THE PASSION AND THE FURY
Yesterday, we spent the better part of our day scouting movie theaters for the first available screening of Mel Gibson's controversial movie, "The Passion of the Christ".
Our first stop was Brenden Theater in downtown Modesto. We got there at 2:50 PM, well before the 3:20 matinee, but the long lines told us everything we had to know. Even at that early hour, the 3:20 and 4:20 shows were already sold out. We bought tickets for the next available screening, which wasn't until 6:20 that evening, and resigned ourselves to finding other things to do to while away the time.
My husband, Lorenzo, wanted to go home to find me something else to wear. This little outing was a big deal to us, our first date in what seems to be ages. Unfortunately, I had to dress for it hurriedly because his sister, Selina, and her husband, Gino, arrived early for our double date. Lorenzo was in the process of picking out a nice maternity outfit for me when they rang the bell, and I knew he was somewhat piqued at their promptness. I was tickled pink at my husband's concern. Since our relationship started, he had always looked to me as his fashion consultant. It was nice to be at the receiving end for a change. Sadly, our two companions didn't seem to be too receptive to the idea of going all the way home for a wardrobe change. Oh well...
Instead I suggested that we check out other movie houses in the area for an earlier show. The second theater we went to wasn't much better. They were all sold out until the 9PM screening. There was one last place left, another Cineplex down the road, in the nearby town of Riverbank. We got there at 3:30, and snatched up 4 tickets for the 4:55 matinee. We called up Brenden, and upon being assured we could return our tickets for a full cash refund, settled in for mochas at the JavaStar house cafe.
We didn't get to sip our lattes at leisure. Even before the clock struck four, the line outside Theater 9 had already snaked its way past us. We reluctantly left our table and joined the queue. Lorenzo gallantly told his sister and me to sit at a nearby bench while he held our place in line. Gino went to the concession stand to buy hot dogs, popcorn and sodas. We ended up eating our movie fare even before the movie started, but considering how much blood and gore we were exposed to during the film, I was glad we ate early.
At about ten minutes to five, people started emptying out into the hallway from Theater 9. I figured these were viewers from the last screening of "Passion", but I had to be sure.
I flagged a woman passing in front of me. "Excuse me," I asked, "what movie did you see?"
"Jesus," she replied. Close enough. At least our long wait was over. In a few minutes, we would be filing into the theater and witnessing the most talked-about movie these days. I turned an observing eye at the slow procession in front of me. Most of the women were red-eyed. I check our concession box for napkins, and see a huge wad between the popcorn and the soda. Good. We were covered in that department.
The people were still coming out of the theater. I stopped another woman and asked her another question: "Was it violent?" I had heard conflicting reports about the movie, and I wanted a first-hand account. As I expected, a quick "yes" was the reply.
I was getting more curious by the second. The question that was REALLY uppermost in my mind was "Is the movie anti-Semitic?" but this was hardly the most PC of questions. Instead, I formulated a more innocuous question:
"Did you think it was an accurate representation of the Historic Christ?"
I was scanning the faces to fish out the random bible scholar and was about to flag my next respondent when my sister-in-law hissed something in my ear. "Sandali na lang, bibigyan na kita ng mike!" I guess I was getting carried away with all my queries. I had to remind myself that I wasn't a news personality anymore. My days of polling vox populi were over.
The long line started moving forward. With a sigh of relief, we joined our husbands and filed into Theater 9. After choosing plum seats toward the rear, we settled in for the show.
What we witnessed was a re-enactment of Jesus' last day. And through it all, the blood and gore escalated, from His betrayal at the Garden of Gethsemane to His crucifixion at the cross of Calvary.
It was a well-made and well-acted film. But having said that, there were still a few things about the movie that bothered me.
First of all, I came out of the experience remarkably untouched. Sure, I shed a few tears during the most brutal sequences, what self-professed Christian wouldn't? But somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that Jim Caviezel wasn't really getting the beating of the century. I could envision various alalays running to his aid to wipe the fake blood and gore off as soon as Mel Gibson yelled, "CUT!" It also bothered me that every time I saw that creepy-looking actor who portrayed Satan, I was reminded of Marilyn Manson. Frankly, I WANTED to be moved by the whole thing. I wanted to feel what my Mother felt when we watched "Jesus of Nazareth", shamelessly crying and holding us close during that infamous baby-killing scene.
Actually, to be totally fair, I DID have one such moment. Amid all the violence, one simple scene stayed in my mind, made more remarkable by the very absence of blood and gore. It was Mary's flashback sequence, when she ran to her child, Jesus, after he fell. As a mother, this image brought out the most primal protective instinct from within me. The child-actor they used was also tow-headed like my baby boy, Troy. I could imagine my sweet toddler stumbling and hurting himself, and I wanted to beam myself out of that theater so I could protect Troy from ever falling, carrying my beloved baby in my arms for the rest of his life if need be.
