I ♥ summertime...

My mama admiring the ocean...





The view from Fleming Beach on a bluebird day...

Holy Moses! BC Government introduces new carbon tax as gas prices soar to nearly $1.47 a litre on Vancouver Island!!

As I take the leisurely ferry ride from Victoria to Vancouver via the Spirit of Vancouver Island, I chuckle about how much cash can be dropped on a single 1 hour and 30 minute trip to the mainland. If you're smart (ie. thrifty), you'll sacrifice the relative inconvenience by parking your car at home to avoid the $43 vehicle charge which many of us have grin and beared in order to escape the plague of island fever. If you're even smarter, you'll pack a lunch. Even if you attempt to pinch your pennies with pre-made deli sandwiches from the ferry's concession, a dollop of tuna salad on a tiny bun will still set you back a ridiculous $6! God forbid you want a refreshing beverage to go along with that!

And this is before the introduction of new fuel charges that will begin to take effect sometime this summer, not to mention the corresponding prices of food. Imagine what a tuna sandwich and bottled water will eventually set you back on a BC ferry?

As global energy consumption continues to far surpass the world supply, West Coast gas prices are following suit. Gas station marquees are displaying a mind-blowing $1.469 a litre, with many grimly predicting that fuel prices will soar to nearly $2.00 a litre by the end of the summer...ahhhhh!

And British Columbia's provincial government has responded. While Bush calls to lift the ban on offshore drilling in U.S. coastal waters in order to increase oil production, B.C. unveiled a new plan to encourage those to conserve energy. On Tuesday, CTV reported that B.C. Finance Minister Carole Taylor introduced a new green budget in which a carbon tax will be phased in startng July 1st. According to this legislation, consumers of diesel and home heating oil will pay 2.7 cents a litre, rising to 8.4 cents a litre by 2012, while those at the pumps will be charged an extra 2.4 cents a litre, and by 2012, this tax will rise to 7.4 cents a litre by 2012.

Many B.C. residents will be less than thrilled by this new tax, but ultimately, all of us still have the choice to use as little or as much fuel as we want. Now, the only difference is that we are being charged accordingly for this precious resource as the days of the seemingly bottomless oil pit have now come to an abrupt end...

Bamboo Blitz M. I. A.....

I know, I 've been the crappiest blogger ever lately!! I do assure all of you that I'm still alive and kicking in the blog world, however I've been swamped with what seems like a bazillion moving parts all moving at once--settling into a brand new house, re-adjusting back into the good ol' island life, searching for a new job, and other demanding family obligations...

But now that I've finally gotten my crap together, I will honestly start pumping out some new and (hopefully) interesting blog material. And of course, I look forward to catching up on all of your awesome blogs...

I'm baaaack...

What a journey!! So in a nutshell, here's what transpired in the last week:

• I got married!!!
• I helped my mom pack up her entire estate to move from Edmonton to Victoria...
• ...and Mr. Bamboo and I drove a 16 ft. U-HAUL across BC.

To say that this was intense would probably be the understatement of the year!

But after everything was all said and done, I'm getting right back into Island life and enjoying every moment of it...

Here a couple photos of the drive through Jasper. (Most of these are car shots so you might catch some of the vermin from the windshield.) I'll be back later with shots of Victoria...

PART I: Cheers to Staff Parties, First Dates, and Kickin' it with The New Deal!

Above: image borrowed from Little Things: The Snapshot Side of MelvinKobe & Jorid Van Laer

Mr. Bamboo is always like, "When are you ever going to write about me in your blog?"


To which I usually reply, "Whenever I feel like it."


Well, I suppose the time has come...


Back in 2001, I landed a summer job as a hostess at a local Mexican restaurant. I know, it wasn't very glamourous but it did have its perks: As a starving university student, you could make just enough to pay your bills and then use your tip money to support your ridiculously booming social life. Talk about priorities, eh? An added bonus was the fact that all of my co-workers actually made my job enjoyable so it wasn't a surprise that we would often tear-up the town together outside of work.

So on one such occasion...

My employer threw a killer staff party. And by killer, I almost mean this literally. The restaurant also owned a popular club in town so they reserved a section of the bar for staff and guests only. Oh yeah, and it was an open bar event which had the potential of turning the night into quite a sh*t show considering they were dealing with a bunch of rowdy 18-24 year-olds (FYI: the legal drinking age is 18 in my hometown).

So after my co-workers and I did some mandatory schmoozing over a couple of complimentary cocktails, we soon hit the dance floor where we remained for the duration of the evening, only taking 5 every ten songs or so when the DJ decided to play a slow jam. And when "No Woman No Cry" came on, we all simultaneously made a bee-line towards the bar to grab another high ball when someone...mind you, a tall strapping young man...intercepted our current mission.

TSYM: Hey, you wanna dance?

Silence.

CO-WORKER: Um...I think he's talking to you BB [as she not-so-subtly elbowed me right smack in the chest while "whispering" this into my ear].

ME: Uh...yeah...sure. [I figured he was easy on the eyes so why not?]

So we danced. But don't worry, it wasn't one of those cheesy slow dance moments reminiscent of high school in which you awkwardly clutch onto your partner for dear life and rock back and forth like a pendulum as "Stairway to Heaven" blasts from the gymnasium speakers. Instead, we danced in mock-ballroom style, complete with exaggerated impromptu twirls which left us both in a fit of giggles by the end of Bob's song. And while I'm the sure that the open bar had a lot to do with our silly state, I was genuinely enjoying this guy's company. But my good sense reminded me that this was a crazy staff party and he was some random dude I had just met, so several of these one-night connections had probably been made throughout the evening.


