Pending Passions

Wouldn't you know it; just when I finally decided to start posting regularly, something weird is happening with Blogger. It doesn't come as a surprise since I haven't heard anyone still talk about this platform in a long  time, but I'm still low-key panicking.  So here's the sitch: I'm logged in using a Yahoo email. I used to just switch accounts to access my blog, but now it keeps logging in to the other Gmail account. And I have to use incognito now just to type this. Yes, I've invited the other Gmail account to post on this blog just to make sure I still have some sort of access to the posts, but even that one can't seem to find the blog. 😭 There. Now I'm not low-key panicking anymore. I'm just . . . sad. Is it really time to go? What is keeping me here? I might need to drastically rethink my whole life. Half-kidding. We'll see, I guess.

  When I was, oh I don't know, 9 or 10, I went to ballet classes. I don't remember if it was during summer or actually within the school year, but I kept going until we "discovered" my scoliosis. But this post is not about my scolio. (I do have another post ready to talk about it, but I need to edit it first because I wrote it angry haha.) In one of our ballet recitals, I was awarded as the ballet student with the "Most Potential." I still have the sash in my old bedroom drawer, and I'm sure I can still find the picture of little me grinning with so much pride wearing that sash. For some reason, that sash has defined a significant portion of my life. Fast forward to nowadays, I still sometimes hear people tell me "You have so much potential!" excitedly pointing out all the things I could do. And it triggers me. It's not that I don't like being told that; I actually super appreciate it because I at least know what steps to take next. It...

A few nights ago, I dreamt that we were eating at home. My coffee was waiting for me on the table when I had to go somewhere else to do something. I distinctly remember thinking, "I'll come back for my coffee." But when I did---which is unusual because, as we know, we can't control dreams---my coffee was missing. Not on the table anymore. And I searched, and I searched, but it's gone. I woke up. I considered it a bad dream. Where would my coffee go? Why would anyone, if anyone did, take my coffee? Why? I felt stressed and frustrated. Until I remembered. In Doctor Strange: Multiverse of Madness , they said that your dreams are actually the lives of your parallel universe self. And, well, I felt better but also a little guilty. Because somewhere in an alternate, parallel universe, my other self lost her coffee.  And I can't stop laughing at her. 😂 The end.  PS I hope she finds her coffee.

 Almost a year ago, I woke up with the heavy feeling of what most of us were going through at that time. There was the burden of having to go about the day with the unusually highlighted reality of not knowing what the future holds. Of course, I am talking about the Coronavirus (Covid-19) and how, even as I write this today, we still don't know how this ends. That morning in May, I had been particularly concerned about the details of being asymptomatic. No, I didn't get the disease, but it hasn't stopped me from thinking what if I'm just asymptomatic. I had been thinking about what symptoms an asymptomatic would have to actually know they had the disease. How do you know if you're already contagious? Is it only through testing? Because for other diseases, at least you know you won't be passing on the disease after a certain time or a certain stage of the disease. When do you know you don't have it anymore? How do you know if you were part of the trail if, fo...

And she's back! In the kitchen! Which is a rather strange place to be. But fret not, nothing has happened so far that is cause for concern. Today on my comeback post, I present to you my first attempt at Corned Beef Sopas. Why am I posting about this and what prompted me to tell you what I did for this recipe instead of the creamy scrambled egg with marble potatoes I did last week? I have no idea. But it's safe to say that this is one of the more successful experiments I've done in the past couple of months. So here we go. For the original recipe, the one I attempted to follow, please check the Yummy Corned Beef Sopas from the Nestle site. It's really pretty simple. But I had to make it complicated because reasons. Okay, so what I did and what I learned and things that went through my head while cooking this. Always check your available ingredients. I learned that elbow macaroni is different from salad macaroni. As you can see in the picture, ...