(Moved by motherly urges, I called my babysitter, Brenda, on the cell, and asked about my precious boys. To my relief, they were fine. I told her not to let them run around anyway, just for good measure.)
I admire Mel Gibson, who once again shows his mettle as a director, and Jim Caviezel, whose versatility and range is unquestioned. I did not think the movie was anti-Semitic. In fact, for a religious movie, Gibson does not proselytize, and for that he deserves kudos. Instead, the director took on the role of objective reporter, showing events as they happened without sugar-coating the nasty stuff. If the Jews who favor boycotting the film think otherwise, they can just deal with it. They cannot change the facts: Jesus was born a Jew, raised a Jew, and was condemned to death by His very own people, who refused to believe He was the Moshiach (Messiah) sent to deliver them to the Promised Land. To this day, many people of Jewish faith are still waiting for their Moshiach to enter the gates of Jerusalem in a white horse. What the movie tells them, in essence, is that they've already missed the boat. And they do not like to hear this, especially coming from goyim (Gentiles) like Mel Gibson.
I know what I'm talking about because I, too, was once married to a Jewish man, and our son is still being raised in a proper Jewish manner. In a couple of years, Max will be having his Bar Mitzvah, and I will be part of the ceremony, because I am his mother. Apart from that, I have always had qualms about raising my child in a religion that looks at Jesus Christ as a mere mortal. A Holy Man, a Prophet even, but not the one and only Messiah.
Such is the basis of all the controversy surrounding the film. Still, there is no denying that this movie, which has raised so much passion and fury, is Oscar material. However, that also spells out its largest limitation. With all the research behind it, I'm sure it's by far the most realistic film portrayal of what happened the day Jesus died. But with all the hue and cry, all the boycotts and ballyhoos, it is, after all, only a movie. And if you really think about it, can a reenactment of an event over twenty centuries past really be that accurate?
I know it sounds pretty jaded, but I don't need a big-budget cinematic version of Jesus' last day to remind me of His ultimate sacrifice. Quite frankly, I have felt more moving experiences while singing His praises in church. It was that profound, "make-your-skin-crawl" feeling of awe I was expecting to feel, but didn't quite achieve while watching the movie. If anything, the graphic depiction of violence demeaned the whole experience, trivializing the very Passion which the director hoped to convey. I don't need to see each open wound, each lash of the whip, each slow tormented step down the Via Dolorosa, in order to feel the extent of His suffering. I don't need a Hollywood movie to remind me. I already knew this when I accepted Him as my personal Lord and Savior. And when I was baptized by immersion, in accordance with His commandment, I symbolically died with Him and was resurrected with Him. Now THAT'S a moving experience.
If anything, I hope the Lord uses this movie as a tool to touch the lives of those who have yet to hear His most important message: The only way to the Father is through the Son. In Christ ALONE can we find salvation. I hope this movie moves people to read more about Jesus' life, His teachings, and the main reason for His death, "so that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life." (John 3:16)
You can look this up in the best resource material the Lord provided us, the Holy Bible. Sure, the Good Book, which predates that first Good Friday by many millenia, is also said to be based partly on conjecture. But Christians the world over have that one all-important ingredient to fill in the gaps in credibility.
It's called FAITH.
Sunday, February 29, 2004
Thursday, February 19, 2004
BREAK-IN NEWS STORY
I am terribly on edge.
Yesterday afternoon, someone broke into Vanna, our white minivan. We were going out to fill a prescription when my husband noticed that all our doors were unlocked, and the hood was popped ajar. Upon entering the vehicle, he also observed that the parking brake was disengaged and our glove compartment was gaping open.
We discovered this at around 4:00 in the afternoon. About 10 minutes later, en route to our appointment, we noticed that the dashboard clock registered a different time, 2:40. Aha...a clue! This told us that whoever tried to steal our van turned on our battery exactly two hours and forty minutes before. We make it a point to uncouple our battery every night ever since our key got stuck in the ignition. Whenever we turn the car on again, the dashboard clock displays "12:00". With careful calculation, we ascertained that whoever made the attempt was bold enough to do it at 1:30 that afternoon, in full view of everyone! Whoever this guy was, he certainly had chutzpah!
Good thing my Dodge Grand Caravan came with a theft-deterrent system. That certainly spelled the difference between success and failure. Actually, I wasn't surprised at the outcome of this first attempt at Grand Theft Auto. Our theft-deterrent system was so efficient, it was oftentimes a "trip-deterrent system" for us!
