Take Cover!

I just came back from the warzone - otherwise known as our kitchen. Factions are forming and tension is building up. I went inside the room and switched on my machine to seek temporary shelter from the heat of the activities – heat, literally and figuratively.

Our household help picked the most inopportune time to not be around - the time when I am the one who’s around (and these chances are just so few and far in between). And so, here I am: programmer during the workweek, dakilang kusina alalay during this New Year long weekend. I switched my keyboard and mouse for the knife and chopping board. Writing codes for washing plates. Ok, enough of the analogies. You get the picture.

My official duty is to prepare the ingredients. Peel, pare, slice, chop. You need it done, I’m the one to go to. I’m a lean, mean, ingredient prepping machine – or something like that. Now here’s the thing. Apart from the usual dishes we prepare during the holidays, my mother and sister each has their own addition to our Media Noche menu. Let’s call them their “baby recipes”. Mama is cooking paella and Mae is cooking penne. Actually, the official names of these recipes are longer and harder to remember, something that is descriptive of how they are prepared and some of the key ingredients. You know, like “Baked penne in creamy tomato-based smoked bacon sauce”. Can you imagine if fastfood is named liked this? I’ll have one “grilled burger patty, lettuce, and cheese in between two bread smeared with dressing”. Whew. What a mouthful, even before you get to eat anything.

So anyway, there I was, resigned to my fate, chopping meat and vegetables as they are pushed to my face. And I was asked the question. The question. Whose garlic am I chopping? And I thought to myself, they’re garlic, they belonged to nature before humans forcefully took them out from their comfort. But I’m glad I didn’t say it out loud since Mama and Mae were in no mood for my sarcastic humor. Apparently, there is now delineation on the ingredients I was preparing. Before I do anything, I had to ask if it was for the paella or for the penne. And how would it be cut specifically and which side of the kitchen it would be stationed. Requirements specification. Darn it, I can’t escape it even at home.

One thing you have to know about my mother and my sister – they are so similar in their personalities. Domineering, outspoken, and highly opinionated. No wonder they clash so often. Me? Whenever they begin an argument on the size of mushrooms, for example - I just take a sudden keen interest on my chopping board (“What a weird shape for a bell pepper…”). Oh, and they’re both indecisive as hell. I diced one carrot – because that’s what I’ve been informed in the verbal specs – but when my mother saw it, she asked me why it was that way. I told her - not without a little incredulity and volume increase in my voice - that it was what she told me to do. She casually said that she changed her mind, and would want them in semicircles instead. HK, is that you? (Sorry, Azeus inside joke.)

But it’s fun. It’s not too often I get to join the family dynamics. We get to exchange laughter and even our white sauce now has its own soundtrack which we sing together: “Béchamel, béchamel mucho…” Ah, craziness. It indeed runs in the family.

They’re calling me for another round of preparations. Wish me luck and a shrapnel-free New Year’s Eve.

Jumpstarting the New Year

I finally bought “The Complete C.S. Lewis Signature Classics” book. I have been thinking about buying it for almost half a year now. I don’t know. I guess it’s easier to buy for other people than for myself. Anyway, I had Powerbooks gift certificates from my birthday and from the Kris Kringle, so I just had to pay only half of the book’s price, which made it less steep for me.

By the way, if any of you have Powerbooks receipts from December and have no significant sentimental attachment to them, do let me know. Their journal would seem like a good replacement to my old one and I just lack P405.00 worth of receipts to have it. But Luis, I do thank you for the Starbucks planner, hehe.

Anyway, the collection consists of the following books: “Mere Christianity”, “The Screwtape Letters”, “The Great Divorce”, “The Problem of Pain”, “Miracles”, “A Grief Observed”, and “The Abolition of Man”. I was so excited when I bought it and texted Luz; she is the one who introduced me to C.S. Lewis books. We called each other up and just excitedly talked about it, much like how teenage girls would gush about the celebrity heartthrob. This is how we are. Once, I was once told that I was just plain weird for wanting to go home early so I could get back to my reading. When I told Luz about it, she asked what was so weird about that. Sigh, what a friend.

