All posts by administrator

Death, Family, Food, Gradtitude, Life, Love, music

A Different Twist to Valentine’s Day

February 15, 2015 administrator 8 Comments

Valentine’s Day 2015. This was not how I imagined the day would be months ago when everything was coming up roses. I had a new love, or should I say he found me, but now he’s gone ahead to heaven, leaving me alone with a broken heart. Just as the love of my life, my husband, my best friend and father of my children did earlier. So now, I have two angels up above. And a heart full of grief that needs to mend. And must. And will!

I arrived from Rome the other day, sick as a dog. My son Niccolo picked me up from the airport. Before going home, we passed by St. Therese of the Child Jesus, to visit Mike, pray and tell him how much we loved and miss him.

The stress of the past three weeks had finally caught up on me. Acute bronchitis, the doctor said, and ordered strict bed rest. But this was not possible as my dear aunt Julia, former dean of the College of the Holy Spirit and youngest sister of my father, had died while I was in Rome. There was a wake to attend to and a burial to make. Just as I had before I left for Spain two weeks ago. It seemed that sorrow had decided to burrow a permanent hole in my heart.

Tita Jill had helped take care of me and my four siblings, aged four to 11, when my father had died. There was no way I would stay away. I arranged for mass last night and early this morning just before her burial in the family plot in La Loma Cemetery. From her friends’ tributes, I learned how much she had enriched their lives with her gentleness, her brilliance, her passion for excellence, her generosity of heart and her simplicity. What a role model she was for all of us!

I could not help but compare the two wakes and burials that straddled my trip to Spain and Italy. That of my boyfriend Rolando Perez Gosiengfiao’s was elaborate, chockfull of family and friends paying their respects throughout the day and night, flowers lining up the corridor, a flag draped over his coffin and smart marines standing guard beside his casket. Each night a different group (Young Presidents’ Organization, World Presidents’ Organization, AIESEC, BCDA, GenRex) hosted the mass and dinner, paying tribute to a great man who had touched their lives and left an imprint hard to erase. My aunt’s was simple, with only intimate family and friends present. But love abounded nevertheless. What struck me was no matter how brilliant or rich or powerful one is, at the end of our lives, we don’t take anything with us. Except for the love we had shared with those we leave behind.

After the burial, Bea and I had brunch at Wildflour. I sampled cacio e pepe pasta for the very first time on her prodding. It’s a wonder I didn’t have this in Rome. It was sinfully delightful, but more than the food, it was the company that made brunch truly special. For how many moms can have the pleasure of lunch with their first born on Valentine’s Day, especially if their daughter is such an attractive young woman that many would like to date? I felt honored that my daughter had decided to turn down all Valentine date requests to spend the day with me.

After brunch, we meandered over to the Saturday Salcedo market, bought flowers and passed by San Antonio in Forbes to say a prayer for Mr. G, as Bea calls Rollie. We then went home to comply with my doctor’s orders.

And lo and behold, a surprise awaited us! Since my birthday, the house has been dusty and topsy-turvy due to renovation. Blue burlap had covered the area on the ground floor where walls were being removed, and new panels put up. Before leaving for Spain, I had decided to take the plunge and fix the large first floor room which had previously served as an office, and later as an entertainment room.

When Mike took ill with cancer and could no longer make the trip up to the second floor, that became his sick room. It was also where he took his final breath and died in my arms as I had promised him. The room was just too sad for me, and so I hardly entered it. But my mom was getting on in age, and was having a hard time going up the stairs, so I decided it was time to make the change. I also had excellent advice from Rollie on what to do with the room.

When Bea and I got home this afternoon, we were greeted by a wonderful sight. The workers had removed the burlap covering the renovations ongoing in the living room, and the place had opened up. It was now spacious, airy, and bright! Oh, what a wonderful feeling it evoked! And I now have a sitting room full of natural light to paint in. What joy!

Tonight, I had dinner in bed with Bea. She prepared her signature tomato and basil pasta, and we had cheese and Spanish ham paired with a Vin de Bordeaux, while watching The Mummy Returns, and then Sex in the City on TV. Cara is working in Boracay and Niccolo spent the day in Clark with his friends. Now, Bea has gone to bed, and here I am writing and reflecting on my life these past few months.

Come to think of it, this was Rollie’s gift for me: a new lease on life. Seven months ago, when my world was dark and I was grieving for Mike, Rollie came barging into my life. Rollie taught me it was possible to love and be happy once again. From the moment he sent me that message on FB, I was literally hooked.

Rollie was always looking for ways to get together, whether for halo-halo, picking me up from an event, offering to help me with my speeches, going to the Saturday market at Salcedo, driving me to Alfonso, showing me where he grew up, or accompanying me to buy gifts. He would sometimes show up unannounced where I was, seeming to have just been in the vicinity. Little did I know that it had been carefully planned.

He was a man of many inconsistencies. Every chance he got, he would introduce me to his family and friends and would post our photos proudly on his Facebook page, tagging me whenever he could. And yet he told me not to write about him because he was a private individual. And so I would untag him. At times, exasperated, I would unfriend him, but he always asked me back. And truth to tell, no matter how many fights we had, we never could stay away from each other more than a day.

We had long conversations, yes, even arguments, about everything under the sun, especially religion, marriage, my church service, my busy schedule, and social customs. Rollie was a professed atheist, and this cut me deeply, being quite religious. It was hard to reconcile that the man I loved did not believe in the same things I did. I refused to eat with him unless we said grace before meals. He was very gracious and obliged me in this. He even accompanied me to mass, though he would not stay all the way to the final blessing.

I kept looking for ways to tell him our relationship could not flourish. One time, I told him our Chinese astrology signs were opposed. He was a tiger and I was fire monkey. And since monkeys and dragons were the best match (Mike was a water dragon), I said I must find myself a dragon. He was so cut up by this remark that he stopped talking to me, and told me I win. When I saw him, he was crying in his living room. When I asked him why he was crying, he said he wanted desperately to be my dragon. Oh, Rollie!

Facebook messenger was our lifeline, a surprising channel for two mature individuals. Like teenagers, we were glued to our mobile phones, waiting for the three dots to start blinking. The roles had been reversed. My children would tell me to stop looking at my phone all the time.

It was sad that my children could not accept our relationship. Early on, Rollie told me he had fallen in love with my family, and looked forward to being part of it. He said he was taken by the love that we all obviously shared. But he was also understanding that it was just too soon after Mike had died. All things will work out in the end, he said. He was so sure of it.

Plans, Rollie had a lot of. Where we would live, where we would travel, what we would do for the rest of our lives. He gave me keys to his condo, and asked me to move in. I told him not unless we were married. Which again brought up the issue of social customs. If we lived in the US, this would not even be an issue, he would argue. Why were papers so important, he asked? I told him it was a matter of values, not papers. Frustrated, he announced he would put up our pictures in his condo to make me feel more at home. I was in tears when his housekeeper in Hong Kong told me at the funeral that he bought a frame on this last trip and told her this was for my photo in Salcedo. He never got around to doing it.

