LUNETA PARK
Home: 87 Gentle Street




Luneta has always been a symbol of home for me.

When I was a child, a trip to Luneta was a big deal to us, probably because it was quite a distance away from our childhood home, 87 Gentle Street, which was in Quezon City.

The Luneta of my memories was a lot cleaner and greener. We used to ride bikes there in the daytime, befriending other children playing in the swings and slides so they would agree to take turns with us. When we got hungry, we usually ate at the famous restaurant which hired deaf-and-dumb people as waiters and waitresses.

We used to go to Luneta at night too. Indeed, after Manila Bay's famous sunset was spent, the park would turn into a magical fairyland. I remember gawking at the talented skaters rolling their way around the lighted globe fountain while vendors noisily plied their wares.

Baluuuut!

When we got hungry, our parents would take us to the many kiosks conveniently scattered here and there, ordering ice-cold bottled Royal Tru-Orange and those delicious sandwiches, cut in wedges and wrapped in plastic, usually bearing ham, tuna, chicken or egg salad in their moist and chewy centers.

When we got older, Luneta would always be a destination for school field trips. There was the planetarium, just across the street, and the Rizal monument, so dramatically depicted in those ubuquitous "Jose Rizal" books written by Camilo Osias, which was required reading when I was in Elementary school.

And then there was Manila Bay, always the finale of our trips to Luneta. No matter what we would be doing, we would eventually find ourselves drawn to the water's edge.

Indeed, how could anyone resist the siren call of the waves as they crashed upon the rocks at the bottom of the sea wall?



LUNETA PARK
Home: Traders Hotel, Manila

Luneta has always been a place for lovers.

When I was a child, I used to steal glances at couples kissing on the sea wall, or gaze at them frankly as they lounged on picnic blankets, one's head usually perched on the lap of another.

Little did I know back then that love would cast a spell on me on that very same spot, decades hence.

For indeed, Lorenzo and I had our first date in Luneta.

I was a TV news anchor on primetime news. He was a struggling AmBoy, trying his luck in Philippine showbiz. I had bodyguards and lived in a hotel suite. He had his good looks and the last of a measly movie paycheck.

He had yet to embark on his modeling career, which would eventually bring him success and recognition. But during those first days together, my husband-to-be was an aspiring actor whose biggest thing he had going for him was his heart.

Yet he asked me out. I didn't know how much money he had then but I knew, being the gentleman he was, that he would insist on paying the tab. He asked me where I wanted to go. I told him I was craving for Chow King food and suggested we take some out and eat at Luneta.

So there we were, him with his beef stew, me with my sweet-and-sour pork, both of us sharing an order of Kangkong with Chinese Bagoong. We even had enough money for dessert, halu-halo!

And after our meal, we strolled along the sea wall hand-in-hand like lovers of memories past, sitting on a bench under the Manila Hotel's shadow, whispering sweet nothings to each other. We were in our own little world, unmindful of those around us.

I wasn't afraid. I knew my bodyguards, former members of the Presidential Security Group, would shield me from potential snatchers and hold-uppers, that's if the sight of my muscle-bound beau didn't scare them off first.

But there were other eyes following our slow progress by the sea wall. Eyes of curious, gawking children. And yes, we let them stare.

Because on that night, I had graduated from gawker to gawkee.

And it was time to pass the baton.


(PLUGGING: "When Words Are Not Enough", the latest in The Prada Mama Chronicles.)

VICTIMS
Home: 87 Gentle Street




I am a genuine MTV Baby.

I was in High School when MTV first burst into the music scene during the eighties. And just like every impressionable teenager who wore Go-Go skirts and Madonna curls, I openly embraced the media revolution which would eventually change the music world as we knew it.

During that time warp when LP's were getting passe and CD's were largely unknown to the general public, I amassed quite a compilation of cassettes from groups like, well, General Public! Of course I had the standard-issue Duran Duran, Tears for Fears, DePeche Mode, Thompson Twins, and Howard Jones, among many others. But my personal favorite was far removed from the cookie-cutter British invader: Culture Club.

