The Accidental Coach

Someone I know who was very close to me asked to meet up after work to confide a nagging worry.
The conversation promptly opened with a question that almost ruined my composure: "How did I know for sure that my then-husband was having an affair?" It wasn't that my friend wanted to know my answer. I've known this person's family history well enough to anticipate the direction her inquiry was going to take.
I listened as she poured out the details, that all-too predictable plot we normally see played out on nighttime soap, of her spouse keeping secrets and talking on the phone in hushed tones, of my friend fishing for signs of extramarital activity among his personal belongings, of heated arguments and the stony silence.
Here was a woman holding herself together --- a mother whose youngest child was a couple of months old, thinking of her own mother who fell ill just recently, recovering from an unexpected passing away of a sibling, at the same time struggling to stay in the marriage as well as keep the peace with in-laws within the confines of an extended household --- by the last few threads of her eroding sanity.
The stream of tears that was broken by sobs coming from her shaking body, however common as the story itself may be, struck a disturbingly familiar chord.
Recalling my own episode of dealing with the frustration, anger, and helplessness I felt when the love my ex used to have for me had gone cold, I could only offer some practical advice that would prevent the situation from turning her into a madwoman.
Turn to a marriage counselor? Why invite a witness to potential dead-ended discussions who might just assure them that when the husband tires himself of the affair, he will certainly find his way back into the arms of his persevering faithful legal wife?
Turn over some stones in the hope of exposing the identity and whereabout of the 'third party' involved? Why should she dig deeper when rodents would only hide themselves further in their burrow? All she would find was more dirt. I explained that a wife could not expect a husband to own up to his infidelity and surrender his prized mistress (while I mentally swore death to every home wrecker alive ).
When I sensed that my friend was reaching a critical point I persuaded her to heed to her self-preservation instinct, that is, literally move herself and her children away where she can buy enough time to carefully think through what she wants out of this mess while there's STILL a measure of control left.
It may not the most encouraging thing to say to her, I know, but her staying put could only disable the defenses she had left and reduce her to a martyr. That sort of assurance comes only from well-meaning sympathizers who think situations like these go away on their own.
In my version of the story, when I decided that I was far worth more than the regard my ex-husband was giving me, that I was MORE than HIS wife, I realized wanting out meant salvaging my damaged self-respect, which was crucial if I were to regain myself, as if it were like growing back the rest of me that was somehow lost in the union.
Betrayal is a B*TCH, indeed. But even if time can graciously allow a woman to learn to love again, there is much, much more required is she were to learn to love HERSELF all over again. But she must first believe that no man is ever worthy of occupying the center of her universe.

Why Do Women Need Makeup?

Sometimes I wonder why as we get older, we women choose to complicate our everyday lives obsessing with how we look. A photographer blogs about his observations in a straightforward enough manner (which is what I'd expect from a guy), and I find myself agreeing with him. Just as he said, at the end of the day, men don't complain for as long as it makes them turn their heads.

Woman in Red - Makeup by Dave Beckerman


The more I learned about what women go through, just to get out of the house, the more I began to believe that if I had been born a woman, I would have had a very tough time getting anything done.

I have enough trouble just trimming my beard every once in a while and all my clothes are the same - jeans and tee-shirts.

Tomorrow, for example, I need to go to a birthday party, and already I'm in trouble because my one pair of "good pants" - well let's say they are seriously crumpled. And I need a hair-cut. And there's a host of stuff that I've put off while I've been doing my work.

And then put on top of that all the other things that they are responsible for - and I can honestly say that I just don't see how I could get anything creative done.

Obviously, since there have been great women artists - there's a way to do it. But I think that if you jump back two hundred years - I don't know that there were many women artists back then. Were there?

Can you imagine living in a world where it took over two hours to get dressed for a party. I used to wonder, as a kid why my mom was always late for everything. When I grew up I found out.

