Mrs Rosero. Regina Rosero. Regina Layug-Rosero. I suppose this change has been en route for the past 6 years, but it’s still a little jarring to see sometimes.

A few months ago I received an invitation to a press conference, something I had to attend for work. The letter was addressed to “Ms. Regina Rosero”.

Back in June, I requested copies of our marriage certificate from the NSO. Naturally, I used my maiden name when I filed the request. A week later, Air 21 delivered the documents to our house. The village guard called our house and asked, “Meron po ba diya’ng Layug, Regina? May Air 21 delivery po kasi,” said Bernadette, our security guard.

“Ako yun,” I said, laughing. It’s funny, but sometimes it stings a little that there are people who will not know me by my own name.

It isn’t a new story, or a new feeling. For decades women have had to struggle with the question, “Why must I take my husband’s name?” If it isn’t your husband’s, it’s your father’s name. What name is really your own anyway?

For decades, women have tried to solve the problem. Many have accepted their multiple roles as independent women, as wives, as daughters, as sisters, as mothers, and they have chosen to embody this multitude of roles by hyphenating. Many are hyphenated women.

I think I first encountered the term in college. As a Literature major, I studied various texts about identity, gender, culture, and so on, and you can’t read all that literature without having to read all sorts of critique and analysis and crap. I never enjoyed literary theory, but (naturally, I suppose) I enjoyed women’s studies. Women’s identities as they transformed from one form to another, as they shifted from daughter and sister to lover and wife, then to the all-encompassing role of mother. But though we grow and move from one role to another, we never really shed our old skins. They cling to us throughout our lives, and that multiplicity is encompassed in that tiny hyphen, the one that bridges our old identities with the new.

I’ve been surrounded by hyphenated women all my life. My mother, also a writer, raised me in the company of her friends from college, collectively known as the Sisterhood. The Sisterhood is composed of writers, strong women who had strong feelings and opinions about women’s lib, women’s health, women’s rights, everything women. And three of them who were married chose to hyphenate their professional names, such that all who read their work knew that they had identities and personalities of their own before they married.

So it’s funny how, eight years after college, here I am, a Hyphenated Woman myself.

There’s no point in hyphenating my last name legally, as that will just cause confusion when my given name is already so kilometric. So I decided to change my name in all my legal papers to my married name.

As I consulted various friends, it’s funny how so many of them said, “But you don’t have to do that.” It seems more of my friends are pro-Independent Woman than I realized. And I had to say to them, “I know, but when we have kids they’ll carry my husband’s name anyway, and if I use a different name there will be confusion legally, and I’d like to avoid all that.”

But I did consider keeping my name. For a brief moment before I applied for a new postal ID, I saw my name written out with my husband’s last name, and there was a little stab at my heart. Is this how it feels to shed an old life and start anew? How many other women have felt this sense of loss as they bid their father’s name goodbye and accepted their husband’s as their own? I am not the first, and I certainly won’t be the last, but that didn’t make the shock of my new name any less startling.

Then I went ahead and filled up the form, and presented the marriage certificate, and the clerk at the post office banged away at her typewriter, the typebar emphatically spelling out my new name: Regina Teresita Magdalena L. Rosero. A week later I claimed my new ID, and I stared at it with fascination as I contemplated my new identity. I joked to my neighbor and college friend, Mary Ann, “Look, I no longer exist! A new person has taken my place!”

Though legally Regina Teresita Magdalena Layug no longer exists, all my bylines now use Regina Layug-Rosero. I insist on this, because despite my hullaballoo about shedding the identity I had established over my 28 years, I am actually proud to carry my husband’s name. Like many women before me, I embrace my new identity, my new family, my new name. My in-laws are wonderful people who accept me not as a daughter-in-law, but as their own daughter, and my brother-in-law is as close to me as my own blood brother. No longer am I simply the daughter of Marian and Fer, but also of Baby and Boy; no longer am I simply sister to Victor, but now also to Ron; no longer am I simply myself, Regina, but now I am also wife to Oneal.

I’m proud to be this new person, even if it does still take some getting used to. But it’s all me.

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You know that point where you’re about ready to give up? It could be that horrendous term paper, a 10-kilometer marathon, or a really big fight. It seems there are so many odds against you, and it would be so much easier to give up. I felt like that when I was trying to fix my birth certificate.