Indeed, the band, particularly their lead singer, Boy George (nee George O'Dowd) was so unique that it couldn't be pigeonholed into any single genre. Okay, so I confess to being a true-blue Boy George junkie in High School, still innocent of the fact that Boy George, even then, was already a junkie.

The first song I really liked from them was "Time (Clock of the Heart)" from their "Kissing to be Clever" CD (oops, I keep forgetting they were called LP's back then!), which received heavy airplay from the popular mobile DJ's at the time.

Ironically, it was through my involvement with one particular mobile outfit that I was able to convince them to play a rarely-heard song, "Victims", the obscure last track on the B-side of Culture Club's "Color By Numbers" CD. It was one of the rare ballads tthat would come from the group.

I can still remember slow-dancing to it on our Graduation Ball, with someone who would eventually be my first serious boyfriend. Listening to its haunting melody and Boy George's plaintive singing, it's no wonder a spell was cast upon us that night, within the dark, strobe-lit confines of the ballroom at the Valle Verde Country Club.

Listening to the lyrics now, the song's dark undertones of obsession and unrequited love are quite obvious. Even the title "Victims", should've clued me in at the very beginning. But I was bright-eyed, bushy-browed and barely out of High School, and did I mention infatuated with a cross-dressing British pop icon who was obviously misunderstood and heterosexual to boot?

Little did I know back then that my beloved song, that romantic ballad which would eventually become our theme song, was written by Boy George specifically for his on-again-off-again lover, the group's drummer, Jon Moss.

Oh shattered innocence of youth.


VICTIMS
Culture Club
Written by George O'Dowd

The victims we know so well
They shine in your eyes when they kiss and tell
Strange places we've never seen
But you're always there like a ghost in my dream

And I keep on telling you
Please don't do the things you do.
When you do those things
Pull my puppet strings
I've the strangest void for you.

Oh...hmmm...

Pull the strings of emotion
Take a ride into unknown pleasure
Feel like a child on a dark night
Wishing there was some kind of heaven

Oh I could be warm with you smiling
Hold out your hands for a while
The victims we know them so well.
So well.

We love and we never tell
What chases our hearts to the wishing well
Love leads us into the stream
And it's sink or swim like it's always been

And I keep on loving you
It's the only thing to do
When the angels sing
There are greater things
Can I give them all to you?

Oh...hmmm...

Pull the strings of emotion
Take a ride into unknown pleasure
Feel like a child on a dark night
Wishing we could spend it together

Oh I could be warm with you smiling
Hold out your hands for a while
The victims we know them so well.
So well.


(Taken from The Prada Mama Chronicles, May 23, 2005 entry.)

HOMECOMING
(An Introduction)

Join me on my journey
as I take THE LONG WAY HOME
to 87 Gentle Street,
cradle of my memories...


A few months ago, I announced that I would be overhauling my (other) blog's overall image, foregoing ponderous prose, (if that is at all possible), and coming out with a new format that is shorter, lighter, and truer to it's title, "The Long Way Home".

Since I was prone to long, rambling reminiscences anyway, I figured I'd channel all that long-windedness and enthusiasm into answering some seemingly simple questions which are actually quite complex: "What, exactly, is HOME?", "Where is it located?" and "What are the things that bring you back there?"

Indeed, the more I think of it, the more I come to realize that my concept of home was transient way before I even left 87 Gentle Street to get married, some 14 years ago. Indeed, when I was still growing up, HOME for me and my sisters would sometimes shift to my grandparent's houses in Mindanao, where we spent our long lazy summers with my Lolo Pinong and Lola Luz.

And while "The Long Way Home" is a personal journey that eventually leads me to where it all began, (my childhood home at 87 Gentle Street), there are a host of other places along the way that were also HOME to me, at one time or another.

There's that tiny overpriced Westwood apartment in West L.A., my first home here in the U.S., and Lower Penthouse 12 at the Bay Club in North Miami Beach, FL, where I took my first-born son home. I would later take two more sons home, (although this time with a different husband), to a two-bedroom townhouse (also overpriced) in Milpitas, CA which we rented before buying our present home in Modesto.

