Escape from Brokenness

Via Filipina 2007 No. 15
Escape from Brokenness
By Niña Terol


Lately I’ve been having anxiety attacks—lots of them. I’ve been finding it hard to sleep well at night, and when I do get to sleep I usually get nightmares that jolt me and either leave me out of breath or wake me in a gasping panic.

My nocturnal episodes are like scenes from a suspense/thriller movie. Ugly scenes flash in my head. My heart beats fast, sometimes irregularly. My chest tightens, and I am somewhere in between floating and falling. I wake up tearful or fighting. No matter how pleasant and stress-free the days are, the nights always leave me anxious. What nightmare will it be THIS time?

The dreams themselves vary, although there seems to be a recurring theme: FEAR. Fear of the unknown, fear of the possibilities which you’d rather not think about, and even—yes—fear of forever.

It took me some time to figure it out, and for a while I was scared that I was being doubtful of my decision to be with one person for the rest of my life. As I reflected more upon my “state of soul,” however, I realized that it wasn’t Paul himself, or our relationship, that I was doubting; it was MYSELF.

For how can I really know what forever means when I have had no experience of it in my life? How can I, a child from a broken home, truly know what it takes to build a good home for my future family? How can I be a good partner, wife, and mother when I have no real models of marriage and partnership anywhere near me? How can I really know if my partner is fit to be a good husband and father, when all I know of husbands and fathers is that they leave you—and leave you broken forever? Is there really such a thing as forever when people die and leave you anyway?

Really, what is the point of all this?

I know this piece hardly sounds like me anymore at this point, but I need to face my issues if I am to get past them. I’ve always thought that I had already made peace with my personal history; now it seems that my “parent issues” are back, in full force, and that there is no escaping the pain that I still have within me. My fear of rejection and abandonment have clearly resurfaced, and it seems that all the hurts that I have tried to hide for so many years are now projecting themselves onto my relationship. It’s unnerving, it’s scary, and, worse of all, it leaves me feeling helpless and out of control.

I tried talking to my mom about it, and I was lucky that she understood me instead of feeling hurt and offended. I did have a lot to deal with while I was growing up, she acknowledged, and these were events that made me grow up much faster than I should have. But then, she reassured me, these are also what have made me the pillar of the family.

“You take care of everyone and sort us all out,” Mom pointed out. “Without you we’re all a mess!”

Maybe she’s right; maybe I do have what it takes to be a good wife and mother in the near future. But it doesn’t change the fact that I have never had a good experience of “family” in my life, and this leaves me frightened and uncertain about my future. Our experiences define who we are, and our vision defines where we will go, but if our experiences are lacking, how can we truly know what to aspire for? How can we create a vision of something that we’ve never seen in our lives?

Is there a way to transcend this brokenness and come out whole?

(It isn’t easy feeling this way—believe me, I often catch myself in the middle of a sad reverie and berate myself for allowing the “dark side” to take over me. But, again, I know that I will need to embrace the darkness for a little while more, maybe try to understand it a little, if I am to find a way to go towards the light.)

I know that, at this point, only faith can ground me and keep me from losing my mind. Faith in myself, faith in people, faith in the Creator and in the Universe, faith in the power of love… There seems to be little else that I can do except believe that I have the power to change the “programming” from my childhood.

Although my past has left an indelible imprint (if not a stain) in my life, I know that if I don’t get past the brokenness now, then I might end up breaking my family, too. Much has already been documented about parents who end up hurting their children because of the unresolved issues that they have with their own parents. So I will do whatever it takes to get past all these and dig myself out of this dark hole. For everyone falters, everyone falls; but at this stage in our lives, it’s important that we learn how to pull ourselves up so that we don’t take anyone else down with us.

Here, There, Everywhere

Via Filipina 2007 No. 14
Here, There, Everywhere
By Niña Terol


I am writing this from my mother’s veranda, which overlooks the fountain and the Clubhouse and the pool of the little condo complex where she lives. The place looks and feels like a mini-resort, and here I am, feeling all libertine-like in my tankini and sarong. Yes, I am in the veranda in a bathing suit, writing and sipping honey lemon tea while feeling the sun on my skin and the wind on my hair.

