My Peasant Feet

Objet d'Art!

2012-02-11T18:03:00.003+01:00

Today's veggie, Romanesco broccoli, presents some serious problem to me. It's so beautiful I just want to behold it. How shall I cut and cook this fractal wonder of nature? Perhaps I'll just serve it raw and start a conversation on molecular nanotechnology (",)

Annual Shorts

2012-02-11T16:20:00.002+01:00

Francois Truffaut was supposed to have said, "Film lovers are sick people." I don't know in what context he said that. I remember that quote after seeing more or less 125 short films in Clermont-Ferrand last week.
There was no Filipino participant this time but there was a movie set in the city where I was born and raised.
A lot of good films but my favorite is Sur La Route Du Paradis (The Road to Paradise), directed by Uda Benyamina. It's a moving tale of a mother and her two kids who left their native land to settle in France in search of a better life. But they find themselves living in abject poverty as they try to locate the husband/father who is a refugee in England. The movie unsettles you with the trio's dab, depressing world and yet makes you share the family's joys as they find them in simple things such as a bath, hot meal, a bike ride, moments spent singing, laughing. Sanna Marouk and Yanis Siraj as the two kids gave stunning performances.

Early Spring?

2012-01-23T16:11:00.005+01:00

Terrible. It does feel like nature's not sleeping so well.

A Fable A Day ...

2012-01-21T21:22:00.000+01:00

Winter Sun Fun

2012-01-20T10:08:00.003+01:00

Birdless, Leafless Tree

Horse and Sunset

Seeds

2012-01-16T10:50:00.003+01:00

Dear R,

I finished reading Geoff Dyer’s Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi days ago and I’m thinking back to it. I devoured it and I’m now haunted by it and I’d love to tell you why except I need time. I’m still savouring the aftertaste. There’s a line, though, that I remember: “It made me think that despite what I said about not being lonely here, it had been a lonesome time.” Can you believe that I cried reading these words?! Two things: Christmas (Think “faithful friends who are dear to us, (don’t) gather near to us!”) and hormones. Ha ha ha But seriously, don’t worry about me. I couldn’t have stayed morose, could I? I’ve been feeling good since the start of the year. My hands are full. Life’s good.

And you? How are you? I was so happy to read about that short, wonderful health update. Write me a newsy email next time okay? I’d be happier to get the details about what you’re doing now to keep healthy. Please?

This is probably the mildest winter I’ve experienced since I came here in 2005 and I’m grateful. Last winter was terrible. I remember the darkness descending upon us too soon in October. That was a winter too cold, too long, the grey always threatening to sink in my heart. This is “sweet winter,” indeed, and Ahem, global warming! I shouldn’t really be happy about this, right?

Well, so many things to be unhappy about. Every morning at breakfast, Claude almost unfailingly gets revolted by what he hears on the radio. Yes, he remains idealistic, passionate, high-minded and I admire him for all that. As for me, I’m often tempted to ignore today’s news. Reading about current events can get me all gloomy. You know, I still do it anyway. The litany of ugly things - corruption, injustice, general lack of concern for the environment, health care issues, housing problems, suffering of children, women, old people etc. etc. There are those that are good at analyzing these things brilliantly. Others become shrill or sage activists. Others panic, or are afraid, or get sad, frozen. I still get upset by all that but what I want to do is to try to do things that I can do instead of railing against those that I can’t.

In the Christmas card that Sœur Thèrése sent us, there’s a drawing of this angel in his stand in a Christmas market, proudly announcing that where he comes from, you can have everything. A customer approaches the angel and starts enumerating what she wants and says, “Okay I’d like some happiness, love, peace, a bit of success, a lot of …” “Wait,” the angel says, “here we only deliver the seeds.” Give me some good seeds and let me sow them in peace. And let me not worry about not being able to sow the seeds that I can’t.

This year’s seeds … I continue to be an animatrice (one of those French words I love), a volunteer teacher at English Club. I welcome the fact that I’ve fewer students this year. I’m able to give more attention to each of them, to give them more opportunities to speak and ask questions. I think I’m doing a better job this time because I’m preparing materials that suit their needs and demands more. I’m also a volunteer now of Secours Catholique (Caritas France). C has been one for sometime now, involved with social housing. Together with F (who, by the way, is our beloved English Club President), they were able to find homes for about 36 families! I’m proud of what they do; I’m proud of C, also because he doesn’t seem to realize how good he is. We’re going further into our Caritas connection by being in a team that’s working to define the needs, the ways in which we can help, in our area. So I don’t know yet how I can eventually help concretely. Truth to tell, I don’t mind doing things other than teaching – feeding people, visiting sick and old people, accompanying people with disabilities, helping, simply. E, our animatrice is one great lady, optimistic, intensely driven, profoundly good, and there’s that very good team spirit that tells me we can’t go wrong.

Our personal projects? Our house (endless, I know, but it doesn’t bother me as much as it did before. I’m enjoying our house as it is, anyway), more of what we enjoy - books, films, visits to museums, concerts, more cultural activities in Paris and elsewhere, trips. I want to learn good photography (C gave me books on that). C’s working on his short film projects and I help him. Both of us are now members of this film association of very good, dynamic, productive people. I’ve offered to do translations, subtitles for the member-directors’ films. I’m doing that with J and G. So much fun! That’s also a good way to improve my French. Speaking of language improvement, a friend asked me how my French is progressing. Oh dear, oh dear, it isn’t. Sigh. I’ve to do something about that, too.

I should be off but let me wrap you in love, my friend. Love to your mom and dad, the entire family. I miss you and often think of you. I hope we’ll see each other sooner than we both imagine.

P

Star Light, Star Bright

2011-12-31T12:11:00.005+01:00

The days leading to Christmas were punctuated by much longing for family, friends and all the delicious things that make up Filipino Christmas. On ordinary days, silence and solitude suit me perfectly, but come Christmas season, I’d usually miss everyone. And this last Christmas, I felt like I really needed to be surrounded by those I love and those who love me. I felt like I needed to be with them and celebrate with them.

Perhaps because it was a year full of things that just struck you dumb. The year was heavy with deaths and diseases and other unwelcome incidents. A few of my friends lost one of their parents. Our high school valedictorian passed on. A friend’s only child is undergoing treatment for cancer. The list could go on. We don’t forget these things even as we celebrate. Christmas is a gift, a balm to our souls. I wanted my grateful, hopeful, loving self to celebrate with as many loved ones possible.

I thought a lot about those who are no longer with us, those that are grieving, those that are sick, and those who have sick loved ones. I think that the lights of people who’ve gone ahead are not extinguished but are in fact kindled in the heavens. They become stars in our firmament. At least that’s how I think of my Mother and my brother. They’re just there, twinkling their love upon us, giving us hope.

Happy 2012! May we give more and need less! May the light be always kindled in our hearts in the face of the dark! May the New Year be bright with bliss, peace, love, hope!

Maligayang Pasko!

2011-12-23T23:24:00.001+01:00

Sun and Milk

2011-11-22T09:43:00.002+01:00

Milky Monday Morning

2011-11-21T11:46:00.002+01:00

Fall Imperatives

2011-11-08T17:23:00.006+01:00

No helpless clinging to the bough.

Run to the the leaves, lie down, and enjoy the prize view.

Soak in colours.

Autumn

2011-11-06T14:48:00.003+01:00

Before ...

After ...

And the (small?) price our backs and hips pay for such autumnal beauty.

Speaking of fleeting natural spectacles, watch and marvel!

Murmuration from Sophie Windsor Clive on Vimeo.

