Happy Birthday Memory

Birthdays, for me, are special. I always look quite perplexed when I ask friends what they did for their birthday and they just shrug and mumble "I don't really celebrate." This is alien to me. This concept of not celebrating life. Not just any life, but your life. I guess that is why I always try to make family and friends' birthdays extra special. And if they give me the spiel about not wanting to make a big deal of it, the more I want to bombard them with love and joy on their birthday. Because I am half fabulous by blood, I have extravagant, Oscar worthy ideas most of the time. Sometimes I manage to pull it off. Sometimes not. But in those not so extravagant efforts is when I extract the most memorable memories. It is, after all, in the small things. 

In hindsight, my own birthday memories are often ordinary to others but holds so much more significance to me. So today, towards the end of my birthday week, let me bask in the spotlight and reminisce on a childhood birthday memory that leaves me with warm fuzzies every time I think about it. 

I'm not quite sure how old I was turning that birthday (I am guessing maybe six years old), but I still remember sitting on the top of the stair case very early that morning. I must have woken up just on sunrise, in time when the housemaids arose from slumber. Because I have no recollection of having woken up that early, the sights and sounds were unfamiliar to me. I could hear them shuffling around the kitchen as I wiped sleep from my eyes. Even in my giddy excitement, I sat quietly, just listening to the morning sounds. Faucet turning on, along with the splash of water. The click of the stove. The sound of the gas and fire igniting. Eggs splattering in hot oil. An occasionally shriek from the cook who ended up getting the hot oil on their skin. Hushed tones that gradually became a steady stream of sporadic chatter as more people in the house began to welcome the day. 

Yet, I still remained silent. In my child's mind, I was thinking how I was to explain my early entrance into this day. That day. My birthday. I was half afraid that the first person to notice me will forget that today was my special day and I will have to swallow my tears if they did. 

I stared at my great grandmother's bedroom door willing for it to open. The day before, she excitedly beckoned me inside her room. I loved her room. It was always a treat being invited inside. She had a closet full of beautiful leather and fur coats and stoles. I would always run my little fingers across the soft fur and could only imagine what it would be like to be enveloped in such softness. Of course, at that age I thought that the fur stoles were more like stuffed toys. I often wondered as a child why we were never allowed to play with them. Their softness always left me feeling secure. Lola Goria, as we fondly called her, also collected miniature things. She had a square glass encasement, much like the ones you see in museums. Hers was filled with an array of beautiful miniature things. Small, tiny porcelain pots with matching tea cups and saucers that surely only fairies could use because they were so dainty and all fit in the palm of my little, pudgy hand. I would always push my nose so close onto the glass to peer into the wonderful world of little things. Lola Goria's room was a whole new world!

As I was saying, the day before my birthday, Lola Goria called me into her room quietly. She never spoke much. She spoke with an accent and broken Tagalog. When I was younger, I always just assumed older people spoke just like her. I put it down to old age at the time. Unbeknownst to six year old me she actually spoke like that because she was Japanese and was not fluent in Tagalog. Somehow, we always understood each other.

"Come in," she smiled, peeking her head out of her bedroom door.

I smiled and dutifully slipped inside her room and waited as she closed the door behind us. She shuffled over to her closet, her eyes shining and shimmering; excitement shone like little stars in her grey eyes. I cocked my head to one side as I wondered what she had instore for me.

Lola Goria opened her closet and took out colourfully wrapped packages. One, two, three... I had lost count! She gestured me closer to have a look. She pushed the packages in my small hands one by one.

"This one from Papa and Mummy Fely," she whispered conspiratorially as a slender rectangular package was pressed into my hold. 

I gasped when I realised they were birthday presents. For me! I remember matching her excitement when that thought sunk in.

"This one from uncle," she continued as another mysterious package was handed to me.

"These from mummy and daddy," more packages piled up in my arms, slightly bigger and bulkier.