I am soaking in every second of it.

It’s during the summer and the holidays when I’m most appreciative of my career and my lifestyle. Yes, the hours are longer—work follows you everywhere you go, as long as you’re awake—but so do vacations. Or at least vacations that you take in your head. For although my body is in Palm Grove, in the heart of polluted Better Living in Parañaque City, my mind is in Capri and in Greece (where photos of my grandmother showed her to be half a century ago), in Holland, in Boracay, in the Mediterranean. I am everywhere, and happy to be so.

I was everywhere yesterday, too. I started my day with breakfast in bed (care of Paul—love that man!), and by 10:30 I was in Makati for my “serendipity walk.” I needed a break from feeling bored and all cramped up in our little one-bedroomer, and so I took off with the agenda of “just letting my feet take me where I need to go.” My first stop was at SM Makati, where my eyes picnicked on bikinis and tank tops, on party dresses and balloon skirts, on stilettos and ballerina prints, on linen and pillows and kitsch that I’ll only look at but not buy. Just like that, I was as the beach, the ballroom, and a home that I can only dream of, and I was just warming up.

By noon my feet dragged me all the way to Starbucks in Greenbelt 3, and I knew that there had to be reason for it. (After all, one’s feet does not take them to the other end of the vast Ayala commercial complex for absolutely nothing!) They no longer served multi-grain bagels (the only Starbucks pastry I eat nowadays), so I settled for a whole wheat croissant (I was craving for carbs). As soon as I got comfy in the little couch by the window and opened the latest issue of Time: Style and Design, a deep female voice with a foreign accent brought me back to my seat.

“I sit here?” The question was more a command than a request.

The voice belonged to a stocky middle-aged woman with short blond hair, and she was lugging around large paper bags the way one does when on a shopping spree. A tourist, I thought, and she’s sharing my table by the window. This should be interesting…

The next hour was more than one could hope for in conversing with a stranger. The lady was from Holland, and she was in town visiting her daughter who worked at the Embassy. She had been to Bohol and Boracay and another little “ishland,” and now she was shopping for she’d be leaving town by Saturday. She was warm and friendly—not chatty, thank God!—and she reminded me of my mom.

Our conversation made me feel that I was talking to a mentor, not a total stranger from a non-English-speaking nation. For a moment there, I was transported to her home in Holland (where she had just asked her son to leave because he was already 24 and “too old to be living with his mom”), to the cafes in Amsterdam (where they “serve ‘special’ things—for special prices”), to the mountain slopes where my new friend has been skiing every year for the last 20 years, to another place in time when it was “bad for women to be working.” My friend admitted to being over 60, but she looked 10 years younger because of biking, yoga (pronounced “yoha” in Dutch), skiing, and “healthy living.” She didn’t know how she’d survive her husband’s death 10 (“no, it was 12!”) years ago, but now she’s happy and at peace, and she has a “friend” who visits her at home.

When she found out that my name is Niña, Laney’s (that’s her name) face lit up and she asked me if I was Spanish in origin. She had “friends” in Spain when she was much younger, she said, and she had tried to pick up the language to “impress the boys.” I was again transported out, this time to a few years back, when an intense infatuation with a professor made me long to go to Spain. I almost did, too, for a scholarship was going to be made available if only I’d apply for it. (I was a shoo-in, all my teachers said.) I didn’t—out of naivete and stupidity—so I’m here, and yet everywhere else.

For a brief moment I saw in Laney the woman I wanted to become. She was strong but not abrasive, warm but not smothering, serene but not laid back. She was “a real mother,” an emancipated woman in spite of having been a housewife, and she’s happy despite having gone through the death of her husband and a tumor in her brain. (“You can take very good care of yourself, but you’re still not sure of what will hit you,” she told me.) I’m sure that felt our connection, too, for she described our chance encounter as “amazing.”

As we parted ways, Laney and I wished each other health, happiness, and a good life ahead. I then realized that she was sent to me for two reasons: to be grateful for the life that I’ve had so far, and to look forward to the life that lies ahead of me. I have a lot of dreams, I have a lot of regrets, but that conversation reminded me that Life is what you make of it, and Living is done here and now.

