gogirls

I have two daughters and they are very wise, wise beyond their years.

Living with them is like having “Dear Abby” at my beck and call. They are ready to dispense advice when I ask for it and consolation and comfort when I’m a depressed puddle of goo. As a mom, I must’ve done something right for them to turn out so level-headed and well-adjusted – or so I’d like to think. Most likely they’ve turned out well despite me, not because of me. Parenting is often by trial-and-error and we are blessed when our kids grow up to be fine people notwithstanding our mistakes.

Ik is 12 and Alex is 19. Their thoughts on relationships and other topics:

On people who hate on you:
Ik: “Haters gonna hate. They’re wasting their time, using their negative energy to devise ways to hate you – it’s not benefiting them.”
Alex: “”You jelly?” They just jelly.”

On being dumped:
Alex: “It’ll hurt for a while, but you were okay before them. What makes you think you won’t be okay after?”

On divorce:
Ik: “It’s good to not keep yourself attached when you’re not in love anymore and it’s awkward when you’re sharing the same house and bed and “Hiiii.” It’s a good idea to just get them out of your life.”
Alex: “Bring out the divorce cake!”

On exes:
Alex: “Wish them happiness. Don’t wish them run over by a tractor.”

On communicating with your exes:
Ik: “Don’t.”
Alex: “If they were real bleeps, cut off all communication. And body parts.”

On being single:
Ik: “Enjoy life while you can, and don’t fret about being single because it’s fun to not be obligated to be attached to be one person. And you save more because you don’t spend too much money on Valentine’s Day.”
Alex: “Oh, well.”

On failed relationships:
Ik: “It’s the past, get over it! Let it go, because if it failed in the first place, you aren’t perfect for each other and you should just get over it instead of showing up on their lawn drunk going “I miss yoooou.” And search for the right one instead.  Lots of people have wasted their lives over people who aren’t even the right one.”
Alex: “What about?”

On life in general:
Ik: “Make the most of it because life is short.”
Alex: “What she said.”

Bonus advice from Alex and Ik!
On pizza:
Ik: “It’s great, it’s delicious, I love it! Shakey’s, Pizza Hut, or Yellow Cab? All three.”
Alex: “If it comes with Mojos, all the better.”

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After a wait of many months, there’s finally a schedule set for the launch of the novel Patriots on the Street.

The book serves as a platform for the thoughts of property developer Rex Drilon II and was written by Manila Standard-Today opinion editor and columnist Adelle Chua.

Patriots on the Street explores the issues of nationalism and poverty and offers Drilon’s solutions to the economic and political challenges facing the country.  It is a gentle and wry commentary of social ills and a search for social justice and change that should, at the very least, incite critical thinking and propel a revolution in the way one perceives Filipino politics and culture.

The book launch is set for January 20 at Bestsellers bookstore, The Podium, Ortigas Center.

From the book, on the true state of Philippines politics:

The truth is, they – administration or opposition – are all the same. Political parties? They don’t mean a thing in terms of policy positions. Politicians identify themselves with parties so they can take advantage of resources during elections. But at the first instance of disagreement, somebody can easily bolt a party, join another, or establish one of his own.

Furthermore, the country’s political elite, both on the national and local levels, flaunts the wrong values. They feel entitled to deferential treatment. They assert their influence in big and little things alike. Most of them believe they have the monopoly on good intentions and treat political office as a family enterprise – and nobody from outside can challenge their starring roles.

As a result, the governed feel both disgusted and powerless. They become resigned to their fate so they do just what is necessary to survive from day to day. They don’t see any value in participating in the building of the community, much less the nation. Why bother?

The book will be available at Bestsellers and National Bookstore branches.

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..not the Slave Leia outfit. Rather, thirty pounds so she can get back in it.

Last Wednesday the actress launched her partnership with the Jenny Craig weight loss company, not only to lose weight but also to change the way she “interacts with food as a whole.”

Fisher played Princess Leia Organa in the ’70s Star Wars trilogy, and one of her most memorable costumes is the ‘metal’ bikini she wore while a captive of the repulsive and villainous slug Jabba the Hutt.

In her blog post on the topic she writes:

I wish I still had the body I had when I was attached to that giant slug wearing that metal bikini… You know, I swear when I was shooting those films I never realized I was signing an invisible contract to stay looking the exact same way for the rest of my existence… Must have been in the small print.

So anyway, this is where my friends, at Jenny Craig come into the picture. The truth is I’ve been unhappy with my weight for a long time now, & so when the world takes a snapshot of you like that and you get locked forever into it, it doesn’t make it any easier.