I browsed through the thick, encyclopedia-like book and reread parts of The Screwtape Letters. But I’ve decided to start with A Grief Observed. It just seems to pull me to it. Here’s a paragraph that resonated in my thoughts:

“Not that I am (I think) in much danger of ceasing to believe in God. The real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about Him. The conclusion I dread is not ‘So there’s no God after all,’ but ‘So this is what God’s really like. Deceive yourself no longer.’”

Some would think that this is a depressing way to start the New Year, but I feel like I need to understand sadness – really understand it. To be a better person this coming year. And I’ve always regarded sadness as my muse. I am more prolific in my writing when I’m sad. But I need a new journal.

Won’t you guys get back to me about those receipts? Thanks. :)

Doing Something Rash

I have a hickey. From necking with an unidentified insect sometime between lunchtime and logout time.

It’s ugly. Red spots right in the middle of my neck with pink streaks from where I scratched it. Of course, my guy friends wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. Some wisecracks on how “wild” I am. Questions on where I holed up. One asked if I even knew what a hickey was. I was informed that it’s not from kissing – but suction. They consider me intensely dense when it comes to things of this nature. Most of the time I don’t recognize green jokes until they cast sideway glances at me to check if I got them or not.

Another good indication is whenever conversations take a confusing turn for me and they start snickering and making remarks that they should change the subject because I am around. Whenever this happens, I just assume they’re talking about sex. Big deal.

Anyway, I don’t know if it’s psychological, but I feel like I’m starting to get a skin rash the more I got conscious about my “hickey”. I wonder if it was something I ate. I’m allergic to only a few things. And yes, alcohol is one of them. Again, not the ethyl or isopropyl kind. The one that makes you woozy and makes you regret all the things you said the morning after you indulge in mindless quantity of it. I think it’s worthwhile to note here that I don’t drink (not if I have to work the next day), I don’t smoke (no plans of starting whatsoever), I don’t party (just no). Hi, my name is “Lame”; you can call me that.

I would definitely remember if I had any alcohol intake lately. Unless they spiked the water dispenser in the office, I think I’m clear. So I’ve narrowed the cause to my current task at work. I am allergic to my investigation in my other maintenance project, nyahaha.

Partly because of the psychological-turning-into-almost-physical skin rash, I declined some of my friends’ invitation to watch a movie this evening. On my way to Mega B, I passed by a video store. And I made a 180-degree turn and decided to go in and browse a little. There’s something oddly relaxing in browsing through movies for me. Aisle after aisle of films. Comedy. Action. Animation. Drama. I finally bought “Four Weddings and a Funeral” and “Sleepless in Seattle” – both of which I’ve already seen, but had the sudden urge to watch again (I’m not paying attention to any sniggers).

I was planning to watch them during the New Year long weekend. Old movies during the New Year. I think the only thing that could be more ironic is me having rashes without having the convenient escape offered by being drunk wasted.

Merry (and not-so-merry) Christmas Thoughts

I remember our old Christmas tree when we were small kids. It was white and we trimmed it with red strawberries and gold discs. Even at that age, I felt there was something off about having a white pine tree growing strawberries (Duh?). But my sister and I have always liked helping put up that tree every year. After it has been assembled, my mom would turn off all the lights in the living room and turn on the Christmas tree lights. I thought it was really pretty.

Best part of passing by our tree was the hugging. The tree. Yes, we hugged our tree. My sister especially likes the bristly feel of the leaves on her face and arms. Weird? Hmm, I don’t know. It seems such a waste to put up an argument. It’s just funny remembering. It overwhelms me with nostalgia.

