Conversations and Arguments

Kaninang tanghali, pinilit ko yung pamangkin kong samahan akong bumili ng Empi lights sa bayan. Ayaw sumama ni Ichiboibaboi, so mega-suhol akong ibibili ko siya ng popcorn pag sinamahan nya akong maglakad. Syempre pa, bawal magpabuhat. Ah, four years old nga lang pala tong si pamangkin. So para maaliw at di magpabuhat, mega inaaliw at inuuto ko sya habang naglalakad.

Me: Ayan, Ichi, ilog yan. Ang pangit, no? Di katulad sa Quezon, malinis.
Ichi: Log? Ngit?

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I'm having complete conversations with a bulol.

Me: Oo. Kaya ganyan yan, kasi tapon ka ng tapon ng basura, napupunta tuloy sa ilog. Dapat sa basurahan ka magtapon ng basura para wag pumangit ang ilog.

Wow, shet, kawawa naman yung pamangkin ko at mag-isa kong ibinigay sa kanya ang responsibilidad kung bakit pumangit ang ilog ng Binan. Later on...

Me: Anong gusto mong maging paglaki?
Ichi: Tao. (In a sing-song voice that said, "Why are you asking such stupid questions?")

Later on...

Nag-aaway si Mommy at si little sister. Or rather, nanenermon si Mommy at sumasagot si kapatid (ng mas malakas ang boses kesa kay Mommy). Sabay may kumakalabog. E akala ko nag-uusap lang at masaya pa kanina. Awatin ko kaya? Kaso baka ako ang maresbakan. Kaso baka nagkakapisikalan na kasi may kalabog. Pero drama queen kasi tong si kapatid so malamang with matching suntok sa lamesa lang ang every pronouncements nya. Eto naman kasing si kapatid e hindi marunong ng labang passive-aggressive. Yun bang umoo ka na lang (or better yet keep your mouth shut) and then gawin mo gusto mo. Wag mo nang ipaalam ang pagtutol at paghihinagpis ng kalooban mo sa pagsunod sa utos na sa palagay mo ay baluktot at di tama. Teka, hanap muna ako ng tisyu at nag-nosebleed ako ng bahagya. Tsaka busy kasi ako kaya tinatamad akong bumaba para umawat.

So ano ba ang kapupuntahan nitong blog post na ito? Wala naman, may maikwento lang.

Conversations With my Mom

I've changed my mind. Lahat na lang ng taglish posts ko e dito sa happy poet while yung pure English posts e sa weirdwanderings.wordpress.com. E sa inconstant ako weh, ano ngayon?

Ngayon e Lunes so para maging kapakipakinabang na mamamayan naman ako e makagawa nga ng blogpost. Habang naghihintay ba ng kamatayan. Ang fallback ko sa mga funny happenings e wala nang iba kundi ang aking dysfunctional family.

Here's a sample conversation:

I walked into Mommy's room at nanonood siya ng Galema. You know, yung babaeng may ahas sa leeg at nagkaanak ng bata na may kakambal na ahas na nagsasalita. So, mega-opinyon naman ako kahit ni isang kabanata ay hindi pa ako nakakatapos.

Me: Ah, kung ganyan naman palang nagsasalita yung baby ahas e matututunan mo ding mahalin. Kahit ba ahas yan, eh baby mo pa rin siya.

Mommy: Oo naman, no. Ikaw nga eh, kakambal mo tae.

Me: So, minahal nyo yung tae?

Mommy: Hindi naman...

Migrating to wordpress

Hello, guys.

I will be migrating to a new blog host. Please go to weirdwanderings.wordpress.com for my subsequent blog posts. Thanks!

Sharonipotpot

Food, Ingredients, and Revenge

I like to cook. If I have the money and the ingredients, I would choose to cook over buying things at the carinderia. That way I get to specify the flavor, like with Sinigang, I like it super sour, so that I don't need to put in kalamansi anymore. That's not to say that I don't appreciate a cordon bleu affair over at the next foodie fad restaurant. Up to now, I don't know how Margarita Fores does her Spaghetti Aglio e Olio that it tastes like that. It's just garlic and olive oil, for chrissakes. Sabagay, masyado talaga akong ambisyosa at ilusyonada. Sabi nga ng kapatid ko: “may niluto ka bang hindi ka nasarapan?”


He's got a point there. Pero naman, kaya ka nga nagluto, pwede mo namang habulin ang lasa. Pwedeng tikman, kuya. Ang mga hindi lang nahahabol ang lasa e kung pumutok ang apdo ng isda mo. Good luck. I've had a few misses when it comes to cooking, but I generally appreciate what I put on the table. Sabi nga nila, walang ibang pupuri sa iyo kundi sarili mo.