By the time last call rolled around shortly after, TSYM and I went our separate ways to re-group and find our obnoxiously hammered friends. I was definitely ready for a gallon of water and my fluffy duvet so I quickly said my good-byes and booked it out of there so I could hail a cab before other taxi vultures even had a chance. Right as I had one foot firmly planted into my eagerly awaiting cab, I noticed TSYM walking right towards me...

TSYM: Wow, someone's in a hurry!

ME: Yup, I'm pretty wiped-out so I'm trying to beat that crazy post-bar rush...

TSYM: No kidding...um...so it was nice to meet you...and we really should hang out sometime. Can I have your number?

ME: [Right, I haven't heard that one before, but I still scribbled my damn number on the back an old receipt I had fished out of my bulging wallet.] Yeah, OK.

TSYM: Cool. Thanks! I'll definitely give you a ring sometime...

ME: Sounds good, bye! [It's been real, dude.]

********

Thankfully, I had booked the next day off work so I could pathetically mope around the house and rehydrate myself from the night before. When a girlfriend had phoned to re-hash staff party shenanigans, my little slow dance incident unfortunately did not go unmentioned:

GIRLFRIEND: So who was that guy you were making googly eyes with on the dance floor?

ME: Googly eyes?? Do people even say that anymore? OK, so his name is G and it wasn't a big deal. We were just dancing.

GIRLFRIEND: Oh c'mon! He was totally into you! It was the way he was looking at you!

ME: Honey, the way he was looking at me probably had something to do with all of the free booze that was being shoved down our throats last night!

GIRLFRIEND: You're such a cynic! Besides, he was damn cute.

BEEP. [Sweet, my other line. Saved by the bell.] BEEP.

ME: Just a sec--my other line...Hello?

CLICK. Damn, they hung up.

ME: Hello?

GIRLFRIEND: So who was it?

ME: I'm not sure, I just missed the call.

GIRLFRIEND: Hey wait a minute, did you give what's-his-name your number?

ME: Yeah but--

GIRLFRIEND: Oh man, it was probably HIM!!

ME: I serioulsy doubt it.

GIRLFRIEND: Star-69 it!

ME: What??

GIRLFRIEND: You know, star-69 the call so you can find out who it was...

ME: All right, Eager Beaver, you are soooo relentless!! haha! So what if it was him? He's just some random guy that I had a brief, 15-minute encounter with--end of story! Besides, how cliche is it to meet someone at a bar, let alone at a drunken gong show of a staff party??

GIRLFRIEND: Seriously, there's no action in my love life right now and frankly, there's not a lot of activity in yours either! So as your friend, I command you to hang up the phone right now and find out if he freakin' called you! What do you honestly have to lose?

OK, she did have a point...

To be continued...

SNOW DAY--An Unbelievable April Blizzard!!

The Canadian Prairies have been hit HARD (understatement of the year) with a relentless snowfall which has dumped more than 30 cm of the cold fluffy stuff in the region. What started off as a light flurry has now turned into a full-blown BLIZZARD!! And just to think, on Thursday, it was +15-degrees Celsius. Dammit!!

So here are a couple photos of this freak of nature. And you even get a one-time only sneak peak of Bamboo Blitz herself--in case you cared at all :)

Springtime--Testing out my new camera

Only the Mountain and I--A Tale of Tragedy and Triumph in the Canadian Rockies

All the birds have flown up and gone;

A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.

We never tire of looking at each other

-Only the mountain and I.

--Li Po, "Alone Looking at the Mountain"

While I was out suffering through a seemingly endless array of afternoon birthday shots, my friend, Kim, was shredding the slopes of Lake Louise. After high school, she had decided to leave Edmonton behind and live the mountain dream where a life of snowboarding and skiing was interrupted only by the need to make a living. This usually meant following in the footsteps of ski bums before her by earning a meager wage as either a liftee or server at the local ski hill. At this point in time, any crappy job seemed to be worth breathing in the crisp air of the Canadian Rockies every morning.



So it was safe to say that all of us back in Edmonton envied Kim’s new zen lifestyle.



But this didn’t stop me from having a grand old time on my 19th birthday. My girlfriends and I pub-hopped down Whyte Avenue like our lives depended on it—gulping down fishbowl margaritas, pounding back tequila shots, and wiping away beads of sweat as we danced the night away. From what I can remember, it was good times all around, which is more than I can say for that throbbing headache and dreadful nausea I was feeling the next morning…



For Kim, my 19th birthday was no different than any other day in her carefree existence. She awoke first thing in the morning and geared-up to ride the first tracks—untouched fresh powder—on the ski hill before heading to work later on that day. Since faster is always better when you’re carving through fresh powder, Kim was racing her friends down each bowl, letting her snowboard seamlessly cut through the snow like a hot blade through butter. Her newly waxed board began kicking things into turbo once she hit the smooth groomer runs, and her adrenalin started peaking as the wind made her pigtail braids sway like oak branches in the breeze.



She was now in the zone—confident and euphoric—so she decided to hit a table top jump once she arrived in the terrain park. This wasn’t that big of a deal considering she had hit this kicker a few times before and Kim figured that attempting a BIG AIR was only a fitting way to end a great day of riding.






So she carved right down until she was about 200 meters from the jump before launching right for it. Kim allowed her board to quickly shift between its front and back edges in order to generate enough speed needed for a successful take-off. Once she was right on the cusp of lip at the top of the incline, Kim's momentum propelled her forward so both her, and her board were now airborne...

********

RING! RING! RING!



Who the hell is calling me at 8 am in the freakin' morning!? Seriously, it's the day after my birthday and I went to extraordinary measures so I wouldn't have to: a) leave the house today, and b) do anything productive. This better be bloody important!!!!



