Anie Writes: 2017

And So The Houseplants Adventure Begun

A kind of paralyzing inertia somehow settled over me.

It’s fancy words for the tiredness that comes from the elephantine teaching workload of always being present, ceaselessly giving and continually keeping all those balls in the air. I was emotionally drained and running on empty ten days into January of 2016. I knew I needed to reset but one doesn’t just tell a terminally INTP recluse to go out and unwind. I ached for the natural pace of life… one that is outside my classroom and beyond the bounds of punishing and tiring levels of social stimulations, the digitalized world included.

So one day, I got myself two small pots, spray painted it red and placed snakeplants in it. It was a very spur-of-the-moment kind of thing to be honest, that’s why imagine my stupefied amazement when tiny little bits of bright green were sticking out of the soil - a third or an inch tall, roughly three weeks later. In an attempt to take a break from all that was going on in my life, I managed to actually grow something. I’ve never considered myself equipped with the skills to keep a plant alive, let alone grow and transform into considerable buds but those snakeplant pups were such an exciting sight to see and somehow, I felt a sense of achievement from that. It was the ultimate remedy that I distractedly needed at the time. In addition to growing snake plants, I also learned how to propagate golden pothos. Throughout 2016, I’ve repotted dozens of them and even filled my classrooms with it. But, it was only until recently that I’ve purchased other houseplants to grow. Now, my little thriving plant family includes a spade-leaf and golden emerald philodendron, spider and zz plant, lucky bamboo, alocasia, a bird's nest fern, two succulents (black prince and derenbergii blue), a beavertail cactus and 6 others I have yet to identify (gifted to me by my sisters for Christmas).

Tending to houseplants rustles up to my more nurturing side but in a scope of care that is completely different from teaching kids or babysitting my nephews and niece. I also love how taking care of houseplants allows me to take a break and shake up my routine work. In this contemporary world that, in many instances, feels overwhelming, houseplants and caring for them helps me stay in touch with small realities, a connection to something so basic but also of substance. Just like some bakers who are in their happiest when they’re in their kitchens whipping up treats and comfort foods, I find exercising my green thumb wholly therapeutic, whilst learning to be more patient again because it takes time for plants to bloom a flower or grow a new leaf. And as soon as I see them grow and bloom, I usually get knock over with feather every single time, it's almost like a dream.

Some says filling your place with houseplants is a trend and that it'll come and go, in which I responded, perhaps. But for me, it’s more like a lifestyle.

At twenty-three houseplants and counting, I can say that it is. It truly is.

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, by Anie Ordillo

A Letter To My Crestfallen 10-Year Old Self. With All My Heart, Thirty-Two.

My dearest Ten,

Some mornings ago, I couldn’t thank all the stars in the heavens enough for finding a crisp twenty-peso bill inside my pocket just when I needed it most. As I handed it to one of my students who didn’t have a snack for recess, my first thought was you. When she stayed inside the classroom while the rest of her peers animatedly marched their way to the canteen, I am stung with an awful, familiar feeling.

“Take this, dear,” I urged but she shook her head, no.

It wasn’t much, really… just enough to buy her a decent merienda we normally have at the canteen. But still she refused. I tried to be insistent, so, I took her hand and placed the money on her palm. My student’s gaze dropped on the vinyl floor. It was rather an awkward task I took upon myself to convince her that there wasn’t anything embarrassing about accepting a bill of meager value in such a situation. After a moment or two, she straightened. Lifting her head to look up at me, she flashed a slim but genuine smile and finally said “thanks, Miss Anie,” much to my relief.

I started keeping extra twenty-peso bill in my pocket since then, crisp or not, in case any of my students need it – a courtesy I wish someone from grade school extend when the struggle of poverty first zing you. The age when you felt like the rest of your seemingly compact but colossal life has truly begun. I know about the long nights that kept you awake, or those mornings you weren’t quite sure if you can make it to grade school and those days in between that looks as though they’re never ending. It’s tough when your family’s financial security has been shaken, this I know. Your crestfallen state should have been the opposite but do not lose heart because this season in your life will pass. It will pass and things will never be the same for you. And though no one, not a single soul from that unfortunate place notice the apprehension and heaviness of your heart, nor the distress of not being your powerful, engaging little self, you will see how much resilience you’re made of. You do not know it yet because anxiety, at times, anger, gets the best of you, but in time you will. You internally told yourself, what you lack in money and in looks, your brain will have to make up for it. And that, my dear Ten, is strength in itself. This internal bar will become your very drive to flourish beyond academics.

