Rain, rain rain. We should have sacrificed a lamb or something for better weather.
I keep looking for that special one that will make me buy it. This one is nice, but doesn’t fit in anywhere unless I lived in a gorgeous modern log-cabin
In a town where I think the minimum wage sits just at $15, why sell one small slab of meat that costs $19?? I can afford it but I can’t find it in the supermarkets where I currently live!
Love the kitsch and the books at IkoIko
It was my first time to cross the ferry, but horrors of horrors, my phone’s battery was nearly out, no charger at all and the ferry’s listing made it feel as if your legs were made of rubber
Great big hearty mains when all you want is something between that a starter
Some pate and squid will do just fine
and the tour continues through rain and freezing weather
In a small country like New Zealand, it's harder to see the class divisions. The man in the nondescript simple merino top and cords may be seven-figures richer than the man in the slim-cut suit and well-worn Ferragamo shoes. Or vice versa- merino tops and corduroy pants may also mean what it looks which is a modest retirement and a worry about that hip-replacement surgery waiting list. When we passed by opulent small homes in the Bay of Plenty with their long driveways and architecturally landscaped grounds, I couldn't picture what kind of New Zealanders owned them or what jobs (or businesses) they had. What's even more confounding was when we got deeper into the interior where the small towns are, so small, that even the smallest of fast-food chains (a good indicator of population) are non-existent, and I think, how do people in these places make a living?
I mean, list up the usual suspects- farming, livestock, repairs, medical- aside from these, what else could one do?
Every time I pass by a particularly desolate looking place I think, if I lived here, what would I do? And I imagine these scenarios where I conveniently take away the problem of what to do for a living and I think I would:
1. Try my hand at gardening
2. Finish three books a week
3. Start long-distance running again
4. Learn a new craft like sewing
5. run for office or apply for a community position or something
6. keep a pet like a big dog
September 4th, 2011
Remember Google+??? I remember wasting half a day at work, sneaking between open browser pages, looking up for a way to get invited. I eventually got an invite from my best friend and again spent half a day at work building it up.
So much fun, like being asked to spruce up an entire empty floor of some building with your, well, crap. Of course it was crap. What else could it possibly be, just a bunch of cutesy posed pictures (made up some faces on my Mac and edited out my jowl lines, my tired, baggy computer screen scarred eyes) random video links (wohoo! Hollywood Tuna) and ephemeral flotsam and jetsam. Just the digitized short-hand really of the generation.
A generation that's gone and disappeared.
And I certainly played well into the night when I got home. It was Cindy's mother's birthday and I had a very handy and dignified excuse- who the hell got drunk on a Monday???? I loaded a box of lemon-cheesecake cupcakes that my daughter Chloe baked for her grand-nana into Cindy's battered Holden.
'Put real lemon there dad, like they did on Top Chef.' Chloe just turned 9 and was trying to run away from her childhood faster than her stints at her school's cross-country races. "I'm sure your grand-nana would appreciate the lemon better on her gin and tonic sweetie..'
'Oh dad!' Mock adult disgust and falling over me for a kiss, her lips bitingly cold on my cheek. 'Where's your jacket hun, it's gonna get real cold.' And out of nowhere, she whips out my worn leather bomber jacket which she puts over some top and leggings on semi-adult legs. And it's my turn for mock-anger, 'oi!' I grunt before Cindy steps in as she's wont to, the only true time it seems for genuine affection, lightning quick snatches of it, before everything falls into the abyss of second mortgages, an immature job as she has always called it and too much Facebook instead of getting our freaks on.
Like can we do it now, right here on the driveway as she sidles up to me, locking her hips against mine, my hands settling comfortably on the rise of her buttocks.
'Yeah, tell Elaine you're down with the flu, really down with it' I bite her lower lip gently and she bites back, her face a blur, the scent of something richly sweet like dark chocolate on her breath.
'Uhmm..when we come back, promise...promise..'
Those were my wife's last words to me.