RING! RING! RING!



ME: Hel-lo...


CALLER: It's Kim...oh my God! It's Kim! [sobbing]


ME: Jasmine?? Is this you? Are you OK? What happened to--


CALLER: We went snowboarding yesterday...and it was all good. It was a powder day...great conditions...but--


ME: Oh God...what happened, Jasmine?!


CALLER: She went off a jump...and we were cheering her on 'cos she got such big air...but the way she landed...



ME: Is Kim all right?


CALLER: It was awesome 'cos she got like 20 feet of air but--


ME: OK, this doesn't sound good...


CALLER: SHE LANDED FLAT ON HER BACK!!! Oh my God...she landed on her back...



Silence.



After Kim's accident, ski patrol medics had determined that she had sustained a very serious back injury. They notified S.T.A.R.S. Ambulance and she was then air-lifted back to Edmonton's University of Alberta Hospital. According to her doctors, Kim would have died right then and there had she not been wearing a helmet. But even though she was alive, things were still looking very very grim...



The impact of Kim's fall had crushed her spine and had caused permanent damage to her lower spinal chord. And over the span of a single minute, Kim had become a paraplegic.



It was completely devastating.



Kim had been a star athlete all of her life, playing on both the high school basketball and volleyball teams. She even found the time to play competitively on a club soccer team. Sports were her life. We were all heartbroken for her.



During the next year, Kim had to undergo rigorous physical therapy and by the time she was done, I had moved to another city to attend university. It didn't take long before life happened and we completely lost touch...

********

Years had gone by and through the grapevine, I had heard that Kim had started training as a competitive sit skiier. But at the time, I still had no idea how far she had actually gone.

So after two years of completely boycotting Facebook, I finally caved after a sudden desire to look-up long lost friends. It didn't take long before my nostalgia led me right to my old friend.

Kim had messaged me out of the blue and I was totally stoked! Not only was she a competitive sit skiier, she had joined the Alberta team just a year after her injury. In a few short years, Kim was already skiing for Team Canada as one of their star athletes. And now, at the pinnacle of her career, she was competing at the international level, even winning GOLD in the slalom at the IPC World Cup in February.

Truly amazing.

I just had to smile to myself. Leave it up to Kim to completely transcend her injury and make the best out of a seemingly tragic situation. The mountains really were her life and nothing was ever going to take that away from her.

10 Fool-Proof Ways to Piss Off Your Customers

Lately, it feels like I've been plagued with the worst customer service (EVER!!) lately. And believe me, I'm not on a high horse here. Waiting tables, bartending, and pushing designer jeans--I once did it all as a starving student so I've had my share of nightmare customers. You know...the ones who seem to thrive on making your life a living hell during that brief time you spend together:



Scenario #1: Hell's Kitchen


MEANIE: It isn't like it's rocket science! I asked for a blue rare steak--


ME: Uh...sir, that is a blue rare steak...


MEANIE: It's COLD and OVER-COOKED!


ME: Well, the steak was just briefly seared on both sides so the the centre is supposed to be cool...

MEANIE: I want a new steak NOW!!!


ME: Sure, no problem. I'll have a new striploin for you in a few minutes.


MEANIE: MAKE SURE THEY DON'T SCREW-UP THIS TIME!



Scenario #2: Rodeo "Dive"


TEEN MEANIE: Hi, I wanna like..return this bikini.


ME: OK, was it defective?


TEEN MEANIE: Um...no...I just changed my mind.


ME: I'm really sorry but swim suits are a final sale unless the garment is defective. We even stamped your receipt when you bought it.


TEEN MEANIE: Why?


ME: Um...bikinis are like undergarments so our policy is because of sanitary reasons.


TEEN MEANIE: But I didn't even...like...wear it! I just wanna get my money back!


ME: Well, your receipt says that you bought the bikini over 3 months ago...and honestly...it looks like you did wear it. I'm sorry but it is still a final sale.


TEEN MEANIE: I wanna talk to your manager!


ME: I am the manager my dear...

I'm sure you get the idea, right?

What I did learn from working in both the retail and restaurant industries is that it's one big play and you're the star of the show. You swallow your pride because a) you're getting paid to do it and b) good tips are usually a huge incentive. Difficult customers may require you to use every ounce of willpower in your body to suck-it-up but most of the time, customers are usually pretty easy going so a good sense of humour and kindness go a long way. They are paying for the experience after all...

And now that I am on the other side of the equation, it feels like I've just been getting shafted. Rude and incompetent seem to be the first words that come to mind when describing my most recent customer service experiences. Seriously, I'm a damn good tipper and really laid-back so what gives?! If I'm dropping $100 for a nice dinner or for a pair of jeans I demand good service dammit! So instead of actually confronting these servers and retail workers who clearly detest their jobs, I've decided to exorcise my angst with the following list:

10 Fool-Proof Ways to Piss-off Your Customers

1. Don't smile and make sure to speak to your customers in a really RUDE tone.

2. Act like your customers just asked you to cut-off one of your limbs when all they really wanted was another Coke.

3. Make sure to trash-talk your "bitchiest" customers out loud in a fitting room filled with other customers.

4. When your customers have waited over half-an-hour for their food, make sure to completely abandon their table and don't refill any of their drinks.

5. Don't apologize when the food finally arrives cold and a customer is missing his meal because you forgot to punch in his order.

6. Rudely stare your customers down when they walk into your clothing store.

7. When a customer calmly confronts you about over-charging her $10 for a pair of jeans, make sure to a) rudely argue about it and, b) not to apologize when a calculator proves you wrong.

