From a vague dream, I woke up with a jolt, somehow disoriented. 

    “There.” I mumbled sleepily once I got hold of it. Still feeling somnolent, I coerced my eyes to open and then proceed to unlock the Samsung Corby 2 on my hand.

    Returning to my florescent-lit bedroom, the impulse to curl back to sleep appealed to me as I gaze down on my scruffy unmade bed, but for some reason, I decided to fire up my computer instead. Imagine my surprise when I got a Facebook message from my brother so early in the morning. As I read the message, the only words that seemed to register to me were “Irregular contractions. Water bag broke. Contact the midwife.” Without missing a beat, I quickly slipped into my blue vintage wool plaid dress and put on a white strappy aerosol flats as fast as I can. I informed my sister right away and in no time, we hopped in a van to pick up the midwife. From that point, the day stretched furiously long.

    By the time we reached the apartment where my brother and his wife opted for water birth, my sister-in-law was already in labor. The midwife dashed to the room where they were while Ate Loi and I helped ourselves to a seat in the living room. KC, our nephew, arrived momentarily. He sat across us in synchronized silence and deep anticipation. There, we found ourselves in a state where waiting came restively. Scores of thoughts reverberated through our heads blocking rest to fully set in. 

    Things started to pick up, labor progresses and discomfort intensified. Strings of piercing cry coming from the room where my sister-in-law was, can be heard audibly. The three of us would gape at each other, without ever saying a word, and would distract ourselves with whatever digital diversions our phones offer. So few moments in life do we witness first hand, the unfiltered honesty play out before us. That instance, to me, was one of those rare moments of transformation and passage. Childbirth is indeed a naturally beautiful and also a terrifying human experience and my sister-in-law was nothing short of a magical birthing unicorn, knowing full well that she was braving an experience only her body would get to go through that day. 

   Time went by and the rest of the family came. There was an inexplicable sense of nervous expectation amongst us. I got uneasy, pacing back and forth. This pushed me to eavesdrop at the door behind where my sister-in-law was giving birth. Pressing my ear close against the door to listen in, I tried to make sense of whatever I can pick up through the layers of paint and pine. 

“Nothing.” I mouthed at Ate Loi. 

    I paused, my ear still pressed against the door to snoop for any sounds from within. After a few moments and several odd looks from everyone later, a breathtaking cry of a new born baby broke the silence from the inside. The sweetest sound I’ve ever heard and I gasped. 

    “She’s here!” I announced, still in a hushed voice. 

    Everyone sprung up to their seats and assembled in front of the door with ineffable excitement. Shortly after, my brother emerged from the bedroom, drenched in sweat, grinning from ear-to-ear. He looked exhausted, panting even, but a pure transcendence was etched on his face. That day, I watched my brother seamlessly transform into a father. How incredible it was to see him endured the societal pressure to attend the delivery and birth of his first child, no matter how mind-numbing and fearsome it must be, without fainting and surprisingly still intact. My heart melted.

    Brief chit-chat were made as he handed the camera, allowing us to get the first glimpse of his “little progeny” and then hurried off to his family in the other room. Yes, his little family! As he exited the living room, the midwife entered, soaked in sweat and worn out as my brother was but wholly relieved, her kind dark eyes lit up with bliss and she beamed as she told us that the baby was healthy and that everything went well.

    After a bit of a wait, Mama and I headed to the bedroom where my sister-in-law and niece were. We were the first one to see them and instantly my heart leaped with the picturesque view that greeted me upon entering the room: my sister-in-law, looking serenely delighted and by her side was my little niece, wrapped in a blanket and sleeping soundly. Loreen suddenly became more real to me when I set my eyes on her: skin and bones being presented to us in a human form. It was magical. Nine months seemed like an eternity and at the same time, an all too brief one.



   How is it that an impossibly tiny and delicate human could render me completely speechless? I reveled in her baby coos, her successful attempts to open her cute little eyes and make that absolutely endearing soft cry and that heart-melting little half smiles she threw in from time to time. 

    Later that night, I got home late. I was a little dead-beat but with a heart swelling with happiness and pride. What an honor it was to be present and be a part of something extraordinary {my first experience of home birth!} Loreen’s arrival became more profound the more I contemplated about it. A whole new person in our lives has finally joined us, who, I know will alter the entire course of, not just her parents’ lives, but the rest of us as well {mainly, us aunts, who yearned for a niece for so long}. I am just thrilled to be an aunt again and already, I'm having mental pictures of what my life would be now that little Lori is here.

    I climbed the bed in my pjs with a smile on my face and those very thoughts played in my mind for a moment. Then effortlessly, I drifted off to sleep as the rain poured down.

Passages from an old blog entry, March 2011

I used to be one of those girls who detest make-up. I suppose because I grew up having a negative subtext in my young mind about it. I thought my intense dislike on the subject was primarily motivated by being one-of-the-boys, but now that I can weigh up things more fittingly, I realized I was just entirely clueless about it. In high school, I have seen some girls who experimented with gobs of Gaga-conspicuous makeup that made me think twice about wearing one. Then, the sudden change of heart. Why and how I got into make-up, I do not know, but one thing’s for sure, with fullest conviction, I can say that MAKE-UP IS BRILLIANT.

Yes, make-up is brilliant. I do not see anything wrong with women who wear make-up and spend a little more time in front of their mirrors to adorn themselves with colors. Make-up is not meant to cover up who you are as a person; it just highlights features, enhances and “brings out” your already attractive self. After all, pursuit of beauty is a biological as well as a cultural imperative. I'm an advocate of simplicity and imperfection, to me, is individuality, but if make-up adds up that extra splash to your confidence, then by all means, wear it! 

What raises my feminist hair is when someone assumes women wear make-up solely to look attractive to men because honey, that isn’t always so. I wear make-up as part of my get-up partly to convey a look but mainly because it’s fun playing around with color palettes, shadings and such. I think it’s a little sexist for men to feel like they can sit back and judge women for wearing make-up. Sometimes, you need to understand that someone else would do things differently from you. Just for the same reason I take care of my hair and wash it regularly as I want them dandruff-free, clean and smelling good. I wear make-up and I do it for myself.

Out of the need for a much needed break from being cooped up in my workspace with writing tasks and whatnots, I instantaneously felt the impulse to re-read my old blog entries. I formally started blogging in 2004 at the tender age of 19. I was navigating my way through college for two years already when Life’s Blah, my first blog, came into inception. Its first half was mainly about my college frustrations i.e., flanking Accounting and Calculus, frequent absences, dealing with inconsiderate professors and introversion just to name a few. Blogging at that time was inexplicably therapeutic to my convoluted self and left me feeling self-assured and somehow gratified... or so I thought.