After high school, we stopped putting up the tree. I don’t even know where it is now. You see, we moved around quite a lot when we were younger. And no, my father is not from the military - typical question I am always asked. Anyway, it’s probably one of the boxes in my aunt’s storage room in the province. Or it might have been given away. I know there are a lot of other things I wish were given away instead.

In our house, Christmases – and other special occasions - consist of long distance phone conversations to relatives with increased speaking volume and nonstop loud laughter. But I still miss my Kuya terribly. But it’s ok. Although his presence won’t be replaced, I’m thankful that we can get to talk to him over YM video calls. Ah, the wonders of technology. It allows me to spend Christmas Eve lounging in my bed, making this blog entry, munching on an apple, while season three of Friends is playing in the DVD. But before you judge me, I already did my part in the kitchen duties, I’ll have you know. Food photography is considered a great help, right? Besides, I’m doing them all a favor by keeping my “help” in the kitchen to a minimum. I can practically hear my mother’s sigh of relief. At least she doesn’t have to hold her breath whenever I handle any of her breakable pyrex. Haha…

To all of you who are spending the holidays at home with your families, and those who are unfortunately not, do have a joyful holiday season. It’s been one helluva year for me. Just read all my whining in previous blog posts. But I’m glad I went through all that because it makes me appreciate what I have now. Besides, I don’t want to spoil His birthday by being my whiney self.

Have a very meaningful Christmas everyone! Let’s not forget to send cheers to the celebrant. :)

My soul's sovereignty

My last company performance evaluation was somewhat interesting. Actually, there was only one comment that stood out for me: I always look sad. And more interestingly enough, everyone I asked agreed with it. Of course, each one had their own way of phrasing it as diplomatically as they could. Like, I always seemed preoccupied or worried over something. Or that I have a vacant expression when I’m by myself. Or that I space out more.

My mother says that although I seem to move with sufficient energy everyday – waking up early, commuting, working, coming home late – it is in my eyes that she can tell how I tired I really am. Mothers. How can you beat that? I don’t have to tell her anything and one look at my eyes, she’s convinced of a diagnosis. Preinstalled sensitivity homing device, I tell you.

And of course, some people have theories on why I am this way: It’s the maintenance project that’s dragging me down, or the fact that my best friend at work has resigned a few months ago. Or that I found multiple typographical and grammatical errors in an email, nyahaha.

Alright, so I may not be the best model for any of the perky multivitamins brands right now, but I believe I’m handling things okay. I’m far from being Wednesday Addams, thank you very much. Although our taste in wardrobe color is not too far off. What you might want to know about me, I can take sadness. We go a looong way back. And no one really needs to know why I’m in this place, they just have to take my word for it that I know how to get out of it. I just don’t know when.

Next time any of you see my expression wandering off to depressionville, give me a nudge. Let’s sing “Favorite Things” together. The one from “The Sound of Music”, not the one by Incubus.

Hmm, although the latter could do the trick just as well, if not better.

Shop Me Not

I got off work today somewhat hurriedly. I even forgot to turn off our servers, tsk tsk. Darn that energy reduction scheme. I wish I had a good excuse but instead I have a lame one: I needed to shop.

Don't mistake me for a shopoholic. Heaven forbid. I'm one of the most unskilled shopper you'll ever meet. It takes me hours to shop for gifts and even longer to shop clothes or shoes for myself. It took me longer to buy my most recent Sunday clothes than my computer. No kidding. I have no sense of style, I am not "kikay", and I don't have the first clue on what it takes to be fashionable. (That's the least of my problems. I still have to perfect being 'presentable'.)

But Christmas is not just the season of love and celebration. It's a challenge to overcome my shopping shortcomings. First order of business is the company Christmas party. The theme is retro, which appears to be a popular theme of other companies, too.

Liz and I actually started to look for clothes yesterday. With three guys tagging along: Paul, Jerome, and Paulo. It took us a good two hours wandering through Megamall, filing through clothes racks, marking an item or two. No purchase, though. I think Liz got a little frustrated with me when I declined her choices one after the other: too bright, too loud, too COC-able. I wanted something subdued. In the end, she was reciting my criteria with every suggestion she put up: "Something black. Or white. Something tailored." Anyway, we decided to put it off for the next day.