Note to Self

2011-10-28T17:17:00.003+02:00

You know how sometimes your days are just dark with stories of deaths and diseases and bad things happening to good people. On ordinary days, you feel fired up by your projects or simply inspired by daily living. But the dark days that I'm talking about could leave you flat and flattened, making you want to run up to the edge and fall over.

Of course, everything will be fine. You may have to slog it out but you'll get your bearings. And peace will fill your world again.

Water, Water Everywhere!

2011-08-05T13:49:00.005+02:00

In Montréal, in Quebec ...

Le Parc La Fontaine

Le Fleuve Saint Laurent

Inside the Cathedral as it rained

Le Fjord du Saguenay

In the gulf of Saint Laurant off Tadoussac to whale-watch

Before that ... our princesses

Site de la Nouvelle France in Saint Felix d'Otis

Reunited

2011-07-12T22:32:00.006+02:00

And it felt sooo good!

As in most things, it started as a joke. Back home, our batch mates had celebrated our silver anniversary from high school graduation. That must have fired up the interest of those of us in the diaspora especially of the ones who’ve migrated and settled down in many different places in America. When I half-seriously said I was inviting myself if it pushed through, everyone went wildly excited.

“Classmates,” I told them, “let’s have a reunion before we become arthritic, our skin, dry and leathery and our hair all-grey. Magkita na tayo hanggang magaganda at gwapo pa tayo sa mga larawan” (",) (Let’s all meet up while we’re still beautiful and handsome for the photos.)

Almost 30 years! It can’t be that long, can it? Good or bad, we already had a preview of our lives online. Facebook is one great reuniter and updater. That means we’d all gone beyond who’s-still-hot-who-got-fat-whatever-happened-to-my-crush talk. Our online connection had helped increase the excitement of being together. Whether or not everyone still looked amazing or had flourishing careers, you still wanted to see it all in person.

Finally, the details were decided – some days in July last year, in San Diego, California. People flew in from different states and Canada and France (moi). There were only a bunch of us so it was not like we were going to puzzle out who each other was. Interestingly, some of us were classmates in elementary, some were even neighbors then.

So there we were – not the kids that went to high school together. We now have families, jobs, histories, and in this group’s particular case, very interesting and moving immigrants’ stories. Spending time with them again, it didn’t take so long to be convinced that the years just rolled by and not one of us had really changed. After a while, we were seeing our young selves in our 40-something bodies, reliving high school and catching up on our present lives.

We discussed people we had kept in touch with, friends we lost touch with, those who had gone on. We told each other we hadn’t really changed but we looked at each other’s faces and we saw our mothers and fathers back when we were in high school. We took notice of our youthful energies and yet we started talking about the onset of ailments and midlife issues and problems. Sure we didn’t change; we just got old!

These are people with whom I’d spent some of the best times of my life. Despite the years and the geographical distance that separated us there’s no denying that the ties run deep.

Such Faith

2011-07-11T22:34:00.002+02:00

Faith was five years old when this conversation took place last year in the US of A. We were at the backseat of the car. Her father was driving; her mother beside him. We were on our way to San Francisco.

Faith: Tita Pat, what’s a country?
Me: Hmmmm … I’ll just give you examples. The United States of America is a country. The Philippines is a country.
Faith: Okay. What’s a passport?
Me: Oh, that. I may have to use big words, Faith. It’s a document. It’s something official.
Faith: Do you have a passport?
Me: Yes.
Faith: Why do you have one?
Me: We all need one when we travel to another country. Coming here, I needed a passport. The officers at the airport ask for it each time I travel. My passport identifies me. It has my name, my birthday, where I was born.
Faith: Why can’t you just tell them that?

For a while there I thought of shouting, “Stop!” and getting off the car to run away with Faith forever.

Grateful

2011-07-03T23:07:00.004+02:00

Thankfully, there were spring flowers and other beautiful miracles of nature while I was constantly visiting paper pain planet and health issues village. I thought the fall, literal fall, as in missing a step and falling off the stairs, had to be the end to living under the dark clouds. I think it was.

I've started "harvesting" and the past days have started to feel like this.

A Stroll in the Park and a French Surprise

2011-06-21T13:20:00.007+02:00

On the first day of summer, I'm remembering New York. I was there in summer last year. I wrote the following article for The Frog's Tribune, our English Club's newsletter.

It’s a beautiful day in August and I’ve spent an entire morning in Manhattan’s Times Square. I’m on my way to Bryant Park, known as Manhattan’s Town Square. Only a block away, it is, I’ve been told, New York City’s busiest, most beautiful park.

The plan’s to go to the New York Public Library in the afternoon and the park is situated just behind it, between 40th and 42nd Streets and Fifth and Sixth Avenues. So there, the perfect outdoor lunch spot for me. I join the throngs of lunch goers, go straight to the north fountain kiosk and line up for a ‘wichcraft sandwich. I want some warm roasted turkey with avocado, bacon and onion relish on a ciabatta roll. Meanwhile, I’m really starting to admire this elegant, eight acres Midtown jewel of a park - the fountain, the sunbathers, the large central lush lawn surrounded by tall, arching trees, flower gardens, vantage points from which to view architectural landmarks, a large-screen television for the ongoing summer movie festival.

Something about the park draws me in. It isn’t just a pretty place to look at. It isn’t just a refuge, an oasis in “the concrete jungle.” It is a very welcoming park; I don’t feel alone at all. People come to do stuff. They chat, stroll, listen to music, sunbathe, work on a wireless network, simply sit and think, and of course eat lunch. Speaking of which, let me grab a lightweight chair now, find me a place and I’ll just sit and watch the world go by as I enjoy my lunch.

From where I sit, I see three ladies weighed down by shopping bags, taking pictures of each other with their camera phones. A guy working on a laptop sits across another guy in a suit with a mobile phone. Just in front me, a sweet sight - lovers on a lunch break. I feel sad thinking they’ve to go back to their respective offices later. A group of tourists is passing by – one of them is looking at a map of NY City while some fan themselves with free fans from Broadway shows and another one’s busy checking the photos on his camera.

I’m ready for a stroll. I dreamily drift into this court and get shooed away! “Sweetheart,” someone says, “stay away or you might get hit.” I recognize a crowd of players and someone tossing beat-up silver balls towards a target. A couchenet?! Is it possible they’re playing … pétanque?! Eh, oui! With such a friendly atmosphere among the players under the towering trees, it’s easy to imagine I’m in Provence – except for the roar of buses and taxis on 6th Avenue and at least two guys (bankers?) playing in their suits.

Seeing my interest, for I start taking photos, one bystander starts giving me a mini-lecture on pétanque, its history, how it is played, La Boule New Yorkaise, the oldest pétanque club in New York City, how the game’s attracted old, young people of different nationalities here. Do I tell him I’m from France and that I’ve played pétanque? Of course not. I’ve to admit I’m tempted to teach him the right pronunciation though. He keeps saying pay-tonk! I don’t and just say, “Wouldn’t it be nice if they served pastis or wine?” He looks at me with a kind of disbelief and says, “Oh, that’s against park regulations.”

Ma'am Ophie

2011-05-08T16:42:00.009+02:00

I complained to her once that she never smiled when I took her photos. By way of response, she just gave me this photo. She’s not smiling, is she? She wrote : "For dear dear Pat and Claude, my dear Parisian friends! See you in Paris! Love, Ophie"

And here we are, the last time I was home. She was making a big fuss about my cleavage. "What cleavage?" I said, "Ikaw, ma'am, ha, are you writing another erotic poem?" She just laughed. I notice I look like a giant beside her, like I was already enlarged by grief?

