Love, presence, and attention

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A few months ago when reading about child rearing and stopping intergenerational trauma, I read a single line that stayed with me, and I ended up writing it down to remember. “Kids just want love, presence, and attention.” It seems simple and straightforward enough, but given that the expectations of parenting, child-rearing, and well, living. have gone up, what can seem simple on paper can be challenging to execute in real life. With social media, work at all hours, and addictions to phones/devices, simply giving your child undivided attention and your “presence” may be a big, big ask.

Kaia, in her increasing verbal and communicative abilities, has made requests for things she wants, and we try to deliver them, within reason. Most Sundays when we have no plans the last several months (and when swimming class has been cancelled given our nearby pool has been closed for maintenance), I’ve taken her up to our building pool so that she can play in the water while wearing her puddle jumper/floatie. She also loves to ask for hugs and cuddles. Last night when I got up at around 11:15pm to wake her for a dream-pee, she actually already woke up to come find me. As soon as I came out of the bedroom, I saw her standing there looking straight at me, as though anticipating my coming out. She held her arms open and ran into me. Then, I picked her up, kissed her, and carried her into her bathroom so she could have her first of her two nightly dream-pee sessions. After she was done, we wiped and flushed, and I carried her back to her bed to tuck her in. She hugged me again and turned to her side to sleep.

I don’t know why, but in that moment, I just felt really loved… and needed. She needed mama’s love, presence, and attention in that moment, and I came to give it to her. I think that if anything, being a parent definitely gives a sense of purpose, of meaning, that nothing else can really compare to it. When you become a parent, you are 100 percent in charge of ensuring that this little blob of a being is taken care of, fed, sheltered, and loved. I love going to sleep at night and waking up in the morning knowing she is excited to see me, wants my kisses and cuddles, and needs me. It’s a really amazing feeling to be both loved and needed. And I love that she shows her affection with zero abandon.

On the flip side, I also feel sad because when I think of a child’s need for “love, attention, and presence,” I don’t think Ed got much of that with either of our parents. Our dad rarely gave us attention or any real presence growing up. Our mom spent more time yelling at us for things we didn’t do properly and definitely hit and smacked Ed way more than he probably needed to be. And with “love,” well, “love” can be shown in a lot of ways, but I also get the feeling that our mom didn’t give as much affection to Ed as she did with me, and our dad, to this day, doesn’t know what the word “affection” means. I’ve come to accept my parents and how they raised me overall; I’ve made peace with the fact that they did some things right, some things okay, and a lot of things wrong. But I don’t think I’ve come to terms with how they were with Ed. Though with this piece, I think the only way I will truly accept it is by trying to give Kaia all the things I think Ed was deprived of. So every day, I try to give Pookster my love, attention, and presence, and hope that it all works out… and that hopefully one day, she will look back at her childhood and think it was a truly happy, loving one, where she was seen, cared for, and deeply loved.

The little train playground and the power of Kaia’s memory

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After a morning of roof time, a flu vaccine, and puddle jumper in the pool “swimming,” Kaia ate lunch, and I asked if she wanted to go to the little train playground in Riverside Park. She said she did, so I gathered her things and brought her to the playground. When we got there, she immediately asked if her friend Camille would be there. I was stunned; she played with a little friend named Camille in early June, which was the last time we came to this playground. I befriended her mom, and we exchanged numbers to potentially arrange future play dates.

I texted Camille’s mom to see if they were in the area, but unfortunately, her baby was napping. So she said they wouldn’t be able to come out until 4:30-5, which was the time I was planning to leave to get dinner ready. I told Kaia that she wouldn’t be able to see Camille today, and though she was sad, she moved onto other play structures. Because of Camille’s mom’s message, we went down closer to Pier I to see what kid festivities there were, and lucky for Kaia, there were two bouncy slides and a bouncy castle waiting for her! Nothing gets her more excited than bouncy structures! When I found out that it was free entry and not a private event (just to be sure), she immediately took off her sandals, handed them to me, and got in line for the castle. She ended up spending more time on the bouncy slide since it didn’t have a time limit like the castle. It was a far more eventful afternoon for Kaia at Riverside Park than I had originally imagined!

I was happy to let Kaia take part in all the kid fun, but I think what really shocked me was the power of her memory at such a young age. We’re already halfway through September, yet she still remembered the name of a kid she met and played with just once over three months ago at this same playground. Every time I hear people talk about toddlers as though they’re unintelligent, babbling, nonsensical beings, I always feel a bit defensive inside because I know exactly how quickly they learn and absorb new things, and how intelligent they really are — all by observing and interacting with my own Kaia Pookie.

