On July 7, 2012, I packed my bags and left what others would call a “charmed” life in Manila. With a little experience in the food industry, I arrived in New York with big dreams of opening a food stall at “Smorgasburg”, the very popular weekend market in Brooklyn, of opening my private dining room for underground eats, of owning a food truck followed by thousands on Twitter. I had a Hot Hula fitness certification tucked under my belt and many years of executive work experience although this was relegated to the back burner to be resurrected if all else failed.
Staying focused on my dreams, I started looking for an apartment in Brooklyn, did the rounds of the weekend food markets and visited a food truck fair. I did my research on obtaining licenses to operate these food trucks taking the streets of New York by storm… a novel addition to the extremely competitive and creative food industry, especially those double deckers turned into roving restaurants. I immersed myself in an intensive culinary techniques program at the International Culinary Center, formerly known as the French Culinary Institute.
After one month of living out of a suitcase, I moved to a small one-bedroom apartment in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, a place made so popular by the hipsters, whether real or “fake” as some claim them to be. The minute I walked in, I knew it was mine. There were a lot of issues I had to address, foremost were security and privacy as it was on the street level. I could deal with doing laundry temporarily outside with the promise of a laundry room being constructed in the building. To this day however, it hasn’t been started but it’s no big deal, it’s something I can live with.
Nonetheless, it is my very own private space where I seek refuge and which squeezes my creative juices, painting wall stencils while stuck inside at the height of hurricane Sandy. It also spits me out forcing me to fight cabin fever after the passing of blizzard Elmo to enjoy the fluffy, glaring white snow that had accumulated in Prospect Park.
Most importantly, it was the dream of my private dining that got my nod. I have turned my apartment into what looks like a small restaurant as my niece described it on her visit. A menu board I crafted with a plastic covered frame coated with chalkboard paint hangs on my wall. This is where I whip dishes on special occasions or on lazy Sundays for my girls and their friends. I wish I were more diligent though on inspecting the property, as I realized just after I had signed the lease that there was no dishwasher! What?!? I just assumed that in modern America, all the units would be equipped with one. It would help to have one when entertaining but again, it’s something I can live with.
I did not have the guts though to turn it into a business venture at this point. As I was reading a book written by the owner/chef of the very popular restaurant, Prune, I asked myself, “What makes me think I could do this with my limited experience?” In the highly competitive food industry in New York, one has to earn a toque’ and slave for years in the kitchen to even get a following. This lady worked 20 years in commercial kitchens, working her way up from a dishwasher before earning recognition. How to stay extremely focused when 192 English muffin packs and 1440 eggs leave her small kitchen on a weekend is incomprehensible. More so when her eyes are already a little red and swollen and her nose running in the heat.
I had my short stint as a student in the kitchens of the International Culinary Center (ICC) where we worked in pairs and had to produce five dishes in five hours on our feet in the extreme heat. To a novice, it felt like we were competing in the Iron Chef! I’ve cut my finger in my knife skills class. Thank God I didn’t take the full course where I would have been required to cut thirty pieces of vegetables in a tourne’ in each class until it was perfect! I’ve burned my hand carelessly grabbing the handle of a pan out of the oven even if we were adequately warned. I’ve carried very heavy pots from one station to another carefully trying not to spill its contents. Apparently, these have happened a lot of times. There is this legendary tale that the final exam, pass or fail, is to make the perfect French omelet “with tiny curds so finely pored that it resembles a baby’s butt”. I’m sure that’s an exaggeration. But would I have made it if I had taken the full course? I may not have earned my toque’ but I now wear with pride my chef’s jacket with the ICC insignia and my nameplate.
Early in the year, I researched on licenses required to operate a food truck. Not only did one need two licenses, there was a long waiting list to get them. I visited a food truck fair in South Street Seaport to see its very edgy and functional designs, and food offerings. Again, it was pretty much a specialty restaurant on wheels. Yes, you could hit a gold mine with just one very popular dish but the work it entails is just as demanding. With a lot of people now turning to healthy food, it is interesting to note though that it is still the fatty ones – oozing cheeses, glistening rich sauces, monster servings that grab the eye and fill those hungry stomachs.
I went to Smorgasburg, the Union Square and the Sixth Avenue food markets to observe how the vendors operate. It just confirmed what I read in an article featuring a peek into the life of the newest vendor at Smorgasburg. Two days of food prep, one hour’s sleep before opening, renting pop up kitchens and tents, rushing from one supplier to the next and transporting all these to the market in rented Zip cars was quick to dissuade me from diving into this venture. On top of that, you are always at the mercy of the weather. Bad rains and thunderstorms send everyone scrambling for shelter leaving you with not even enough to recover your costs. Not to mention, all the exhaustion. There are very good days though. So win some, lose some. It’s up to you to take the risk.
While all these got me derailed, I put on my other hat as a Hot Hula fitness instructor and immediately hooked up with the other instructors in the East coast. This wasn’t smooth sailing either. I worked hard trying to promote this program that I have learned to love. I forced myself to come out of my shell, approaching fitness centers and organizations and bravely doing public demos and auditions. I travelled far sometimes compromising my safety. I went out of my comfort zone sleeping over with people I hardly knew to attend a training far from the city. I was rejected countless times. I felt crushed when I was told I was not going to lead a demo just a few days before a big event as I wasn’t strong enough to do it. I refused to allow it to break me though and took it as a challenge. I would be lying if I said I didn’t persevere to prove them wrong. But it was more about making me believe in myself, to prove that I can be better. When you are passionate about something, nothing can bring you down. And this I have proven with the positive feedback from the NYC Dance Week. I don’t claim to be a ROCKSTAR instructor though as how a fitness center puts it in capital letters in their standard reply to thousands of applicants. But through all these, someone saw and recognized my efforts and made me one of their Area Managers. With this little achievement, I will continue to focus on helping others attain their fitness goals through my independent classes and try to promote the program.
