Jen, or Jenny to my closest friends - I have lived in Melbourne, Hawthorn East specifically, for close to 20 years. I am an "overenthusiastic" mum to 24-year old Lucho, a soon-to-be student of medicine. He lives over the bridge but does come by occasionally whenever I can guilt him enough into visiting me.

I was also, until recently, a loyal servant to my beautiful and kind domestic short-haired rescue, Miles Davis. He was almost 8 when we had to let him go due to PKD. To say that I was a complete mess is an understatement but I am much better now although I still have moments. I am not looking to replace my Miles. I just want to give another rescue a good home in memory of my M.

I caught myself doing it again tonight—getting too caught up in structure and precision. It’s a habit that shows up when I’m writing and other things, especially when I care about the outcome. The feeling that it has to be just right before I can move forward. That I have to have all the information, all the ducks lined up. But I’ve started noticing the moment that impulse kicks in. I paused. Let it pass. Didn’t chase it. That feels like a kind of progress.

The day was productive in that quiet, steady way Sundays can be. Pilates and barre, which I try to keep up unless I’m at my John’s. That routine helps me stay grounded. But I still haven’t finished my paper, and there’s always that low-level hum of other priorities pressing at the edges—like finding an apartment for my you in Sydney. That task has been sitting there, quiet but urgent.

I’ve also been thinking about what’s next professionally. I want to move into public policy. I’ve worked in marketing for years, but my heart’s not in it anymore. I know where I want to be, but it’s a lot to carry at once. And when it feels like too much, I escape like I always do. I do something else—something I can finish, something that makes sense. Not always helpful, but human.

Wasn’t planning on a cat, but saw you at the vet in Yarraville when we talk gypsy for her check up.



I think it must’ve been a Friday or the Friday before Anzac Day for some long weekend. You were in a cage at the vet, playing around, being very chill. I could tell you were curious about us. You were watching us and seemingly wanting to play. We ask the vet if you were going to be taken home over the weekend and they said no. We felt so sorry for you and decided to take you home with us. The rest is history.

Gypsy with your surrogate mum even though she didn’t really like it. You eventually won her over. You would sit next to her and lay next to her even though she would growl and tried to snap at you. You would sit with her after her bath to keep her company while she was drying.

Dear L,

Thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings with me last night. It was hard for me to hear but I know that it will be helpful if I do something about it. 

I rang Lola Susan shortly after and I also reflected on the conversation on the ride home and before bed. I was happy to be able to share some things with you - like trying to make things right with Caitlin whether or not you end up together eventually - but there were things other things too that came too light a little later after you had gone. Thought it would be best to write them down - I tend to forget a lot these days and who knows, may also be therapeutic.

I am painfully aware that I am not a good person. (There are moments here and there when I catch myself and am fully conscious of this but for the most part - I just go about each day not being that mindful at all.  It’s not that I don’t know, it’s more that I forget to be more purposeful in my actions. Please know that I am trying but I will try harder.) So I understand and accept that you are angry with me, don’t like me, don’t think much of me. I would be the same and maybe even more so if I were in your shoes. I actually think I was in similar circumstances before with Papa. I was very upset about something he did in the past. I was consumed by it but was not fully aware that I was. And over the years, Papa tried his best - to make things right, to reassure me that it would not happen again, that he had changed - but I didn’t give him a chance. I was so upset that I placed all these unreasonable expectations on him. I felt that I was justified in treating him badly and that he simply had to put up with it because of what he did to me. And because of this I hurt him...and myself. A lot. Anyway, what I am trying to say is that I should have given him a REAL chance by working on my OWN feelings. Some of it actually didn’t have anything to do with him but had to do with my upbringing, strength of my resolve, etc. And I am definitely not trying to lay blame on my parents. Quite the opposite - I feel like I should have worked on myself too, my feelings towards being “wronged.” You are right, there is nothing I can do on MY OWN to fix our relationship. It takes both parties to fix. I can understand and accept your unwillingness  to do so now given the number of times I have failed you - as you said you tried to be more understanding those years you were trying to practice mindfulness - so will try to do more to bridge the gap.

I will tell you more another time about my plans to see a counsellor, about my efforts to read up on some of the stuff you’re interested in in the hopes of having something to talk to you about, why I think there might be some trauma on my end - the thoughts that I have when things are going well and everything seems so normal.