So, as I allow the wind to blow my sarong open and expose a bit of my legs (to nobody, really), I look up at the clouds and smile. I am here, I am somewhere else, I am anywhere and everywhere I need to be. From now on, the only thing that can stop me from moving… is myself.

From Good to Gutsy

Via Filipina 2007 No. 13
From Good to Gutsy
By Niña Terol


I have this habit when reading books, whether fiction or non-fiction. I close my eyes, meditate for a minute or two, and with my eyes still closed I let my fingers choose a page on which to open the book. The particular passage that strikes me once I open my eyes is, I believe, the message that the Universe is trying to tell me for that particular day, time, or moment. I know people who do that when choosing a Bible passage for the day. For me, it works every time, no matter what kind of book I’m reading.

* * * * *

Yesterday, while walking in Makati after a meeting, my partner asked me, “So, where are you off to now?”

I hesitated for a while before answering. Where was I off to?

“I dunno,” I replied tentatively. “Maybe I should go home already. Or maybe I can walk around in the mall first. I’ve got time anyway.”

“Nines,” her somewhat stern voice said, “YES, you do have time. Do whatever you want! Do it while you can afford it. Do it while you don’t have kids yet…”

As she reminded me of the little luxuries I can afford to take while I’m still (technically) single, relatively unhurried, and super un-stressed, I was also reminded of the passage that I had read just the other night from Sarah Ban Breathnach’s Something More:

Taking Liberties
(Taken from Something More by Sarah Ban Breathnach)

“It is never too late to be what you might have been.”
~ George Eliot

I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live as a libertine. Isn’t that a delicious word? Sarah Bernhardt, Isadora Duncan, Josephine Baker, George Sand, George Eliot, Victoria Woodhill, and Isak Dinesen were libertines.

“Yes, of course, she’s accomplished, but you do know she’s a libertine.” Please God, before I die, let someone say that about me.

How to know if you are at least moving in the direction of being a libertine? A libertine never gives up a room with a view and can’t remember the last time she was patted on the back and thanked for “being a doll.” Instead, she’s accused of being a “gutsy broad.” A libertine is invited everywhere but rarely goes out (which always makes her presence an event) and believes in a body-mind-spirit approach to nutrition, consisting mainly of grapes (red seedless), chocolate truffles, and champagne. She gives great gifts, follows boxing as a spiritual path, considers that she has been sexually harassed when she is not told she looks beautiful, and worries when they aren’t whispering behind her back; “Isn’t she a piece of work.”

All of history’s really interesting women were libertines—freethinkers, women who lives by their own conventions, their own sense of what was right and wrong for them, what they could live with, what they couldn’t live without. Come to think of it, living by your own lights and not by the opinions of others is one way of defining authenticity, so maybe I’m halfway there. But there is still too much of the residual good girl in me for my own highest good—unalloyed happiness—if you know what I mean.

And you probably do, because I’ll bet you were born a good girl, too. However, Kate White, a charter member of the good girl club until she was passed over for the job of editor-in-chief for a magazine she had been running for months, believes that good girls are made, not born. The “seeds of the good girl are planted very early, as a daughter observes the way the individuals in her home interact with each other and absorbs the messages her parents send,” she writes in her wonderful primer on how to stop stumbling sooner rather than later, Why Good Girls Don’t Get Ahead But Gutsy Girls Do.

“The mother, even if she has a job, makes the arrangements for play-dates, meals, holidays, celebrations, dentist and doctor appointments, vacations, and trips to relatives. She buys the clothes, the underwear, the shoes, the toothbrushes, the birthday gifts (for her own kids as well as her kids’ friends), the books, the Play-Doh and paint sets. She drives for the car pool, makes the snacks, applies the Band-Aids, wipes the noses, cleans up the spills and messes, supervises the homework, calls the teacher, gets the camp applications, writes the thank-you notes… it never stops.”

Whose week does that sound like? “The message a daughter hears through all this is that one of the most important jobs a female has is considering and taking care of others’ needs, and in the process that often involves putting her own needs aside.”

