Goodbye Winter
It was 20 degrees today. Hardly that warm to be honest. I started putting the knits and the bulky jackets; I've learned the hard (and expensive) way that you don't store knits on hangers. They need to lie flat to keep their shape.
I went to work in thin wool pants and a midweight Oxford shirt with just a thin cotton undershirt and I was actually cold in the shade while waiting for the bus.
But spring is in full swing and there are some nights when you promise to remember to store away the winter duvet for something less stuffy, but it's really not that warm at least for me. On one hand, when it gets really warm, I can take it and the locals struggle.
I'm going to miss the season's clothes the most; winter dressing is richer, fuller. And you stress less about not being in shape or revealing that winter fat accumulated because you always thought it was too cold to run or exercise. Not that I have problems with that but I feel I could do better getting into shape.
Much as I love slim-fit knits and tight black denim, I would trade those for a singlet and a pair of shorts anytime- as long as I'm fit and buff.
A bit of DIY so I could use a winter jacket for those summer-nights when the temperature dips
Sunday 2
If I had a choice, I would have grilled pork belly, steamed shrimps, 'inihaw na bangus' and a salad of steamed okra, tomatoes and seaweed. But this three-egg spinach omelette would have to do.
Sunday and the question of what to do
Weekends or any kind of free day is like my paycheck in my bank account; it's suddenly there and I struggle with what to do with it.
I think of other people like my siblings and I know that for the most part, their decisions for the day are determined largely by their responsibilities as parents. I only have to be responsible for myself and there lies the conundrum- what to do with oneself? Obviously, I'm good with the 'I take care of myself' bit; I like to believe I have a good grip on my health- it could be better, but there's the part of enjoying life. I always cast the story of my dad's health as a cautionary-tale but when I relieve the memories of family weekends filled with great food and contentment, I pull myself back from thinking that a piece of perfectly cooked pork-belly will end up killing me.
It will or it may not, but one thing I will never do is to live in fear of it.
But no pork belly today, sadly.
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A vote that actually counts
Don't get me started on politics. I don't even know where to begin. It had always been my dad's dream to work in government, and he got in around 1992 and died in what was technically still his term in office twelve years later.
So basically I've lived it, worked for a politician for nine years and I don't want to ever live it again though, on occasion, I get worked up as I've been with Hillary Clinton which is bizarre because I don't even live in the United States.
But that's politics- it's very irrational even if politicians try so hard to tell you that it's necessary, that your life and your future depend on it. Outside of my irrational trolling of Donald Trump at every opportunity I get, my life seems to hum along just fine. Interest rates don't bother me because I don't have a mortgage; I can afford $4 avocados when I feel like having one; I'm not troubled with child-care issues because I don't have kids; I think my carbon footprint is small because I don't drive which doesn't matter anyway because climate change is irreparable and we're all fucked.
I think I envy people who are so clued into what's happening but beyond the academic astuteness, does it help anyone? Remember that memorable scene in 'The Devil Wear's Prada' where Anne Hathaway's character is rebuked for thinking she's exempt from fashion when in truth, no one is? I'm sort of thinking that one of these days, someone or something will remind me that I'm not exempt from politics. But I'm not holding my breath.
For now, I'm casting a vote for myself- NOT waiting for anyone to help me change or run my life.
CHINI RAE LEADS THE WAY. We voted at Chini Rae's school, Opaheke Primary
Belated happy birthday to this one
With the exception of Yanna/Ally, none of my siblings' children resemble them at all. My mom would moan something vaguely racist about dominant bloodlines but I get her point; there is something comforting seeing your likeness passed on to your children. So I've used an image of Yanna/Ally because I couldn't find a photo of her mother that I liked. I find this photo taken when we spent Christmas in Hawaii a few years back particularly interesting because this is how I remember Binky when we were younger. She was always the serious one and it was rare to catch her simply unguarded, unburdened by whatever she was thinking.