"This one from yaya," she exclaimed, getting more excited as she announced more presents. Yaya is my nanny. She looked after my brother and I when my parents were at work. She was like family to us.

"And this one from me," she smiled proudly as she let me glimpse at an immaculately wrapped box.

"All for me?" I asked in awe, as I looked into her gleaming eyes that continued to shine brightly behind her thick black rimmed glasses.

"Yes," she replied as she hastily put the presents back one by one, safe in their hiding place. "Birthday. Tomorrow."

And that is why I woke up very early that morning of my sixth (or so) birthday, waiting in silent anticipation to open all those beautifully wrapped packages. When Lola Goria finally woke up, she found me sitting on top of the stairs, my chin nestled in my open palms, elbows resting on my propped up knees. When she saw me, she quietly smiled and gestured me to come in, in her unassuming way. I scrambled down the stairs and the presents were all on her made up bed. Piled up high to the sky, waiting for me to open them. To be honest, the only present I remember from that day was a Mickey Mouse watch with black leather straps. Mickey's arms eventually taught me the time. Fancy that because time and time and again, every birthday, I remember that day. Time. Time has a way of making us remember. Whether it be us chasing time because we are late for work or we watch our children grow and beg time to slow down. Time is always there. Just as American novelist, Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote, time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind. So the memories always stay with us.

The most memorable memory for me from this little personal story were not the presents. Although I do not remember what were inside the rest of those colourfully wrapped packages all for me, I can remember clearly the memory leading up to that birthday.... When Lola Goria shared with me the secret of my presents, the excitement that emanated from her the day before, of the early morning house sounds the following morning and of the childhood turmoil of having to announce my presence to everyone.

If I close my eyes long enough, I can still hear the eggs cooking in the splattering oil just like it did that morning many moons ago....

If I sit in quiet contemplation long enough, I can still hear the slow chatter from the housemaids in their native dialects...

If I remember long enough, I can still hear the click of Lola Goria's door and see her head peek out once upon a time... 

So, yes. It wasn't the presents that I remember. It was the feeling that on my birthday, I was always loved and thought of and it was remembering my dear Lola Goria. In a way, I think it was from that moment that my need to celebrate birthdays stemmed from. I will never forget the glimmer of happiness in her eyes. She made me excited about birthdays. She made me look forward to them. If that is the legacy she left me, well I am pretty darned proud to share that with all my loved ones. The next time I hear someone say "It's just my birthday," I will have no choice but to celebrate the heck out of it with you. And we shall create happy memories together! Those happy memories I can not wrap up in a package but it sure stays in our hearts forever.

Happy birthday week to me.

My Favourite Bottom Catcher

Two years ago, there was a blog I was reading that used to post questions for each day of December. You then take those questions and answer them in your journal/blog/diary/small pieces of paper that end up at the bottom of the drawer (or bag) - take your pick. I managed to dutifully answer each and every single one as far as December 7 and somehow, the festive season consumed me and I never got around to finishing the month. 

However, one of the questions hit a note and I remember sitting in bed furiously scribbling away in a tiny red journal. What is the question I hear you ask. Well, here it is....

Which is your favourite chair in the house and why?

I don't know about you but I have never been asked that question before. I remember holding my little red journal open and slowly wrote the question out. My pen paused in mid air because I tried to think of an answer. I also remember listing the types of chairs we had at home inside my head. The movie in my head showed me dressed like a clown, juggling and balancing different chairs - trying to weigh out the importance of each. I mean after all, let's face it, a chair is a bottom holder. Bum catcher. Butt rest. I didn't even know if I had a favourite.

Until this question made me really think... And after clearing my juggling act scenario in my head... I found my favourite.