As you can see, the list of requirements is about a mile long. But I figured, it’s just tedious, but I can do it. Maybe I could spend a day or two gathering all the documents, and be ready for the initial assessment and interview the next day, or even Monday. A terse but helpful lady at the LCRO Table of Requirements pointed me to step 1, where I could fill up a form to request for the latest certified/local copies of Mom’s and my birth certificates. I filled up and submitted the request, and they told me to go to the next room and wait.

Apparently, all the miserable people, ehem, I mean, applicants, had to wait in this large room, and your name would be called over a sound system. Your request would be handed to you, and you would be directed to an available City Hall employee at the counters, who would tell you what to do next.

I made a mistake with my first attempt, and wrote my mother’s full name on the request for my birth certificate. Since the error was with her name to begin with, naturally they didn’t find the original/local copy of my birth certificate. It was at this point that the clerk told me I would have to go to the hospital where I was born, and ask the clerk there for a copy. I nodded politely, thanked her, and left the waiting room. Then I walked to the corridor near the LCRO Table of Requirements, called Oneal, and promptly started crying. “They couldn’t find my birth certificate *sniff* and now they said *heave* I have to go *sniff sniff* to Mary Chiles! *cough* How the hell am I supposed to know where the hell that is! *sob* I don’t know how to get there!” Around me, other applicants were walking, staring, looking at their own impossible lists.

Oneal did his best to reassure me that we could find the hospital, things would work out, we would find all the documents and make the correction and it would be fine. I’m sure he felt very helpless, sitting in the office while I was in the dusty, decrepit concrete jungle that is Manila City Hall, battling my way through the red tape. Oh hunny, I’m so sorry to have stressed you out.

When I put the phone down, I realized my mistake, and decided to try again. I got two more forms, and filled up one with all the same information that was on my actual birth certificate. I also filled out a request for a copy of my mom’s birth certificate. But by this time it was almost noon, and I feared I would have to wait an hour or two while the city hall employees went on their lunch breaks. To my surprise, a very enthusiastic man at the waiting room counters explained over the PA system that they would not close for lunch, that they would have lunch in shifts, and that they would still process the requests. Despite the fact that the city hall manangs were grumpy, it cheered me up a tad that this nice old man was trying to keep our hopes up.

Eventually my turn came, and thankfully it was a success. Another terse lady called me over, made some notes on my request forms, and told me to walk to the next building, pay the fees, then come back and submit the payment stub at Step 2. With a lighter heart I walked out of the LCRO (damn accursed place) and towards the Taxpayers Lounge. I was but a few feet from the lounge when I was accosted by a nice man, who asked where I was going.

I thought he was a city hall employee, since the other hallways seemed to have other staff whose sole duty was to direct people towards the right office. I said I was going to the Taxpayers Lounge, and he asked what my problem was. So I explained that I was having my birth certificate corrected, and he exclaimed that it was a long and arduous process that would take at least six months. But not to worry! He had a solution, and he beckoned me to follow him to his friend on the second floor, and the problem would be fixed in a week.

Gladly I went with him, complaining about the bureaucracy as we climbed the stairs. On the second floor he led me down the row of councilors’ offices. We stopped outside one such office, and he introduced me to this fat, middle-aged woman sitting by the window, talking to another fat, middle-aged woman. He explained my problem, and told me that this woman (I forget her name) could help me. So I sat beside her, and explained my problem in greater detail. I thought we would enter the councilor’s office and talk there, but the woman seemed perfectly content to hold office by the window. She said if I went the LCRO way, it would take months and months, plus a court hearing, to change my birth certificate.  If I did it her way, she would just write out a court order stating that I had submitted the petition for the correction three months ago, and my birth certificate was now fixed. It would only take a week, and P2,500.

It was while she was explaining the process to me that I noticed she wore no ID, and seemed to have worn a groove in the seat because she was just so comfortable there. She must have noticed the decline in my enthusiasm, because she said it could also be done for only P1,000, but it would take two weeks. It was at this point that I realized: I was actually talking to a fixer! Preparing for this wedding has certainly opened doors to totally new experiences.

When she was done explaining, I said I would have to think about it. She gave me her number, which I dutifully wrote down, and I said I would call her once I had the money. As soon as I was out of her line of sight, I ran downstairs and made a beeline for the Taxpayers Lounge, eager to avoid any other nice old men who would try to offer me the easy way out. Once I was in line to pay the fee, I called Oneal and told him about the whole debacle.