For some unknown reason, Rollie unleashed the poet in me. I would find myself penning my emotions in rapid fire, in a fever of inspiration. I would send my poems to him, and each time, he would catch his breath, amazed at what I had written, and flattered to be the subject of the muse.

We painted together, and he loved the work I did, even blowing up a sketch I had made of him. He was very proud of that likeness of him that he put it up in his living room. For Christmas, Rollie bought me a set of oils from New York after he saw me throw away my old oil set that had dried up.

Rollie loved music, and singing. He brought music back into my life. We would sit and listen to music, and sometimes, he would burst into song. He sang for me at his brother Ed’s birthday, and his sister-in-law whispered to me that it was obvious Rollie was in love with me, and that she hoped I loved him too.

Although he said he envied my writing skills, he showed me a book he had written on his wife after she died and another one he had written about his family. I was very touched by his gesture of love. He encouraged me to write a book for my mom’s 80^th birthday and collaborated with me by digitalizing all the old photo prints.

Last year, Rollie urged me to write a book on Mike to celebrate our life together and to close that chapter so we could start a new one. I was unable to write during the Christmas break because I was sick, so when Rollie said he was going to be away the week Pope Francis came, he told me I should start on that book for Mike. And that was what I did. He called me from Hong Kong to check how I was doing. When I told him I had spent the better part of the weekend crying while writing and that I was only half way done, he told me to “Keep going, my courageous girl. I love you!”

I admired the way Rollie fixed his home. He had impeccable taste. He would bring me flowers and plants for my house, telling me that they livened up the house. Rollie convinced me to renovate my house, to dispel the sadness that had permeated it and to bring back the happiness that was there before. He disliked my white lights and advised me to change all my bulbs to warm white for a cozier feel.

On his last trip to Hong Kong, Rollie biked all the way to Shamshuipo to buy LED lights to surprise me and taught me how to change my lights. He was supposed to come to my house at 4pm to start on the lights the afternoon he died. He never made it home.

Living a fit life was something Rollie embraced with a passion. He biked, swam, watched his food intake, made sure he had eight hours of sleep a day. To keep up, I bought a bike which he promised he would teach me how to use. I think he was more excited than I was. I started going to the gym, and drinking his banana, apple, pechay concoction for breakfast.

The trip to Hong Kong on the first of January was our chance to be together alone. He and I were both so excited to be together. It was a beautiful time, and he told me that he felt so comfortable being with me. It was like being married 10, 20 years. We were so happy together, except for the last night when we had another of our little tiffs, and traveled home hardly talking to each other. But make up we did, as usual. As Rollie said, there is nothing that can stop this love we have. Well, nothing except death, and what a thief it is!

The week before he died, Rollie and I had dinner at an Indian restaurant near his home. He had decided to become vegan once again, and it was the perfect place for that. He said he used to eat there before but was very lonely; it was after his wife had died. But he perked up, saying this time it’s different, I have you with me. I was teasing him about all his past girlfriends, when he took my hand and said, “This I know, Monette, you’re my last great love, the one I will spend the rest of my life with.” I didn’t realize then how prophetic those words were.

If there’s one thing Rollie complained about, it was my need to love and be loved. He said I was too needy. He always told me to become self-sufficient, to be happy being me, by myself. Yes, Rollie taught me I could be happy after the death of my beloved Mike. Now, I need to get on with life, and learn to be happy without Rollie beside me. Circle of life.

And there are many things I am truly grateful for. First and foremost are my three beautiful children: Bea, Cara and Niccolo. I have my mom who loves me unconditionally, my beloved sister, my brothers, their families, Cathy who takes care of me and my family. I have my friends, and my work family at TeamAsia. I’ve loved and been loved by two wonderful men, Mike and Rollie. But most of all, I have a faithful and loving God who never lets go of me, despite my many failings.

At the Sistine Chapel the day before I left Rome, I was blessed to have had the opportunity to go to confession with Fr. Valentine, a black priest who suddenly showed up just as the museum was about to close. Despite more than a hundred tourists milling about, I felt at peace talking to him and telling him about my grieving heart. I asked him for prayers to discern and accomplish what I had been sent here on earth to do.

Someone sent me these amazing flowers yesterday without a card. I have no idea who they’re from, but am truly grateful to the kind soul out there who remembered me. It was after all, a different twist to this special day of love.

Childhood, Family, Life, Love, Women

Oh, how I miss her!

November 9, 2014 administrator

I sat down and finally did some sewing tonight. It’s been years since I’ve touched a needle, much less tried to sew. As I tried threading the needle (and succeeded on the third attempt), I remembered my Lola Teta. Oh, how I miss her!

406 — Lola Teta wearing her formal saya on the occasion of my brother Pepito’s baptism. I am in my mom’s arms.

Pepito, my younger brother, ousted me from my mom’s warm embrace when I was not yet a year old. It was Lola Teta (Eriberta Manalo Iturralde), my father’s maiden aunt, who took over nanny duties. I would sit down beside her while she sewed, and she would tell me stories of her youth.

I remember her telling me of how all the dogs howled when Jose Rizal was executed by a firing squad in Bagumbayan (New Town). She was but ten years old then, but was aware that the adults were talking in hushed tones of what was happening, of how important this man was to the country, and of the books he had written that were forbidden, but nevertheless were making the rounds.

I loved watching her nimble hands embroider and sew. She helped me with my sewing assignments (I was so bad at it, and it was the only way I could pass Ms. Gabriel’s class). Much later, when I was in high school and Lola Teta was in her 80s, she would still attempt to sew. My job then was threading the needle as she could no longer do this.

As a young child, I would watch her work on her black Singer sewing machine, her dainty right foot clad in an embroidered silk slipper, rhythmically tapping the pedal to make the needles hum and work magic lines on the dress she was making.

Lola Teta never married, preferring to take care of her younger brother, my lolo and his children. Come to think of it, none of the women in the Iturralde family in five generations have ever married. They either stayed single to take care of their brothers’ children or became nuns. I broke the “curse” and to make it stick, married twice!

Curious, I asked Lola if she ever had a boyfriend. She said that there was this older Chinese man who lived in the pagoda in Quiapo who would visit and bring hopia, but she felt he was too old for her.

She was in her 90s when I introduced my boyfriend to her. Her eyesight was already failing then. After he had left, Lola commented that she liked him because he had a nice voice, was polite, and his hand was not soft. It was a good thing he was into martial arts training then, which was his saving grace.

Lola was fluent in Spanish, having been tutored at home, and was thus my Spanish mom’s communication lifeline to the family when she first arrived in the Philippines as a young bride. She was a staunch supporter of my mom, explaining Philippine culture and way of life and teaching her Tagalog.

