Georgette

I met Georgette at the bus stop across Neeta Shopping City in Fairfield, NSW. It was a hot day on Sydney's peak Summer month of December. I spared myself from sweating so early in the morning by standing on the shade provided by a store's awning.

Georgette was seated on the bench just a meter in front of me. She was also waiting for the bus with 2 brown grocery bags. I'm sure she noticed I was standing and balancing 6 weighty bags amongst my 10 fingers and thought I was unnecessarily tiring myself when I could have the bags well-rested on the bench space beside her.

She flashed me with a big smile before gesturing me to the space.

Out of appreciation for the stranger's sympathy, I walked over to the bench and made myself comfortable beside her, fully aware of the attention-grabbing heat over our heads. Her big smile translated first, into 5 words, "You have very nice skin."

As much as I would have liked to take the compliment w/o a hint of rebuttal, how could I when it came from a woman who has subtly-blushed porcelain skin attached to her face? The compliment was moving to the wrong direction. It was just right to direct it back to her instead of accepting it cooly and w/ an "Are you kidding? But thank you for saying it anyway" shrug.

It turned out that Georgette is not cool with compliments, either, so we let that bounce between us for minutes into our meeting before her smile and my appreciation developed into

a full-fledged conversation.

When the bus arrived, I was careful about choosing my seat. I made sure I would be sitting at a distance that won't freak the "60+ year old woman" in my new friend, at the same time allow me to continue a pleasant, ongoing conversation. I thought Georgette, in a quiet breath, appreciated that.

My silent assumption was right; Georgette is a Lebanese. She could very well have been the grandmother of one of the Lebanese students at the daycare I was volunteering at; they with the exaggeratedly long lashes, perfectly shaped noses, and bright pink lips. I shared with her a self-set certainty that the Lebanese are among the most beautiful people on Earth.

Despite her flattered hesitance, I knew Georgette loved the generalization.

I write this almost a year after, long enough for time to make hazy the rest of the details of that singular conversation. Singular I say because the truth is, nobody talks to each other in the bus stop or on bus rides. What they show in the movies is a romantic depiction of the many beautiful possibilities in public transportation if only commuters burst their personal bubbles and acknowledge a stranger's beauty or quirk or strangeness.

As Georgette had.

***

A silent hope that the ride that day would take longer than usual made no difference. My bus stop along Gipps St came first. As waiting for the bus ends at some point, so do bus rides.

P.S. Whenever I remember that random conversation with Georgette, I regret that I did not think of asking her permission for me to take a photo of her.

Peter

December 9, 2008

But back down here, I experienced the sweetest little thing from the most unexpected of places, or person.

In the form of Peter. He is the most rascally, ill-bred kid ever. He screams "Shut up!" at people 10 times his age, and other almost incomprehensible, bad words. He doesn't listen. He does things opposite of what he's told. He bullies everybody indiscriminately. Just a very mean kid.

But then! Just when he was about to leave yesterday, with his mother already by the door waiting for him, he run to me and hugged and kissed me goodbye. I was taken aback. He had a huge smile on his face as I bid goodbye. That was really the sweetest thing.

Whereas the other kids on whom I thought I left a very good impression, and who wanted me beside them, read books for them and all that pseudo motherhood thing, just left without a goodbye.

December 9, 2008

I find myself so endeared towards Peter, the bulliest kid I've ever known (not even Edward my cousin can beat him). His energy is equal to 10 children. At the same time, he can be VERY annoying and I bet Tiffany & Nirmala can't forgive him for that -- they who have had to endure him for years.

Today, his mother came to pick him up and asked Tiffany about the new teacher named "TV". I am touched I have made such an impression on him that he told of me to his mom. His mom is named Gita so we had a short conversation about that.

During afternoon tea, Peter helped me with feeding the very delicate Joleena with jelly ace. He held the cover open so I won't have a hard time feeding Joleena. I was so glad (and assured) to know that behind this greatest rascal is an extremely (ok, this is exagg) good boy. Maybe he needs attention or has so much of it. I only hope he doesn't grow up to be such a bully.

December 10, 2008

I just noticed that the top 2 bullies in school (Peter & Gabbie) are actually the most vulnerable. The other boys like Leo, Stephen, Noor, Daniel don't like to sit on my lap and Nirmala's. And they're the nicer boys! While the bad boys like sitting close to us. Should that explain their need for attention? I wish I studied a bit of Psych.