I adored her in the Star Wars movies, but for me she is Leia only on the screen; I admire her as the strong person that she is, actress and writer and human being, whatever she looks like. Fisher portrayed Leia; she is not Leia.

But most people tend to judge celebrities more harshly than they would ordinary people. They are held to higher standards. Fame comes with a price.

Yet she is doing this not only to regain her looks, but also to become healthier. Her positive steps towards wellness are an inspiration to all of us struggling with weight issues.

Slave Leia image here. Carrie Fisher image here.

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POP GOES THE WORLD By Jenny Ortuoste for Manila Standard-Today, 30 December 2010, Thursday

Sinful and Sweet

I was at work yesterday afternoon when someone dropped by with a luscious chocolate mousse cake. It was a three-layer concoction composed of a sinfully rich chocolate cake base, chocolate mousse center, and whipped cream rosette topping. Like all desserts are made to do, it beckoned, tempting me – “Eat me. You know you want to.” I knew it would melt in my mouth and coat my tongue with pleasure.

Yet I hesitated – it was a calorie- and fat-laden time bomb that would further expand my waistline and elevate my glucose and cholesterol levels. Should I taste it – or not?

The matter was taken out of my hands when an officemate cut a slice, plated it, and handed it to me along with a fork. Now, I couldn’t very well be rude and refuse it, could I? It would have hurt her feelings. So I sank the fork in that three-tiered treat and dissolved into a puddle of sugar-fueled ecstasy when the chocolatey goodness hit my tastebuds.

I was dumped from my cloud of baked bliss when a voice spoke. “Jenny, don’t finish that cake.” It was a visitor, one of my former bosses. “Give the rest to someone else to finish.”

I stared at the cake with different eyes. Yes, Attorney Mon was right. That cake would have gone from my lips straight to my hips. Already carrying excess poundage and having trouble losing it, any extra avoirdupois was just an added health liability I could ill afford.

Which brings me to the point of this article. The holidays are a traditionally a time for feasting, when abundance and the pleasures of the table are an essential part of the celebration. Almost every household has its Christmas and New Year recipes for ham, pasta, salad, whatever. It is a ritual, this preparation of the holiday food that is often not made at any other time of the year. And when the special dishes are served, it marks another cycle in the circle of cultural observances.

But many traditions we observe, while fulfilling psychological needs, are not always good for us. The overconsumption of sugar, fat, salt, protein, carbohydrates, and alcohol wreak havoc on our health, which we pay for in the future, if not right away in the form of, let’s say, indigestion, hypertension, and diarrhea.

After the holiday feasting, we step on a bathroom scale and watch the needle swing much farther to the right than we’d like. Some panic and look for quick fixes. Diet pills, for one. Through the years, there have been many, some with evil side effects.

Some 20 years ago, fen-phen – a combination of two drugs, fenfluramine and phentermine – caused a global sensation for resulting in very rapid weight loss.Fenfluramine was later shown to cause heart problems and other internal damage. It was withdrawn from the market and “led to legal damages of over $13 billion.” This is one case where the “cure” proved to be more harmful than the cause. (“Phentermine was not shown to cause harmful effects.”)

Undergoing scrutiny now by the American Food and Drug Administration is bupropion/naltrexone (trade name Contrave), “designed to affect the hypothalamus to decrease food intake over extended period of time…On 7 December 2010 an FDA Advisory Committee voted 13-7 for the approval of Contrave, and voted 11-8 for the conduct of a post-marketing cardiovascular outcomes study.”

The current popularly marketed medication, available over-the-counter here, is orlistat, “a drug designed to treat obesity… [by] preventing the absorption of fats…thereby reducing caloric intake.” (All citations from Wikipedia.)

Succumbing to the ease of taking a drug panders to our desire for convenience and immediate gratification. For some, under a physician’s care, such medications could even be necessary. But the best results come from the old-school way to weight loss – healthy eating that is predominantly vegetarian combined with sweaty exercise (both aerobic and strength training), adequate sleep, and less stress.

I’ve done it both ways, and only the natural method really worked and made me feel better. So this is one of my resolutions for the coming Year of the Rabbit – to regain wellness.

I will lay off the White Rabbit candy, and lace on my walking shoes once more. Because of my hypertension, I will reduce my caffeine intake. My 12-year-old daughter is helping me get healthy by giving frequent reminders. “Mama, you have to stop drinking too much coffee, eating sweets and chicharon, and sleeping late. Those are bad habits. I’m just glad they’re not illegal.” Thanks, Ik.

