Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
maid of honor!
so my friends are finally getting married after being together for ten years. and they've picked me to be maid of honor. and i am just so honored, seriously.
i was first told by the groom yesterday, and all i could say was "what?! wow! why?"
you see, the bride and i aren't what you'd call best friends exactly. which is not to say that we aren't good friends, because we are. we've shared millions of conversations, some of them laced with tears and most streaked with downright laughter.
still, i could think of at least five other people who are better qualified.
i've been told that the wedding has been planned to be really exclusive. and i even doubted my chances of getting an invitation. and now, maid of honor! wow! why?
come to think of it, i don't remember ever being with either groom or bride outside the workplace, with the exception of the regular workpeople eat-outs. so yes, wow! why?
the other workpeople have started to tease me about wearing make-up and a gown. i am so clumsy with make-up and gowns (actually, i hate make-up; gowns i could probably live with). and the groom has already thought of a way to make the torture of it a little more lasting: photos, lots and lots of photos.
gladys in a gown, and looking all girly. that really would make an interesting addition to the rather long list of things the workpeople tease me for (just when i thought they couldn't possibly come up with more).
just thinking of it all makes me feel downright abashed. but know what i really think? what i really really think? i think i don't care too much. so what if i have to wear an uber-girly dress (that's most probably glossy)? so what if i have to endure a solo march (solo march?! please let it not be the slow type, please!) down a church aisle (a not particularly long aisle, i hope)? so what if there'd be photos (lots and lots of photos) to document it all and serve as evidence for years (and years) after?
i don't care. i think the honor of having been chosen is all worth it.
thank you very much, joan and orvil! for even considering me. i'll be there, in the glossy dress with heels (waaah! heels!) to match.
august 6, 2009
i was first told by the groom yesterday, and all i could say was "what?! wow! why?"
you see, the bride and i aren't what you'd call best friends exactly. which is not to say that we aren't good friends, because we are. we've shared millions of conversations, some of them laced with tears and most streaked with downright laughter.
still, i could think of at least five other people who are better qualified.
i've been told that the wedding has been planned to be really exclusive. and i even doubted my chances of getting an invitation. and now, maid of honor! wow! why?
come to think of it, i don't remember ever being with either groom or bride outside the workplace, with the exception of the regular workpeople eat-outs. so yes, wow! why?
the other workpeople have started to tease me about wearing make-up and a gown. i am so clumsy with make-up and gowns (actually, i hate make-up; gowns i could probably live with). and the groom has already thought of a way to make the torture of it a little more lasting: photos, lots and lots of photos.
gladys in a gown, and looking all girly. that really would make an interesting addition to the rather long list of things the workpeople tease me for (just when i thought they couldn't possibly come up with more).
just thinking of it all makes me feel downright abashed. but know what i really think? what i really really think? i think i don't care too much. so what if i have to wear an uber-girly dress (that's most probably glossy)? so what if i have to endure a solo march (solo march?! please let it not be the slow type, please!) down a church aisle (a not particularly long aisle, i hope)? so what if there'd be photos (lots and lots of photos) to document it all and serve as evidence for years (and years) after?
i don't care. i think the honor of having been chosen is all worth it.
thank you very much, joan and orvil! for even considering me. i'll be there, in the glossy dress with heels (waaah! heels!) to match.
august 6, 2009
My Little Copycat*
My lola's birthday was yesterday, but we only got to visit her today. She was, of course, glad to see my mother, my sister (especially my sister), and myself. And we were really glad to see that she was well.
But what I found really interesting about this little trip of ours (besides the different route we took to get there and back home) was Shaira, my cousin's two-year-old daughter.
She's a sweet little thing with a chubby face, large eyes that are black as coal, plump limbs, and energy so boundless we can only complain about it. When she's up, she leaves you hoping she'll get tired real soon. But you're still bound to get tired just watching her before she tires herself.
And she adores me. That's my favorite part. :)
I was not allowed to sit anywhere else in the house but on the floor with her. I was introduced to her puppet Wabbit, her latest, and therefore her best-loved, stuffed animal (a gift from her bully-of-a-cousin Aiken who I also love.. and bully :D ). And major sign that I was loved: she turns up her chubby cheeks to me, bats her eyelashes, hands me her plastic cup, and says "tubig please." Yep, only her favorite people get to be asked. And I made a total of five trips to the kitchen in 10 minutes, getting a sweet "tik yu" each time. (Don't ask me where she put all that water, I don't know either.)
She follows me everywhere and does everything I do, to the delight of relatives all around. She handed me one of lolo's straw hats, put another one on her own head, and we strutted around in them for a while. I sit, she sits. I cross my legs, she tries to cross her short stubby ones (not that mine are long. well, they're definitely longer than hers). When she noticed that I had slippers on, she took mama's slippers. when those proved to be too big, she took lolo's, then finally lola's. i touch my nose, she touches hers. i rub my tummy, she rubs hers. i pretend to sleep, well she won't fall for that one.