In autumn last year, just as when I was beginning to worry and fret and dread the dark days and long nights, I read of her death. I remember the blur and lips pursed with the pain of the saddest news. I couldn’t even tell C about it. Blur. Pain. Sorrow. Silence. I cried and cooked and ate and raked leaves.

Then I turned to literature, to poetry, to her poetry for consolation, if not for strength.

Today, Mother's Day, as I walk around my garden, I think of Ma’am Ophie. Not without sorrow, not without pain. But spring’s a prayer. I imagine she’s as pleased as I am to discover that, like me, some plants in my garden, have made it through the long and difficult winter.

One Glorious Spring Day

2011-05-07T20:10:00.007+02:00

We, yellow seekers, were so ready to call it a day but this was just an absolute attack on our senses - apple blossoms on one side of the road and colza fields on the other.

Claude went ahead to check out the apple blossoms.

The calves decided to check him out, too.

And I watched the lovely spectacle.

Le Printemps

2011-05-04T20:15:00.003+02:00

When did it all happen?

I wake up to birds singing and look forward to walking out of the house and into the garden that has burst into life. I open my windows and my doors. I can head out with just two, instead of eight layers of clothing, unencumbered by winter hats and gloves. Barefoot! Or open-toed shoes! I can see my toes, my feet, my arms. I'm often enveloped by clouds of grill smoke. I've wild flowers on my table, plucked from regular walks. My garden's gorgeous with flowers and a faithful giver of herbs for my cooking and salad.

Like a flower rained on by flowers, I'm giddy and grateful, grateful and giddy.

May Day

2011-05-01T11:08:00.006+02:00

Oh, I love Kate’s bouquet! It’s small, subtle, seasonal and made almost entirely from a flower I love, the sweet-smelling lily of the valley.

Many years ago, wanting so much to make me smell the glorious scent of muguet, Claude plucked some lilies of the valley from his garden in France and brought them for me in the Philippines, carefully wrapping the fairy bells (as they are sometimes called) in damp table napkins. Here's that sweet memory immortalized:

Today, May Day, the French usually give deliciously fragrant posies of muguets des bois as love tokens. So here’s one for you, from our garden.

Big Bird

2011-04-30T14:46:00.005+02:00

I say the turtledove's too big for my bird feeder and he says buy a bigger one. I tease him and say you're really American now; you want to supersize everything. Sorry,sweetie, I'm not buying a bigger bird feeder. It's really for smaller birds. The turtledoves will have to look somewhere else. Or perhaps not ...

With a little help from a friend? (",)

Good Friday Thoughts

2011-04-22T11:04:00.006+02:00

Always these ... my Mother, pabasa and panata.

Sampaguita. I smell these and I smell sampaguita. They're not. And they surely don't smell like one. But they look like sampaguita when not in bloom. Or blame my visual and olfactory imaginings on homesickness.

The suffering Christ. I took this photo in the Passion Façade of the Basilica de la Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, Spain.

The dead Christ. That's me lighting a candle and the Santo Sepulcro in Notre Dame des Anges in Collioure last September. I remember feeling my Mother's presence and for a while there, we were in Paco Church in Manila on a Good Friday.

Ferns Unfurling

2011-04-14T21:47:00.003+02:00

Tagged by Joy

2011-04-14T00:14:00.006+02:00

Dear Joy, this is underpainted moi, on a beautiful spring day in Jardin des Tuileries. Just thought you'd like it.

Thank you for tagging me. You know what spring does to me - I slooooow up ;-) But here it is, short (but sweet?) and simple. And for you.

I am … all these combined – love, my Mother, nature, literature, teaching, travel, here-and-now, gratitude, silence, solitude.

The bravest thing I’ve ever done … is probably moving to France in midlife, not speaking French, not really knowing anyone nearby.

I feel prettiest when … the soft Sun’s on my face.

Something that keeps me up at night … some longing for a beloved, living or who’s gone on.

My favorite meal … is definitely one that reminds me of my Mother - adobo, sinigang, ginataang isda, always with rice, and pansit.

The way to my heart … small, good things and something really precious, like time.

I would like (to be) … to grow steadily in many good delicious things such as love, peace, health, joy, knowledge, gratitude (Oh, something simply practical, to be able to speak French better!)

A Matter of Timing

2011-04-11T10:14:00.003+02:00

Too late ...

Too soon ...

... And just the right time.

Pink Clouds

2011-04-10T22:08:00.003+02:00

A lot of Sun and a lot of looking up!

The Birthday

2011-03-28T09:52:00.003+02:00

As I’m not much of a visual person, I probably would have easily walked past Marc Chagall’s “The Birthday” (1915) were it not for the acrobatic, contorted man.

It’s her birthday. He must have given her the flowers earlier. And now, they’re walking away from each other. Something tells him the flowers aren’t enough and so he does something fast. He leaps into the air, kisses her backward.

Bring your lips to mine/so that out of my mouth/my soul may pass into yours Diderot, Chanson dans le goût de la romance

Or. It’s her birthday. It’s possible that she and the beloved are apart. And the world is how I imagine it sometimes. Physical laws don’t apply. Love has wings, gives wings. Floating, flying, soaring lovers!

I thought about this painting after my own recent birthday and how grateful I am to those who put me in the sea of birthday love. Once again, salamat. And, salamat, to the absent/present ones who fly and “bend over” and make me feel that above and over everything, there is – me.

Bluebells

2011-03-27T14:59:00.004+02:00

Merci, Marion. Perhaps in April you and I will be wandering through a bluebell woods.

Events of the Day

2011-03-25T15:45:00.006+01:00

The Sun was flooding my kitchen as I cooked ratatouille enough to feed the entire village. What was I thinking? So, I tried to invite friends over for lunch and many said yes, but, alas, could join us, only virtually.

But guess who decided to join us for real?

(Jenni, did you send these blue tits?)

Elsewhere in our small garden, we planted estragon, rosemary, thyme, strawberries and ...

... primroses!

Belated Cheers for Shorts and Suns

2011-03-02T15:49:00.003+01:00

February may have been the height of my winter weariness, but there was Clermont-Ferrand providing a wonderful respite.

We had one week of Sun and short film bliss and tropical Sun brought by Filipino director Henry Burgos.

Signs of Life

2011-03-01T14:16:00.006+01:00

I'm tired of the greys and browns of winter. Over the weekend, I had to do something to help me de-fog my mind and soul. Trust the Saturday market and Ali to give me the cure. Look at these lovely, colorful veggies!

And then, there are promises of spring - rabbits on my way home and ants in my kitchen.

Today, it's sheer joy seeing these courageous little flowers peeking out of the ground.

Today’s Winter Blah-Busters

2011-02-18T23:55:00.002+01:00

A bird feeder, chips à la crevette, tinolang manok (yes, those are sayote, chayotte), a brightly-coloured pair of slippers (I can hear you laughing Jenni!), roses, and ...

... a beloved who says "soon" with such faith.

Little Suns

2011-02-05T18:23:00.002+01:00

Fluffy, floaty flowers ...

The mimosas are my little suns for today.

Le Marketing of a Book

2011-02-01T10:40:00.004+01:00

I've been hearing the direst predictions about the death of the book. I think that in France, we're still more protective of the book culture (for many French, the end of book culture is the end of civilization!). Just look at those posters of authors plastered in train stations to promote the publication of their new novels. Un grand soulagement!

(Gare Montparnasse)

Incidentally, I read that John Irving was recently in the Philippines. Jessica Zafra wrote about him:

There is no use pretending that you’ve read more of John Irving’s work than you really have: he will catch you. Not only that, but he will lay a trap, said his son Everett, 19. “Do you remember that part in the book where Fergus dies?” John Irving might ask an interviewer. “Yes, of course,” the interviewer bluffs. “I didn’t write that,” says the author of The World According to Garp, The Cider House Rules, and ten more novels. Snap.

