On war and whatnot

I'm watching more war documentaries on the Discovery Channel. This one is about Bill Genaust, the Rosenthal photo and the surrounding controversy and the Battle of Iwo Jima. The one before that was colored footage of the war in the Pacific (the Battle of Midway, Pearl Harbor, etc.). I don't know why I keep on watching this stuff when I know from experience that it never bodes well for me.

Like most people in Asia (well, probably), the only war I feel personally connected to in some way is the second world war. It's the most recent one that people I have had personal contact with have any recollection of. AND it was actually partially fought on Philippine soil.

See, I have this morbid fascination with war. And no, I don't LIKE it. I mean, aside from weapons manufacturers, who does, right? I've seen and heard about how horrific and bloody and just plain cruel war can be. My grandparents and their entire generation lived through the war, and as I'm the only one in my generation who seems to be interested in how they lived their lives prior to their having become parents to our parents, my grandmother has told me many a story on random sunny afternoons that I spent sitting across from her at the dining table while she had her afternoon coffee and cigarette.

My problem with watching war movies or documentaries is what I call the Schindler's List effect. The movie came out sometime in 1993, but I only got to watch it when I was in high school. Back then the internet was still in its infancy, and yes kids, there were no dvd'd yet. Well, at least none that I knew of. So after class, I dragged my brother to Video City (or was it ACA Video?) to rent a VHS tape of the movie. I was so excited to see it as it had caused a bit of a ruckus when it came out because of some nudity. This was the early 90's when stuff like that (and as I recall, actresses wearing one-piece bathing suits onscreen, and the song Let's Talk About Sex by Color Me Badd) merited frontpage news. But I digress. You know how sometimes you watch something, a movie, a speech, and you're somehow moved so much that there are no words to speak, but for some reason, you feel that you have to write? well, that's what the Schindler's List experience was for me.

I was aware of the Holocaust, as my mom didn't think it inappropriate to discuss with us. She taught me to read when I was 2, Chemistry and Physics when I was 5, and Hinduism and Buddhism when I was 7, so might as well teach me world history, right? So anyway, just hearing about the atrocities of the Nazis was so different from seeing it onscreen. I was so bothered by the whole thing that I cried my eyes out. I think I wrote a dramatic entry in my journal that night.

I wonder how life would've turned out if Germany HAD won in Europe and Japan had won in the Pacific. Would we all be speaking Japanese? And would the French and the British be speaking German? What would the implications had been for this country?  Seriously. I really wonder.

Well, I think that's enough rambling today. I'll get back to my morbid fascination now.

Hello everyone!

I just started checking the stats on this blog today, and hey, what a surprise. People actually read it. Lol. So anyway, hello everyone!

Happy Mothers' Day!

I greeted my mom friends today with this message:

"To all you brave souls with an exceptional tolerance for pain, Happy Mothers' Day!"

I didn't want to be all mushy on Twitter or on Facebook, so I'll just say this here.

Happy mothers' day Mommy. I miss you everyday. I wish you were here. When I count the years we spent together, they seem so few. I've known many of my friends for far longer than I knew you. And I never got to know you as a person. I only knew you as my mom, the smiling face that would wake me up in the morning and greet me when I got home from school. Who stayed with me at the hospital for a week when I got sick, and made me feel loved at a time when things weren't going very well for us. I know how hard you fought for us, and how hard you tried, mom, and I thank you for that.

Sometimes, I try to imagine what my life would have turned out to have been like had you been with me. Would JJ's life have turned out to have been more productive? Would you and Daddy have stayed together? Would we have been friends? Or would we have grown painfully apart as I dealt with the turbulent years of adolescence? I have tried to get to know you through the people you loved most while you were here, but I still haven't pieced together the whole picture. I wonder whether I was never meant to get to know you as a person. I disagree with Tita Susan about so many things like religion and the RH Bill (although I love her nonetheless). I wonder if we would have argued on principle about the same things. Would we have traveled together? Would we have liked the same books, and listened to the same music? Would you have disagreed with my life choices? Would you have approved of the boys I dated? Would we have exchanged harsh words as I defended my rash decisions? Would you have approved of my career choices? Would you have loathed the person I have become, or would you laud how I have managed to become independent on so many levels?

I know we weren't able to talk much those last few days before you died, and that I wasn't exactly a perfect daughter to you. I talked back on occasion. I realize now that I was being very selfish when, after having been released from the hospital, I asked you to quit your job and stay home with us, but you did it just the same.

I have so many questions I want to ask you. A million things I want to say. But I know you will never hear me. And this is the most I can do to even attempt to get this across. I only hope that what they say about the hereafter IS real. See, I haven't even made up my mind about THAT. On the off chance that it IS real, I hope I see you there, and that I find the words to tell you everything I haven't been able to say.