My Blog

Growing up, I used to be a bit embarrassed about my family, my parents in particular (I think all children at some stage feel this way about their family). For one thing, my mom seemed to thrive on the fact that she scares a lot of people. Naturally talented in the art of arguing (much to the detriment of my dad’s "head of the household" status), she can stand up in a PTA meeting and in front of a hundred people tell the formidable Bro. Gus that his ideas were stupid and impractical. Oh and don’t get her started on tuition fee increases! Hooo, I can just imagine her spitting with rage as she explains how a 15% increase in fees would mean to a family with 5 kids in school! No one can talk as much as my mom. Being fluent in French, Spanish, English and 3 other Filipino dialects gives her an even bigger base on which to express her overly vocal self. In my whole 29 years, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who has beaten my mom in an argument.

And then there’s dad. Living in the shadow of my overbearing mother, the natural tendency was for dad to be the balancing force — the non-confrontational one. It’s the yin-yang principle. Which is probably why their marriage lasted so long. I don’t recall my dad ever spanking us. My mom spanked us plenty. I’ve never had my dad shout at me or any of my siblings. My mom has a screaming range of 8 octaves.

And with my parents both retiring early, there was always the financial struggle, especially during the extremely critical adolescent stage. My sisters and I wore hand-me-downs and never had enough pocket money. I remember being so excited to go to the flea markets with my sisters to find second-hand clothes that might still be in fashion. And everything had to be shared. Even underwear! We had to help with the chores around the house. I remember my brothers begging my dad to give them more than 10 pesos to bring their girlfriends out on dates.

But looking back now, I realise ours was a real bohemian existence, with childhood memories that were worth retelling to our own children.We weren’t like those kids whose parents worried about covering our heads when we played outside at night. As kids, we were allowed to sleep all night on treehouses we built ourselves, even though the planks were not securely nailed to the tree (as my poor sister Cecille eventually found out.) If we felt like cooking something on a real fire outside, my mom would allow us to use her pots and pans to brew leaves and mud. We had 5 pets at any one time and they were all allowed to sleep on our beds. If we found a stray dog or cat which looked somewhat cute, we just brought them home and instantly became part of the family. We didn’t need to ask permission if a friend or cousin wanted to sleep over (which happened a lot). While most kids would find their gifts from "Santa" wrapped under the Christmas tree, the "Santa" that came to our house had "little elves" who went out of their way to create a treasure hunt for us with clever rhymes and riddles giving us clues to where our presents were hidden. We were allowed to draw chalk pictures on our driveway and the walls of our house. We had aunts who wrote and published children’s books in which we were the main characters. We had uncles who taught us to meditate and count falling stars with us all night on the roof of the house until we fell asleep. As children, we performed plays with our cousins in front of any willing audience and invented our own games. We had a dad who exposed us to music and a mom who taught us to appreciate art and literature. Our parents showed us that creativity and imagination were all you needed to be truly gifted and make your mark in this world.

As children, we wore hand-me-downs from richer cousins. As adults, we face the world equiped with the best skills and lessons needed to live full, rewarding lives.

Saturday night. My friend Shellane and I decided to take Tito Paul out to town for a little taste of the Launceston nightlife. I haven’t been out on a pub crawl for a long while so I was a bit unsure as to which places were of a "sound" reputation (if you weren’t careful you might end up in some bikie gang hangout with a hairy guy called Johnno asking to buy you a drink)

Anyway, being out of touch with the club scene, we decided to have a little walk around to see which place had the right vibe for us. With a population of less than a hundred thousand, Launceston is not exactly a city pulsing with life at night. Our options were kinda limited. And since I chose to wear my 4-inch high stilletos that night there was no way in hell I was going to walk any more than 200 meters looking for a place to get a drink.

Shellane and Paul wanted to go dancing so we decided to check out this place on Brisbane street which supposedly allowed for a bit of dancing. We rocked up there, wondering whether it was worth paying the $15 entrance fee to hear some guest DJ from Sydney spin out some boring techno shit that all sounded the same to me (How in the world could Disco have died?!) While we stood there with Paul insisting that he could talk his way into getting us in for free, this white limousine rolled up in front. What the..? Then 12 or more teenagers in prom dresses and rented tuxedos spilled out of the limo giggling excitedly and fussing over their hair and make-up, each one with $15 dollars in their hand ready to have the time of their lives. Shit. This just demonstrates how long ago since we’ve been out into town. We’ve picked an underaged, non-alcohol serving club. Oh well, we’ll try the next pub.

The next one wasn’t so bad. It had a live band and it didn’t have an entrance fee. But it was too bright inside, like the inside of someone’s living room and the walls to the street were made of glass. I’d be too embarrassed to dance there when everyone can see you. Already, I could see one guy doing some sort of chicken dance with a 40+ woman in a red lace singlet. Ugh. Not pretty.

The next one was good. Or at least, I was happy to stop there. My feet were killing me. It was a little dark hole which supposedly played jazz on special occassions. This night however, it was a DJ scratching out more techno crap. What is it about TECHNO?!! Is it now considered uncool to dance to music that actually had more than 5 words in it? Already there were a couple of girls dancing and jumping in front of the DJ like he was sort of Rock god or something. But the place was good and dark. Everyone wore jeans and didn’t look like they were over 50. This’ll do. We ordered our drinks, toasted to our friendship and our youth and proceeded to get drunk enough to have the courage to get up on the dance floor. Cheers!