I must harness my willpower and discipline to achieve the goals I’ve set because it’s the only way I will get well. And only I can do this for myself – no one else. And because I have loved ones to take care of, I have to stay healthy as long as I can.

It’s a resolution I think we all need to make – and stick with. Happy new year, everyone.

My thoughts return to the chocolate mousse cake that got away. Bereft and forlorn without the other half, I console myself with a chunk of banana loaf someone else left behind. That should be healthier, I figure, because it’s got fruit in it.

Right?   ***

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“La Perle des Encres” – “The Jewel of Inks”. Thus now are known the inks first created in 1700 by sailor-entrepreneur M. Herbin in his atelier in the Rue des Fosses Saint Germain in Paris. The company, known as J. Herbin, has been in existence since 1670; they began as a purveyor of fine sealing waxes.

Using inks in fountain pens and sealing wax in correspondence is an enjoyable visit to a splendid age, when the educated people of that time wrote long letters on thick paper in an elegant hand, carefully sealing them afterward with colored wax, an impression from a seal or a ring, and perhaps a kiss.

It is a marvel that we today can enjoy these same things. J. Herbin still makes fountain pen inks from natural dyes; their neutral pH is fountain-pen friendly. Here’s my latest haul of J. Herbin, from Scribe Writing Essentials in Eastwood Mall.

The packages are very chic, a designer’s dream.

The ink bottles are also beautiful, as are the labels. And the names of the inks, in French, will make you fall in love. Je t’aime.

The bottles are of glass and come with plastic caps.

There is something so very satisfying about a well-made and well-designed product.

The bottles are a special shape – the caps are set slightly back to give space for a groove that functions as a pen rest.

The bottles are works of art in themselves.

Even the bottom of the ink bottles are lovely.

These simple writing samples show how spectacular these water-based, lightfast inks are. Can you imagine using one of these colors in a pen to write a letter to someone special? Or using several colors to create a watercolor artwork?

This new year, make it a resolution to tap in your own creativity. What is it you enjoy doing – writing, drawing, singing? Express yourself through that channel, do whatever it is that makes you happy, and renew your spirit in words, color, or sound.

Photos taken with a Nikon Coolpix L21 at PICC Complex, Pasay City.

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It was excruciating – pain radiating from my right thumb to my wrist, then forearm, then shoulder, all in the course of three days. There had been some discomfort in the previous months, but this time it was agony.

Refusing to take meds or try any remedies pending a physician’s advice, I gritted my teeth, leaned heavily on Alex for support (she almost buckled under the weight), and made my way to the emergency room of a Makati hospital late one night last week.

That afternoon I had done some research and by a galactic coincidence a story popped up on Yahoo! Finance that seemed related. “The Baby May Be Giving You Mommy’s Thumb” screamed the headline.

The condition is called De Quervain’s tendonitis and is an inflammation of the tendons below the thumb down to the wrist, and may result from carrying heavy babies from lower cribs and scrolling and texting on smartphones. It may be treated by painkillers, splints, steroid injections, and surgery.

With the text was a diagram that showed pain beginning at the base of the thumb area and radiating upward. My pain was the radiating kind but it wasn’t emanating from the base but from the thumb joint, which was red, swollen, and painful to touch.

I poked it. Oww. Bad idea.

At the hospital, two residents attended to me, a female and a male. The lady doctor looked over my chart.

“Is the pain severe?” she murmured.

“Yes. Assuming childbirth to be number ten, my hand pain is the number eight orange frowny-face on the pain chart,” I said. I described the situation.

“Radiating? I see. Has the pain reached the ancilla?”

“If by ‘ancilla’ you mean ‘armpit’, then yes, it has.”

They sent me out for x-rays and when I came back, the male doctor looked them over and spoke. ”Have you seen how I write?”

What the hell does that have to do with my hand, I thought, but of course I realized he had a point – somewhere – and was about to make it. I put on a puzzled face.  ”No…”

He took up a pen, gripped it in four fingers, his thumb hanging free. “I have the same condition you have. It’s called focal dystonia – ‘writer’s cramp’.”

Focal dystonia is a neurological condition that may be accompanied by radiating pain or uncontrolled curling or twisting of the fingers, and usually afflicts people who rely on fine motor skills, like guitarists and surgeons. And writers.

“Oh, cool!” I was elated. “I’m a writer! It figures! Hey, wait. So you mean I don’t have De Quervain’s tendonitis or ‘mommy’s thumb’?”