And we're back in the kitchen (and on this blog) after a more or less three-year hiatus on cooking/wreaking havoc/playing with food (which we should never do, no). Tonight's victim is a well-loved dish that people still find hard to identify: the afritada. Tadah. As anyone would easily notice, it does not look much like an afritada. But it is. You know why? Because the ready-mix sauce I poured on it said so. So here we go with what went wrong. First and foremost, I bought adobo cuts. It's not technically wrong, but it does deviate from the normal afritada. Second, I did not buy Baguio beans or green peas. Honestly, it was just because my basket was too heavy already to go get more greens. (Excuses.) Third, the instructions said "potatoes, in chunks." In my mind I was thinking of large cubes. In reality, I had diced those taters. And the carrots suffered the same fate. Fourth, stir-fry. I Googled afritada. I Googled the sauce. I Googled the ingred...

"Good morning," she says. They greet her well enough. They start talking. They start sharing. They start gossiping. "Good morning," she says. "How are you?" they ask. "I am okay," she says. They talk. They share lives. They share new information. They leave and continue with their day. "Good morning," she says. They do it all over again. Day after day, they greet and talk and everything's fine until it's not. And then they wonder. "I am okay," she says. She talks about her day, about the movie she just finished watching, about the new song she was listening to. She talks about the person in the next cube. She asks about her workmate's family. She asks about her friend's friend. She asks about the weather. They talk. It's all normal. They're all okay. Until they're not. "Good morning," they say. But she doesn't answer. "I am okay." She smiles. Her smile, ...

Overthinking dude's perspective I found her there, by the fountain where most couples and noisy teenagers hang out. She was alone, looking around, not minding anyone. She smiled occasionally to herself, probably remembering something funny. I couldn't help myself then. I started to approach her. My heart was pounding. I've never done this before. Would she think I'm a stalker? Would she think I'm weird? Would she run away and report me to the police? I checked myself quickly. I was dressed okay, decent enough. Few steps left and she turned and stared right at me, her smile frozen but her eyes alive. I stared back at her but looked down briefly, trying not to be rude. But when I looked up, she was still looking at me. Her face filled with changing micro-expressions. She seemed to be thinking of a million things. I was thinking of only one. "Hi." I waved at her slightly. She broke her stare and looked down, gently laughing at herself. "What'...

We must let go of time. Time always moves forward. It does not wait for anyone. Some people say they live in the moment, but moments stay in the past. Time does not stop for moments. Time keeps moving on, and we can never keep time or bring it back. When time leaves, it leaves, and you will never have the same time again. We must let go of time because the more we hold on to it, the farther we are to it. We think we're holding on to time, but we're only holding on to the past---a time that has already left us. It is only the present once, and every day of our lives become the past. We must let go of time because in the end we all run out of time. Some things we just can never bring back. *** Woke up and found my watch stuck at 4:44 (but technically it was 4:14 because my watch is 30 minutes advance).

It started before it ended When the news broke before the waves reached the shore When the tears never fell and the words never spoken But the lives go on as if good-bye has been spent It started before it ended Though I'm still here, it's as if I'm not Though posts still exist and likes still persist It's as if the distance has already separated us It started before it ended When the laughter burns and the conversations flood But the moments are fleeting and the nights are longer And the songs are louder in the silence It started before it ended When the routine is broken and built When the habits and promises are safe in the treasure chest of time In the forgetfulness and fickle memory of time It started before it ended When the hellos are empty and the small talk is all there will ever be And the good-byes have finally been said As if good-byes were meant by saying hello As if good-bye was what was meant to be said from the beginning It star...

Halfway into darkness, I found myself grasping. The edges of the pictures, the faces, the brightness fading. The heaviness of darkness blanketed my head, embracing my skull with the warmth of suffocation. It was daunting. It was undeniable. It was irresistible. Halfway into darkness, my eyes could no longer carry the burden of seeing. I fought. I fought as valiantly as any knight would against the dragon breathing fire. But my dragon breathed darkness. My eyes were swallowed slowly into oblivion, drowning, now seeing, now blinded. Halfway into darkness, I heard the rush of life. The cries of faceless people, identities never shared. I felt their hurry, their eagerness to move on, as if the darkness never threatened them---as if I were the only one engulfed by it. Halfway into darkness, I could not fight. My mind felt numb, my body paralyzed but for fleeting jolts of resistance. I dared and braved the ancient paths of those who tried and failed but lived to tell the tales---the st...

