Pending Passions

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...