When I got off the phone with Oneal, the pregnant woman in front of me told me she had actually done exactly as Fixer Woman had said, but through a lawyer or something who actually worked at City Hall and was a family friend, someone her family knew and trusted. I think I just politely said I didn’t know anyone at city hall, so I’d just have to stick it out. I paid my fees (which took a comedic turn, because they opened up a Senior Citizen’s lane and one old lady protested when the clerk called her “lola”), went back to the LCRO, submitted my payment stub, and was told to come back on Monday to claim the birth certificates.

By this time it was past 1:00, and there was nothing more I could do at City Hall. I trudged to SM Manila, found myself some meager lunch fare–which I couldn’t even finish–and called Oneal for another update. Notice, by the way, that the day had been spent trying to obtain only items 1 and 2 from Manila City Hall. The other seven items are another story. Abangan!

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Even when we knew what we had to do, things seemed hopeless.

The confirmation certificate:

Come Tuesday, December 15, we called Mount Carmel, and the verdict was out on my confirmation certificate: the Diocese said we had to get a copy of the original from Abu Dhabi, or at least some sort of certification stating that the confirmation had indeed taken place on the date and at the place we claimed in the original certificate we presented.

Great. How were we supposed to do that? There was an address for the Vicar Apostolic of Arabia on my certificate, but it was just a PO Box. All seemed bleak.

The birth certificate:

As the parish instructed, I went to the City Hall of the municipality where I was born, Manila. Fortunately, Mom was also born in Manila, so if I needed any of her documents from the Local Civil Registry Office (LCRO) it would be one less thing to worry about. At least, that’s what I thought.

I got a copy of Mom’s birth certificate, and made photocopies of mine, and prepared all the wedding documents and my own papers of all sorts from various government offices. Thus armed, I made my way to Manila City Hall on December 17. Fortunately, Tita Baby was able to spare her driver, Dexter, so I didn’t need to contend with traffic or a horrid commute in addition to my already significant distress.

I arrived at Manila City Hall, and found the LCRO. At the entrance was a large table manned by at least four employees, and their sole responsibility, it seemed, was to figure out what people needed to do with their birth, death or marriage certificate, and give them the proper set of requirements and instructions. Given the mass of people who went through that office every single day, it was no wonder they assigned four people to the table. On it, arranged from one end to the other, front to back, were neatly arranged stacks of paper, each stack a different set of instructions and requirements. There were so many different stacks that you couldn’t see the table’s surface. Did I mention that this table was nigh inaccessible? So many people needed corrections on their birth certificates that there was literally a swarm at the LCRO entrance.

My problem was “Correction of Clerical Error on the Middle Name or Mother’s Name of Unmarried Petitioner.” When you think about how specific that is, then you can understand why there were so many variations on the requirements. If I were married, I would have to submit a longer list of papers. The requirements would be different if it were my father’s name I had to change, or my birth date, or my birth place… the list of permutations goes on.

So after explaining the problem in as calm and polite a manner as I could to the nice young man in front of me, I got my list of requirements. One look at it and I was ready to give up. I mean, how would you feel if you saw this list?

1. 2 latest certified/local copies and 2 latest NSO copies of birth certificate to be corrected (That would be mine.)
2. 2 latest certified copies of birth certificate/death certificate of mother. If certification of no record was issued please submit birth certificate or marriage contract of mother’s 2 brother or sister.
3. 2 latest certified copies of marriage contract of parents. If certification of no record was issued please submit birth certificate or marriage contract of 2 brother or sister.
4. 2 copies of baptismal certificate (I don’t know why they need this.)
5. 2 copies of school record, Elementary, High School or College (form 137 or transcript of records)
6. 2 certified copies of voter’s registration record/voters affidavit (COMELEC)
7. 2 copies valid ID of the petitioner and the document owner and 1 copy of latest community tax certificate from the place of work or residence
8. Other documents which the Office may consider relevant and necessary for the approval of the Petition. (GSIS/SSS records, Medical Records, Business Records, School Records, Insurance, Land Title, Bank Passbook)

NOTE: (This was on my set of instructions and requirements) All marriage contract, birth and death certificates to be submitted should be latest certified xerox copy when issued in Manila, if issued outside Manila, Security Paper from NSO.

Steps to Follow:

1. Submit all requirements for assessment and initial interview. Please bring all original documents and ID.
2. Preparation of petition paper.
3. Final Interview
4. Pay at Taxpayer’s Lounge.
5. Receiving and filing of petition paper and all documents.