When Lorenzo got Vanna for me for my 32nd birthday, we weren't endeared to her theft-deterrent system, which required us to push a remote-controlled button attached to our key chain in order for her to start. There were times when we had to wait excruciating minutes before we heard the familiar click that meant we could start the van. This would indicate that we needed new batteries for the remote, which usually meant a mad scramble to the mall just before Radio Shack closed. Now why, you wonder, wouldn't they just buy extra batteries and spare themselves the hassle? Because the darn batteries are so infinitesimally small that we lose them as soon as we buy them.
Many times, Lorenzo and I considered having this theft-deterrent system taken off. But this would mean taking our van back to the dealership, shelling the $400 to have the stupid key taken off the ignition, and probably another $400 besides to have the whole system reconfigured. And THEN we'd reconsider. After all, what's an extra minute or so to pop the hood and uncouple the battery?
Besides, there's this whole macho mystique about an open hood. All over the country, millions of men impress millions of their female partners by the mere act of popping their bonnets, an act which somehow adds 100 points to a man's car IQ, never mind if he just mistakenly pressed the hood button instead of the gas compartment lever, and since it was already open, he might as well check the water and the oil, if only he could find where they were actually LOCATED. By this time, the lone female passenger would be reduced to putty, impressed at how MANLY her partner was dealing with "this whole car thing" (sigh!).
Anyway, I digress. Our initial ocular inspection revealed that nothing was taken from our belongings. All our jackets were still there, including Troy's new expensive Baby Gap jacket. Lorenzo's military papers were undisturbed. The top was taken off his box of office paraphernalia, but apart from this, everything else was intact. Even my glove compartment, which was gaping wide open, still had my old credit card bills. Whoever had broken in was clearly not interested in identity theft, thank goodness! I wasn't worried about my car registration being stolen, since I never keep a copy in any of my vehicles anyway. I choose to keep them in my wallet, in anticipation of robbery attempts such as this.
Which brings us to the mystery of it all. Why would this person take all the trouble of breaking into our van in an effort to steal it, and then, encountering failure, just leave everything untouched? Your regular, run-of-the-mill hoodlum would normally take off with every item that was not nailed down, or at least lash out in frustration by breaking a headlight or two.
Hmmm, it almost makes you wonder...did we have here the most improbable of oxymorons, a gentleman thief? Highly unlikely. Maybe he turned penitent upon seeing my Bible in the compartment under my seat? Even more unlikely. In all probability, the moron was probably spooked out of his malicious intentions, either by the appearance of a neighbor, or even (my favorite theory) a friendly ghost!
Laugh if you will, but my family members will attest to the time a robber entered our house at "87 gentle street" in the middle of the night, and ran off in such a fright, he forgot his slippers in the kitchen! The poor luckless fool left the front door wide open, but everything else was untouched. We were all convinced that the thief had a "close encounter of another kind" with our late Lolo. We three sisters aren't strangers to stories like this. A number of other spirits have revealed themselves to a number other guests in our house, but they never bothered us for some reason. I guess our resident status somehow granted us immunity!
All this speculation does not take away from the most important detail of all: we were very blessed that nothing was taken from us, and we thank the Lord for his protection. As it is, with all of our belongings accounted for, we still feel somewhat violated that someone had the audacity to break into our van, safely parked in our driveway, our own PERSONAL SPACE, in broad daylight!
It makes you question man's inherent nature, the soundness of his morality. Is society as we know it mired in such a cesspool of apathy, nobody bothers to teach their kids the importance of respecting other people's property anymore? Will the next generation be able to clamber out of the quagmire, or are the Elois among us slowly dwindling to the rising number of Morelocks?
As I wind up this entry in the wee hours of the morning, I see my husband descend the stairs. Lorenzo is fully dressed and decked with a warm jacket. I ask him where he is going and he says "out to the van". He goes to our fireplace and picks out a particularly nasty-looking poker. Earlier, he told me he was considering spending the night in the back seat, waiting for, even DARING the thief to come back! With his Army infantry background, working closely with the DEA and US Customs in covert operations, it wasn't such a stretch of the imagination to see Lorenzo jumping Rambo-like from Troy's car seat, raining bullets and the odd fireplace poker at anyone who comes within two meters of our minivan.
I rush to my husband in alarm, trying to talk him out of his bravado. Lorenzo gives me a smile, and a warm reassuring hug. Turns out he was just teasing. He told me he was just about to go out and move the driver's seat all the way to the front, to make it harder for anyone to sneak in comfortably. He would also turn on the heater full-blast, put the headlights on bright, and switch the hazards on besides. Finally (and for good measure), he would pump up the volume of our radio all the way to max. If anyone ever tried to engage our battery, the whole neighborhood would know.
More importantly, if this thief makes the mistake or returning to our booby-trapped van, I hope he jumps out of his skin so badly that he'd be instantly cured of his errant ways. Actually, at this point, I would happily settle for a badly damaged eardrum. Now THAT I would find most gratifying. Only then can we call it quits.
