Dear Food Aversion, I'm Almost 100% Over You

One cloudy Saturday, I decided to try pork wanton with pandan rice at Paotsin. I also agreed to down it with BukoJuice, a beverage I rarely drink. The next day, I wanted to eat at Paotsin again, but this time, I asked my boyfriend to choose something different, that tastes better when fried. Steamed siopao is one of the few steamed dishes I do trust-I have this feeling that anything immersed in heat and cold, is almost germ and bacteria free. Well, good luck to the Salmonella-harboring sunny side up egg of one fast food chain...

The other week, I also chose white sauce for my Ziti and white cheese pizza. And, although I was craving for a sour taste because of something hormonal, the white creamy sauce and cheese, did not disappoint me.

I then discovered, stepping out of my food comfort zone. I always order the same meal, the same dessert and even the same drink-coffee or water. Just that. I was boring myself, whereas I have this growing infatuation with food. Contrary to stereotyping horizontally challenged people as food lovers, I, a skinny wide eyed girl, loves food.

Although, there are times I get to be a very picky eater. I don't eat ginataang langka, I rarely eat pineapple and drink pineapple juice especially when I am not sure if I'm hungry, I occasionally eat ube, clams and crabs and I only eat boneless fish (well, milk fish), tuna, or fish with big bones.

This all started with my almost sheltered but not so childhood.My older sister and I had yayas telling us myths or facts such as local monsters and dwarfs and my mother too, had given me this fear of eating and drinking food and beverages when I am hungry.

Exhibit A: After the June 1990 quake, Lola , me and my sister had a snack, well to relieve us of the 'tension' of the said disaster, Lola had us drink a soda. I drank it like a tequila shot minus the salt and lemon. I decided not to finish my sandwich. I felt my tummy ached. My mother, upon learning of what I've done, made me eat rice with tinola soup and drink hot Milo. She told me I had to fart three times or else I'll vomit and die!

Just imagine how scared I must have felt at that time, an 8 year old kid, dying because she drank a soda with an empty stomach...I was supposed to be a teacher, or a nun or a writer.

I keep asking my mother what if I didn't fart and I vomited? Her eyes grew big and she said, "Don't think about that too much, finish your Milo!"

So I did and I think, I really forced myself to let out a couple of gas.

Exhibit B: After that, my mother enumerated the food and drinks I shouldn't dare eat and drink when my tummy's empty.

Sigh, kids are gullible. That is why, for almost five years, after that incident, I asked people, "Is it ok to eat this when you're hungry?" To which they would almost always reply, "Why, are you?" To which I would then say (hold on), "I don't know. I'm not sure. Am I hungry?"

FTW?!

So there I sit, enjoying Buko Juice, making sure I am stuffed in Paotsin. Their rice, aside from being tasty (it's pandan rice for those late-bloomers/good-food-discoverers like me) was enough to make me feel full.

Mother, I have conquered my fear...almost. Next conquest, is to eat this pineapple chunks while sipping my Margarita I mean, pineapple juice.

Dear Time

Hootie and the Blowfish once crooned,"Time, why you punish me?" I guess, because, time is gold(en).

Is that the reason why some people are toying with the idea of controlling it?

I chanced upon "Flash Forward" during my usual channel surfing. Learning the plot from its trailer, it's a wonder how;

1. time will stop for 2minutes and 17 seconds
2. people will get a glimpse of their future

They call these glimpses as "flashes"(Flashback, warm nights--I just remembered Cyndi Lauper). Either you had a good future or bad. For some who didn't get any, just like the character played by John Cho (playing Agent Demetri Noh), their fate was death in the following months.

I'm not much a follower as I always fall asleep at certain episodes-the marathon was being shown during my 'bedtime' at Fox. The last episode I watched was when Dylan (an injured kid in the series, sorry, don't know his real name), confuses reality with his flash and goes straight to the house of the Benfords, repeatedly saying; "My house too."

It's perplexing to see your present as your past, that is how I interpreted that scene. It could be one of the reasons for the perpetrators of the tim-freezing and flashes, if that is one of their agendas- to control what would be "the present" months from now.

If I could do it the other way around, create a time-freeze moment BUT have everything go back, six months from now...will it make a difference, six months after? Maybe, knowing my often regretful-self. Realizing something significant after a few moments or even days...ok, even months.

I would have started a different approach, long-termplanning,an earlier weeding of the garden, a better decision by taking a big risk, changing the silence, etc? Or I could just appreciate what is "now" and move forward. Grow some cells for the brain.

No matter how cliche it may sound, time is really gold. You can't get it back. Maybe,thru some works of fiction ...so, let me grab my gardening tools, the zombies are about to eat my brains. I need more peashooters.

The Planner

Let's say that I have friend, and she had been planning her wedding for twenty-seven years already...

From the vows, to the place, the people, the theme-up to the smallest details....dress, flowers, the song...Her eyes are twinkling as she describes how everyone marches before her. And she knows by heart the lyrics of the song she had marked as her wedding march. She had memorized it, the day she first heard it.