I would like to think that we're polar opposites but it doesn't seem to be true; I just hide the seriousness very well. In photos, we have the same expression of hesitation; should I smile? Should it be a half-one, a full-on grin? We get caught in photos always looking unsure of what to project. But maybe that's our problem- do we need to project anything at all? And if we do, should it be what the world expects, or should it be what we truly feel at that moment?
And the search goes on, looking for the 'perfect photo'.
Fish and chips Sunday
In a country where food choices are surprisingly few, I wouldn't complain if I had fish and chips every other day. There is always something inherently satisfying about a meal that has some carbs, a whole lot of fat, a fair amount of protein and the flavour of which you can calibrate with more salt if necessary (flaky salt is best); a dash of something sour (malt vinegar is rubbishly ineffectual in cutting through the fat, use native Philippine vinegar instead preferably one that you've spiked with chilies); or something surprising like Japanese mayonnaise and pungent horseradish.
Variety can also be achieved by buying your fish and chips from different places; no two are the same with significant variances in the batter (a nearly equal ratio of batter to fish-meat is best) and of course, the type of fish used. There's hoki (lemon fish?), tarahiki and snapper which I always go for even if it's slightly more expensive. Apparently, in the South Island, they commonly use Bluefin Gurnard and blue cod, both of which I still haven't had the chance of tasting.
When Jay first visited New Zealand he became enamoured with fish and chips and we wondered why in a country like the Philippines where seafood was virtually predominant, no one has thought of dipping boneless bangus in batter and putting it in the deep-fryer- and that's because it's dumb. And unnecessary- bangus is flavourful by itself, unmasked save for salt and pepper (but don't forget the dipping sauce of fish sauce and calamansi). But white fish are inherently bland, hence, the mummification with eggs and flour. But I'm not complaining.
I paid a ton of money for this website so I fucking should post more stuff
Happy birthday to this one...
My mother makes it a point to ring us on our birthdays. After the greetings have been dispensed with, it's mostly a catch-up on what's happening at home. Unlike dreaded text messages in the middle of the night, most of the news- admittedly grim ones- concern other people. Because really, there are only two kinds of news anyway right?
Binky hates it tho- what kind of news is that she complained to Doyet who told her about what had happened to Atchi Gina. But she's not the only one who chose to brush that away. When I was home last December mom had urged me to pay Atchi Gina a visit, but I really didn't want to. What does one say to someone who is dying from a mysterious condition that doctors couldn't diagnose?
These are people you've known your entire life, but the connections are now so tenuous, I feel as if the stories are not real. It seems like copping out, but I would choose to remember people as they were in the past- alive, healthy, happy.
And on a happier note, we settled on Chinese for Doyet's birthday.
Time out but not really
Being able to work at least once a week at home (or anywhere really where there is a reliable internet connection) is a privilege which I have to remind myself, I have justifiably earned. I am fortunate that natural habits- a compulsion for thoroughness- can actually be rewarded by a generous and understanding company. But lately, I am stepping away from that when I realised that if I were to quantify it, I was giving something closer to 110%. Too much. OA na iyan. The number of times I have said 'so busy' to friends who somehow still remember to say hi is astounding only for the fact, that it's the absolute truth.
But I'm not miserable. I'm not fat- in fact, I'm a few months away from getting abdominal muscles to show. I'm happy in the abstract sense of the word and content in the quantifiable sense of the word.
But yes I'm busy- and glad that today. I can work at home and do my laundry for 'breaks'.
Rebel in the Rye
I was saying to Sam's mum Mary this morning on our 7am drop-off that maybe I should re-read 'Catcher In The Rye'. Books are like people; how you get along with them depends on your level of maturity, your current state of mind. If I remember it correctly, I read the book when I was in college; there was a copy in my Tito Benny's library in Fairview.