They pause down the driveway just before plunging into the darkened street as a light, misty rain falls. The car's interior light opens and I see Chloe, rummaging for her stuff at the back as usual. She tries to see me through the window, squeezes her eyes into slits, probably couldn't but waves nonetheless at what she believes to be her father still watching her drive away.
I was and it is the last and most painful memory of my daughter.
How it happened, I really don't know. There was no rumbling, no fireworks in the sky, no choir of angels announcing the ascension of the blessed and the eternal isolation of the damned.
I went back to my Google + account and thought, what a refreshing change. Empty; just me and digital quietude. I puttered around in the kitchen, made chapati and cumin meatballs in a Japanese curry sauce.
I think it was about 10:30 pm but I'm just guessing. I remember looking out the lounge sliding doors, through the smear of condensation and the fog outside. The street lamp just outside the gate was on and it looked to me 'sadly luminous'. I remember that description, sadly luminous and I did feel, like a sudden cascade of cold water had fallen over me and a seemingly infinite, weepy sort of sadness.
And the funny thing was that I never did know what I was sad about at that moment....
(he sends a text message that remains unsent, sitting in his draftbox. There is no mobile service, just a slight, unnerving humming at the end of the line. Television services stop at 3am, radio follows soon after. And yet there is still power even as public lights burn on throughout the day and night. The internet still functions to some degree and when he checks for some clues online, one thing is chillingly clear- status updates on Facebook have ceased just before 10:30pm, GMT. He doesn't sleep for 48 hours straight and walks all the way to his mother in law's house in the suburb of St. Heliers, marveling at a cityscape captured frozen in its tracks even as the day rolls by. Cars are packed at Elaine's expansive driveway. Inside Cindy's Holden is his bomber jacket and he cries and cries clutching it, because it smells of him and not of Chloe..)
Growing up, shrimps were so expensive that you almost always shared them with someone else. So on occasion, I indulge on a pound’s worth pan-fried with butter, garlic and a sprinkling of pepper-flakes just to remind myself that I could.
All from a cup at .99 cents and bulked up with cabbage, left-over pork, and a whole egg for those nights when you can’t be distracted from Netflix
This is indulgence. This could possibly be a stroke waiting to happen if you ate all of it (I didn’t). All it takes is about 6 large potatoes, one bottle of cream and 100 grams of butter to create a magma-like surface oozing with creamy, buttery curd and silky-smooth slabs of potato that melt in your mouth
Chicken tenders are my go-to choices for food places that actually only offer them as sides. And they are ridiculously easy to make even in the office if you have baking paper and a George Foreman grill…and yes, the broccoli rice was just alright>
When you put pork pieces with vinegar, onions, garlic, pepper and a couple of bay leaves you can, midway through the cooking, decide whether to turn it into adobong puti or binagoongan. I’ve been craving the salty-umami blast of bagoong so binagoongan it is.
This is why I think photos are more reliable records. Even if you filter them, nothing is really altered and it captures that singular truth- that day was what it all was. It was sunny. It was raining. It was raining and you were wearing your new winter boots. It was sunny and you had brunch at that new city cafe; the eggs were runny, the multi-grain bread moist with butter. It didn't matter what you felt or what you were thinking at that moment because there is no record of them. You can put in what you thought you felt at that moment but it feels somewhat insincere. I found a couple of poems I had written while combing through the back-end of my blog and I honestly don't know the context of how and why they are written. The only reason I'm reposting them is that I think they're not that bad.
And maybe this is why I take a lot of pictures- its a cleaner, more truthful record. But what is truth in this day and age? As someone known for fantastic story-telling (for the record, I've never lied anything about my life- I simply do not volunteer information which is nobody's business), what has truth done for me?
I
It was so easy,
that after all this time you thought,
it took leaps of faith,
a fortuitous hand
or maybe necessary deceit.
But love knows its way
even in the darkest of places
and I still remember your face
or what I remember of it
that even as I close my eyes
I can see you, as clear as daylight
and see that love
is not garishly bright
as I feared it to be
II
Ofcourse love is selfish.