In the middle of it all, my cellphone rings, and of course, little copycat had to have her phone too. so she snatches my sister's. everyone was laughing and i didn't even notice. she had the phone to her ear and was repeating after me, saying only the last word of each statement. the relatives' favorite was "char!"
I was on the phone for almost five minutes and she followed my every gesture. touched her face, lifted her legs on to the chair, flicked her hair, rested a hand on her knee. i only noticed what she was doing when i started fumbling with the belt loop of my shorts and she couldn't find one on her pajamas.
i love my little niece.
When she wasn’t copying me, she was all over me like I was some climbing tree, whether I’m standing, seated, or flat on my back. And my small bony self was expected to support every move of her plump, heavy body.
The only time she ever sat still was when my mother drilled her on the names of different body parts (where’s your nose? And etc) and the sounds made by farm animals (unsay tingug sa baka? And etc). She answered all of them correctly, mind you.
And then it was time for us to go. But first, I had to walk her back to their house which was a short distance from my grandparents’. Along the way, she told me, in garbled and disjointed words, of the cobra she saw under the footbridge – a story I understood only because her grandmother had told us about it earlier.
Once we were inside the house, she closed the door – meaning I had to STAY inside. She was all over me as soon as I sat down. And even when her eyes were drooping, she wouldn’t stay in her hammock. She sat on my lap and planted wet kisses all over my face. She hugged me and said “adabyu ta lai (when she was younger, her mother referred to me as “tita ganda.” She apparently does not remember).”
That’s how it was decided that I wouldn’t leave until she fell asleep, which was around thirty minutes, introduction to 10 stuffed animals, and two milk bottles later.
(*this is a repost from an entry dated august 3,2009)
But what I found really interesting about this little trip of ours (besides the different route we took to get there and back home) was Shaira, my cousin's two-year-old daughter.
She's a sweet little thing with a chubby face, large eyes that are black as coal, plump limbs, and energy so boundless we can only complain about it. When she's up, she leaves you hoping she'll get tired real soon. But you're still bound to get tired just watching her before she tires herself.
And she adores me. That's my favorite part. :)
I was not allowed to sit anywhere else in the house but on the floor with her. I was introduced to her puppet Wabbit, her latest, and therefore her best-loved, stuffed animal (a gift from her bully-of-a-cousin Aiken who I also love.. and bully :D ). And major sign that I was loved: she turns up her chubby cheeks to me, bats her eyelashes, hands me her plastic cup, and says "tubig please." Yep, only her favorite people get to be asked. And I made a total of five trips to the kitchen in 10 minutes, getting a sweet "tik yu" each time. (Don't ask me where she put all that water, I don't know either.)
She follows me everywhere and does everything I do, to the delight of relatives all around. She handed me one of lolo's straw hats, put another one on her own head, and we strutted around in them for a while. I sit, she sits. I cross my legs, she tries to cross her short stubby ones (not that mine are long. well, they're definitely longer than hers). When she noticed that I had slippers on, she took mama's slippers. when those proved to be too big, she took lolo's, then finally lola's. i touch my nose, she touches hers. i rub my tummy, she rubs hers. i pretend to sleep, well she won't fall for that one.
In the middle of it all, my cellphone rings, and of course, little copycat had to have her phone too. so she snatches my sister's. everyone was laughing and i didn't even notice. she had the phone to her ear and was repeating after me, saying only the last word of each statement. the relatives' favorite was "char!"
I was on the phone for almost five minutes and she followed my every gesture. touched her face, lifted her legs on to the chair, flicked her hair, rested a hand on her knee. i only noticed what she was doing when i started fumbling with the belt loop of my shorts and she couldn't find one on her pajamas.
i love my little niece.
When she wasn’t copying me, she was all over me like I was some climbing tree, whether I’m standing, seated, or flat on my back. And my small bony self was expected to support every move of her plump, heavy body.
The only time she ever sat still was when my mother drilled her on the names of different body parts (where’s your nose? And etc) and the sounds made by farm animals (unsay tingug sa baka? And etc). She answered all of them correctly, mind you.
And then it was time for us to go. But first, I had to walk her back to their house which was a short distance from my grandparents’. Along the way, she told me, in garbled and disjointed words, of the cobra she saw under the footbridge – a story I understood only because her grandmother had told us about it earlier.
Once we were inside the house, she closed the door – meaning I had to STAY inside. She was all over me as soon as I sat down. And even when her eyes were drooping, she wouldn’t stay in her hammock. She sat on my lap and planted wet kisses all over my face. She hugged me and said “adabyu ta lai (when she was younger, her mother referred to me as “tita ganda.” She apparently does not remember).”
That’s how it was decided that I wouldn’t leave until she fell asleep, which was around thirty minutes, introduction to 10 stuffed animals, and two milk bottles later.
(*this is a repost from an entry dated august 3,2009)
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