Nevergirl’s

I think I’m beginning to like solitude.

Here, the lazy whirring of fans and the dull purring of the AC are broken only by the sounds of house chores – scrubbing from the bedrooms, the screeching of furniture being moved, the tink and clink of dishes being washed. Here, the help putters in the kitchen creating her own medley of sounds: washing, pounding, chopping, frying, sauteing, boiling. Here, the little girl’s and the husband’s are two footfalls I know; and I listen for the patter of one at 9 in the morning and the skips and hops of the other 30 minutes before lunchtime. Here, too, life passes by idly, with the languor of a daydream.

There is a quality to these slow but sound-filled days that’s both depressing and intoxicating. While the absence of company is making me contemplate talking to pillows, it’s also making me see little pockets of joy everywhere and in the mundane — sitting idly while waiting for the sun to set, seeing a movie I never had time to watch before, inadvertently hearing snippets of funny conversations that float up from the houses next door, sipping hot chocolate and eating casava cake in the afternoons, hand-holding while glued to National Geo’s The Perfect Weapon, and sometimes hearing the wind pass through the leaves of trees – pass through and rustle like a lullaby.

Yes, I think I’m beginning to like solitude. Luxury bed linens too, but that’s another story entirely.

Today, I caught a terrible cold – the kind that feels like my brain would leak out of my nose. I curled up in bed (nothing new there), asked the yaya for piping hot chokolate, and begged the little girl to talk in whispers. While she doesn’t talk shrill, she talks loud and often; and each time she opens her mouth, I feel like she’s driving a wedge into my brain.

I slept until noon, had lunch brought up to the room, and slept again until the hub woke me up so we could go to the doctor’s. The little girl tagged along, and this is why I now have a terrible headache. She just wouldn’t stop talking!

“My mouth will not listen,” she told the doctor when asked why she couldn’t keep still. “My mouth wants to talk and talk and talk..”

“You could close your mouth.”

“Look o! I close my mouth like this! My mom tells me to close my mouth because she has headache. But my mouth will not listen. It’s bad. It wants to saba so it opens again.”

That is how mouths operate, according to Alex, and that is how she talks – in pidgin English liberally sprinkled with Bisaya. Think, “Ate Adel, can you tusok this please?” and “You said you will kuyog me, rember?”

Sometimes, I can’t tell which is worse: coming down with flu or staying in the same bedroom as a four-year-old with a mouth wholly made up of involuntary muscles.

Yaya: Hala! Si Alex kay kuyaw kaayo! (Alex is amazing!)

Chin: How’s that?

Yaya: Perfect tanan niya test. Usa ra dili, pero usa ra pud ang sayup. (She got a perfect score in all exams, except for one, and she got only one question wrong in that one.)

Chin: Are we talking of the periodicals here? Good job!

The hub: (goes over five test papers and raises an eyebrow) Alex, come here. Why did you get this one wrong? You know the answer to this!

That is how you foster a complex in kids. Needless to say, I gave the husband a good kick under the table and a piece of my mind.

I don’t want a brilliant daughter. I’d rather have a well-adjusted child.

Some things change, some things don’t. The bun will turn 33 weeks tomorrow – that’s certainly one change, but I’m still in love with ads and that’s one thing that hasn’t changed a bit.

It’s odd. Food’s supposed to make the pregnant woman’s world go round. Not mine, however. Mine evolves around ads – the short and the lengthy, the incredible and the shoddy. “I don’t want a copywriter for a daughter,” the hub tsk-tsked after I told him for the umpteenth time just how much I adore Discovery Channel’s mini-musicale.

I didn’t write about this – because I’ve been one lazy blimp and all I do is sleep, read, and watch TV all day – but really, each time I hear them sing “I love tornadoes, I love Egyptian kings,” I get goosebumps. Whoever wrote those lyrics and thought of the concept is one clever, clever cookie.

Here’s one more ad with a serious dose of awesome. It’s not commercial, but it’s pure genius. Just imagine the powerful impact a seemingly disjointed series of words make when they’re lumped together. Girl. Cow. Revolution.

I wish they would make ads like this here.

Oh, and I got this ad here. The guy dispenses fashion advice and bless his heart, took the time to transcribe the texts.

Yes, I wish they would make ads like that here; although, if they do, I’ve no doubt they’re going to use visuals rather than words. Hence, they would cast Judy Ann as the girl with the cow. Not a bad choice. Judy Ann is now glamorous enough to make the beautiful people pay attention, but she’s still so very much masa everyone would find it plausible that not only would she own a cow, she could hoist it onto her shoulders, too, if she really has to.