In the beginning, the universe closes in,
collapsing in on itself until
there's only that vision of sweat on the nape
as if your eyesight had suddenly acquired
macro-vision capability.
It was half past 10 when, spent, hungry,
we decided that it was impossible
to ignore the sunlight streaming into the room
which seemed more like the middle of March
rather than June.
You were tracing the veins right below my navel
and just above the line of pubic hair.
Everything does seem vulnerable at a certain point in time;
so clear and translucent
even when you're already half-clothed.
I gushed how wonderful Sundays were;
how carefree, slow and languid.
Today is Sunday, you said,
and I did realize that it was.
We rode the jeep, just the two of us then
and for the first 4 minutes, we cherished the thought
that 4 minutes would seem
like a postponement of the inevitable.
But ofcourse it wasn't.
We parted
and the rest of Sunday
was dark, closeted and long.
It's been a long, long time since I last felt literary. Lately, it's all been about work content; videos, marketing pitches, social media (ugh). So I logged back into my old Blogger account which is like going into that old room, that upstairs attic or basement and rummaging through 'old files'. There's not much there- the longest one is a mere 1,400+ words- but it gives me a picture of myself that I ironically, don't see anymore even with an almost daily record of photos.
I currently have over 23,000 images, a few thousand of which even pre-date the launch of Apple's iCloud (2011) and my suspicion is that when someone rifles through them, they would find someone utterly normal; someone who clearly has mastered the art of taking food photos, has good shots of everyday things, is not really vain (and because I'm not photogenic) and... nothing much else. There is nothing wrong with normal- the problem is that I'm actually not. I believe I'm not. And I hate being just normal.
The photos don't do me justice in the sense of showing something other than the obvious. But I take them because it's easy- so in a sense it's somewhat true- it is an easy life. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the easy life- the problem is that I know nothing is ever easy.
When you rest on easy, that's when everything starts to get fucked up.
In my mind- and don't laugh, though I think you will- my face is pale white, lips half-frozen as I catch my 7AM train in the middle of winter. There are plenty of things in this mental image that is just wrong. My face has never been pale white- the New Zealand sun is harsh and there is less of the pollution that shields your face from darkening UV rays. Winter in Auckland is hardly ever that cold, not when you're talking an average of 7 to 8 degrees. You'll even see someone (usually a fat person) in nothing but a summer shirt, as Kiwis generally think that to be physically affected by the elements is a sign of weakness.
But this is my image, my truth. I am forever done with heat, and sweat and fitted clothes when your body is hardly ever fit for it. So I embrace the coming of the colder season with a cheery nonchalance even as my skin struggles, my nose bleeds and my wallet moans.
A work colleague laughs gently trying her best to indulge me when I say that a new pair of winter boots I had just bought arrives at the office by courier (you don't leave $350 leather boots sitting outside your door unguarded the whole day) is an 'investment'. 'Do you somehow get some money back?' she asks me as if I was dumb enough to use the word 'investment' in a context that was second-nature to her (she's an accountant).
'Actually I do' I reply. "It makes me realise that I deserve the best things in life that I am able to get for myself."
I actuall didn't really say that.
I just smiled and laughed sheepishly, indulging her in return; I don't really need to explain myself to anyone and that for me, is one priceless luxury I can afford to give myself again and again.
You mourn that time passes so quickly and when you look at the mirror, you're standing quite still. What will change, you ask yourself and this is your fear.
Read MoreDon't you hate it when how you feel doesn't match what is actually incontrovertible fact? Like your actual age. It could be plain denial, or worse, some sort of delusion.
My question is, when will both actually match-up? If ever. Does it happen naturally (didn't happen when I started medicating for blood pressure, cholesterol), or do we make that effort to somehow make peace with things we can't change? But in my defence, I'm not changing anything that I know I can't alter.