Much like Rapunzel, Lola never cut her hair, and it was longer than she was tall. Washing her hair was a big production. She only used gugo, a local bark that would get soapy when soaked in water. The maids would help wash her hair, and then to dry it would lay it on the back of several chairs. Once dry, she would twist her hair up in a bun and fasten it with a Spanish hair comb and large hair pins.

When she would go to market, I would wait for her to arrive as she always had something for me. I accompanied her on her shopping trips to Quiapo, and we would have siopao and ice cream near the Quiapo underpass. She was a whiz at sungka, and used that to teach me math. We both loved reading Liwayway and listening to the novelas on the radio. To celebrate my birthdays, she would prepare my favorite halayang ube, and would order a kaing of luscious carabao mangoes.

20140921_165827 — With Lola Teta right after college graduation.

Lola always wore a saya, wanting nothing of the modern dress my paternal grandmother would wear. Modesty is a virtue, she would always remind me. Study hard, she would urge me. She was too weak to attend my college graduation, but was happy when I came home with a Summa cum Laude and presented my medals and diploma to her.

After college, I wanted to be a flight attendant and travel the world. When she found out my plans, she was very upset. She forbade me to do this, and warned me that doing so would kill her. And naturally, loving her deeply, I obeyed her, though with a heavy heart.

She was happy when I pursued my masters, and ecstatic when I did well. Highly intelligent, she was a firm disciplinarian, taught me never to compromise on truth, and to always stand up for what is right. Much of what I am is because of Lola Teta, who I carry in my heart always.

Art, Family, Food, Travel

Beautiful Taormina

Image November 8, 2014 administrator

December 2, 2013. Taormina is beautiful! Mario Monforte, Cara’s boss, made reservations for us at Hotel Diodoro, Our room has a fantastic view of the Ionian Sea. The hotel is right beside the public gardens, which surprisingly has cacti, bamboo and banana trees in them. Very quaint. It also has a statue of soldiers from WW1, and a cannon.

Cara and I walked all over town. Such a pretty place. We were ravenous by 2pm but could not find any place open. Every place we went to was either closed for the winter, or would open at night. We finally found a wine bar which served an antipasto siciliano with formaggi and salumi, Caprece salad,bread and Vino Rosso from Etna.

After this we walked a lot more, entering tiny shops for a look see. There was one store on the second floor that sold angel paintings by Anna Corsini and another that sold originals by Pino la Vardera of mixed Spanish and Sicilian descent. We met the artist who apparently has several paintings in various museums. We really loved his work but one small painting cost Eur400 and the larger ones Eur4,000. Mama Mia!

We entered at least four churches and there were many more, almost one in every corner! There was even one church that was being prepped up to be a chocolate museum. I wondered if Sicilians went to only one church as their parish or were able to choose depending on their mood or the petitions they had, something like a smorgasbord of churches. Churches here are generally simpler than those I’ve seen in Rome, Madrid or Barcelona.

We saw one really slim street called Viccolo Strata which had a restaurant. It looks like only slim people can enter, and they better not eat too much or they would never get out!

Oh, and we chanced upon a roman amphitheater behind Sta. Caterina church. Almost every nook and cranny of Taormina is picturesque and all I want to do is sit and paint.

Cara had been looking for a resto that serves pasta ricci and a pistachio pasta that Pinky and Ken raved about. She also wanted to eat granita, and I’d been dreaming of gelato since Madrid. But tired we were, so we headed back to the hotel for some much needed rest.

After resting a bit, Cara and I went down to the reception and asked for recommendations for dinner. The front desk officer suggested we try Trattoria de Nino, close to the funicular. It was quite a hike but well

worth it. We had spaghetti ala bottarga and involtini de vitello with vino rosso Siciliano. The trattoria was quiet, but soon filled up with a party of well dressed Sicilians celebrating a birthday. Walking home in the rain was not much fun, though we had gelato at a cafe beside Don Bosco.

I woke up to a dreary gray morning. Mount Etna was shrouded in heavy clouds, mysteriously silent. It was raining kittens and puppies. After a hearty breakfast, we trooped to town, Cara with her bright yellow umbrella and me with the rainbow colored umbrella. We visited the Taormina museum for some glimpse of its history and art. Cara loved the old clothes and dainty lace. I enjoyed looking at the sculptures and paintings. Interestingly enough, there were several images of San Sebastián.

Back at the hotel, I quickly fell asleep. The next day, Cara told me she could not sleep because the wind was howling and the glass windows were rattling. She was afraid that Mount Etna which we could see from our window would erupt. Little did we know that that was exactly what Mount Edna did that night.

After the museum visit, we hied off to the Greek amphitheater, marveling at its majesty and wondering how performances were done. Both of us being theater buffs, we thought how busy backstage would have been with costume changes and props, and wishing we could enjoy a play or opera there. Cara complained about the grainy volcanic black earth entering her boots.

Walking back to town, we visited shops along the way, looking for a trinacria for Cara. A trinacria is a winged head of Medusa with its three legs symbolic of the triangular points of the island of Sicily. Trinacia is also the ancient name of Sicily. Our quest for a beautiful face led us to enter almost all the curio shops. After settling on one, we then trooped to Bam Bar for a granita, cutting through a secret garden with Roman walls.

Bam Bar is famous for its granite. Saro Bambaro who owns the 17-year old bar was very gracious, telling us his story and showing off the photos of famous people who have sampled his granite, including Antonio Banderas, Michael Douglas, Marisa Tomei, Dolce and Gabbana, and many more. We met his 75-year old mom, who every morning still opens the shop. Cara’s strawberry and almond granita was delicious, taken with fresh cream and a toasty warm brioche. My espresso coffee granita was just right for a rainy day. Inside Bam bar, the ambiance was homey, with colorful fresco on the walls.

We meandered through Corso Umberto, window shopping until it grew dark, and searching for a restaurant that serves pasta ricci to no avail. We ended up in Il Cyclops for a pistachio pasta and Taormina pizza, opting to stay outside. A troubadour sang love songs in Italian, which made me miss Mike so much. I slipped on his wedding ring which I keep on a necklace with a champagne pearl he gave me, and momentarily felt his arms around me. The troubadour introduced himself to us. Rosario was his name, and he explained that he sang by night and was a music therapist by day. His introduced his cousin who played classical guitar and was a music teacher by day.

A trio of young men could not help but approach Cara to introduce themselves. Cara immediately introduced her mom, thinking this would stop them. Well, it did not. Italians as a rule are not shy when it comes to expressing themselves. Several times in the past two days, men have whistled, honked, greeted us. So this is Italy!

