Rockin’ at two weeks


Some say I have too much time in my hands (being on maternity leave).

Others say I’m taking advantage that Max can’t speak up yet.

A few say that I’m gathering all these to show on Max’s wedding day.

My sister says it’s my way of manifesting my post partum.

My mom says its pure madness.

All I can say is, I can’t get enough of taking photos of this little creature! So, enjoy our little angel’s journey through his weeks in different diy costumes. šŸ˜¬

In making this first diy photoshoot, I amde sure that he just woke up and was fully comfortable. Props used are:

  • Dad’s guitar
  • Mattress as the backdrop/studio
  • Dad’s belt as the mic stand
  • Bottle as the mic
  • Phone charger cable as the mic wire
  • And a blanket used as the stage

This tshirt was sooo big on him that I can probably fit two of him in it!


Max at 1 week!


It is amazing how this little creature has made me see past the difficult labor (traumatic, really, if I am looking at an outsider’s POV), and realise that it was all worth it. He is tiny, but I am at a loss for words on how he sums up the whole meaning of life!

This is him in his first week. A bit grouchy in the photo but otherwise a perfect angel. As of writing, he is already at 48 weeks so it will be it interesting to document his growth ā¤

…then the greatest blessing arrived.


39 hours of labour and it was all worth it. If I had to describe it, I would say I feel like I won the jackpot in the lottery, found a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, sniffed some unicorn dust, and won The Voice Australia (mind you, I don’t sing) – all at the same time.

I probably have inhaled a full tank of gas, tried every birthing position possible (some were too embarrassing to even think of), and availed almost all of the labour methods (vacuum, forceps, normal delivery) at the Fiona Stanley Hospital, but this little boy just wouldn’t budge. After an agonising 39 hours at 3am, the midwife finally took a pity on me, gave up her hopes for a normal delivery, and called the doctor who decided that an emergency caesar was necessary and immediately wheeled me into a theatre room. 

Upon entering the room, my first thought was – shucks, I just disturbed a staff meeting. There were about 20 people in that room, and that’s excluding me and my partner! My foggy mind – mind you, I haven’t had sleep or a decent meal in two days – justified that there might be other women to use the theatre room at the same time. Anyway, I was already in a pain so intense, all the constipated days I had in my entire lifetime combined was nothing compared to what I was experiencing. 

Amidst the pain, cursing, and throwing dirty looks at my partner for having the time to feel sleepy even with all the drama, I found a bestfriend in the in the room – the anaesthesiologist. I tell you, I was so happy and relieved from the pain that I started cracking jokes at the doctors when she injected me with epidural!

All along I thought I was going to have a normal delivery – my mom had five kids all normal, my mom-in-law had four kids all normal, and all my check-ups and consultations were normal. Nothing has prepared me for a long labour and most definitely not a caesar. We didn’t expect those things. But the most that I didn’t expect, is that I love this little bundle more than I thought I would. It is astounding and such a revelation. I then thought, I should take good care of myself and my partner, because only then will we be able to give the world to this little miracle, and offer the best of what life has to give. I think that parents should always think and prioritise what is best for their babies, but if they are not in a good capacity to do so – who is going to teach my baby what love and life is about? Who will teach him how to handle and make good from bad things? Who is going to beat the crap from bullies or anyone who hurt him? (Lol, the last one is my overprotective side speaking.)

Ah, this here is a living poetry.

Max Benedict. 13 July 2016. 4:20am, the coldest morning in Perth after four years at 0.6C. 3060grams, 48cm length. 

Four years and a lifetimeĀ 


Serendipity, coincidence, or destiny. 

I am not sure what to call it but I find having my last post dated 13 July 2013 and having my baby’s first birthday on 13 July four years later insanely magical, as if a pumpkin turned into a golden carriage right before my eyes! 
Just goes to show that a lot of things can happen in a blink of an eye. I might even win the lottery today and have an entirely different life next week.

So, it has been 4 years, three countries, two continents, and a jam-packed adventure since my last entry. I read through my previous ones and think that my rants are all immature. Ah, how different my future blogs will be from now on! 

Meanwhile, here’s my little angel, almost exactly one year ago.



If Jose Rizal were still alive at the present time, he would probably have considered working overseas as well. Will that dethrone him from being the national hero?

What he said is true enough, and I’m doing my own translation: “those who do not love their mother tongue (or native language) is worse and more foul than a (for lack of better word) smelly fish.”

But he did not mention anything about actually having to stay in that place where the mother tongue heralds (the Philippines in my case) to show the love for the native language.

OFWs, while overseas, love talking about each other’s life stories and latest gossips in their own tongue, because it carries more impact, encourages more reaction, and appeals to a “homey” feeling. This is what I’ve observed with most – take note of the word most – Filipinos I encounter when traveling. Now, it doesn’t matter if it’s Tagalog or any other dialect, so long as we categorize it as one of our provincial languages. Of course there are some instances wherein these guys would opt to speak in another language either a.) to make them seem “classy” or b.) because they’ve grown up in another country.