She could just feel how her groom would look at her, would she be so old by then? She smiled as she imagine his fingers intertwining with hers as he sashays her towards the steeple wherein they would exchange their vows and commitment. It would have to be...amor, fides, respectus. Or something close to it, that would definitely bring everyone to tears...

Let's say, she even knows what to do after the wedding vows, she said...she would dance, with one hand waving free. Because, she has long said goodbye to too-much sadness. And when she throws the gerbera daisies, she knows whose hands will grab it. She could just hear their girlish giggles...


It may rain or not, but she doesn't mind, as long as it is simple and complete.

It doesn't matter if she gets sand in her eyes, or the groom sneezes because she sprayed too much of the Dolce and Gabbana Light Blue....It could be sunset or it could be sunrise. As long as the families are there. The friends are there...and the groom will be there...

Nah, my friend and her silly girlish thoughts. Why can't she be like me? I don't make plans...too much.

The Bottle Series / Ang Serye ng Bote

Note: These were created four years ago. Spirits were bottled up on pieces of scratch papers, emo-blasts!

Series I

The cure, for my bottled up feelings, is this cold bottle. I cling on to it. And my grasp made me feel pain...Then I cried, and I cry (repeat) until exhaustion ate me.

The cure, which I asked for more and more (repeat) made my alert eyes plummet down to the floor. And I choked at the hazy smoke - and he just said, enough is enough. For the reason...is the cure and the cure is this bottle.

Series II (Ikalawang Serye)

Sabi ng bote;
Iwanan mo na
Pero sabi ko naman:
Hindi ko kaya

Sabi ng bote (na galit na galit):
Gumising ka muna
Pero sabi ko:
Mahirap gawin, ayoko muna

Umikot-ikot ang bote sa aking paningin
(nakapamaywang ata)
Siya's naiinis sa'kin

Ilang araw..gabi ka nang umiiyak sa'kin
Ilang yelo ang tinunaw mo
Dahil sa hindi mo siya kayang iwanan,
Dahil sa ano?

Nais na ng boteng ito na magpatihulog sa sahig,
Na magpatihulog sa sahig
Nais na niyang magwala sa buwisit
Ngunit--

Mahirap gawin ang sinasabe ng bote,
Dahil sa magulong-magulo...
Dahil sa bote na 'to, nagkatama ako.

Series III

If I wore my sunglasses, I would lose my sense of direction. I wanted to drink,But my stomach churned and I say shit...I am inhaling the crusted carpet. And being worn out, just threw me away literally. No brakes, stops or halts. Just screaming...

I'm writing though, with my disheveled self...yak-scented hair, and it has to keep on going. No grammar, rules or policies. No nothing and cliche might be a part of this abundant falling story.

I'm not high, never been high. Just burnt out, totally in-gratified??? Reach me away...I was waiting for a desperate change. And you call me pathetic, 'cause I wanted that word...I don't know why I like to say, such phrases and words like a pathetic dummy...

A big gooey gummy balled into full of shit and screech...

Series IV (Ikaapat na Serye)

Buntong-hininga.
At muli, ako'y napabulong ng mura.

Malabo, unti-unting bumabalik sa dati.
Noong una, isa, dalawa, umabot sa tatlo.

Hilo na ngunit nais ituwid ang lakad,
Dahil kaya pa kitang titigan

Buntong-hininga...
Inulit pa,
At kung kaya ko,
Dahil hindi na tumitila...

Series V (Ikalimang Serye)

Nakikita mo ba ito? (bote na pawis sa lamig)
Ganito siya kalabo
Ganito rin siya kalinaw...(yelo sa bucket)

Nakikita mo ba ito? (sisig)
Ganito siya kagulo
..ako rin ata. Ganito kagulo...

Hindi ko alam, pero nag-aya ako,
Kasi gusto kong gumapang pauwi,
Parang sundalo,
Dahil nagrerebelde ako,
Pero ganito,
Ganito ako kagulo...

Series VI (Ika-anim na Serye)

Isang malutong na mura. Dahil hanggang ngayon kahit sampung beses na akong nagsipilyo at nagmumog, nalalasahan ko pa rin ang bangis ni Jose, kung si Jose nga talaga yan.

Ang tapang mo kasi, alas-dose na ng tanghali, nag-shot ka pa. Sana, kumuha ka na lang uli ng Santong Miguel.

Siguro nga, kasi nakikiramay ka lang. O sadyang, nakikisama. Haler, iniwan mo sila noon 'di ba? Saktong sakto lang ang pagkawala ko sa hulog kanina.

Pero, isang malutong na mura ulit. Hinding-hindi na talaga ako dadayo ke Jose.

Hmm, depende sa hulog.
to be continued/itutuloy

Journal 2

And then they roam the place,
like drops of rain pouring down your face.
A hand wipes the rain off your eyes,
this you feel but you do not realize.