So much forever,

My original thought was for this to be a repository of messages, musings, thoughts from me to you, Luch. A little bit of journalling as well perhaps. Now, perhaps it can be whatever comes to mind or whatever need arises.

January 1 was spent having breakfast with Lola Susan, Josh, Tito Jonee, Tita Nice, Kiro and the Ampong’s (Tita Nice’s brother) family. We spent New Years Eve at Eden Nature Park in Davao like we did when you were little - once with Papa’s family and mine and another time just with my family after Lolo Vic died.

We checked out and then stayed at Ladislawa before catching our flight back to Manila. There was a storm, Agaton, in the area so I was quite hesitant to board the place. But you insisted and I knew from the look on your face that you were determined to get on so I relented. I sometimes wonder what goes on in your head when you make decisions between safety and something else. I wasn't sure - were you just in a rush to get back to Manila and if so why, or were you just upset about my “fear” of death, everything that and so you insisted on flying for spite? Later that evening after arriving safely in Manila and our Air BnB place at SM Jazz, we exchanged several hurtful words when I suggested over the late dinner, that you agree to go Corner Tree Cafe so Tala and Tata can have something nice. I worry about your lack of concern towards others. I sense that you mostly think about yourself only. I hope I am wrong. You called me self-righteous, manipulative and other things. I called you a brat.

Wow. Well, true to form, once again, I did not follow through with my decision to journal every so often. It’s been about 11 months - give or take - since my last and only entry. I guess that says a lot. No, I am not trying to put myself down; I am merely acknowledging I am not quite there yet. Quite far from “there”,  actually. I still have a very looong way to go. Which is fine. I’d like to think there is time. For me. I sometimes make excuses. Excuses like “I deserve to just relax and have a break” or “We spend time, talk, interact, share anyway so there is no real need to journal” (I’ll elaborate on this later), “I really must do the laundry right this minute” and so on and so forth. Again, that’s me. I’m not too proud of it but as I’ve mentioned a million times, it’s okay. I am a work in progress; will continue to  be up to the very moment my heart ceases to beat. I’ve made peace with both - the work in progress thing and that one day, Jen (I, the ego, the procrastinator, the worrier, the talk-way-too-mucher) will cease to “be.” But perhaps, ironically, when that happens, that’s when I’ll really “be.” I hope not; I will not. I hope this “just being” will happen before I cease to “be.” I digress. 

You must be wondering why write, why a blog. Or you may be thinking that i already talk too much and haven’t I run out of things to say already. There are a number of reasons. I thought it might be good to put my thoughts, emotions, musings, stories to paper seeing as I have become increasingly forgetful. I thought it might be good for you to get to know me as  a person (outside of being your mum); to hear stories about my youth; to understand why I like singing with gleeful incompetence, why I sometimes get so worked up when I hear stories in the news about people taking advantage of others, why I worry so much; or even why I talk to Gypsy and Miles. Why, why, why. I don’t think that I’m out to justify things that I do or the way I am. I would just like for you to get to know me, is all. 

This morning was a mad dash to school to get you there in time for orchestra. As usual, I was driving like a crazy person - weaving in and out of traffic and doing my darndest not to honk at the slow driver in front of me or give him a ‘get-off-the-road’ look as I drove past, lest you call me out again for being impatient. I didn’t need to restrain the expletives though - the tension, from me, in the car was palpable you could cut it with a knife. And it seeped through to you as sat there trying to start your day right with your music. I could sense that it had pervaded the permeable barrier you had valiantly tried to put up. 

It’s no wonder you choose not to learn how to drive. I didn’t understand that until now. I always thought it was a way of resisting a ‘milestone’ dictated upon you by a society that you are rightfully wary of. 

Yet again, I have tainted another perfectly innocent and even necessary right of passage. And to what end? To shed 10 minutes off my travel time? To stick to my compulsive need to be always on time if not early? 

I suppose I have also put you off gainful employment, with the way I have carried on about my dim-witted colleagues, my tiring and stressful day at work, the presentation that went badly, and so on and so forth. 

For this, my son, I am sorry. There are so many things that I should be thankful for - that I had a job that allowed us to have the things we have; that we have a car to use when it’s too cold or too wet to take public transport. Most especially, I should be thankful for and put focus on the more important things -like the way you got up quicker than usual this morning to get ready for school; the fact that you are now taking school more seriously and wanted to stay back in school to study; that you had opened up a bit more to me over dinner last Friday.