Out of the darkness, the music came. Calling, capturing those who dared to listen. Like sirens to the sailor lost at sea, the music allured the people, except me. It didn't matter what song it played, what movement it was, which instrument it used. It didn't matter that after every song came the devastating emptiness of silence. I knew it would come again, and with its return, the cries of longing unfulfilled. The strings softly strummed sang an intro to the sun. The drums beat deaf the wooden floor below. The keys depressed rang deep beyond the walls. The walls could not contain it---the walls of human hopes. I cast aside desire, knowing well the pull of want. The voices call me crazy to give up and take a stand. The music, the instruments, the humming, and the songs, they were of no use outside. They held no allure, no symphony, no harmony to a rider of a broken vessel. And yet. The songs came again, inching, whispering to me. The strings that sang to the sun struck...

11:00 p.m. She lies on the bed and stretches. The bed sheet crumples under her and the pillow flattens, forcing her to fold it just to make it appear plump. She stares at the ceiling and decides to clean up the cobwebs in the morning. Maybe. She waits for sleep to come. The light remains on. Midnight She turns the light off. 1:00 a.m. She turns the light on and decides to brush her teeth. She considers reading until she falls asleep, but her eyes complain. Her left eye fights to keep closed in the sudden brightness. She weaves around the mess that is her room, brushes her teeth, then goes back to bed. She stares at the ceiling again. 2:00 a.m. She watches a cartoon series. She goes through four or five episodes when the Internet stops her. The video fails to buffer, and she gives up refreshing the browser. She decides to read a few chapters of a book she considers boring, hoping to fall asleep out of boredom. She finishes one chapter. 3:00 a.m. The light is still on. She...

Didto sa kilid sa dalan Kung asa ko pirmi nag-atang ug sakyanan Didto tika una nakita Nagtindog ug nagtanga-tanga Didto sa kilid sa dalan Nipara kog jeep padung trabaho Nakihuot ko sa mga galinkod Maong ako kay nakurat sa akong pagtalikod Hala ka, kay nisakay man pud ka Nakihuot pud ka sa jeep nga wala na gyuy lugar Ug sa tanang pwede nimo suksukan Didto pa jud ka sa akong tapad niplastar Pansina pud ko oi Pirting humota ra ba nimo Di parehas sa uban nga buntag sayo pa Bahog singot na Pansina pud ko oi Ka-hamis ra ba jud sa imong braso Nga ga-sigeg bangga-bangga sa akong braso Pansina pud ko oi Kabalo ko gwapo ra kaau ka para nako Pero bisan na Pansina pud ko oi Didto sa unahan sa may iskina Nanganaog ang mga tawo Ug ang nabilin kay kita na lang duha Didto sa unahan sa pagliko sa jeep Nilingi ka sa ako ug ikaw kay ningisi Haskang lipaya gyud nako Napansin na jud ko Di na kinahanglan mag-iring-iring Ug magpaduding Gipansin ko nimo Ug bisan bakan...

It's what love does When it suddenly calls and the randomness of it catches you off guard When its words slur and its voice fades and it loses itself for a while When the moment fills with tension and it makes you realize how unprepared you are It's what love does When you see it and wonder if it truly exists or you may just be making things up When you listen to it taking control of the conversation because you can't find your voice to respond to it When the moment passes and you find yourself wondering if the silence was what was best It's what love does It asks how you are and listens to your answer It wakes you up in the morning to tell you that you are thought of, you are remembered It creeps into your memories and your dreams and makes your reality, for the first time, better than your fantasy It's what love does When it decides that who you are today is not defined by who you were before When it forgives you of the most damaging of faults...