It was hanging on the edge of the walls,
you crumble with it as it falls.
Each tiny fragment, the hand pulls for you,
only then you started to think, then you knew.

Then, you thought,
...would it stay and shove the darkness like the medieval knight?
Or would it cast you off once you are a fearful sight?

You let it be, you let it stay,
although you know it shouldn't be that way.
When the sun drew the air out of the evening you see,
that looking just at the eyes wouldn't be.
There would be times that it would flicker and almost die,
but when must you cover yourself a lie?

You tear all the thoughts that scared you out,
you bloat them, you beat them in a bout.
You threw the visor like a skin,
so it would know what's within.

It didn't laugh, it didn't scream, it didn't leave,
it stayed like you can not believe.

Ghosts are for grievers, lies are for ghosts--they haunt you down
..until you mind,
it heard the day and night as it eats the time.
Then you held the hand like you do with the ancient tiles...
and the tiny drops of rain withdrew into a thousand of miles.

If You Click on Edit

I dreamed of a giant eraser. Or a life-like edit link or delete button.
That is why, today is unique. Because it coexists with yesterday. And is the possible cause of tomorrow.


So, let's do this again.

Hi, how was your day?
Not too good. I'm emotionally and mentally drained...
Yeah, mine too.
Why?
Same old, same old, you?
Yeah, same old, same old.
Still, there's something we can be thankful for, for today,
Yes, I think so. We do.
Sunshine, waves, laces, daisies and the sand...


Instead,

Blasted blahs. Me, me, me.
And then, zipped out. Clammed up. Buttoned up. Shut up.

A Candid Cane

She used to be like me. Or so, she used to speak fiery and hurtful words, just like me. And when I said used to, it's obviously because she doesn't or can't find it in her old and tired self, to speak such words again.

Before, she could steadfastly walked with us from their antique house towards my cousins' place, a good 10-15 minute-walk with two lanky girls; one was all-girl get up while the other was boyish. The latter was me.

She would often scold us for playing with the kids nearby, because, they were a smelly bunch. We fear that she would be so frustrated with us that we have to finish the food she prepared even though me and my sister were full. And then later, Ate and I will throw up.

She had said brutally honest words with us, watching by her side. She cried when her mother died. She laughed when she feels like it. I have often wondered how she could be so candid about certain things and issues. I think she has mastered the art of brutal honesty. Saying what she thinks and feels, without even batting an eyelash.

I say this, but don't mean that she is a bad person. She holds our family together, binding us whenever we felt obligated to the point of making excuses, because we were so lazy (or just because) to see each other.

She once watched me while I was sleeping on the couch and gave one of her rarest claims; "Aba, maganda pala 'tong apo ko no?" I don't know, it may be old age...

And now, as she holds on to my arm for support while the other hand holds her cane, I think I have forgotten the words she once said to people she knew and cared for...even if they were spiteful and sometimes, hurtful to sensitive ears.

Her voice was trembling as she told me how difficult it was for her to see her food, the ground that she's walking on and she said, she can't even see my face anymore. She quietly thanked the Lord for prosperity however, she cannot stop telling herself, how hard it was already...maybe because, she was not used to being dependent on others. Just like me....

Silently, I know, we may have rebutted on some of the things she said before...and that made me think, it's not too late for a mean girl to slowly change. Just like her, nothing can be done overnight. Borrowing Fiona Apple's words, "I've been a bad, bad girl...". Plus, it doesn't mean you'll let go of candidness...after all, mataray ang lola ko. It's in the blood...

Dear Me!

I don't hate you because you're beautiful(or so you think). I hate you because you're stupid. By the way, you are not, beautiful. You are a *bleep*(edited due to the degree of evilness of the word).

Hate is a strong feeling. And because I am resolving my conflict with immaturity, I did not use the word despise. Recently, I was given a refresher by Life and Fate, about "unfair". Fate just told me that Life is not always fair, so I have to deal with it. I felt tired of complaining and talking about it...because I know what Life and Fate has just taught me.

Unfair is when something has happened that you felt and/or know is prejudiced and unjust. I am imagining a scale now tipping on its left side lower than the right one. That is so freaking hateful.

But, as far as the Java Man was concerned, he knew he had to be "unfair" for survival. I just don't want to survive. I want to live. One of the greatest quote from Wall-E. Three D and kiddie movie and programs really give out matured dialogues and quotes. You just have to be smart enough to catch some, if not all, of them.

So Java Man or men, or boys whatever, chose to be unfair...let's go back to my root cause analysis chamber. Here, the fundamentals of maturity plays a big role in my way of reasoning, thinking and sometimes, feeling.

Cause: I felt hatred
Why?: Because, Java Boys (I decided, they are boys, for now) are unfair.
Why?: Because they made a decision that seems to have been done out of sheer desperation
Why?: Because it seems that they're being overly-utilized for tasks (theirs? or not theirs?)