All my dad had to do was put on his suit, maybe brush his teeth and shower and voila. But women, especially at a certain age, are forced by society to be actresses and play roles that are just so time-consuming, and frankly - superficial.

Now in real life, I don't complain about this. I see a beautiful woman and my head turns just like it always did.

Do you know what the fashion and cosmetic business pulls in every year? I'm not saying that there aren't some men that go through a similar process but it's mostly the face and hair that's got to be groomed.

With a woman - it seems to be every single part of her body. In other words - every potentially erogenous zone (I think that's what they used to be called) has to be taken care of. I won't name them all - but from nails to bust to eyes, nose, hair, fingers, toes, etc. etc. What a job.

And sometimes I see that even a large pocketbook isn't enough to carry the paint and brushes around.

I was fascinated by this for a while, and just kept a lookout for women putting on their makeup on the subway each morning. It's enough for an album.

Well anyway - those are my thoughts. Not sure if they are P.C. - probably not - but it's too late to think about that and I've got to get to sleep.

I did a shoot today of a woman, and watching her fix her makeup between each shot (which I am glad she did because the pictures turned out beautiful and no I won't post them now - not without her permission) - but like I say, I would have made a bad job of it.

Peace and (Dis)order

The recent rains prompted me to go through the stuff I have been keeping in storage for, well, goodness knows how long...

I could have easily tossed out all the excess files in the trash can that morning, but as usual, curiosity and the urge to browse slowed down the sorting process and I was once again looking at the mountain of paper that become a haven to bookworms, silverfish, and 'dust bunnies'.

I focused on the contents of a shelving unit that stood in the corner. There were some novels that were handed down by my mother (a voracious reader who has more time to enjoy at her stage in life at past prime) and several inspirational books that I picked up from book sales over the years.

...then I noted in dismay that there must be at least two more boxes of books that I haven't brought out since we moved to this apartment more than a year ago...

I ended up moving my modest collection(s) of magazines to my bedroom. I had one set that was on travelling, another that was a year's subscription of National Geographic, another on home decorating, and yet another on the fascinating stories of high society. Though I scarcely read through an entire issue at a time, I keep the magazines for an occasional dose of light reading.

I lingered on the huge pile of documents and miscellaneous files, all sorted in folders and binders. They should have been properly kept in a metal filing cabinet, but I decided against getting one since I was so convinced that I could keep the paper stream under control.

The subjects of scrutiny were: training manuals from the courses I delivered or developed when I was working for a call center, modules on coaching and leadership development, materials from the conferences and seminars I attended as a delegate from time to time, excess worksheets and lesson outlines from the years that I worked as an ESL instructor (there were essays written by my students, photocopied sections from references such as textbook and academic journals, notes and handouts from my French, Spanish, and Italian classes conducted by my co-instructors).

I even dug up materials from my university days: term papers, copies from required readings, a published script from "The Apartment", film critiques, shooting guides. As I went through them I recalled discussions from discourse analysis exercises in class.

Even after tossing out a basketful of paper, I still felt that resistance to part with the contents of the remaining folders, which are research materials and references. One would think there should be less need for hard copies what with search engines and wikis --- but I reasoned I could never completely trust anything that’s copy-pasted or inadequately researched.

I feel a sense of calm whenever I sit down to sort things. There is something comfortingly familiar about flipping through pages that open a wealth of knowledge, insight, and even memories. Skimming through files felt like opening tiny drawers in my head and letting ideas leap at me like the little critters that were agitated by my sorting.

Another day was ending, and it looked like the decluttering chore was just starting. In the battle for control over the physical chaos housed in this 12’ by 8’ utility-cum-guest room, I realize that the 'hoarding instinct' is a long, long way from surrendering.

Facing Myself in Facebook

Taking quizzes is among the things I liked doing on Facebook (well, when quizzes were still in). Here, I am posting some of the results that I got, and I must say that they don't sound that far away from the truth...

