In This Life, You Gotta Be Flexible

Sunday, they were supposed to go to Cavite; instead, they ended up in Antipolo.

Last night, they were supposed to go to the Dampa. Instead, they ate at home.

Yesterday afternoon, they were having (self thought) a nice time strolling around a mall in The Fort. Suddenly, Dearest Mum came to a full stop. She craned her neck, this way and that. “Where is Anita?” she asked. Self said, “I think they went that way.” But Dearest Mum wouldn’t move; she remained rooted to the spot, her eyes scanning the crowds.

“Why don’t you call Anita’s yaya on her cell?” self suggested. “I don’t know it,” she said.

“Then call the house, and ask them to call Anita’s yaya.”

This suggestion was met with stubborn silence.

Self said, “Let’s start walking back to the car. They might be heading back there.”

They took a few steps. Stopped. She kept looking and looking behind her. Finally, we did see them: the two maids and Anita, Ying’s daughter, between them. When they came up, Dearest Mum scolded the yaya. The yaya looked down. She began pretending to tighten the laces on Anita’s shoes. She muttered a few things under her breath.

“Get her cell number,” self urged Dearest Mum.

She began rooting around in her bag for a piece of paper, finally pulled out a receipt, turned it over, and painstakingly wrote the number.

Then they began drifting back to the car. In a few minutes, she looked behind her. No Anita. No yaya. They stopped. By this time, self was getting mighty tired.

“Where are they?” she asked.

“They’re probably headed back,” self said.

But, no. She wanted them to be within sight. They stopped. She called Anita’s yaya. No answer. Self looked around. There were people sitting in cafés, having merienda. How self longed to be like those people, chatting in Italianni’s or Brothers Burger or Krispy Kreme.

Dearest Mum tried Anita’s yaya again.

“They can see us,” she said.

But where were they? We waited long moments. Then they surfaced again. We eventually made it to the car.

In the car, she was suddenly voluble. “Where is the book I bought for Anita?” she asked.

The other maid handed it to her. She began tearing off the plastic wrapping. She happily showed Anita the pages. Then, she seemed to lose interest.

“Okay, you put it away na,” she said.

We were home. One of self’s brothers kept calling. We were supposed to go to the Dampa that evening. Self watched Dearest Mum: she changed out of her street clothes and put on a robe. So self knew that there would be no Dampa that evening.

Still, to self’s brother’s repeated calls, Dearest Mum would say only, “Let’s invite xxxx! Let’s invite xxxx!” So, Bro had to wait until xxxxx came home from a badminton game. Or Bro would have to check with someone else.

What a game! Only now has self figured out the rules. She knew early enough so that she didn’t get her hopes up. Finally, at 7 p.m., Dearest Mum called down to the maids and told them to prepare supper; we were eating in after all. At 8 p.m., we had dinner.

Then, instead of walking back to her unit, Dearest Mum wanted to play some more with Anita. Self decided to walk home by herself. After an hour, Dearest Mum returned.

Whence this sudden longing to be with her grand-daughter? To spend almost every minute of the afternoon and evening with her? Self thought: she must be missing Ying. If the Blackett kids had been here . . .

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Self’s # 1 Enabler

She comes into self’s room, laden with enticements: dulce gatas, puto, empanada. Self tells her no, she can’t possibly eat any more, not after lunch in Antipolo of kohol (sea-snails) and chicken sinampalukan, not to mention the enormous bowl of halo-halo with ube and leche flan that they shared afterwards.

Still she comes. The last time she came, self said emphatically, “No, no more.” But just as she was turning to leave, self caught sight of her putting something in her mouth and said, “Just a minute. What’s that you’re eating?”

@@##!!!!

It turned out to be chicharon from Lapid’s. The kind with laman. Oyyy! Self grabbed the bag and faster than you can say “lickety split,” finished the whole thing.

Finally, came dinner time: but this time, self really really could not eat anymore. Even though there was laing wrapped in banana leaves; deep-fried baby crabs; daing; rice; sliced green manggo with bagoong. It was the most terrible feeling: sitting in front of all that food, and feeling actually — sick.