And then there's that ranch-style house in Indian Hill, OH, where that first-born son frolicked in his playpen much like my first-born daughter does now, eleven years later, in a similar playpen, in that same house in Modesto we took her home to just twelve months ago.

Home was also the Sheraton in Toronto and the Forte Crest Apollo in Amsterdam, for the few months it took us to find real homes, in Yorkminster Rd. and Prins Mauritslaan, Haarlem respectively.

Back in the Philippines, there was the cavernous Persian Suite at the Mandarin Oriental in Makati, which my family occupied for two years, and cozy Suite 1702 at Traders Hotel in Manila, which I would call home for 478 days after that. We even occupied the Mandarin Suite, the Mandarin Oriental's Presidential Suite, for a few months. These suites were more like condo units than hotel rooms (except the Mandarin Suite, with its swimming pool and atrium, which was in a class by itself), and, given the length of time we stayed there, took on our personalities just like any real home would.

Last, and closest to my heart, is our love nest at Marbella 2 in Malate, 16 floors above Roxas Boulevard, overlooking Manila Bay on one side and the Makati and Ortigas skylines on the other. Where you could look out the balcony into rush-hour traffic and still feel serene and untouched by the urban sprawl, mesmerized by the wide expanse of beautiful Manila Bay.

At night, you could stay out there and feel the cool breeze while looking out at the harbor lights, listening to the sounds of the sea, now audible without traffic's extaneous noises, your reverie broken by the occasional roar of the big cats at Manila Zoo, just a kitty corner away (pun intended).

Of all the places I called home, I would like to go back there the most.

So, without further ado, I present to you "The Long Way Home". A collection of vignettes on the many sights, sounds, songs and recollections which bring me back to the many HOMES which were once mine.

You're invited to take the ride with me, now boarding at 87 Gentle Street.

Our first stop: Luneta Park. Our first date? Luneta Park!

All aboard!


(Taken from "The Prada Mama Chronicles", May 31, 2005 entry.)

THE LONG AND SHORT OF IT
(A History)

My (other) site is going through an identity crisis.

Yes, 87 Gentle Street, aka The Long Way Home. Where it all began.

But first, a brief history: I have always loved to write. Unfortunately, my great love for writing was overshadowed by my even greater disdain for deadines. But in spite of it all, I found myself drawn towards newscasting and producing, which I learned was just a fancy word for writing. I was in my element, extricating the facts from a story and presenting them in a straightforward, no-nonsense manner. It was easy. It was fun. And I was being paid for it.

But my creative side yearned for an outlet. And so I started writing long letters to people who would take them, spending a fortune on postage. My letters were not so much read as they were experienced, preferably over a cup of tea with twenty-gallon refills.

And then came the advent of e-mail, which enabled me to send monster missives at the click of a button, without having to purchase a single stamp. I was in hog heaven. Among the recipients of my epic e-mails were my husband's first cousin, BatJay, and his wife, BatJet, who were also members of the Pamilya Sereno e-group.

Before long, Jay and Jet invited us to their onlne Tahanan, a portal to visit both of their blogs. I checked out both sites and knew I had finally found the perfect medium to showcase my prodigious talent for verbosity and long-windedness. (In other words, my kadaldalan.)

I immediately clicked on the Blogger link and followed directions to create my own blog. I chose to call it "87 Gentle Street". "87 Gentle Street" was the title of a poem written for me by someone in my past. It was also the English translation of my childhood home address, the birthplace of so many beautiful memories. I chose a green "pea soup" template to represent the tranquility I felt whenever I thought of home. A year later, when Lorenzo started his own blog would end up choosing another green template to compliment mine.

My first foray into blogging was shaky at best. All fired up with the Christmas spirit, I came out with five posts in December 2002. But all too soon, it seemed, the holidays were over, and the day-to-day distractions of motherhood took hold of me once more. There was no shortage of subjects to write about, however, and I would start working on entries, filing them as drafts for later posting. But I would always end up procrastinating until it was pointless to publish, simply because it wasn't relevant anymore.