December 11, 2008

Yesterday, I entered the center to the hugs of the children; Peter, Hailey, Leea and even Jasmine who isn't really as maparaygun run up to me. In the afternoon, they were watching a movie and when I joined them, Leea sat on my lap while Peter and Jasmine moved beside me, with Peter leaning on me. I never thought I'd have such effect on these kids who've only known me for 3 days. Or maybe that's the nature of kids.

Peter is the most difficult kid to put to sleep. I pity Nirmala having to do that job. I pat the rest of the kids who want to be patted and I can't help but gush whenever I succeed in it. This is a side of me that I think I always had but which my short patience overcomes at many times. Anyway, Peter yesterday was being a bully again. After around 30 mins of Nirmala trying to put him to sleep, he stood up to give me high fives and hugged me then went back to his bed, and finally, stayed put. Success!

December 11, 2008

I enjoyed today. Emily was in the room and all in her 5 years, I can already tell she's gonna be a fierce girl who can stand up for herself. Today, she protected not just herself but the other kids from the bully, Peter. And she would say, "Me don't want that!" What an attitude.

Peter was really mean today, sending Nirmala to near rages herself, but she's been very effective in handling the two bullies, Peter and Gabby. This afternoon, Peter asked me to pat him to sleep but I told him I can't, that Nirmala will take care of him. He kept on asking again. I wish I had said yes. I would want to see if he would skip his customary pre-sleep tantrum if I were to put him to sleep.

December 18, 2008

Today is my 2nd to the last day of work. And I already miss my fave students in class. I'm gonna break rules whatever basta I have to take at least one souvenir shot of them. Diane mentioned they don't allow taking photos of students to ward off pedophiles. So I have to ask permission.

Yesterday, Peter run to his mother who was carrying a gift and asked whom it was for. The mother replied, "For Tiffany!" Peter then told his mother, much to my surprise, "Get one for her as well!" he said, pointing at me. It was embarrassing and even more, touching. Peter is one of those students -- or the only student I think -- who doesn't forget to say goodbye before leaving. The other kids are just so excited to be picked up by their mothers and fathers that they just cling to them so tightly and whisper the smallest goodbye or none at all. I understand of course. But Peter does cling to his mother but manages a big smile, high fives and hugs before leaving. He really is a lovely kid, at one extreme, and horrible, in another.

2 Sweetest Things today:

1) Waking up Peter quite forcedly, pissing him off for a while then he rolls around, lightens up, looks up at me, relents to my plead for him to smile and after helping him up, blurts, "I love you, Vita. I love you." Awww... then he gives me a huge hug. Peter can easily get on nerves but he easily can make me melt at the same time. Awww... lovely, bad boy.

2) Peter's mother comes with a gift for me. When I told Gita, her mother, she shouldn't have bothered, she tells me, "No worries Vita. It was really Peter who kept on telling me, 'Buy Vita a gift mommy! Buy Vita a gift!" Ahhh, and that's why I just love that kid!

December 19, 2008

Hoping works. I had wanted so much to have my photo taken with Peter and I got it. I want to have taken photo of myself with the other kids, but I guess I can only hope and get so much. I'm pleased with what i have tho.

Today marks the end of that phase of my Australian experience and I'm quite sad and relieved it's over. It kinda coincided with my move to Carlo's place and sorry to say this, I noticed I was more at home and in place at the Daycare than in Carlo's place. Nobody should mistake this as that the Santoses don't make me feel home much. They do, they really do. But it's just me, I guess. I enjoyed being with the kids. I'm gonna miss Jayden's curls that make him as beautiful as Cordon Bleu. I miss Daniel's husky voice and insistence that he's the boss. Hailey screeching. Gabby whining (and Nirmala at his every whim). The twins Stefan and Stephanie. The cutest kids/blondes ever, Ella and Lockley. Awww... I really hope I find myself...

Well, I really don't know. But one sure thing, this is one of the best parts of the trip.