Lorenzo slips out into the foggy night. I run upstairs to our master bedroom window, making sure my husband isn't mugged on his way to our driveway. I watch him as he enters the van, keeping an eagle eye out for any suspicious shadows, ready to dash to the phone to dial 911 if needed. Given the circumstances of the past 24 hours, I do not mind erring on the side of caution. Not when my precious husband is concerned. Besides, there is no such thing as being too safe.
In this crazy world we live in, you never know.
I am terribly on edge.
Yesterday afternoon, someone broke into Vanna, our white minivan. We were going out to fill a prescription when my husband noticed that all our doors were unlocked, and the hood was popped ajar. Upon entering the vehicle, he also observed that the parking brake was disengaged and our glove compartment was gaping open.
We discovered this at around 4:00 in the afternoon. About 10 minutes later, en route to our appointment, we noticed that the dashboard clock registered a different time, 2:40. Aha...a clue! This told us that whoever tried to steal our van turned on our battery exactly two hours and forty minutes before. We make it a point to uncouple our battery every night ever since our key got stuck in the ignition. Whenever we turn the car on again, the dashboard clock displays "12:00". With careful calculation, we ascertained that whoever made the attempt was bold enough to do it at 1:30 that afternoon, in full view of everyone! Whoever this guy was, he certainly had chutzpah!
Good thing my Dodge Grand Caravan came with a theft-deterrent system. That certainly spelled the difference between success and failure. Actually, I wasn't surprised at the outcome of this first attempt at Grand Theft Auto. Our theft-deterrent system was so efficient, it was oftentimes a "trip-deterrent system" for us!
When Lorenzo got Vanna for me for my 32nd birthday, we weren't endeared to her theft-deterrent system, which required us to push a remote-controlled button attached to our key chain in order for her to start. There were times when we had to wait excruciating minutes before we heard the familiar click that meant we could start the van. This would indicate that we needed new batteries for the remote, which usually meant a mad scramble to the mall just before Radio Shack closed. Now why, you wonder, wouldn't they just buy extra batteries and spare themselves the hassle? Because the darn batteries are so infinitesimally small that we lose them as soon as we buy them.
Many times, Lorenzo and I considered having this theft-deterrent system taken off. But this would mean taking our van back to the dealership, shelling the $400 to have the stupid key taken off the ignition, and probably another $400 besides to have the whole system reconfigured. And THEN we'd reconsider. After all, what's an extra minute or so to pop the hood and uncouple the battery?
Besides, there's this whole macho mystique about an open hood. All over the country, millions of men impress millions of their female partners by the mere act of popping their bonnets, an act which somehow adds 100 points to a man's car IQ, never mind if he just mistakenly pressed the hood button instead of the gas compartment lever, and since it was already open, he might as well check the water and the oil, if only he could find where they were actually LOCATED. By this time, the lone female passenger would be reduced to putty, impressed at how MANLY her partner was dealing with "this whole car thing" (sigh!).
Anyway, I digress. Our initial ocular inspection revealed that nothing was taken from our belongings. All our jackets were still there, including Troy's new expensive Baby Gap jacket. Lorenzo's military papers were undisturbed. The top was taken off his box of office paraphernalia, but apart from this, everything else was intact. Even my glove compartment, which was gaping wide open, still had my old credit card bills. Whoever had broken in was clearly not interested in identity theft, thank goodness! I wasn't worried about my car registration being stolen, since I never keep a copy in any of my vehicles anyway. I choose to keep them in my wallet, in anticipation of robbery attempts such as this.
Which brings us to the mystery of it all. Why would this person take all the trouble of breaking into our van in an effort to steal it, and then, encountering failure, just leave everything untouched? Your regular, run-of-the-mill hoodlum would normally take off with every item that was not nailed down, or at least lash out in frustration by breaking a headlight or two.
Hmmm, it almost makes you wonder...did we have here the most improbable of oxymorons, a gentleman thief? Highly unlikely. Maybe he turned penitent upon seeing my Bible in the compartment under my seat? Even more unlikely. In all probability, the moron was probably spooked out of his malicious intentions, either by the appearance of a neighbor, or even (my favorite theory) a friendly ghost!
Laugh if you will, but my family members will attest to the time a robber entered our house at "87 gentle street" in the middle of the night, and ran off in such a fright, he forgot his slippers in the kitchen! The poor luckless fool left the front door wide open, but everything else was untouched. We were all convinced that the thief had a "close encounter of another kind" with our late Lolo. We three sisters aren't strangers to stories like this. A number of other spirits have revealed themselves to a number other guests in our house, but they never bothered us for some reason. I guess our resident status somehow granted us immunity!