Well, self did try a half dozen slices of green manggo, in the process practically demolishing the small bowl of dark, oily bagoong it came with, but that was it. She had to crawl off to bed, tummy aching with frustration and desire.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Self’s (Conflicted) Feelings About the Home Country

Summed up in a poem by Angelo V. Suarez, “Flood”:

We have become estranged, you and I,
as the stars no longer find the asphalt-grey
of streets, the somnolent moon your skin,
the sun the sibilance of speech. How we tremble
now at the slightest hint of touch, the latch
of our desires reopening like a wound.

Watch me now as I say: In September’s
resolute rains, you are water — fragments
descending as drops from Manila’s urban sky.
Thus, you are everywhere, dripping down walls
and sliding off roofs, filling every crease of road
and crevice of soil. And on the rise of flood

floats the carcass of memory, taking
the muddied form of muck, filthy plastic bags,
venomous piss of rat. In the metropolitan marsh
where nothing is left but a squalid sight of swamps,
soggy lampposts, the third-world remnants
of a storm, I dip my hands and dream of fish.

— 2003, published in One Hundred Love Poems: Philippine Love Poetry Since 1905, edited by Gemino H. Abad and Alfred A. Yuson

The “Bacolod Chicken Inasal” on Jupiter Street

Last night, Judy B, Carla P and their mothers treated self to dinner at Bacolod Chicken Inasal on Jupiter Street. Dearest Mum was supposed to be in attendance, but she forgot. Which was perfect, just perfect, for self was then free to clown around.

Food was: batchoy w/ egg (everyone partook except self, she doesn’t know why); pangat (Bacolod version of laing: pork w/ gabi leaves simmered in coconut milk); barbecue chicken atay (self’s absolute faaaave, except when self tried to order more, they ran out); chicken satay; red egg salad; and huge servings of spicy bagoong rice w/ scrambled egg (Self’s waistline expanding exponentially, will not be able to ingest a thing later this afternoon, meeting Wendell at Dulcinea on Tomas Morato . . . )

The waiters wore these huge nerd-y glasses (no lenses, just the frames), which confused self until she looked at the menu and saw this enticement:

Tikman at lasapin ang mga meal inspired by the hit ABS-CBN teleserye, I Love Betty La Fea.

Here is self’s rough translation:

Try the meal inspired by the hit ABS-CBN television series, “I Love Ugly Betty.”

(Hey, wait a minute! That isn’t the name of the television series self knows from back in California! Is there perhaps a Filipino series based on that series, a reality show called “I Love Ugly Betty”??? Must investigate, pronto!)

The funny thing is, only the male waiters wore the Ugly Betty frames. The female waiters were allowed to be pretty. Is this reverse gender discrimination? Who knows?

In a private room of the restaurant was a very loud group (all male) who kept standing up and toasting each other with “lubots up” and when one of self’s friends mentioned that self must be used to the sight, from back home in Redwood City, self had to stop and think. No, self decided, she’d never seen that type of all-male gathering back in Redwood City, but perhaps that’s because she hasn’t been in a bar during football games! Still, though, these men in Bacolod Chicken Inasal were not gathered together for the purpose of watching a football game. They were there to eat and get drunk. Which is, self feels, a totally different thing.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Waiting for News

Sitting in the dining room of Dear Bro’s house, been awake since 4 a.m. 🙂 (Self happy because this means she will probably not experience jet lag upon return to civilization —  er, California).

Self has just sent maid to buy a copy of The Philippine Star (Yesterday she sent her to get the Inquirer —  self truly believes in getting as many editorial points of view as possible, on this trip), and even before she takes her first sip of coffee, maid is back (quicker than lightning, it seems!) and self is now reading, on p. 1:  BAGUIO COLD SPELL HITS 7.5 degrees CENTIGRADE.

Then:  BIDDING FOR RP ROAD PROJECT RIGGED, ACCORDING TO WORLD BANK.