Endless whys...Gimme a break.

Maybe, I am just being selfish and childish. Or, I needed a kiss of appreciation. And since we are still here in the chamber of my matured self, I am plotting my game plan, although, this is not a game, I have no other terms for it. I will be wearing my reasoning cap along with my happy thoughts.

For all I know, you are a *bleep*(edited due to the degree of evilness of the word).

Dear Little Happy Land

His hands were like his, short, pudgy and his fingers too, are chubby... His smile, his eyes and his eyebrows. Except for the nose, he was a dead ringer of him. And how could you possibly have felt fear at the thought of your first encounter?

Because he may not like you. And this is one of the few...because you never really cared if someone you just met will like you or not.

At first he was just sneaking glances from his seat.And then he started talking to you, cautious at first and then casually. He agreed that you're pretty. Or he was just being polite.

When his papa called him, "son", you felt funny. That was the first time you've seen him as such. And when you searched for the word, no adjective was glove-fit enough for the funny feeling you just felt. He was very concerned when his papa was talking to the soldier, because he was in traffic violation of some sort. His questions were not dumb but still child-like.

When his mom called, he said that you were there and he made the teasing sound"yihee"....Then followed it up with a "It's okay that you're here with me and papa, Mil-Anne. It's not a problem that you're with us," Pretty straightforward, right?

Over two slices of pizza, he remarked on something silly and yet you over analyzed on what he just said. Could it be that he wanted me out of his Papa's life with that remark or was he just being a kid with (sometimes) silly thoughts? Nevertheless, just like his father, he is smart and honest.

At the end of the day, with your tired eyes and aching legs, he waved at you and happily jumps off the car and said, "Bye bye Tita Mil-Anne!"

And I replied, "See you later!"

Addiction Session 1

Hi, my name is Mil-Anne, and I am a blog addict.

It all started when I read the teeny-booper pocketbook, Sweet Valley Twins and Friends, in grade school. I was amazed at how words can create a TV out of paper. Since we didn't have much money for pocketbooks, I borrowed them from my schoolmates. Although, some of them are not much of a reader, I was. There came a time, I don't have anymore books to borrow, because I have them read already. Or they were pretty much selfish.

I discovered Carolyn Keene's teenage detective Nancy Drew. And because of her, I was so into mystery and suspense fiction. I borrowed from the high school library and fortunately we where allowed to borrow them even if we were in grade school.

Alas, I read them all again. I was not interested in Hardy Boys and Sweet Valley High or University afterward, I began to be consumed by the want to read and smell books...

That's when those thoughts came by. I picked up a pen and started drawing and writing on the unused pages of my grade school notebooks. Because I had Nancy Drew as my inspiration, out came Detective April Brown Fox, my version of the titian haired girl from River Heights. I also created comics in vernacular since I was a big fan of Bata Batuta and Funny Komiks--I can easily relate to them and even submitted my Funny Story which was then published in the 90's (but I was not able to save a copy).

In our Junior year, we were given an elective class, in place of our old Technology and Home Economics, I chose Journalism.

I became the Features Editor of the school paper. Bitterness avalanche--none of my feature stories were published. I joined press conferences and was able to get a seventh place in feature writing in English. After that, the passion grew, but the mainstream was not an audience.

Puberty was the culprit for the passionate words. Love was what I thought I felt when I was amused at his jokes and witty remarks. I thought it was all love and feelings, they were all mere infatuation which was later cured by angry poetry and then the peaceful sets of haiku.

In college I escalated from Nancy Drew to Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple and the other Agatha Christie characters. I also can't take my hands off Sydney Sheldon's and Anne Rice's. And that was when, I decided that I should major in Journalism. However, I know, I can't be in a straight news area.

Soon after my "iska" days in PLM (Manila), I stepped out of my zone and met Sue Grafton's series of ABCs...and Harlan Coben's thick plots. I was also interested in Calvin and Hobbes' escapades, Pugad Baboy and Baby blues's Antics. Around that time, I was free-flowing and uploading my written words online. They call it, "blogging".

Even though I know, no one reads them, I felt liberated. There's this feeling that I may not have the mainstream audience as I imagined before, but, there are the anonymous people, like me, who enjoys reading through other people's chutzpah, daily thoughts and what have yous...And I kinda like the way it looks online.

I still have the written words on paper, bounded by a black leather board. I also have some astray papers, where they are, I don't know, can't remember. But I started to feel saturated one day. And that's when my mind went blank.

The white light of the monitor was blaring on my face and I couldn't even think of a sensible intro. Tabula Rasa.

This went on for months...At times, I had great ideas for posting. And when i get the chance to write them....they were all gone. Vacuumed by oblivion. Aside from eating MSG containing foods, I was losing "it" from my office work and tasks.

One day, someone left me. And I was enveloped with sadness and freedom. I grabbed the keyboard ans just started with a few lines. Counting claws...day 1. The thought of the final installation of "counting claws" post, fueled me. Until, I was overflowing with words again.