Cara was so tired she fell asleep right away. I tried staying up, hoping to glimpse Mount Etna venting a little. Well, it did not, but this morning, I finally saw it, washed in whites and grays, mysteriously beckoning. I got up and took out my paints and started feverishly painting. And as I worked, Mount Etna’s tip began to glisten in yellows and oranges as it caught the sun’s rays. Slowly, the the grays and whites gave way to vibrant greens and blues. I put away my paints and just soaked in the beauty that God gave us. What a marvelous and awesome Creator we have!

Childhood, Death, Faith, Family, Food, Life, Love

Will you visit me when my time comes?

November 3, 2014 administrator 5 Comments

Every year, I make the trip to La Loma Cemetery to visit our family plot and pay respect to our dear departed. As much as possible, I would go on All Saints Day. This time around, I went with just my mom on All Souls Day, as Niccolo and I had gone to visit Mike and hear mass at St. Therese of the Child Jesus the day before. Bea was in the US attending a wedding, Cara in Boracay working, and Niccolo nursing a fever at home. Niccolo tried convincing me to go another day saying traffic would be terrible. I knew this was going to be the case, but I was adamant. Nothing would keep me away.

Armed with two large pots planted with white and yellow flowers, candles and a hat to shield me from the sun, I got into the car to go to San Sebastian and pick up my mom on the way to the cemetery. Luckily, our driver had shown up, and so I didn’t have to worry about parking the car.

As expected, traffic had been rerouted, but with the help of Waze, we arrived at the 5^th Avenue entrance of La Loma. Cars were not permitted to enter the cemetery today. We usually enter through the Rizal Avenue Extension gate as this was nearest the family plot, but then we were not sure if we could get around given the traffic rerouting so we decided to step out and walk. It was 3pm and the sun was bearing hot on our heads, despite my hat and Dada’s umbrella. Soon, Dada gave up using her umbrella as there were too many people around bumping into it, and instead used it as a cane. She held on to me while I carried the bags with the flowers and the candles.

The streets were lined with makeshift tents selling all sorts of snack items and drinks. All the fast food joints have come out in force. As usual, flowers and candles were being sold, but the fare seemed to have extended to clothes and shoes. Lo and behold, there was even one stall selling leftover Halloween costumes, hideous masks, and blinking horns. About 500 meters from the gate, we found a tricycle driver who agreed to take us to our family plot. Thank goodness because it was still a distance away. While riding the tricycle, I started reminiscing days gone by.

As a young child, each trip was wrought with wonder. My earliest memory of All Saints Day was in the kitchen watching my grandmother prepare her thick chicken asparagus sandwiches. She would lay slabs of white bread with their edges trimmed on the plate, place a curly lettuce on top, carefully pile cooked chicken breast, white asparagus, a pickle and a sliced tomato on top, spread her special mayo dressing on top, then finish this off with another slab of bread. She then wrapped the sandwiches in big paper napkins, carefully tucking the ends inside. I must have been about four or five years old then, because I still looked forward to eating the chicken sandwich with the surprising burst of pickle flavor, and lick the gooey mayo that inevitably escaped from the sandwich from my fat little fingers.

My grandmother would order the maid to pack her large silver candelabras into her bayong, together with tall thick yellow candles from Divisoria and a box of matches we children were not permitted to touch. These were loaded into the car, with the basket of sandwiches, cold bottles of Coca-cola, and armloads of festive flowers in pails of water.

The trip to La Loma always seemed to take forever for the young child I was then, and the plot when we got there seemed huge and sprawling. I knew we were close whenever I would spy the big white angel with wings spread wide, carrying a wreath that stood on top of my grandfather’s tomb. The plot was ringed by black iron grills, and had two benches on either side of the gate. Green springy grass covered the ground, a treat to loll around on.

Paul, Pepito and I would scoop up the molten candles and form them into balls. Whoever formed the biggest ball would be king or queen for the day. That was our game, as was hide and seek behind lolo’s tomb. We didn’t mind the grown-ups who were praying the rosary, though we were constantly told to keep quiet at least until the prayers were over, after which lola would distribute sandwiches and Coke. The adults would then tell us stories about the relatives who were buried there. But we didn’t much care as we were intent on playing our games.

Early on, it was just that one large imposing tomb with a tombstone that said Jose Iturralde y Manalo. This was my father’s father.

To its right were two identical smaller tombs on the lawn: Apolonio Iturralde y Conding and Esperanza Manalo de Iturralde, my great grandparents. To my child’s mind, they seemed like little castles with turrets all around, and I enjoyed daydreaming about them. A tiny slab in front was for Enriqueta M. Buenviaje. I never learned who Enriqueta M. Buenviaje was, but looks like she was an aunt from the inscription on the tombstone. The inscriptions were all in Spanish, and my mom would explain what they meant.

To the left were two larger tombs on the lawn: one for my father’s brother, Rene Iturralde y Alvaro, and another for his nephew, two-year old Philip Iturralde who had died during Japanese war and who the family always referred to as their little angel.

I was always drawn to the inscription on the tombstone of my uncle Rene, and for some unknown reason those words have haunted me over the years:

“I am tired of tears and laughter

And men that laugh and weep

Of what may come hereafter

For men that sow to reap

I am weary of days and hours

Blown buds of barren flowers

Desires and dreams and powers

And everything but sleep.”

I don’t know who wrote that romantic poem, but I have a sneaky suspicion it was my dad who had adored his older brother and was devastated when he died.

The year I turned ten was cataclysmic for our family. My father passed away of an aneurism leaving behind a 32-year old widow and five young children aged 4 to 11. Once again, the inscription was in Spanish, but this time, the words hit home: tu esposa, madre y hijos que no te olvidan. This was my father buried there, not someone I had never met. Each year, I would write him letters, telling him how much I missed him, and leave them there. I never knew what happened to those letters.

To make way for my father’s tomb, they transferred the remains of Apolonio to that of his son, Jose, and placed his marker underneath the angel’s wreath. His wife Esperanza’s tomb lay intact, looking lonely without him. I felt bad for them.

Some more years passed, and my grandmother Dominga Alvaro Iturralde (Lola Ingga), my grand aunt Eriberta Manalo Iturralde (Lola Teta) who had reared me as a young child, my aunt and godmother, Maria Luz Alvaro Iturralde (Dada Uds), and my newborn nephew Alfonso Castillo Iturralde were all laid to rest in the family plot. My aunt Sr. Encarnacion, S.Sp.S. (nee Aurora Alvaro Iturralde, Tita Rory) was buried together with the other Holy Spirit nuns in Christ the King Church.

The inscriptions were now in English, except that of my Lola Teta who had spoken fluent Spanish. These were no longer just names on the tombstone, but people who had been intimately part of my life, who had cared for and loved me unconditionally, and whom I have loved deeply in return. I have memories for each one of them, and I would tell these stories to my children.

