. One of love’s greatest miracles is that the more you give of yourself, the more you are equipped to handle whatever life throws at you. I guess this is the reason why people have continued to fall in love through the years. Love is powerful enough to handle loss because it is true that love conquers all—even death.

What about you? Are you prepared to risk for love?

Let me ask you an oft-repeated yet not quite satisfactorily answered question: What is love? From the silly “love is like a bubblegum kung motapot makabuang*” to the biblical “love is patient, love is kind “,answers range from the inspirational to the downright mushy. Many books have already been written on the subject and still pens continue to churn as poets, novelists and artists try to understand this phenomenon. In the name of love, battles have been waged and lives have been lost. No other human emotion evokes such a powerful response.

Since love invariably means different things to different people, defining it would simply be putting love into a mold. So I won’t even attempt it. However, I’ll venture as far as this: A healthy body, mind and soul begin with a genuine love for self. Paradoxically, self-love is selfless.

I can only imagine the precise attention to detail God expended when he decided to create man. Although wrought in His image and likeness, each individual is distinct, matchless in the grace and beauty that He so lovingly shaped for each. And it is for this reason that we must love ourselves first of all. God fashioned us for a purpose and it is our duty to carry that out. How can we fulfill our diving mission if we abuse, neglect and mistreat our body and soul?
Self-love is simple. Yet it speaks of the kind of love that we are willing and are able to give to our fellow human beings. When we nourish our physical bodies, providing for it a balanced diet, adequate exercise and sufficient rest, we are nurturing it to perform its duties with love. When we constantly feed our minds with new information, challenging it to sort the good stuff from the bad and empowering it so that it does not atrophy, we are fostering in it a mindset of love. When we cultivate our spiritual consciousness, enabling it with the spirit of prayer and meditation, we are strengthening it to walk in the spirit of love. If we are able to successfully love ourselves, then we will be able to give the same measure of warmth and affection to others around us. That vim and vigor and zest for life and love becomes so contagious that we are able to create a wonderful ripple of this powerful human emotion.

Now we can’t do that if we constantly subject ourselves to all sorts of stressful situations, can we? Can we honestly say that we love ourselves when we continue to ingest all sorts of food that clog the arteries and cause all sorts of heart problems? Is it even fair for us to say that we love our families when we continue to smoke in the house and subject ourselves and our children to harmful cigarette smoke? Would it be right to work ourselves late into the night and neglect our children for that promotion? Self-love is absent here. If it is, then how can we give to others the love that we do not have for ourselves?

A healthy mind, a sound body, a wonderful soul, a harmonious relationship with others—all these are anchored on love. But love has to start somewhere. Wouldn’t it be great to let it start with you?

*kung motapot makabuang—if it sticks, it drives one crazy

An hour ago, I wrote about “My Toddler’s Education,” and while it’s true that crayons and songs and kisses are part and parcel of that, I realized that it was not only me giving my child and education- I am receiving one, too! So, before I go to sleep, I just have to post some of the valuable lessons I’ve learned from my daughter:

1. She taught me to crouch low and look at life from her vantage point. I thus learned patience.
2. She taught me to tackle our generation gap with lots of singing, dancing, play-acting, voice modulating and coloring. I thus learned creativity and resourcefulness.
3. She taught me that she screams and throws tantrums for a reason. I thus learned to anticipate and be ready.
4. She taught me that her tears have their purpose. I thus learned to comfort and to care.
5. She taught me that she hugs and seeks for my protection when she’s hurt or afraid. I thus learned to be brave.

But of all the lessons my baby Carmela has taught me, I believe that the greatest one is this: With her undying loyalty and confidence in me, I learned to be a mother.

Although I’ve read about it in books, my two year old’s sudden explosion of knowledge through her words and ideas never ceases to amaze me. Experts in the field of childhood education have written about the amazing ability of toddlers and preschoolers to learn and perceive the world around them. Well, reading about it is one thing, actually experiencing it for myself through my little girl’s astounding development in the past year alone is entirely another matter. She can speak in sentences now, can comprehend simple instructions, and can even reason out when she needs to in that very innocent yet astoundingly logical manner only a two year old is capable of. What’s more, her memory of things is sharp and lucid, it’s just staggering.

And I have to keep up! I’ve done more research on child development than my college term papers, have read more books on the subject and downloaded more articles than my M.A. papers combined, and I’m still nowhere near comprehending this little miracle. But I’m getting there. She loves to draw, listen to stories and sing songs. And she absolutely adores dancing. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There’s more that I can teach her, and I am sure she’s also eager to learn whatever she can from me.