I already had some of those documents, since they were also required by the church. Some of the others I thought I could easily acquire. I figured, I would spend a day gathering the documents, and I could come back the next day to file the petition.

Well, you know how such assumptions fare. Suffice to say that the odyssey of compiling all the required documents was so arduous a journey that to write it all down now would simply take too much time and far, far too many words. There’s gonna be a part 3 to this series of travails, and it’s going to be bloody. All I will say now is that the worst part of the ordeal was that I was all alone when I started gathering and requesting the requirements at Manila City Hall that day, and the initial disappointment was so devastating that I burst into tears right in the middle of the LCRO while whining to Oneal over the phone. “How the hell do I know how to get to the hospital where I was born?” I bawled, not caring about the masses who walked past me as I hiccuped and sniffed in my distress.

The baptismal certificate:

Oneal’s baptismal certificate seemed the least of our worries. The Jose in his name was just put there because in 1973, priests refused to baptize children unless they had Christian names. I suppose back then what counted as a Christian name only included English, Filipinized or Hispanicized names of saints. I think they’re less fussy about names now.

Mount Carmel told us that we would have to go back to San Vicente de Paul and ask them how to correct or amend his baptismal certificate. So after my initial foray to Manila City Hall and a sad, lonely lunch (which I couldn’t even finish) at SM Manila, I ventured to the church to inquire about the process. It seems this is a common problem, because when I explained to the parish office what I needed, they gave me a small slip of paper with a short list of requirements: notarized letter of request, photocopy of the baptismal certificate, and a valid ID. Oneal would have to submit the request to the parish, and they would give him a letter which he would have to bring to the Office of the Chancery in Intramuros. They were the only ones authorized to make the correction on the baptismal certificate; I supposed they were the Church’s version of the LCRO.

Next to my mountain of problems, this was quite a petite molehill. But with everything we needed to do, I found that I was just so tired and stressed that the mere thought of visiting another city hall, another government office, or another parish office made me dizzy. I found myself looking to the heavens and asking God, “Is this a sign? Are you telling us to stop? Don’t you want us to get married?”

Calling me disheartened at this point would have been a gross understatement. But we trudged on. I even managed to make it to Karen’s condo that evening for a small geek dinner, but I was so exhausted that I fell asleep on the couch.

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Some of you know by now the trials and tribulations we suffered in December in our attempts to prepare our documents for the wedding. Some of you have no idea what we’ve been up to. Well, here’s the long blog post.

When we reserved the St. Francis of Assisi Chapel at Fernwood Gardens, we had to go to the Our Lady of Mount Carmel Parish in Project 6, since the chapel was under their care/authority (“Tyranny” would be more appropriate.  But I get ahead of myself.) So we booked the chapel for our date, and the parish office gave us a list of requirements. It was a pretty long list, but it didn’t seem that bad when we first saw it. Hah, unbeknownst to us, we were about to embark on a journey that would take us to many City Halls and churches . (And I just wanted to use the word “unbeknownst”.)

Just so we’re all on the same page, boys and girls, here’s the list of requirements they asked of the bride and the groom:

1. NSO-certified birth certificate
2. NSO-issued CENOMAR
3. Newly-issued baptismal certificate, with the annotation, “For Marriage Purposes”
4. Newly-issued confirmation certificate, with the annotation, “For Marriage Purposes”
5. Wedding banns and permit to marry
6. Marriage license from the municipality where either the groom or the bride reside
7. Latest 2×2 picture with white background
8. Pre-marriage counseling seminar
9. Canonical interview
10. Final interview and confession

All documents must be dated within 6 months of the wedding, and submitted two months before the wedding. Okay, seems easy enough. The birth certificate and CENOMAR could be ordered and paid for online through the NSO website, and would be delivered right to our doorstep, no problem. The baptismal certificates were easy; Oneal was baptized in San Vicente de Paul Church in Manila, right beside Adamson University. I was baptized in Santo Domingo Church in QC. Both were fairly accessible.

The confirmation certificates, we knew, would require some effort. Oneal didn’t remember what year he was confirmed, but he knew where. I, on the other hand, was confirmed on the sly, in the US Embassy in Riyadh, by an Italian bishop from the Vicar Apostolic of Arabia, which was based in Abu Dhabi. I had the original certificate though; surely Mount Carmel would be satisfied with that? After all, they couldn’t possibly expect me to hop on a plane to Riyadh or Abu Dhabi to get my confirmation certificate. Could they?

