Kadiri to Death
I was brought up with this sort-of "kadiri" mentality. Sort of. My parents always wiped their utensils and dinner plates in restaurants (even if it looked impolite to do so); my mother forbade me from holding onto the rubber escalator watchamacallits; I was discouraged from sitting on my bed with "outside" clothes (clothes worn outdoors). Don't you even dare touch the sink faucets and restroom doorknobs after washing your hands!

Even among ourselves in the family, we were ... gosh, I can't find the word! Neurotic? We each had our own set of utensils (with engraved names), own set of dinnerware, and own drinking glasses. When I was older, one of the maids sometimes inadvertently mixed up my utensils with my brother's, and vice-versa, and I would jokingly reprimand her, saying I might catch my brother's AIDS!

A few years ago, I found out that one of my male cousins, Joey, is a hundred times worse than any of us -- he always sprays Lysol on the toilet, everytime he passes the bathroom. He doesn't eat chicken, unless he knows it's from Magnolia. He was once rushed to the hospital, but despite the "state of emergency", he still managed to gargle with Bactidol mouthwash. My Joey and I couldn't stop laughing as my cousin's wife, Chay, shared these stories with a small audience. Joey Rivera (my cousin) is so "maselan"/delicate!

Our Saatchi & Saatchi office in Manila used to have a no-eating policy. Changes in the cafeteria upstairs forced Saatchi management to assign certain areas in our three-floor office as "make-shift pantries". When our department had cakes and other pastries, the secretaries would slice them using small steak knives. One secretary thoughtfully brought pastries to my cubicle ... and the goodies were placed on copy paper. As Phoebe Buffay cried out, "My eyes, my eyes!".

After my resignation from the company, I went to Market! Market! and bought the following for my department -- food cover, cake slicer, ice cream scooper, and serving spoons. As my father would always say, "use the right tools".

Fast forward to present-day USA. Maaarte ang Amerikano sa pagkain -- tinatapon lang nila ito ng ganun-ganon lamang pagkalipas ng ilang oras o araw. Kesyo hindi na raw sariwa ang gulay, o baka lamog na ang tinapay, etc. Maraming kaartehan (at, ang kasabihan, "kasalanan sa Diyos") pagdating sa pagkain. Pero hanggang dun lang ang kanilang kaartehan at kalinisan -- hanggang pagkain lang.

Minsan, makikita mo ang aking mga kasamahang babae sa opisina na naglalakad sa carpetted floor na nakayapak (I really don't know what this word means, but I can infer that its translation is "barefoot") lang. Maarte sa pagkain, pero umaapak kahit saan. Sa mga pahayagang pang-aliw o chismis (entertainment or gossip magazines), nakakita ako ng isang litrato ng artistang babae na naglalakad ng nakayapak sa kalye o sidewalk. Kadiri diba??? Oo nga at masarap din maglakad ng nakayapak paminsan-minsan, pero siguro naman, tama lang na piliin natin ang lugar kung saan natin gagawin ito -- sa ating mga tahanan.

Let's go back to restroom "kadiri" mentality. Never will I let my butt touch the toilet seat, not even with those seat liners that they have here. I just squat like there's an invisible seat that's inches above the toilet seat. But that's not my story. Before washing my hands, I always make sure I take out some paper towels so that I don't have to touch that rolling knob or thingy again. 9 out of 10 times, meron at merong kukuha ng paper towel na ihinila ko, at hindi man kukuha ng kapalit para sa akin. Gusto kong sumigaw, "Hoy, hindi ito hotel, at hindi ako restroom attendant. Huwag kang boba -- palitan mo yung paper towel na ihinila ko." Ay, mga tanga talaga (pardon my French). Isang beses ko lamang na-experience na merong kumuha ng kapalit na paper towel para sa akin, and guess what -- she was a young girl of about 9 years! She was the only one with brains.

Another kadiri restroom moment (but nothing graphic)? Girls pee, wash their hands slightly and quickly with WATER ONLY (for about 2 seconds), then leave the restroom. Eek, kadiri -- ano 'yun?!

The GodFather
My husband and I hear Mass at nearby St. Francis Xavier Church (as some people pronounce it, "X-a-vyer"). Fr. Russell Roide, S.J., was the pastor there for many years. A few weeks ago, he was reassigned to California.

Fr. Roide is a tall White man with grey hair. He is popular with the parishioners. How popular is he? You have to queue to chat with him after Mass. Kinda reminds me of Marlon Brando in "The Godfather".

A week before my two ultrasound (sonomammogram and transvaginal) checks and two weeks before my laparoscopy procedure, I decided to ask for Fr. Roide's blessing and prayers after Mass. He was standing outside the church, conversing with only two parishioners. Not wanting to be caught in an awkward position of waiting for their conversation to end, I lingered, then walked away. I changed my mind just a few meters away and went back, determined to seek his blessing. By then, the line was already long! Wow, that was fast. I stood at the very end. A minute later, there were several people behind me. I must have waited for about 10 minutes before it was my turn to have a quick chat with him.

I was amazed with Fr. Roide's popularity. I told my husband about it (he was unable to hear Mass due to body aches ... old age, man!) and said that Fr. Roide had a lot of fans. I said it was so funny because people were actually patiently waiting in line, just to have a word with him. "Groupies, and you're one of them", Joey said, knowing how fond I was of Fr. Roide, too.

Of course, we heard Mass again the following Sunday. Joey saw for himself that what I said was true -- the line of people wanting to speak with Fr. Roide went on and on ...

On July 23, Joey and I shook hands with Fr. Roide after his final Mass at St. Francis Xavier Church. He thanked us for the goodbye card we sent earlier, and for the lovely photo we shared. Joey was very much impressed with his charm, personal touch, and sharp memory -- he knew that we sent him a card, not a letter; and that our photo was enclosed. No wonder everybody liked Fr. Roide!