But Liz was late in coming to work today. And they had dance practice. So it was Paulo and EJ who volunteered to wait a whole hour for my logout time to accompany me to this retail clothes store in Escriva Ryan suggested to us. That's why I was in a hurry to log off; I didn't want the guys to wait any more than what was necessary. Anyway, we walked the few blocks towards the Escriva store. EJ and Pau are two of my favorite guys in the office; it's so easy to be with them. When we got there, we browsed for a while. Paulo found a sweater which fit the costume he was planning to wear. He tried it on, paid for it, and we were out in no time. Like a SWAT team. The walk to and from took longer.

On our way back to Pearl Drive, we passed by a group of men drinking in the sidewalk, I asked them how would they react if they were asked to take a shot. I found it so amusing that both had their own ready reply that I wondered whether they always had to use it when they were studying in UST, hehe.

"Sige po, boss, pass po muna."

"Next time na, pare, pagbalik ko na lang."

We all parted ways in the corner of PSE. I briskly headed to Megamall where I met my mother and sister who came from Makati that evening. I am so amazed at their shopping stamina. Every time I turn around, they've gone somewhere else and I had to look around which shelf or rack they've zoomed in on. But they were easy enough to spot when I had to pay for their purchases, haha. Tireless, tireless - I tell you. Am I adopted? I have a missing shopping gene!

There wasn't much traffic when we headed home. It was a very long and tiring day, but at least I don't have to worry about what to wear on our company Christmas party. The very least, I hope I don't look like a total schmuck on Saturday.

Easy Sunday

Sundays. Ah, the only day I don't have to think of work. I get to be a daughter, a sister, another member of the household. Most days, it feels like I'm just a boarder in our house. I leave for work early, I get home late.

But not on Sundays. Because I don't have to think of work.

I woke up around 7 am. Which is early, considering I didn't have to work. No work. Gosh, it seems I never get tired of saying that again and again, haha. First thing I did was tinker with my camera and flip through its manual again. Aargh, those guys - they have rubbed off on me! EJ, especially, keeps a keen interest in my progress in photography. He hounds me to share my shots with him. He sternly reminds me to take as many pictures as I can and to always bring my camera everyday.

Anyway, after that, I grabbed a book and read until I dozed off. Not really the book's fault, I still had a lot of cumulative sleep loss to catch up with.

Another thing I like being home is I get to have meals of real food. In a dining table. With plates. Real utensils. My mother's attentive service. No fastfood served on styrofoam containers. Or cramped computer desks as makeshift dining tables. I wish my friends who live far from their families would get to share meals like the ones I have when I'm home.

I also got to play with my guitar today. Finally, I found the time to superglue the small chip on its side. I don't pretend to be a musician. Nosiree. I only know a few chords and I don't even play those few well. The only reason I have a guitar is because back in college, I was inpired to learn how to play it when I found out Jason Mraz started to play only when he was already eighteen years old. I had some money from tutoring Math to a high school kid then, and I spent it all on buying my first instrument. I still want to learn how to learn it, though. But now that my Kuya works somewhere very far, I don't have someone to teach me. Oh, well.

I'm seized with a sudden need to reconnect with old friends. Everyone seems to be so busy moving on to other things so fast. Their own interests, their own lives. I guess there's no point in holding on, either. Sooner or later, everyone parts ways. And whether we admit it or not, sometimes it becomes a task to keep in touch. So it's easier to let go.

Ah, Sundays. The only day I don't have to think of work. Although sometimes it feels like it's easier to think of work than all those other things.