This goes a long way toward explaining the late-onset pull of the libertine lifestyle, at least for me. Becoming a libertine—she who puts her own needs first—is Darwinian in nature. It’s an evolutionary process—slow and steady growth over many lives—which is why the reembodiment theory gives one hope, if not a game plan. Get through your major soul lessons and you’ll get a few free periods for extracurricular activities. Keep in mind we’re really not going to remember much of this life in the next go round, so why don’t we become girls who would like to have some fun? The authentic spiritual path is not meant to be sackcloth and ashes. Ecstasy is the hallmark of the mystical experience. Joy awakens the soul and convinces the mind beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is Something More—the existence of another way of living.

“Ecstasy is what everyone craves—not love or sex, but a hot-blooded, soaring intensity, in which being alive is a joy and a thrill,” Diane Ackerman tells us. “That enravishment doesn’t give meaning to life, and yet without it life seems meaningless.”

* * * * *

“Lo que mas me importa… es vivir,” my tattoo tells me. Somehow, it becomes easy for me to forget the spirit behind the words (probably because my tattoo is on my back and not visible to me every day?) and just as easy for me to feel guilty about what I’m not doing at a particular time.

“Oh no,” my mind’s been telling me almost every day, “you woke up at 9AM today! That was sooo late.”

“So what?” my soul should have said. “You’re not on a deadline, you don’t have meetings, you have practically nothing on your agenda today—and the dishes can wait. What are you so hung up about?”

“OH NO,” my mind said in dismay a couple of times. “You ate the dessert at the wedding. You ate pan de sal the other day. You ate a multigrain bagel at Starbucks. You drank C2 last night. You CHEATED on Phase 1 of South Beach!”

And you know what my soul should have said, but was probably too polite to do so?

“Fuck off! I’ve been on Phase 1 for SIX WEEKS, eat almost nothing every day… and I box so regularly and so intensely that I could probably knock you out in a few seconds. WHAT ARE YOU SO HUNG UP ABOUT??”

Yes, maybe I should be more of a gutsy girl than a good girl. Or else, what would all this boxing be for?Ü

Changing Roles

Via Filipina 2007 No. 12
Changing Roles
By Niña Terol


Changes happen every day—some for better, some for worse. For me, the best kind of change is that which forces you to look at yourself from all angles, evaluate your life from various perspectives, re-assess the roles that you’re currently playing (or those that you want to play), and grow with the flow. Because life is more often a spiral than a straight line or a web, the best kind of change is that which enables you to move upward (even if you initially thought you’d be pulled down by it).

In the past month since I last wrote here, I’ve experienced exactly this kind of change. On a very basic level, certain things about my daily routine have changed because I’m now less busy with actual projects and am busier planning for the future—a new company, a wedding, a family. The mornings are less harried, the days are less stressful, and I actually have time to cook, clean, watch TV, read magazines, and work out! (THIS is a very welcome change, indeed.)

On another level, this slowing down has caused a substantial drop in my financial contribution at home. I make significantly less than I used to, so Paul and I had to make certain changes regarding our household expenses and activities, recreation, and, well, pretty much everything else. However, instead of causing a strain on our relationship, as well as on my emotional and mental health, our current financial situation has enabled us to streamline our activities, improve our respective workflows, strive for greater efficiency, and focus only on things that really matter.

(If those last few lines seemed to have come straight off a corporate annual report, it’s probably because our experiences have made both Paul and I sharper and more business-like in our approach to many things, including—yes—handling our domestic affairs. As partners in what could be the biggest joint venture of our lives—our future family—this is certainly a good thing.)

* * * * *

There’s another important lesson that this past month has taught me: how to really step back and play a supporting role instead of hogging the spotlight.

In recent years, I’ve become accustomed to being the frontliner both at home and at work. At home, I was the primary breadwinner and the daughter on whom Mom depended for bills payments, allowances, tuition, and… pretty much everything. At work, I was the rainmaker and the face of the organization; I hobnobbed with potential clients, closed accounts, and managed the staff and the suppliers. In my relationship with Paul, I was, in his words, “the steady hand”, “the ray of light in the darkness”, “the rock of his life,” the pillar. No matter where I was or what I did, I had to be at “performance level.” I could not let the smile fade because all eyes were on me.

