Life is complicated or maybe not

Why is it that when I have money I don't wish to eat anything more than the usual rice and fish head soup, but when I am broke all I think of and salivate over are foods I normally don't eat? Like, Australian lamb shank, rib eye steak or aged Wagyu burger.

Today, after I visited with my street boys I went to Tinder Box. Tinder Box is overrated and overpriced but it's one place I like to go to when I crave for American food. Only the rich locals and white people can afford to eat here. Well, I could not really afford it either, but I wanted to treat myself to something expensive to help me feel less broke. But I also wanted to eat here because they artistically arrange your food on your plate---you know, arranged in such a way that it makes me behave like I belong there.

I make it sound like Tinder Box is a Michelin rated restaurant-- no, it's just a deli, but I love it here because I'm easily intrigued. Translation: I'm nosy. Because the tables are cramped close to each other you can listen in on peoples' conversation so clearly. Two women to my left were talking about how flying first class helped alleviate their fear of flying and how much they love the scented sleep mask on Singapore Airlines. Three men to my right table were discussing about their pharmacy chain and how they should consider buying someone's building for 40 million pesos. I wonder how 40million pesos in my name feel like. I wouldn't know because in the mountain with my neighbors, this is our typical conversation: "Your rooster had the plague when he humped my hen, so she got the plague too. But before she died,she made it to the pot for dinner last night." You see, some things in life are not that complicated.

Just musing

I am sitting here thinking of doctors and my reproductive organs, because I just realized that it's been over 12 years since I've been to my gynecologist. I have stopped going to my gynecologist not because I hate doctors. Unlike some people, I don't hate doctors---in fact, I want to marry one. But this part of my body that resembles the Texas Longhorn logo has given me several scary moments over the years, that I've decided to give my heart a bit of rest.

But really, the reason I quit going to my gynecologist or to any doctor to have the "annual/routine" check up is because I have already decided that I am not going to seek treatment for whatever diagnosis I get anyway, so what would I do with the information?
When I feel ill or bothered mentally or physically, I just try to manage it to get through the day. But I refuse to subject myself to unnecessary discomfort anymore. Unless he's an ob/gyn doctor, men cannot fully relate when you tell them that the speculum shoved into your cave, feels like a car jack shoved into your throat. That's one issue I have, another thing is that I am not cool with anyone staring and scrutinizing any of my body openings. On my third annual, I had to ask my gynecologist: "Don't you get tired of looking at "that thing" all day long?" His answer was quick: "NO." I had a dilemma on how to take his answer then. But logic tells me that if my dog is sick, I would only want a dog doctor who's truly a dog lover. I guess I should feel blessed to have had a gynecologist with real passion for vagina(s). But what if when I grow up and I decide to remarry, and I find someone with the passion like that of my doctor---would he have time to do yard work?

They're cute minus the mother

Children are a blessing. When they come with a good set of parents. Last night I was on the boat for a 2.5 hour ride back from my hut in the mountain. And for almost 2 hours of it I was a prisoner of these 2 boys. At first they were chasing each other, pulling each others shirt, then they'd wrestle hard while remained standing. Then it escalated to a scream, like that of a child being circumcised without anesthesia. When they got tired of this activity, they turned and screamed at their stone dead mother who was oblivious to these 2 little menace.(you can see her behind the post) She barely blinked, she just stared out into the dark expanse while talking on her cell phone. I shot her my sharp,fiery eyes look. Didn't work. The boys screamed again--at her. This time it worked...they both got a slap at the back of their head. I could not stand it anymore, I said something. "How long have you been living in a cave?" She gave me that look, meaning she didn't understand, so I rephrased my question. "How come you and your boys don't know how to live like you're not cave dwellers?" She glared at me, grabbed the boys, told them to shut up and another generous back head whack. Here, it shut them up for a bit until they found an empty plastic water bottle on the floor. They figured: why wait for their mother to hit them in the head when they can do it to each other, only less painful but louder. Loud enough to give me a headache and swore off grandkids.