And there are some, even while in the Philippines, would talk to each other in English and even rear their kids by implementing an English Only Policy at home. These are the kids you would typically hear “Yaya, I want to make weewee na.” These English-speakers-while-in-the-Philippines are commonly perceived to be the rich folks, although some are just plain trying hard.

Of course, I’m discounting those who work in call centers wherein part of the work etiquette involves speaking English at all times. Actually, some people also accuse call center agents of not being patriotic. Ever heard of the famous adage’s call center version: “ang hindi marunong magmahal sa sariling wika ay sa call center naglipana” or “those who do not love their mother tongue are all working in a call center.” My two points on this: First point: that’s their job. Speaking English on a conversational basis makes them carry out their job more efficiently, and avoids any untoward incidents such as letting “ay puke mo” slip all while on a call. It is also a courtesy and transparency for the foreign bosses so they know what’s happening around them. Ever been in surrounded in a conversation wherein you don’t understand anything anyone is saying? Out of place. That’s the feeling. And, oh, add paranoia too. Second point: The call center industry is one of the key income-generators for the country and a source of livelihood for a lot of people. You can’t hate a decent profession when it feeds several mouths, just because of your biased view of what patriotism is. Anyway, enough of call centers. Back to OFWs.

My point is, location doesn’t matter to prove whether you love your roots or not. I was only inspired to write about this during a recent job interview for a company in Australia. One of the questions asked was, why did you choose to leave the Philippines? To which a follow-up was jokingly inserted, do you hate the Philippines?

Five years ago, my decision to work overseas is not motivated by my “hate” for the country. It is purely a personal decision. I’m not working overseas as a Filipino, as an empowered woman who makes bold choices, as a Catholic, as a university graduate or any other categories the institution can think of. I am working overseas and decide to still work overseas for me, most especially, for family. I don’t go overseas because I am a Filipino and I am about to change how the world views that. Anyone who says that is saying crap. Nobody goes anywhere for a national purpose, unless of course you are a national athlete or a delegate or a politician. OFWs do not work overseas to make their country proud. They work overseas to make themselves and their family proud. The country being proud of the OFWs is just an after-effect, if these OFWs good, of course. People will get a good impression of you, andĀ then the good impression of the roots follows.

Notice the difference:

I hate the traffic in the Philippines.

I hate the pollution in the Philippines.

I hate the corruption in the Philippines.

But it will never be I hate the Philippines, because all those things I’ve mentioned can be hated in other countries as well.

So, I don’t hate the Philippines. I will never hate the Philippines. My leaving it is not tantamount to too strong an emotion such as hate. My leaving the Philippines is all about opportunities and exploring the world. And I think a lot of OFWs feel the same way.


Is it possible to have a mid-life crisis at 27?


So, is it?

I have always validated my worth through the paychecks I receive. Now, now, if anyone tells me that the value of a person does not rely on material goods, I will shoot him in the head, for the simple reason of being a hypocrite. Keyword I’d like to emphasize is validate. While it is true that it’s hard to equate yourself with a monetary currency, let alone imagine it, in the ideal world the salary you receive is equivalent to the hard work you’ve invested.

Now, this being the case, I feel awfully distraught, bothered, and utterly useless for not earning any paycheck for the past three months. When at work, I often feel that it would be so nice just to stay at home, raise your legs up and just eat junk food while watching tv. But this is just a fleeting feeling, not one that I would wish for my self to do on a span longer than any tv drama’s running period. Being sloth has never been my life’s ambition.

I want to be able to see that I’m able to provide and buy things that my brother would need for his school, or for Mom’s meds, or for my sister’s tuition, or for Dad’s car. Encountering those problems, and not being able to do anything about them, is a big blow on my already-dented ego. It’s not the satisfaction of seeing material things, but rather the satisfaction of achieving things. If I can buy a 39″ tv, I’m not proud because I have it and no one else does, but I’m proud because I was able to buy it for my Mom so she can watch her soaps. If I can send my brother to an expensive college, I’m not proud because not everybody affords it, but I’m proud because I know that it’s gonna be making an impact to his future. So see the difference?

When people say money can’t buy happiness, that’s true. Nobody just walks in a convenience shop and says can I have $20 worth of happiness (unless you are willing to think green jokes on this one). What people can buy in relation to happiness is food, education, comfort, the things that would remove any obstacles to being happy. Money is not buying the happiness per se, but buying things so as to be able to enjoy life and becoming happy.

I guess after this pointless rambling devoid of any journalistic construction and form, what I’m saying is, I want a new phone but can’t buy one. Haha. Anyway, In the next couple of months, I hope I’ll reach a resolution in the progress of my career and my life in general. It’s shady at its best, not knowing whether I should go to SG, US or just be happy in my motherland. Moving to a different country is not about forgetting what the country did for me, or for anyone, in rearing me. As far as I’m concerned, it’s my parents who are directly responsible for that, but I’ll discuss that in different blog entirely. Moving to a different country is deciding what is best for me and for my family.

May the gods’ will be done.