Read the rest of the text here

Patience

2011-01-28T18:44:00.003+01:00

I look at this and translate to myself - Mabuhay. That’s my immediate Filipino translation but depending on the context, I suppose Maligayang Pagdating is also good. I don't imagine using that expression myself though. So much for sliding in and out of my three languages. I look at the photo in my camera and reconsider the scene. I can’t help thinking that the grey skies and Mabuhay don’t really go together.

Mabuhay is this ...

La nuit ressemble au jour et le jour à la nuit. Patience.

Patience.

Mabuhay!

Thankful

2011-01-19T16:49:00.004+01:00

No more runny nose, teary eyes, scratchy throat. Thank you vitamin C and oscillococcinum and essential oils.

The beef bourguignon’s looking good. Thank you, mon âme.

They announced a significant drop in the temperature this afternoon but right now there’s the Sun. You can say it's autumnal; I say it's spring-like ... my version of "the glass is half-full." Thank you.

My DFA-authenticated NBI Clearance arrived in the mail this morning. Thank you, Alma and Kuya Nonoy.

And I’m dancing to Satisfaction. Thank you, Pink Turtle.

Happinay!

2011-01-12T20:22:00.005+01:00

Really. What a difference the Sun makes!

And the Sun arrived in the mail, too. These lovely gifts in my hands today.

Salamat, mon capitaine (",)

My Adobo

2011-01-07T12:57:00.007+01:00

Here's an excerpt from an article by Sam Sifton in The New York Times on Philippine dish adobo:

"There are more than 7,100 islands in the Philippines, a nation slightly larger than the state of Arizona, and if you could devote your life to traveling through them asking questions about food, you would discover a different recipe for adobo on each one.

It is the national dish, many Filipinos say: protein braised in vinegar until pungent and rich, sweet and sour and salty at once, sometimes crisped at the edges in high heat, always served with the remaining sauce. Its excellence derives from the balance of its flavors, in the alchemy of the process. Cooking softens the acidity of the vinegar, which then combines with the flavor of the meat to enhance it. Whether consumed in Manila’s heat or on the edge of a New York winter, adobo holds the power to change moods and alter dining habits.

It is a difficult dish to cook just once. For the adobo neophyte, there are always adjustments to be made to increase a diner’s pleasure in one direction or another — a touch more salt or sour, sweet or fire.

Until there is not. Then the recipe — your recipe — becomes set in stone."

Here's my own adobo recipe, (carved in French stone?). It’s deliciously simple and simply delicious.

I buy one whole chicken and I cut it into parts. I marinade the chicken overnight in soy sauce and vinegar in equal parts, a lot of garlic, laurel leaves and whole pepper. I bring that to a boil (Mother said never stir until it boils) and reduce the heat immediately and let it simmer until the right chicken tenderness is achieved. I always serve it with rice.

It does sound simple, doesn’t it? I use red wine vinegar because that’s the one easily available here (Call that “fusion” by force.) I take the skin off my chicken. I want it with some good serving of sauce and lots of garlic.

Some variations I tried before:

1. Putting some onions which help reduce the pungent odor, I’ve been told
2. Adding coconut milk. I also did this once when I reheated the leftover. It was like having a different dish.
3. Frying the chicken then putting it back in the sauce
4. Adding boiled eggs upon serving

The adobo always tasted good with all the above touches but the basic recipe is what pleases me and Claude most. I've to confess I'm tempted to add foie gras next time I cook adobo (Wes, it's your "fault").

My adobo is always a hit with the French. And in my kitchen we say, bon adobo!

Thinking of You

2011-01-06T22:15:00.003+01:00

I’m feeling like one big throbbing heart loaded with love yet not solidly still. I’m longing for you. And you and you. All of you. No threat of that grinding kind of ache. I “just” miss you, the nearness of you.

I remember thinking of you as I took this photo in autumn. Looking at it again now, I realize I caught a bird in flight. If my love had wings …. You, I hold you in my heart and imagine you were next to me. Yes, you. You and you. All of you. You know who you are. And if you don’t, you should.

Oh, I welcomed the year with foie gras, oysters, pancit, bistek tagalog and French booze. Oh, and heaps of hope and loads of love and a grateful heart for that magic all around us.

Happy 2011 to all.

Maligayang Pasko

2010-12-24T13:58:00.001+01:00

Malayo man, malapit din ...

White Christmas

2010-12-23T02:36:00.005+01:00

I remember Mother singing "I’m dreaming of a white Christmas …" Just like the one she didn’t know. Just like the ones we saw in the calendars of our childhood. It’s looking more and more like a white Christmas for us this year. The snow is falling as I write. I’ve never seen so much snow where I live.

I’m going to celebrate the whiteness of this season and declare the snow messenger of celestial peace.

Have a truly Merry Christmas, everyone!

Tandem

2010-12-03T00:00:00.001+01:00

Joyeux anniversaire, mon âme!

I'm a happy rear rider to your captainship :-)

Notes from the Other Side

2010-11-02T09:40:00.002+01:00

I divested myself of despair
and fear when I came here.

Now there is no more catching
one's own eye in the mirror,

there are no bad books, no plastic,
no insurance premiums, and of course

no illness. Contrition
does not exist, nor gnashing

of teeth. No one howls as the first
clod of earth hits the casket.

The poor we no longer have with us.
Our calm hearts strike only the hour,

and God, as promised, proves
to be mercy clothed in light.

Jane Kenyon from Constance (1993)

Mmmother, I sing to you

2010-10-04T10:29:00.005+02:00

Gandahan mo ang hagod, anak, you’d tell me. Dapat may damdamin, dapat galing sa puso. Kundiman. Kung hindi man.

Sorry, Mother, it took time before I could sing your songs like I meant them. Life had to teach me, too, even if all I needed to know I learned from you. I remember you’d say, pipili ka ng kakantahan mo, at sa kanya at sa kanya mo lang kakantahin. When you sing, you sing to that one person. Kung hindi man … if it should not be so, it shouldn’t matter. Just love, just sing …

On your birthday, I sing to you, Mother. Puso, damdamin, hagod …

A for America

2010-08-25T16:35:00.022+02:00

(Angels' Game, Angel Stadium, Anaheim)

Drank in "America" for more than a month in endless comings and goings in some places in the East and West Coasts. Thank you family and friends for your love, for letting me fly through those days.

And while I’m ploughing through bazillion of photographs, taking some time to give shape to all sorts of emotions felt (mostly overwhelmingly beautiful!) during the trip, here are some photos: A day in New York, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Disneyland, Universal Studios (As Mai puts it, love coming out of my sister Jenni's head!), Hollywood, San Diego (with high school friends), "Paris" in Vegas, Washington Monument.

Love Love More Love

2010-06-11T20:54:00.004+02:00

He likes you, but probably not enough to love you? He loves you, but probably doesn’t love you enough? You pluck petals off a daisy to find out - He loves me, he loves me not …

I remember being delighted to discover the French version. The game’s, in fact, French in origin. Effeuiller la marguerite, they call it. It can’t be that simple, the business of love and so … Il m'aime un peu/He loves me a little, beaucoup/a lot, passionnément/passionately, à la folie/madly, pas du tout/not at all.

In my "fortyfied" years, this is what resonates … He loves me, he loves me lots …

A Path

2010-05-24T20:00:00.002+02:00

"...just wide enough for two who love ..." Emily Dickinson

I'm dreaming of Emily's garden.