And because of this, no matter how difficult it is to visit them with all the traffic hassles, I go to say hello each year, offer flowers and candles, pray the rosary for them, and be with them for a brief time, telling them how much I love them. I believe that my siblings, if they were in the country, would visit them as well.

When I reached home and checked on Niccolo, telling him how tired I was and recounting what had happened to me all day, I mused aloud, “I wonder if my children will visit me too when my time comes?” I received a tight hug and an “I love you, mom.” Just as he did yesterday after I stood on tiptoe to plant another kiss on Mike’s tombstone at the Columbarium. We stood there holding hands, teary-eyed, missing Mike, telling him in our hearts how much we loved him. Somehow, I felt assured. It’s the circle of life and love. It’s what makes us family, and why traditions live on.

Confidence, Faith, Family, God, Life, Love

Alfonso in October

October 25, 2014 administrator 1 Comment

October 24, 2014. Finally, I arrived safely in Alfonso, just as dusk began to settle in. It seemed that Mother Nature had thrown her dark mantle over the green expanse signaling that it was time for weary souls to rest. I felt peace settling in, just as the cicadas began their chirping symphony.

It’s been a crazy, frenzied two weeks. We’ve just finished organizing two major international conferences last week: the International IT-BPM Summit (IIS) and the SycipLaw-sponsored World Law Group Conference. Both were highly successful, thanks to the amazing people who make up TeamAsia. Concurrently, we were setting up meetings for the IIS Egyptian and Bangladesh delegations that were interested to learn more about the business process management industry in the Philippines. In between all of the conference prep activities, I was busy organizing my mom’s 80^th birthday celebration, and working on a book on her life, while juggling Tourism Promotions Board and PACEOS responsibilities. Clearly, I needed to decompress. And so did the team.

And so we decided it was time for a much needed break from work. Thursday morning, our hardworking Experience Team hied off to The Green Olive Garden Private Hotel near St. Scholastica’s Retreat House in Tagaytay for a strategic planning session. On the way up, we stopped for breakfast at Rowena’s Café and surprised Karen and Joana with birthday cakes. The poor girls were not able to celebrate their birthdays properly with all the work that had to be done.

We had The Green Olive Garden Hotel all to ourselves, thanks to Karen who had made all the arrangements. The spanking clean spacious bedrooms were well-appointed, the beds and pillows soft as down, the food not just filling but appetizing as well. The cool Tagaytay breeze, the smell of pine trees, and the profuse foliage and flowering shrubs provided a soothing backdrop to the place. I was assigned the executive room which even sported a Jacuzzi for two in the bathroom. It was, of course, wasted on me.

We buckled down to work right after a hilarious ice breaker where we had each person tell a story about random items they had brought with them, and then swapped with each other. The afternoon was highly productive. After dinner, it was time to chill by the pool with wine, while others had their massage. But first, I had to get on a Skype call with colleagues from South Korea and the US for a smart platform being planned in time for the Philippines’ hosting of the APEC Women and the Economy Forum next year.

Turns out the only place where the Internet connection was strong enough was behind the counter of The Green Olive Garden. While waiting for everyone to sign in, I had a good look around, and noted that the owners must be Vespa fans, as there were several retrospective posters of bikes around. I also took the opportunity to post the photos of my mom’s birthday on my Facebook, as family and friends have been asking for them.

Our team was already having loads of fun by the pool, doing improvisation theatre, followed by several games that got everyone rolling with laughter, tripping over their Tagalog words, and spilling the beans on well-kept secrets. Looking around at these young men and women, I marveled at how relaxed and happy they looked, and what a contrast it was to the determined team of professionals who ran the conferences last week. I felt my chest puff up with pride that this was my work family. I am so blessed to have them.

The next morning, I woke up bright and early only to discover that everyone else was still asleep, other than Darwin, our training associate who was already in the pool. The clear blue water of the pool glistened in the sun, beckoning me to swim. Thankful I had been spared a hangover from the copious wine I had the night before (each time I lost I had to drink some wine; obviously, I needed more practice with the games), I surprised myself by doing five laps. Not bad, I thought, considering I sported a back brace and was walking with a cane right about this time last year.

After wrapping up the highly productive strategic planning session and bidding good-bye to the team, I drove to Alfonso. Earlier, I let our driver Jimmy go home as he had to bring his pregnant wife for a medical check-up. Truth to tell though, I just wanted to be alone, to sort out my thoughts. Driving by myself was a welcome treat. It’s been awhile since I’ve been behind the wheel. Humming a tune, I savored the prospect of time alone in the Retreat, while mulling over the events of the past two weeks.

I was a bit worried about a Skype conference call I had to make Friday night. Internet connection in Alfonso is always spotty, but the recent storm may have wiped it out altogether. Walking around the farm, the only place that had a reasonable 3G signal was underneath the mango tree beside the cabana. Oh well, I thought, this is better than having to drive back to Tagaytay.

After asking our caretaker Jeovanie to keep me company in the dark, I spread my festive red sarong on the ground, turned on the computer and tried desperately to connect using my PLDT WeRoam as well as my Globe phone. The Internet connection was ephemeral and weaker than a butterfly’s gossamer wings. The call kept getting dropped. After half an hour, I gave up, packed my bags and went back to the house to sleep.

For the first time in weeks, I clocked in eight hours of tranquil sleep, rudely disturbed by the cacophony of roosters crowing, chickens cackling and the nun’s geese next door honking. I went out, just as dawn began to break, with darkness giving way graciously to light, the sky awash in baby blue and pink hues. Pretty soon, the sun showed itself, unveiling the beauty of the farm.

It always takes my breath away when I see sun-dappled leaves, still moist with the night’s dew, bursting in vivid green. I don’t think there is enough variety of paint in the world to capture all of Nature’s many hues. Inspired, I walked around the farm, took photos, and decided to settle myself at the cabana to paint.

I ended up trying to paint myself. I remembered my first self-portrait. It was done in oil while I was in college, and I had given it to my boyfriend. When we broke up, he didn’t return it. I hope he didn’t use it as target practice.

Before driving back to town, I paid a quick visit to an 81-year old friend in Alfonso who I hadn’t seen in a while. She and her daughter enjoyed pouring over my mom’s book. Taking my leave, I hugged and kissed her, telling her I love her. Tears sprung to her eyes. I suddenly remembered Dada, and how much she appreciated the gesture of the book. I vowed to call, check on her, and tell her how much I loved her.

Someone dear had told me that I needed to be happy being alone, being myself. And that I was, at the Retreat, basking in the beauty of God’s creation, and the peace within my soul. I thought of my beautiful children, my mom, my siblings, Mike, my friends, the people I love most in this life, and was grateful for having them in my life. But most of all, I remembered who I am, how much I am loved by God despite my many frailties, and thanked Him for the many blessings I have received.

On the way back home, Nanay Tinay, the lady from whom I bought flowers in Tagaytay gave me a single red rose before I got back into the car. I was startled. With a twinkle in her eye, she wished me love. And so I drove back with a smile on my face, holding on to that red rose, just happy being me.