Body weight, fat, muscle, and overall health tracking

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Ever since I weaned off breastfeeding over 2.5 years ago now, I still cannot get rid of this excess lower belly fat. It’s annoying, and though no one else really notices it, I always notice and feel it when I put on clothes and when I look at myself in the mirror. I’ve never thought of myself as a vain person, but I really, really dislike this. It doesn’t seem to matter how much I exercise or what ab exercises I do (YES, I am aware spot training doesn’t work), but it won’t go away. I was telling a friend of mine about this who has had two kids, and she feels the same and says she has the same issue. She also said she wonders that given we both exercise a lot and eat decently, that maybe it could just be excess skin?

Haha, there’s zero chance that is the case. If only it was excess skin and not real FAT.

I was chatting with my other friend about this, who has taken pretty much every health test written about that’s not covered by American health insurance, things like the DEXA scan, VO2 Max test, amongst other heart/oxygen/blood sugar related tests. She was urging me to get a DEXA scan to see what my muscle/fat ratio was, as that could help me pinpoint what I needed to change about my diet and/or exercise regimen. Although the DEXA scan does intrigue me, the idea of drastically changing my diet did not sit well with me. I eat mostly whole foods 99 percent of the time. I am intentional about eating lots of fruit, vegetables, and varying up my protein sources; I try to make some type of plant-based protein (beans!) every week. I almost never eat ultra highly processed, packaged foods. I barely even drink alcohol anymore (excess sugar/carbs that I don’t absolutely love). I told all this to my friend. But she chuckled and said, “Yeah, but it’s hard for a foodie to make big changes to their diet. I mean, CARBS. We love our carbs.”

We were just wandering and eating through Arthur Avenue in the Bronx today. I picked up two pounds of fresh pasta noodles, a box of pumpkin-porcini ravioli (frozen for future), a bag of dried Malfalda pasta imported from Italy. I got a pound of fresh buccacini mozzarella from my beloved Casa Del Mozzarella. We also got two loaves of bread from our favorite Italian bakery up there, Macedonia Bakery, plus two pounds of Italian sausage from our favorite meat shop. And I thought about all these carbs (evil foods!) I brought back and grumbled; I can’t not have these delicious things in my life! You can’t take them away from me! You cannot!

My friend reminded me that we’re nearing 40… me sooner than her by two years. “Things have to change, even if just a little.”

Cooking for my new mama friend in Staten Island

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When my best friend told me she was pregnant earlier this year, I told her that after she gave birth, I would come over to cook for her. She expressed interest in all the Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) foods, the Chinese postpartum confinement meals, and I immediately got excited, thinking that I could come cook these things for her. When I gave birth and was recovering, I didn’t have anyone come cook for me. At that time, there was another COVID outbreak. My mom didn’t want to travel, and my aunt apologized to me multiple times for not being there to take care of me and cook for me, even though she’s not even my mother and not even my blood-related aunt. What my aunt did do, which I am still grateful for to this day, is she went out and bought and labeled all the ingredients for the Chinese chicken wine soup (ji jiu tang) she would have made for me. She bought the ingredients in quantities so large that I’d just run out of most of them just recently. She sent me instructions for how to make the soup. And since then I’ve made it a number of times and love it; it doesn’t even matter if you’re recovering from childbirth or not, but the soup itself is so soothing and comforting. It’s like a Chinese hug in a bowl. As I made this soup numerous times, I thought to myself — I’d love to make these types of dishes for a postpartum friend so that they can also have a hug in multiple bowls.

So, after taking a regular subway train, an express bus (for the first time ever — and I also just learned it’s not covered by my OMNY card; I had to pay $7 extra just to board this damn bus!), and then a quick $15 Uber ride, I was at my friend’s house in Staten Island. I had prepped a number of things leading up to this day to streamline cooking at her place. In her kitchen, I quickly made myself at home and made these dishes: multigrain congee (purple long grain rice, brown long grain jasmine, white short grain, and yellow mung beans, sweetened with a hint of rock sugar and flavored with a touch of ginger), pork rib and fig soup, braised “eggs hugging tofu” (jidan bao doufu), dang shen herbal tea, and hawthorn berry, longan, and cinnamon herbal tea. Yesterday night, I made stir-fried water spinach/morning glory/ong choy/kong xin cai with shrimp paste and packed it in a glassware. I also made a batch of lactation cookies with galactagogues; after my own breastfeeding journey, I honestly don’t believe in “galactagogues,” but who is going to say no to cookies?! I used the same recipe I used for myself that has oats, flaxseed, butter, coconut oil, and 70 percent Valrhona chocolate feves; this time I didn’t have brewer’s yeast, but I did throw in a handful of sliced almonds for extra protein. In Chinatown, I also picked up some “spongies,” or “paper wrapped sponge cakes” for her since I know she likes them.