December 23, 2008

I find myself thinking of Peter again. I really miss the kids. I remember on Christmas Party day, as soon as he arrived, he run to me and gave me his hug and smile. I didn't get to really enjoy it thought because it was in the middle of a game and I had to assist the kids. So I quickly sat him within the circle but he moved closer to me. Sadly, I had to assist the littler kids and from then on, he enjoyed himself. He is clingy to his mother Gita, even more than the other kids who are clingy as well but easily freed themselves to the games around them. But Peter stayed really close to Gita. I think he feels his mother is the only one to whom he can run to unconditionally. At school, Peter is so naughty that a lot of the kids stay away from him. Every bad thing that happens is blamed at him first before they find out the actual culprit. On his own, he really had to put up a tough front. But with his mom, he was a 5 year old kid. I really miss him. At least once, I was a comfort to him enough to have earned an "I love you, Vita."

~~~
From December 8-19, I helped out at the Rainbow Daycare Center in Gipps Street, Fairfield, which is owned by a cousin's friend. One of their teachers was on vacation leave and they needed somebody asap to fill in for her in the last two weeks of school before the Holidays break. The excerpts above were taken from the Journal I kept throughout my Sydney Sojourn (in its raw, unedited form, thus the grammatical and spelling errors). As the Daycare experience was huge for me, it filled up a lot of pages, especially on my favorite kid, 5-year-old Peter, of Lebanese origins.

To this day, I still remember how his mouth slowly breaks into a sunshiney smile. I can still hear Daniel's husky voice. I can still picture Emily in one of her she-bully moments, with her lips pouting and hands on the hips. I can still see Gabby's long lashes and hear his whiny voice. I still cringe at the now-invisible cuteness of Lockley, and the set of bangs that stretches over his forehead and end on top of his eyes. Those kids. I almost loved to love them.

at the back: teacher Tiffany, teacher Nirmala, owner Sylvia, me
the graduates: "I am the boss!" Daniel, my Peter Rabbit, toughie Emily, shy girl Nancy, the brat Leo, the loud-mouthed Hailey, the class fave Sarah, the hippie's daughter Aisha

~~~
Peter graduated last year from Daycare. This year is his first in the "big" school, or kindy. As a gift, I gave him a Spiderman pencil case. He might not remember me, but his mom Gita, an equally likable person, hopefully would and will remind him.

The Old Woman

It's a shame I don't remember the name of the old woman who wrapped gifts with me at Myers Warringah Mall on Christmas Eve. She was very pleasant and motherly. I remember being in awe at how she communicated with the people, from a handsomely 6 year old half Indian-half British kid who chose to linger around in our gift-wrapping booth rather than to scour gifts around the Myers store with his mom, to a father who was waiting patiently and cordially with his son for his wife's gift to be wrapped. I mentally took note of her, not only that I like her pleasantness, but she reminded me of the owner of the fictitious Duncan's Toy Chest (which Wikipedia would say was modeled after FAO Schwarz) who gave Kevin the turtle doves in Home Alone 2, only that she is a female.

She might be a Catherine or Kaitlyn, which means Pure. I hope I am sure about this, just so I could forever put a name to my saving grace of a Christmas Eve away from family.

I noticed one common question and answer shared among Sydney's Holiday revelers was, "What are you planning to do on Christmas?" That's hardly being asked in the Philippines since in this country, Christmas is a celebration with a deeply-entrenched tradition of being spent with the family. Otherwise, with friends or worst, alone, is a new news that elicits quick apologies as if it's the most unfortunate sin in the world. In Sydney, that question is almost as jovially received as the good old "Merry Christmas!" or "Happy Holidays!" greetings; and I enjoyed listening to Sydneysiders share a part of their lives by answering it.

In the old woman's case, she was spending Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with her son and his family. This son arrived in Myers at one point of our morning shift, with kid and wife in tow. The sense of pride and deep affection the woman had as she introduced her family to me was unmistakable. There and then, I felt the Christmas Spirit in my midst. For the first time, I did not feel it through the presence of my family, but through an old woman and stranger once who in the regular task of kissing her son, daughter-in-law and grandson hello and making my fleeting intrusion in her life known to them, shows just how strongly her life is built around them. I felt like an intruder alright, but glad at the shy attempt from this old woman to make me feel I belong.

Kaitlyn -- let's assume that really is her name -- lives alone in a bungalow. Her husband passed away a few years ago. Her two sons who are both married and fathers already, live close nearby and do not let every once in a while pass without visiting their mother. I see the sense of pride again when she speaks of how both, with no delay, would hurry to her home at every call of emergency, or even just of the simplest need. Since her husband died, they looked after her with not the slightest hint of hesitance or any condition.

She took a break from her wrapping duties to pay for a toy her grandson grabbed from the shelf and waved at her. Her son, a burly blonde with soft eyes and smile, told her not to buy it, but she insisted. "Come on, he wants it. It's Christmas."

