I have never felt that I have lived in a third world country.

Until now.  In this place. 

One of the best childhood memories I have of my dad is of us going to rallies in the 80s, wearing yellow and decorating our car (a beige Lancer then) with yellow ribbons.

My parents were pretty vocal about their political views and I remember sometimes skipping class so I could go with my mom to rallies protesting the dictatorship.  It was a heady time.  I was only around 9 when the snap elections, and then the first Edsa Revolution happened.  I was only 9 but I knew the issues.  I absorbed information like a sponge.  I spent my free time listening for updates on the radio or reading about stuff in the paper and magazines.  

I was so inspired by her.  And because of that experience, I wanted to work for government.  Do whatever she was doing.  Be inspiring.  Be honest, sincere, eloquent.

So it was with some sadness that I watched the news today, looked at old clips of the Edsa Revolution and remembered quite vividly how I had felt when I was a kid and wanted to do some good for this nation.

And along with countless other Filipinos, I say, Thank You, Cory. For your unparalleled courage and grace under what could only be the most extraordinary circumstances. For making me proud and for making me believe in the Filipino.

The last few nights I've been having dreams --or nightmares, really-- about what else I could have done or what I could have done differently with my dad since I flew home to "get him better".  The last few nights I would wake up very distressed.  Last night, right in the middle of a dream where I was agonizing about what to do, my dad appeared for two seconds, tousled my hair, and left.  I snapped out of the dream while still in the dream and started calling out "dad? Dad!" but he was gone. I woke up crying.

My mom said that it was probably his way of telling me to stop worrying about what I could have done differently and while that gives me comfort, I still wonder. 

In the last 5 days, I met a lot of people for the first time.  These people came from all walks of life, with only one thing in common:  they all knew my dad and loved him.

It humbled me to listen to all their stories and I realised that I thought I knew everything about daddy, but in meeting these people and hearing them talk about him, there were so many sides to him that I did not know.

And so I know that even when he's no longer here, he is still here.  He shows himself to me and guides me through each person I meet who has loved him, and those who he loved.  He will always be here. 

It’s amazing –the power there is in language.

Earlier today, I had to place a call to the hotel I amthinking about booking in Manila when I go on holidays to check if they would honourthe Ozzie gold card gift voucher we had. The minute the phone picked up and I heard the lady on the other endspeak, I  felt a pang of nostalgia.

The funny thing was, I opened my mouth fully intending tospeak in Filipino, and then blanked out. Filipino was never my strong point –it is my third language after alland because my head was struggling with what my mouth was saying, I ended upsounding stilted and caveman-like. So I started laughing at myself. Yes, the lady at the other end was confused, and when she finally strungtogether what I was trying between laughs to say, she pulled the reservationup, looked at my new last name, my stilted accent and assumed the worst.

So she valiantly held up the fort and rallied forth with hertwang, while I pulled myself together and struggled to not to make each wordsound like a sentence.  But howamazing is it that in the course of two minutes, she and I had compiled aseries of impressions about each other based on language?

And then there was that lady at the shop who bought a prettypair of open toe pumps.  I askedher if she was Japanese and she said quite guardedly “yes I am”.  You should have seen her face light upand heard her laugh when I said “moshi moshi”.

Then there was that guy who came up to me at a camping spotbetween Katherine and Darwin, asking if it was okay for them to park theircaravan right beside our ute.  WhenI asked “Vous etes francais?” he gave his friend this very French look and saidin an embarrassed tone “’Ow can you tell? Ees it by my acc-unt?”  Itold him, yes, it was the accent but I also had to reassure him that it wasonly because I have French friends and because I had studied it that I pickedup on it.

And this sweet old man who at a roadhouse who was trying sohard to describe what he was looking for (a memory card).  He was clearly German, knew littleEnglish and I had to scrounge around in my head for what to say but ended upsaying “Nein sprecken deutsch, ma frantsosich ist besser al mein deutsch (I don't speak German, my French is better than my German!” andthen he just started to describe in random French words what he wanted “is unecard, with grande memoire? Memorie? Pictures!” And his funny wife who was inher own world, yelling out “Mais c’est la-bas! Les chapeaux! (But it's over there! The hats!!)” LOL

Meet Bitville Hercules, the latest addition to our family.  He's been v good so far :)

We were going to name him Sparky, but the name Hercules suits him :)   

Also, it has been a really busy last 2 months.  We have been away from KNX and I can honestly say that although we now stay in a town that is much smaller and more limited, Daz and I are a LOT happier.  We are also a few hours drive away from Perth, and in the last 2 months have already gone twice to get away and shop :)  It has been great!

From a two bedroom flat, we moved to a 3 bedroom house with a HUGE backyard that came with a cat.  We don't know who owns him, but he seems to have come with the house :)  and because Daz and I are softies, we've been feeding him so it's unlikely that he's going to leave anytime soon.  He seems to be quite happy with us, though, and since Hercules has come home, has been acting quite jealous.  Puss, as we call him, is not allowed in the house on account of the birds.  Hercules does not seem to notice the birds, even when they are on the floor right in front of him.  More importantly, the birds aren't scared of him, although they do eye him pretty warily when he's around.

Anyway, as anyone can imagine, there has been no time for blog updating at all.  I've actually been toying with changing the nature of this blog, but can't be bothered to actually do something about it at the moment hehe.  Maybe soon.  After I've unpacked the last box.   

a memory can turn traitor

leeching fresh blood out of old wounds