So, what is my toddler’s education? To sum it all up at this point, it’s books, crayons, songs, dances, stories, lots of talk, numbers, counting, hugs and kisses, a stern voice here and there and lots and lots of love!

I am now running my fourth year in my battle against cancer. Compared to how I felt in 2005 and 2006 while I was still undergoing my chemotherapy and radiotherapy treatments, I’m feeling much better, more energized, more alive. I can at least play with and run after my little girl, although I always tire out first; and do a little bit of grocery shopping by myself even if I have to wear a face mask whenever I go out of the house.

But see, the thing with surviving the Big C is that the feeling of “being better” and “being able to do things normally” doesn’t always last. It’s a fickle thing, really. And like cancer, the idea of recurrence becomes a stark reality- the proverbial sword of Damocles turned tangible, palpable, touchable.

I am blessed, I suppose. The tumor that sits on my heart has shown no signs of metastasizing. But it has shown no signs of getting smaller either. Despite my apparently healthy exterior, I can’t go back to teaching or get a regular job because I palpitate at the smallest hint of stress or even at the tiniest bit of bad air and dust that gets into my system. But at least, it’s (my tumor, that is) is on a status quo, and as long as it stays that way, I’m content.

Now, prayer is my armor, and the undying belief that I will get better everyday, my anchor. I have everything to live for, after all- a daughter who still needs me and a husband who loves me wonderfully.

It’s mind over matter, I suppose. As long as my mind tells the rest of my system to be well, then it will. Ever since I got the Big C, I’ve always held on to the idea that the mind is a very powerful tool for healing. It just has to stay on top of things, otherwise, if it succumbs to the disease, then there is little hope of getting better. Sure, it takes a lot of discipline and determination, but putting the mind over matter is well worth it in the end.

All of us moms know what it’s like to spend the night watching over our little angels especially at times when they’re not feeling well. It’s a time of worry and anxiety, leaving us bereft of sleep, and draining us of our energies. Yet surprisingly, at that moment when we are keeping watch for that slightest change in temperature, or tenderly massaging their frail bodies to soothe the aches and pains, we are alert and active in the midst of our sleeplessness.

On the physiological level, perhaps it’s the adrenalin that keeps us focused and on our toes. But I’d also like to believe that a maternal instinct borne out of a mother’s love plays a very significant role in such trying times. So great a power this love has that it keeps an otherwise tired pair of eyes open and spurns an otherwise worn-out body to action. Aside from chidlbirth, this too, is one of a mother’s many strengths.

Of course, this is not to say that fathers are a useless lot– because they’re not. We moms always appreciate it when dads help out. We are human after all, and though the gamut of superhuman strength afforded by motherhood is quite extensive,the women in us also derive our power from our dear husbands, too. Such is the beauty of love that’s shared. Such is the miracle of family.

Devastating. This is the only word I could think of as I watched the horrendous aftermath of Typhoon Frank that swept the Philippines last week. Destroyed homes, power disruptions, food and water shortages in provinces like Iloilo marked the fury of the storm. But of all these, Frank showed the full force of his wrath with the sinking of MV Princess of the Stars in Sibuyan Island, Romblon. Only a handful of the more than 800 passengers on board survived the tragedy.

As I watch on TV the family members of the passengers of the ill-fated vessel, I can’t help but empathize with their grief. Those faces that are at all at once hopeful and yet hopeless, expectant yet resigned, mirror sorrow in its most profound form. Not knowing what has happened to a loved one, whether a child, husband, wife, nephew, niece, uncle, aunt, grandparent or friend is still alive or already dead is perhaps the worst form of torture imaginable. How could there ever be closure for them?

Having lost my father recently, I understand the importance of holding vigils, saying prayers and finally, of laying him to rest as vital in the bereavement process. This period somehow eases the initial shock of losing someone so dear, and these ceremonies, if they so be called, smoothens the transition of letting go, and of ultimately accepting the reality of death. I am by no means done with grieving. I don’t think one can ever be “finished grieving.” Perhaps, only time can assuage the pain that death brings. But my only consolation is that deep in my heart, I know that my father is in a far better place, and this helps me a lot in being able to go on with my life.

But what about those whose family members are still waiting for news of their loved ones aboard MV Princess of the Stars? The agony of not knowing where they are, the torture of not being able to give a proper burial- these intensify the feelings of grief a million times over. I can only pray that God give them the courage and the faith to face this trial in their lives. I also hope that the shipping company understands and takes to heart the needs and requests of these relatives. The news on TV features them complaining of their requests going on deaf ears, of not being given sufficient information, of being left in the dark.