With all these, I have learned to choose my battles and be more accepting of my capabilities while at the same time trying not to be constricted by it. It’s tough and yet fulfilling. But I’ve always loved New York! I love its energy that just makes you go, go and go! I love the independence it brings. Friends marvel at how I’m able to commute now, name it, I’ve ridden them all… subway, buses, rail, island ferries, cabs. There are times when I just want to have a car at my disposal but just the thought of scrambling for parking space immediately clears that from my mind. I miss road trips though when I can just rent a car and drive out of the city, getting lost and finding my way back.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s all worth it especially in those times when I feel down. I miss being in the presence of Mommy and Papa, just being beside them as they battle their medical condition, my mom now in a coma. I miss just being with my sister, Booboop, our crazy conversations and her laughter. I miss my sister, Twinkie, my most generous and ardent supporter who never fails to bring the family together for gastronomic experiences and weekend vacations. I miss my twin, Vikki, my friend, adviser and mentor who always encourages me when others put me down. I miss my only son, Gino, my forever fun travel companion who I patiently wait on while shopping in the streets of Soho.
I am very lucky though to have this opportunity to be with my girls as they cheer me on with my small accomplishments. I may not see them all the time as they themselves are carving their own lives here. I am lucky to have a few friends in the city who despite their very busy schedules, make time to meet up with me. I am lucky to have met new friends who helped me get started in everything I have done here. I am lucky to have old friends who despite the distance, encourage me in all my endeavours.
Those big dreams I speak of may seem unreachable to me now. But I will not beat myself for believing that I could do all these by myself at my age. I have learned to appreciate my small accomplishments. I’m not out to prove anything to anyone, I’m just working to be a better me. So when the time comes for me to return and I could just make that perfect French omelet, continue to make my hips smile and love myself for what I have become with my New York adventure, then I can give myself a pat in the back. Then I can tell myself “Well done, Minnie! It was all worth it!”
7 July 2013
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Hello from New York!
Dear....
I'm finally able to write again with my friend now gone.
Our week was spent in the city trying new restaurants some of which did not impress. For a newbie who relies heavily on the Google search engine aside from recommendations from the girls, sometimes it's hit or miss. The highlight of the week though was "War Horse" a major production staged at the theatre of the Lincoln Center (I didn't even know there was one there). Not a musical but a straight play but my gosh!... there were huge horses, not real, but perfectly crafted and maneuvered by actors under them that the way they moved looked so real! It was turned into a movie or I think it's the reverse but it definitely is not the same as what you watch out for here is the way these artificial horses are made to move so realistically! After that we had a light dinner then looked for a bar but being Fashion Week, most of them were closed for private parties. We ended up at the Ace Hotel where the lobby is turned into a bar in the evenings with the lights dimmed and music loud enough where one can still converse without having to strain your throat! Anyway, it's so funny three men offered Hermitz and I drinks and when I said no as I still have a long way to Brooklyn, he told me he'll pay for my cab if I stayed for a drink. Haha! Of course I refused!
Our last weekend was very interesting as we explored Williamsburg in Brooklyn which has been drawing a lot of interest from yuppies and hipsters, art aficionados and foodies. It's amazing how some streets are lined with restaurants, very casual, some even with period themes like Pierre Maison which serves Absynth, known to have been the drink of Van Gogh. This and all the others have a certain charm none of the restaurants in Manhattan have. At least the ones I've been to. On weekdays, Pierre Maison serves unlimited oysters for a dollar from 4 to 6 pm. I will certainly be back for more! And with Williamsburg known for serving brunch much like a competition, one can have a wide assortment of my favorite Eggs Benedict every which way you turn. You can have it Italian style with prosciutto on toasted foccacia or you can have the traditional ham on English muffins. In one popular place very appropriately called Egg, I had an egg fried in the middle of a buttered brioche from Amy's bread and topped with cheese. For someone who loves eggs, this one is heavenly! And unlike other restos especially diners that serve watered down coffee with breakfast, here you can have an espresso or have it french pressed.
On the second weekend of October, another friend will be visiting from San Francisco for a Food and Wine event. Tickets are available to the public so I will definitely be getting tickets to some of the individual events one of which is a Williamsburg food tour. There's just so much more to discover in Williamsburg, no wonder Regina loves it here!
There are also a lot of new apartments but I would rather live in a more quiet area like mine and hop on a train just two stops away. It's like wanting to go where the action is but retreating to your own quiet space. I can also imagine the rent in that area especially on the north side which is just by the river.
Life for me as it was then in Virginia some thirty years ago comes back now as I remember having to suffer the week after for not being able to do the household chores after a much enjoyed weekend. Something we have to do though once in a while. So I plan to stay home today to clean and do my laundry, something I cannot escape as we're required to come to class in our chef's uniform, immaculately white and pressed!
Unless I get a dinner invitation from Paching tonight or have to go to Curves fitness to discuss details about a Hot Hula class which they definitely want to have I will just be holed in my apartment the whole day today. Oh and by the way, I had a fun master class in Long Island last Friday night. It was the first time I taught with a wireless mic and discovered what a difference it makes. While I try not to stop cueing especially with the Flat 8 and the Hands Up as it can be so tiring, at least my mouth does not get so dry as much like when I don't have one. Too bad we forgot to take photos and that explains the caption "last one's standing" on FB.
I better go now so I can squeeze in an hour of pilates in my little "gym" before I do my chores!
Hope everyone's well. Give mommy a kiss for me. The more I look at her picture, the more I realize how much I look like her, as everyone tells me! Miss you all!
Love, Minnie
17 September 2012
I'm finally able to write again with my friend now gone.
Our week was spent in the city trying new restaurants some of which did not impress. For a newbie who relies heavily on the Google search engine aside from recommendations from the girls, sometimes it's hit or miss. The highlight of the week though was "War Horse" a major production staged at the theatre of the Lincoln Center (I didn't even know there was one there). Not a musical but a straight play but my gosh!... there were huge horses, not real, but perfectly crafted and maneuvered by actors under them that the way they moved looked so real! It was turned into a movie or I think it's the reverse but it definitely is not the same as what you watch out for here is the way these artificial horses are made to move so realistically! After that we had a light dinner then looked for a bar but being Fashion Week, most of them were closed for private parties. We ended up at the Ace Hotel where the lobby is turned into a bar in the evenings with the lights dimmed and music loud enough where one can still converse without having to strain your throat! Anyway, it's so funny three men offered Hermitz and I drinks and when I said no as I still have a long way to Brooklyn, he told me he'll pay for my cab if I stayed for a drink. Haha! Of course I refused!