Until, I became an addict. I think, I am...For all I care, it's a healthy, not self-destructive and non-annoying addiction.

No help needed. I just need you to listen.

Dear Tactlessness

One day, I ate my words.

Surprisingly, I used to spewed out words like they were sisters with daggers. I often blurted them out and I am oblivious to the blood squirts. I don't care about the time and place. I don't care about the gasps and tears. I don't even give an 's' when they gave out dirty looks. Because, tactlessness is innate with me.

I was attacked verbally and I, in return, defended myself to death...plain hyperbole. Its roots came from my childhood days. We whispered and they snickered...so when I finally landed adolescence, I broke out of my shell. I learned that a frank and sharp tongue is making me build my walls.

I often give solicited advices, that either woke them up or made them cover their ears. Sometimes, they snapped on me.

And then one time, some time after the devastation of waters, someone told me he's taking me out of my comfort zone. And he did. And it did...

That's when I started to see what's on the other side. Day by day....changes, words of wisdom, random blahs.

I went back to the euphemisms and the inspirational cheers I learned...and that's when I knew, I ate my words.

Hello Mr Stranger

Hello there, stranger...

It seems to be difficult to comprehend that you are developing some sort of feelings for a stranger. How can you explain that a normal lady, will feel his presence even when he is not there. Even when he doesn't know her. Or him.

A glimpse, an accidental glance, as if she was waiting for him as the door opens. But...she knows, it was purely coincidence.

So why feel funny when he passes by?

You seem to connect for a second there, but you can't imagine yourself being alone with him...so what is this?
Familiarity? Mystery?

You almost smiled at him. But you looked away. For the entire day you can see him from your peripheral view...walking quickly, if his assumptions were right...better be safe. But no one says you're falling. No one says you're fluttering your lashes at him...

Although, at times, you'd feel like a schoolgirl again. When you caught him staring...and he looked down. Maybe you are having a hallucination fit. You're drawing conclusions from hazy assumptions....and that's why they called them "silly girlish thoughts"

He walks by, you both looked at each other and you almost said;

Hello there stranger...

Threshing the Hold

I saw that most of them kneel,
And that they were nervous.

Their eyes were shining
and words fail...

Their hands were shaking,
Lights and flowers...

She squeals, cries and smiles....

And from afar, I was still waiting.
Laces,untied.

It's been awhile.

FreeFlow Assumptions

I sensed solitude,so I decided to head towards the metro.

As I waved and chatted with a colleague,fat mosquitoes as large as flies swarmed above our heads. I tried waving them off as Miel tried to get them smoked high with his Red Marlboro while we were trying to catch up on each other's three-month post.

As he spoke, his words were swerving into something else:

"I am glad you stepped out of your comfort zone and relieved me of my duties. Money is what I need right now and I know I'll do well with any other position. I haven't told anyone except our Boss about my reason for transferring. I can go home now after 9 hours,if I don't slack off. I don't think about work that much anymore when I am at home. I get to develop people because there's opportunity for them and as for you, I've entrusted what I created. I am hoping you don't destroy it. But,if you messed up, it's yours. Own it"

With a nod of his almost balding head, I know we are dismissing our chitchat. I had to cross the street,all too careful to pass by the zebra lines instead of getting hit by a moron.

I got on a jeep,which gives me an eerie feeling. The lights were orange and red, shit. Everyone's lips were pale. Just like a vampire's disco house/room. I paid my fare. I could feel some were eyeing me, I tossed a crochet black poncho over a black spaghetti top. I was in jeans and flats. It was as if they were telling me:

"Beach day?"
"I could see your underarms, I wanna see if you shave or wax"
"Black Ensemble,emo-shit wanna be"
"You ain't here to partay!"

Or other stupid thoughts I do not want to touch with a ten foot pole.

I got off and started walking.I was searching for a safe-looking cab. Honk! Honk!

"I look safe, my unit is Avanza, it's roomy and I can get you in your destination safely. A 10P tip would be nice"

So I flagged down the cab.

He asked me the directions (because there were several streets we can pass by) implying:

"I am a cab driver,not a pyschic chauffeur"

As I handed him the fare with the tip, he politely thanked me, his words, were overshadowed by:

"Tip of 10peso, she could've added another 10 for my yosi..." then he sped off.

I got in and sent an SMS to Bahbah. He said he was hungry....

I had to put words into his mouth:

I miss you...

And I sensed, amusement and denial from him.

Well, for a girl who senses differently from what a person was trying to express, amusement is inevitable. And I deny being such an "assuming" person. Because, I just do what other people tried to control, I call it how I see it.

It's that or just keep our mouth shuts. And just let them be.

Recipe number 1: Spanish Omelet

I got this from Jane. Just like her first name, it's simple but not plain. I always fry one because;
1.It's easy 2. The bell pepper, sets it apart from the other omelets.