“You’re a rebel,” they say and how this weighs you down, but the truth is, it should not. Because you know what, they are right. You are a rebel. You are a rebel when you refuse to consent to feel inferior whenever everyone looks down on you because you can only afford to buy yourself Pop (bottled carbonated drink) for recess… sometimes, a small bag of chips but never both at the same time. You are a rebel because you held your head high whenever you are met with an odd stare every time you’d bring out a can of tuna (in Afritada flavor, our fave!) that goes with the rice Mommy packed for you at lunch. You are a rebel because you chose to stand against prejudice and injustice when your supposed champions failed you. And within these arduous times, and these lengthy moments of rejection and pain, you will find your courage, your character and your passion. The process, tumultuous to all appearances it may be, will do you good. It may not make sense today but know that it will be full and rich with lessons and experiences.

Cry if must. Be sad if you can’t help it but only for a moment because even if the odds seem up, there will be a happy ending to one of the dreariest episodes of your life. And when it’s your turn to sit behind that teacher’s desk, you’ll be able to look at every child that enters your classroom with sincerest care, utmost respect and tell each and everyone of them how they truly matter. You will choose to be the champion they need regardless of what they have in life. You will guide them to see the good in everything and when they can’t find any, you will encourage them to create it.

In Nayirah Waheed’s words:

“There is peaceful.

There is wild.

I am both at the same time.”

And I am here to tell you that YOU ARE BOTH. Yes, AT THE SAME TIME. So, have faith and be a force to be reckoned with, in spite of. I'm rooting for you.

With all my heart,

Thirty-Two

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, by Anie Ordillo

In Ahh Life, Personal

I Fell Out With A Friend and I’m Ok With It

Two ladies you secretly want to be in your squad. 😆

To say that I’m “ok” with it is an understatement.

Truth be told, ending that one-sided friendship was something I’ve always wanted to do for as long as I can remember. On multiple occasions, I’ve attempted to do so only to fail miserably. Friendship, after all, is meant to nourish, sustain us and often provide our deepest connection. It’s supposed to be a two-way street but for me, my friendship with this 'friend' felt like a one-way road. Time and again, my family would point this out to me but I held onto the hope that maybe they were wrong.

I was nine when I met her. She was twelve. As the new girl in perhaps the most overrated place, I was sold to the idea that a genuine bond of friendship was somehow forged between us. I was young and uncannily naïve at best. Throughout our childhood, she would require me to hang out with her at their house just so I can watch her paint for hours, play her fancy guitar and do all these artsy things she thinks she’s good at. I've searched high and low for a common ground that will at least keep us emotionally connected but didn’t find any. She would turn into this guilting 'friend' every single time I can't hang out with her and my excessive urge to be agreeable would only sucked me back in, leaving me feeling completely trapped. Small fractions like that added up and worn me down. At the time I was about to start my junior year in high school, I was informed that her family will move to another neighborhood. I'd be lying if I tell you I didn't feel some kind of relief from such news.

Yet, three semesters into college and the same friend who was guilting me into doing what she wants, walked back into my life. On one incident, she talked me into meeting this guy I met on Yahoo Messenger and been speaking to about Web Design (PLEASE DON’T JUDGE ME! It wasn’t even romantic, I swear!), who incidentally attends the same university I went to. She told me she’ll introduce herself as me and gave the assurance that I have nothing to worry about in case the guy turns out to be a creep. He wasn't. But, this kind of things aren't really my cup of tea, so, I went half-heartedly.

“This is Anie!” she said without missing a heartbeat, seeing the guy wasn’t exactly her ‘type’.