Beginnings, Differences, Food, Life, Pesonalities

A Study in Contrasts

September 21, 2014 administrator 1 Comment

Have you ever observed how a person eats halo-halo? And wondered what it tells you about him or her?

Consider the halo-halo on the left. Notice how all the ingredients have been methodically mixed before being eaten. Is this a person who goes with the flow, a relaxed individual with a simple view in life who takes things at face value and does not read more into them, someone who has integrated all the different aspects of life into one and come up with something even brighter and better? Someone at peace with himself or herself? Or is this a risk-taker, unafraid to try new things, an adventurous soul interested to see what may come, intent on trying out new adventures?

After all, a halo-halo is just that: a mixture of different fruits and vegetables with shaved ice, milk and ice-cream, which when combined gives a totally new taste and look. Taken individually, each ingredient has its own qualities, but taken together, they bring a new meaning to desserts. Sometimes, the result may not be as appetizing as each of the individual elements. But sometimes too the resulting meld is fantastically delicious.

Now, look at the halo-halo on the right. Here is a halo-halo with all the ingredients kept carefully separate, just as it was served, and enjoyed piece by piece. Is this someone who keeps a tight rein on emotions, keeps areas of life distinct from each other so that each may shine brightly and not lose their individuality, much like first enjoying the nutty taste of beans, savoring the thick heavenly ube jam, then letting the sweet, creamy leche flan dissolve in the mouth instead of having one amalgamated fusion? Is it a person with many interests, loathe to give up one for the other, balancing each one precariously like the ube ice-cream on the mountain of shaved ice?

What an interesting notion it is when two such individuals meet. Halo-halo, anyone?

Food, Friendship, Women

Embracing Raclette, Sushi and Pasta

September 15, 2014 administrator 1 Comment

Oh no! What have I gotten myself into? I just signed up for a new pasta challenge on September 27 at Palms Country Club, this time with Mongsie Wulff as my partner. For someone afflicted with the Asian flush (yes, I turn beet red with a sip or two of anything alcoholic), I keep forgetting not to commit to anything after a glass of wine. But what the heck, I thought, I do know how to make pasta, so I would not horribly embarrass myself. And, with friendly competition from Gabriella and Angie, as well as Marie and Mae, it should be loads of fun. Here’s what happened…

Wednesday night, Angie Laborte who sits on the Palms Country Club Socials and Dining Committee Meeting, invited me, along with our other friends Mongsie Wulff and Miri Medalla to join their first Committee Meeting for 2014-2015 that night. Miri couldn’t make it as she was overseas. (For a quick intro on my friends, check out an earlier blog entry: https://monettehamlin.com/2014/07/13/the-wine-lovers-club-how-friendship-began/).

Mongsie and I have longed to attend the exclusive committee mainly because of the good repast the Chef Hans would lay out, but this was reserved only for their members. The common denominator was that our husbands had all served as chairmen of the committee: Hans Wulff, Mike Hamlin, and Sam Medalla. This was a bittersweet evening, as each bite I took reminded me of Mike.

Chef Hans warmly welcomed us to the committee meeting. I was happy to see Gabriella Wegfahrt and Marie Segura who had arrived earlier. We were later joined by Dr. Mae Corvera, and a gentleman doctor from Asian Hospital, who stayed just a while. It was definitely a woman dominated evening.

That night, we sampled Palm’s private raclette dinner. Raclette is a semi-hard cheese made using ancestral methods with unpasteurized milk of cows grazing on the alpine meadows on both sides of the French and Swiss Alps. It gets its name from the French word ‘racler’, which means ‘to scrape’.

I first encountered raclette when I visited my childhood friend Lourdes Malto-Montenejo and her husband Bobby in Switzerland. A young couple then with their first child, Dodit and Bobby served this Swiss dish for my first dinner. The cheese, distinctively aromatic and slightly nutty, was melted on a raclette grill and then scraped on our plates once creamy and soft. We ate it with pickled onions, sausages, small potatoes, and gherkins. Oh, how I loved it! And how glad I was that Palms has decided to offer this for private dinners.

While partaking of the sumptuous spread which included Palm’s new Japanese sushi offerings and wines, we reviewed the club’s socials and dining performance, brainstormed how to invigorate the club’s activities and promote them better, and discussed socials and dining plans for the coming months, as well as, Palm’s 12^th anniversary.

Leading up to the anniversary, plans are afoot for a Pasta Cooking Challenge on September 27, a Kampay sa Tagumpay on October 11 with a live band and beers (Palm’s version of Oktoberfest), a late night party on October 18 at the Poolbar with a stand-up comedian, and a grand celebration on November 7 featuring the 70’s Superband, with proceeds going to Project Pink’s Stage Zero.

It was a wonderful evening spent with friends over good food and wine. We all readily accepted the invitation to be part of the committee, had a good laugh over signing up for the Pasta Challenge, and reserved seats for the anniversary celebration.

And now, Mongsie and I must start practicing for the challenge. Mama mia!

Death, Discipline, Faith, Family, Goodbyes, Life, Love

Helping families cope with final transitions

September 13, 2014 administrator

The days seem to whiz by so fast these past two weeks, leaving precious little time for writing. Each night, I look forward to writing my blog, but work and family concerns are jealous lovers and take over my free time.

The truth is I need to be more disciplined when it comes to writing. For 20 years, I’ve watched Mike sit down weekly, and sometimes, daily, to think, to do research, and then type out his articles for various columns, newspapers, and even, books. Each time he would ask me to copy edit his work, and each time I did, I would fall in love with him all over again, captivated by how intelligent and insightful he was, and how words just seemed to flow naturally. I pray that I be more like him when it comes to discipline, and so after sloughing off for two weeks, I was finally jarred into writing again. Something happened the other day that brought back vivid memories of Mike.

Good friends Angie Laborte and Dr. Mae Corvera wanted to meet me at Palms to discuss a conference they were organizing and to pick my brains on how to market it. Angie is one of the founders of Project Pink, a support group for cancer patients and their families. Mae is sub-section head for Family Medicine & Palliative Medicine at Asian Hospital and board chairman of The Ruth Foundation for Palliative and Hospice Care. Mae was a bastion of strength for our family during Mike’s last few weeks. When Mike learned he had cancer, he made me promise not to let him die in the hospital. I told him then that he would die in my arms. With Mae’s help in palliative and hospice care, I was able to make good on my promise.

That last morning before Mike slipped into a semi-coma is seared into my memory like a burn that never heals. It was a bright early Saturday morning, and Mike had refused to eat anything since the day before, even ice-cream. Frail and spent, he was listless and didn’t seem to recognize me. I was beside myself with worry, and called Mae frantically. She came quickly with her team, examined Mike, and recommended we bring him to the hospital right away for emergency intervention. We had been in and out of hospitals in the past two weeks, and I felt like screaming and pounding heaven’s doors for some respite. Nevertheless, we called for an ambulance.