Weather Talk

2010-05-11T13:08:00.002+02:00

I was just thanking someone for sympathizing with my weather woes. Listen: I’d hate to complain, really, but these endless drizzly moody days seem bigger than my friend Perspective.

I was just starting to get spring-giddy, teased by yellow, delighting in the pink clouds, giggling at the sight of my toes (no more punitive closed shoes!) and more skin (hippopotamus outfits properly kept!). I was just getting worked up for pique-niques in the park, for barbeque lunches in our garden, imagining myself dressed for the season, easing back in my chair, sipping my red, listening to the birds (hirondelles, rossignols, merles), admiring the flowers.

Mais, non. This grey has descended upon me (yes, I take it personally) and I’ve been living in semi-darkness.

Today, I stay indoors. After the chores, I’ll curl up with a book, or dream about Emily’s garden, or search my Soul. And before long, I will have made peace with these feels-like-winter days, I hope.

Mother's Day

2010-05-09T11:13:00.005+02:00

Hail Mother, full of Love
My eternal ache, eternal light!

Today at the Park

2010-04-28T22:34:00.008+02:00

I walked barefoot on the grass, caught some Sun, kept looking up,

bird-watched,

took photos of tulips for M,

and started reading Miguel Syjuco's Ilustrado.

Update: Reviews of "Ilustrado" in Washington Post and The New York Times.

Pink Clouds

2010-04-21T22:16:00.004+02:00

My Jennifer

2010-04-01T20:03:00.003+02:00

This morning while I was playing the part of a penitential painter in the passerelle, the melody came to me. Just like that. And then some words, too. Just like that. Funny how …

Are you still mad at us for giving you your name? Are you, Jenggay, Jenniperya, Jennikungkung, Jennipuput, Jemipuce, Jemiper, still not able to forgive us ? If it’s any consolation, I may have Mother’s name but you, you have her face. And you’re looking more and more like her – better the face than the name. And Jennifer, what’s wrong with JenniFERrrrr ?!

I was telling a friend recently how rare I think the kind of connection we have. It’s probably the completest relationship one can hope to have. Quelle chance! Will anyone ever get it, that you’re not just my sister, you’re also a friend? That I’m convinced you’re my daughter (never mind that we’re only six years apart) ? It isn’t just because of the animal instinct to protect their young that you inspire in me. Okay, I’ve to admit that despite your age, I feel myself becoming a tiger around you.

You and Jenni speak the same language, said my friend. Eh, oui … eh, oui. We speak the same languageeeessss …. And I’m contente I’ve someone who’s multi-contextually present in my life and who speaks my languages (and I don’t mean "just" the languages) because it spells a universe of difference. And so maintenow my Jennifer, don’t ask pourqwhy, but I’m thinking of the time you used to scold me when I refused to buy something for myself (Sige Ate, isuot mo yung isang libo mo!) Haay, laughing like this on a Maundy Thursday (Patawarin!)

Are you, right now, telling yourself, "Ito talagang si Ate, kung saan-saan na nakarating …"

How goes the cassava cake ? Thinking of palitaw, lulubog lilitaw …

Nung isang linggo nga ...

Oh, if you're wondering how you could be named after the song "Jennifer" when it was a hit two years before you were born, I offer this as an explanation.

Take your pick - si Pareng Bobby o si Pareng Pip? :-) Happy birthday, my Jennifer!

Birthday Songs

2010-03-23T23:07:00.002+01:00

Songs my age ...

... and one from the 80's

Evelyn

2010-03-02T00:01:00.002+01:00

She was talking about adopting a child. Her mother was an only child whose mother was also an only child. Evelyn has a sister. But both didn’t get married and have no children. With the mother and grandmother gone, and Evelyn and her sister beyond child-bearing years, adopting a child seemed like a good idea.

We had this conversation about two weeks before she’d die. We knew the end was coming but she didn’t really talk about it, just hinted at it when she told me, "I’ve lasted this long because of everyone’s prayers." It was her way of thanking me, too. Ever since I left the Philippines, she knew I’d say special prayers for her in every Church I’d get to visit in France or anywhere I travel. She told her fellow faculty, "Pat’s husband’s a French guy who looks so handsome in barong." She was referring to the time we all attended a common friend’s wedding, the first time she met Claude.

She was skin and bones but still teaching, still happy to see me. She apologized for not making it to the dinner I had with common friends. I had told her many times it was okay, that I didn’t mind seeing her on my own at school. After all, I also wanted to visit my alma mater. I also taught at this school. And that was how we met.

We hadn’t been friends for long when our house was razed to the ground by fire many years ago. The day I went back to school, she was carrying a bag full of clothes for me. In 2004, when she was spending so much on her treatment, I "scolded" her for buying me a Christmas gift. "You didn’t have to," I told her. But she was stubborn when it came to giving. In 2007, when I went home for vacation, she insisted on paying for our lunch. Not surprisingly this time, as we were saying goodbye, she handed me what was going to be her last gift to me. I hugged her, careful not to hurt her because she was so weak she couldn’t even hug back anymore. "Sige, Pat, we’ll see each other again. Lalaban ako."

Photo taken in June 2007

I’ll be missing you, Lyn, but I’m happy you’re now resting in the palm of God’s hand. No more fighting, no more pain.

My Poem

2010-03-01T16:15:00.003+01:00

I was standing in front of this when I took the LRT from Pedro Gil Station, Manila in January. Poetry in the train; what a great idea!

I suppose my poem will be I, OFW - Overseas Filipino Wife.

Travelling Light

2010-03-01T15:58:00.003+01:00

In my previous life, I was teaching subjects in English, Literature and Communication Arts to university students. I still see myself primarily as a teacher although I often refer to myself now as OFW – Overseas Filipino Wife. I live a happy, peaceful, semi-retired life in the suburbs of Paris, France with my French husband, Claude. Read more here

Two Poems for Valentine

2010-02-14T14:49:00.005+01:00

Valentine

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.

Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

--- Carol Ann Duffy

Adage

When it’s late at night and branches
are banging against the windows,
you might think that love is just a matter

of leaping out of the frying pan of yourself
into the fire of someone else,
but it’s a little more complicated than that.

It’s more like trading the two birds
who might be hiding in that bush
for the one you are not holding in your hand.

A wise man once said that love
was like forcing a horse to drink
but then everyone stopped thinking of him as wise.

Let us be clear about something.
Love is not as simple as getting up
on the wrong side of the bed wearing the emperor’s clothes.

No, it’s more like the way the pen
feels after it has defeated the sword.
It’s a little like the penny saved or the nine dropped stitches.

You look at me through the halo of the last candle
and tell me love is an ill wind
that has no turning, a road that blows no good,

but I am here to remind you,
as our shadows tremble on the walls,
that love is the early bird who is better late than never.

--- Billy Collins

King Nonoy

2010-01-12T04:00:00.003+01:00

He was born on January 6, Three Kings. He could have been named Melchor, Gaspar or Baltazar. But Mother gave him our Lolo's name, Sergio. and her beloved brother's nickname, Nonoy. Here's Nonoy, the major reason I'm in Pinas now, the King of my heart these days, my simple soul of a brother, and the best of us brood for it perhaps.

Joyeux Anni, Mon âme

2009-12-03T00:00:00.002+01:00

For Claude, the "early bird who is better late than never."

All My Fiery Ones

2009-11-28T00:46:00.005+01:00

Pinoyburst

2009-10-27T22:47:00.003+01:00

Take me to the Philippines

Bahay Kubo

CNN Hero Efren Penaflorida

Journey's Ariel Pineda

Eric Gamalinda

Happy Birthday, Mother

2009-10-04T06:00:00.001+02:00

Mother, you will always be my goddess.