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The Stripping Down Test

Result: You Are Observant in Life - You are serious and stable. You are a bit of a perfectionist, and you like structure.
You are the happiest when you are planning and dreaming. You like to live in the future.
You are sensitive and considerate. You are always putting other people's needs before your own.
You are adventurous and constantly seeking. You feel like you still have a lot to learn about yourself.

Are You One in a Million?

There are approximately 424,166 people with the last name R-----. This Surname ranks the 42 most common in the United States. There are an estimated 215,901 Females with the last name "R-----". It is further estimated that there are about 29 Females with the exact name, C----- R-----.


What Does Your Mind Look Like?

Your mind is like The Deep Ocean. You are always active, but aren’t easy to get to know. Once people do, they see a clever but relaxed person. Many people look up to you, you're a hard worker, don’t waste time and are loyal to those close to you.


Que movimiento de la Historia Del Artes eres?

Eres Impresionismo - Buscas el completo rompimiento con lo clásico, lo estructurado, lo establecido. Eres un gran observador de los fenómenos de la naturaleza, a la que te vuelcas insistentemente; la forma en la que percibes la luz es todo en tu vida. Muestras también, gran interés en los aspectos espontáneos de lo cotidiano, eres sensible y perspectivo, aunque la sensación de las cosas es lo más importante para ti.


What Is Your Inner Self Saying?

Result: You’re a very unhappy person. Sad nearly all the time. Nothing makes you happy. You seem to always be in a funk and never want to join in with others. Happiness isn't something you look for, you just accept that you're alone, and that's that.


What Song Illustrates Your Life?

Result: Aretha Franklin - "R-E-S-P-E-C-T"!

Is that too much to ask? You work hard, live hard, but don't get what really should be coming your way. Right? Right. You bring in the cash, you bring on the laughs, you even fix the office's photo copier. Recognition? Of course not. Raise? No way. Appreciation? Forget it. Why bother even taking the quiz if no one will be slightly interested in seeing your result. Ask for what you want. Remember, you're the man (or woman)! Just a little bit...I can hear you humming the tune already!


Love And Life Via Date of Birth

Results:

Your Life : You are always surrounded by a circle of friends. You are friendly and fun to be with. Although you occasionally disappoint them by being stubborn, but over all, they love your qualities.

Your Love : You want to have full control of your love and that's not a nice way to treat your partner. You take your time in saying yes to his wedding proposal or if you are a man, you will not propose anyone until you are certainly confident which might take ages.


Are you a Woman or a Man?

Result: Woman! Congratulations! You are a typical woman who enjoys shopping, guys, and free meals! Be proud of yourself.. unless you are a man who got this result. Then I would seriously suggest changing up your life style.


What Kind of Mom are You

Result: Middle of the road kind of gal - You're really the most ideal kind of mom to have - You're not too strict, you're not too loose. The kids know how to have fun at a playdate, and you're not ripping out your hair worrying all of the time about airborn germs and fingerprints. You keep your kids clean and well maintained yet they have fun getting dirty too. You keep your house picked up, but you don't have a home air purifier system and sanitizing wipes stashed in every nook and cranny. Your kids play well with others because they have manners but they're also relaxed enough to make friends. Good for you!


"Which Crazy Bitch Are You?"

Result: Sinead O'Connor. - You are one fierce bitch. You are very independent and will take no bullshit from anyone but your personality is actually sort of quiet and shy. You are a natural beauty and you are very comfortable with your feminity. You don't feel the need to overdo it or go out of your way to fuss over your looks. You don't want to distract people from what you stand for and the talents you possess. You are very idealistic and will go to any extremes to stand up for what you believe in even if it creates controversy and people don't understand. Relationships can be hard for you sometimes because men feel threatened by you but time again they come running to you and realize that you are actually very sweet and motherly....until they cross you.


"Are You Clinically Insane?"