Our last weekend was very interesting as we explored Williamsburg in Brooklyn which has been drawing a lot of interest from yuppies and hipsters, art aficionados and foodies. It's amazing how some streets are lined with restaurants, very casual, some even with period themes like Pierre Maison which serves Absynth, known to have been the drink of Van Gogh. This and all the others have a certain charm none of the restaurants in Manhattan have. At least the ones I've been to. On weekdays, Pierre Maison serves unlimited oysters for a dollar from 4 to 6 pm. I will certainly be back for more! And with Williamsburg known for serving brunch much like a competition, one can have a wide assortment of my favorite Eggs Benedict every which way you turn. You can have it Italian style with prosciutto on toasted foccacia or you can have the traditional ham on English muffins. In one popular place very appropriately called Egg, I had an egg fried in the middle of a buttered brioche from Amy's bread and topped with cheese. For someone who loves eggs, this one is heavenly! And unlike other restos especially diners that serve watered down coffee with breakfast, here you can have an espresso or have it french pressed.
On the second weekend of October, another friend will be visiting from San Francisco for a Food and Wine event. Tickets are available to the public so I will definitely be getting tickets to some of the individual events one of which is a Williamsburg food tour. There's just so much more to discover in Williamsburg, no wonder Regina loves it here!
There are also a lot of new apartments but I would rather live in a more quiet area like mine and hop on a train just two stops away. It's like wanting to go where the action is but retreating to your own quiet space. I can also imagine the rent in that area especially on the north side which is just by the river.
Life for me as it was then in Virginia some thirty years ago comes back now as I remember having to suffer the week after for not being able to do the household chores after a much enjoyed weekend. Something we have to do though once in a while. So I plan to stay home today to clean and do my laundry, something I cannot escape as we're required to come to class in our chef's uniform, immaculately white and pressed!
Unless I get a dinner invitation from Paching tonight or have to go to Curves fitness to discuss details about a Hot Hula class which they definitely want to have I will just be holed in my apartment the whole day today. Oh and by the way, I had a fun master class in Long Island last Friday night. It was the first time I taught with a wireless mic and discovered what a difference it makes. While I try not to stop cueing especially with the Flat 8 and the Hands Up as it can be so tiring, at least my mouth does not get so dry as much like when I don't have one. Too bad we forgot to take photos and that explains the caption "last one's standing" on FB.
I better go now so I can squeeze in an hour of pilates in my little "gym" before I do my chores!
Hope everyone's well. Give mommy a kiss for me. The more I look at her picture, the more I realize how much I look like her, as everyone tells me! Miss you all!
Love, Minnie
17 September 2012
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
We Deserve a Getaway
“What do you do?” Almost always, this question finds its way into a conversation between two people or among many after the standard introductions have been made. It’s like what we do and not who we are defines our being. Sometimes we are even judged by how busy we are or how much idle time we have.
Meet four women – Bianca, Bettina, Vikki and Minnie.
Bianca is in her mid-twenties. A professional model, host and motivational speaker. Passionate about fashion and her other crafts. A natural nurturer. A single mother. She is witty and wise way beyond her years. She speaks what’s on her mind, you may just fall off your seat or roll in laughter. She has titles to her name but we just don’t care.
Bettina is in her early fifties. But don’t be fooled. “Mommy Boop” to many, she can hang out with just about any one, it doesn’t matter what age. She may dish out words of wisdom or just read you like “Madame Auring”. Numbers is her game but being semi-retired, Farmville is now her game. She is most passionate about her adorable grandson who in no time will call her “Mamoo”, short for “Mama Boop”. She has a title to her name but we just don’t care.
Vikki, my twin, has just turned golden. But take a second look now as they say 50 is the new 40. Passionate about her well-being, passionate about dance. She takes care of herself physically by engaging in pilates and boxing. She keeps her spirit alive with flamenco and belly dancing, taking her to their places of origin while indulging her other passion - travel. Having a part-time career, she too has a title to her name but we just don’t care.
I am Minnie, and I have just turned golden. But I too deserve a second look as they say 50 is the new 40. I too am passionate about my well-being. To keep physically fit I engage in pilates, yoga, cycling and swimming. And to keep my senses alive, I experiment with smells and flavors. The kitchen is my playground. I am passionate about cooking. Having turned this to a small business, I too have a title to my name but we just don’t care.
This is our story. Four women, sharing lots of laughter, just accepting of who we are.
“What do you do?” Do I hear it from you too? It doesn’t really matter. Four women, that’s just what we are – passionate about our lives, confident in who we have become and deserving of some idle time.
So do we deserve a getaway?
Meet four women – Bianca, Bettina, Vikki and Minnie.
Bianca is in her mid-twenties. A professional model, host and motivational speaker. Passionate about fashion and her other crafts. A natural nurturer. A single mother. She is witty and wise way beyond her years. She speaks what’s on her mind, you may just fall off your seat or roll in laughter. She has titles to her name but we just don’t care.
Bettina is in her early fifties. But don’t be fooled. “Mommy Boop” to many, she can hang out with just about any one, it doesn’t matter what age. She may dish out words of wisdom or just read you like “Madame Auring”. Numbers is her game but being semi-retired, Farmville is now her game. She is most passionate about her adorable grandson who in no time will call her “Mamoo”, short for “Mama Boop”. She has a title to her name but we just don’t care.
Vikki, my twin, has just turned golden. But take a second look now as they say 50 is the new 40. Passionate about her well-being, passionate about dance. She takes care of herself physically by engaging in pilates and boxing. She keeps her spirit alive with flamenco and belly dancing, taking her to their places of origin while indulging her other passion - travel. Having a part-time career, she too has a title to her name but we just don’t care.
I am Minnie, and I have just turned golden. But I too deserve a second look as they say 50 is the new 40. I too am passionate about my well-being. To keep physically fit I engage in pilates, yoga, cycling and swimming. And to keep my senses alive, I experiment with smells and flavors. The kitchen is my playground. I am passionate about cooking. Having turned this to a small business, I too have a title to my name but we just don’t care.
This is our story. Four women, sharing lots of laughter, just accepting of who we are.
“What do you do?” Do I hear it from you too? It doesn’t really matter. Four women, that’s just what we are – passionate about our lives, confident in who we have become and deserving of some idle time.
