Cam’s Blog

A tribute to my dad on his 48th birthday.

There comes a turning point in every father-daughter relationship when they both have to let go…

I was lying in bed one balmy Saturday morning, deciding whether 9:30 am is way too early to get up and start what promises to be another ludicrously boring day, when I heard a knock on my bedroom door. “Ma’am, gising na daw po kayo sabi ni daddy.” It was our maid, the one who insists on calling my parents, mommy and daddy. I grabbed a robe, brushed my teeth and headed to the kitchen, where I found my dad sitting by the counter, wearing a rather serious expression on his face and NOT reading the papers. Uh-oh. Quick mental rundown of possible screw-ups. Insane credit card bill? Nah. Even more insane phone bill? Nah, not due yet. Guy scrambling out of my room at 4am caught on camera? Not even a remote possibility. OK. Attack Plan: Operation Sunshine. “Good morning Daddyyyy.”, goes my ultra-saccharine-dad-can’t-resist- voice. “Sit down, baby, we need to talk.” Fuck.

“ Anak, …”  Selective inattention meaning anxiety escalating from mild to moderate. “that sometimes I forget you’re already 20….face a lot of responsibilities.” A sigh of relief, just another impromptu lecture on being responsible, anxiety back to mild. I spear a hotdog. “Anak, binilan kita ng kotse. Idedeliver mamaya.” Pupils dilate, fork drops in a clatter. “Whe??Talaga? No joke? Pramis?”, goes my very unsophisticated , kanto-esque blabber. My dad nods grimly. Then it hits me. MY-OWN-CAR. ALL-MINE. I jumped from my seat and do a little victory dance, complete with yodel. My dad closes his eyes, as if to say, “What have I done!” 

It was 4:15pm and I was a bundle of excitement. I have been waiting for, like, 2 hours, not counting my entire lifetime, for the car to arrive in my carefully selected driving outfit which consists of—a basic white tee, cropped shorts, my uh driving shoes(more on that later), Jackie O. shades and a Pucci-esque scarf. Then it happens. A honk. The gates open, revealing, a sleek, shiny silver Honda. It’s a boy! And I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him that he will be named Colin. After Farrell, of bad-boy-sex-tape fame. Then the bearer of such gift emerges from the driver’s seat and hands the key…to my dad, which killed the drama a little. Then my dad handed me the key and said, “Test drive natin. You drive.” Then began the age-old ritual between fathers and daughters—the driving lessons.

Driving 101: Dad’s Rules

1. Respect the car.

No. The car will not be repainted pink while I am still alive. It will not be allowed to overheat. Change oil schedules are to be followed religiously. Car doors will be closed gently. Avoid gasgas at all times.

2. You don’t only learn to drive the car, you learn to wash it.

With your own hands. Not only because you still can’t afford to hire someone else to do it for you but also because it bonds you together. It makes you feel that the responsibility for the car is in your hands, literally and figuratively.

3. Know your car’s A&P.

Yup, anatomy and physiology. Nope, the mirror at the front is not for putting your make-up on nor for hanging love beads. It’s for checking your car’s rear end.

4. Traffic rules are made for you to follow them, not to get around them.
5. When the police officer flags you down, you stop and be courteous.

Not even you honey, Queen Mother of all Malditas, will intimidate him. Accept your mistake and do not, I repeat, DO NOT BRIBE HIM.

6. When I say, “Iwasan mo yung lubak para di masira agad yung kotse.” I also mean, “Iwasan mo din yung batang patawid.” You don’t choose one. Or if you really have to, choose the bata, anak.
7. The people around you are not stupid.

The cars will not suddenly dart from the sides knowing that you have the right of way. The pedestrians will not suddenly cross the street knowing that you will hit them. There is no need for continuous honking.

8. Jackie O. probably never had to drive on her own.

Meaning Jackie O’s shades covering you entire face is not exactly a good idea while driving. Also, while I do not have the slightest idea what driving shoes are, I am 100% sure they are not 3-inch skinny heel peep-toes.

9. The car gets you from point A to point B. It does not “get you off”.

I will explain this in a very discreet manner knowing that you are an extremely perceptive girl. The car will not be parked in dark, secluded places. The seatbelt will remain clasped. The seats will not be reclined. You, the designated driver, will not be found on the backseat.

      10.   Observe driver’s courtesy.

Matuto kang magbigay. Always use the signal lights and give other drivers ample warning. Do not use bright headlights when you have a kasalubong. P.S. Anak, sa tricycle, lagi kang talo. Pagbigyan mo na.

     11.   I did not buy you a car for you to drive away from me forever, although I know that someday you will. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, in fact, I say go! Chase your dreams! But the reason I bought you a car is for you to drive home and visit me and your mom once in a while, when you’re not too busy making your dreams a reality.

There comes a turning point in every father-daughter relationship when they both have to let go. But not today. Hey, it’s only day 1. I probably won’t even get past San Jose. Teach me more, dad.

10 Reasons Why I Should Not Have a Blog:

1. There is absolutely nothing bloggable about my life right now. Since I don’t want to fill my blog with, um, wake up late, sleep through my review class, watch deal or no deal and sleep late, I will probably blog about other people’s lives, otherwise known as chismis. 

2. I tend to babble about things nobody cares about, like Keihl’s lip balm. And flip flops. Really, I can actually devote a whole blog to flip flops. I can just see my tropa rolling their eyes and going, “nyeta ka Camille!”

3. I’m obsessed about grammar, which doesn’t necessarily mean I’m good at it. But the thought of the rest of the world scrutinizing, criticizing my grammar just drives me nuts.

4. Blogging will only foster my self-absorption.

5. In a desperate attempt to put some sense into my blogs, I will probably write about the uber gasgas topic of the nursing board exams. And of course, the ubiquitous issue of retake/ no retake. Being a staunch ally of UST, I will probably launch a million violent reactions with what I will write, resulting in, sob, fewer friendsters.

6. At the risk of sounding like a complete fcuking idiot, it will probably take me forever to learn how to blog. I’m that technologically challenged. Hey, I just learned how to change my friendster wallpaper.

7.  I’m very addict-prone. And I have a list to prove it–flipflops, ex-boyfriends, videoke, Kiehl’s, Nick Hornby, Boy Chili Cheese, yosi, Rockstar Supernova…The last thing I want to do is to update my blog three times a day and spend the rest of the day obsessing about what to blog about next.

8. Blogging might actually be therapeutic. It might bring back to the conscious level all the unwanted/ painful/ forgettable memories I worked so hard to suppress/repress into the unconscious level, which I am so not ready for. I am perfectly comfortable being slightly psychologically unstable, which brings me to my next reason…

9. Freudian slips. I always do when I write.

10. It might take too much of my precious time that should be spent sleeping, staring into space, pretending to study at Starbucks, drinking myself into a stupor, watching trash TV,  and waiting for something remotely meaningful to happen to my life.

1 Reason Why I Should Have A Blog:

1. It is the only thing I can think of that will prevent my brain from going into complete atrophy. I’m in dire need of some mental masturbation! So just bear with me, you got no choice anyway. At least let me give it a shot. Here goes….