I can say for sure that it didn't affect me as much as the Chronicles of Narnia did which I all read when I was 11, or Sidney Sheldon which I started reading at 12. So in hindsight, I wasn't at all the alienated adolescent that I thought I was. Holden Caulfield aside, I can identify more with JD Salinger.
I'm going to be a writer when I grow up, I declared to anyone who asked when I was 13 and unlike JD who was inspired/moved/influenced by his experiences in the war, Hemingway by his extensive travels or Tolstoy having a profound moral crisis, I was a child who was simply imaginative. And bored. And friendless for the first 16 years of my life. And well provided for by nearly perfect parents who didn't beat me up, let me starve or be sexually molested. In short, what the hell was I going to write about?? This is generalising I know, but something profound, something really important could have been a start- and I think that what I had wasn't just enough of a catalyst. Wasn't enough material.
Opening in theaters September 15th Directed by: Danny Strong Starring: Zoey Deutch, Kevin Spacey, Nicholas Hoult, Lucy Boynton & Sarah Paulson The world of legendary writer J. D. Salinger is brought vividly to life in this revealing look at the experiences that shaped one of the most renowned, controversial, and enigmatic authors of our time.
I actually came across this trailer on Jessica Zafra's blog- yes, I check on the old girl once in a while to see if she's still alive (!)- and watching it made me cringe; nearly every line uttered in the trailer was me, that old writer me.
1. All I know is how to be a writer
2. My life is dull
3. Fiction is more truthful than reality
4. "I write short stories"
5. Write another story and another one after that
6. How is writing a real profession?
7. I don't know if I'm cut out for this
8. Are you willing to devote your life to telling stories?
9. Dumb it down once in a while
10. You can enrapture people, move people
11. I just want my writing to be truthful
12. You got to stick out these dry spells
13. Imagine a book that you'd want to read and go write it
Catch-up 1
22 July 2017
Last night, I got one of those horrible texts; a number that wasn't on my phone-book and without my glasses, all I could make out was that the message was in Filipino. Possibly bad news.
It was Jong asking if I was still awake, that he had brought Doyet to Middlemore hospital for stomach pains and if I could come over to the house the next day. Sam asked me if I wanted to go over and I said that it should be fine. It should be. This was one of those things that you knew, had to be fine; willed and prayed to be fine.
It had been a gruelling several weeks of what else, work. Mental work. Creative acrobatics. Petty office politics. Superficial office socialising. Waking up at 5am. Thinking of lunches and dinners days in advance. Butt and leg exercises. I wasn't really exhausted; I felt full. All I wanted was not to think of anything on a Friday night but just get to bed, to sleep, to wake up at 10am.
I would usually put my phone on flight mode before I went to bed to shut off the endless notifications, but I didn't this time. I texted Jong back to update me and that I was coming over the next day.
I went to bed and didn't think of anything except to surrender to blessed sleep, to faith.
(Doyet is fine)
15 July 2017
Trying to find snow and unable to find it..
10 July 2017
It took all of 15 minutes of a sudden Auckland winter storm to rip off part of the roof of a building our offices are in, allowing rain-water to soak most of the new extended wing. There is something terribly refreshing about a pseudo-disaster (it took less than two hours to relocate desks, set-up and start the daily grind); you (temporarily) become more productive, more sociable. Alas, return to 'normalcy' happens too quickly.
30 June 2017
The best steamed pork-bun is in Manurewa. And to be clear, this is siopao which is actually Hokkien for steamed buns and totally different from the more commonly found char sio bao with the cracked top, the denser dough and the paltry filling. The best siopao should ideally be half bun and half filling. It should also ideally be eaten the moment one buys it; I would get it for morning tea and have to contend with peeling off the paper bottom that gets stuck via the steam onto the bun. Microwave ovens are convenient sure, but it's a steamed bun's worst enemy.
Happy birthday mom!
June should be Junk Free Month so they say
Doable or are you just setting yourself up to fail?