8. Make your customers wait at their table for nearly 15 minutes before you greet them or take their drink order.

9. Absolutely chat about your sex life with another employee within earshot of a customer.

10. Make sure your customers know how much you hate your job. This may entail: rolling your eyes when asked a question, telling them that you're sooo hungover when they ask how you are doing, and looking like you would rather be cleaning subway toilets than serving their table right now...

Tag Teamin' and Sporadic Posting

Happy St. Patty's Day everyone! I apologize for my sporadic posts. I've been really busy with family and work-related stuff so I'm hoping I can get back to my regular blogging routine very soon. In the meantime, perhaps you'll enjoy learning some very trivial tidbits about me a' la memes as both Ivy and Zen have tag-teamed me.

Since I am now officially IT...

I'll start with Ivy's alphabet meme in which I tell you 26 random facts about myself that...if you haven't already guessed...correspond with each letter. Since this a lot more difficult than it seems, I thought I'd narrow the field by sharing some of my favourite movies instead:

A- Adaptation, Apocalypse Now

B- Blow

C- Clerks, Chasing Amy, and Canadian Bacon

D- Dogma (Can you tell I'm a big Kevin Smith fan?)

E- Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind, Empire Strikes Back

F- Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Fight Club

G- Gardenstate

H- High Fidelity

I- I ♥ Huckabees, It's a Wonderful Life

J- Jackie Brown, Jacob's Ladder

K- Kill Bill

L- Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels

M- Magnolia

N- National Lampoon's Animal House

O- Office Space

P- Pulp Fiction

Q- "Queen Bitch" --Yes, as in the Bowie song because I can't think of any movies...

R- The Royal Tenenbaums, Rushmore, Return of the Jedi

S- Swingers, Say Anything

T- Thelma and Louise

U- Usual Suspects

V- Van Wilder

W- Wizard of Oz, Wayne's World

X- American History X (I know, this doesn't start with an X but close enough...)

Y- The Yards

Z- Zoolander

Now moving on to Zen's 5 things meme, I have to match each category with my corresponding post:

1. Family: I think "Ode to El Familia" is an obvious choice.

2. Friends: I try not to trash-talk my friends too much behind their backs so they are often spared from my blog. However, I did make an exception for "What Happens in Mexico, Stays in Mexico...until now" since it was definitely a story worth telling!

3. Myself: Seriously? Like Zen, I'm a vapid narcissist (kidding) so my blog often revolves around ME. But if I had to choose a fave, I suppose it would be "Oh! Yeah! I wanna riot!--Slam Dancing to Pinoy Punk Rock."

4. My Love: Much to his dismay, I usually steer clear of blogging about Mr. Bamboo so this is a work in progress...

5. Anything you like: Well, in that case here are some of my faves--"The Quest for Cool", "The View from Baghdad", and "Tenenbaum Truths".

So here's the moment of truth. I'm tagging Wil, Yuk0, Soup, Divinyl, and any of my friends at Pax Compoundia. Just choose whatever meme fits your fancy and tag away. Oh yeah, and make sure to enjoy a couple of green pints today...

What's your heritage?

When I first started my blog back in November, it felt like I was this leaky faucet just dripping with ideas. My inspiration stemmed from my desire to explore the unique faces of the Pinay identity. It was a way of reaffirming my own sense of self since coming into my mixed Filipina Canadian heritage had definitely been a work in progress.

Throughout my youth, I had convinced myself that I was a Canadian that just happened to be Filipino. So being a Filipina was merely a consequence of my ancestry. Whenever I answered the well-played-out What's your heritage? question, I always felt the need to emphasize my Canadian-ness in my explanation: “I was born in Canada but my family is from the Philippines.”

It was a reflex I had developed over the years in order to convince people that I really was one of them even though I didn’t look like them. It was a second skin I had grown way back in elementary school when kids would shrug their shoulders and crinkle up their faces in puzzlement whenever I said I was a Filipino, as if this was synonymous with me saying I am a Martian. And at the time, it was my way of resolving both my Filipino and Canadian identities since I perceived them to be two diametrically opposed entities.

Complicating matters even more was the way my family always seemed to blame my teenage shortcomings (ie. cutting classes and missing curfew) on my Canadian (ahem...White) friends, convinced that all of my own free will suddenly flew out the window when I was in the company of these infamous ringleaders.

While peer pressure obviously played a large part in my teenage rebellion, I'm pretty sure that race had nothing to do with anything considering I knew a bunch of Filipino kids, and Chinese kids, and Indian kids who used to smoke cigarettes and cut classes all the time. It was like a right of passage or something. But before I get carried away here, my point is that my family had harnessed these discriminative notions of Canadian culture from their own coming to America experiences. To them, I was doing my Pinay heritage a grave injustice by behaving more Canadian. What that really meant was well beyond me and somehow I felt like I was a square peg trying to fit into a round hole.

So with all sob stories aside...

I started to figure things out. Seeing the amazing work done by Dr. Melinda L. de Jesus (Pinay Power Peminist Critical Theory: Theorizing the Filipina/American Experience) and Sabrina Margarita Alcantara-Tan (Bamboo Girl) made me realize that I was walking down a well-worn path paved away by millions of other Filipina Canadians and Americans. We were nurses, and punks, and teachers, and queers, and professors, and activists. Some of us could speak Tagalog, while others could barely utter a single sentence in our ancestral tongue due to highly held values of assimilation. Some of us were raised in strict Catholic households where girls were just girls, while others were taught the values of Pinay Power. But despite our uniqueness, we were all Filipinas.

As I began to connect the dots, I couldn't help but feel this overwhelming affinity for all of the women in my family.

So what's my heritage?