So do we deserve a getaway?
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Great to be 50!: Twinnie Biography
Pictures capture vividly precious moments in our lives. Except for a few kept by our sister, Booboop, ours in all our childhood and single blessedness have long ago been consumed by a fire. A fire that gutted a warehouse where our valuable mementos were stored after our mother had left the only place we called home then.
Let us therefore take you first into a journey of imagination through words that will try to capture the first two decades of our lives.
1959 – 1969
On August 21, 1959, Vikki and I were born. Our parents named us after our grandmothers, Ma. Victoria and Ma. Herminia. No one could simply tell us apart. Only until we got a bit older that one would notice the mole above Vikki’s eye and my longer face.
To our teachers’ delight, we went to school everyday in pigtails. It was in kindergarten that we would start a friendship with a girl who until now, despite the distance, remains our best friend.
It was also during this time where we had our first taste of dance lessons, swaying our hips to the tune of “Tiny Bubbles” at family gatherings and annual recitals, where we were to be christened the de Joya twins.
Pictures would not tell you that our grandaunt, Tita Leni, would also christen Vikki by the name of “Papuyes” and me, “Blossom”. And again, that our sister, Booboop, would call Vikki “Itchie” and me, “Moosy”. We were never Vikki and Minnie to her. To her we will always be Itchie and Moosy.
1970 - 1979
Still in grade school, we had our first taste of cooking classes. While Vikki never really took to it, I was challenged. I knew I wanted to learn more after I prepared corned beef hash that was too salty even to my taste and burned baked pork chops in the oven. I was my mother’s kitchen helper throughout the holidays.
Gone were the pigtails in high school as we graduated from grade school with Vikki as salutatorian. We were no longer in the same class. Aside from our school uniform we were starting to discover our own style, Vikki the more fashionable one and me the more casual one.
We finally bade our cloistered alma mater for a more diverse environment that is the University of the Philippines.
It was also during this time when we discovered our passion for travel visiting the US all by ourselves for the first time.
1980 – 1989
After burning the midnight oil countless times, we both graduated from different fields of studies and discovered more passions.
While Vikki literally traveled the world as the last Baron Travel Girl, I created my own small world transforming blank canvasses into monochromes and splashes of colors, and tried my hand at interior design.
We have embarked on our own lives and have pictures to show now. While I married the college sweet talker early on after graduation, Vikki later married the then provincial doctor who would travel down to Manila from Baguio every weekend just to see her.
And then the babies started coming. While I had two during this decade, Gino in 1982 and Rianna in 1987, born in the US while I lived there for three years, Vikki had Paolo in 1986. Funny, I thought I would have had three then when I had what felt like labor pains while we were traveling across the country in the US. I turned to Reggie then and said “Maybe Vikki’s giving birth” and true enough, she really was.
1990 – 2000
I had my last child, Regina, in 1992. For Vikki though, she decided that “the shop was closed”. No more babies followed.
We pretty much had our own lives to keep us occupied and made more friends.
2001 – 2009
The travel bug bites us again! We started off with a trip to Europe with our high school friends, catching up on our lives that was once so sheltered.
With our sister, Twinkie, Vikki discovered the charm of the Mediterranean islands while I discovered the pleasures of the Carribean.
We traveled our own seas with Vikki learning the intricate world of Spanish flamenco and I studying the enchanting flavours of Saigon and Tuscany, both of us enjoying as well the sights and cultures of the East and West. I too discovered the many adventures and culinary treats our own country has to offer.
We have gone back to our interests finding even more pleasure in them. Vikki has returned to dancing, not only performing but teaching as well. I have returned to the arts, creating a Christmas card and discovering the joy of writing. While Vikki executes a fiery flamenco and a sensual belly dance, I whip up tangy dishes in the kitchen to satisfy one’s belly.
We went on our own spiritual journeys, with Vikki joining Bible studies and I doing volunteer work, teaching arts and crafts to underprivileged children.
Even our own children have gone to a higher level as we sat down at each of their graduation ceremonies. And as only time will take us, we are now grandaunts to our sister, Booboop’s adorable grandson.
Now at 50, we have realized that we have both gone full circle, rediscovering our passions as artists – Vikki, the performing artist and me, the visual and culinary artist.
There will be more memories to weave, more chapters in our lives that is yet to be, more stories to write. As I once wrote before, just like a book, we write our own ending.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
La Dolce Vita
I arrived at the Fiumicino Airport to a slight drizzle, April showers as referred to by many. Just last summer, we planned this trip over lunch of pasta at an Italian restaurant in New York. My daughter, Rianna a student at Cornell, had announced to us that she was going to the Scuola de Lorenzo de Medici in Florence during the spring semester.
After retrieving our baggage, my younger daughter, Regina and I were off on a cab going to Termini where we would meet Rianna. She had just gotten off the train from Florence when we arrived and once again, I saw her wide smile as she rushed towards us. In Rome, we were together once more. After a short cab ride, we were in our apartment past the courtyard in the center of a building, characterized by huge wooden doors with brass rings common to other apartment buildings.
Eager to show us the places she had already discovered, we walked miles and miles past the Piazza Republica to as far as Circo Massimo. I couldn’t believe we walked so far! This happened to be just a preview of the next week to come as we had earlier planned to spend the weekend in Capri.
We took a train to Naples the following day and hopped on a boat to the beautiful island of Capri. With its turquoise waters and very quaint shops and residences we were very pleased to arrive at our very elegant hotel. Capri, known for its Blue Grotto and other islands surrounding it was a real jewel. Much to our disappointment though, the waters were too rough for an island tour. We then settled for a hike to the ruins of Villa Jovis and a chairlift to Anacapri the following day. High above the blue water and mountains, the beauty of the islands was a sight to behold. Our meals were most memorable with the freshest seafood followed by what was to become my favorite drink, Limoncello, best produced in Capri. It was time to leave and back in Naples, we took off in different directions, Rianna back to Florence once again and we, back to Rome.