It was a pain in the ass to get to her house in Staten Island to say the least. Her fiance had the stomach flu, so he wasn’t able to pick me up or drop me off at the ferry. I ended up having to take the express bus (on a tight schedule) and two Ubers (more money than I would have liked) to get there. I was also carrying quite a load of things on my back. So by the end of the day, I was pretty tired, and my shoulders were sore and tight from the weight I carried. All of that was annoying, but in the end, I didn’t mind it because it meant I got to cook for my friend. And I find meaning in helping her, in cooking for her, in nourishing her, and in making sure she feels loved and supported. There is meaning and purpose in doing all that to me. And while most people would never do something like this for a friend, even a close one, or someone who was not blood related, I think that most people in general want to do the easiest, laziest thing just to have more time for themselves to do things that are completely and utterly meaningless. It is so easy to send a baby gift, to attend a baby shower (it’s a party where you get free food!), to even send a DoorDash gift card or pay for someone else’s food delivery. All of the above acts, other than attending a shower, can be achieved in minutes and with just a few clicks of a keyboard or taps on your smartphone. What is not easy is traveling to your friend, who lives over 1.5 hours away from you by public transport, cleaning her kitchen, making her several home-cooked dishes and teas that you know she will like and savor, and cleaning all that up so she doesn’t have a mess left behind.

I think we really show the people in our lives we genuinely love and care for them when we do the things that are not easy, that actually require real thought, time, and effort. I was chatting with some colleagues about doing this for my friend this week, and they all commented and expressed how amazed they were that I’d do something like this; it’s odd to me because most of them know I love cooking, so it’s really not a strenuous effort on my part. I kind of shrugged. For me, as I stated above, this is meaningful. I want to spend time doing things that make me feel like I’m fulfilling a purpose and giving my life meaning. What do they spend time on that they find meaningful?

Kaia serves mama “breakfast” in bed

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A friend of mine recently asked me what I loved most about motherhood. It’s hard to sum up in a sentence or two, but if I had to try, I’d say that I love watching Kaia grow and develop the most. I love seeing how she learns things and applies them, and I love seeing how she tries to surprise and impress us. This morning, she woke up at around 6:15am and came to our bed with all her favorites in tow, like her stuffed animals and toys-of-the-moment. When I thought she was going to lie down and cuddle with me, that only lasted for a few minutes. Then, she got restless and went off to retrieve some more toys. Next thing I knew, I was turning off my phone alarm on my bedside table, and there was a little play plate with lobster, cake, and a cupcake waiting for me!

“Mama, here,” Pookster said to me, pointing at the plate. “This is breakfast for mummy!”

I was so touched. She “prepared” me a plate of breakfast and wanted me to “eat it.” I gave her a big hug and thanked her, then I pretended to eat the breakfast before whisking her off to choose her clothes for the day and feeding her a real breakfast of whole wheat-oat-yogurt pancakes. She whined and whinged because I wouldn’t give her “time to play” before breakfast, but well, we had to power through the morning so that Chris could take her to school on time. And so the morning went.

I just love these little moments so much. They last for just minutes, if not seconds, but I always want to bottle them up and put them on a pedestal and remember them forever. I try to savor it as much as I can… until the next revolt or toddler tantrum erupts!

World Suicide Prevention Day

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Today is World Suicide Prevention Day. The international theme of World Suicide Prevention Day (WSPD) on 10 September 2025 is ‘Changing the Narrative on Suicide.’ Suicide is a serious global public health issue, with over 700,000 lives lost each year. Its impact extends far beyond the individual, deeply affecting families, communities, and societies at large.This year’s theme calls on people, communities, organizations, and government to foster open, honest conversations about suicide. By initiating these vital conversations, we can break down barriers, raise awareness, and create better cultures of understanding and support.

This is the 12th year that I’ll be participating in the AFSP Out of the Darkness Walk in New York City and fundraising to help stop suicide. It’s also been a painful year for donations. The donations have been slower to come in. When you’ve been doing the same fundraiser tirelessly year after year for over a decade, people get fatigued by hearing your story. They are naturally less enthusiastic to support you. Their time is limited, and with inflation and tariffs, their dollars don’t go as far as they once did. Hustling this fundraiser, for those reasons, is always awkward. But I keep doing this because I don’t know how else to keep Ed’s memory alive. As each year passes, it’s like his memory becomes more and more distant to me. The other night when I was thinking about him, I realized I had to think for much longer just to remember the sound of his voice. And that made me realize he hasn’t visited me in my dreams in ages for me to hear him speak. I wonder when he will come pay me a visit again. It’s been far too long.