Make me deserving of your brightness.

Help

2009-09-27T18:36:00.003+02:00

Your heart has shrivelled hearing, reading, watching about this and all you can do is go about today’s tasks - cut fresh thyme from garden, prepare vegetables for ratatouille, marinate tuna for grilling … You may be fragile today, your heart bleeds; but resist the temptation to wallow. Those you love are safe. That’s one gratefulness invitation. Be thankful.

Light candles in your altar then on to today’s business. Iron clothes, tidy up work area, change beddings, email students … It’s a beautiful early autumn day. Consider taking a walk, a long walk. But don’t mope. Hope, there. Help.

Philippine National Red Cross: Ways to Donate

Help Ondoy Victims

List of Verified Relief Centers for Ondoy Victims

The Kerygma Family Fund Drive For Typhoon Ondoy Flood Victims

Help Via Paypal

Postcards from Gers, Part II

2009-08-21T23:31:00.007+02:00

Postcards from Gers, Part I here

21 June

Dear J,

J’adore le Gers! Plus précisement, j’adore les Gersois !

Oh, let me tell you about how we celebrated the fête de la musique. We thought it would be nice to listen to traditional songs and music and so off we went to spend most of our day in Montaut-les-Créneaux. What the brochure said was all very enticing – village magnifique, ensembles vocaux exceptionnnels, qualité musicale, convivialité.

People gathered in the plaza where some groups of singers took turn singing. Think pasyon, except they didn’t sing about the life of Jesus. Their traditional music is sung polyphonously and the songs are mostly about their daily life. They didn’t “read” from a book; everything was committed to memory. After this two-hour singing in the plaza, another group of singers, this time accompanied by some musical instruments, led the crowd to what seemed to me like our May processions, except we didn’t have candles. We stopped in designated places, like what we’d do for stations of the cross, except we didn’t pray but listened to performers sing a story. While at this, a few couples broke into dance and soon enough many others followed suit. Expectedly, the procession ended in the church, with more “serious”singing this time. These people all seemed to me warm and sincere; they were happy to be together like that. They’d stop and kiss and ask how things were. I was so jealous! I’m usually very happy to be a mere spectator but here, I wanted so much to belong, be a part of their community. I don't mind living here at all!

23 June

Dear L,

I think I just discovered France’s best-kept secret – Le Gers. Tout, simplement, I … am … smitten! There’s the landscape, true; it’s called “La Petite Toscane” (Little Tuscany). But more than the Tuscan landscape of golden fields and rolling hills, Spain’s weather, and foie gras and Armagnac, it’s that feeling of being surrounded by smiling, happy, healthy people. Oh, I’ve been told the region can boast of the healthiest people in France who’ve the least heart problems and the longest lives! And yet, my foodie friend, they have seemingly rich diet – magret de canard, confit de canard, gizzards, and of course, foie gras. My perennial question has been why isn’t anyone fat? Do they breed them to be resistant to fat here? Is it the raw garlic that they eat? It can’t be the foie gras! Armagnac, alors? Or, prunes d’Agen, those rich succulent dried plums that come in various forms, but maybe those soaked in Armagnac?

And of course, you’ll love the markets! Everyone, just everyone, takes time to talk with you, explain everything, give tips on how to prepare what you’re buying, where to buy other stuff. Come with us when we come back. Let’s try a local ferme auberge. I heard they usually serve seven courses from home products cooked in traditional way, with local aperitif and a decent vin de table. I think it's unfair that I'm the only one fattening out :-)

24 June

Hey there, my virtual drinking buddy! I thought about you today as we were having what was probably my best dégustation (tasting) ever. I'm talking about my drink discovery here, the Armagnac. I’m not sure you know this France’s premier brandy (I hadn’t known it until I came here) but you surely know its better-known cousin, cognac? Claude and I were the only customers and our guy was very casual (which isn’t to say he wasn’t knowledgeable), very friendly and very young. He made us taste even the oldest available - 1888! Imagine me, swirling the drink in my glass, sniffing the delicate aroma before the sip, and then, enjoying Armagnac’s spicy sensation and the long-lasting aftertaste. Come to France! I don’t mind doing this again! And don't worry about me - I'm not steadily drinking myself to death :-)

Ninoy

2009-08-21T14:56:00.000+02:00

(at iba pang nasa litanya ng lumbay ng bayan)

Hindi ko iniluluha ang kanilang pagkamatay.
Ang kamatayan para sa layuning wagas
ay bulaklak ng tagumpay,
tanglaw sa mabatong landas.

IN MEMORIAM, ni Jose F. Lacaba
(Basahin ang buong tula)

Birdspeak

2009-08-13T12:27:00.007+02:00

(Taken in Gers in June this year)

Claude and I are used to bird invasion. It isn’t just this, really. In spring and in summer, it always feels as if the swallows are our hosts and we are their guests. Consider ...

We’re still working on our house renovations which include the building of a passerelle (like a walkway) that will connect our present house to the grange (barn) that we have decided to turn into a house extension. The renovations have gone on really slow (but that’s another story) but this summer, we’re supposed to be finishing up the passerelle. Before we could cover the beams underneath the floor, our feathered friends had started building their nests. It’s our fault, really. Every year before the renovations, the swallows would settle in the barn. It was their perfect site with its dark ledges and nooks and crannies for nesting. And we were always amply rewarded with bird shows. We’d watch them soar fast, glide, maneuver. We’d listen to them twitter, chatter, sing in chorus. Like these days. Only they seem to be “hostile” guarding their females and their territory. They’d swoop down on Claude as he worked and would sing a jarring instead of a sweet song.

I just had to tell him, “They’re mad at you. You know what the swallows are telling you?”

“What?” C asked.

“Ang kulit mo!” I said, not really wanting to hurt him.

“I didn’t know you speak bird now,” he shot back.

“Well,” I said, “I speak better bird than I speak French.”

Claude just had to stop working and leave the swallows in peace.

(See the old swallows' nest in one of our beams in the kitchen?)

Si Cory

2009-08-13T10:12:00.002+02:00

... ay di gaya ng iba dyan.

Para sa Bayan

2009-08-10T13:31:00.002+02:00

Jessica Zafra mentions here what the Chinese newspapers reported: "During the funeral march from Manila Cathedral to the memorial park, there was a crowd of people walking behind the truck bearing the casket. It was raining, so the people nearest the truck opened their umbrellas. But because of the umbrellas, the people in the back could not see the truck. So the people in front put down their umbrellas." She adds, "We can be considerate to each other."

This brought back my own memories of how considerate we all were to each other. We, meaning, those of us attending rallies from the time Ninoy was assassinated in 1983 to the People Power Revolution in 1986. When some people opened their umbrellas to shield them from the oppressive sun, we at the back who couldn’t see the stage, would start teasing them with “Si Imelda lang ang nagpapayong!” and they’d all put them down. In the crowd, we took care that we didn’t hurt anyone and said sorry if we did. We offered each other food, asked how we were doing, talked kindly to each other. The rule was simple: Do as you would be done by.

What do we really want for our beloved Philippines? Tell Jessica and write it all here.

The well-travelled Ninoy shirt - from Pinas to HK to Canada and finally, finally, France :-) Merci, Lou!

Remembrance of Things Cory

2009-08-06T10:56:00.003+02:00

I know I said that “though nothing can bring back the hour of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; (I) will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind.” But there’s no denying. Since Tita Cory’s death, my and many Filipinos’ days have been soused in sorrow, grief and nostalgia.