All this speculation does not take away from the most important detail of all: we were very blessed that nothing was taken from us, and we thank the Lord for his protection. As it is, with all of our belongings accounted for, we still feel somewhat violated that someone had the audacity to break into our van, safely parked in our driveway, our own PERSONAL SPACE, in broad daylight!
It makes you question man's inherent nature, the soundness of his morality. Is society as we know it mired in such a cesspool of apathy, nobody bothers to teach their kids the importance of respecting other people's property anymore? Will the next generation be able to clamber out of the quagmire, or are the Elois among us slowly dwindling to the rising number of Morelocks?
As I wind up this entry in the wee hours of the morning, I see my husband descend the stairs. Lorenzo is fully dressed and decked with a warm jacket. I ask him where he is going and he says "out to the van". He goes to our fireplace and picks out a particularly nasty-looking poker. Earlier, he told me he was considering spending the night in the back seat, waiting for, even DARING the thief to come back! With his Army infantry background, working closely with the DEA and US Customs in covert operations, it wasn't such a stretch of the imagination to see Lorenzo jumping Rambo-like from Troy's car seat, raining bullets and the odd fireplace poker at anyone who comes within two meters of our minivan.
I rush to my husband in alarm, trying to talk him out of his bravado. Lorenzo gives me a smile, and a warm reassuring hug. Turns out he was just teasing. He told me he was just about to go out and move the driver's seat all the way to the front, to make it harder for anyone to sneak in comfortably. He would also turn on the heater full-blast, put the headlights on bright, and switch the hazards on besides. Finally (and for good measure), he would pump up the volume of our radio all the way to max. If anyone ever tried to engage our battery, the whole neighborhood would know.
More importantly, if this thief makes the mistake or returning to our booby-trapped van, I hope he jumps out of his skin so badly that he'd be instantly cured of his errant ways. Actually, at this point, I would happily settle for a badly damaged eardrum. Now THAT I would find most gratifying. Only then can we call it quits.
Lorenzo slips out into the foggy night. I run upstairs to our master bedroom window, making sure my husband isn't mugged on his way to our driveway. I watch him as he enters the van, keeping an eagle eye out for any suspicious shadows, ready to dash to the phone to dial 911 if needed. Given the circumstances of the past 24 hours, I do not mind erring on the side of caution. Not when my precious husband is concerned. Besides, there is no such thing as being too safe.
In this crazy world we live in, you never know.
Saturday, February 14, 2004
SEVEN'S A CHARM (A Valentine's Diary Through The Years)
Today is our seventh Valentine's Day together.
I mentally check my checkered past and come up with a startling discovery. This is actually the most number of Valentine dates I've ever had with any man! My husband, Lorenzo, has beaten records set by my ex-husband (6 years) and ex-fiancee (5 years). This is cause for celebration. Bring out the sparkling cider! (I'm 5 months pregnant. Can't indulge.)
I remember our first Valentine date just like it was yesterday...
Saturday, February 14, 1998
Had a lovely dinner at Vieux Chalet, a quaint Swiss restaurant situated in a secluded spot somewhere in the Antipolo hills. We have dinner by candlelight at the terrace overlooking Metro Manila's city lights. We celebrate Lorenzo's first TV commercial, Metrobank, where he played the lead (a naval officer), and his upcoming commercial for San Miguel Beer. We end up closing the restaurant, being the last ones to leave. After dinner, we meet our friends, Roel and Lynnette, who assist us in preparing for Lorenzo's bodybuilding competition (aptly called Mr. Valentine), which was to be held the next day. Lorenzo dedicates the contest to me and ends up winning the heavy-weight and over-all titles. Even then, he was already MY Mr. Valentine.
Our second Valentine's Day was even more romantic...
Sunday, February 14, 1999
We celebrate Valentine's weekend in Baguio. We drive to the mountain city with our trusty alalay, Belen, and our driver, Sam. Lorenzo found accommodations in a secluded mountain inn owned by a family friend. We are the first people to stay in their new honeymoon cottage (and I must say we broke it in quite well!). Monday afternoon we rush back to Manila in breakneck speed and make it just in time for my 5:30 newscast in Channel 9.
It was during this trip that we found out Belen was pregnant. This was a portent of things to come. Two months later, Lorenzo and I found out we were anticipating too. During the following months, my poor husband had to deal with stares from people whenever we went grocery shopping with Belen. I guess we were a curious sight to behold: a handsome, muscle-bound man with two pregnant women waddling in his wake!
By the time our third Valentine's Day came, we had already moved back to the States. Lance, our firstborn, was a thriving three-month-old, and I was ready to try my hand at broadcasting here in the US...