These are the days I think of him even more: his birthday, his date of death, Thanksgiving and Christmas (because he always loved those holidays), and now World Suicide Prevention Day. I hope all this fundraising is doing some good, if even just a little. Sometimes, it’s hard to see what I am really trying to achieve by doing all this. But alas, I keep going.

Phone calls from PoPo and GongGong

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Since we got back from San Francisco, my mom has been calling occasionally to see how Kaia is adjusting to preschool and being back in New York. Given that Kaia is turning four in just a few months, she’s definitely far more aware of her surroundings and what’s being said around her now than she was one year ago. When people call, she always asks who it is. And now, she’s been requesting that we call PoPo and GongGong. She wants to “see” them via the video chat, but she doesn’t quite understand (or accept) that they refuse to do video calls with us, and that with them, it will always be voice-only.

The other day, my mom called, and Kaia asked if it was PoPo (she could probably recognize her voice through my phone) and asked if she could talk to her. She started waving and saying hi to PoPo. When PoPo asked her if she enjoyed San Francisco, Kaia responded, “Yes.” When PoPo said to Kaia, “Kaia, I love you!” Kaia even responded with, “I love you, too.” Even though I obviously have a complicated relationship with my parents, this still made me feel really happy inside to hear them communicating back and forth like this over the phone. I smiled at Kaia talking to her PoPo and then started laughing when Kaia replied “No!” when PoPo asked if she could come to New York and visit her.

Right after we got off with my mom, out of nowhere, my dad called. My dad hasn’t called me in three years since that difficult email exchange we had in August 2022, when he lashed out at me over something completely innocuous and lost his temper in a big way. He asked if Kaia was there, and then he actually asked to talk to her! I put my dad on speaker phone, and he asked Kaia how school was, if she was going home, and then called her a “good girl.” Kaia kept yelling excitedly, “GongGong! GongGong!” Then, he turned back to me and said it was time to go, and to take care. Then, we said bye and hung up.

I don’t think I will ever have an uncomplicated, 100 percent peaceful relationship with my parents where we fully understand or even accept each other. But after all that’s happened in our life together, I know deep in my soul that they tried the best that they could… even if their best was not always great with Ed or me. I know they love me and want what’s best for me. At the end of the day, I have an infinitely better and more privileged life than they could have ever even imagined for themselves. And a lot of it is because of them and what they’ve given me. And well, even if our relationship continues to be complicated, annoying, and absolutely infuriating, I do want them to have a relationship with Kaia, their only grandchild, and I want Kaia to know them and love them. So, these brief little phone exchanges have had a weird way of almost feeling like bits of healing for me.

I hope Ed is able to see all of this and smile down at us. I only wish he could also interact with Kaia directly in the flesh now.

Ube pandesal at home does not resemble ube pandesal at the Filipino bakery

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Earlier this year on a Saturday, we went back to my original New York City neighborhood, Elmhurst, and stopped by a Filipino bakery called Kape’t Torta. They opened in 2019 just blocks away from my old apartment on Queens Boulevard. They’re known for their ube desserts, such as their ube layered cake, ube custard layered cake, and of course, their halo halo crushed ice drink/dessert. We picked up a couple of their ube pandesals, which I had heard of before but had never tried. I’d previously made a plain sweet pandesal bread roll before, but I’d never had an ube one. This was was extremely electric purple with a light, melty cheese filling on the inside. I figured I could try to make it at home at some point, so I made a mental note of it and moved on.

In May, I stopped by a Filipino grocery store in Staten Island, and I finally stumbled across 100 percent dehydrated ube powder imported from the Philippines – no artificial coloring, flavorings, or preservatives. I knew this was my opportunity to finally make ube pandesal, so I bought the packet.