I am simply living my best life, which sadly, does not merely involve affirmations of positivity, faith and a leave-it-to-God-kind of mentality. You need to exercise. You need to eat good, nourishing (and consequently expensive) food. You need to protect your skin, to dress comfortably so as not to be judged by an always judging world (and I do care about being judged).
You need to work at life, to develop and take advantage of the gifts and passions and flaws that were given to you.
You need to ALWAYS give your best
“If You Can’t Love Yourself How In The Hell Are You Gonna Love Somebody Else”
And this means sacrifices- you can’t change the way your body works, so might as well give it what it wants. Less fat, more vegetables; more wholesome foods even if God knows, all I want is a bucket of KFC.
Less negativity, and more healthy stuff even it means getting it out of a cleverly packaged bottle. I hope it’s not a scam.
Got three scents today, just because.
And it wouldn’t hurt if it happens to be shod in a good winter boot from Timberland.
I’ve been a believer in vitamin supplements for the better part of two decades. There were times when given the choice between a new pair of Nikes and vitamins, I chose Vitamin B and C. I’ve been waiting for Wondermins to open in New Zealand; it reassures you that what you’re actually buying what you really need.
I need to get this post out...
Days feel like a time-lapse of sorts
New year happened
Everyone was a year older...
Summer was a record-scorcher
When I was a younger, I took New Year resolutions very seriously. One year it was, 'learn French' (never happened) and another year it was, 'change your body'- something which at my age, I am still learning how to do. I never look back which explains why there are literally years in which I have little memory of anything (like between 21 and 30?).
But really, all you need to remember about the past are the things you shouldn't be doing ever again. Always look ahead because that's the only direction you're headed.
I once did a two-month food diary, just automatically writing down what I ate and at the end of it, got the shock of my life when in those 60 days, I apparently ate vegetables a total of three times. I could blame what's locally available- not much- but it's certainly not an excuse to not make an effort. I have salad days; sturdier, more substantial vegetables such as carrots and kale and I think maybe it's time to start visiting the weekend markets for more variety. Overall, I think I have a pretty balanced diet, but it could be better.
I'm not going to be the next art prodigy that's for sure, but creating is not about the output. It's about flexing a muscle that is an important part of me.
Funny that in always looking forward, I can't see the numbers that would make that future- at least the financial part of it- a bit clearer. But now I'm learning and realising that being financially practical is something anyone can learn; even for a math dummy like me.
It's already proven that building muscle mass is not exclusive to youth, and that at any age, you can still aspire to be Sylvester Stallone circa the 90's. But vanity muscles aside, I'd like to be more agile, flexible and heart-fit.
I spend a considerable amount of good money on quality clothes. But time and again, I'm defeated by the fact that I am not able to adequately care for it. I need a 'lavandera', period.
Just think about this- what has Donald Trump, Taylor Swift and Rose McGowan ever done to you? The sheer preponderance of content, amplified by the fact that I have literally every device possible fools me into thinking that I am affected. To this day, Trump winning the American presidency feels to me like a very personal affront; because yes, in spite of my best efforts, I was no match for Russia's social-media bots. It's time to stop trolling.
I need to remember sometimes that my life is in the moment, of looking at what's in front of me. There are clothes to be sorted, debts to be paid, healthier food menu to be planned, a whole reserve to explore. I feel sometimes that my online life (and it's because it's part of my job) hijacks me mentally and I'm stuck in bed, laptop in front of me, phone on my bedside table and my connected watch ready with its reminders and notifications. I might as well be hard-wired literally.
I look at social media and realise that most people travel for the photos. You meet someone who claims to be well-travelled and yet has the personality and intelligence of a brick. I've realised that a trip to a supermarket or a library in another part of town can be just as exciting as going to a country you've never been before. Again, it's the same theme of living in the moment and being aware of what's really in front of you. There's just a smattering of places that I'd like to visit- New York, Scandinavia and France; that's it. Hopefully this year, I might get to visit one of them.
