You can find my posts on my first trip back to Manila since 1996—my second trip since my family migrated to Australia—at Delicious Burdens.

This post was completed approximately two years after I was asked to write it. I was complimented on my use of the semi-colon. Thrills.

If there’s one thing Australia has failed to wean out of me, it’s my inability to be on time. Filipinos call this ‘Filipino time’; Aussies call it being late.

I try my best. My clocks and watches are set at least fifteen minutes ahead. I put things in my calendar half an hour before they start. But nothing has worked. My husband has resorted to scheduling activities an hour ahead, just to ensure I’ll be ready on time.

My chronic lateness is a running joke with my Aussie friends. What they don’t seem to understand is that I regard the clock, with its authoritarian precision and merciless advance, as a mere guide to life rather than its master.

Read this article at the Australian Filipina.

This article was first published in July 2010 in Australian Filipina newsletter.

The Australian Filipina went on hiatus in late 2007 and was resurrected as an online magazine. I wrote this piece in 2007 and it was finally published early this year.

When I was pregnant with my first child, many women were quick to reassure me that labour will be just like a very bad stomach cramp. ‘And don’t worry,’ they said, ‘you’ll forget the pain soon after.’ I believed them. Three children later, I know for a fact that they lied. If there’s anything I’ve learned about having children, it’s that it hurts. A lot.

Read this article at the Australian Filipina.

This article was first published in January 2010 in the Australian Filipina online.

This is a revised version of Tales of the Travelling Tabo, which I adapted for the Australian Filipina, and it always gets people talking.

Source: Helga Weber

There’s one thing I never leave home without, and it’s not my American Express. On a recent trip to Melbourne, disaster struck. I stared at my open suitcase in horror. I looked at my husband. ‘Oh, my god!’ I panicked, ‘WHERE IS MY TABO?’ The prospect of cleaning my bum with nothing but a flimsy bit of paper leaves me … insecure.

For many Filipino expats and travellers, the tabo is taboo—a secret tucked in the corner of the bathroom—but nevertheless essential. Worried about being caught out when you’re away from home? Fear not. There are alternatives. Read this article.

See the photo? It was taken  six years before the article was written—before we were married.

If there’s anything worse that spending Valentine’s Day alone, it’s waking up the next day to the realisation that, well, you missed it. Welcome to marriage. Oh, it doesn’t happen every year, but between paying off the mortgage, managing a household, and staying one step ahead of the kids, many couples find romance taking a backseat to everyday life.

Read this article at the Australian Filipina. (It has been retitled to Romance after ‘I Do.’)

This article was first published in the February/March 2007 issue of the Australian Filipina.

One of the greatest tragedies of my life.

I’m part of a silent minority of Filipinos who bear a secret shame: I can’t sing to save my life. From the age of six, I’ve envied Lea Salonga. She has two things I desperately want—dimples and a singing voice. Someone once told me I looked like ‘a Kim’. Too bad my singing voice is worse than grim. By Filipino standards, I believe this makes me a mutant.

Read this article at the Australian Filipina.

This article was first published in the February/March 2007 issue of the Australian Filipina. A modified version was published in the October 2007 issue of PINOYexpats, an e-zine for Filipino expatriates. I thought it would be interesting to compare the differences, so here’s the modified version: Read this article.

This article was inspired by my parents’ first trip back to Manila, ten years after we migrated to Australia.

If there’s one enduring symbol of Filipinos all over the world, it’s the balikbayan box. Whether we’re travelling home or merely sending presents to relatives, packing these nondescript brown boxes has become a Christmas tradition for many expats.

My Aussie friends, used to exploring entire continents carrying no more than a backpack, are aghast to learn that Filipinos travel with boxes. ‘What do you put in them?’ my friends ask. I shrug. ‘Pretty much anything you can think of.’

Read this article at the Australian Filipina.

This article was first published in the December/January 2007 issue of the Australian Filipina.

I’m not sure how Filipinos developed this fixation with weight, but if you’ve ever been on the wrong side of the scale I think you’ll understand why this article was begging to be written.

Many people believe that asking about the weather is conversational suicide. They’ve never had to endure a Filipino greeting.

‘Hoy, tumaba ka yata!’ (Hey, you got fat!) It’s not exactly the first thing I want to hear after a decade of separation. Suddenly, ten years don’t seem long enough.

Filipino women are fixated on weight. Listen in on any tsismis and inevitably someone will mention the F word: ‘fat’. If you’re lucky, they won’t be talking about you. Lately, it seems, my fortune has been in decline. Read this article.

I’m a self-confessed scruncher. This was also the article in which I admitted to having visited Sexpo.

There is one thing I never leave home without and it’s not my American Express. It’s the first item to go into my suitcase and the first to be unpacked. It’s on my packing checklist three times.

‘Mahal, did I pack the—’

‘Yes!’ my husband usually groans in exasperation after hearing the same question for the umpteenth time.

‘OK, just checking…’ I rummage around for a few seconds. ‘Where? Where is it? OH, MY GOD, WHERE IS MY TABO?’ Read this article.

This was my first article to appear in a print magazine, my first column piece and the first writing gig that I was actually paid for.

In my family, cooking is a tradition. Everyone has a signature dish. My specialty was burning food. Once, I forgot I was boiling water and scorched the saucepan.

I married a man who wouldn’t know a tong from a tweezer. ‘You’ll make a great cook,’ he encouraged. The words of a desperate man. I hoped the honeymoon would last long enough to survive my first meal. I was counting on love to keep us alive should dinner explode.

Read this article at the Australian Filipina.

This article was first published in the debut issue (September 2006) of the Australian Filipina.