When asked how much I know a person, there are a couple of things that run around in my head. I think you never really stop knowing a person. I think you can never really know a person enough . And it's funny and sad that we think we know people so well that we can be comfortable with just being with them, with just being who we really are with them. I've thought that would be okay before, but when you lose that trust with someone once, you can't really get it back without thinking if all those years were just tolerance. Anyway, I've found that it's very rare to find people whom you can truly talk with. There are people you can have long meaningful conversations with, and there are people who just chat, scraping the top of the iceberg, the superficial fillers, until one gives up and decides to waste time elsewhere. I think it then matters what you mean by knowing a person because you can say that you know a person well by the many meaningless things you've t...

Pseudo Deja Vu Pseudo Deja Vu I live fairly near to this quaint food place (I don't know if I should call it a restaurant) where I am writing this post. In the few minutes that it took for me to walk here, I realized that I was forcing deja vu. We all know that deja vu is "the illusion of remembering scenes and events when experienced for the first time." It's the feeling that you've seen something happen that way before. Well, pseudo deja vu is, I believe, when you force it. I was forcing deja vu when I walked here because it's exactly what I did the day before. Pseudo or forced deja vu is doing something exactly the way you did it before to achieve the feeling of deja vu. It's what you do when you stalk or when you want to be stalked: you stick to a schedule, a routine, and do it the same way every single time. But this post is not going to be about stalking. No. I am going to talk about the many times that we force deja vu. Two quotations co...

This post may also be titled "How to Survive an Almost 12-Hour Road Trip (that Started at 1 a.m.)," but that would be too descriptive (and may or may not drive you away from reading this post). Also a fair warning, expect a lot of parenthetical comments (because they're the words that actually matter haha). Christmas for some people is spent with family in their homes, in front of the TV, eating Christmas dinner. This was also our usual celebration, but this year, we decided to shake things up with a road trip to Pagudpud. Now for anyone who knows anything about traveling and road trips amd Philippine geography, a road trip to Pagudpud (with all the rest stops and necessary traffic delays) would take about twelve hours. Here's a map. See, how lousy I am at pictures haha. Anyway to pass the time, here's what you can do (because this was what I did). 1.  Sleep.  As Ms. Universe 2014 advised Ms. Universe 2015 during her final walk, "Sleep if you can....

This is how I #hugot. Also, this gives you an idea of what I'm really thinking about sometimes when I'm staring at my work but not actually working. Only sometimes. :) *** It was still early. We talked about meeting up today, but I didn't think he'd be here at this time. I rubbed the sleep off my eyes and smiled at him as he came through the door. "Good morning," he said. "Good morning," I replied. "So early?" "I wanted to watch the sunrise with you." He hugged me. I went back to my room to change while he took his place on the living room couch. When I got ready, we walked to the beach. It was still dark. We held hands while walking. My other hand was tucked inside my jacket pocket, keeping it warm in the strong breeze of the sea. His other hand was in his jacket pocket, probably keeping it warm too. We were silent, happy with each other's presence. We found the rock that protruded from the small hill a ways from the shor...

As I count down to the end of this quarter-life crisis, I look back and realize how (it's taking me some time to think of a word to describe how) the past year was. I guess the word I'm really looking for is inconsistent , but maybe spontaneous  can do a better job at making sense of this post. So because I felt a bit spontaneous after the "surprise," here's my note to self. Part 1 The next time, if there is a next time, your friends surprise you by bringing balloons and party hats and a cake and some poppers while they're singing "Happy Birthday" in a room full of other people, forget yourself. Turn around and look at them. Really  look at them. You may not get a second chance. Look at how they walk toward you, smiling, singing, like fairies carrying gifts of happiness with their bouncing steps. (I really wish you had looked so you'd have a better description of what happened.) Look at their faces and remember that moment. Remember how you...