You have to understand. My first real yellow sea wasn’t this and my life in yellow didn’t start here but with the people power of my youthful days in yellow shirts, ribbons, placards, confetti, banners, flags, arm and headbands, flowers. Yellow is my generation’s political awakening. Yellow is passionately intense para sa bayan, hindi ka nag-iisa days. Yellow is, quite simply, Cory.

Corazon Cojuangco Aquino was the first person I voted for. I remember writing her full name. Before that historic snap elections in 1986 (I was 18 years old), I had only known one president. I smile remembering that her first "real" job was President of our sad republic.

The French television news program carried the story of Corazon Cojuangco Aquino’s death. They showed an old interview they did with her - beautiful, vibrant, smiling Tita Cory, in yellow, of course, and, speaking French. I almost forgot she spoke French. Tita Cory, notre coeur … ne nous quitte pas.

Le Quatorze Juillet

2009-07-14T10:11:00.004+02:00

One of my two beloved republics

Postcards from Gers

2009-07-13T22:09:00.003+02:00

16 June 2009

Dear Guada,

Claude and I chose a simple path for a leisurely walk today. Remember the orchid-looking wild flowers last year from Castellane? I found them again here. And I picked some again. Claude didn’t complain anymore and just looked away. He knows I need flowers. I know you’re asking yourself, “Could anyone need a flower?”

And oh, I didn’t know onion flowers and onion fields could be beautiful!

22 June 2009

Dear Cécile,

This morning, Claude and I spent sometime looking up the sky, marvelling at different shades of blue. There must have been at least four and the darkest one we simply called la belle bleue.

Here in le Gers, I love the greens as well. And, of course, the browns. Fields of gold, I keep telling Claude. Nothing to “attack” your senses like bright reds and yellows. My favorite will have to be the dark, reddish kind of brown because then I can say, my skin’s the color of the field :-)

Pinoy in my French Life

2009-07-12T18:53:00.003+02:00

Accidental Pinoy :-)

Lectoure, June 2009

Summertime

2009-06-28T23:10:00.001+02:00

When It Rains

2009-06-12T22:28:00.000+02:00

The problem with the rain is that it moves my imagination away from the here-and-now. And today it rains. I run out to my garden, and, for a while there, I'm back to the drenched-soon-be-flooded streets of Santa Ana . Oh, this is funny, this funny. I laugh, and then, I sigh. Inevitably.

For this is the imperfect rain. Or some faux rain. But like some song or a piece of writing pulling me in, anyway. And I let it rain rain memories in my head. I'm the girl running after my two brothers who trudge ahead in the rain; the high schooler braving the thick sheets of rain and brown sea and flotsam, not so much to learn at school but to be with friends, girls and boys alike; the teacher finding excuse in the rain to overstay in a café, making students’ subjects and verbs agree in their compositions; that not-quite-woman stranded in some magic space, holding hands with the man I love, exchanging silent, sensual glances, and hearing it in the rain.

Do I hear you say, stop it, and be there, just be there? I will be, in a while but meantime, indulge me – I’m here and somewhere else; here-there simultaneously, in my double, divided lives. Who will say they’re not true, both?

Pilipinas kong Mahal

2009-06-12T13:37:00.001+02:00

Fallen

2009-06-01T13:29:00.003+02:00

Couples

2009-05-28T17:06:00.004+02:00

Akbay

Hilig

Tanaw

Lambing

Tampo

Suyo

Bulong

Gotta Love the Rs

2009-05-26T16:26:00.005+02:00

Roses and rhododendrons

Pamumukadkad

2009-05-21T15:03:00.003+02:00

Hardin Uli

2009-05-14T12:27:00.003+02:00

Sa patuloy na pagbabanta ng rhododendron at rosas ...

Samantala, ang pamumukadkad ng unang peony ...

Lambingan

2009-05-12T10:03:00.003+02:00

... on this very bed weather ;-)

Eternal Mothers

2009-05-09T20:21:00.005+02:00

I go back to that time when I was a little girl giving up my book for a while to listen to my Mother’s stories as she washed the dishes. My brothers must be out there playing which was a good thing. This was our time. This was when I heard the stories – about her childhood, the war, her boyfriends and suitors, her singing, Lolo Sergio and of course, Lola Miguela.

Lola died on her birthday on May 8, 1966, convinced that Mother was already carrying her third child. Actually, she still wasn’t. A daughter, she was sure. She knew I’d be coming. Mother talked about Lola like she was just there and I actually grew up feeling like she was really there, not a ghost but a real presence. I knew her from my Mother’s words and I learned early that losing one’s mother leaves a terrible ache.

If you’re motherless and had the kind of connection I had with my Mother, you know that feeling of continual loss. And yet, love and memory spill the past into the present and Mother’s presence is just as strong, just like my departed Lola’s presence in her life was strong. The past is rendered alive in the present and in that space where absence is presence, there is only the eternal.

Mother, Lola ... Mother’s Day used to send me sobbing unwillingly, beaten by the piercing pain, missing the nearness of you. My promise - if I do burst into tears this lovely month of May, it’s to celebrate you, drinking to our peasant feet! Happy Mother’s Day!

My Mother, my love and her mother, her love

Hardin

2009-05-05T00:31:00.004+02:00

May mga umusbong ...

May mga nagbabanta!

Spring? Spring!

2009-04-21T09:32:00.003+02:00

"Comment appelle-t-on ce type de pluie?" I asked Claude.
“Crachin … bruine,” he said.
Drizzle … mizzle, I was telling myself now. “Ulang tikatik. In Tagalog we call it ulang tikatik,” I told him.
“Je trouve ça mignon,” he said. He found the word tikatik cute.

And so there we were, with our stooped shoulders on our way to our English Club session, reduced to a weather conversation, a “safe” weather chitchat. We knew how fragile we were when it came to the subject of the Weather (Hey Jemipuce, when did we start becoming weather fanatics?) and so we killed our complaints right there on our lips.

So we taught, went to the market to buy our weekly supply of vegetables from Ali who, by the way, continues to spoil me with “gifts” (strawberries this time, yey), bought lots of olives and lemon (Think tajine!) and hopia and “exotic” products from nearby Bilal. The grey skies continued to drizzle. The smell in our kitchen became a mix of vegetable soup, sinigang na isda, café au lait and hopia as Avishai Cohen played in the background.

I’m happy I swallowed the woes. Yesterday’s reward ...

... a world bursting yellow.

So Far Away

2009-04-10T10:44:00.002+02:00

It doesn't help to know you're just time away ... Happy birthday, Kuya Boying.

A Walk in the Woods

2009-04-06T10:27:00.006+02:00

We were welcomed by a carpet of white flowers.

It felt like Spring was on strike but the woods beckoned. Thankfully, Claude and I could do more than just stopping by, unlike the person in Robert Frost’s poem. In the woods, one takes in beauty, peace, as well as mystery. One is happily lost.

Anémone Sylvie

Otherwise called Anémone des Bois/Wood Anémone

Sprouting Muguet de Mai/Lily of the Valley

Je t'attends

2009-04-02T00:23:00.003+02:00

In Manila and in Munich, you sang this to me ...

Axelle Red
Joyeux Anniversaire, mon ange.

Spring

2009-03-20T21:48:00.001+01:00

Today, of the countless poems written in praise of spring, I could only think of some lines from “It is a Spring Afternoon” by Anne Sexton. Surely spring will allow a girl without a stich on ... sprung to mind while I was rereading some of my Facebook winter status updates. At the height of my winter nightmare, I complained about being tired of “the hippopotamus look and would like to wear so much less than I do now.” Spring has just arrived and I’m thinking of going naked? Well, no. Exhilaration from today’s sun is probably giving me some sexy ideas. But back to the poem, here’s the last stanza:

Surely spring will allow
a girl without a stitch on
to turn softly in her sunlight
and not be afraid of her bed.
She has already counted seven
blossoms in her green green mirror.
Two rivers combine beneath her.
The face of the child wrinkles.
in the water and is gone forever.
The woman is all that can be seen
in her animal loveliness.
Her cherished and obstinate skin
lies deeply under the watery tree.
Everything is altogether possible
and the blind men can also see.