There's a study which claims that it's harder to find close friends as you get older. And from experience, you find friends by accident and not by any means that's deliberate or planned. So I'm sort of ambivalent about this as I'm perfectly happy in my moments of solitude but there are times when I question it and think- would I become one of those people who would suddenly engage a random stranger with the story of my life at the slightest provocation? On one hand, how do you find new friends? I've always been interested in signing up for writing classes, cross-fit programs and even yoga- that could be a two in one deal. You increase your chances of finding a friend who happens to share your interest and even if you don't, you still get to do something you've always wanted to do.
If food was the enemy (health wise), it was also the saviour; a good, satisfying meal is confirmation that life is far too short to be spent being always cautious (photos taken using the iPhone 7plus).
I had this just after New Year's 2017 in the Philippines and it brought back memories of all the weekends when we would treat ourselves with charcoal-grilled pork belly, so good that my mother couldn't resist having a piece in spite of her constant reservations against fat and cholesterol. I swear that there is something about Philippine pork- taste, fat to meat ratio- that makes it far superior to anything we've tried in New Zealand.
Two years ago when I first tried these products, the taste was far from satisfactory. Eating a meat substitute always felt like I substituted my life for something that was just a sad and bland imitation of it. Surely, I thought, vegetarians must always be half-miserable even if they wouldn't admit it? But two years on and the quality has leap-frogged expectations. Sure, the texture is never a duplicate of the real thing, but that's the whole point- it has evolved into something that can stand on its own, texture and flavour-wise. Meat will always be meat, but a nutty, deeply moreish black bean and beet-root burger (this one from the Bean Supreme range) is truly something else and deserving of being included in your repertoire of dishes.
There is something about Italian inspired dishes that I sometimes shy away from like pasta dishes with uninspired, one-note sauces with generic meat. But Amano wields a gentler, finer hand on Italian pasta and stew staples and using seasonal and local New Zealand produce. Dishes are simply plated with no superfluous bullshit; you can eat everything that's on the plate.
When we were in Richmond for a week-long work-do, we had dinner thrice at this restaurant called Three Rooms and couldn't help but feel a bit numerological; the restaurant had three dining areas, offered either two or three courses at $30 and $35 respectively from a selection of entrees, main and desserts that had six dishes each. Startlingly cheap prices aside, the quality of the dishes was even more startling. Servings were generous, meats perfectly done and side-dishes never an afterthought or a mere decoration.
Burgers have become a destination in themselves and the number of burger places in Auckland with the word burger in their names and one other word descriptor (Better Burger, Murder Burger, Burger Burger etc) has all of us confused. But you can't confuse the taste and while Better Burger is our default go-to, The Burger Bar at St. Kevins' Arcade on Auckland's K'Road is reserved for those cravings when we want something a little bit more for our money, and at $15, this 1/3 lb behemoth stuffed with oregano beef, bacon, spinach and kale and lashings of homemade aioli and tomato sauce is a bargain.
After having lived in New Zealand for over nine years, I am now able to tell if a South-East Asian person was Vietnamese, or Thai or Singaporean. But dishes not so much which is fine, because with cuisine other than our own, seeking them is often dictated by price and taste. We love Indian for example, but it has become so generic that you don't really put in the effort and the expense of going to an Indian restaurant- you just buy the food to go. Malaysian cuisine has the advantage of multiple ethnic influences and the PappaRich chain of restaurants serves an array of that which captures the largest customer base possible. When a branch opened at the Sylvia Park shopping mall, long queues were standard for the next couple of months and the smell of curries and noodles was so intense, it permeated the neighbouring shop spaces. Obviously I always go for the Nasi Lemak or the Hainan Chicken, but I've always mulled, but never tried the bread dishes- Hainan bread served in slices and in sweet and savoury variants with just condensed milk on top or with boiled eggs. Isn't that bizarre???