Rome. Back on our own, this time with my son, Gino who had just arrived, we visited places at our own leisurely pace, stopping at places on most other’s itineraries. At the Colloseo, one could just imagine the gladiators and the chariots of yesteryears. Near the Piazza Navona with all the artists plying their works, we luckily stumbled upon the gelateria we were actually looking for. Not wanting to waste calories, I would only choose the best of the flavors, a meringue and licorice. And of course we wouldn’t miss the Fontana de Trevi, not forgetting to drop a coin if wanting to return and the Spanish Steps with all the flowers abloom in spring. Aside from our maps, we were only guided by the smells of roasted chestnuts at street corners leading to all the famous stops. The Vatican City, I guess the most important stop, was teeming with people all hoping to get a glimpse of Pope John Paul’s resting place at the Basilica. But cooking being my passion, I was more excited to see the Campo di Fiori with all its fresh produce and colorful flowers.
Florence. Our next stop and of course first in line was the Scuola de Lorenzo de Medici, Rianna’s university for the current semester. Our apartment was situated right by the Duomo, very central to other places like the Galleria degli Ufizzi that holds the world’s finest collection of Renaissance paintings and the Galleria dell’Academia where the very popular statue of David takes center stage. My most memorable experience however was the Tuscany bike tour around the countryside, past vineyards and clusters of olive trees only seen in postcards. We pedaled our way through a tasting of wine and the most delicious crusty bread, crunchy on the outside with the mildly soaked flavors of extra virgin olive oil and sea salt in the center. And after another few kilometers of biking, on to lunch of pasta with the freshest flavors of tomatoes and basil, topped with parmigiano rigiano. Simple but heavenly!
Another take on touring? We all went on a guided tour on the Segway, an electric scooter, where you drive past crowds of tourists all the way to Ponte Vechio with its load of overhanging shops and buildings above the river. Another highlight was a Tuscan cooking class I attended with my daughters creating the most flavorful dishes the traditional Italian way with just salt, pepper and herbs, all found at the Mercato Centrale. The market was like a playground to me, enjoying the sights, smells, touch and tastes of the wide variety of salty and spicy prosciutto, the plump red roma tomatoes, the freshness of the herbs and all the ingredients that make Italian cooking so flavorful.
Spending most of our time in Florence, we managed to do day trips to Pisa, famous for its leaning tower. And on to the small town of Fiesole, where huge lemons abound and to the breathtaking Cinque Terre, a quintet of tiny seafront villages surrounded by cliffs and steeply terraced slopes. It is here that I discovered another gelateria with yet another unique flavor, cinnamon. Yum!
Venice. Our last stop to what was once described the world’s most beautiful city. Inching our way through a sea of tourists we managed to lug our baggage into the water buses along the Grand Canal. Plying the canals on the gondola away from the crowds, I would think it is the most romantic city in Italy. By now we were tired of churches and museums and just lazed around while sipping wine at the Piazza San Marco. And while still trying to escape the crowds, we opted to visit the much more quiet island of Murano, famous for its hand blown glass.
Sadly, it was time to end our trip and again Rianna went off to Florence and we, back to Rome. I can only marvel at how independent she has become. With an early flight the next morning, we stayed at a hotel near the airport.
We’re now back at the Fiumicino Airport. A warm sun has replaced the drizzle. Our countless pictures will always remind us of Italy, together with the smells that linger from the little shopping we did – the smell of leather from Florence, and the sweet smells of chocolates from Rome and Limoncello that I had managed to smuggle from Capri. Our final boarding has been announced. “Andiamo!” I smile at Regina.
After retrieving our baggage, my younger daughter, Regina and I were off on a cab going to Termini where we would meet Rianna. She had just gotten off the train from Florence when we arrived and once again, I saw her wide smile as she rushed towards us. In Rome, we were together once more. After a short cab ride, we were in our apartment past the courtyard in the center of a building, characterized by huge wooden doors with brass rings common to other apartment buildings.
Eager to show us the places she had already discovered, we walked miles and miles past the Piazza Republica to as far as Circo Massimo. I couldn’t believe we walked so far! This happened to be just a preview of the next week to come as we had earlier planned to spend the weekend in Capri.
We took a train to Naples the following day and hopped on a boat to the beautiful island of Capri. With its turquoise waters and very quaint shops and residences we were very pleased to arrive at our very elegant hotel. Capri, known for its Blue Grotto and other islands surrounding it was a real jewel. Much to our disappointment though, the waters were too rough for an island tour. We then settled for a hike to the ruins of Villa Jovis and a chairlift to Anacapri the following day. High above the blue water and mountains, the beauty of the islands was a sight to behold. Our meals were most memorable with the freshest seafood followed by what was to become my favorite drink, Limoncello, best produced in Capri. It was time to leave and back in Naples, we took off in different directions, Rianna back to Florence once again and we, back to Rome.
Rome. Back on our own, this time with my son, Gino who had just arrived, we visited places at our own leisurely pace, stopping at places on most other’s itineraries. At the Colloseo, one could just imagine the gladiators and the chariots of yesteryears. Near the Piazza Navona with all the artists plying their works, we luckily stumbled upon the gelateria we were actually looking for. Not wanting to waste calories, I would only choose the best of the flavors, a meringue and licorice. And of course we wouldn’t miss the Fontana de Trevi, not forgetting to drop a coin if wanting to return and the Spanish Steps with all the flowers abloom in spring. Aside from our maps, we were only guided by the smells of roasted chestnuts at street corners leading to all the famous stops. The Vatican City, I guess the most important stop, was teeming with people all hoping to get a glimpse of Pope John Paul’s resting place at the Basilica. But cooking being my passion, I was more excited to see the Campo di Fiori with all its fresh produce and colorful flowers.
Florence. Our next stop and of course first in line was the Scuola de Lorenzo de Medici, Rianna’s university for the current semester. Our apartment was situated right by the Duomo, very central to other places like the Galleria degli Ufizzi that holds the world’s finest collection of Renaissance paintings and the Galleria dell’Academia where the very popular statue of David takes center stage. My most memorable experience however was the Tuscany bike tour around the countryside, past vineyards and clusters of olive trees only seen in postcards. We pedaled our way through a tasting of wine and the most delicious crusty bread, crunchy on the outside with the mildly soaked flavors of extra virgin olive oil and sea salt in the center. And after another few kilometers of biking, on to lunch of pasta with the freshest flavors of tomatoes and basil, topped with parmigiano rigiano. Simple but heavenly!