He glared. “No, you have focal dystonia, ‘writer’s cramp’!” I nodded with understanding. Of course. He had it himself, so naturally he wouldn’t want to call it some sissy girly name.

“Is it a joint thing, or a repetitive motion injury thing?” I asked.

“It’s a stress-related nerve thing, and you might need therapy, and you definitely need rest,” he said. He scribbled some numbers on a piece of paper, pushed it to me. “Here’s my hand specialist’s number. Call her.”

I wanted to ask if the specialist was so specialized as to specialize on only the left or the right hand, but remembering the story I read on the Internet, I asked instead, “Can I have a splint? Or steroids? Hunh, can I, can I?”

He frowned. “You can have a pill. Here’s a prescription.” More scribbling.

“But it hurts bad,” I whined.

“Oh, all right. I’ll prescribe an injectable so you can sleep tonight.” He waved me over to a nurse, who inserted a plastic shunt into a vein on my left hand, then a syringe into the shunt.

“This is (unpronounceable name of medication),” the nurse said. “It’s going to sting going in. Oh, and there’s an aftertaste of buko juice.”

“What kind of painkiller gives more pain?…oh, never mind. Lemme have it,” I said, wincing as he slooowly pressed the plunger and the taste of coconut filled my mouth.

The shunt was kind of cute, because it was pink. I wanted to keep it as a caffeine delivery system to shoot espresso or Cobra energy drink straight into my bloodstream and! to! the brain! but Alex stared at me with narrowed eyes and of course no one wants their eldest daughters fixing them with disapproving looks so I let the nurse remove the shunt. He wouldn’t have let me leave the hospital with it anyway.

For being a mostly good girl while in the emergency room, I was given my favorite treat by Alex. She took me to ingest caffeine the old-fashioned way at Starbucks where she had a Mocha Peppermint frap and we shared a banana loaf slice and a tuna croissant.

Lifting my plastic cup of Zen iced tea, I tried to balance it on my palm while holding with four fingers and trying to find a way to rest my thumb, until Alex pointed out that I could maybe hold the cup in my left hand. Brilliant child. Whatever would I do without her?

By the time we went home, the pain was gone, and I slept well again, my slumber serene, knowing that I had ‘writer’s cramp’ as befits a writer.

But ‘mommy’s thumb’ would not have been amiss, as I am a mommy too – a grateful one, to be blessed with an Alex like mine, and an Erika waiting at home with a warm hug.

The lesson here was that even a minor ache may turn out to be a condition for which one needs medical treatment. I had ignored the hand pain for months, belonging as I do to the Ernest Hemingway tough school of writing, where you bind up your bullet wounds with a dirty handkerchief clenched between your teeth and keep on typing.

But my neglect meant that my condition had deteriorated to the point where I needed to get x-rays and see a specialist. I am thankful that the emergency room resident who saw me last week made a spot-on diagnosis and treated me with sympathy and smiles.

It was a stern reminder, though, that anyone can benefit from – take care of yourself, so you can better take care of others. ***

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My birthday was last week. My offspring asked me what I wanted to do most of all in the world on my special day. I said, “Read a book at Starbucks.”

They said: “No, really, Mama. What would you like to do that’s FUN!!! and ENJOYABLE!!!”

I replied: “Really, for me drinking coffee and reading for a couple of hours is my idea of FUN!!! and EXCITEMENT!!! and adventurous blazing ACTION!!!”

So we went to Starbucks Powerplant Mall. It being my birthday, and me being the lazy person that I am (and I really work hard at it, lemme tell ya), they got in line for coffee-and while I sank my behind into a soft and comfortable couch.

We sat around for a while sipping our Peppermint Mocha hot coffees and fraps until the kids got so bored that they upped and went to the video game arcade, promising to come back for me in, “Like, an hour or two, or when Offspring Major finally beats Offspring Minor at Tekken 6.”

Ensconced in warmth and fuzzy softness and pepperminty coffee flavor, I finished Dr Cristina Pantoja-Hidalgo’s book of travel essays Looking for the Philippines. And what a lovely book it is, and what a charming and enchanting country we have, seen through Ma’am Jing’s eyes.

When the kids showed up to collect me, we had dinner at Zaifu (sushi and stuff) and dessert at Sugarhouse. Now that was another part I liked.

Behold! French apple pie, blueberry cheesecake, dulce de leche mini cake, and almond sans rival – an exciting adventure in pies and cakes that led to much chewing and swallowing action.

A good book, coffee, cake, and children –  simple things. Do we need really anything more?