Read MoreMum
There are some Kiwi/non-Filipino things that I don't feel comfortable doing or saying. Like buying and giving greetings cards (I have a suspicion though that card-giving is probably universal); using the words 'mate' (which is similar to like saying 'pare' but 'mate' is applicable to anyone regardless of gender) or 'ta' which is a British-ism for 'thank you'.
But I like saying 'mum'. We grew up calling our parents mommy and daddy and switched to mother and father when we got older. One would have thought that using 'mom' or 'dad' would have been natural seeing how Americanised Filipino culture is, but I think Kris Aquino put us off using it. It sounded like a pretentious upper middle-class affectation and while it seemed that people thought we were in that social category, the truth was that we never did put ourselves in any. We slummed it out with rest of them and when necessary, played the part better than the best of them. Integrity, and your own self-respect were far more tangibly better things to possess than financial and career success. But mum wouldn't begrudge praise when friends or acquaintances kids achieved either- and would point it out to you. The fact that it didn't take me long to realise that it wasn't meant as a subtle jibe is credit to her perseverance- and commitment to her job as a mother.
You can only push your child so much but she certainly tries, and still does. And this to me is her most important legacy, something she practices herself to this day even if it sometimes borders on near obsession (like her fervent Catholicism; her championing of her friends; her zealous dieting).
You have to try, and try, until you literally succeed (a really pointed reminder she dropped on me in middle school when i was flailing with stupid, goddamned mathematics).
And this applies to everything- being a better person; a healthier one; a richer one; a more truthful one; a creative one; a more compassionate one.
Because the day you stop, is the day you fail.
Happy mother's day mum (even if we don't really celebrate it but as Kiwi's are fond of saying, let's give it a go).
The cost of health
....is too much. The problem is neither poverty nor hunger, but food inequality. Everyone expects you to eat healthy but wait until you've finished ringing up your items and see how much damage it has done to your budget. To put it into perspective, the food in the photo above cost me $15; smoked salmon (because I need my Vitamin E, good cholesterol) was $9 and the salad (because I need my finer and my vitamins) was $5. And this was just for one lunch.
Fifteen dollars can get a size 14 dressed chicken, two servings of (fried) chips and a large soda; this is dinner for a family of four. Not the healthiest, but obviously your options are dictated by what you can afford.
A Matt gallery
Happy birthday Matt!
Winter is coming...and the colour theme is black
I remember my first working winter in New Zealand. I took the train to the city from Henderson and as it sped down the track, I would spy spots of colour in an otherwise wall of black- everyone was in black. It seems apt as Kiwis stubbornly cling to the belief that the only acceptable weather is warm, sunny and summery; anything that is opposite is an anomaly, an outrage like disliking Marmite or betting against the All Blacks.
Some have budged from the winter uniform since then but black, like anything quintessentially Kiwi (most of the current national sports groups have the word 'black' in their names after all), will never go out of style.
Country Road Wool Cable Knit Crew in black; the new MacBook Pro 15-inch (space grey which is almost black in person lol) with Touch Bar & Touch ID; Nike Zoom All Out Low in black/anthracite; John Varvatos Dark Rebel cologne; Country Road Slim Tapered Black Jean; Kmart shag-carpet in black and silver.
Man can live on salad alone
Happy birthday to me
How you celebrate your birthday shows exactly where your life is at the moment. There was a full decade when it was all about other people; I closed a restaurant once, and a bar just to accommodate everyone I had invited. And these people weren't hangers-on- I was neither rich nor popular- but friends who at that point in my life, were there. And then were gone. I was gone, to a really far country no less. Each time I visit, things change more and more until everything just disappears and I wonder, going through the memories, if the things I remember actually happened.
I had celebrated turning 40 with a quiet dinner at home. I cooked all the dishes I wanted to eat- familiar ones like kare-kare, fried snapper and new favourites like rum and raisin ice-cream for desert- and I was perfectly happy.
This year, it's food again, and family, and new friends and a nagging suspicion that no one's going away just yet.