Alice in Trafficland

Her name's Alice. I heard her mother calling out to her when she wandered a little too far from the FX queue. Alice is about three or four - curly hair, pouting mouth, and very intelligent eyes. She's easily noticeable, not only because she's a very cute kid, but more importantly because she loudly whimpered while she extricated her mother's grip from her hand. Kids - they never want to be held on to. Trust me, I know. And I've been told.

Alice was with her mother, older sister (around six years old), and her grandmother. When we boarded the FX, they occupied the middle seat. And seated on the front, I heard Alice calling out, "Mama? Ate? Lola?" Everyone had to answer her before she settled down. She had to do a roll call, apparently.

When the FX drove out to EDSA, the MRT was incidentally passing through from above. All the passengers were treated to hysterical shrieking of, "TRAIN! TRAIN! TRAIN!" It turns out, our resident toddler has a thing for this form of transportation. When her grandmother told her to stop shouting, she whispered audibly, "Choo-choo... Choo-choo..."

I was so amused with the kid, that from then on, I tuned to all her verbal observations. When we passed the Rivermaya's Bagong Liwanag billboard, she shouted, "Rainbow!" - referring the the band album's logo. And when we turned to Guadix Drive, I had to turn around to see what she referred to as "Castle! Castle!" - It was the facade of Asian Development Bank. Yeah, what a castle indeed. What I would give to be able to work in that fortress. Haha...

Across the street was a launch party or something. With loud music and party treats. "Balloons!" I could feel her pleasure over seeing those inflated orbs. But when we made the u-turn and sped away, she quietly said, "Bye, balloons..." At that moment, I wanted to get off the FX, grab a freaking balloon and give it to Alice. I hoped that the Christmas decorations of the Meralco compound would cheer her up. But when we turned into its street, she was distractedly looking out into the opposite direction. "Look to your left, kid," I said to myself, "Look at the blatant display of extravagance by the power company who charges us with expensive utility rates."

It paid off, because when Alice turned around, she gleefully shouted, "Lights! Lights! Lights!" Yeah, that's what we pay 'em for, kid. =P

This is why I like kids. Because it makes me think about what it was like to be a kid again. To be amazed with the simple things. To be unburdened of the realities of the world. Give them some blinking lights and the world is a great place.

I was snapped out of this reverie when Alice pointed out to: "Cinderella! Castle! Cinderella! Castle!" I'm not kidding, this kid likes repetition. Just to make sure everyone heard her. And the castle? Iglesia ni Cristo church. So what comprises a castle? Imposing facade, I guess. At this point, she was leaning forward on her seat that her face is practically touching my shoulder. I turned to her and said hello. She didn't mind me much, but continued to look out the window, although she touched my hair a few times.

The traffic was stagnant for a while. Alice was seized with a sudden compulsion to count from one to ten again and again. I eventually figured out that she was actually counting the moments when it was the FX turn to move in the traffic. "Ready, go!" And she did it with such good timing that I was so impressed.

Along the way, she also sang her version of "Doe - a deer, a female deer. Ray, a drop of golden sun..." But it sounded like a German version because she still couldn't enunciate every word. What authenticity - sung like an Austrian Von Trapp.

She almost got into a tantrum when she insisted to her mom that the old EMBC bus that drove past us is a "train". She didn't want to say "bus" because for her, it is a "train". So what comprises a train? Long vehicle body, I guess.

When we were heading towards the uphill roads of Antipolo, Alice would yell, "Wheee!" but when we turned to unlit parts, she'd whisper in a low voice, "Mama, it's dark..."

The best part of riding in the FX with Alice was when we reached the plaza. Today is the feast day of the Immaculate Conception and they set of fireworks just when we were nearing the church. Aww, you should've seen her excitement. "Fayerks! Fayerks!" (It's a newly learned word for her, I assume) She was actually standing up and pointing out the window.

I got off the FX and turned to walk away, wishing I could be touched and affected like a kid again. What made me feel worse is that I realized that I had my camera with me and I totally forgot to take pictures of the "fayerks".

Whee.