Speaking of ingredients, dahil nga sa may pagka-OCD ako, gusto ko authentic. There was a time when nasa bahay ako ng pinsan ko and I was blabbering about spices to make a Taco better. She whipped out an instant Taco mix and gleefully added it to the meat, whilst looking at me from the corner of her eyes. Ugh, people. Tapos, meron akong kakilalang pastry chef (he's employed by a five star hotel) and we had conversations like these:


Me: “Do you know where I can get whole nutmegs?”
PC: “You can get the ground ones from the grocery, like McCormick...”
Me: “No, I want the whole ones, you know, the ones you can grate.”


Me: “Which red wine do you usually buy?”
PC: “Huh, I just buy the Dona Clara one.”
Me: “The table wine?” - I was horrified by the Philistine.


PC: “You know, you remind me of Bree.”
Me: “Huh?”
PC: “You know, from Desperate Housewives. She's such a perfectionist.”
Me: “...” - Asar talo na ako sa puntong ito.


Needless to say, wala na siyang kredibilidad para sa akin.


Sa ngayon, in love ako sa Thai and Indian cooking, so talagang namomroblema ako sa paghahanap ng mga sangkap. E kung sa Australia nga, nahirapan akong maghanap ng kaffir lime leaves, dito pa kaya? Meron sa Shopwise, pero kukunin muna nila ang dugo mo at maliit na piraso ng atay mo sa sobrang mahal. Isa rin tong Garam Masala, talaga namang dadayo ka pa ng United Nations para lang makakita ka ng Indian spices.

Isa pang nakapagtataka dito sa Pilipinas, meron sa ating wansuy (coriander), pomegranate (granada), luyang dilaw (turmeric), at dayap (lime) pero pumunta ka ng palengke at bibigyan kita ng piso pag nakakita ka. Locally, meron tayong mabolo, sampalok na hinog, balimbing, camachile, lipote, bunga ng sasa, bunga ng buli, at ang pinakapaborito ko pero kahit kelan walang nagbebenta, ang aratiles (hoy, batang bulol lang ang nagsasabi ng alatires). Talaga bang hindi tayo mahilig kumain ng prutas o ng gulay? E paano naman ang alupihang dagat, salungo at la cucaracha na masarap pero walang bumibili? E ang mahal nito sa restaurant, ah.


Ngayon ko rin lang nalaman na may parang green curried chicken dish na iniluluto sa Panaon, Quezon at sa Marinduque. As in Pinoy dish siya pero parang Thai food. Meron ding turmeric rice pala sa Batanes. At merong iniluluto ang mga ilonggo na hindi ko alam kung ano, basta, masarap sya. Ibig sabihin, ang Pinoy food e hindi lang adobo o sinigang. Na kahit ako na kung saan saan na napadpad na mga isla ay marami pa ring hindi natitikman sa pagkaing Pilipino.


Isa pa ring gusto ko e cheeses. As in cheeses talaga. Roquefort Bleu, Danish Bleu, Camembert, Brie, Smoked, atbp. Kaso ako lang ang may gusto nito, wala ng iba. Yung bleu cheese, may amag na nga, inaamag pa kasi walang ni isa man lang sa kanila ang kahit hawakan ang keso na to ay ayaw. Yung tipong, uh-uh! Ayaw koh! Di nila alam, nilalagay ko to sa mushroom omelette na sarap na sarap sila, wag lang nila malaman kung pano ko niluto. Meron din sa atin na kesong puti na kelangang nakatambay ka sa kanto ng mga isa hanggang anim na buwan para matyempuhan mo si Manong na naglalako nito.



Speaking of cheese, I made a mac'n cheese with just a Cheezee spread. Gagawa sana muna ako ng roux with spices at nadiskubre ko ang malaking problema. Yung whole nutmeg na binili ko e inamag na at nadudurog nang kusa paghawak ko pa lamang. Yung Queensland butter ko ay inamag na rin sa katagalan kong di ginamit. Tininggg!!! Wala akong bleu cheese, so kahit may amag si Queensland butter ay yun ang ginamit ko at thyme, basil, oregano na lang ang spices. Ipinakain ko sa kapatid kong walangya na nagsabing wala akong niluto na di ako nasarapan, at hayun, masarap naman daw. In fairnez, kumain din ako at masarap naman.

Ranting and Raving and Slobbering

Okay, let me just rant a little over social media.

• Po and Opo does not end with an H, ever.
  
• Unless you like Vietnamese soup, then the H is misplaced on the Pho.
  
• Last time we met, we didn't even acknowledge each other, and now you're adding me as a friend? Come on.
  
• It's sad, but as Maria Ressa said, and I paraphrase: anything you put on social media is public property. So, no credits need be given.
  
• Sabagay, as Will Smith said, anything you will ever think has already been said before, and that's also paraphrasing him.
  