This kind of pressure would have been enough to drive anyone else crazy, but it did the opposite for me. It fueled me because, being the self-proclaimed “exhibitionist” that I am (not in that way, though!), I love attention, I thrive in the spotlight. Back then I enjoyed knowing that I was performing my duties, and doing them well, because people would certainly know that it was I who did these things. I was the good daughter, I was the dedicated manager, I was the loyal and steadfast partner!

I guess I must have gotten full of it at some point, because now the Universe is telling me that my time onstage is up. It’s now time for me to step back and step down, let my co-star take his own place in the spotlight, and do everything that I can to make him look good.

It can be a very humbling experience, indeed.

* * * * *

If there is anyone else in my life who is more of an exhibitionist than I am, then it would be Paul. The eldest child and the only son in his family, and a certified performer and a public personality since his youth, Paul has certainly gotten used to the glare of the spotlight and the relative fame that comes with it. He has gone on tours and performances around the country, performed onstage with celebrities, gotten himself photographed and featured in newspapers, and been described in this way (as revealed by a Google search): “arguably the best percussionist in the country.” If I am tickled by the spotlight, he is at home in it.

The two years that he was away from the scene and re-evaluating his direction were the two years when I revved up my engines and raced to the front of the pack. Now that he’s back on track—and a more powerful performer and a better provider than ever, may I just add—I’m learning to readjust my focus, loosen my grip on whatever controls are out there, and—gulp—take a seat.

Oh, but I’m not complaining at all—let me just make that clear! I am thrilled that Paul is where he is supposed to be, and I’m honored that this amazing, wonderful person has chosen me to be his partner through all of life’s adventures (and misadventures). It’s just taking a little getting used to, but now I’m actually enjoying being a little less “productive”, being a little more relaxed and laid-back, and working my magic from behind the scenes. My dad always used to tell me that “it takes a woman to make a man,” and if this is the role that I’m being called to play now, then I’ll play it with as much gusto as if I were onstage myself.

* * * * *

This experience, and the lessons that come with it, are coming at a very good time. You see, for all of my open-mindedness and liberalism, I still believe—to a certain extent—that a good partnership, a good marriage, needs someone in front and center… and someone backstage. You can’t both be in the spotlight, at the same time, all the time. Someone has to rise up, someone has to give way, and both partners need to know when to step in and when to step back. Egos cannot be a part of this equation, or else the partnership suffers.

I have been very, very blessed and fortunate that Paul is the kind of man who is secure enough with himself to let others take the stage when they are called. When it was my turn up there, he was never jealous or envious; he was always supportive; and he never tried to pull me down. Not once did he question my motives; not once did he accuse me of emasculating him by stepping up and taking on more “masculine” roles. A man like that is very rare—something that I never saw in my family, that’s for sure.

So now that I’m transitioning from playmaker to cheerleader, from performer to awestruck spectator, from starry-eyed girlfriend to full-fledged wife and homemaker, I’m soaking up as much of these changes as possible and absorbing every bit of wisdom that I possibly can. I know that one of the most uncomfortable positions to be in is in a state of flux, but if it’s going to help me become a better partner, a better person, then I’ll welcome this and all the changes and adjustments that come with it.

*Photo taken before Paul's performance at the Bayantel relaunch, 12 March 2007.

Sink of Swim (a contributed entry)

Via Filipina 2007 No. 11

Sink or Swim

A contribution by Nicole Paterno

I have often wondered what it would be like speeding downstream towards the beginning of the waterfalls. Would I survive the fall or find myself lost in deep waters below? Should I allow myself to sink or to swim against the flow? I think I made my decision already years ago when I encountered [financial] problems threatening the security of my family. More so when I became an adult and started earning – and starting living independently.

All the while, I thought that I was the unluckiest person in the world–my relationship with my late father was beginning to be estranged; our house in Quezon City was at the brink of foreclosure; my career direction seemed to be going nowhere; and my relationship with the man I loved more than life itself came to an end. Everything was going downstream faster than I expected. And I was really scared; everything I’ve worked hard for and prayed for were slipping away: my career, my home, and my boyfriend.