While I was the only Filipina at those punk rock shows, my aunt was the first Filipina nurse to arrive at Winnipeg’s Health Science Centre. As I crowd-surfed my way closer to my favourite band, yet another aunt carried her sister on her back as they fled from the Japanese during the Second World War. And even though I had earned my own shred of street credibility, my mother was busy earning two academic degrees and balancing the responsibilities of single motherhood.

That's who I am...

**Note: A section of this post was previously published in my article,"That's What a Filipina Is!", which appears in the latest issue of RicePaper Magazine.

Pounce!

I thought I'd kick the week off with our big-ass cat (barely) balancing on her little perch. She's scoping out one of her many arch nemeses--a bird, squirrel, or another cat--that she's just dying to pounce...

Moments

Don't you love when you catch yourself in one of those moments?

When you're a kid, these instances seem to be endless. Everything is so new and exciting and magical and well...meaningful. Children become engrossed in everything they do, whether it be playing soccer at the park or learning how to play a new instrument, so much so that their passion and enthusiasm becomes beautifully contagious.

Even though I don't have children of my own (yet), I've spent a lot of time mentoring kids in youth groups and working with students within the public school system, so I've been lucky enough to share some memorable experiences with them. One of my favourite moments was when I had the opportunity of teaching a group of grade 2s a Music unit on percussion instruments. And believe me, it was just as fun as it sounds...

I taught the Music class at an inner-city school in Victoria. Since 70% of the demographic consisted of Aboriginal children, the school had a number of cultural revitalization programs such as a Coast Salish Studies class, First Nations' drumming groups, and a number of social supports in place to ensure the well being of these students. With the dark leagacy of Canada's residential school system marring the lives of many of these students' parents, such measures were integral in providing meaningful education for this new generation of Aborginal youth.

So with all of this in mind, it only made sense that I geared my unit plans towards a First Nations theme.

The beautiful thing about Aboriginal music is that there is such a strong spiritual component to many of the songs. Since many of these nations depend on storytelling to carry on their ancestral legacies, family songs are treated like sacred scrolls that are passed down through the generations. I was also in luck because First Nations music just happens to be very percussion-oriented.

Since my students were very young, I planned my lessons with a very simple progression:

• Lesson 1: The Beat


• Lesson 2: Introduce Percussion Instruments


• Lesson 3: Rhythm


• Lesson 4: Dynamics


• Lesson 5: Combine the Beat, Rhythm, Dynamics


• Lesson 6: Performance

Throughout this whole process, I taught my students only one song called "Gitsigakomim" (pron: git-see-ga-ko-meem), a lovely Cree melody which means honour/love thy mother. Again, this was to keep things simple. Over time, they would layer each of the components learned above, using their percussion instruments.

When I first taught the students the song (sans the instruments), I was almost moved to tears. "Gitsigakomim" carries a very simple yet powerful melody consisting of 1 verse and 1 chorus that are repeated throughout the song. So there I was, standing in the middle of this circle of 8 year-olds, as 30 of these little voices joined in unison to fill the classroom with this melodic chant:

"Gitsigakomim/ He-ey Ya/ Gitsigakomim/ He-ey Ya/ Gitsigakomim/ He-ey Ya/ Git-si-ga-ko-mim/Hey ya, he-ey ya/ Hey ya, he-ey ya..."

And once I started introducing the instruments, I knew these kids were naturals. Their impressive skill level actually caught me off guard since I was able to teach Lessons #2-4 in just two lessons. A pretty crazy feat when you consider the logistics--30 students, 30 sets of very noisy percussion instruments, and 8 year-old attention spans--need I say more? But somehow we just plowed on through since the kids loved to sing, and play the instruments, and hear the fruits of their labour. It was so gratifying for me because I could tell they were really very passionate about making music.

During their final lesson, the students combined all of the elements they had learned into a single performance. As their teacher, aides, principal, and vice principal came together as the audience, the students strutted their musical stuff...

>enter triangles: TING///TING///TING///TING

>>enter hand drums: BOOM/ BOOM/ BOOM/ BOOM

>>>enter rhythm sticks: ti-ti/ ti-ti/ ti-ti/ ti-ti

>>>>enter tambourines: TA-ti-ti-ti / TA-ti-ti-ti/ TA-ti-ti-ti/ TA-ti-ti-ti

>>>>>start singing "Gitsigakomim"

Smiling happy faces sang their little hearts out during that performance. Our voices rose together in that room to achieve that same euphoric energy one feels when watching your favourite band play at an outdoor ampitheatre. Except this time, the kids were the band and the venue was the classroom, where we were sharing our special moment together...

Ode to El Familia

Cuivis dolori remedium est patientia.

--Patience is the cure for all suffering.

This is a conversation I had with my mom, sometime during my terrible teen years:

MOM: What's wrong with you?! Have you forgotten where you came from??

ME: Where I came from? What, you mean some Third World country with a bunch of poor people?

MOM: Don't you ever say that! You are a Filipino--have some respect!!

ME: I know, but I was born in Canada so I am also a Canadian. Remember?

MOM: You think you're so smart because you speak fluent English and can manipulate conversations. But the truth is, you wouldn't be in the comfortable position you are now if it wasn't for the sacrifices made by your family!

Silence.

After a few deep breaths, my newly composed mother began to tell me this story. I had heard much of this before, but now she made no qualms about filling in ALL the blanks....

MOM: When the Japanese came, we lost everthing. Our house was burned down during their occupation so that's why there are no photos from my childhood. Since my parents had 8 kids, they were not going to take any chances. We had to flee Davao.