She made me see it, too.

The Old Woman, me, and the Vision Australia/Myers Gift-Wrapping Fundraising Project representative for Warringah Mall, Janey Bloomfield.

The Vision Australia is a non-profit organization that aims to raise funds to afford technology for the blind and resources to help establishments that cater to the blind, sighted or have low vision. For the past years, during the Holidays season, it has teamed up with Myers, a chain of superstores for the upper class, to provide gift-wrapping services to Myers customers for a small fee. All proceeds go straight to the Vision Australia.

I volunteered to wrap gifts in two Myers stores, Blacktown's Westpoint Mall on December 23 and Brookvale's Warringah Mall on December 24. More than anything or anybody, the volunteer experience allowed me traces of Christmas Spirit. Others have long discounted the Christmas Spirit, but not me. I know it when I feel it.

Daniela Gigante

I only met Daniela Gigante once, in a 1.30 hours time frame, within 4x5 square meters of candle-lit, highly-scented closed space. She was my Hot Stone Masseurs. She was careful in her deftness, but ultimately, it would be her fascinatingly love- & risk- driven life that I would not forget of that late afternoon session.

We met on a Thursday in January. At the end of that month, she will leave her life in Sydney to move in with her boyfriend in Byron Bay, New South Wales, a beachside town a few hours away.

She met her beau just a few months ago, in late 2008, in Byron Bay, where she was spending a few weeks of Yoga Training. It was in one of the rare night-outs she had with her friends, while dancing that she first saw him. By instinct or the encouragement from her friends, she turned her back to check out this bulk of a handsome man with semi-bald cut. There and then she realized that the skinhead's gaze was on her. She smiled at him and spontaneously asked, "Do you have my back?"

"Yes, I've got your back," went his response, and that sealed the deal between them. For the rest of her stay in Byron Bay, she was with the handsome semi-bald when she was not in class. To her surprise (or maybe she was confident about it), their relationship did not wave towards obscurity when she returned to Sydney. They continued to communicate and share each other's daily grind, unsparing of even the most mundane of days. Daniela, bruised but not jaded by the past petty relationships she's been in, was certain she found her soulmate in him. In fact, so certain was she that she did not wince twice at the idea of moving away from the life she's always known and to one that she is yet to define.

Unfortunately, I was not able to contact Daniela again. Ours was such that you call a one-off friendship, made opportune by her profession as a Hot Stone Masseurs and a favorite of my cousin-in-law Phuong who treated me to the massage. She gave me a company calling card before we parted ways, the details of which I'm sure are already useless now that she moved out already. I would want to know how she is faring at her new life.

Daniela is of Italian descent. Her parents, she described to me, are typical of Italians hailing from the very conservative central region of Tuscany. Even to this day, decades past since they crossed the high seas to the land down under, they frown upon the modern ways the youngsters, especially their own, conduct themselves. They were not too happy when at 22, Daniela entered into a marriage on almost a whim of a decision, and 6 years later, filed for divorce and took to raising their only son on her own. They openly opposed Daniela's short affairs with different guys, especially with the Greek with whom she went out for 2 years but has never been introduced to his parents.

That Greek Daniela would remember most. Aside from that it was with him she had her longest relationship after her marriage, the Greek intentionally kept her away from his folks. "Why?" Daniela finally had the guts to demand to know.

"Because you are a single mother."

She never went out with him again. Though since the divorce, Daniela's life literally narrowed down to work, son, work, she never considered her son a handicap to her youth. If anything, he was a fuel to her drive, the one who unknowingly kept on pushing her to always be and work better. While she'll be away in Byron Bay, her son is enrolled in a scholarship program in an exclusive all-boys Boarding School. I remember her saying, "My son knows I've done so much for him already; he is happy that I'm doing something this big for my own."

From that afternoon, I observed that the mechanics of conversation between friends is different from between strangers. Friends are bound by filial convention to engage in chatter when they are around each other. Strangers are not bound by any. When they do, it's a choice, based on the convenience of the moment, perhaps, or the interest and fascination that was allowed to permeate the moment. Most often, a dead air between friends reeks awkwardness, but among strangers, a normal, undemanding passage. There's comfort in the most likely that you are never to cross paths with this stranger, so the story telling flows, unmindful of a glitch in the details or the exaggeration of a part. The stranger does not have the tiniest idea of and probably the care for who you really are, besides for what you share. Not that I took advantage of that.