Monday, February 14, 2000
Sereno, party of eight? We celebrate Valentine's with my husband's family. We all have a lovely dinner at Nijo Castle, a Japanese steak place in Newark, CA. It is a quadruple-date, with no less than the patriarch and matriarch, Tatay and Nanay, at the helm. Aside from Lorenzo and me, there were his sister, Selina and her husband, Gino, and Lorenzo's youngest brother Jun with his girlfriend. Baby Lance also tagged along and behaved impeccably. There was another cause for celebration that evening. Earlier in the day, I got a call from Rose Shirinian, News Director of KTSF-TV26 in San Francisco. I had just been hired as stand-in producer and anchor of "The Filipino Report", a show which received high viewership in the Bay Area because it came out after "TV Patrol", and before "Balitang K".
When we were still living in the Philippines, it was such a trip to see Lorenzo's commercials being played during my newscast. Never in our wildest dreams did we think the same thing would happen here in the States. As it turned out, one of The Filipino Report's biggest sponsors was LBC, and guess who the played the commercial's lead? Ya got it...Lorenzo!
Our fourth Valentine's was fraught with tension. We were going through a rough time with Lorenzo's custody proceedings, and his kids ended up losing their maternal great-grandmother, who suffered a heart attack on Valentine's Day, the very morning of her daughter's wedding...
Wednesday, February 14, 2001
I was 3 months pregnant with Troy, but was still able to squeeze into Lorenzo's favorite outfit, a red and black pantsuit, which he surprised me with in Manila. We had a delicious, if somewhat somber, dinner at L'Indochine, a chic new French restaurant in our neighborhood. The set menu was superb and the ambiance, with its dark paneled wood, silk pillows, and discreetly curtained booths, was elegantly exotic, but we wonder if it was worth the $100 tab. It was hard to enjoy dinner with Lance, our precocious toddler, dropping food all over the floor. By the time the creme brulee was laid in front of us, we had just about had enough. We gobbled our dessert down and made a beeline for the exit, promising ourselves we'd come back to try the duck a l'orange next time, sans Lance. We never made it back. The recession took its toll on snooty eateries like L'Indochine. The last time I passed there, it had morphed into an Indian restaurant called Bollywood.
This was to be the last of our Valentine dates. I had Troy in July 2001, and we settled down to the business of raising a growing family. September 11 came and changed the lives of everyone in the US, including ours. We were afraid my husband would be called to help defend Homeland Security, because he was an Army Reservist who used to do active infantry duty. Anticipating this, we decided to move to Modesto, to be closer to our family support group of brothers and sisters-in-law, who proved to be invaluable when Lorenzo was called to NCO training when Troy was just a month old. We found a lovely house just around the block from Selina's, and within five minutes away from the homes of Lorenzo's other brothers, Simon and Sever.
Thursday, February 14, 2002
For some reason, I can't remember what we did on our fifth Valentine's together. I've been racking my brain since last year, but still come up blank. Could it be that we actually DIDN'T do anything for the day of hearts? I check my date book and find a single entry: "Troy - 5 pm, Dr. Foulds". Ahhh, a clue. Dr. Carol Foulds is a dermatologist in Kaiser Milpitas. I vaguely remember bringing Troy in for a consult for his atopic dermatitis. After the appointment, Lorenzo and I elected to drive back to Modesto and have dinner there, but details remain fuzzy. Must be the epidurals.
I make a mental note to check credit card records for this date. I simply MUST find out what we did for Valentine's that year. Lorenzo and I would NEVER let this day pass without celebrating. With our two babies, I'm sure we ate at some family place. A nice, quiet, romantic restaurant was out of the question. By then, we were already grounded in reality.
Friday, February 14, 2003
By this time, Lorenzo and I, former dance club denizens, were in full family mode. In fact, instead of buying my husband anything romantic, I ended up giving him a coffee table book on the Oscars, because its black, tan and red cover design complimented our living room set perfectly. I wrap it up in paper shamelessly adorned with hearts, and enlist the services of my brother-in-law, Simon, who slipped the present and accompanying card into my husband's cubicle without his knowing. I still have Lorenzo's surprised reply in my voice mail. Later that day, I serve him a home-cooked Valentine dinner: Caribbean Jerk Ribeye Steak with asparagus and rice. Later that year, our dog eats the coffee table book.
As I look back at our past Valentine celebrations, I couldn't help but detect a trend. Here is a tale of two people, hopelessly in love, learning to tailor their lives according to the circumstances the Lord sends their way. I am thankful for our first two Valentines, when we could still be giddy like high school kids, celebrating a second chance at love, reveling in each other. Our love flourished during this brief time, nurtured by new experiences, which would form the basis for wonderful memories which would sustain us through the years, through thick and thin. This would pave the way for our next two Valentines, where we would take our first tentative steps toward domesticity, our strong bond giving way to accommodate our infant son, Lance. As our love grew, so did our family, and with Troy's arrival came more compromises and lifestyle changes, where Valentine's Day celebrations took a turn from the romantic to the familial.