And then fate dealt me a wild card. BatJay visited with us in September 2003 and gamely jumped into our backyard pool despite the freezing water. He ended up writing about it in Kwentong Tambay. Two months later, I got an e-mail from him forwarding a comment made by Mona, my former blockmate at U.P. Diliman. Mona had recognized his description of me, and asked him if I was the same person she used to know from college.

Within days, Mona and I were reunited via e-mail. I discovered her site, "Renaissance Girl", which inspired me to work on my blog again. And so, after almost a year's hiatus, "87 Gentle Street" was back in business. It was Christmas season once more, and this time Jay and Jet gave me one of the best presents a blogger could have: MY OWN COMMENTING SYSTEM!

I was a rejuvenated writer. Reading other people's feedback to my posts gave me renewed inspiration. It made all the difference knowing my words were not wandering aimlessly in the blogosphere. They were being read by nameless, faceless co-denizens of the blogging world, who would later become my blogger friends. I owed this to Jay, Jet and Mona, who were nice enough to add me to their links during my fledgling days.

Soon I met another key person in my blogging career, Ate Sienns, who was nice enough to invite me to join Pansitan.net. Ate Sienna is one of the most talented web designers I know. She e-mailed me images of her templates to choose from, and my head swam at the many wonderful designs she had created. Two particular designs caught my attention: "The Long Way Home", which can be seen in "87 Gentle Street", and the blue lady template in "The Prada Mama Chronicles", which I nicknamed "Taray Nanay".

I guess we were all on the same wavelength because without my knowing it, Ate Sienna and BatJay had also chosen the "Taray Nanay" template for me, and they were already in the process of converting it to "87 Gentle Street" as a surprise. By this time, however, I had already fallen in love with "The Long Way Home". The image of the wooden bridge after a light rain was so haunting and beautiful, it made me want to smile and cry at the same time. I asked Ate Sienna if I could have that instead, and was relieved when she said yes.

I then decided to push my luck, asking her if I could use the "Taray Nanay" template as well. It was actually better suited to my personality, and it was perfect for the other blog I'd been planning to come out with, which I wanted to call "The Prada Mama Chronicles". I envisioned a site with shorter, sassier entries, more in line with "Kwentong Tambay" and "Renaissance Girl". Ate Sienna was very supportive, and she and BatJay gamely worked on personalizing my second site. I can never thank these two enough for the help they have given me.

Ate Sienna generously offered to host BOTH blogs at Pansitan.net. I will always appreciate this vote of confidence, coming from someone so respected in blogging circles. Aside from that, Ate Sienna was also nice enough to supply a new template for Lorenzo's blog, One Day Isang Araw. We were blessed to have such a wonderful web ninang.

Pansitan.net was launched in early 2004 and quickly caught fire. I was so proud of our online community, and so happy to belong to its roster of bloggers. The responsibility of maintaining two blogs in a site with such wide readership did not daunt me. Back then, it never occurred to me that I might be spreading myself too thin. I had a very definite vision of both sites in my mind. Each of them had its own unique voice.

But through the passing of time, the lines got blurred somewhat. And now my blogs can best be described as "chop suey" in radio parlance, with no definite styles setting them apart. Both sites now adhere to more or less the same format, except "87 Gentle Street" is updated less. I can only blame myself. It was much more convenient to concentrate on THIS site after BatJay included it in his "Kaakit-akit" list of recommended blogs. My site stats skyrocketed since.

Sadly, my other blog has been left behind, greatly eclipsed by its fraternal twin. "87 Gentle Street" is now a shadow of its old self, but it still holds a special place in my heart. It has always been a labor of love, and a wealth of memories can be still be mined from its archives. But gone are the days when entries like Remembering Daddy could elicit 52 comments in a matter of days.

I have long considered changing its format, and now the time has come to take that plunge. Inspired by my former college seatmate turned blogging idol, Mona, whose "Renaissance Girl" recently underwent a facelift, I will soon be unveiling a new and better version of "87 Gentle Street". This time around it will be truer to itself. More loyal to its title, "The Long Way Home".

But the final transformation will have to wait until I finish my ROYAL HOLIDAY series, which has come to mean a lot to me. I am already done with Day 4. Just three more posts to go.