That’s one thing I really like about spring – it makes me feel like everything, just about everything is possible.

2 and 40

2009-03-20T21:39:00.004+01:00

I turned 42 in Munich. Wonderful, wonderful times with Claude, Jenni and Pete, and as luck would have it, two dear friends Jean-Michel and Marie-Françoise. And of course, beer, sausages, sauerkraut, and pretzels! But best of all, the only gift I wanted to have ...

I Kiss You

2009-02-12T16:30:00.004+01:00

Looking back, I realize I’ve taken to la bise quite easily. Pinoys don’t kiss people they meet for the first time. Pinoys are the warmest people you can meet but some of them don’t kiss even their own family and friends. (Question to self: Does that make me a cultural traitor of sorts?)

Language is indeed cultural, went my teacherly note, as soon as I heard Claude ending our first phone conversations with “I kiss you,” a direct translation of Je t’embrasse. I’ve been defenseless to the virus and so now, my then-usual final “take care” or “ingat” is replaced by Bisous, Gros bisous, Grosses bises, and Je t’embrasse.

This clip answers la bise questions When, Who, How, and How many. The number of kisses can be tricky. Depending on where you are, anything between one and four kisses is de rigueur. There’s this map-guide to help the confused decide the number of kisses depending on the region. Where I live, for example, people will normally kiss twice.

More kissing enlightenment here:

Overwintered

2009-02-10T19:02:00.002+01:00

Is it SAD? Someone asked. No, I don’t really think it’s the seasonal affective disorder. I’m a big fan of the four seasons and winter wouldn’t be so bad, really ... if it wasn’t too long.

I can’t stay cooped up all day snuggling under the covers or by the fireplace, with my book although I really sometimes wish I could. I have to teach, to do the grocery, to do errands. And I’ve started dreading the big winter gear production – all kinds of snow, cold suits, winter boots, scarf, mittens or gloves, woollen hats, then, going out feeling like a hippopotamus with those layers and layers of clothing. At least, hippopotami are cute. And it’s gray and cold and rainy. And days like that seem to just go on forever. Sigh.

There's some solace in “If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?” Or “The summer hath his joys, And winter his delights” But listen, je voudrais de la lumiere ...

Frozen Delights

2009-01-11T19:54:00.002+01:00

There's nothing like nature to help you "turn the eye inward" for some fro-zen leaps.

Epiphany

2009-01-08T15:18:00.008+01:00

4 January

Dear J,

If I’m being honest, there already was a weakening, wavering of my defenses. I was looking forward to a Pinoy Christmas with you and Kuya Nonoy and everyone else. And then it was not to be. And then, perhaps, despite all my efforts to be a grown-up about it, I wasn’t really well enough to deal with the little knots and bumps that followed, set off by a minor car accident followed by work-related vexations, careless remarks and then capped by compulsory merry-making.

I didn’t want to weep through December days, singing “Have yourself a merdique little Christmas” through the holiday blues. But I’ve to admit there were days I cried myself to the Philippines. Claude understood that the “longing” was not at all against him or against the French or La France. Even Claude misses the Philippines! I’m usually able to reconcile my being a here-and-now person with my overly sentimental Pinoy self. The crying would have gone on really if I wasn’t vain enough to see how ugly my puffy eyes were! I imagine my gay friends admonishing me - Malungkot ka na, pangit ka pa! C’est vraiment too much! Snap out of it! Think Lola Gloria Gaynor! Je survivrai! And so, I brought out the parol (no tree this time) and other little Christmas decors from Pinas. A few days before Christmas, we hosted a special lunch to celebrate C’s birthday. Also wrote some cards, even managed to send a CD to G (thanks for the tip), chose C special gifts, talked with some friends and Kuya Nonoy on the phone. All that, punctuated by thoughts of you and P in my Boracay and L and H (Oh, also managed to send them flowers!) promising each other forever in winter wonderland that is Canada. The more difficult part was having to socialize despite my sorry interior state. You know me, when something’s not quite right, I want solitude and silence. But through all that, Claude was simply wonderful, knowing what to say and when to say it or when silence is all that I needed.

Just after New Year, I felt some real lifting of spirits. The sun’s been a great help in keeping my spirits up. It’s the third sunny day. Two days ago, we went to Paris for our traditional Champs Elysée walk every new year, had dinner in our usual resto, saw a movie, and took photos. Today, we celebrated l’Epiphanie. As you know, that’s the feast of Three Kings in Pinas and so I was also celebrating Kuya Nonoy’s birthday. Why wasn’t he named Melchor, Gaspar, or Balthazar? Dear Kuya Nonoy, the king of my heart these days, our simple soul of a brother and the best of us brood for it perhaps.

Et bien sur, there was also une galette des rois! There were just the two of us so no more hiding under the table. Do you remember when we celebrated l’Epiphanie in Marseille? And in Grasse as well? Who was the crowned king/queen? I just looked at the photos and everyone was wearing the crown at some point! Even Fiji, the dog! I’m proud to say that this time, I got la fève (in fact, a little figurine). And without cheating! What fun!

Oh, the météo announces snow tomorrow. Alors ça, that will be a wonderful treat.

Joyeaux Noël

2008-12-23T15:22:00.002+01:00

Maligayang Pasko!

Le Brouillard

2008-12-21T00:33:00.002+01:00

You look out of your bedroom window as you would look out from a café after a delicious cup of coffee. Usually that’s the time reserved for people-watching. But here, right now, there’s only brouillard. Fog, you tell yourself. You try to say it in French again … dans le brouillard, dans un brouillard. Whatever. Ewan.

One of those times you’re in a haze. Where’s the calm, self-possessed, happy you? You miss that person already. What doesn’t kill you . . .

Pasasaan ba. Look, the sun’s here. And the fog’s lifting?

Happy Holy Daze

2008-12-19T15:02:00.000+01:00

From Rob Brezny's Horoscope:

"Happy Holy Daze, Pisces! My gift to you is advice about the coming year. First, read this quote from W.H. Auden's book The Dyer's Hand. "A daydream is a meal at which images are eaten. Some of us are gourmets, some gourmands, and a good many take their images precooked out of a can and swallow them down whole, absent-mindedly and with little relish." With this as your touchstone, I urge you to be a gourmet in your approach to daydreaming during 2009. It will be time for you to make your fantasy life into an art form instead of a chaotic, unconscious diversion. If you put more intention into your generation of mental images, you will find yourself better able to create what you really want"

Gourmet Dreamer - I shall heed the advice.

Birthday Boy

2008-12-03T00:00:00.002+01:00

I once described him as “rare and honest and fifty-something.” It still holds, will hold, but for the age bit. I may not be rare but I’m honest and so here’s an updated version - He’s rare and honest and ...

... very funny ;-)

Joyeux anniversaire, mon âme. Thanks for the lovely ride.

A Kiss Is Not Just A Kiss

2008-12-01T21:38:00.005+01:00

It must have been Jenni’s first birthday away from home and I was scrambling to send her something. With not much to spend, the choices were: a) a card b) a card and c) a card. So there, a card, but a jazzed-up card. I lured Mother and my nieces into immortalizing their kisses on it.
Who would have imagined this? Many years after, thanks to J and P, I can now wear Mother’s lips on my breast :-)