The plan was to go to Cotobato since my mother, your Lola, had a brother there. This was a very long way on foot. We basically had to walk from one coast to another. It was a very long journey.

My father, your Lolo, carried all of the food and supplies that we needed. Your Lola carried your Auntie Nina near her chest since she was only a baby. I was just a toddler so your Auntie Linda carried me on her back the whole way.

We had to remain inconspicuous so the Japanese would not find us. So we often walked through fields. If my parents heard or saw anything suspcious we had to crouch down to the ground. Your Lola has since told me she was very very frightened during these times....

ME: Oh my GOD! Did you guys actually make it the whole way?

MOM: Amazingly, yes, we did. We stayed at my uncle's place in Pigcawayan, a city in Cotobato, until after the war.

ME: And then what happened?

MOM: We travelled back to Davao.

ME: You went back?

MOM: Well, my parents still thought we had a house to go home to. When we returned, that's when they discovered that our home was burned to the ground.

ME: That's so devastating!

MOM: It was, but remember, that was just a house. I think my parents were very thankful that we all actually survived.

ME: No kidding! That's an amazing story....

MOM: Well, there's still more. Do you want me to go on?

ME: Yeah Mom, for sure. Go for it.

MOM: So my father had fallen very ill in the years following the war. As his condition began to dramatically deteroriate, he eventually passed away from these complications.

This was very hard on my mother. She loved your Lolo so much. While he came from a very wealthy family, your Lola came from a very poor family. His family did not approve of this. In fact, they disowned him when he married her. So when he passed away, he did not have a lot of money to leave us.

My mother was very worried because she now had 8 mouths to feed, and we were all very young at the time--my oldest brother, your Uncle Tony, was 15 years-old. Your Uncle Danny, the youngest, was still a baby.

While your Lola was an intelligent woman, she only had an Elementary school education so her employment options were very limited. She also had many children to care for so she couldn't leave the house to work. This meant that your Uncle Tony was forced to sell fruits and vegetables on a street corner in order to put food on the table for us.

ME: Are you serious? Uncle Tony actually had to do that? He was like my age at that time!

MOM: Well, unlike you, he had no other options. It was not a glamorous job, but it was either that or starve.

ME: But I don't get it. How could you guys be living in total poverty and then somehow all become educated and immigrate to Canada and the States?

MOM: Be patient, I'm getting to that.

ME: OK, continue then.

MOM: So when hope was beginning to run-out for my family, my dad's sister suddenly arrived on our doorstep. What a godsend! She invited us all to move into her house so she could help us. Most of all, she was the catalyst for all of us getting an education.

Over the next few years, my aunt helped raise us and became our soul breadwinner. She would even pay for your Auntie Linda's and Uncle Tony's post-secondary education. This was a true gift since an education was the only ticket out of our poverty.

Once your Uncle Tony eventually graduated with a Master's Degree in Political Science, he made good on his final promise to our father....

ME: Promise?

MOM: Before your Lolo had died, Tony had told him he would take care of our mother and all of his siblings once he had the opportunity. And since he had just landed a good paying post-degree job, this was now the opportunity he had been waiting for.

Recognizing that our aunt had went above and beyond the call of duty, your Uncle Tony decided to take the responsibilty of paying for the rest of our college education.

Can you believe that? He sent us ALL to school! If it wasn't for your Uncle Tony, your Auntie Nina, Uncle Joe, Uncle Rene, Uncle John, Uncle Danny, and myself would not have had the opportunity to earn the degrees we have today.

ME: That's absolutely incredible! But how did Uncle Tony have the time to send all of you guys to school and start his own family?

MOM: He didn't. Helping us all get an education came at the price of his own personal life. Since he was so busy working crazy hours, there was just no time for dating or socializing, much alone getting married. When he did finally settle down, he was already nearing his forties.

ME: Wow, Uncle Tony is such an extraordinary person! So self-less. I mean all of you guys are amazing survivors...to come from nothing and end up where you are today. Mom...I'm really sorry about what I said earlier. I really had no idea....

MOM: That's all right, hija. You come from a different world, so of course it is difficult for you to understand another kind of life. All we ask you to do is remember...and recognize that you come from a very special legacy. You are a Filipino.

What Happens in Mexico, Stays in Mexico....until now

"C'mon, that didn't really happen, did it?"

"Seriously...for about 5 minutes, I thought we were all on our way to a seedy Mexican jail."

"Hey, look on the bright side. At least you guys lived to tell the story and can all laugh about it now!"

"Right, it was really freakin' funny...."

******

As the entire wedding party all hopped on their borrowed banana seat bikes, our sticky sweat-drenched bodies were a very obvious indication that we were all in desperate need of a dip in that inaugural cenote.

Our buddy, Tim, a first-class schmoozer, befriended two local business owners during a night of debauchery involving way too many shots of tequila and Dos Aquis to mention. In addition to his well-deserved hangover, Tim had announced that his new acquaintances had offered to take us all on a personal bike tour through the Mayan Jungle. As icing on the cake, we would hit every single cenote along the way to do some killer snorkeling.

Needless to say, we were all sold on Tim's proposition.

So our trek began at the northern tip of the Yucatan Peninsula, about three hours south of Cancun. We pedaled away from the sleepy coastal town and soon hit the bumpy gravel roads that wove through a dense rainforest of tropical dry and tropical wet semi-deciduous trees.

When we thought we couldn't possibly encounter any other humans deep within this jungle, our enthusiastic guides would bring us to the first of many remote beach enclaves in which hammocks were strung around a beautiful teak bar. With refreshingly stiff margaritas in hand, our eyes would wander from the waves calmly hitting the sand to the outdoor community of palapa huts lining the secluded beach.

It was paradise.