Ingredients and How-to:

For hamster-like eater, such as ME, I only beat one medium sized-egg, throwing a pinch of salt and a dash of grind pepper, half of red or green bell pepper and a half of a quarter of cheese--note to self, nothing fancy, but if you want to use one,go ahead.

I fry this on medium heat and I do not use olive oil, because I really don't like the smell for such dishes.

Two ways of frying this (for me):

One is to have a perfect crepe-omelet or if you're really growling or not really a nitpicker for such,you can just have it as what you'll do to your scrambled egg/s.Scrambled...

Extras:
You can also add:
Mushroom(button,sliced or halved)
Onions
Salami/Pepperoni/Bacon/Sausages etc..

WIIFM Counter:(*sources)
Do the math for the portions.

One large bell pepper

Calories- 33
Vitamin C - 220%

One medium (44g) egg

Calories- 65
Cholesterol-62%
Protein - 10%

Cheese (1 cubic inch)
Calories- 69
Calcium- 12%
Saturated Fat - 18%
Protein- 8%

Cooking Oil (1 tbsp)
Calories-120
*if it was Olive Oil...(40) It's a free country!

* www.thedailyplate.com,www.thecaloriecounter.com

Best part: Eating it with pan de sal,or any warm bread or rice and slushing it down with coffee or juice.
I-don't-like-part: Washing the greasy pan...

Delicioso!

Dear Sunny Sunday

The stillness was disrupted by the crunching of the dried mango leaves. I intentionally squished them. I also stepped on a lonely branch because it was on my way. I can hear the local jeeps' engines. I can sometimes inhale their exhausts. I hear my own deep breathing, in and out. My copper mahogany brown hair was damp either from my early bath or perspiration. My legs are wailing, I could hear my heart drumming with my lungs all geared up. And I am 100% sure,my butt was on fire.

This was jogging at 06:00 am,with Bahbah.

I tied my hair before the last but almost eternal stride. I was listening to the systematic breathing of the other joggers,but when we turn right, it was like a vacuum. A warped zone where either you get lost or enchanted.

I have always known the benefits of running. I know that it fuels your body- mentally and physically. As I strive for getting my heart pumping blood and releasing the freons I inhaled 9x5 every night, I started to feel the happy cells dancing.

I never knew it would relieve me from stress. I've been feeling a bit of edgy and pressured this past few weeks, one, because I've been in my new post for three months already. You try to recall-- what have I done? Was I able to develop someone?Or something? I wasn't an eager beaver. But I am not lazy.

Long lines of perspiration were trickling from my nape downwards. My lungs were huffing because I was such a weakling. At last, my coffee-colored contacts can vividly see the bend...this is our 'almost-finish line' and Bahbah handed me his car keys. Being the slowpoke, I only get to do two rounds, he aims for three. He needs to lose five pounds, I have to gain more than that. We both do this for cardio.

My favorite part of jogging is so unlike with movies. I like the middle and ending, because I could feel my skin letting out all the bad juices while my muscles were being teared for a good cause.

You would always spot me,right after my 'finish line' with a Venti Taho at hand. I had it standing up or seated on the steps or cemented benches.

There was an awkward stillness around me while I finish my sweetened soy bean curd. The morning breeze had made the perspiration evaporate. There were fewer leaves to squish from where I was seated, the joggers may have swept them away. I peeked underneath my flats and saw fresh buds-all flattened by my heavy feet.

I peeled my stoked rear from the steps and walked. I would've strutted, but my sweats wouldn't give it justice.

We always end our jogging session with fishballs or siomai or tuknene (quail eggs in an orange breading). I forgot what I was so stressful about. The clenched fists and the knotted feeling were all gone, it was like sunshine....

...brighter than sunshine..

Dear Vodka Ice

I just had two,
(snickers) And I started walking phonetics,
And there was a sun setting,
The breeze bit into my skin.

I quietly stuck my hands inside my sweater,
(shivers) Slowly,I can see some branches, reaching the hills,
The sun bids goodnight,
And the moon, softly, was cradled by the branches.

I lit up my cigarette,
(laughter) I don't even know how to smoke,
And here I am,
Starting a fire.

It made me wonder,
(sigh) How the trunk's branches,
Made something silky,
And ignites a flame.

I have never gone near,
(eyes shut) Before to light up a fire,
Because I was afraid,
I'd destroy everything.

I have to let go, but hold on a few,
(laughs shortly) Because the branches reach out,further,
Digging deeper into the fine soil,
And it made silk,silkier than ever.

It seems that the night heard different cries of sound,
(sighing deeply) With eyes closed, the mind draws the circles,
Going round, sometimes,to the north and,
All the way to the south.

I have to say,
(sleepily) I don't need to smoke,
To warm my lips, my face and myself,
I just almost drown my thoughts...

And the waves, almost made me forget my name.