I was caught off guard but stuck out my hand for a handshake anyway. The guy obligingly took it as I politely excused myself and was deeply sorry that I needed to go. He was actually nice and gave me a quick nod. My 'friend' then followed me, as if I was the rude one and for the first time, I allowed myself to be truly angry with her, altogether disinclined to apologize for what felt like an unpleasant ambush.

The final straw came on the eve of my first day of work as a teacher. This ‘friend’ would somehow waltz back into my life only when it’s convenient for her and always when she needs something. There she was. Again. Knocking at my doorstep after what have been years of absence from each other's lives. No phone call was made and no email/text message was sent either. Completely unannounced, she just decided she’d have a sleepover at my place because some family issue 'came up'. I let her stay that evening and even cooked breakfast for her the next day but it was clear to me that the relationship I was enduring was mine alone. We’ve known each other for more than 20 years, or so I thought,but even that can’t justify why I should still be friends with her. This shifted the way I view friendships. I came to understand, though a little too late, that real friendships have nothing to do with proximity and are definitely not based on the years you've known each other but on how you treat and love your friends. Finally, I accepted my family’s truth as my own. I bit the bullet and ended things with that 'friend’.

Years later, she’d reach out to ask if I can help her plan her wedding. I politely declined. Months after that, she emailed me to say that I am one of her child’s godmother. I didn’t reply. For the rest of that year, she would send me life updates on gmail in which I never really bother to open. I'm simply done and the only thing left for me to do was to move on. And move on, I did. I haven’t heard from her since. The exasperating part is, this 'friend' walks around, pretending to be utterly oblivious as to what happened between us. Friendship is about collaboration, not domination. With that ‘friend’, I wasn’t even sure where our friendship, if you could even consider that as one, was heading. But I realized, I no longer care enough to cross the street and let her know why I’ve been so out of touch. What I did was, I've cleared a path which leaves space for new people who I know will contribute something significant in my life.

These days, I look at how enduring my female friendships are with amazing women whom I find myself embarking on new adventures with. These are the women who I value and are in my life not by an accident of history but because of mutual respect, love and acres of common ground. I’m convinced that my life is extra richer and fuller because of it. In life, we walk out on something that's not worth keeping. We never look back. And, more often than not, we can be more than ok with it.

*** pictured above is Miss Tin and Miss Sab, two of the many great INTJs I call framily... friends who aare family.

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, by Anie Ordillo

In Ahh Life, Family

I Call Her Mommy

As a child, I was called Nanay, a Filipino informal for mother, coined by the people around me who thought I was a domineering, audacious, blustering little 5-year old. Mama conceived me in her katipunera temperament after all and one cannot help but own up to it. Perhaps, I really was a domineering, audacious, blustering little 5-year old. How my five-year old self easily managed to get away with it was solely because of my grandma who had my back at all times, no matter how domineering, audacious, blustering little 5-year old I was. Growing up, I've always felt like she was this gigantic force in my life, that one thing I just cannot do without. My writing can never sum up the depth of the beauty, the selflessness and the encouragement that she really was to me, try as I may. It's been five years since the awful pneumonia took her from us. Five years feels like five lifetimes and of all the things that's been going on with my life right now, missing her is still the hardest. Sometimes, I'd close my eyes and find myself silently smiling at all my memories of her from long ago... experiences ever so indelibly etched into my recollections that seems to be the only comfort I have.

Mommy, as we fondly called her, was a nurturer through and through, taking in too much energy from her family and fulfilling our needs. Even on her ailing bed, she would continually instruct us to feed the dogs, to check the cooking rice on the stovetop and while nursing her in the wee hours of the night she would still insist that I, too, should get a sleep. Even pneumonia wouldn’t stop the nurturer in her. On Mommy’s better days, she did everything for us and always with love at the core of every effort. She was always affectionate, loving and dedicated but just like someone who’s already buckled up onto a seat ready to embark on the beginning of a journey, she was greatly sorry to be leaving us. I cannot think of a sadder day in my life than the day I had to part with her.