Then:  SCHOOLS GET BACK AT BLOGGERS.  Aaah, this one’s interesting:  Officials of Science High School (in Quezon City) suspended four students who “allegedly posted a blog that criticized the school’s principal.”

And then, finally:  HYBRID CARS COMING TO MANILA.

What will self busy herself with today?  Yesterday was another lunch at Via Mare, then a visit to Judy B’s house, where self made the jaw-dropping discovery that Judy possesses the entire 30-volume set of Blair & Robertson’s The Philippine Islands:  1483 – 1898.  Self asked Judy if she could come back from time to time to peruse the volumes, and Judy instructed her maid to let self in whenever she appears.

Also, self had dinner with Dearest Mum and IC at a fancy Filipino restaurant at The Fort:  this restaurant was so fancy that the lumpia came folded up in little silver lumpia holders.  The dessert, sans rival with mango, was actually two meringue cookies encasing slices of mango with cognac, and the description was something like:

Chef Laudico’s Deconstructed Sans Rival Layers of Dayap Meringue and Pastry Creme on Chilled Mango Soup Splashed with Grand Marnier

The “Halo Halo Napoleon” was:

Layers of Ube Tuille and Poached Native Fruits and beans in Fresh Carabao Cream Sorbet Topped with Carabao’s Milk in Ice Cream

Self expressed interest in meeting the chef (who Dearest Mum asserts is a “good friend” of self’s sister-in-law Myla) and asking her a few questions, but after promised appearance, chef never showed and Dearest Mum was sleepy.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

A Typical Filipino Breakfast

A typical Filipino breakfast

(Clockwise, from left) But-ong (wrapped in banana leaves), papaya, star apple and chico!  This morning, self sings happy happy joy joy, happy happy joy joy . . . .

Self thought the above banana-leaf concoction was called suman, but aunt —  in whose house self slept last night (thank you, Dear Cuz Maitoni, for spiriting her away from Makati, even for just one night) —  calls it “but-ong.”  Perhaps that’s a Visayan term, for aunt hails from Bacolod.  Aunt says it’s the easiest thing in the world to make, and summons cook from the kitchen so that she can explain to self the process.  Cook (Gemma) is extremely flattered that self is desirous of instruction.  Explains that you need to boil malagkit (Whaddat??), sugar, and coconut milk, wrap concoction in banana leaves (Where to procure in States?) and then steam.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Blog, It’s Just So Overwhelming

This whole social whirl: self barely has time to sit down and post.  Even when she’s alone in her room there is always someone opening the door to peek in, or the phone is ringing, or the maid is telling her that Dearest Mum wants her, and self realizes that she has completely forgotten what it’s like to be surrounded by people all the time, and sometimes her nerve endings are so exercised that she finds it hard — no, impossible — to get to sleep, and the reason she stays up all night is because that’s the only time her thoughts come to some semblance of order, but today she had to meet Wendell Capili at Cyma in Greenbelt 2, and though lunch was delicious (and all she had was lemonade and lentil soup — good job, self!), she still thought she looked awful in the pictures Wendell took — taba and exhausted, with messy hair.

On the way to lunch with Wendell, someone rang Dearest Mum’s cell phone, and Dearest Mum listened for a while and handed the phone to self and said, “It’s for you,” and it was Dear Cuz Maitoni, and all she said was, “You’re spending the night in Alabang; I’m picking you up tonight!” And all self could say was yes (because self decided that her Manila mode will be always to say yes, yes to everything, no matter if that means eating two lunches back to back, or two dinners — you can just imagine the state of her waistline, dear blog readers).

And self wonders if it is really possible — physically possible — for her to go through the next two-and-a-half weeks on only two hours of sleep a night. It has to be possible because, Manila, self loves you so much: now that she realizes it, she doesn’t ever want to sleep.T

The Shoe Experience: CMG, Rockwell Mall

Self spent $32 for two pairs of shoes today. It all happened so quickly, just as self and Dearest Mum and sister-in-law were on our way to Via Mare in Rockwell. First we were talking about lunch, and then we passed a shoe store (CMG) with big sale signs in the window (50% off 2nd pair), and next thing you know . . .