Once we had cooled-off, our guides cracked the whip and reminded us that we still had to experience the first cenote of the trip. So begrudgingly, we got our butts back on those bikes and lazily pedaled away.

After a sharp detour down a very steep and narrow path, we arrived at our first cenote. And it was absolutely breathtaking.

The clear, freshwater pool filled a nearly-symmetrical round crater, as a tall shale wall surrounded one side of the lagoon in which those ballsy enough (none from my party), could do some cliff-jumping if they so dared. Instead, we opted for the safer choice and all decided to partake in some marathon snorkeling as we pretended to be marine biologists and geologists for the day.

And so our day continued along at this carefree pace which consisted mainly of biking, swimming, snorkeling, and drinking. I know, life was tough....

As the tour drew to a close, a member of our exhausted entourage announced that he wanted to stop for a brief smoke break. Apparently, he couldn't smoke and bike at the same time. Since we were all teetering on heatstroke and total exhaustion, we all obliged.

So as our buddy went to light his cigarette, one of our guides began to spark a joint. He insisted that we all share his little party favour but for some reason, we all passed on the grass. After a full day of biking, swimming, and sipping margaritas, all I could think about was a cool shower and my comfy hotel bed.

Once our guide savoured the last hit of his doob, we all eagerly hopped on our bikes one last time and....

"ALTO AHI!!" A stern and authoratative voice called from the depths of the jungle.

We all simutaneously turned to one another with puzzled expressions that seemed to say--Who the fu** was that??

Suddenly, a small, Mexican man in a blue uniform emerged...seemingly out of nowhere. A very intimidating gun slung across one of his shoulders.

Right at that moment, I answered my own question. He was a Federali. Oh God, he probably smelled that jackass' pot and now we were all fu**ed!

Seeing the growing fear in all of our eyes, both of our guides calmly told us to: a) not to move, and b) not to utter a single word. They would do all the talking.

As we stood there in complete disbelief, all I could think about was a line I had read in a Lonely Planet about situtations such as this:

"Mexico has a no-tolerance policy for drug related offences and will not show Canadians or Americans any leniency if arrested under these circumstances. Neither Canadian nor American embassies are likely to intervene on their citizens' behalf if such offences are committed."

Great, we're all going to get thrown into a Mexican slammer--by some omnipresent police force--for a crime neither of us (Canadians) committed! To top it all off, this shit's going to go down exactly one day before my best friend's fabulous beach wedding...the soul reason we're all here in the first place!

And right when I thought I was on the verge of having a self-imposed heart attack, that enigmatic Federali officer ran right back into the bushes from where he came. It appeared as though some kind of deal was struck between him and our two guides, however, not a word was ever spoken about any of the details.

Once we finally got back into town, we thanked our two new friends for the exciting day, and promptly caught a cab back to our hotel.

The ride started off in complete silence until someone finally said, "Dude, did that really just happen?" Suddenly, we all broke out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter....

Growing Up is Hard to Do

When did it all happen?

By it, I mean adulthood. You know. The bills, the career, the car payments, the marriages, grad school, divorces, rent, and mortgages. And I haven't even mentioned the kids. But there's no bun in this oven right now so that story is still yet to come....

What I'm saying is that sometimes I psyche myself out by thinking about the seemingly blurred transition between my teen years and that of adulthood. It's like one moment my main concern was what dress I was wearing to the prom--and then, in a blink of an eye--it's now ten years later and I'm on the verge of getting married.

Where did all the time go?

And don't get me wrong. Much of this journey has been the reward. Remember how ectstatic you were when you moved out of the nest into your first apartment? Or how the best day of your life used to be when you could finally, legally buy a round of drinks and dance the night away at the hottest club? And we can't forget about all those college house parties that always turned into a complete gong show?

But eventually, there comes a point when our world begins to change....

I guess that's when life really starts to happen. It's when a parent becomes ill and you are suddenly faced with the true nature of life and death in a way you could have never been prepared for. Perhaps it's that crippling devastation of your first real break-up when you feel like your entire world has been turned upside-down. Or maybe it's that truly messy pickle you have somehow gotten yourself into and your parents just can't bail you out this time.

So now what?

You just roll with it. Because if you can stick it out long enough to wade through all of the crap, you start seeing the world through a brand new lens.

It's when your love for your family and friends seems to grow ten-fold as you begin to realize how they really are there for you until the end. And I think I'm slowly starting to understand why people decide to do it--start families of their own in order to keep this crazy circle going around. (Or maybe it's just that damn biological clock rearing its ugly little head for the first time)....

Kickin' It Old School....

I was born during an era of Reaganomics and Trudeaumania, a year when the New York Islanders would take home Lord Stanley’s Cup for the second time in a row, and when Ordinary People beat out The Cole Miner’s Daughter for Best Picture at The Oscars. The year was also a time when the world lost two of its heroes—Terry Fox and Bob Marley. Yes, my friends, I’m saying it loud and proud: 1981...represent!

But even though I cuffed my pants, crimped my hair, owned a couple of Cabbage Patch Kids, bounced on my Pogo Ball, tuned into Transformers and The Smurfs, wished that He-Man and She-Ra would hook-up (until I discovered they were siblings…eewww!), teased my bangs, collected Garbage Pail Kids cards, loved The Goonies, chose Jem over Barbie, and believed that Michael Jackson was a god, I didn’t really come of age until the following decade.

And come of age I did! As hair metal and bubble gum pop surrendered to the grunge wave, the 90s was my time to break some major barriers. It was filled with first kisses, first boyfriends, first heartbreaks, first rock shows, a first car, a first job, and my very first time snowboarding. But in the midst of all these firsts, was the music. All of these inaugural moments could all be nicely captured on a couple of well-orchestrated mix tapes....