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I don’t go to concerts. It’s enough for me to hear music on my headphones without the distractions of having to go to a venue, be with other people, and not be able to see or hear as well as I could with my home audio setup.

But when given the chance to watch “Hitman: David Foster and Friends” at the Araneta Coliseum tonight, I grabbed a couple of tickets in my grubby little paw and hid them in the recesses of my wallet for safekeeping until concert night.

This was the lineup: famed songwriter David Foster and singers Natalie Cole, Charice, Peter Cetera, The Canadian Tenors, and Ruben Studdard. Now doesn’t that send frissons of delight up your spine? Not too long ago I had seen The Canadian Tenors’ performance of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” on the Oprah Winfrey Show, and was captivated. I would have given anything to hear them sing live – and here the chance was, dumped into my lap not a couple of months later.

One of my closest friends, Adelle Chua, went with me. We didn’t know quite what to expect, not being regular concert-goers. We were disappointed by our first experience – forced baggage check.

There was a long line of people outside trying to get into the venue, and there was a delay because the show’s Manila producer, Ultimate Productions, had not informed the public beforehand that umbrellas and cameras would not be allowed inside the arena and had to be left at a counter beside the gate. They did not have enough people at the items counter, and the few people there did not have any idea how to check things properly and consequently chaos resulted. People were angry and worried that their valuable cameras would be lost. There was a lot of shoving and pushing and waving of tickets in people’s faces as everyone tried to hurry and get in. It was horrible and the producer deserves to be spanked. Hard. Many many times.

Once inside the venue, we were glad that there was powerful airconditioning and that we seated fourteen rows from the stage with a good view of everything. David Foster’s piano-playing was sublime, his patter engaging. “Music is everywhere in Manila,” he said. “It’s in the streets, in the hotels – and here.” He seemed overwhelmed by the audience reaction. “It’s true what they said, people sing along to the songs here,” he marveled. “I’ve never had an entire arena do that before.”

The Canadian Tenors came on and performed three songs. One of them was “Hallelujah” and I was lifted up on wings of sound. They were fantastic. I could have gone home happy at that point, they were magnificent.

Natalie Cole came out next, and she was incomparable. Her voice is silvery light, so sweet, so beautiful. She sang “Unforgettable” along with a recording of her father Nat “King” Cole’s voice, their voices blending together in a magical duet. A smile is perpetually on her face; she beams, her face shining as if it were lit up by the sun, the voice soaring effortlessly higher and ever higher.

At the end of the show, the performers all came out and sang a song David Foster wrote for Michael Jackson – “The Earth Song”. From left, The Canadian Tenors (four of them), Natalie Cole, Charice, Ruben Studdard, Peter Cetera.

Ruben Studdard, said Foster, “fills a gap in genres”, as he does the crooner-type and R&B songs. His voice is deep, rich, sonorous in the tradition of Teddy Pendergrass and Luther Vandross. He has another talent – making up songs on the spot from a line or two given to him. He did admirably with “so many years” from a lady named George (Georgina – the name raised Foster’s eyebrow and gave him a chance to say, “Hi, George, I’m Debbie”), and also with the rather unimaginative “I’ll always be there for you” from a woman also named George (Georgia). By this time Foster thought some collective leg-pulling was going on, and he chuckled.

Foster had another gimmick – going up to people in the audience and having them sing for thirty seconds. A couple were ordinary folks with talent; there were three teenagers who sang a cappella; but then there were professional singers Pilita Corrales (of course she sang “Dahil Sa Iyo”), Randy Santiago (he did “Wildflower”), and Arnel Pineda.

Pilita, our very own diva, still has her vaunted beauty, style, and voice and it was a tremendous pleasure to see and hear her. Randy combined a terrific rendition of one of Foster’s own songs with humor – “I’m so nervous!” he said onstage, as if he were not one of the “concert kings” of the land, and in the last line of the song interjected, “Can I kiss you?” to a piano-playing Foster who laughed and pointed to his cheek. And yes, Randy did lean down to peck the maestro’s cheek, and hugged him before he left the stage.

I’m not sure David knew Pilita and Randy were professionals, but he did recognize Arnel in the audience and convinced him to sing a few lines from the Chicago hit, “Hard Habit to Break” (a song that has painful associations for me, but that’s another story).

Which made a great entrance for Peter Cetera, former lead vocalist of Chicago. Arnel said, “You guys are freakin’ me out!” Being with both his ‘heroes’ on stage was obviously a huge experience for him – he actually knelt in front of Cetera till the latter pulled him up, laughing but clearly flattered.