• Should I hide all posts from you on my timeline? Uhmm, sometimes you come up with self-indulgent crap, other times, you're fine. Oh, fuck, I realize that's what all friends are like in real life, it's just that on FB, it's printed for all to see.
  
• In real life, we tend to gloss over unpleasant things and remember only the good stuff. In social media, you can't. You can delete, but google still has a cache.
  

That's it, I'm done.

2013 Wrap Up

The year is almost over and I wanted to take a look back to see if I had stagnated (like I feel) or if I should celebrate, because I've grown.


I spent most of 2012 taking care of my grandmother and that was a year that I would celebrate. I spent it cherishing one of the people who shaped up who I am today and I would be forever thankful for the opportunity.


The first quarter of this year I spent in Australia. We got my grandma a rental hospital bed so she would be more comfortable. The bed would cost about $5K if you bought it, but the health care for retired Aussies are so good, we only rented it for $120.00 a month. We were also provided a wheelchair, commode, and anti-bedsore cushion for $100.00 a year. We were also visited by a pathologist fortnightly to take her blood samples as well as an Occupational Therapist to help us adjust to a semi-ambulatory patient. Maybe if our politicians were not crooks then we'd have a health care as good as this one, but I'm afraid this will remain a pipe dream.


I also went back to the Art Gallery of NSW for the third time as I really love it there. I went by the NSW Museum of Contemporary Art but unfortunately did not go inside. I got intimidated by the size of the building, thinking that I would need weeks to see everything inside, plus, contemporary art just puzzles me, unlike classical art. It may be blasphemous to say, but Picasso's Guernica doesn't evoke any emotion in me unlike the renaissance masters do. I don't know what I'm talking about so don't crucify me here.


I went to the beaches as it was summer and those were the highlights of my wanderings. Bondi I went to with Tita Juliet. Now I know why surfer babes don't wear bikini tops. I was standing in thigh-high water feigning coolness with my wayfarers and ballcap when this huge wave inundated me. My shoulder almost got dislocated from the force of the water, I rolled end over end toward the shallower edge and thankfully got deposited sitting up. With my top askew exposing my non-existent boobs. Yeah, bikinis should have something to anchor on to. There were a lot of macho rugby and football types cavorting in the water and fortunately, nobody saw me, I hope. I lost my wayfarers but not the ballcap (I held on to it as it was signature while the sunnies were fake-oh) and went home with my coolness factor leveled down.


I also went alone to Cronulla beach and tried to get a tan with my SPF100. The difference between Philippine beaches and Aussie beaches is the temperature of the water. Aussies appreciate a 25 degree water. We whip out our jackets in December if it gets to 26 degrees, some even have mufflers like it was wintertime. And they won't think you're strange if you turn out alone in a beach, unlike here where they'll whisper behind their hands and think you've gone mad and sad. You also won't get robbed, but, I'm not that naïve to just leave my belongings without having my eye on it constantly. So, what I do is sun myself to get pleasantly hot, run to the beach to get cool, look behind my back to look at my bag, and stay until I'm shivering. Then run back to my malong, sun myself again, pass the time looking around, and go back to the water when it gets too hot. Repeat as necessary.


I also learnt how to bake. And it was as if I was making up for lost time. I baked rosemary bread, banana bread, banana cake, carrot cake, macaroons, and my favorite scones! I made clotted cream, chantilly cream, buttermilk – from a greek yogurt starter, chocolate mousse, chicken biryani, and persian rice.


I won a writing competition writing about a fictionalized account of an incident in my childhood. It was my first time to write about anything in a long, long time. And I wrote it in one day, yay!


I was also interrogated for an hour and a half by an Australian Immigration agent thinking that I was going in and out of her country to work, which I assured her I definitely was not. I was smirking, she was fuming, I kept my cool, she was sarcastic, I let it pass and just took it literally instead of taking it for the insult she meant it to be. In my head I was swaying to the beat of Plants vs. Zombies and swinging my foot backwards and forwards. The chair was not meant for little Asians, so I'm swinging, she was standing waving my passport at my face and threatening that I'm never ever going to get a multiple entry visa again. “Okay,” I said with a Mona Lisa smile and she stamped my passport to give me entry to Australia. Customs was a breeze even if I had 6 boxes of Vita plus in my backpack. The customs officer just opened one sachet and sniffed the contents. If it was cocaine she'd have been high.


I also enrolled in school thinking I'd get a student visa, but the visa got denied so that plan was scuppered. My grandma died so it was like my anchor was gone and suddenly I was adrift, no job, no purpose. I buried my head under science fiction books, went home to Quezon and wanted to live in some other world. I was reading The Passage by Justin Cronin and that was a dark world to live in. My brother pulled me up by the hair to go hiking to a nearby falls but I just wanted to read and read and read. My mother teamed up with him and I surfaced briefly.