What is happening to self? Back home in the San Francisco Bay Area, self never goes shopping (unless she happens to stumble upon a sale like the one at the Shoe Pavilion, last month, where she ended up paying a grand total of $7 for two pairs of Aerosole flats) Yet there she was, going head to head with Dearest Mum and sister-in-law, grabbing shoes in all manner of psychedelic shades from the sale shelves and trying them on.  She ended up buying a pair of flat leather sandals for 999 pesos, and a second pair for 499 pesos, and don’t ask her why one was size 8 and the other size 5 but they both fit her perfectly, and now she has beige sandals and bright magenta sandals . . .

Where, oh where will she wear these when she is back in the San Francisco Bay Area? Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

Outing of the Day

Raining. Self is sitting cross-legged on a canopy bed. The wood is old and dark. The drapes are batik.

Outing of the day was to Dear Bro’s unit, a few doors down from Dearest Mum’s, for breakfast. Dearest Mum put on a slinky green robe. Self put on jeans and a tunic. Chauffeur lined up the Audi to the door. Self and Dearest Mum got in, the Audi rolled a few yards, then stopped. Dear Bro’s driver came running out to the car, bearing enormous umbrella. Both Dearest Mum and self ducked under the umbrella and were escorted inside the house. Breakfast was the famous Bacolod chorizo, home-made yogurt (yum-yum!) with sliced apples, garlic fried rice, and fried egg.

Whereupon, having sated ourselves, driver was again summoned.

“Where to, Ma’am?” driver asks Dearest Mum.

“Home!” says Dearest Mum.

Whereupon driver executes a sharp U-turn, and drives us the few yards back to Dearest Mum’s unit.

THE END!

And that, dear blog readers, was self’s outing for the day — until, of course, fab Stella Kalaw’s exhibit opening, at Silverlens, this evening.

Stay tuned.

Blog, Self Has Missed You!

. . .  but in the last two days, self has traversed the Pacific Ocean and landed in snow-bound Korea (after having spent 12 hours in company of delightful Ukraininan private banker who totally wowed self with her ability to cuss fluently in Korean), stayed long enough to buy box of red ginseng tea, then landed in Manila, where she waited and waited and waited in humid terminal among masses of her kababayan (who were very sweet, and made her feel great, as approximately 70% of them were her height or shorter), and now self is typing this in the Business Center of the Makati Renaissance (No wireless reception in room, you must believe self when she says she tried first piggy-backing on all manner of wireless networks of her fellow guests, without paying, but no go), where rates are US $8 for half hour.  Are you convinced, now, about how much self loves you?

Today self spent all day in her room, resting under mounds of pillows.  She knows Dearest Mum surfaced, and then left, and when self next opened her eyes, it was night (again), and there was an open container of pansit palabok (from Via Mare) that Dearest Mum had helpfully positioned just inches from self’s nose.  (It’s no help that in the next booth, two hotel employees are engaging in the following conversation:  “Ano’ng ulam?” (What’s the food?).  “Kaldereta.” (Goat stew?).  “Tilapia na may tausi.” (Tilapia with salty black beans).   Also, at some point, she may have told Dearest Mum that she needed an adaptor for her electric toothbrush (All outlets are 220, self discovered), for there is now a black machine that weighs about 15 lbs. on the floor by her bed. (Good Lord, how is self going to drag this monstrous machinery to the bathroom so she can plug in her toothbrush?  She tried lifting it and nearly threw out her back!  How did Dearest Mum manage to get it eight flights up???).

But, no matter!  Self is in her native country!  Where all difficulties can easily be dispatched with a mere “Please” and “Thank you!”  And already self has confided in Dearest Mum her ardent desire to trek to farthest Cagayan!  To look at a lighthouse!  As research for her new novel!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.