on the road

That our blog is titled On the Road to Puka is no coincidence. Jes and I spend most of our life on the road, so much so that in our very first book, our ever reliable sedan, is inevitably mentioned. The past months, we practically lived on the road. Our car has become our office: there's a printer in the trunk, a little black dress, pairs of slippers, jacket, CDs, food, etc.

The back seat easily transforms into a playground when the kids are onboard and once, with only the rain as shield, the car became a dressing room.

You step inside and the mixed smell of Burger King's Mushroom Swiss and beer will greet you. I have this feeling that every time we drive toward Miracle's garage for a much-needed car wash, the boys secretly wished they were closed for the day.

I don't remember being this busy in recent years but in the years to come, I'll remember the recent months as the busiest and one of the most hectic time in our lives. We're often THAT busy that we would take turns on the driver seat; Jes would take it when it was time for me to write a story and I'd do the same when it was time for him to do some last-minute editing. He'd drive so I could eat and vice-versa.

Once, in between a meeting and a medical emergency, we -- embarrassments of all embarrassments -- had to plug our printer in the hallway of a private hospital because we did not have the luxury of time to go home or to an Internet cafe to print the presentation we needed to bring to the meeting.

It was, as Jes described it so hayskul and disgustingly jologs. I know he secretly hated me for successfully convincing him to do it there. But we're no celebrities and I'm not vying for the Miss Universe title so I felt we had nothing to lose.

When we're not in the car, we're chasing flights in airports, hailing a cab to catch a flight, boarding a vessel or rushing here or there. People who want to meet with us have to follow where we will be at a particular time. It's embarrassing, really. And stressful. And crazy. And wrinkle-inducing. And the most fertile ground for WWIII.

But strangely, we thrive, almost perfectly.

all photos by me. On the road in Java, Indonesia

"Everything's Going to be Alright."

Once a while, the push comes to shove and all hell breaks loose. Everything that can go wrong goes wrong and you just wish that you're swallowed into a black hole temporarily and get back to reality only when things get back to normal.

This week is just one of those times. The nanny's passport application is hitting a wall. My external drive just died. The book project, which Jes and I have been working on for months now is NOT turning out the way we want it.

But that's almost ordinary compared to the real wrongs. Let me tell you how many wrongs there are. A friend has been diagnosed with cancer, stage 4. My child is in a shared room in a private hospital. I'm running out of cash. The health insurance won't pay for the bills because I chose a doctor whom I think is good instead of an accredited one. She has rashes all over her face. Her arms are filled with needle marks.

I was in the waiting room of St. Luke's when I got the test results of her blood test. She was there lying on my lap, tired and feeling very sick as I read the numbers. Her white blood cell count plunged to 1,700 from the normal range of 5,000 to 7,000. WTF! For a second, I thought it might be Leukemia. I broke down for five minutes before I got hold of my emotions.

Cruel this thing called motherhood.

BUT...

But Jes said everything's going to be alright. And hearing those assuring words from him puts me in the safest and most comforting place in the universe in these difficult and stressful times. And here we are, back in that place found between the heart of an enigmatic young boy and a paradise of a beach called Puka.

And that's where my goose bumps* come from.


* Goose bumps are the bumps on a person’s skin at the base of body hairs which may involuntarily develop when a person is cold or experiences strong emotions such as fear, nostalgia, pleasure, awe or admiration. They are created when tiny muscles at the base of each hair, known as arrectores pilorum, contract and pull the hair erect. The reflex is started by the sympathetic nervous system,which is responsible for many fight-or-flight responses. Source: Wikipedia (This is from a post by fellow blogger Jeanine Caron. Thank you for the inspiration!).