carole's nooks and crannies

I was enjoying my late night work-free days watching different programs. But this documentary I saw last night made me cry. Bernadette Sembrano was filming a short documentary about these abandoned children and tried to track down some of the parents of these newborns.

I saw the remorse that one of the mothers showed upon giving up her baby. But seeing these babies in the hospital’s nursery, being cared for temporarily by women who won’t be caring for them much longer, I began to wonder how these babies might feel had they been able to say what they think about being left by the people who are supposed to be caring for them.

And I wept. I wept for those poor newborns whose mothers abandoned them. These little angels were born into the world and were left in hospitals, or worse, by a chicken coop. I feel for these babies, and some thoughts ran through my head: what if I was as downtrodden as some other mothers are? Will I give up my son? I knew the answer before I even finished asking myself: no. I can’t possibly do that. Seeing my son the moment he came out into the world, crying, seemingly proclaiming his existence to the world is more than enough to know. Before he sleeps I often tell him that I’ll take care of him. Me and his dad will, certainly.

Oprah once said that she believes that babies choose who their parents will be when they are finally born into this old, old world. Is it the babies’ fault then that they chose people who do not want them? And they have to suffer because they chose people who feel they are incapable of raising a child. It’s the parents who are to blame. They should know better than sleep with someone and not know the consequences.

I may have views different from everybody else’s, or one might think I am judging too harshly. Or maybe I haven’t experienced enough of what these mothers have gone through to make me change, or even side with them. All I know is that a child is a blessing, and keeping and raising their children is the ultimate proclamation of their love for these earth-bound angels.

I should know: I’m a mother too.

I seriously think that people who had not seen “50 First Dates” are missing our on a lot, especially ones who are looking for their kind of love but have not found it yet. Or the ones who think they’ve found it and are working on keeping it.

I loved the way Henry (Adam Sandler) turned away from his one-night stand spree with tourists into a dedicated and patient lover to Lucy (Drew Barrymore). As seen in the movie, he pulls off awesome efforts to make Lucy remember him each day, resorting to play-acting—portraying a dumb man, pretending to be maimed by Ula, his buddy, among his wacky, out-of-this-world ideas.

But beyond that, Henry shows devotion to Lucy by coming up with wild ways to improve her ability to remember. Let’s admit it. Not everyone can show the dedication that Henry poured forth for Lucy. Why be in love with someone who has short-term memory loss when you could choose other “normal” women who hasn’t literally got whacked in the head? If you ask Henry that question, he probably won’t be able to answer that.

See, inside all of us there’s a Henry and a Lucy. Henry, being an example of love and devotion—inherently, if not overtly reflects our need to share that wonderful feeling with someone. And it just happens. That need changes us, most often without us knowing it.

And we are all Lucys as well. Lucy is a good metaphor for people who are anything but perfect. The movie allows us to hope that someone could love us back despite our greatest incapacities. That you could feel whole and collected because there’s a Henry who could love you greatly—even for the little that you are, and all that you’re not.

That’s why I love watching “50 First Dates” every now and then. It never fails to make me feel invincible. Well, sort of. Hihi. ;)

I want to fall in love for the first time.

With the same person.

Everyday.

And I’d like to make him fall in love with me.

For the rest of my life.

Just like Henry Roth.

It's there. It's there, up in my head.

Glad as I am with my life right now, there are times that some thoughts nag you like some pesty gnat. In my age, I know I still have a long way to go, but it's amazing how I feel out of sorts today. I like my job enough to make me show up for work every single day for more than two years already, with the sole exceptions of getting chicken pox and getting sick for two weeks last month. I keep thinking if this job--taking in calls occassionally and typing countless e-mail messages to ignorant customers and catering to all the higher powers' bidding and so-and-so whims.

I keep wondering if this is all I plan to do the rest of my working days. And I know that it's not what I want. Sure, I could pursue a good career out of this. What's so incriminating about being an agent anyway? An e-mail support agent for the biggest account in the company?

Maybe because I know I am at the bottom ranks, maybe because sometimes I think we're mere pawns being manipulated by command of the company bigwigs. Maybe I because I feel I could also make it to the top but I keep failing to get there. And here I go again with my whole barrage of maybe's.

But sometimes we have to be careful of what we wish for. Maybe when I get to the top, I will see why being at the bottom of the corporate chain feels heavenly at certain points. For now, I will most likely remain on this spot, the spot I took when I was first employed here as an agent.

Like a peasant lying on his back at dusk, gazing at a few tiny pinpoints of light eons and eons away...