I come from a family of firefighters -- volunteer firefighters. Our living room is equipped with this black telephone that is off-limits to mindless chatterings because this is where they receive the calls for help. It is a common occurrence for our family to gather around the living room on a typical Saturday night. But when that phone rings, the men in our family would quickly don their firefighter uniforms and hard hats and go to the firetrucks which were conveniently parked in front of our ancestral home.
We were also used to deaths. I lost my uncle while he was on duty. The fire was supposed to be out and they would have called it a day. But then a random fireball just came out of nowhere and hurled straight at his head. His brains were all scattered on the streets. He left 3 of my cousins without a dad.
I wanted to be a firefighter and join my cousins. But my parents prohibited me from being so. Besides, there was no way the group would have accepted a girl as a firefighter. So I have had to settle being left alone in that living room so many times when there was fire. It was a pity that God blessed me with a big healthy strong body and yet, I cannot use it to serve my community.
How then do I serve my countrymen as a girl? Or am I forever condemned to stand near the hearth? But God indeed has many ways to answer our prayers.
I do not have many talents and skills, but one thing I seem to do well was make babies and feed them with my own breastmilk. How many times did I donate my breastmilk at Makati Medical Center? Ondoy came. There was news that many babies are dying due to the contamination in the water served with the milk powder. They were calling on new mothers to donate milk. I tried not to heed this call because my own baby is premature and she came out weighing 3 pounds only. The doctor said we cannot give her the usual OTC milk powder. I must feed her with my breast milk if I want her to grow healthy. So my first instinct was to keep my milk supply for my baby. It didn't help that my own house was also affected by the Ondoy flood and water almost reached the 2nd floor of my house. But the call to give was too strong for me to ignore any more. And so I decided to produce more milk. And boy did I deliver. I was producing 25 oz of milk every 3 hours, 24/7. That also meant no real sleep for me, just endless continuing naps. Soon, my breasts were getting bigger and bigger, until my own husband got scared of how big they became. They were like two bombs about to explode. But I continued... sometimes crying on how grotesque my breasts have become. Of course, I anticipated my breasts to really sag when I stop producing milk. Finally, Ondoy subsided and victims found ways to live by the effects of Ondoy. My baby reached 1 year old, and I can stop breastfeeding. As anticipated, my breasts sag. It looked worse than the breasts of my 90 year old grandmother. I cried. I was never a great beauty but I always had beautiful breasts that drove men wild. And now, what's left of me are 2 breasts that looked like they were run over by an 18-wheeler truck.
So for many months, I refuse to look at the mirror. I just accepted the reality of ugliness. No regrets in that department. But sometimes, I feel sad. The little vanity that I have laments over the loss of my only claim to beauty.
We were also used to deaths. I lost my uncle while he was on duty. The fire was supposed to be out and they would have called it a day. But then a random fireball just came out of nowhere and hurled straight at his head. His brains were all scattered on the streets. He left 3 of my cousins without a dad.
I wanted to be a firefighter and join my cousins. But my parents prohibited me from being so. Besides, there was no way the group would have accepted a girl as a firefighter. So I have had to settle being left alone in that living room so many times when there was fire. It was a pity that God blessed me with a big healthy strong body and yet, I cannot use it to serve my community.
How then do I serve my countrymen as a girl? Or am I forever condemned to stand near the hearth? But God indeed has many ways to answer our prayers.
I do not have many talents and skills, but one thing I seem to do well was make babies and feed them with my own breastmilk. How many times did I donate my breastmilk at Makati Medical Center? Ondoy came. There was news that many babies are dying due to the contamination in the water served with the milk powder. They were calling on new mothers to donate milk. I tried not to heed this call because my own baby is premature and she came out weighing 3 pounds only. The doctor said we cannot give her the usual OTC milk powder. I must feed her with my breast milk if I want her to grow healthy. So my first instinct was to keep my milk supply for my baby. It didn't help that my own house was also affected by the Ondoy flood and water almost reached the 2nd floor of my house. But the call to give was too strong for me to ignore any more. And so I decided to produce more milk. And boy did I deliver. I was producing 25 oz of milk every 3 hours, 24/7. That also meant no real sleep for me, just endless continuing naps. Soon, my breasts were getting bigger and bigger, until my own husband got scared of how big they became. They were like two bombs about to explode. But I continued... sometimes crying on how grotesque my breasts have become. Of course, I anticipated my breasts to really sag when I stop producing milk. Finally, Ondoy subsided and victims found ways to live by the effects of Ondoy. My baby reached 1 year old, and I can stop breastfeeding. As anticipated, my breasts sag. It looked worse than the breasts of my 90 year old grandmother. I cried. I was never a great beauty but I always had beautiful breasts that drove men wild. And now, what's left of me are 2 breasts that looked like they were run over by an 18-wheeler truck.
So for many months, I refuse to look at the mirror. I just accepted the reality of ugliness. No regrets in that department. But sometimes, I feel sad. The little vanity that I have laments over the loss of my only claim to beauty.