Continuum (2)

Trust me, I didn't stomp and pout or beg for Chat to buy me this land. All I said was, "it would be nice if my Tonka truck, aka my red Ferrari comes with a land with a view." It's about an acre so I am thinking that I will now be able to have a place to use as a camp/retreat for the street kids. My plan is to bring 4 or 5 kids at a time,(this way, it's easier to contain them when they misbehave) let them stay for a week and teach them to plant organically, raise goats and chickens and have bible studies to learn how to live God's way. Then bring them back to the city after the 7 days, but those who show interest in staying and living as a farmer can stay. Chat doesn't know about this plan yet, but I'm sure I won't be pouting and stomping to do this either.

It's a continuum

When I was growing up our house was like a half-way house; my dad brought in all kinds of people to live with us. Some stayed for several weeks, others for a year or two. I don't know where my dad picked them up from, but I remember that there was this young man named Arthur, he spoke Tagalog only and our household understood and speak nothing but our Cebuano dialect. We communicated through sign language for about 3 months, until he was able to save up for a boat fare back to Manila. Then there was Noel, who I thought was my blind brother because he lived with us, like, forever. Someone mentioned this to me the other day when they saw my 'bakal' boys bathing and washing their rags. He said: "So are you picking up where your dad left off?" I didn't really see it that way until just then whe he said it. And I guess, it's true. My boys and I have come up with a new plan--a really smart plan (you can laugh out loud here). That they bathe in exchange for food. Here's their supposedly washed clothes. It's washed, not sure if it's clean.

Santino

When I was young and full of energy, I was young and full of energy. Now that I'm old and tired, I find that it's never a good day to mess with me when I'm not on Lexapro.


This boy Santino who I have taken from the street to live with me has an aunt who has become a thorn on my side. Santino has graduated from being an errand boy of my American friend and he's now working at the country club to pick up balls for members who plays tennis. He makes good money doing that, but my goal is for him to become the next Arthur Ashe.

Pimp my ride

When Chat was here last month and a Mercedes SLR McLaren drove by us, her jaw dropped and she was beside herself. "Who in the world drives an SLR in this island?" I said, "Obviously, that man in that SLR." "Mother, that is such a profound insight, but seriously, do you know how much that thing cost?" I was going to respond with a quote from Shakespeare but then I forgot the line, or that Shakespeare even said it. So I just said "cost doesn't matter to me because I can't even afford a junk Japanese toy car." I said it in that voice, the kind you use when you want your man to buy you something, but you know he won't.

Well, if Chat was skeptical about the Mercedes SLR gliding along in this dumpy island, she was even mortified that her own mother is seriously wishing for this Japanese surplus. "Mom, I could get you a Pajero." "But you don't understand, this is what I need for the mountain and this is what I want." I didn't really think she would buy it for me because she kept calling it a smurf car, a golf cart, a smurfette---everything she could think of, except for what it is: my red Ferrari.

Go ahead make my day...

Today, I had all the intentions of spending the day at Starbucks or Postrio to have coffee and read, but on my way out, another set of my "bakal boys" stopped by. So I ended up staying to feed them and made sure they bathe and laundered their grimy clothes. Then one of them asked if I wanted their necklace; all 3 of them had this thing on their neck that looked like gold coins but bigger. As I looked closely, they're service medals issued to US soldiers who served during WW2. They found them in a canal close to where they were scavenging. I was going to refuse them,(for what in the world would I want them for?) but then I like the eagle embossed on it.

It must be a "bless me" day. My friend Juliet mailed me seeds of different fruit trees and it even came with germinating bags. Now I have ants in my pants... I can't wait to get to my mountain hut and start bagging these seeds. I am very hard to shop for, so for someone to know what to give me, is priceless.

Spontaneity, Angst and what have you

When I booked my return ticket to the US, I told my travel agent to book it 6 months from when I leave Dallas, and that was back in November. I didn't think I would stay this long here in Cebu. Or,that I'd do what I've done so far, like build this hut in the mountain.

So much has to be done yet for this hut to be comfortable and efficient to live in, but this will do for now. I need to sort out my senses and reevaluate my bankbook. The last 3 months my focus has been on this project, that I've forgotten what it feels like to have a leisurely breakfast at hotel restaurants and the weekly massages. Today, while I was contemplating on my week I suddenly felt a pang of melancholy, of longing of the old and familiar routine I used to do; reading and writing and regular visits to the well-stocked library and bookstores in Dallas, and the new routine I've started to follow as I slowly settled here in Cebu. But then again, as usual, that's just me...always romanticising the past and trying to curb the angst of the moment. So let me end here so I can get my old bones kneaded at the spa.