We found Wow Chicken and Donburi on High Street while looking for donburi. But they didn't serve it on weekends and only had the Korean deep fried chicken which we felt was a little steep at $32 for less than 10 pieces. But we were hungry so chicken it was- and WOW lol. There is fried chicken and then there is Korean fried chicken. We waited for like 20+ minutes so it must have been made from scratch. It tasted fresh, the coating unlike any other that I've tried and was the perfect balance of crunch and moistness. It felt like it was part of the chicken and not an extraneous component of it. The chicken was served with pepper and salt and cubed cold radishes that were the perfect tangy palate cleansers.
It will always be Rubi's siopao in Dagupan City for us, forever. But you never stop looking for a fairly good substitute. I found this at a Chinese run bakery next to New World in Manurewa. The buns are the closest to Rubi's, fairly bigger than a regular-sized human palm (like mine), pillow-soft, and filled with an adequate amount of filling that is neither too fatty or gristly. And I always get them first thing in the morning when they're obviously freshly made. Nothing is more awful than pork buns that have been sitting in a pot the whole day and heated repeatedly.
The year 2017 will also go down as the year when I literally ate my weight in chicken wings. While the chicken wings from Pizza hut is my current go-to, I wouldn't mind replacing it with Hell's free-range ones served with cola BBQ sauce- if it was only a little bit cheaper and accessible.
I'm getting used to making adobo in smaller batches by just using breast-meat. Simple and satisfying, adobo keeps well and saves you on days when you can't be bothered cooking or buying something from the take-away.
A bunch of firsts; first time to work until our office closed on the 22nd. First time to NOT stress on what to eat. First time to have a decent gift budget which I had half-saved for. And first time to be less nostalgic about the whole thing- and everything was just perfectly fine.
We've always had Christmases with kids in the mix which makes the holidays something to look forward to. Woe the day when everyone is all grown up.
So true, that comforting, reassuring smell of pine
Which means taking out stuff that's pretty in photos but bland in real life. Also, take out stuff that's too hard to do. Try out new stuff like this salmon mignon which was just okay
It's been a while since I had mussels and New Zealand has some of the tastiest, plumpest kind. An old Maori woman gave me a tip at the seafood counter at New World; don't use the scoop she told me. Use your hands to hand-pick the best ones, unbroken and heavy.
We assembled a bevy of nibbles and cold-cuts to stave off the hunger for the long wait to midnight dinner. If it was colder, arroz caldo would have been nice.
Seemed lean but the callos, ham, salmon and black forest torte cake was just right
Had Christmas dinner at the flat which was apt because the family was white, and Dave missed it because he fell off the wagon which is also apt because stories seem to suggest that it's such a white-person thing to do (!!)
If there's one thing I've learned to be true is that you should take care of yourself first because if you don't, you won't be any good helping others. I think though that when this is extended to the issue of gifts-to-oneself, I have to admit that 2017 was pretty extravagant. So take me off your Christmas lists because I have that covered!
I thought it was going to be lighter than my previous late 2014 MacBook Pro, but the weight difference is so incremental, that it's nothing. Clackier keys. Visibly better resolution which is a miracle that I can still notice it even with my fucked-up eyesight. Still a great, hassle-free machine even if the current iOS has baffling, unnecessary features. What I mourn though is the disappearance of the lighted Apple logo, and I didn't even know that until I had bought it.
Never really thought of upgrading until one day, the back-plate of my series one just popped off. Apple replaced it with what seemed like a new one, but at that point, it felt like I was over it. Time for a new one. While I understand the motivation for Apple doling out the features in annoying increments, it's never to a degree where I think it's a rip-off. At least not yet. Everyone else has had a wearable before Apple brought out theirs but make an assessment comparison and it's shocking that others (who grumble and accuse Apple of being glorified copy-cats) haven't caught on Cupertino's strategy- make it way better-looking than the competition. Everyone nearly has the same features and functionalities to play with anyway, so what's the icing on that? Samsung Gear which one of our office IT guys one proudly showed me, looks like one of those shiny clever fakes you see at a Thailand shopping mall; rough-edged metal, 2nd rate leather straps. Disgusting.
