Beauty project

I thought that I will never visit my derma after more than a year of neglect. It seems that my obsession with the new school year and finishing my bestselling Guide to HEDCen have taken the top priority. Then finally, I decided to give face another chance.

Before:   Imagine the skin of santol.  corrugated and bumpy.  imagine ripe mangoes when signs of decay is imminent.

During:   Imagine applying egg whites and worst on your face- that's the peeling chemical, shrinking the skin till its dried up and bursting, not to mention a face so battered after a white head is delivered from a tiny pore that would not budge!!! And imagine how many were forced to come out, delivered by a salivating, obsessed and unrelenting skin midwife of some sort.

The best is when your face starts to crack and layer upon layer of skin begin to s h e d d d... you pull on a thin filament and you hear it crackle a little bit.  this is so addicting that you would not want your peeling to ever stop.  The skin is dead and you roll your fingers gently during and after a bath and they yield like... dead skin!  Peeling does not seem to stop and you find skin on your blouse, on your chest and on your lap.. on the page of your book you last read or on a document you signed.

After:  New skin for a while.  Not as exciting as the process of getting there.  I'd  say it's good to shed.  I see guavas from the tree outside my window as I write.  Still guava face but the younger version!!!  hahahaha!

Witch"s Brew

I am brewing in my cauldron something you are not to know yet.  It started with an idea I had some three years back.  Things seem to unfold.  Am I being shoved to this?  Oh well, if this is going to make me old and wrinkled, I am not going to buy it!  I need resources!  I need people!  I need money!!!  Ideas, I have plenty.  Too many I have to trim them down.  Well somethings are offered on a silver platter.  Others are offered by the changing times.  Some are fruits of dreams and imaginings, others are as real as wine.  Aging it.

can you read my mind?

you will never know...

Ta-ta! 

On being human: empty nest

This may not have lasted for a long time, but it did swoop down on me and made me lose some balance for a while -- to think that I was too busy minding other people's business.

Personal, physical, emotional, spiritual changes, you can run the whole gamut of human experience - I have gone through them ( and still a work in progress).  I went high with success, satisfaction, enlightenment, friendship, contentment, challenges on one end of the spectrum and on the other end -- went wobbly with menopause, empty nest, growing old, senility, self doubt, spiritual dryness, death, weight, sickness, career change, losses...

Here's one I tracked down from my journal more than 6 years ago.

I.  Empty nest.

 Two rooms were vacant and where my other son slept, at the foot of our bed, was vacant too.

 Alone!

My husband slept soundly, while I missed my children. 

So I visualized them in my drawings,  coming home calling our names and our dogs.

This happened so fast, and before I knew it, they were all over our place again, all over us with their wives and husband and children.

not bad!

My drawings made me laugh so hard after I made them that the drama was over in a day.


II.  Death

And this one made me laugh harder!!

tears on paper

III.  Sacrifices

Things were considered very seriously as I was writing this several years ago but I rolled on the floor crying and bursting to the seams reading it again a few days ago!

And I can't believe what I wrote as my final sacrifice: " I will not buy anything for myself - anything I already have!

 

(in fairness, it worked very well indeed)

Oh the things I did to keep my sanity!

Where and What??

After learning that I had another surgery, my oldest friend said: "What else is left, Emma?"
Pilar is 89.  She remembers a LOT!  She has a big byte of memory bank.  I have a hard time remembering.

I am struggling with my memory or the decline of it.  So I left my comfort zone, with the intention to make myself struggle with survival in unfamiliar territory.  I have to recall names and places.  I have to remember where I left my things and remember facts and stories of the past.  Until I realized that maybe, this is my new me.  I was born again in the same old body!

And I live in the comfort that so many young people have lost their sensitivity a long time ago and they don't even remember to make their bed! And I still do.  So why would I even bother if I forget where my cell phone was? I can ring it anytime.  I have several pairs of eyeglasses that if I forget that I wore a pair on my head, I have another pair probably in my bag,  in my drawer or inside the refrigerator! My camera will remember places and moments I will surely forget, so what's the fuss?

old home, new home

Someone was missing his old place and came to visit one day.  There were remnants of old toys found stashed away in the "let-go bin". 

And the baby crib that was warm and familiar was also being missed...  so Jose came back to sleep in it.

















one more time... in his old crib, in his old home where he turned 1!

  goodbye frogglerocks!  I now live on an Anthill... I hope you can come visit me there, where the citylights are awesome...

As we left and walked under the bridge, I took his photo.

then he gave me his hose so he could take mine.

photo by Jacob

Happy growing on your Anthill Jacob and Jose as Uncle Juaqui and Auntie Anne make your old home under the bridge their new home.

...and they all lived happily ever after.

Teacher Emma

I missed time for myself.  I was caught in the frenzy of work and vocation trying to squeeze everything within a lifetime. My body screamed out loud at me.  It slapped, strangled and kicked me till I was blue. 

So after more that a year of getting sick, I made a pledge to pamper myself.  With the help of my children, Ana and Juaqui, and all the other people taking care of my school and loving it as much as I do, I should be on a perpetual holiday.   You see, it is not and has not been easy for me to do this.  I have always felt guilty about having a good time.  Guity pleasures- I've had plenty of that!  I still do.  No wonder, when school started, I stopped painting.  

I just realized that this morning.  I have wondered why I could not pick up a brush and paint away.  I have done other things, like take more naps during the day,  watch a movie alone, write, or cook.  Why can I not paint? I can finish a quick watercolor in 10 minutes, sometimes even in 5!  I painted in frenzy last summer, and i promised that I would paint again once we have launched the new schoolyear, but nothing has happened since then.

Painting was one activity that I would always give up, to give time and full attention to my school.  The Little Farm House is 18 years old.  She is no longer a baby but... like a mother, like a mother, I find myself unable to let go.  

I am letting go.  I am still watching and taking care of it through the people I trust.  My school, my baby, needs to go to school too.  It will benefit from other people, and from other experiences.  And yes,  it  is no longer a baby.  It is capable of being on its own.  Otherwise, the time and care I have given to it (her) for almost 2 decades would have been for naught.

I continue to be its muse and parent.  I am still its vision.  I still love to see the children.  And yes, I will paint too.  Paint without guilt. 

This is how I feel for now.

preschool kids and their birthday cupcakes

 

grade 2 children wearing their hats celebrating the school's 18th year

 

simply Emma

thought of wanting to shave off my head and get rid of hair- maybe my head would be lighter, maybe life would be simpler, maybe no grime after a day of shampoo, maybe no trace of me in the shower, it would be fresh and clean and cool and my head would get sun tanned, maybe I'd be more peaceful and zen like the monks, maybe i would get rid of what i would want to disengage from, detach from, maybe...


thought of pursuing a course on the Art of Doing Nothing - then maybe I can crochet, embroider, paint, plant, hike, write, dance, sing, meditate, levitate and fall in love with life the way a reckless, fearless youth would jump off a cliff with just a thread to hang on to, float on a parachute, live under the sea, and dream and dream and yes, dream...


thought of not wanting anything.  thought of being able to read minds.  thought of being able to heal plants, humans, animals... thought of being able to heal the past.. thought of being able to do something for the future, for the children...


then realized that i am back.  back to where i want to leave behind.  back to what i do. back to where i chase ""happy", back to faces i always like to see and to faces i do not like at all, back to being silly and quirky.... and crazy.