So where's all this nostalgic energy coming from?

A few days ago, I had the sudden urge to embark on some major spring cleaning. Since this happens on the rarest of occasions, I decided to take advantage of the moment and go with it. So I started by tackling an old box that dates back to my youth. I don't consider myself too much of a pack rat, but this box is sort of a time capsule of my coming of age so I've had a hard time throwing a lot of this crap away. And what kind of treasures could one find amidst all this teenage junk? Let's just say that there's evidence of a first boyfriend, old posters, some incriminating photos, and the mother load of mix tapes.

So there I was, mix tapes in hand, on the verge of chuckin' those damn cassettes into the trash when I suddenly came to my senses. Instead, I opted for giving them a listen before I made anymore rash decisions....

And I'm glad I did. Instantly, I was transported to a time when Anthony was inviting us into a world of Blood Sugar Sex Magik, Kurt was sharing Polly's sad story, and Shannon was giving us some Tones of Home.

Housed in this Converse shoebox of cassettes were also memories of the tedious mix making process. Remember how you had to had to hold down both the PLAY and RECORD buttons in order for anything to actually happen? Or how the most groundbreaking technology to hit cassette players was AUTO REVERSE. And we can't forget about setting the right mood. While I have to admit that many of my homemade tapes were literally slapped together at the last minute, I had been known to carefully craft a cassette or two in my day. Not only did you have to worry about the usual PAUSE-RECORD routine, but now had to factor in smooth transitions and contrasting tempos. But wasn't it all worthwhile in the end? This labour of love actually began to pay off once you slipped that personally mixed tape into the hands of your high school sweetheart, or even your best friend, and got to see that deeply appreciative look on their face. Oh, those were the days....

So as we now take comfort in the drag-and-drop ease of MP3s, and have long tossed-out our clunky Walkmans and even Discmans in favour of the teeny-weeny IPOD, don't you miss the raw charm of vinyl, cassette tapes, and CDs? Since I'm sure that Apple and Microsoft are just waiting for the perfect moment to introduce their latest line of gizmos and gadgets to their loyal legions of tekkies, you better believe that you'll always find a record player, boombox, and CD player in my house! There's nothing wrong with preserving a little piece of history, is there?

Soul Searching...aka T.M.I.

Disclaimer: You'll all have to bear with me as I go off on a philosophical tangent here. Lately, I guess you can say that I've been in what seems a constant state of contemplation. I know what you're thinking: Can I be any more cryptic? Like I said, I'm going off on a philosophical tangent here....

As I find myself in a time of transition, my mind suddenly becomes bombarded by a horrible onslaught of bad cliches that have probably been the stale leftovers of cheesy syndicated TV. When one door closes, another one opens--OR my personal favourite--When life throws you lemons, make lemonade. Seriously. Who comes up with this crap? At any rate, I suppose these proverbial mantras were created to give people hope in the absence thereof, or whatever, so I shouldn't diss them too much, right?

It's just that I've been confronted by the realities of human mortality more than once during the last year so as a result, I've been doing a lot of contemplating. And if I've come up with anything meaningful during my pseudo epistemological journey, it's been this: I've wasted way too much energy on stupid shit. I know it may not a take life-changing circumstance to actually come to this realization, however, I'm convinced that a good kick in the pants always helps.

So if I had to define stupid shit in the most general of terms, the list would be comprised of the usual "sins"--money, resentment, apathy, vanity, and lame relationships. I know it's all part of the grand scheme of life's live and learn process. Believe me, I know. And it's not that I feel like I'm suddenly running out of time because I still indeed, have a whole lot of life to live. What I have realized is that contrary to my former mindset, my time is not endless--but finite. So as I begin to put a new found value on the minutes, hours, and years, I'm ready to spend my time a bit more wisely....

So THIS is Christmas...

When did Christmas become...well...this?

You know, all of the damn shopping! And I don't mean this kind of shopping...

But this kind of CRAZED consumerism!

And God forbid you don't buy the right gifts! While Hollywood leads you to believe that this is the only consequence...

In reality, you're really going to be dealing with this...

Or even worse, this...

Which would probably leave you feeling like this (if you're lucky) ...

Or perhaps this (if you're not so lucky)...

And leaving somebody crashing on this.

Therefore, you can't really blame this guy for wanting to put a kibosh on Christmas.

So when did this all happen? Remember when you were a kid and the holidays were a lot more simple.

Sure, I looked forward to the huge Christmas payload...

But it was more about being fixated on this guy...

...and his trusty team.

Or spending entire winter days outside...

...like our lives depended on it.

There's actually an ongoing joke in my family about the holidays. Since my mom came from really humble beginnings back in the Philippines, her parents didn't have enough money to buy all 8 kids a new gift each Christmas. So what did they do? Well, my grandma would actually give each of them the same toy every year. And folks, I'm dead serious. Sure she would wrap the things up to preserve the whole excitement in unwrapping something, but my little aunts and uncles essentially had to contend with these recycled gifts. Apparently, my mom was stuck with a wooden duck that laid eggs, while my aunt got a wooden cat. And were they bitter and miserable about their crappy presents? Hell no, because what their parents couldn't provide in fancy gifts, they compensated for in huge elaborate feasts where the whole neighbourhood was invited. And after the dinner festivities, all the children would make their way around the block as they knocked on doors and belted out Christmas carols for each of their neighbours. So even though my family has since come to North America and have all become successful in their own right, they all agree that those recycled gifts and Christmas block parties made for some of the best moments of their lives. And I believe it because that sounds like Christmas...