I hope that Sulpicio Lines doesn’t treat the passengers on board their boat as mere statistical losses. Everyone on board that ship was once a flesh-and-blood member of a family. He or she had dreams, had loved, had cried, had trusted the shipping company’s judgments enough to travel in the midst of impending storm. Thus, the concerns of their loved ones must be addressed and heard.

Frank’s wrath has subsided for now, but we are left to grapple with the devastation and ruin that he brought on us as a people. Let’s take a moment to say a little prayer to those who were lost in the storm, holding on to the faith in our hearts that though their families may not see them again or may not have the chance to lay their bodies to the grave, God has already brought the souls of those who had perished to the tranquil seas of their Heavenly Home.

What happens now? This is the question I always ask myself now that my dad has already been laid to rest. People around me say that life doesn’t stop with death, that there are a still a lot of things that those of us left in this mortal world have to occupy ourselves with, that there are still people who need us. Relatives and friends remind me that I still have a daughter who is only two years old who is dependent on me for everything. And I know that.

Despite this, however, there are moments when I simply can’t move or do what needs to be done. Grief can be very crippling and though I try so hard to let go, part of me seems to want to hold on to the memory of a father who lived so bravely and loved ever so deeply. This might sound too emotional but I know that nothing will ever be the same, that a part of me has died too.

Writing seems the only release for me now. But this I can’t even do without shedding a tear, and I feel so tired and drained at this constant sorrow that hangs over me everyday. How does one cope with such loss? What happens now? Will I ever heal? These are just some of the questions that I ask myself during these trying times. I only pray that God and Mama Mary will give me the strength to go on living. I need that very much.

Every parent waits for the time when their little one utters that first word. The day they say Mama or  Dada is a cause for celebration, and to the more sentimental of us (me included), the date, time and place gets recorded in the our sacred baby books. We make a big deal of every mimicked word, every comprehensible utterance, every understandable expression. And when our children don’t start mumbling those precious words by the time the guide books say they should, we start to fret and redouble our efforts to read, talk and teach them every word we feel they ought to know. Truly, a child’s journey into the word of speech is both an exhilarating and gripping experience for any parent.

Since my daughter was born premature under the most unsuitable of conditions (she did have to contend with radiotherapy, chemotherapy and large doses of antibiotics in the first trimester of pregnancy), I am perhaps, more anxious than most mothers regarding her growth and development. When her first set of teeth didn’t come out until she was nearly two years old, I panicked and began seriously wondering if modern science had already invented dentures for toddlers. Only when her precious whites miraculously popped up one after the other just a couple of months before her second birthday did I start to relax. Naturally, when she didn’t start to mumble intelligibly (for her age, that is) when she was about one year, I panicked and began giving her lessons which went something like this:
“Baby, look at Mommy.” (This would necessitate cupping her face to make her look at me.) I would then point to a picture in her book and say: “This is a cake. Say ‘cake’.” To which my pupil would simply reply with a defiant nod of her pretty little head and a surprisingly strong push away from me, and to whatever it is that got her attention. I got so exasperated that I would carry her back to bed, determined to sit her down until she said “cake.” My husband, perhaps alarmed at my seemingly irrational behavior, had to tell me quit it. Of course, she wouldn’t say cake or cat or apple or whatever it is that I was teaching her because she wasn’t ready.

I realized that learning can’t take place if the child isn’t prepared—mentally, physically, emotionally. Comparing the progress of one child to another does not do good to the child and to the parents. It merely pressures the child, takes the fun out of learning, limits their exploration of their environment, and gives us parents undue stress when we should be enjoying every little facet of every tiny bit of information our children absorb as they grow.   

But now, oh how she speaks! Just a year later, she can say not only cake or cat or apple, but cow and duck and fish and bird. She can command me to “dwo pish” (draw fish, that is), her dad to “dance,” and us both to tell her an impromptu (those extemporaneous speaking contests we participated in college were useful, after all) bedtime story—in which she decides who the characters are—whether it is Mr. Cow or Mrs. Duck or Mr. Fish. She tells us if she doesn’t like a movie being played, whether she wants to see the MariMar or Michael V’s dance videos, and when she wants to wash her hands or take a “showel” (shower, that is). And when it rains, she expects us to let the poor chickens inside the house when she says, “’icken showel luoy” which basically means, “poor chicken-she’s wet”. To make caring for her more convenient, she can tell us when she wants to potty and if anything hurts.

It is wonderful, this gift of toddler gab, truly what every parent awaits in the progress of their young. And it never ceases to amaze me as I listen to my little girl how someone so little could speak so much.