Another take on touring? We all went on a guided tour on the Segway, an electric scooter, where you drive past crowds of tourists all the way to Ponte Vechio with its load of overhanging shops and buildings above the river. Another highlight was a Tuscan cooking class I attended with my daughters creating the most flavorful dishes the traditional Italian way with just salt, pepper and herbs, all found at the Mercato Centrale. The market was like a playground to me, enjoying the sights, smells, touch and tastes of the wide variety of salty and spicy prosciutto, the plump red roma tomatoes, the freshness of the herbs and all the ingredients that make Italian cooking so flavorful.
Spending most of our time in Florence, we managed to do day trips to Pisa, famous for its leaning tower. And on to the small town of Fiesole, where huge lemons abound and to the breathtaking Cinque Terre, a quintet of tiny seafront villages surrounded by cliffs and steeply terraced slopes. It is here that I discovered another gelateria with yet another unique flavor, cinnamon. Yum!
Venice. Our last stop to what was once described the world’s most beautiful city. Inching our way through a sea of tourists we managed to lug our baggage into the water buses along the Grand Canal. Plying the canals on the gondola away from the crowds, I would think it is the most romantic city in Italy. By now we were tired of churches and museums and just lazed around while sipping wine at the Piazza San Marco. And while still trying to escape the crowds, we opted to visit the much more quiet island of Murano, famous for its hand blown glass.
Sadly, it was time to end our trip and again Rianna went off to Florence and we, back to Rome. I can only marvel at how independent she has become. With an early flight the next morning, we stayed at a hotel near the airport.
We’re now back at the Fiumicino Airport. A warm sun has replaced the drizzle. Our countless pictures will always remind us of Italy, together with the smells that linger from the little shopping we did – the smell of leather from Florence, and the sweet smells of chocolates from Rome and Limoncello that I had managed to smuggle from Capri. Our final boarding has been announced. “Andiamo!” I smile at Regina.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Of Dreams and Memories
Lately I have been thinking of weddings and what has become of our marriages.
Often times, we hear a sigh when we learn of a couple headed towards “Splitsville”. “But they had the most extravagant, romantic wedding!” we exclaim. It is as if we expect the wedding to predict the success of a marriage. I look back at my sisters’ and my own wedding and try to decipher whether there is indeed some truth to this.
I had the biggest wedding. Ever so young and naïve, I was lost in a sea of guests, most of whom I didn’t know. I had the most beautiful veil, elegant in its simplicity, only to get muddy after a heavy rain. There were candles atop each floral arrangement along the aisle to be lit as I walked down, only to be extinguished even before I passed them by.
In stark contrast, my eldest sister had the smallest wedding. Also very young, she only had the immediate family at a very simple ceremony in the neighborhood church. There were no lovely flowers to greet her. On the contrary it felt creepy seeing a few funeral wreaths on one side of the church! Devoid of any glamour and the accompanying trappings, it didn’t make it any less binding. After all, it is the same cake, only without the icing.
My second sister, the middle child, as if true to a psychologist’s view that they have the tendency to assert themselves, had a wedding non-traditional during her time. Marrying at a late age after first establishing her medical career, she confidently walked down the aisle with no one by her side. As if declaring her independence to everyone in attendance, to this day it has been very accurate of her distinct character.
In following tradition, it is said that the bride must wear something old, new, borrowed and blue - something old to ensure continuity with the past and the bride’s family, something new to symbolize optimism for the bride’s new life, something borrowed for good fortune to be carried over to the bride. But of course this has to come from a happily married friend or family. And lastly, something blue to represent purity and innocence. Is this however still applicable in today’s society? For after all some people say that a man cannot demand his bride to be a virgin if he himself cannot keep on his chastity belt!
I don’t even remember if any of us followed this tradition. I have never believed in superstition nor mere coincidences but among our marriages, only mine didn’t survive.
Did I get lost in trying to be the best in the multiple roles I was expected to take? Should my guiding light have not been extinguished to show me the way? I would have wanted to hand down my beautiful veil to my daughter if only it were not soiled. But I now shudder at the thought that my misfortune might be carried over to her.
Should we really then expect more out of a big wedding only to be disappointed later on? I have heard some people say that if you enter a marriage with a lot of expectations, your marriage will be doomed. To this I can only say do not enter marriage looking for happiness. You alone can make yourself happy. Your spouse is someone to share your happiness with, not someone from whom to derive the same.
As I have been thinking of weddings, I have just received a beautiful wedding invitation booklet. True to the couple’s profession, it is very well researched – historical, informative, inviting. One looks forward to experience more than just the wedding. There are blank pages thrown into the booklet, it makes one wonder… until you reach the end. An insert falls out and as you read it you all at once understand. It says:
“Feel free to fill the blank pages of this book-invitation
with your Singapore experiences.
Clip a snap or two!
See you at the wedding and let’s make beautiful
memories!”
Just like the blank pages, there will be countless days ahead to make beautiful memories, to share each other’s happiness, to weave dreams together. Days to look back to when the waters get rough, to encourage you to weather every storm and keep you on course until the calm returns.
Just like a book, you write your own ending.
Often times, we hear a sigh when we learn of a couple headed towards “Splitsville”. “But they had the most extravagant, romantic wedding!” we exclaim. It is as if we expect the wedding to predict the success of a marriage. I look back at my sisters’ and my own wedding and try to decipher whether there is indeed some truth to this.
I had the biggest wedding. Ever so young and naïve, I was lost in a sea of guests, most of whom I didn’t know. I had the most beautiful veil, elegant in its simplicity, only to get muddy after a heavy rain. There were candles atop each floral arrangement along the aisle to be lit as I walked down, only to be extinguished even before I passed them by.
In stark contrast, my eldest sister had the smallest wedding. Also very young, she only had the immediate family at a very simple ceremony in the neighborhood church. There were no lovely flowers to greet her. On the contrary it felt creepy seeing a few funeral wreaths on one side of the church! Devoid of any glamour and the accompanying trappings, it didn’t make it any less binding. After all, it is the same cake, only without the icing.
My second sister, the middle child, as if true to a psychologist’s view that they have the tendency to assert themselves, had a wedding non-traditional during her time. Marrying at a late age after first establishing her medical career, she confidently walked down the aisle with no one by her side. As if declaring her independence to everyone in attendance, to this day it has been very accurate of her distinct character.