Cetera’s voice was not in excellent form, but he made up for it with soul and showmanship, singing some of his most popular hits. One of them was “Glory of Love” from the Karate Kid 2 soundtrack, that had everyone singing along.

The show ended with Charice, the petite Pinay powerhouse who is being mentored by Foster and who has improved vastly under his tutelage. Think of it as he being Freddy Roach to her Manny Pacquiao – it’s a mighty combination. She belted out several songs and had the audience on their feet in a standing ovation, cheering themselves hoarse. She did several songs made popular by Celine Dion, one of them “Power of Love”. Charice also did a fantastic rendition of her own hit “Pyramid”.

Foster said Filipinos should be proud “of your little one”, as he clearly was, saying she was in the league of all the women singers he had worked with – Barbra Streisand, Celine Dion, Whitney Houston, Toni Braxton. It was a moment of pure elation.

The music was superb, the show was spectacular, the energy was high high high and we left the arena wowed by the performances  of the evening.

Once outside, though, I had to get my camera back and the experience was even more dreadful than before. More pushing! More shoving! With more screaming from disgruntled patrons! There still weren’t enough people behind the counter and they had not lined up the umbrellas and the cameras by number or done anything else to arrange the items during the three hours that the concert lasted. They did nothing at all. I was one of the first in line and it still took  fifteen minutes before I was given my camera back.

When I finally managed to disengage myself from the melee with much elbowing and leaning and apologizing, my shirt was hanging off my shoulders and my carefully pinned-up hair was a tangled  mess.  Adelle said, “You look like you’ve been through a war.” And that is indeed how I felt. The people behind Ultimate Productions deserve to be scolded and spanked. Hard, as I mentioned. Many many times, as I said.

The check-in incident was terrible and an ugly start and end to an otherwise wonderful show. It needn’t have happened – there were people who had somehow smuggled in their cameras anyway, as flashes kept popping, and cellphones with cameras were not taken. There was no announcement made at any time before, during, or after the concert that photography or video were forbidden. So why take cameras? And umbrellas? They weren’t wet – it rained during the concert, not before. I asked several people with the events group who the producers were, but they all refused to say. Why? Because they knew this aspect of the event they staged was mucho fail?

That being said, I look forward to another edition of the concert. Foster said that they haven’t left Manila yet but are already planning their return – for Valentine’s Day 2011. Fans of David and Friends, both old and new, can look forward to more music, surprises, and romance from this talented team in just a few more months.

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There are some artists who work in several media in at once. It is as if the creative urge within needs to be expressed in different forms; or perhaps another medium is chosen when one is deemed unsuitable or inadequate to convey the artist’s message or whim. Palanca Award-winning poet Joel Vega writes for a science publication and also creates fantastical sculpture.  I write creative non-fiction and do needlework – embroidery and quilts – reveling in the colors of embroidery floss and the patterns of cotton fabric, working with my hands and not only my head. And my classmate, writer Natasha Gamalinda, creates one-of-a-kind costume jewelry from beads, bits of rawhide string, and lengths of chain.

Nat belongs to the Gamalinda family of writing fame. A poet, essayist, and short story writer, she is completing her master’s degree in Creative Writing at the University of the Philippines-Diliman, where I met her in Dr. Cristina Pantoja-Hidalgo’s creative non-fiction writing class.

Her venture into jewelry art is called “Happy Wraps“. Nat designs and creates custom pieces in happy colors that make the soul skip with a glint of a glass bead, and fingers tingle with the feel of grainy leather.

Knot anklets, which may be worn as bracelets.

Pastel pearl beads and a blue glass star charm make up this cutie, suitable as a christening gift for a baby girl.

Nat created this choker for me in my chosen flavors of chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla. She added a unicorn charm in the center, referencing my two-decades’ long involvement in the Philippine thoroughbred industry. I’m happy to own a statement neckpiece that turns heads and is also a souvenir from one of the most exciting young writers in the Philippine literary scene.

A choker Nat designed for me in the “choco-strawberry” colorway from her “I Love Ice Cream” line. Other flavors include pistachio and wildberry.

With the holidays just around the corner, why not ask Nat to create bracelets or neckpieces for your loved ones in their favorite colors and materials? Email her at ohappywraps@yahoo.com or search for ‘Happy Wraps’ on Facebook to see photos of Nat’s work and get your own custom wearable art pieces from this talented artist.

Photos by Natasha Gamalinda/Happy Wraps.

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