Is it time, I asked Mae in anguish? Mae gently told me only God will determine the time, but that it would be good for the children to say goodbye. She advised me to call my children and ask them to come right away.

We helped Mike into his wheelchair, and brought him to the balcony outside our room. Niccolo sat close beside him, held his hand, and with heads bowed, father and son talked. It was heartbreaking to watch, and I turned my back to call Bea first in Boston where she was finishing up her masters, and then Cara in Boracay. After visiting Mike for a few days, Cara had just returned to Shangri-la Boracay where she worked as a chef, and I knew she had used up all her leaves already. I called Cara, and she said she would buy a ticket right away.

The ambulance attendants arrived to take Mike, but Niccolo refused to let them take him. He asked for more time to be with his dad. I remember weeping silently as I watched them, and then Mae embracing me and telling me it was time to go. It was then I told her of my promise not to let Mike die in the hospital. Mae understood, and said Mike just needed some tests done so they would know what next steps to take, and that we could bring him home right after if that was what I wanted to do. Mike died the next Saturday, not in the hospital, but at home, in my arms, just as I had promised him.

October is Breast Cancer Month, and each year, The Ruth Foundation for Palliative and Hospice Care organizes a conference to promote palliative and hospice care in the Philippines. On October 14-18, The Ruth Foundation, together with the Department of Occupational and Family Medicine of the Asian Hospital and Medical Center and the Philippine Society of Hospice and Palliative Medicine, will organize Leadership for H.O.P.E. 2014, a five-day conference consisting of an opening and a closing plenary, sandwiching several workshops. Previous H.O.P.E. conferences were small, but this time, they had invited expert conference faculty from the United States, New Zealand and Asia Pacific.

Still wearing pink ribbons on their bodice from the press conference they attended earlier, Angie and Mae were excited to tell me that Filinvest City had decided to support their conference, and was lending use of the Filinvest Tent for the opening plenary on October 14 and the first two workshops on October 15. With a bigger venue, the challenge was getting the word out so that more physicians, nurses and health care professionals, as well as, support group leaders, organizers and volunteers would attend and learn from the international conference faculty.

The first workshop, “Hospice & Palliative Care Management,” seeks to help clinical and administrative leaders in program formation, maintenance and management. The second workshop, “Owning Stage Zero,” will empower support group leaders, organizers and volunteers in providing psychosocial care and support group facilitation in such areas as empathy and compassion; trauma, grief and bereavement; active listening skills; facilitation of support groups and family meetings; and self-care and resilience.

Targeting ministry and volunteer leaders, the third workshop, “Practical Compassion Through Loving Individuals in Final Transition (L.I.F.T.) on October 16-17 will instruct them on how to teach others to provide basic care-giving, to meet spiritual needs, to listen and communicate, to accept crisis and suffering, and to handle aging, stress, dementia and the intricacies of death and dying.

Concurrently, End-of-Life Nursing Education Consortium (ELNEC), together with the American Association of Colleges of Nursing (AACN) and the City of Hope in Los Angeles, California, will conduct a two-day certificate course to teach nurses professional approaches to improve care and quality of life for end-of-life patients.

Finally, the workshop, “Empowering by Example” will have care leaders share their experiences and best practices for palliative and hospice care of cancer patients.

Having been on the receiving end of Mae’s and The Ruth Foundation’s kindness and generosity during the darkest times of my life, I readily agreed to help spread the word. We need more health care professionals and volunteers trained in the intricacies of palliative and hospice care to extend a helping hand when rough times come and turn our lives upside down. It’s not just the person who is dying who needs love, sensitivity and compassion, but the people they leave behind who are broken and need angels to help get them through. I will forever be grateful to Mae and her team for being there when I most needed them.

P.S. To learn more about the conference, contact The Ruth Foundation at [email protected], 8086079, 0906 314 1421 or 0908 814 4799. And please, may I ask you to help spread the word, so that there be more angels like Dr. Mae Corvera and The Ruth Foundation to help families cope with final transitions?

competence, Confidence, Friendship, Uncategorized, Women, Work

Women Stepping Up

September 1, 2014 administrator 1 Comment

Are women naturally competitive? Is it true they cannot stand having another woman shine brighter than they do? Is jealousy natural? Does crab mentality apply to the supposedly gentler sex? Or is it possible for women to help other women, and feel good about it? These were questions going through my mind last week as I attended two women’s events: WomenBiz Talks organized by the Women’s Business Council Philippines, and two days later, Women’s Talk Network Night organized by the Business and Professional Women (BPW) Makati.

Thursday night, I attended the Women’s Talk Network Night at the Society Lounge upon the invitation of my friend, Jeannie Javelosa. Although I’ve known of Jeannie for many years as being creative partner of PR competitor, EON, and a co-founder of ECHO Store and ECHOsi Foundation along with another good friend, Chit Juan, it was not until Jeannie and I were speakers last November at the UN Women’s Conference in Barcelona that I really got to talk to her. We had a wonderful time exploring this beautiful city together (See my blog post on that memorable trip with Jeannie).

Arriving at the venue already teeming with women and buzzing with their chatter, I was happy to see Ambassador Delia Albert seated with Marivic Anonuevo, and promptly joined them. I had the good fortune of meeting Manang Delia as she is fondly called by her mentees during the APEC Women and the Economy Summit in Bali last year, and got to know her better during the Sababay Winery tour of the Gozali family, and the gala dinner.

Manang Delia is chair of BPW Makati and head of the APEC WEF Private Sector Steering Committee. A real trooper, Manang Delia went up to the stage during the gala dinner to sing Dahil sa Iyo with the guest performer, effectively breaking the ice and starting a rousing competition for the best love song among the different nationalities present. Despite her diminutive exterior, Manang Delia cuts an impressive figure and commands attention and respect because of her intelligence, her wit, her strength of character, and deep passion for helping her kababayans, especially Filipinas. I remember her saying it was important to bring together all the accomplished business and professional Filipinas to help in the hosting of the APEC Women and the Economy Forum in 2015. This way, we can change the perception of foreigners that we are a nation of OFWs and househelp, she said. And that was exactly what she was doing Thursday night, urging the accomplished guests attending the cocktails to step up for the APEC WEF meeting.

After Manang Delia’s appeal, it was Jeannie’s turn to introduce BPW Makati to the guests. Jeannie is founding president of BPW Makati, a local chapter of the Business and Professional Women (BPW) Foundation in the Philippines that espouses the Women’s Empowerment Principles of the U.N. Aptly called Equality Means Business, the Principles emphasize the business case for corporate action to promote gender equality and women’s empowerment. While BPW has monthly networking opportunities to enjoy, Jeannie cautioned that membership in BPW Makati is open only to those interested to work towards putting the principles to work. No place for fluff here.