But through it all, the love remains, and it continues to grow to this day, feeding on new experiences and new memories. Expanding. Evolving. Encompassing everything we come into contact with, everyday.
Saturday, February 14, 2004
Today is our seventh Valentine's together. I didn't get my husband a present. I didn't even get him a card. But years have made us wiser, and we know that whatever form it takes, the best gift is that which comes from the heart.
Even as I type this, Lorenzo is making me breakfast in his avowed quest to "fatten me up" since my last prenatal appointment. I am five months pregnant with our first daughter, and my OB-Gyn was worried that I had only gained one pound in a month at a time when I should be gaining a pound a week. These past few days, my husband has taken to reminding me to eat every so often, but I can't get myself to be irritated with him. His obvious love and concern shines through everything he does, and I can't help but love him even more.
He hands me breakfast. A toasted bagel with garden vegetable cream cheese, orange juice and a banana. It is the best Valentine's breakfast anyone has ever made for me. I give him a kiss, and tell him I love him.
Happy Valentine's Day, my Love. You will always be my Mr. Valentine.
Today is our seventh Valentine's Day together.
I mentally check my checkered past and come up with a startling discovery. This is actually the most number of Valentine dates I've ever had with any man! My husband, Lorenzo, has beaten records set by my ex-husband (6 years) and ex-fiancee (5 years). This is cause for celebration. Bring out the sparkling cider! (I'm 5 months pregnant. Can't indulge.)
I remember our first Valentine date just like it was yesterday...
Saturday, February 14, 1998
Had a lovely dinner at Vieux Chalet, a quaint Swiss restaurant situated in a secluded spot somewhere in the Antipolo hills. We have dinner by candlelight at the terrace overlooking Metro Manila's city lights. We celebrate Lorenzo's first TV commercial, Metrobank, where he played the lead (a naval officer), and his upcoming commercial for San Miguel Beer. We end up closing the restaurant, being the last ones to leave. After dinner, we meet our friends, Roel and Lynnette, who assist us in preparing for Lorenzo's bodybuilding competition (aptly called Mr. Valentine), which was to be held the next day. Lorenzo dedicates the contest to me and ends up winning the heavy-weight and over-all titles. Even then, he was already MY Mr. Valentine.
Our second Valentine's Day was even more romantic...
Sunday, February 14, 1999
We celebrate Valentine's weekend in Baguio. We drive to the mountain city with our trusty alalay, Belen, and our driver, Sam. Lorenzo found accommodations in a secluded mountain inn owned by a family friend. We are the first people to stay in their new honeymoon cottage (and I must say we broke it in quite well!). Monday afternoon we rush back to Manila in breakneck speed and make it just in time for my 5:30 newscast in Channel 9.
It was during this trip that we found out Belen was pregnant. This was a portent of things to come. Two months later, Lorenzo and I found out we were anticipating too. During the following months, my poor husband had to deal with stares from people whenever we went grocery shopping with Belen. I guess we were a curious sight to behold: a handsome, muscle-bound man with two pregnant women waddling in his wake!
By the time our third Valentine's Day came, we had already moved back to the States. Lance, our firstborn, was a thriving three-month-old, and I was ready to try my hand at broadcasting here in the US...
Monday, February 14, 2000
Sereno, party of eight? We celebrate Valentine's with my husband's family. We all have a lovely dinner at Nijo Castle, a Japanese steak place in Newark, CA. It is a quadruple-date, with no less than the patriarch and matriarch, Tatay and Nanay, at the helm. Aside from Lorenzo and me, there were his sister, Selina and her husband, Gino, and Lorenzo's youngest brother Jun with his girlfriend. Baby Lance also tagged along and behaved impeccably. There was another cause for celebration that evening. Earlier in the day, I got a call from Rose Shirinian, News Director of KTSF-TV26 in San Francisco. I had just been hired as stand-in producer and anchor of "The Filipino Report", a show which received high viewership in the Bay Area because it came out after "TV Patrol", and before "Balitang K".
When we were still living in the Philippines, it was such a trip to see Lorenzo's commercials being played during my newscast. Never in our wildest dreams did we think the same thing would happen here in the States. As it turned out, one of The Filipino Report's biggest sponsors was LBC, and guess who the played the commercial's lead? Ya got it...Lorenzo!
Our fourth Valentine's was fraught with tension. We were going through a rough time with Lorenzo's custody proceedings, and his kids ended up losing their maternal great-grandmother, who suffered a heart attack on Valentine's Day, the very morning of her daughter's wedding...