In following tradition, it is said that the bride must wear something old, new, borrowed and blue - something old to ensure continuity with the past and the bride’s family, something new to symbolize optimism for the bride’s new life, something borrowed for good fortune to be carried over to the bride. But of course this has to come from a happily married friend or family. And lastly, something blue to represent purity and innocence. Is this however still applicable in today’s society? For after all some people say that a man cannot demand his bride to be a virgin if he himself cannot keep on his chastity belt!
I don’t even remember if any of us followed this tradition. I have never believed in superstition nor mere coincidences but among our marriages, only mine didn’t survive.
Did I get lost in trying to be the best in the multiple roles I was expected to take? Should my guiding light have not been extinguished to show me the way? I would have wanted to hand down my beautiful veil to my daughter if only it were not soiled. But I now shudder at the thought that my misfortune might be carried over to her.
Should we really then expect more out of a big wedding only to be disappointed later on? I have heard some people say that if you enter a marriage with a lot of expectations, your marriage will be doomed. To this I can only say do not enter marriage looking for happiness. You alone can make yourself happy. Your spouse is someone to share your happiness with, not someone from whom to derive the same.
As I have been thinking of weddings, I have just received a beautiful wedding invitation booklet. True to the couple’s profession, it is very well researched – historical, informative, inviting. One looks forward to experience more than just the wedding. There are blank pages thrown into the booklet, it makes one wonder… until you reach the end. An insert falls out and as you read it you all at once understand. It says:
“Feel free to fill the blank pages of this book-invitation
with your Singapore experiences.
Clip a snap or two!
See you at the wedding and let’s make beautiful
memories!”
Just like the blank pages, there will be countless days ahead to make beautiful memories, to share each other’s happiness, to weave dreams together. Days to look back to when the waters get rough, to encourage you to weather every storm and keep you on course until the calm returns.
Just like a book, you write your own ending.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Breakup Survival 101
I am hooked on reading blogs. My day is not complete without checking out my favorites. Interestingly, today I came across a post entitled “Great Break Up Songs”. From a list of ten, I chose three entitled “One Last Cry”, “I Will Survive”, and “Last Goodbye”. You’ll see why.
Fresh out of college, I married at 21 years old. Very young and naïve, I thought marriage would be a fairy tale. Like the stories I read as a little girl I believed it would end with “… and they lived happily ever after”. Looking back now, weddings were the happily ever after endings in fairy tales. After that, your guess was as good as mine.
For 24 years I clung to my marriage trying harder to make things work, hoping to at least make it to the 25th year. But there are things that we can’t stop from happening and it is then that we know when to walk away. It’s been two years now. I don’t remember when I had my one last cry. But I have survived gracefully. I am certainly not an expert in this but I have learned how to survive a breakup and yes, I have learned well. So if you’re still drowning in your sorrows, stand tall, wipe away those tears and learn a few lessons from me.
First, love yourself. When you look good, you feel good. I have always physically taken care of myself. While other women end up miserable and sink in despair, I could easily rival those younger ones whose waistlines could easily match their age. The gym with its dumb bells and Nautilus machines was my playground. But now I have moved on to more nature friendly mind and body wellness activities. I hear every breath I take as I lift my head out of the water, my body gliding across the distance of the pool while I do my laps. I see every muscle where once they never were – in my abdomen, my back, my arms – as they move in rhythm with each pilates repetition. I twist my body and flow with my breathing as I concentrate on my mind and body connection moving every inch closer to a full yoga pose. I catch the wind on my face as I pedal uphill and downhill on my bike until my muscles ache. I have never felt stronger and healthier. And I must admit I look better and feel more comfortable with my body now.
Pamper yourself with time alone. I have learned to go on solo trips. While others cannot imagine themselves doing this, I think it’s the best thing I ever did. I went on a solo trip to Bohol recently. Somehow it made me focus on myself mindful of my own safety. Having already seen the tourist spots before I was prepared to spend a quiet weekend in the resort. I armed myself with books to read, a journal to jot down random thoughts and my iPod to put me in a relaxed mood as I lounged by the pool and, not to forget, my swim goggles. I realized though that even as you prepare yourself for a weekend of solitude, you are somehow forced to go out of your comfort zone. I found myself engaging in conversation with the resort’s General Manager, the dining staff and even the “masahista” as I was having my massage on the beach. And ever so brave, I sat down by myself at a restaurant along the beach waiting for the sun to set while sipping my wine in between chats with waiters. With the attending fears, it was altogether a very liberating experience. I had a wonderful time and will definitely do it again. Go try it yourself.
Second, keep yourself occupied. When your mind is active, you have no time to dwell on the past. Grab a book. Take up a hobby or even a foreign language. Challenge your brain even with those very addicting Sudoku puzzles to keep Alzheimer’s away. Volunteer your time and share your blessings with the less fortunate. Try something different. There’s so much to do out there.
Early on after the breakup, I went back to work. While I was delighted to have been able to re-enter the work force at my age, I realized that it didn’t give me the same satisfaction I used to get when I was younger. I refused to be stuck and miserable. I didn’t waste time. Three months passed and I decided to quit. I have now turned my passion in cooking into a humble home business and continue to grab opportunities in the industry as they come. I too have recently attended writing workshops to nurture my mind and soul. Farthest from my mind, I took it up as a challenge. In my solitude, I am now able to compose my thoughts with wild imagination and creativity. And in my spare time, I teach arts and crafts to underprivileged children.
Third, be happy. Reconnect with women. In times of trouble, your sisters and girlfriends will always be there. Without them, your world will never be the same. My sisters have always been there for me. Somehow they have special roles in my life: the eldest is my confidante - I’ll never forget the time she sat with me for seven hours just listening and giving me words of wisdom; the second is my biggest supporter, encouraging me in pursuing my talent; my twin is my recreational partner, whether it be dining out or just hanging out in the beach.
I have re-connected with my girlfriends. There are seven of us in a closely knit group. We have scoured the restaurants from Binondo to as far as San Pablo, each meal peppered with wild secrets and lots of laughter. We may be naughty and crazy at times but we actually thrive on each other’s spirituality. And of course, there will always be my best friend. Despite the distance between us, I know she is just a phone call away. And even if we see each other only on occasional visits, we will always be there for one another.