Why I Like Comic Strips

I love reading comic strips..that often I would really saved up for the collection. They’re not that expensive yet they’re also not cheap. I used to read and reread Pugadbaboy (PB). Local political yakitiyaks and everyday going ons. I like Brosia, one of the most popular characters of PB. Ambrosia Tangara, the housemaid of the Sungcal family reminds me of our "ex-housemaid" Louella. She looks exactly like her except for her droopy eyes. She thinks like her often as well, no joke. But no worries, she wasn’t physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally abused during her stay here. In fact, my brother loves her so much he even coined a nickname for her, "Wela Admundala" (Her original pet name plus Queen Amidala).

I also enjoyed the collection Baby Blues, although I never had a kid, I could relate to the characters as well. Probably, it’s one of the few reasons why I hate the rowdy bunch. I could just picture Hammie eating grass when he was a toddler and Zoe playing with mud. Add Wren climbing the freezer during her younger years. Baby Blues maybe the reason why I get so irritated with sticky things as well….like I’m gonna be so exhausted when I can’t remove the mozzarella cheese between my teeth yesterday. They have lots of inspiring quotes as well….like, "Denial comes first then Apology." I love that line so much, I think I’m gonna marry it.

Lately, I started reliving Calvin and Hobbes. Hwooow! Imagination is liberty. As a kid, I imagined myself as a "model", "teacher", "biker" and "spiderwoman" the latter as being the weirdest of the bunch. But never a dinosaur or a spaceman superhero. Climbing the roof of our house never made me want to jump…but I really wanna feel the air like going through my face….And like Baby Blues, they do have funny and candid quotes, too. "Childhood is Short, Maturity is Forever," I wished I’ve thought of that twenty years ago….I was so obsessed of maturity. Of growing up…and now I am trying to feed myself with Calvin’s wild imagination and happy childhood. Well, the cliché says…."There’s always a kid in every one of us" or whatever….And added factor, Calvin and Hobbess’s facial expressions…I salute the artist.

I like it when Calvin gave Hobbes his "Christmas gift", saying, "Hope this fits", the gift was a HUG. And yes, I was touched. But that doesn’t make me change my mind about the rowdy rug rats!

Before, I used to stay at the fiction and literature section of the bookstore…now, probably, trying to amuse myself, I would sprint to the Entertainment/Comics area…wherein I brushed off silly looks from teenagers who are privately reading a collection of "text messages and jokes" or "Horror Stories and Etc." hair flip and smirk, the hell I care. It’s time to feed my kid in me.

Are you his/her summer girl/guy?

Summer!!!!(???)

When you say summer, you think of sand, sun and waves…the blue skies, the shells and the kebabs..When I add, the word, girl…you’d think of skimpy bikini-clad girls strolling along the beach or frying themselves on the sand.

If I say, I don’t want to be a summer girl, you’d probably have a question-marked face if you’re kinda slow…and if you’re not, you’d understand what I just said.

Well, it wouldn’t be just girls, it can be guys…and it wouldn’t always be summer. But since summer pass by so quickly, therefore the term, summer girl/guy. Yeah, you can call it, fling…for some.

I would always say, "I think you are going to be his/her summer girl/guy," What are the signs that someone is treating you as a their summer girl/guy?

a. right timing - he/she is always there when you need someone. always has a drink to start up a conversation. always there after you had a fight. always there when you need to feel wanted. always there to say you're cute,pretty and smart....but, sometimes, s/he can’t make you feel complete or loved.

b. complicated status - s/he may or may not have anyone right now. says things are getting complicated….that s/he needs space and time that s/he wants a moment for her/himself. all s/he wanna do is have fun. says, s/he enjoys your company, but often doesn’t pursue to get to know you/. if s/he does, it would always be the "good side" and the "lonely side"

c. you know you are not that special to him/her. s/he may make you feel like a side dish….but, the lonely you, don’t care at all. it doesn’t matter if you hear that s/he has this girl/guy with at the coffee shop.

d. calls, messages but no commitments. s/he doesn’t give you exact time. the five minutes, would be five minutes, you waiting at the lobby for him/her. and apologies? are but extinction to him/her. smile and stride, that’s your cue.

e. perfect company. good conversation and laughs. you talk as if you're the perfect soul mates. but you know after that, s/he could have another good laugh and chat with someone else.

If you’re someone who’s just testing the waters, being a summer girl/guy is good thing. If you’re healing a wound, try not to take the summer girl/guy thing seriously, it would really break you. And if you suddenly realize that you had some summer girls/guys, don’t be too ashamed, everyone has their own girl and guy….but don’t be too proud either. There are lots of people I know who got lifetime scars from having too many summer girls/guys….

For, some summer girls/guys, are the ones that may have gotten away...

_______________

Have I met a summer guy?

Guilty. But I will always go home with the man I love....

Over Under

Let me tell you how I got over it...

But first, you have to know why I decided to. One good and sensible reason is, I have to. I could either hold on and wait as if he'll turn around and say,"Hey, I'm back," or I could just nurture pain into a life lesson and move on.