Result: Bipolar. - Ever wondered why you're so moody? You experience days or weeks of paralyzing, cheeto-binging depression, then a week of frenzied, hyperactive, ridiculously irresponsible behavior characterized by wild thoughts, sleepless nights, maxing out credit cards, having unprotected sex with dozens of strangers... or shaving your head and attacking the paparazzi with an umbrella. Some might call that chemically imbalanced... others call it "passionate" or blame it on the "artistic temperament". Whatever you call it, you could do with some balance... and Abilify..


Which Type of Woman Are You?

Result: Lovely Lady - You are lovely and caring. You help others and spread out a lot of sympathy. Your life aim maybe is to serve the people. But your weakness is that you forget about yourself, your own needs. All your time is hold back for your friends and family. You are always there for people in trouble. Ready for any emergency. You make a lot of sacrifices just to be a good human. But every woman has her needs, her longings and a destiny. Don't lose yourself in work or curing other people's souls. You will have your own problems in your life. Another problem is that you don't say your opinion when it's right and important to say it. People trample onto your soul if you are always so kind and lovely and helpful. They will play on you. Though you should try to relax more and enjoy your life, you should not lose the gift that was given to you to help others . Not everyone is created this way... You are unique and rare!


What Are You Born To Do?

Result: natural instinct - Tell us the truth... when you were a kid you played the detective game more than any other games and you were always the detective. Whether you are a private investigator or a govt. agent you will be the top of your field...you have a natural instinct which helps you to understand and look at it from a different angle than everyone else

Over the Borderline

It never fails. Whenever I hear Madonna's 'Borderline', no matter how old or how often they play the song to death, I find myself singing along with it. And I'd grin sheepishly at the thought that this gesture is a giveaway for anyone who'd take a guess at my age.

I was about thirteen then, and I still remember dancing to this song at someone's birthday party --- no, not the kind that had balloons and a magic show, but one that had flashing strobe lights and a mobile DJ. Come to think of it, the term 'mobile' had nothing to do with cellular phones back in the day. Anyway, that was when I could outstay anyone on the dance floor, with nothing but the high of being out-and-about coursing through my barely 100-pound frame. No alcohol required (I wouldn't be having my first alcoholic drink until five years later). The high would continue whenever we'd play our favorite music out of mixtapes and would track the songs' rise on the music charts. We didn't 'shuffle' tracks, instead we'd set the audiocassette player on auto-reverse to keep the sounds going.

My teenhood began with Madonna, along with the other eighties new wave artists, with my 'coming of age' being simply marked by a trendy haircut and pair of dangling earrings. I was among the few girls who'd wear eyeliner during my high school freshman year.

During those days there was no Facebook --- well, to be precise about it, in that same year 'Borderline' was released, the famous Facebook co-creator was born. Kids in those days hung out at home or played video games at the arcade. I'm sure there were a lot of other things that teenagers did at that time, but I happened to have hung out with the 'good kids'.'Social networking' for us was a face-to-face activity --- although some would take this a little farther and exchange first kisses in the dark after a party. Kids do that, too, nowadays, right? But in our time no one would broadcast it on a shoutout, tagline, or status.

I really do get a real kick out of singing "Borderline...feels like I'm going to lose my mind," which to me is a way of admitting you're head-over-heels crazy about someone. Hmmm...I think singing more of Madonna's songs while striving to remember what it used to feel like as a love-smitten teenager MIGHT actually be a healthy remedy for someone like me who, sadly, has come to a point of sour-graping and indulging in mortifying doses of 'emo'.

In the madness of everyday existence, the retreat into quiet solitude is when the moment's troubles stop. Tearing through to-do lists and the next day's resolutions, the mind becomes stilled upon reaching the nest of memories. Be it of pleasure or pain, the revisited experience echoes life's lessons.

The voice from our past, whether our own or that of our mentor, is what keeps us steady. And coming back to the present, we become settled with the world once again.

Thoughts That Once Went Through My Mind At The End of the Day

Anger. Anguish. Self-doubt. A bit of Hope...Then the cycle repeats itself.

