Thursday, November 20, 2008

a Flogger's confession...

I am looking at my To-Do calendar right now and I still don't have anything planned for our Christmas Dinner.

Every year, my family looks forward to Christmas specially the dinner that I lovingly prepare for them. My specialties have always been stellar to them. But I was leaning on to try different dishes as this give them an opportunity to embrace new favorites for the family menu.

I'm thinking if I could do a soup-salad combination which is in favor to my mom as she always promotes healthy eating in the family but 'tis the season not to think about Lent since we're all about the Yuletide ha-ha! This season is also where the pigs and chickens die a happy death so we could savor their flavors from fat to bone.

So, back to the drawing board...Hmmm, maybe I'll do Chicken Pandan Rolls, definitely no pasta or noodles. Can I cheat on a Mama Peredo's Chicken Potato Pie? and I'll tweak my
Sweet and Sticky Ribs from Nigella Lawson's recipe by adding nutmeg or pepper rub or a really good beer to tenderize the meat and reach its full flavor. I've done this for two holidays and oh, well! I still rule the kitchen and then followed by a Curly Flat Chardonnay (1999) or a Valentini Cerasulo (2002)

I honestly don't know what to do if Car decides to bring salmon, she pleases mom and dad to the nines with this cute tactic. Perhaps a coriander pesto to go with this?

plan. plan. plan. whew!

Orange-brick House

I grew up in a noisy household in a brood of six kids, my parents, four yayas, two househelp, two dogs, and an Orange-brick house. Oh.. I forgot to mention my seven cousins who lived next door :)

As far as I can remember, our mornings would start really early when almost all our cousins are out doing their chores and they'd knock to wake us up. We would run around the house and play all the games we could think of. I'd remember we had a vast piece of land in the backyard called Alog (pronounced Ah-log) where mango trees and nearly hundreds of plants grew and we ran and climb trees til our arms and knees had scrapes. We would chase after dragonflies, and other things we find amusing that crawl or fly or run around the Alog and we would poke their butts thinking these poor creatures were getting tickled.

My Yaya Merlie would stick her tongue out whenever I begged for food out of the high cupboard. I keep begging her to reach for a bag of cookies for me but she would not, I got even with her by calling the funeral home and ordering a coffin for her to be delivered at home with her name across the silk sash on the coffee brown casket. Yaya Merlie cried to Mama that day when she saw a hearse pulling up on the driveway. I was four years old.

During those days, my Lolo Andring (who was the second cousin of my Lola Juana) would come to visit and check on us. I stirred up a conversation with him while he waited for Mama to come home. I told him his hair was growing long and he needed a haircut real bad. His barbero was out of town and I offered to cut his hair, without any hesitation, he told me to get my scissors. I happily sat him on my little chair, and prepared what I knew was meant for cutting hair: shears, a makeshift bib and a sprayer that I got from the garden. I nervously placed an aluminum bowl upside down on the top of his head, I sprayed and snipped until my lolo looked like a coconut husk! My mom was furious with me but my lolo said there was no need to punish me because he liked the haircut so much, he came back twice and gave me all his coins.

My dad came home one day announcing we were moving to Baguio in two weeks. My brothers and sisters were both happy and a bit sad at that time. New place, new friends to make, new life. It was difficult at first because there was so much history and I did not readily embrace change. What do I know? I was just a kid, living by the moment.

Looking back now, I am thankful of the childhood I had, I was one of the blessed people to have experience such joy and overwhelming love by the people around me. I am always praying that children right now will experience a similar happy childhood to preserve the remarkable years of innocence and learning in their youth as I have. I believe that every memory, belief and lesson learned shape the very essence of a person, dear readers. It gently reminds us that life can be so simple after all.

to the boy who broke my heart.

To try to take four years of my life –- step back, examine it, condense it, try to make you understand how I felt, how much you and I were as one seems almost disrespectful. It reminds me of how a blind person would feel when someone tries to explain to them the concept of colors.It's out of your league. You will never know. But for the sake of everything, I will try.

Four years... you used to say. Yeah, four years. I keep telling myself that. At this point in my life, I would say, it was a waste (sans the bitterness). Instead of seeing myself grow maturely, I had let you grow selfishly, thinking YOU were the only person who mattered and not me. Our friendship had seen neither black nor white but always shades of gray. I will not go through the hard times we had, for it will only dampen what's left of us.
I will however, look back at what you made me today and what I will never be for you. I didn't know how alive I can be, that I am capable of knowing the best. I am still looking into forgiving myself on why I ALLOWED THIS TO HAPPEN instead of linger on what used to be. I left you because I didn't know who I was anymore. I gave and you took and you keep taking.

This toxic twisted thing between us is so over and this game is getting old. Deep in my heart, I know I will NOT come back to you, as I'm dealing with my own personal pains filtering what's worth fighting for. If we change for the better or for the worse, only time will tell. But I also believe that things will get better through time between the both of us.

Thank you for breaking my heart then, as I am breaking your heart now.
by this time, you got this all figured out.

Finally, it's balls on my court...

What's on the shoerack?

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