Mommy was my Mathematical Constant… that fixed value in my life. Silly as my mind would sometimes think, I've always pictured her ever present until I turn eighty, telling me, pushing me (actually) to always do what is right. In my hard-headedness, Mommy was my constant shield from Papa and Mama’s wrath, err, any case of disciplining, my forever ally against a sibling clash, the unswerving intercessor and my first real-life embodiment of a strong feminist. When circumstance caused Papa and Mama to be away from home in order to provide for us, Mommy did her very best so that we would never missed out on any parental love through her thoughtful encouragement, sincere guidance and countless sacrifices. When I think of my childhood and what it was made of, I can only think of her. SHE WAS MY CHILDHOOD: the lullabies on my afternoon nap, the consoling back rub in my discomfort, my truest fan whenever I pull off a BJ-Thomas-spectacle, the person behind my spotless and wrinkle-free school uniform all throughout my high school and a remarkable empath like no other. She was all these and so much more. She had been an effective mouthpiece of the Lord because she spoke so well of His love and truth to me. God handpicked the best person to minister to me as a child that made me put a great deal of value on family, faith and life in its entirety.

She was my first big loss, my first heartbreak and my first true love. Every tender-hearted and affectionate part of me was first a part of her. Five years feels like five lifetimes and in this life, she’s still my favorite part.

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, by Anie Ordillo

In Ahh Life, Personal

Hateration is Actually a Word

They say if you don’t have haters, you’re doing it wrong. Perhaps. But it sure is something I am never cavalier about. Who wants to deal with haters? I know I don't. But early into 2017, I came to a sad realization that no matter what we do in life, there will always be people in this world waiting for us to lose… people who will stab us at the back and do everything to pull us down. We don't even have to be a Kardashian to have a hater. One of the many harsh realities of life, truth be told.

Taylor Swift said "Shake It Off" and I thought, why the heck not? Get a thicker skin while we're at it, you know? But as soon as negativity rears its head, a song with a catchy beat can't quite make it alright. The truth is, to rise above the negativity is harder than it sounds. Just recently, I caught the wind of hate and found myself confronted by it. For a moment, I weighed myself down with what I did to merit such negative feedback. I've reacted poorly and this triggered so much anger that led to even more frustrations until it was so overwhelming, I had to flip my entire perspective right away. In hindsight though, the whole experience toughened me a little bit and I begun to see that the people who smile to my face and talks badly about me to others as soon as I turn my back, are nothing but a part of my life’s cathartic growth. Incidentally, I learned a thing or two about these one-dimensional blobs of hatred and discovered that...

Haters can be our teachers. In my case, I learned to free myself from judgment. There is a fine line between a constructive criticism and a personal attack from people who can't help but cave in to the twinge of ego. If they refuse to engage with you in a dialogue, they're not a critic but a hater. Surprisingly, they can teach us to love ourselves even more, cultivate the strength we never knew we have and just flourish far above our perceived flaws.
Haters are the sandpapers in our lives. We can insist for comfort but then forfeit the opportunity to improve something in us because as sandpapers, our haters help us smooth the rough edges of our character. Fight fire with fire, I once told myself, but then what? Harry Truman said it best “Fame is a vapor, popularity is an accident, riches take wings, those who cheer today may curse tomorrow and only one thing endures – character.” And CHARACTER counts!
Haters point us to the people who truly matters. When our haters are in the throes of their negative spin, trying so hard to knock us off our horses, there are also people who will come to our aid, who will defend us in the first glimpse of disparagement, who will dry our tears during our setbacks and will be present to celebrate our triumphs. To be surrounded with people who build us up is truly a blessing we should not take for granted.

The greatest nugget I gained from this recent experience is it gave me a better understanding of forgiveness. This in turn spare me from emitting the exact same negativity my haters give off and at the same time brought peace to my fragile heart... something I sincerely wish these people would have and find, if not soon.

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, by Anie Ordillo

And So The Houseplants Adventure Begun

A Letter To My Crestfallen 10-Year Old Self. With All My Heart, Thirty-Two.

I Fell Out With A Friend and I’m Ok With It

I Call Her Mommy

Hateration is Actually a Word

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