Brekkie

I have about eight more days to go before my next blood-test for cholesterol and in the last couple of weeks, I had bacon only once. I also cut down on my eggs because it felt weird just having eggs without bacon. For me, this is the best breakfast combo- sure, I'll throw in a pancake or two or fresh white toast on occasion, but I'm happy with just the two.

I almost always cook the bacon in the oven without additional oil, and I never salt my eggs; it comforts me a little, these little nods to health. You only live once, so I say, do it moderately. Nothing is worse than being an extreme health nut and getting cancer or a tumour anyway, because it happens. 

So lately, I haven't been eating breakfasts at all save for my usual morning espresso and would have my first proper meal of the day at lunch, usually at 12:30. And I feel just fine. I've heard that this sort of 'fasting' may actually be beneficial. I also like the feeling of a tight, taut and empty stomach.

But I need my fibre, my complex carbs and my proteins and this morning I finally took a closer look at the cereal/breakfast aisle and saw all these...mmmmm..options

Deja vu

IOS 11 is Harry Potter magic; Live photos can be rendered into loops, bounces. Who would have thought that a moment in time could be captured so perfectly as a gif? 

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'Beauty' Sunday

I had the last of three three microdermabrasion sessions at the Avana Clinic at the Sylvia Park mall today. A different girl did my face and our conversation started with her wondering if I was wearing coloured contacts. No I'm not, I reply followed by my standard explanation that when I was younger, they were slightly bluer (a lie) and that the shade had changed to something closer to greyish blue. It was a far easier (and less dumber) explanation than, I didn't really know; that I started out with brown eyes like my siblings and that somewhere along the way, they changed.

We got to talking about ethnicities (my father's family has Spanish ancestry I tell her, and this is mostly likely true) and hers she tells me, is an interesting mix of Japanese on her mother's side while her father is Pakistani-Kazakkstani-Indian; that she is a practicing Muslim who doesn't wear the hijab. To be honest, I didn't take much notice of her as you would with some people who seem to either consciously or unconsciously try to be inconspicuous. But even then, my fleeting impression of her was that she was Korean and I tell her that.

I get that a lot she says somehow a bit dismayed, as she begins to cleanse my face. After the treatment, I make sure to get a proper look and I see a girl in her early twenties with a square-jawed Eurasian face. She could possibly be younger too which makes me re-think about trying out the laser treatments I was thinking of getting over the Christmas break.

I've never done lasers before and I feel that for such a procedure, maybe I wanted a more mature, medically authoritative person like an actual dermatologist.

She asks me at length what I did for a living but for some reason, I didn't question how she was trained for this. Was she a trainee? Was this a temp job for university students earning money on the side? In Adidas Superstar sneakers, jeans and a plain white t-shirt, she looked the part. Wielding a derma-microdermabrasion polishing wand may be easy enough but lasers?

My other alternative was About Face also at the mall. I've tried them twice and while I found their exacting professionalism very comforting, I actually hated their pushiness for their expensive products. It was like that dentist that I tried who even before he could start the procedure, was already ticking a list of stuff I needed to do with matching price-estimates. Do I need to spend $2,000 to deal with micro-cavities?

I've been 'doing my skin' for nearly half my life. I know its up and downs. I rarely ever go to sleep without washing my face and putting some product on. I have sun-screen on 365 days a year even on cloudy days. I've recently started drinking lots of water even if I hate the taste of water. I hate it when someone pushes for a recommendation based on an assumption- a cosmetic assumption for God's sakes. 

But the next step, lasers, has to be done right so I needed to weigh things carefully.

It was either the millennial crowd at Avana, or the pushy professionals at About Face.

So what's your name again I ask her. She gives one that has Zs and lots of Ss which my hearing/brain promptly fails to process. I find the other girl who did my first two sessions at reception when Zss Sss and I walk out. Hi, I simply say to her because her name too is one of those confounding things that are obviously foreign and so exotic that it defies normal pronunciation.

So when are you booking for your laser treatments they ask me and Zss Sss opens up her appointment tablet to look for a date.

Probably before the holidays (most likely true)..will be travelling a lot overseas in the next couple of weeks up to November so not sure of my schedule (not true)...I'll give you guys a ring  to book (maybe) and hey, thanks...

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I vary the products I use depending on what I think is happening with my skin. I'm currently using drug-store stuff like Neutrogena's Retinol treatment range; a serum from New Zealand company Snowberry. I've also been doing the Korean skin-regimen o…

I vary the products I use depending on what I think is happening with my skin. I'm currently using drug-store stuff like Neutrogena's Retinol treatment range; a serum from New Zealand company Snowberry. I've also been doing the Korean skin-regimen of 'layering' various creams so after the serum, I put on a night-cream (varies depending on what's on sale) and finally a facial oil (Midnight Recovery Concentrate by Khiels).

Friday

I have this fear that there will be that one morning when I wake up, having blissfully put my phone on flight mode through the night, that goddamned North Korea has launched a nuclear/hydrogen bomb attack because of goddamned Donald Trump. 

This Friday morning the sky seemed on fire for no other reason than the fact that it was another Friday; that we get to be alive and well for one more day; that we have to persevere only because there are people we love who need our protection and care.

Food for days

I had my regular blood tests done recently and this time prior to taking it, I didn't try to 'control' the outcome which meant eating food I 'preferred' versus food I 'should be eating'. Mind you, I have a few healthy habits firmly ingrained- less or no sugar at all, low carb, low sodium- so it wasn't like I went crazy. But I did go crazy- on fats. 

I loooove fats. At parties where lechon is served, all I would have is a plateful of lechon-belly, just warm enough to feel the pork fat melt in my mouth like butter. 

My food diary for those eight weeks was filled with eggs (around half a dozen a week), bacon (every week), chicken wings and mayonnaise- mayo with chicken, mayo with eggs, mayo on white toast on days when I allowed myself to eat white bread (twice a month).

The thing with fats is that it's filling; I never feel hungry, hence, I never feel compelled to snack (to be fair, I haven't been a snacking sort of person). But obviously, having a predominance of fats in one's diet would have consequences even if you're physically active. I tried to google, 'do you burn all the fat that you eat' and it gave me a trove of conflicting answers. 

And that's the annoying thing about food and dieting- the obstacle is science itself- when it can't decide definitively if eggs are really bad for you or not. But worry less on what's on the outside and more what the state of your body is by the numbers. With an ideal (total) cholesterol level of less than 4.0 mmol/L (according to NZ health guidelines),  mine read 6.2. My current GP frowns at anything over the prescribed level as all doctors should I guess, but for me, it wasn't that bad- maybe I should've shown her my food diary. I was expecting it to be way, way higher.

So ditched the bacon for now and hoping for better numbers in the next couple of weeks when I do another blood-test.

DID YOU KNOW? 
Your liver typically produces approximately 75% of the cholesterol circulating in your blood - a diet high in saturated fat stimulates the liver to produce more cholesterol. 

The remaining 25% of your cholesterol is derived from the food you eat. This dietary cholesterol is present in animal foods – mainly in dairy products, meat, egg yolks, offal and shellfish. It is not present in plant foods. 

For these reasons, the saturated fat and cholesterol content of the food you eat are likely to have a strong influence on your blood cholesterol levels.

Other factors that may influence your blood cholesterol levels include:

  • Genetic susceptibility to high cholesterol
  • Medical conditions such as diabetes and liver or thyroid disorders
  • Being overweight
  • Physical inactivity
  • High stress levels.

(via Southern Cross NZ)

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

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.

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.

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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.

 

 

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

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'.

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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.

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.

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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.

Mum

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).