That was in 2003. I hated that year. I still do. I lost so many things and persons I deeply loved – and I attributed my losses to my late father. That was then. But now that he is at peace, it is useless to hold grudges and pain. I have to keep on reminding myself that I am on the way to healing myself; I do not want any wound festering.

When problems start haunting your life–financial or otherwise–everything is affected: the way you think, you react, you make decisions, you deal with people, etc. I thought I could compartmentalize each component of myself–as a daughter and sister, as an employee, as a girlfriend–and these would be left untouched. I was wrong, it did affect me as a whole person. I was spiralling into depression and was deeply in denial about my condition.

Pride, blind drive, and whatever “rational” thinking kept me afloat for a while–or so I think. These prevented me from acknowledging that I was crashing down so fast. Only did I realize I needed help and counselling when friends noticed that I was not myself anymore. My mother put it very bluntly: I was not loving myself anymore. I was so gauntly looking; I had terrible breakouts; and I looked so sad and so lifeless. My aura was so poor and pathetic.

I also noticed that, as the problems increased, the more I distance I placed between myself and my family and friends. I was exerting so much effort to look as if I were doing fine and handling my problems well. But I knew I had already exhausted all my strength looking pretty and acting tough. I had to admit that not only did I require personal help and counselling, I needed to open myself to my family and my close friends.

During those trying moments in my life, I managed to acquire this habit of conversing with myself, if not with God. This time, my other self–and I think it was my real self–was admonishing me not to destroy myself. I have so much to offer, why would I allow these disappointments and hurts stop me from realizing my potential? Why should I allow these bad episodes to put me down and cast doubt on my qualities and skills? Would I rather sink or swim?

Swim, I said. And swim I did against the currents of the river so I could survive. I badly wanted to live. But I knew I had to get rid of denial so I can resurrect.

I think I never swam as hard as before to regain the confidence in myself–and the gains were truly beautiful. I allowed myself to be humble, which has opened numerous opportunities to talk with former teachers in college and with my current professors in graduate studies. They are more than willing to mentor me in the career path I have chosen (a mixture of government, non-profit, and academic ingredients). I also make it a point a point to regularly seek spiritual direction from two caring and loving Jesuit priests to provide some direction in decision-making. I have even sought a counsellor to just help me process, validate my thoughts, my thoughts emotions–in short, rediscover and appreciate myself for who I am and what I stand for.

Friends who are now facing a lot of difficulties wonder how I am able to handle threats to happiness and security. I reassure them that I have been in the same boat as before. I just chose to swim rather than sink. And how to swim is up to you. The change in me did not happen instantaneously. It took a lot of time and patience. When I look back at 2003, the situation is a bit far from what it was before. Nevertheless, I am still learning and the learning never stops–as well as the healing. The healing process is the most important one.

Please do not think that everything is back to normal and perfect with me nowadays. I still am encountering difficulties, or rather challenges: at work, with friends, with the family (but more of practical issues). But unlike before when I was so overwhelmed and resorted to knee-jerk reactions–and I still do to a little extent–I am teaching myself how to be aware of myself: my strengths, my weaknesses (which I have to improve or control), my passions, my drives, etc. In the end, I can safely say that I have a better disposition. The way I cope with life’s ups and downs even affects my present relationships with family, my friends, and the people I work with.

Everyday, I am more conscious how I have come this far. It is truly amazing and incredible. I am very thankful that I chose to swim so I can live again and enjoy life as never before. There have been adjustments though but it is a choice I made and am willing to be accountable for. I appreciate what life has taught me. It has given me more character.

Most importantly, it has taught me that life really goes on and on and on. It would be absurd to demand it to stop all because of a small yet very obvious coffee or wine stain on my blouse or skirt just before a public affair. Before I could lapse to usual knee-jerks, I just have to remind myself: take a deep breath, smile, and forget about it because the affair will be over … and I will have enough time to mend it when I get home or sometimes … just let things go. The time will come when the cycle of tragedies will end, and you will realize just how much one has learn to emerge as a victor in spite of it all.

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YOU, too, can contribute to Via Filipina! Simply send me an email at nina.terol@gmail.com, and let's correspond regarding your particular piece. Share the journey with family, friends, and loved ones--and reconnect with kindred souls who are looking for something more--just like you.