The wedding banns were easy; these were documents issued by Mount Carmel and posted in our respective parish churches for three consecutive Sundays, to inform our communities of our upcoming marriage. For the uninformed, this is done to give others the chance to present any possible impediment to the wedding before the actual event. Should no objection be raised, the parish churches will give the bride and the groom permission to marry.

The marriage license we thought would be tricky. We decided to file for it in Parañaque, since Oneal had live there all his life, and had many documents attesting to the fact. I, on the other hand, have lived in Saudi Arabia, Kamias, Antipolo and Cubao, so my documents had rather scattered addresses. To our surprise, the requirements for the marriage license were simple enough. Some documents and one hour of forms, photocopying, payments and “counseling” in Parañaque City Hall were all it took, and one week later we had our marriage license! Well, there was a surprise.

The pre-cana seminar proved to be a case of misunderstanding and annoyance. We had wanted to take the pre-cana seminar at the Center for Family Ministries in Ateneo de Manila University, as it came well-recommended by many people. Oneal asked Mount Carmel if this was okay, and a nice lady said it was. So we reserved a slot in a CEFAM’s January schedule, and I deposited a payment of P4,000. That was a bust, but more on that later.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

That weekend, Oneal and I went to Mount Carmel to submit our documents, confident that it would be a breeze. We had everything in order, and we figured we could just explain about my confirmation certificate being rather, ah, inaccessible. Alas, we were very gravely mistaken.

They noticed in my documents–specifically my birth certificate and my baptismal certificate–that my mother’s name was not consistent: one document said only “Marian” while others said “Marian Regina”. This apparently was unacceptable, because there must be NO DISCREPANCIES among any of the documents. They asked me what my mother’s name really was, and I said, “Marian Regina.” The parish office told us, well, you’re going to have to have your birth certificate corrected at city hall. They were willing to proceed with the marriage, but only if I submitted (1) an affidavit stating I would correct my birth certificate and not hold the parish liable for any conflict arising from the discrepancy in names; and (2) a Certificate for Facilitation of Correction of my birth certificate from the Local Civil Registry Office of the City Hall of the municipality in which I was born. Oh, and (3) a copy of my corrected birth certificate, to follow after the wedding.

Did you get all of that? I didn’t, because I was so dismayed by all that the parish office guy was saying that I almost burst into tears right there and then.

Of course, parish office guy wasn’t done. He said he had to consult the Diocese of Cubao about my confirmation certificate. Not content, he also said that Oneal’s baptismal certificate would be a problem, because his name was stated there as “Jose Ronnelo Rosero”; none of his other documents bore the name “Jose.” He would have to go back to San Vicente de Paul, and they would issue a letter so he could bring it to the Office of the Chancery in Intramuros, where an amendment would be made.

And for the big finale: we were required to take the pre-cana seminar in Mount Carmel, and even if we had taken the seminar at CEFAM, it would not be sufficient. So the slot we had reserved and the payment I had made were all in vain.

We went back home, rather dismayed, and wondered what to do next. Well, I knew what I was doing next: lying in bed and moping, tears streaming down my face as I wondered, “What are we supposed to do now?” It was like a giant rock had been dropped in our path, and there was no way around it.

- rej

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Our Lady of Mount Carmel finally said they are accepting our documents and we can proceed with the wedding!
We can finish the pending documents after the wedding so we are not in a stressful rush.
- Oneal

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Why is getting married so complicated?? All I want is to be one with my hunny bunny till death do us part. Why is there so much paperwork and fuss????

Right now, we’re working on our marriage license. We need to make a personal appearance at the Parañaque City Hall, and present our CENOMARs, NSO birth certificates and Oneal’s certificate of residency.

We also made reservations to attend the pre-cana seminar at the Center for Family in Ateneo in January. But before we can do that, we need an authorization letter from the church. AND we need to submit our birth, baptismal and confirmation certificates. Egads! Surely getting married was never this complicated before?

On the upside, I think all the suppliers have been booked. The venue is now fully paid, yay! We’ve also finalized the program.

It’s only two months away, and it feels like there’s still so much we need to do. To top it all off, it’s Christmas! But I guess Christmas is just another opportunity to be thankful that I have a wonderful Oneal who wants to marry me.

It’s going to be a Merry Christmas indeed!

– rej

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while we already *heart* the NSO for having a convenient and comprehensive website for requesting birth certificates and CENOMAR etc, they also delivered these documents quickly right to our doorstep.

now we *heart* them long time

-oneal

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