Just Sing. Sing a song.

   
    My mum is my first musical influence. The earliest memory I have is of us singing together. I remember it was the same song, and everytime it ended I'd beg for us to start over. When I was three she bought me my first keyboard. Incidentally, she doesn't even remember ever getting me that; as far as she's concerned she got me a piano at that age. And well, as much as I know my mother loves me with all her heart, I am quite sure that a) she got me a Yamaha Keyboard first, because b) she wouldn't buy a three year-old an upright piano. I started researching, hoping I can find something that will help jog her memory. I found this:

    If I was indeed three when my mother bought this, that means the memories I have of us singing together was when I was around two years old. Two. I was TWO when I first fell in love with singing. When I first started my love affair with music. I was hooked before I even realized what was going on.

    It means something to me that I responded to music at such a young age. I'd like to think that my love of music is almost instinctual, and this sort of validates that. I don't know if my musical ability is genetic, or if it was a mother's interest being copied by her toddler, or a toddler's interest being encouraged by her mother. Whatever it is, I am thankful that it happened. And this Mother's Day I'd like to celebrate my mum- my first musical influence and my biggest fan- by posting a music video of the first tune I remember singing with her: "Sing" by the Carpenters.

    I know you won't take just any generic video, Ma, so I made you a special one. Happy Mother's Day! I hope this reminds you of simpler times. Love you, Ma :)

      

I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand.

    When I first moved to Australia in 2005 to be with my now-husband and then-boyfriend Chippy, I told my parents that I had it all good and that I was old enough to live without their support. The thing was, I went into the country on an ETA visa (I was a tourist) which meant I couldn't work. I didn't exactly spell that out to them back then because there was no way they'd let me leave if they had known. And to me, it wasn't a choice.

    Chippy was also having a hard time finding work. Being raised in the Philippines where everything was handed to him on a silver platter, there was never any difficulty starting out and making money because he had a network. He knew people. But in Melbourne, it was a totally different story. His qualifications weren't recognized and he had to work in unfamiliar environments just to get by. Needless to say, it was a struggle.

    It became so bad that there was a point we were being evicted from our one-bedroom place. Whatever money we got our hands on we spent on rent, bills, and food. We couldn't really keep asking his family for help because they were starting out as well. I couldn't ask mine because I had, just a few months back, declared my independence with such arrogance and flair. They would send me money once in a while, but I tried hard not to show them we were struggling. So we had to find a way to feed ourselves. I would walk at least two kilometres, from the grocery to our apartment, with 10-15 kilos worth of canned goods and instant food, since there was no more money left for transportation. We would spend our weekends outside outdoor arenas listening to our favorite artists because we couldn't afford to pay for tickets to actually SEE them. We would walk around our neighborhood, checking out luxury cars and admiring the mansions, promising each other that one day, we would get there, too.

    Then things got worse and we couldn't even buy food anymore. We were at the darkest point in our relationship; a time when our will and commitment to being together was really tested. I had the option to just call it quits and ask my parents to fly me back to Manila but I didn't. I stuck it out with Chip because that's what you do when you love someone. And he stuck it out with me as well. He did what he could to feed us. He would wake up early in the morning and walk four kilometres to the Salvation Army and back. He would start at five o'clock to get there by six when the shelter opened. They only gave food out once a week and you had to be there early to get the good stuff, otherwise you'd be left with cans of beans and spaghetti. Yep. We were so down we asked Salvos for food.  
 
    To this day, it is still difficult for me to re-tell this story, not just because it was one of the hardest times of my life, but because it's very personal to me. I choke up whenever I think about it because I remember exactly how much Chippy and I have been through in our short time of being together. It reminds me of the connection and overwhelming love I feel for my husband; and how overcoming this challenge really glued us together. It made us believe that if we stick together, we can get through anything. Maybe, even conquer the world.

Happy anniv Bun!

I originally chose a different song for today's occasion with a totally different entry, then ended up typing something a little less cheesy and a little more 'real.' But since this a special day, I decided to put in an extra song - the one I originally chose - my song for you, sung by your favorite artist. Enjoy Dave Matthew's version of 'In My Life' by the Beatles.    

In My Life

There are places I'll remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends, I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life, I've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life, I love you more

Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life, I love you more

I'll just keep on dreaming 'til my heartaches end.

    When I was a kid I listened to a lot of local music. We didn't have cable in our household so there was no access to MTV and those other "cool" channels like HBO or StarWorld. Instead, I watched local TV- noon time variety shows, soap operas, local singing competitions. Before I hit first grade I didn't really think much of it. They were shows I enjoyed watching, and I enjoyed the songs they played.

    Awareness set when I entered elementary. Not a lot of other kids could relate to whatever I was saying because they didn't watch the stuff I did. I couldn't relate to them because I couldn't watch what they did. I felt I was ridiculed because I idolized these local TV personalities- which incidentally, were aunts or uncles or parents of my schoolmates. I didn't really understand why it was funny. I mean, our helpers at home seemed to like them. They watched these shows all the time. 

    Soon, and I don't know when exactly although I'm pretty sure it was before I hit third grade, I started to keep my enjoyment of local pop music to myself. I felt embarrassed that I was listening to them. In high school, I called them my "guilty pleasures." That way I could still keep my dignity whenever I had to admit to being familiar with them (or knowing the lyrics by heart!).

Then in college, I met Sandy. 

    

    Remember when I said I am not a golden goddess of song no matter how I make myself out to be? Well. Sandy is. Without even trying, too. A vital member of Picnic 101, she's one of those girls that can do the harmony to whatever is coming out of your mouth. I'm sure she can make a boring speech sound better by just adding soprano vocals to it, or reading it in bad English- on purpose- while keeping a straight face (this only works if your first language isn't English, btw).

    Sandy was my first close friend who had a bigger, more expansive repertoire of local pop songs than me. She knew MORE cheesy, cringe-worthy songs. And to top it off, she wasn't embarrassed about it! She was as excited as me talking about how Smokey Mountain (first album, of course) changed our lives when we were eight. How we sang to Donna Cruz's songs complete with headbands. It was so refreshing being with someone who was unashamed to be listening to tunes others branded as "uncool" (in our local vernacular, we call that baduy). In a way, she gave me the confidence to be true to my musical self. She, together with the rest of my Picnic 101 friends, opened my eyes and ears to the world of local rock and roll. (And that, will be a whole different story altogether.)

    So to my coolest baduy friend, Sandy- aka Frutti- Thank you. You are a beautiful singer, and an even more beautiful friend. Happy Big 3-0!  Here's a song I'm sure we both know and have sung over and over again. Cheers!