Now, you might say that amidst all the heartache, this may be easier said than done. Okay, I won’t say it will just come to pass. There are conditions for this to happen and these are actually inspired by the best selling book, The Secret.
First - acceptance and forgiveness. Each of us has our own shortcomings. Accept the fact that there are things you cannot change and establish the qualities that are most important to you. Once you are able to do this you should be able to forgive your spouses and yourselves for all your faults. Second - thanksgiving. Be thankful for what you have, your children, your own families and all the happy memories you once had with your spouses. After all, there must have been some! Third – the intention to move on. Being miserable is your choice. It’s either you choose to wallow in your misery or move on and emerge a stronger person.
There is life indeed after a breakup. When you’re down there’s no other way to go but up. It’s all about the choices we make. I’m beginning to love myself more as each day brings a smile to my face. I have certainly moved on. I don’t remember anymore my one last cry. I have gracefully survived. But despite our differences we have remained friends. So there’s no need for a last goodbye, isn’t it?
Fresh out of college, I married at 21 years old. Very young and naïve, I thought marriage would be a fairy tale. Like the stories I read as a little girl I believed it would end with “… and they lived happily ever after”. Looking back now, weddings were the happily ever after endings in fairy tales. After that, your guess was as good as mine.
For 24 years I clung to my marriage trying harder to make things work, hoping to at least make it to the 25th year. But there are things that we can’t stop from happening and it is then that we know when to walk away. It’s been two years now. I don’t remember when I had my one last cry. But I have survived gracefully. I am certainly not an expert in this but I have learned how to survive a breakup and yes, I have learned well. So if you’re still drowning in your sorrows, stand tall, wipe away those tears and learn a few lessons from me.
First, love yourself. When you look good, you feel good. I have always physically taken care of myself. While other women end up miserable and sink in despair, I could easily rival those younger ones whose waistlines could easily match their age. The gym with its dumb bells and Nautilus machines was my playground. But now I have moved on to more nature friendly mind and body wellness activities. I hear every breath I take as I lift my head out of the water, my body gliding across the distance of the pool while I do my laps. I see every muscle where once they never were – in my abdomen, my back, my arms – as they move in rhythm with each pilates repetition. I twist my body and flow with my breathing as I concentrate on my mind and body connection moving every inch closer to a full yoga pose. I catch the wind on my face as I pedal uphill and downhill on my bike until my muscles ache. I have never felt stronger and healthier. And I must admit I look better and feel more comfortable with my body now.
Pamper yourself with time alone. I have learned to go on solo trips. While others cannot imagine themselves doing this, I think it’s the best thing I ever did. I went on a solo trip to Bohol recently. Somehow it made me focus on myself mindful of my own safety. Having already seen the tourist spots before I was prepared to spend a quiet weekend in the resort. I armed myself with books to read, a journal to jot down random thoughts and my iPod to put me in a relaxed mood as I lounged by the pool and, not to forget, my swim goggles. I realized though that even as you prepare yourself for a weekend of solitude, you are somehow forced to go out of your comfort zone. I found myself engaging in conversation with the resort’s General Manager, the dining staff and even the “masahista” as I was having my massage on the beach. And ever so brave, I sat down by myself at a restaurant along the beach waiting for the sun to set while sipping my wine in between chats with waiters. With the attending fears, it was altogether a very liberating experience. I had a wonderful time and will definitely do it again. Go try it yourself.
Second, keep yourself occupied. When your mind is active, you have no time to dwell on the past. Grab a book. Take up a hobby or even a foreign language. Challenge your brain even with those very addicting Sudoku puzzles to keep Alzheimer’s away. Volunteer your time and share your blessings with the less fortunate. Try something different. There’s so much to do out there.
Early on after the breakup, I went back to work. While I was delighted to have been able to re-enter the work force at my age, I realized that it didn’t give me the same satisfaction I used to get when I was younger. I refused to be stuck and miserable. I didn’t waste time. Three months passed and I decided to quit. I have now turned my passion in cooking into a humble home business and continue to grab opportunities in the industry as they come. I too have recently attended writing workshops to nurture my mind and soul. Farthest from my mind, I took it up as a challenge. In my solitude, I am now able to compose my thoughts with wild imagination and creativity. And in my spare time, I teach arts and crafts to underprivileged children.
Third, be happy. Reconnect with women. In times of trouble, your sisters and girlfriends will always be there. Without them, your world will never be the same. My sisters have always been there for me. Somehow they have special roles in my life: the eldest is my confidante - I’ll never forget the time she sat with me for seven hours just listening and giving me words of wisdom; the second is my biggest supporter, encouraging me in pursuing my talent; my twin is my recreational partner, whether it be dining out or just hanging out in the beach.
I have re-connected with my girlfriends. There are seven of us in a closely knit group. We have scoured the restaurants from Binondo to as far as San Pablo, each meal peppered with wild secrets and lots of laughter. We may be naughty and crazy at times but we actually thrive on each other’s spirituality. And of course, there will always be my best friend. Despite the distance between us, I know she is just a phone call away. And even if we see each other only on occasional visits, we will always be there for one another.
Now, you might say that amidst all the heartache, this may be easier said than done. Okay, I won’t say it will just come to pass. There are conditions for this to happen and these are actually inspired by the best selling book, The Secret.
First - acceptance and forgiveness. Each of us has our own shortcomings. Accept the fact that there are things you cannot change and establish the qualities that are most important to you. Once you are able to do this you should be able to forgive your spouses and yourselves for all your faults. Second - thanksgiving. Be thankful for what you have, your children, your own families and all the happy memories you once had with your spouses. After all, there must have been some! Third – the intention to move on. Being miserable is your choice. It’s either you choose to wallow in your misery or move on and emerge a stronger person.
There is life indeed after a breakup. When you’re down there’s no other way to go but up. It’s all about the choices we make. I’m beginning to love myself more as each day brings a smile to my face. I have certainly moved on. I don’t remember anymore my one last cry. I have gracefully survived. But despite our differences we have remained friends. So there’s no need for a last goodbye, isn’t it?
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)