Wednesday, February 14, 2001
I was 3 months pregnant with Troy, but was still able to squeeze into Lorenzo's favorite outfit, a red and black pantsuit, which he surprised me with in Manila. We had a delicious, if somewhat somber, dinner at L'Indochine, a chic new French restaurant in our neighborhood. The set menu was superb and the ambiance, with its dark paneled wood, silk pillows, and discreetly curtained booths, was elegantly exotic, but we wonder if it was worth the $100 tab. It was hard to enjoy dinner with Lance, our precocious toddler, dropping food all over the floor. By the time the creme brulee was laid in front of us, we had just about had enough. We gobbled our dessert down and made a beeline for the exit, promising ourselves we'd come back to try the duck a l'orange next time, sans Lance. We never made it back. The recession took its toll on snooty eateries like L'Indochine. The last time I passed there, it had morphed into an Indian restaurant called Bollywood.
This was to be the last of our Valentine dates. I had Troy in July 2001, and we settled down to the business of raising a growing family. September 11 came and changed the lives of everyone in the US, including ours. We were afraid my husband would be called to help defend Homeland Security, because he was an Army Reservist who used to do active infantry duty. Anticipating this, we decided to move to Modesto, to be closer to our family support group of brothers and sisters-in-law, who proved to be invaluable when Lorenzo was called to NCO training when Troy was just a month old. We found a lovely house just around the block from Selina's, and within five minutes away from the homes of Lorenzo's other brothers, Simon and Sever.
Thursday, February 14, 2002
For some reason, I can't remember what we did on our fifth Valentine's together. I've been racking my brain since last year, but still come up blank. Could it be that we actually DIDN'T do anything for the day of hearts? I check my date book and find a single entry: "Troy - 5 pm, Dr. Foulds". Ahhh, a clue. Dr. Carol Foulds is a dermatologist in Kaiser Milpitas. I vaguely remember bringing Troy in for a consult for his atopic dermatitis. After the appointment, Lorenzo and I elected to drive back to Modesto and have dinner there, but details remain fuzzy. Must be the epidurals.
I make a mental note to check credit card records for this date. I simply MUST find out what we did for Valentine's that year. Lorenzo and I would NEVER let this day pass without celebrating. With our two babies, I'm sure we ate at some family place. A nice, quiet, romantic restaurant was out of the question. By then, we were already grounded in reality.
Friday, February 14, 2003
By this time, Lorenzo and I, former dance club denizens, were in full family mode. In fact, instead of buying my husband anything romantic, I ended up giving him a coffee table book on the Oscars, because its black, tan and red cover design complimented our living room set perfectly. I wrap it up in paper shamelessly adorned with hearts, and enlist the services of my brother-in-law, Simon, who slipped the present and accompanying card into my husband's cubicle without his knowing. I still have Lorenzo's surprised reply in my voice mail. Later that day, I serve him a home-cooked Valentine dinner: Caribbean Jerk Ribeye Steak with asparagus and rice. Later that year, our dog eats the coffee table book.
As I look back at our past Valentine celebrations, I couldn't help but detect a trend. Here is a tale of two people, hopelessly in love, learning to tailor their lives according to the circumstances the Lord sends their way. I am thankful for our first two Valentines, when we could still be giddy like high school kids, celebrating a second chance at love, reveling in each other. Our love flourished during this brief time, nurtured by new experiences, which would form the basis for wonderful memories which would sustain us through the years, through thick and thin. This would pave the way for our next two Valentines, where we would take our first tentative steps toward domesticity, our strong bond giving way to accommodate our infant son, Lance. As our love grew, so did our family, and with Troy's arrival came more compromises and lifestyle changes, where Valentine's Day celebrations took a turn from the romantic to the familial.
But through it all, the love remains, and it continues to grow to this day, feeding on new experiences and new memories. Expanding. Evolving. Encompassing everything we come into contact with, everyday.
Saturday, February 14, 2004
Today is our seventh Valentine's together. I didn't get my husband a present. I didn't even get him a card. But years have made us wiser, and we know that whatever form it takes, the best gift is that which comes from the heart.
Even as I type this, Lorenzo is making me breakfast in his avowed quest to "fatten me up" since my last prenatal appointment. I am five months pregnant with our first daughter, and my OB-Gyn was worried that I had only gained one pound in a month at a time when I should be gaining a pound a week. These past few days, my husband has taken to reminding me to eat every so often, but I can't get myself to be irritated with him. His obvious love and concern shines through everything he does, and I can't help but love him even more.
He hands me breakfast. A toasted bagel with garden vegetable cream cheese, orange juice and a banana. It is the best Valentine's breakfast anyone has ever made for me. I give him a kiss, and tell him I love him.
Happy Valentine's Day, my Love. You will always be my Mr. Valentine.
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