I must be in some sort of time warp. When I think back to when this madness started, it felt like it was just days ago. Feeling the grip of both shock and disbelief, the searing pain of my heart ripping, the burden of shame and self-loathing, then the temporary relief of apathy.

Twelve years ago, I went through the loss of our first child. Though I may have come to terms with it, the pain could still be felt.

In dreams, I look for that angel's face. I'd call out his name while in tears.

About twelve weeks ago, I went through the loss of a husband.

The husband I once knew was lost to this angry, vindictive, foul-mouthed, adulterer who abandoned the family that he once belonged to. Though the loss was not physical, it might as well have been, for I bear the brunt of his hatred. He has wished even for my own death. And in understanding where that hatred stems from, I realize that it is from an inability to believe that I could still love him despite what we've gone through. And at its core, the immobilizing poverty of a damaged self-esteem.

The enemy I now face bears the visage and the name of the person who went missing from my life, this person who I fear will not be coming back.

And just like with my baby, whom God gave wings to, I look for his face in my dreams, call out his name while in tears. And my heart keeps searching, waiting, and praying.

Searching for reasons to restore our failed marriage.

Waiting for a message from him, wishing to give it another try.

And praying that he would begin to heal from within.

We once made a vow and shared some hopes that we could build our dreams upon, and throughout the years we managed to weather life's numerous demands and challenges.We were blessed with a daughter that constantly brought us joy. But even this other angel was not reason enough for him to keep fighting.

There are many memories that I dwell on to remind myself that those twelve years were not lived in vain. Every happy moment, smile, laughter, embrace, from the successes we shared, all stand in the way of my ability to erase him forever.

I was once told that, as the wife, I would not need to worry, because at the end of the day, he would need to find me when he tries to find his way home. Though hollow as this thought may seem, it's the one thing that stands out from the rest of otherwise obsessive thoughts.

Anger. Anguish. Self-doubt. Once in a while, a bit of Hope...Then the cycle repeats itself.

Regarding Yet Another Fading Memory

I cannot exactly recall the real reasons anymore. I tossed and turned that night, mulling over whether the details of yet another argument. When morning came, a faint sense of understanding settled. I recognized, once and for all, that my husband and I have given up on each other.

As I exchange angry words with my estranged husband, my mind searches for the fellow that I fell in love with a long time ago. The face of this man before me resembled that of the figure in many of our treasured family pictures --- either smiling or wearing a goofy expression, with arms around my daughter and me.

Regret now comes whenever I think about every hurtful expression that both of us could have taken back, about how one more day of patience and longsuffering could have prevented our relationship from failing.

My mind is on aimless overdrive, focusing on nothing but a dull black. I do not know which words to utter when praying. I do not know whether there is any more cause for believing. I cannot lash out at God, for I know there are others who suffer worse. I just know that there’s more suffering to come. Pain lingers like a worsening migraine or heartburn, sometimes overpowering the desire to eat or sleep.

Hard to think of long-term solutions as it is, I am able to manage on a few mundane decisions at the very least, such as rearranging the furniture at home or deciding on a new hairstyle that I could try. In time, I would know exactly just how I could rearrange my life or decide on letting the court mandate on the legalities of our separation.

These days, as sadness hovers over me like a heavy cloud, I am straining to see whatever light remains along its edges. Hope illuminates in the support and understanding of friends and loved ones. The moments spent with them over coffee gives me that sense of unburdening, only to be replaced by this awareness that I had revealed the details of my problems far too much for my comfort.

I am surrounded by a houseful of reminders of a shared life: wedding gifts, framed photos, favorite home movies, and so on. On the other hand, the sights and sounds outside of home set off flashes of memories: our family wandering at the malls, dining, trips out of town, activities in school, etc., etc. If there is no way for a neurosurgeon to find a “Delete” button or press “Restart”, then I would gladly accept a prescription pill to suppress all those ill memories.