The seven principles include (1) establishing high-level corporate leadership and gender equality; (2) treating all women and men fairly at work, respecting and supporting human rights and nondiscrimination; (3) ensuring the health, safety and well-being of all women and men workers; (4) promoting education, training and professional development for women; (5) implementing enterprise development, supply chain and marketing practices that empower women; (6) promoting equality through community initiatives and advocacy; and (7) measuring and publicly reporting on progress to achieve gender equality. In short, BPW Makati empowers women to help other women succeed and achieve their potential.

Next up, Chit Juan, BPW Makati External VP and former president of the League of Corporate Foundations, together with Luvy Villanueva, director of the Philippine Commission on Women, spoke about their GREAT Women Platform, short for Gender Responsive Economic Actions for the Transformation of Women. By helping small and medium women-run businesses package their products attractively, take advantage of the supply chain, and promote and market them effectively, women entrepreneurs get a better chance at succeeding in business.

For instance, who would have thought that the lowly suka (vinegar) can be packaged into coveted artisanal fare and exported overseas? Or that bottled taba ng talangka (crab fat) is now gourmet fare? And did we know that we can make use of the 5% mandated Gender and Development (GAD) budget of the government when selling our products and services? We learned about best practices for promoting gender equality, from PLDT’s SME ICT platform on the cloud, to Coke’s 5M by 2020 micro-entrepreneur drive, to RCBC’s EWMN financial literacy program that expands women’s potential through SME loans and start-up capital, and to Cherie Blair Foundation’s 6-month online mentoring program for women in business.

Interestingly enough, there was a lone male speaker that night. Brave man, I thought, to be the only thorn among the roses, until I found out that he was accompanied by his wife. Intellectual Property Office Director Ric Blancaflor spoke about the male perspective. A firm believer in women’s strengths, he shared that half of his board is composed of women, and 65% of IPO examiners are women. He cited the Filipina qualities he most admires: dedication to duty, bravery and competence and encouraged the women in the room to safeguard their brands by filing for intellectual property rights.

Looking around Society Lounge that night, I saw many powerful women who feel secure about themselves: Manang Delia, Marife Zamora, Chit Juan, Jeannie Javelosa, Karmi Palafox, Mylene Abiva, Emmeline Versoza, Luvy Villanueva, Rambie Lim, to name a few. Great company indeed.

So, this is a call out to women in business and professions to step up. Join BPW Makati and let’s share our blessings to help other women succeed. High time we put girl power to work, right, ladies?

Communication, competence, Governance, Tourism, Women, Work

Do we need women in corporate boards?

August 27, 2014 administrator 1 Comment

Do we need women in the Board?

This was the interesting question posed during the WomenBiz Talks organized by the Women’s Business Council Philippines at the Dusit Thani Hotel today, and which sparked a healthy debate. Aside from being inducted as a member of WomenBiz, I was glad I attended the talk, though I missed attending the Amcham General Membership Meeting next door.

After a hearty lunch of ginisang munggo, laing and adobong manok, and the inevitable photo taking, the intimate group of powerful women tackled the day’s theme. Chit Juan, president of Echostore Sustainable Lifestyle, opened the discussion with a premise that we need a law to ensure seats in corporate boards, as the addition of women corporate directors results in better decisions and more diversity in outlook.

Atty. Lorna Kapunan, senior partner at Kapunan Garcia & Castillo Law Office, roundly disagreed citing the case of Norway that had passed legislation mandating a 40% woman-man ratio on public limited companies to disappointing results. Because there were not enough competent (aka trained) women corporate directors available, companies forced to take on women to comply with the mandated ratio, quickly saw their stock prices plunge. To protect themselves from this legislation, about 70% of public limited companies delisted since 2003; while new companies incorporated outside of Norway to avoid this requirement.

Because men and women are wired differently, it was observed that women in boards tend to push for property acquisition rather than leveraged organic growth. And then there’s the issue of women having other interests, such as having children and taking care of their families. This is not to say that we cannot have women corporate directors, especially in the Philippines.

In the case of companies of Fast Moving Consumer Goods (FMCGs), it would be disastrous not to have women on the board as they would represent the interests of the consumers, being the ones with the buying power. There are also industries where women dominate. One such example is the Tourism Industry, to which I belong.

In the country’s Tourism Promotions Board, for instance, three of the five private sector directors are women: Margarita F. Munsayac, VP of Maribago Blue Water Beach Resort (Representing Accommodation Sector); Margarita F. Villarica, president and general manager of Destination Specialists, Inc. (Representing Travel & Tour Services), and me (Representing Meeting, Incentives Travel, Conventions, Exhibitions & Events Services & Facilities M.I.C.E.Sector). And on the public sector side, we have Usec. Laura del Rosario of Department of Foreign Affairs, Usec. Fe Reyes of the Department of Trade and Industry, and Usec. Catherine Gonzales of Department of Transportation and Communication. Clearly, TPB is a woman-dominated board.

According to the International Business Report (IBR) released by local audit company Punongbayan & Araullo and global firm Grand Thornton, on average women comprise about 34% of company boards in the Philippines, which is way above the global average of 19%. One advantage Filipinas have is the availability of househelp to assist in taking care of the house and children, freeing women to pursue careers in the corporate world. And I’d like to add the social support system of families. I don’t think I could have gone very far in business without my beloved mom being there to supervise my yayas in looking after my children and my home.

What advantages do women bring to the board room? According to a study by Professor of Strategic Management Bart of the DeGroote School of Business at McMaster University which polled 624 board directors in Canada, women were more likely to use “co-operation, collaboration and consensus building” when dealing with complex decisions. Also, women were more likely to take into account interests of multiple stakeholders as they viewed fairness as an important factor in their decision-making.

A Credit Suisse report on gender diversity and corporate performance indicates that companies with women on the board exhibited higher return on equity (ROE) and better average growth. Catalyst Inc. (2007) showed that Fortune 500 companies with more women on their boards were found to outperform their rivals with return on sales and return on equity. What could possibly be the reason for the better financial performance?

Credit Suisse proposes that gender diversity signals a better company, with greater effort across the board, a better mix of leadership skills, access to a wider pool of talent, a better reflection of the consumer decision-maker, improved corporate governance, and risk aversion.

Lorna was emphatic that there should be no legislation to mandate appointment of women on corporate boards. Rather, competence was the only reason women should be on corporate boards. I totally agree on this point. And that’s why I am seriously considering Chit’s recommendation to take the Institute of Corporate Directors Course, and help in raising awareness of women to aspire for board seats for greater diversity.

TeamAsia founder and president, trainer, event organizer, food and art lover. President, Philippine Association of Convention/Exhibition Organizers and Supplier Philippines · teamasia.com