I promised myself (and my doctor) to up the ante on improving my cardiovascular fitness. Apparently, 2km walks are not enough. When an effective health and fitness regime is all about getting the numbers right, you need something to track it with some degree of accuracy. And that's where the watch comes in- a part of its ubiquitousness is certainly annoying (like the email notifications which admittedly you want to turn off but loathe to), but it's also the factor why you're kept committed to your fitness goals. Without its consistent presence, you will forget. You will park your ass on the bed to eat and watch stupid Youtube. You will groan and procrastinate. You will possibly die- no kidding.
I've been an iPhone user since the 3GS, skipped a few (4, 5), did Android for less than a year, and been pretty much clued into what's happening. Baffled by the iPhone 8- anyone who's been using iPhones for a long time would know that Apple passing it off as a new variant is bullshit- but hey, there are those who are buying into iPhones for the 1st time who would be fine with it. The only disappointment is the camera and it's only because it's my fault for having un-informed, ignorant expectations (New Years Resolution: study up on photography). Other than that, it succeeds because after using it for just a day, you're utterly convinced by what it can do and not because Apple said so.
I've hemmed and hawed about this since the first iPad Pro came out because the truth is this- tablets never really age. They've fallen into that category of gadgets that are good for something you hardly need advancements for like reading and plain internet browsing. I've had the 2nd generation, Retina-display iPad for years far longer than my iPhones and it was perfectly fine. But this one dangled the creative carrot in front of me and it's a trap (the verdict is still out on this one) I've fallen for time and time again, albeit willingly.
Apple keeps most of its promises and this is why you're hooked because just when you thought you have seen everything you realise that you haven't. But woe to those who buy it off the bat; first generation versions are always never perfect when the next, better one is just 12 months away (except for the iPhone X in my opinion). This size at 10.5 like the iPhone X's much smaller over-all specs is the absolute sweet spot. And the Apple pencil- in spite a weird way to charge it- it is what Apple claims it to be and I even use it for non-drawing purposes like navigating the iPad and turning pages when reading. Why would I want my smudgy fingers to ruin the gloss of that gorgeous screen?
I know that the genetic gifts are strong (because how else would I be currently earning a living as a graphic design person when I never studied it formally??) but I also feel that one should also be informed; to learn contexts, to practice. Practice, practice, practice. To immerse yourself until you find your voice, your groove, when one day, a simply drawn line becomes identifiably you. You'll probably never get there but no one knows that. You don't know that. The one truth that I continue to struggle to hold onto every single day is that you will never even get to answer that question if you don't start. And that's the worst fate- to have had a life where you didn't bother to try.
Maybe it's a change of perspective, maybe it's age. Maybe winter has become a bit too evocative of what old age would be like- when your spirit is willing, but your body feels half-frozen, fraught with all the signs of physical unravelling. When I was younger, with no friends and no confidence, summer was spent indoors reading book after book. To this day, it's hard to connect with people whose experiences and memories of summer are of easy, physical fun.
I am still resentful of the heat (even if it's nothing compared to the Philippines); the yellowing of the armpits of my white shirts; the constant application of sunscreen; slight twinges of envy when I see fit people. But I smile a bit now when the sun is on my face- acceptance is such a life-altering thing..
1. Another year has past and your mind convinces you that last year was just last week. It never feels anymore that you have 365 days in one year, more like half that.
2. I tried to change out the template of this blog and couldn't make sense of the infrastructure. On one hand, what's the point- no one reads me.
3. I do have great ideas to better my diet, restructure my wardrobe, start a writing regimen, and I get a good head-start, but as with anything, sustaining it is the challenge.
4. Why do spend so much for the holidays? How can we get out of the spending cycle?
5. How do I NOT spend so much?
6. Met with my insurance broker/agent who also happens to be a financial adviser and again I have to remind myself- I'll never be rich, but I can enjoy a worry-free retirement (!!) at least from a financial perspective.