When I was a teenager, my parents bought a timber corner dining set. We mainly used it for our meals. Often times, like all teenagers, we would eat and run. But around this rectangular dining table, we would linger long after our meal and sit around laughing and talking about our day. Of course, it wasn't always happy times around that dinner table. Some memories are poignant and tainted with sadness. Yet, majority of the events around it has been happy so I always associated it with happiness. For example, it was on that table where we announced that I was pregnant with child number one. I remember placing a pot and pan and placed the pregnancy test result inside. I then gathered my parents and my sister and asked them to lift up the lid to reveal our surprise. My mum and dad had no idea what was happening (probably thinking what on earth was a pee stick doing inside a pot haha) until my sister (she was always the clever one) stated "You're pregnant!" It still makes me giggle thinking about that memory.

My favourite chair is not really a chair. It is a bench. It belongs to the dining set. It is a long timber bench with a leather seat and a storage area underneath. That very bench sat family, closest friends, visitors, relatives, boyfriends, and many other faces that has been part of my life journey... Those who stayed and those who left. That bench saw me through homework and heartbreak in high school, through numerous essays and calculations in university, and countless hours hand crafting engagement, and later on wedding, invitations when I got engaged and then married. Eventually, even our mortgage broker sat down with us on that very seat and showed us the break down of our future mortgage payments.

When we moved to the new house, the whole dining corner set came with us. Many more memories were added to that bench. We initially placed it in the rumpus room. I remember thinking how dwarfed it looked in the massive floor space. Visions of my nearest and dearest sat there while playing games for my baby shower, one of the first parties we held in the new house. After a period of time, more parties were celebrated and friends sat there and ate and laughed with us. When our first born, Toto, entered our lives, and started becoming mobile, he would hold onto that timber bench to pull himself up onto a standing position. During the time when babies drool a lot, he would stand proudly holding onto the seat, his saliva going everywhere as he pounded his cute little baby hands on the padded leather. Seemingly so quick, he graduated to cruising and then eventually not needing the bench anymore he learnt to walk on his own. 

Another picture in my head was of Toto and his cousin sitting on that bench, sharing a bowlful of pasta. Their small little toddler hands grabbing at the spaghetti and pushing mouthfuls into their already full mouths, making their cheeks puff out. If I close my eyes, I can still see that memory so vividly. 

That dining set later graduated into the meals area in front of our kitchen. The dining table has been moved so many times yet my position always remained the same. I always sat on that bench seat. Even when it was still at my parents' house, it has always been my spot.

When we sold the big house and downsized to an apartment, the only part of that dining set that made it to our new place was that long bench seat. And it also followed us to the townhouse we moved into just before baby number two was born. It took prime position just under the breakfast benchtop and because it was right near the door, handbags were often placed on the faded leather seat by friends, family and visitors. I plopped groceries too heavy for me on that seat too. Just as I haphazardly plunked down groceries on it, I sunk my weight on it the day I came home and found out I had gestational diabetes. I was devastated and scared but eventually pulled myself up from the seat, determined to do the best I can to make sure baby number two and I will come out of the ordeal okay. Thank God we did. 

That leather seat took a lot of weight in its time! Toto also learnt how to make himself breakfast standing on that bench. He has spilt milk on it, cereal, strawberry jam, pancake batter, maple syrup, ice-cream and anything else in between. I can still see his chubby 4 year old legs climbing up and planting his cute little 4 year old feet firmly on the padded seat resolutely as if to say "I can do this!"

As seasons changed, more new memories surrounded the timber bench. New friends were made, new bottoms sat on it. Toto celebrated his 5th birthday in that townhouse and together with his new friends stood on the bench to blow out 5 little colourful candles on his birthday ice cream cake. Tata, just as her big brother did, learnt to pull herself up on that seat... And eventually, she also didn't need the bench to support her anymore as she walked on her own for the first time.