Fast forward to this last week, and I was testing to see if a packet of dry active yeast was still active. Luckily for me, it was, so I decided this was my week to finally try making ube pandesal. I picked a random food blog and used their recipe, but unfortunately, my result was nothing like the photo. For one, the recipe blogger says that ube extract is “optional,” but when I see the color of my dough, it’s clear that the ube extract was needed for that electric purple color. My pale purple tinted dough didn’t come close to the blog pictures or the ube pandesal from Kape’t Torta. Plus, when I did some searches, I found out that ube extract did not just have artificial coloring, but it also had an enhanced “ube” flavor from artificial and “natural” flavorings, meaning that it wasn’t 100 pure, natural ube flavor. What I perceive to be “ube flavor” may in reality just be a bunch of artificial flavors made up in a lab. Then, my dough was much softer and wetter than it was supposed to be, so to compensate, I had to keep adding flour until the dough was kneadable. This resulted to a watering down of the overall ube and sweet flavor. So in the end, while the rise of the dough was beautiful, and while the pandesal rolls were light, fluffy, airy, and spongy, they did not have a bright electric purple color. They were also not filled with kaya jam as I originally hoped because the dough was just too soft to withstand a filling.

I’ve been cutting the ube “pandesal” rolls in half this week, warming them up lightly, and then filling them with kaya jam. I have grown to like these slightly yeasted, spongy glorified and enriched “pandesal” bread rolls that are lightly tinted purple. They are definitely light, airy, and fluffy. But they lack that “ube” flavor I know… from that ube extract that I never realized was always used. I thought about it and realized that what I romanticize as authentic “ube pandesal” may actually be authentic with dehydrated ube powder AND ube extract. The artificial coloring and flavoring from ube extract may be artificial, but that’s probably what contributes to the “authenticity” of these types of rolls in the Philippines. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing — it just is what it is.

First day of Pre-K was what I expected: lots of “big feelings”

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Thursday was Kaia’s first official day of Pre-K, aka 4K, aka preschool. She’s attending the same school as she did 3K, so same commute down to Chinatown, same building, same set of faces. But this time, she’s in a different classroom with different teachers and maybe a few different students. The enrollment is pretty low right now: we were told there are only six kids in her class, three returning (so she has two familiar faces with her right now). The other three kids are TBD. On the first day of school, it was just the three kids from last year’s 3K class, so a tiny group.

I picked her up at around 5 as I always do. Kaia was pretty quiet. She walked and willingy held my hand, but as per usual, she didn’t really want to talk much. She demanded treats (she got two mandarins). And on the way home, I had this prediction in my head that she’d probably have a difficult evening. And I was exactly right.

Dinner was painful. She whined and whinged through the entire meal. She expressed she didn’t understand why some kids were no longer in her class or school anymore (some had left for other, closer schools; others were moving up to kindergarten at elementary schools). She didn’t know why she wasn’t in her same classroom with the same teachers as last year (different class, higher level up, so different teachers). We tried to explain to her, but to no avail. She cried and was really upset. Her shower wasn’t any better; she cried almost the whole way through it. Drying her off, applying lotion, and blow drying her hair felt like an Olympic feat. I was mentally exhausted by the end of it. Before it was time for Chris to read to her and put her to bed, I just held her for a little bit. My poor, sweet baby: she’s just so confused about all these things all at the same time.

I figured it would take time to adjust to all the changes. This is a lot to handle for her age — so many changes all at once, and so many big feelings for such little people. But that’s what getting older is all about: handling lots of change all the time and figuring out how to manage your emotions all at the same time. People my age and older are still trying to manage all that without losing their crap.

Kaia tries to invade our bed and bring all her faves with her

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Co-sleeping is a practice that is not embraced or encouraged in the West, but in the East, it’s quite common for parents to share their beds with their kids as old as 10 to 12 years old depending on the country and region. Kaia is like any other child: she wants to feel safe and loved, and she feels that way when she is close to her parents. So it’s been a mini struggle on and off since she turned 1 to get her to sleep in her own crib, then bed. She’s now sleeping on her own with a little fighting here and there, but for the most part, she sleeps almost the entire night in her own floor bed. Sometime between 5-7am, she will wander over to our bed. And along with her, she will drag her favorite stuffed animal(s) of the moment, a random book, a blanket, her waterproof blanket (that we keep under her in case she wets the bed).

Although I do want her to sleep on her own, I would be lying if I said that I did not think this was cute, or if I said I genuinely did not like it. It’s her way of showing that she needs us, that she wants to be close to us, and who can fault that in a young child of her age? When it’s between 6-7am, I always like it when she comes over with all her stuff, taps my back, face, or head, and says, “Mama! Mama! I wanna come!” And then I help her onto the bed, under our covers, and she gets in. Then, if I don’t wrap my arms around her, she demands, “Mama, cuddle! Cuddle!” And then I hold her, and she drifts off into a little sleep before it’s time to start our day.

“Keep her out of my bed,” Chris always warns before he falls asleep for the night. For the most part, we do. But sometimes, I don’t really mind it when she comes earlier than 6am. It’s a way to show she loves us and needs us. And I’ll savor these sweet moments as long as I can.