As much as my interest for her Tuscany was Daniela's interest in my Philippines. She was especially surprised when I told her I am 23 and has never had a boyfriend, "Oh my gawd, you're the oldest virgin I know!" But when I told her that ladies in the Philippines are expected to keep their virginity until marriage, her surprised mellowed down to appreciation. I guess until she met me, she did not think there's a country left in this carnal world that holds virginity with such reverence.

To my world filled up with stories of people I've known throughout my life or since college, Daniela was a colorful streak of newness. I guess I am the same to hers, though not as colorful yet.

Erica Palou Borromeo

I know somebody who can tell on what day August 29, my birthday, or any date will land in year 2010 without looking at the calendar.

I don't think she cheats. How could she pull one on us? Aside from that it is unlikely she would be carrying a calendar in her bag, and one with a 2010 agenda at that, Erica, that's her name, is blind. It has not been made clear if she was born blind or if she steadily lost her vision through the years. The reality that she is blind has long been established in the clan nobody bothered to check anymore how she came to be.

When the question of her years is hung in the air, just how old she is remains elusive. When discovered, confusing. Erica is 24. She has the built of somebody in her 30s but her ways are characteristic of a boy in his early teens. Her mind is that of a storyteller. She is not a Benjamin Button.

The case is, it's not only Erica's vision that's impeded. She is a case of a mental condition. I haven't got the word for it -- but it shows in how she cannot fully connect herself to the rest of the world. Something more interesting and needful of her attention is happening in her world.

That's why when I challenged her to guess on which day August 29 will be in 2010, I first needed to call out her name 3x and fix her to my request and away from Lola Hermana, a character in her world who my sister and I taught she made up but later, whose existence was confirmed by Erica's yaya Alice. In the hours before I challenged her, Erica repeated the story of Lola Hermana like a broken record. She asked me a dozen times why I didn't sleep beside Lola and reprimanded me for what to her was despicable. When I reasoned out that Hermana is not my grandmother, she wouldn't take a word of it.

Another story that she put on repeat mode happened in her mother's Theresian days (in Cebu). Somebody in the family must have told Erica about it to point out where she got her easy flair for talking from. Or perhaps, it was her mother who relayed it to her in one of their few lazy Sunday afternoons together. So the story goes, in high school, Erica's mother was a usual in the nun's list of the most talkative, always eliciting from the robed teacher, "Ms. Borromeo, stop talking! You are very talkative Ms. Borromeo! Stand in front!" This story regaled Erica - the storyteller - like it was the first time she heard herself share it, and it worked her up to uninhibited laughter.

In the many hours we were in her company, when she spoke of her mother moved us the most. She speaks of her with such detachment she doesn't even know her by mama, or mommy, or mother. It's plainly Mita.

Tita Mita spent most of her life shuffling in and out of the country as a Flight Attendant at Philippines Airlines. In her last hours, it would be summed up that she spent more time looking after strangers than her own daughter. She died a few years, or months, short of a self-imposed deadline to wrap up her jet-setting life and start anew in a career that will allow her to settle down with her daughter. But cancer claimed her before she could reclaim those lost years that she should have spent with her daughter.

Now she could never.

Some sort of salvation in Erica's busy world (of Lola Hermana, etc) is that it keeps her away from awareness that she is already without mother, if the role of a mother ever registered in her world anyway. She continues to regale those within earshot (whether willing or not willing to lend an ear) with her stories and more recently with her singing. Out of the blue, she would charge into the tune of Rock-a-bye Baby with a different set of lyrics each time.

Her double case have mostly its downs. Her mental condition makes it difficult for her to sit still with braille. With it, she couldn't be trusted without her yaya Didit or yaya Alice (both have seen her since infancy). She has tantrums that she herself couldn't control.

But it also has its ups. Her condition gives her blindness vitality. She is able to see through the fixed darkness she wakes up to every morning, and seize whatever she can of the days as breathed, lived out, and seen by the people around her. With this, she is able to color her world with interesting characters and fascinating stories in a way that doesn't leave her in silence, in the corner, in obscurity. Whether fiction or real, she keeps everyone within earshot bracing for these stories.

After proposing my challenge, I readied myself to forgive in case she gets it wrong. But barely a minute passed before she answered.

"Sunday," she said, not guessed.

Correct, August 29 is a Sunday in 2010. Unlike Erica, I needed a calendar to confirm that.
~~~
May you rest in peace, tita Mita.