The timber bench has a storage compartment underneath. I had stored used paper bags, odd bits and pieces and other useless things in it. Things in the house that really have nowhere to go but I couldn't bear to part with just yet lived there... Or rather some still lives there now! It is a treasure trove. I have a difficult time parting with pretty paper bags so I have a handful of those in there. A paper bag from an American store is in there because, well, I'm actually not sure why it is in there but it did house a present from my sister at one time. I really should just put it in the recycling bin but somehow I keep thinking I might need it for something down the road. It is the same with the Oprah magazine I bought in commemoration of her trip Down Under. I never actually even read it but somehow can not part with it. I mean, come on guys... It's Oprah. I know, I have a problem.

Life continued with that bench... I always fretted that the kids would get their little fingers caught in the seat once they discovered they could lift it open. Somehow, they never did and my worrying eventually ebbed away. And those fingers became not so little anymore. The baby and toddler co-ordination became much more precise and before I knew it, they have grown up.

The next thing to worry about was when they started to climb onto it and leap to the floor with wild abandon! Oh. Em. Gee! That just caused undue tachycardia on my part. But the kids were having a ball thinking they were superheroes!

We moved once more into our current home. It was then that the timber bench was reunited with the rest of its constituents. Together, they fit snugly in the dining nook where more friendships and memories has gathered around this table and seats. Sadly, some friendships were not meant to be. Long talks ensued around that table and ended. Friendships moved on from there. However, there were more wonderful memories instead to focus on. Many friendships continued to deepen and a lot of turning points took part with my bottom on my favourite seat. With a glass of wine to boot!

Have I mentioned that the bench can also double up as a bed? Well, it does. There was a time that I was so tired that I just curled myself up and laid down on it. I slept for two hours. How I didn't fall off it remains a mystery. When I woke up, it was sunset and the sun rays were shining on me. My favourite bench seat has prime position to witness some of the most beautiful sunsets. Sometimes, when the kids are having dinner on a nice summer evening, I just stare and watch the sun's rays bounce off Tata's curls and Toto's disheveled hair. The early evening light turns them golden and everything looks magical... And even for just one quiet moment, no matter how hectic and frustrating the afternoon may have been, my children shine before me and I am reminded of their innocence. 

As much as I associate my seat with happiness and joy, it has also witnessed many tears... Tears when a friend shared past hurts and stories ... Tears when frustration got the better of another friend and she just cried... Tears of sadness when I sat there on the morning I found out my grandmother was sick and may not be likely to live any longer... Tears after a very heavy scenario at work when a young patient died and my friends were around that table commiserating and comforting me as I cried it out... I am thankful for each experience because each time, I was surrounded by love. 

However, amongst the tears are even more happy moments. Just like when my parents first got the table and we would sit around talking and laughing around it, it is the same til now.  In addition, Toto now uses the table and seat to do his homework on, Tata likes to draw endless castles and princesses, Hubby takes along his laptop once in a while and plays his games on it and I sometimes use the bench as part of my 7 minute cardio workout. The seat that I sit on now has a worn hole on the leather. I'm not sure what to do with it just yet so I cover it up with different materials until I figure out what to do. In hindsight, I kind of like what the hole represents. Life has worn away at the leather because we have been lucky enough to constantly be surrounded by friends and family on that table.

Nowadays, my kids tend to sit on my spot. I don't really mind scooting over to another seat. I hope that like me, they will have many happy memories on that table.  This year, Tata is starting kindergarten so I am sure school work will surround that timber dining set for a few years yet. I can not wait to experience many more moments with loved ones around that table. 

Lastly, to my favourite seat, I would like to say thank you for always having my back (side :p). I am sure you will still catch my weight for many more years to come. It is comforting to know that you saw me through the awkwardness of my teenage years right through my adventures, triumphs and struggles in adulthood. Your worn out leather and stains of time hold my stories. As I embark on this new journey of blogging, I am sure I will be seated here, right on this very bench seat as I write this now, for a long time yet. Together with the afternoon sun shining on me or the stillness of the depth of the night blanketing me... The sounds of my beautiful life surrounding me... And love... Always love. Because as I once read, time and love has a wonderful way of showing us what truly matters.

xoxo