Two months ago marked our 12 years of marriage. I had some scant hope that after all the anger has worn down, we’d slowly find a way to reconcile and rebuild our family.

And then that moment changed when I heard him on the phone mutter “I love you, honey.”

It wasn’t me that he was talking to.

.

Detoxing The Spirit

I do not know how long ago it was when I last attended the worship service. I was a visitor to this moderate-size congregation, and I came, along with my husband and daughter, only because I knew the pastor from way, way back when I was still in college. We were members of a different church congregation then, and he was leading the youth group.

To be honest, I did not mind coming in and leaving unnoticed to this group. I was quite relieved that no one asked for first-time visitors to stand up and be acknowledged. I wasn’t looking forward to be handed an info sheet and a welcome pack. All I wanted was to appreciate the service.

The service took place in a rented venue, a cozy little theater with a stage that could hold a musical performance. There were details of renaissance touches, wall paint that mimicked draperies and a faux entranceway to an imaginary hall. The larger-than-life neon sign of a harlequin outside the building could not have given any passerby a hint that some people actually prayed in this building on Sunday mornings.

No, the ambiance was not that of a regular church, not from its subdued lighting nor the cold draft of the centralized air conditioning. It was cold enough even for some members to welcome the pashmina shawls and styro cups of instant coffee offered by the ushers.

Right away, I connected to the theme of the theater’s interior, the way it mirrored the illusion of my life some years ago when I was a practicing, active believer. In my early teens, my social interactions involved Sunday church meetings and Bible studies, youth fellowships and summer camps, Christmas cantatas, discipleship training, even a month of foreign missions.

I could have spent the rest of my life in the mission field or being the wife of a minister, and the decision to do otherwise came from a desire to live an ordinary life. Eventually, different aspects of my life, personal or professional, excluded the spiritual. I could not even readily recall the name of the last church I was with, let alone a single name of any of its members I attended the service with.

The fellow who led the singing called out “God loves you, He loves you very much”. As I readied myself to hear more trite expressions, that was when I realized that I had estranged myself so much that I wasn’t willing to receive the basic truth of what he said.

Slowly, the gap began to close, and once more, I was getting reacquainted with The Being around which my existence could not have been bearable. I was practically anonymous here, left alone in my privacy with God. Forgiveness would be asked, an inner cleansing would need to take place, and renewal, sweet renewal, would be well on its way.

Though the songs were not familiar, I was soaking in their words. Tears were now streaming down my face, my hands were held out, surrendering, reaching out. I was awash with the urge to have the broken parts of my life fixed and to have the flame of faith once more burn.

I am what I am now, and at that moment, I was simply content to be where I was…reflecting on my life’s journeys right here in an unlikely place of worship.

Making Sense of 'What Oprah Knows For Sure'

"Replenish the well of yourself, for yourself first. And if you think there's no time to do that, what you're really saying is, "I have no life to give to or live for myself." And if you have no life to live for yourself, then why are you here?"

This seemingly selfish-sounding statement actually comes from a contemporary American celebrity who has accomplished so much and given away so much - Oprah Winfrey.

I know a number of people complaining that they have no life, who would be lucky to even get four hours of sleep in their own bed, and whose structured lives are outlined by the details of their journal/daytimer. Incidentally, these are people who run businesses, manage teams, or take charge of an enterprise.

And while I envy them for their acquired status and the achievements that came with all the sweat and labor they put into their career, still I would not dare set my ambitions far too high that I would sacrifice precious time for the things I hold dear.

I am perfectly comfortable with my 40-hr work week. I strive to maintain the balance between family and work. I am competent enough to be trusted with challenging tasks and responsibilities. Yet many of my expectations remain unfulfilled. I end up wishing I could be more and that I could have done more.

I wonder, to what does Oprah owe the magnitude of her success? She couldn't have arrived at this point of her career thinking of replenishing herself first? Could her fortune have turned out differently if she were saddled with marriage and a family?