I chose the latter. But it wasn't that easy.

I decided to try and get on with my life, because I don't see him as someone I'll be with for long,much as he does too, probably. Change is anything but it's own meaning.

I went thru several phases of cliche just for me to get over it.I cried, had my hair done and got wasted.And as soon as I am under the mercy of the spirits,I said his name. Emo-shit. Yet, I did not regret doing all of these "been there, done that" escapades. This is why I realized, he did me a favor.

I wasn't growing but he wanted to. It's one of the inevitable, even the falling out.

I met some interesting and mentally-challenged people, and I could say, I was really Bitter-rella and Bitche-rella at the time I met them. It felt like a ray of light behind the gray clouds when I danced with one hand waving free. Was I?

I lost myself into five years of oblivion.I cannot think of the good stuff, some smart ass might claim I am not over it, but I don't care. It's funny, because some smart ass understands what I'm feeling.

So one day, I let him hold hand. That was the turning point...

I was over it, entirely.

Brew Me

Bitter, black and hot,
Served to me that way,
Serves me right for being not,
Then I headed towards a wooden bay...

and I changed it, almost
like when those,
little pebbles become sand,
like when she gives out her hand...

All but that was in a dream,
Because it had to be,
Taken softly,slowly as rises its steam,
Into the chilly air, without me.

I have known,
...why, I have to take in small sips, all
--on guard,
lips are easily burned,
And to heal is quite hard.

Parched lips, where it used to be supple,
Because I cannot be virtuous
....much
The beans had endured them a couple
--of heat for the aroma to come,
As such,

is its fate.

Thus, as the steam envelopes my eyes,
Jolting, and loses the lethargy,
Creamy, bitter-sweet and warm in my hands,
You're all mine, my freshly...
...brewed coffee.

Dear my station

Location is the key...or the culprit,if I may add.

I was located vertically towards the entrance,thus, I felt like the hidden camera. Capturing all who goes in, seeing the back of their necks when they go out. It didn't bother me at all. Because, the only faces I see are sleepy, lazy, bored, anxious and wasted...sometimes, pasty smiled people. Yes,I forgot the eager beavers. At the end of the week,turns into tired slots.

One time, I looked up and he looked down. Nothing unusual people, basic human nature. Besides, it's rude to stare and gawk. Next interval, day and weeks, usual routine. I looked up,from my erlangs and sheet, and he looks down, tripping almost, on some dude's dirty chucks. It always happens, even if it was another person, I had to look up for some reason, maybe it's my 30 second-attention span running low...or it was just a reflex.

Anyway, instances wherein I accidentally look up and he doesn't look down that much anymore, started to build up. I may be branded as a very assuming and arrogant person,so I decided to follow Mariah Carey's advice, "Shake it off," and that worked. Bandaid resolution,if I may say so.

Because something became a habit. And that is the location's fault.

I began waiting. He started swerving faster than the usual. It was a very harmless waiting game. Until one night (because we are nocturnal employees!), I had to talk to him, purely business.

And everything was executed,in a purely business way, no smiles, no eye contact no butterflies..

That's when I thought,mind will always be over matter. So right now, that's what I am doing.

Retrospect...he began looking at me longer than the usual now. Maybe I have a booger or something...that's a valid reason.

Let's not try blaming the location.

Kisotik

Remember when you took a dive into the deep blue?
And when everyone shouts and says,
"stupid! Water's icy cold!"
---but you sliced thru the waves?

You just felt how iced cold the water is.

Dammit, you said.
And yet,
--you kept on wading the deep blue.

Remember, that moment when you were told, it's not going to be easy?
And you said, you're fine. You don't complain much..
--yet here you go.
Is there a writer somewhere who just ended the story,
--when you suddenly stopped swimming and you stayed along the shores?
Remember when someone asked you,
"hey, what if the boat never comes?

You just can't remember what you said...and here you go again.

Taking a step back...dammit.

Dear Shoelaces

I've been jogging around UP every weekends,or every chance I get. Early sunshine...cool morning dews... I've been running with my ever so faithful fuchsia Keds with untied laces.

And this metaphor and synechdoche all started when I heard those words...and every time they are being said,I shook my head and smile. Because,my shoelaces are still untied.

I decided to let those crazy girlish thoughts go by. These can easily be thrown to the wind and leaving me, all messed up again. Hoping is inevitable. Wishing is a secret.That is why, I kept the shoelaces untied.

I also decided to grow up, a little. I know,Rome wasn't built in a day. Good foundation makes me feel that the future is shining up ahead. Thus, good foundation is not always ASAP.

I don't know if hints have been given. I am as gullible as I am suspicious. So when I made a choice, I thought it was a good one. It was the choice to stay and wish.

Because when I stayed,I know that I'll get tired of running....it seems that I was just running around in circles. Enjoying the scene and all, but in circles...

So, I kept my shoelaces untied. Waiting,to tie the knot.