And then I will bid goodbye to my old friend, who has been dying a slow death for quite some time. I won't be sad to see her go, knowing she will soon rise again from the ashes. And I can't wait to breathe new life into her once more.

Just wait and see.


(Taken from The Prada Mama Chronicles, March 24, 2005 entry.)

ROYAL HOLIDAY
Day 7 and Epilogue: Present Tense




PRADA MAMA's Log, Wednesday, December 29, 2004

10:00 AM: Lance and Troy woke up bright and chipper, excited to find themselves in another hotel room. They eagerly explored our new quarters while I nursed Reanna.

Lorenzo had left for work early, hoping to catch up on the holiday backlog he knew would be waiting for him on his first day back.

Since the hotel was just a short distance from his work, he walked there, leaving Vanna with me in case of an emergency. He also didn't want to relinquish her prime parking spot, fully visible from our room on the third floor. You can actually see her peeking from behind the railing on the right side of the photo above.

I fed my kids breakfast and turned on the TV to look for a children's show for them. I couldn't avoid the news networks, with their extensive coverage of the deadly tsunami in the Indian Ocean, but I just glanced at the images, quickly changing the channels, afraid the children would be traumatized by the frank accounts of death and destruction.

I also requested a late checkout, considering Lorenzo and I didn't sleep until about three that morning. Then I leisurely gathered our belongings while Lance and Troy watched Nick and the Disney Channel.

My husband came to pick us up on his lunch break, loading the van with our overnight gear. Then we checked out, heading straight to the mall right across the street from his office, where the kids and I went shopping while waiting for him to get off from work.

I love all the post-holiday sales that take place immediately after Christmas. The first place I hit was Carlton Cards, where I knew Christmas tree decor would be on sale. I collect heirloom ornaments, adding to them each year. Carlton's whimsical creations can get pricey, so I welcome the opportunity to buy them at 50 to 75% off. I also got calendars for all of my bedrooms at home, including a pop-up Dinosaur calendar which I knew Troy would love. Those were 50% off too.

And then we went to Sbarro, where Daddy later joined us after finishing his work for the day.




We headed home right after eating, finally taking the two-hour drive back to Modesto after what turned out to be a seven-day journey. Our two boys were happy to be finally going home, knowing that when we got there, our first destination would be my brother-in-law Sever's house. We had Kuya Sever and his wife, Anna give out our presents for us, and asked them to collect our gifts from the family as well.

Lsnce and Troy could barely contain themselves, with visions of Power Ranger toys dancing in their heads. When we got to Sever's, we didn't even stop by to exchange niceties. Our little boys had waited long and patiently enough to open their presents. We didn't have the heart to delay it any longer.

But they still had to wait until we got home and the van was unloaded. We laid out their kiddie blankets (gifts from Auntie Olive) on the living room floor and piled their presents on them. By this time the two were fairly bursting with excitement.

We gave them the go signal, and the unwrapping frenzy began.



Lance and Troy descended upon their gifts from the family while Reanna generally got in everyone's way, grabbing presents and crawling everywhere. It has been a tradition with us to open the Sereno family's presents first, waiting to open Mom and Dad's gifts, one per day, starting on Christmas. They appreciate their presents much better this way.

We chose to have them open their Star Wars Lightsabers first. And then we told them they could only play with their toys after they helped us clean up the mess they made while opening presents.

My living room was clear in no time flat.



For subsequent days after that, my boys would rip open packages containing their favorite things, from Dinosaurs to DVDs, to Thomas the Tank Engine and their idols du jour, the Power Rangers. Add to that the flotsam and jetsam they salvaged from their Disneyland trip and I guess it would be safe to say my boys did well for themselves this Christmas season.




As for Lorenzo and me, the best Christmas gift we gave each other this year was the ROYAL HOLIDAY itself...



...along with the precious life lessons we learned: as individuals, a couple, and a family, during those seven days in December.


(PLUGGING: Watch out for 87 GENTLE STREET's new format, "The Long Way Home", coming soon. Also ONE LAST LOOK: Pictures from our "ROYAL HOLIDAY" in my BRAG BOOK, and "Sister Act (Birthday Girl 2)", the latest in The Prada Mama Chronicles.)