7. Speaking of finances, I spent over 10% of my income in 2017 on new Apple products
8. And these Apple products are my gifts to myself this Christmas
9. Looking forward to a quieter Christmas in New Zealand
10. Missing the hectic, surreal holiday festivities of home
We went to the Auckland Night Markets over the weekend and a Filipino food stand was back selling beef kaldereta, laing/Bicol Express and pork sisig. I got the sisig ($7) and didn't really care about the kaldereta or the laing. I don't want to brag, but our family does better Filipino food than most; the kaldereta didn't even have olives.
But it's not easy making sisig so I grab any chance I get to buy it ready-made. It's not always guaranteed that it's made according to how I normally like my sisig. As it turned out, the sisig I bought could have done with a few other additions, but the familiar chewy, sticky texture was there along with that porky-sour-creamy taste, and that's just what you need really when you don't have the time to make it yourself. Heck, I get so desperate sometimes I even buy the canned sisig from the Asian store.
The great thing about sisig is that it comes with so many tweaks and I actually like them all- toasted, so that you get the crispy bits that stick to the pan; slightly moist and gelatinous punctuated with the nutty creaminess of the pork brain (gross to some, but the taste is sublime); intensely sour from a dousing of vinegar; or even westernised with slashings of mayonnaise.
I remember $2 pig-heads at the butcher in my first two years in New Zealand- you bought one, seasoned it, roasted it in the oven, chopped it all up as fine as you can, added onions (I would use both red and white) and seasoning, and grilled it just before serving. Obviously it's great with rice, but I can honestly eat it in spoonfuls just by itself, hot or cold.
I ate mine mixed with a kale and savoy cabbage salad.
Sisig with kale and savoy cabbage
plopping an egg in the middle of the sisig
sisig teppanyaki style
sisig as pulutan is the best
My father was an artist in another life. The life that I knew with him as his son didn't have art. It would be years before I would even make the connection that the paintings in his childhood home were made by him.
And I only ever witnessed him putting pen to paper to draw something just once. It was one of his election campaigns and he asked me to design his poster. There were no Macs then, or tablets. It wasn't really easy to open the computer as it was back then and create a mock design of what you wanted. So he sketched the layout with pen on paper and the ease by which he defined his own face on it or the economy of line to bring out an expression that could only be captured with a camera made me realise that I didn't know the person that he was as an artist.
But it never occured to me to be resentful that he didn't encourage us to take up art or to even have it in our home. He gave us everything we needed including things we didn't even think we needed. And at some point, we realised that he had to give something up in order to accomplish this. He taught us by example, that life is about trade-offs and that when you make them, it has to be for a good reason; a reason you will never regret. And I don't think he ever did.
That art thing seems to be in our family DNA and nearly everyone in our family have dabbled in it at some point with some actually having it as a career. I keep telling myself I'll give it another try only to realise lately that I actually have, that my work as a content creator involves crafting images and design albeit done digitally. To have spun that as a career without any formal training is something I can credit my father for because it's true- you can't teach true talent, it's either you have it or you don't.
In short, I'm actually 'ma-arte' (which come to think of it, is a word that probably comes from 'art' and that if you have 'too much' of it to the point of being annoying, you're therefore, 'ma-arte')
1. I rarely eat lunch straight out of a plastic lunch container. It has to be put on a proper plate and I have even brought personal plates to the office when I think that the provided office plates are not 'proper' enough.
2. I wear my best clothes everywhere just as I present my 'best self' at all times. Why in the world would you dress down, or bring your problems to work?
3. There is no art in chaos as far as housekeeping is concerned. A dirty, ugly house is a dirty, ugly house. I clean up nearly every day otherwise I can't function.
4. Spend some time immersing yourself simply appreciating the beauty of things- like browsing in an LV store!
5. If you find the balance between the simplicity of art and the outrageous commercialisation of it, you're good.
(the following are images taken at this unique museum hotel in Wellington called the QT Museum Hotel where I stayed at recently for a conference).
#forLeila