The ride to the river was an event as it was on the back of a motorcycle that would have long ago given up the ghost were it not for the stubbornness of having no money to replace it. We made it on roads that were littered with rocks streaked with marble, the scent of wild tarragon and cinnamon in the air. We arrived in the back of beyond, Quezon province looking like some remote outpost in the Mountain Province were it not for the abundance of coconut trees. There was a nip in the air, like we were high up in altitude, small packhorses laden with copra, and a dead snake on the road being eaten by huge ants.


We stopped by a store which had nothing to sell except for Halo-halo. The owner was swaying in a hammock and didn't know which way Dayap falls was. My sister immediately went on campaign mode and said she'll pave everything, even the falls if she gets elected. She wasn't even in her district and she knew it. So we set out in the general course of the vague directions we got. It's easy to get to a falls, what's hard is wondering when you'd get there.


I was underwhelmed by the falls but it was pretty in a remote kind of way. The hike to get there was great, it took me out of my head and into the moment. It was not a hard hike by any means, but you needed to concentrate if you didn't want to stumble. We also went back to Borawan Island, Dampalitan Island, and the Bantakay Falls in Padre Burgos with the relatives after my Grandmother's interment.


When I was accepted into the Writer's Workshop held by Jessica Zafra, I had this notion that maybe, just maybe, I could really write. Maybe I could make a living out of this. So here I am now, trying to finish four books at once. Well, two of them are not really novel-length, more short novella types while the other one would be a collection of essays about the supernatural.



So, here's to a new career and hopefully it pays off. Looking forward to a more productive December and hoping the next year would be even better.

The Wrong Lead

The rain drove him inside the restaurant, just as he decided to give up the chase and go home. That fucking bastard is as slippery as an eel, Benito thought. He cast a furtive glance at the other patrons, and satisfied that they looked innocuous enough, found himself a seat with a view of both the entrance and the back door.


He has been chasing his latest lead through the streets of Quiapo, weaving from garbage-strewn alleys to fetid-smelling sidewalks. His pursuit was not made easier by the throngs of people still believing in miracles, congregating on Quiapo church every Friday. Miracles were for people who still believed, not people like him who have long given up. Maybe God finds people like him repulsive, that's why every prayer that he has ever uttered has not been answered.


His dark thoughts were interrupted by the waitress handing him the menu. “I'll just have a beer. No, on second thought, no beer, just your special Ramen, thanks.” He realized all the exercise he got from following the man made him famished. Two long years of searching, and this is the closest he got. He and Lorna are no longer even speaking to each other, unable to go beyond the pain of losing their only daughter. He doesn't even know where Lorna lived now. Truth to tell, their relationship has been breaking down ever since she found out just where he was getting the money to provide her the high life.


He was the best at what he did, but what he did was kill, and kill without leaving any clues. But all his skills at groundwork faded before the enormity of where to start looking for Didi and the why she was kidnapped.


The entrance of a man made him tense up but he was prevented from looking him over by the waitress delivering his order. He absentmindedly appreciated the steam from the soup as it was set down while he sneaked a peak at the newcomer. He felt slivers of ice slide down his spine when he saw it was the erstwhile vice-mayor, now Mayor Rudy Calimlim, a one-time client. Rudy slid down the opposite bench, and Benito could see his bodyguards waiting outside. “That could kill you,” he remarked, pointing at the bacon swimming in the soup. “Vice-Mayor! Este, Mayor, do you think this is a good idea?”


“I hear you're still looking for your kid. I have it on good authority that she is well, she's not being victimized by any crime ring, and whoever it is that has her, wants her to be happy.”


“She will be happy only with me, her father!”


“She was only two when you lost her, I don't think she will remember you anymore. If you know what's good for you, you will stop looking for her.”


“Or else, what?”


“Do you really want me to spell it out? I want you back in Laguna by tonight. I know you've amassed quite a nest egg, here's more, go find a new wife and build a nice life for yourself and move on.” He stood up and walked out without looking back. He left a thick brown envelope and if that was filled with new thousand peso bills, he guessed it would contain about 2.5 million pesos. 2.5 million pesos for his precious child. Fury filled him as he realized just where Lorna and his daughter was all this time.


He walked out of the restaurant and he knew he would go back to Laguna that night. What the Mayor forgot was that he was also a dangerous opponent and he has now given him additional ammunition. He turned left and was confronted with his second surprise of the night. Blood spattered the restaurant's window and quickly became pink as it mixed with the raindrops still sliding down toward the gutter.


“Why?,” he asked Lorna as she stood looking down dispassionately at him.



“I followed Rudy as I knew you would never leave us alone,” she quickly took the brown envelope he still clutched and quickly disappeared into the night.