Enriched and Hollowed out

I watched Anthony Bourdain as he was leaving a jungle village in Malaysia and he said something that reverberated in my bones. " I don't feel like I belong here, but I also don't feel like I belong back in New York anymore-- is it possible to be enriched and hollowed out at the same time?" He said that with this look in his eye that seem to say he was deeply pained. Or was it just my imagination, knowing that it is me who was pained by the statement.

I want to live in Spain, in Malaysia, in Cebu or wherever just as long as it is different. I say that all the time, but when I think about moving to another apartment outside of the same area I am used to, I dread and I fear. Confused? yes. Restless? yes.

When I travel, I travel alone and that's the way I prefer it unless it is with a boyfriend or husband. I have no problem getting on a plane( alone) and go to another totally foreign country but at home, I go to the same gas station, same restaurant, same grocery store. Outside of that familiarity, I don't venture out because I don't do well if I do. I have tried to analyze myself on why I do what I do. I could come up with an acceptable excuse but not a valid answer. I don't think a psychiatrist is necessary because I feel that as long as I want to analyze myself, then I must still be ok. I need a psychiatrist to write prescriptions to knock me out of my lunacy sometimes but even that I am hesitant to do, because someone said (was it Willie Nelson) that he is glad to be crazy because "it keeps him from going insane."

This question of "sense of belonging" has haunted me constantly. I know that God created us with this need to be needed, the need to feel wanted and the need to belong. When we don't feel any one of these needs, then we are in trouble. Hardness and bitterness will set in if we lose the right perspective on these things. God has granted me the favor of being well liked by most people, but I have to tell you, before I developed a personal relationship with Jesus, I did not accept this favor, this gift from God. So I walked around with this chip on my shoulder, feeling sorry for myself, unwanted and mad at everyone. I do not want to go back there, but every once in a while, I feel the old self resurfacing and this happens mostly when I feel trapped by financial restrictions. I only have 2 vices -travel and spa treatments, oh and food. As long as I am able to do these things, I don't feel trapped, thus I am happy.

So let me go back to whatever my point of this rant was; being enriched and hollowed out at the same time. Yes, it is possible to feel both at the same time. But right now, I am only feeling hollowed, so I better drive over to some market and be enriched. At least, temporarily.

Problems or Opportunities

My son in-law's uncle came to visit him last week and over lunch with them I mentioned my latest car woes. Trying to empathize with me, he said jokingly, "I am going to get a horse and get rid of my truck, because I too, am tired of car repairs". I started to like the horse idea but very quickly I realized that as long as we are breathing, there will always be costs to pay. Horses will break down too, then you have to make a choice; horsemeat stew or vet bill.

I drive an old Mercury Mystique that I bought three and a half years ago. I paid cash for it because I don't want a monthly bill. The car is clean and runs well until one day it stopped cold in the middle of the road and my mechanic changed the timing belt. It has not been the same since. I got very frustrated and even angry, but I thought to myself that at least it is not my body that got messed up. I have taken it to 3 different mechanics including my favorite ones from Ghana. None could figure out why it jerks, like it is choking.

I received all kinds of opinions and advice, but they are just that. In all of these, I have to thank God that I have friends who are willing to help me. There's Don who got dirty crawling on the ground trying to change my tire. Actually his efforts were spent mostly on trying to figure out how to operate his industrial jack ( he just bought one and wanted to show it off) he did not know how to lower it after you raise the car. I have not operated one myself, but I know it should not be that hard. And he calls me everyday checking on my car. Then there's Billy, he is recovering from a liver cancer surgery and yet happily and willingly took the time to go with me to different garages. And after I casually mentioned to him that I need a better paying job to afford a better car, went on to get me an interview for a job with one of his friends in the electronics industry. Another friend offered a weekend get away to temporarily forget my car woes.

There are days when I could not see the light, all I could focus on is the black and empty space. No hope, no relief and things unraveling in my head. But at the end of the day, I stop and see a glimmer of hope. I recall the past of how God has always carried me through. On days when I could not see Him, I could feel His hand. When I could not feel His hand, I know I could trust His heart. And on real dark days that I doubt His heart, I don't worry because even when I am faithless, He remains faithful.

My car problem is not over yet- I don't know what the future holds, but I know Who holds the future. After all, I am in America, a land where "Be all you can be" is not just a military slogan, but a promise of reality to everyone.
I am thankful that I got this car problem, because now, I am forced to scrutinize my spending habits. Am I squandering my time and money? What area of my lifestyle needs to change? What do I need to cut back on in order to be able to save? Money saved is money earned.

At times when I feel sorry for myself for not having a husband or a boyfriend to take care of me, I have to shift gear immediately. Being single carry its' own merit. If I have a boyfriend, I would not have a lot of other male friends who makes me feel special. But on the other hand, if I have a boyfriend, when my car breaks down I only need to make one phone call instead of going down the list. Ah, you just can't have it all.

Them Jews

"We are Catholics" my parents and everyone around me said that. I did not know what that meant, but growing up I was told anything other than that was a cult. And when I did something bad as a child, my parents and siblings would then say " you are a Jew"- implying that I was as bad as the "Jews who killed Jesus." I bet you the Pope's adviser at the time was also the personal adviser of Adolph. After all, Adolph lived closer to Rome while my parents island was just a squigly among the thousands of islands in the Philippines. Yet, that man in the Vatican controlled my household and them Filipinos like puppets. And them hooligans claimed they went to 4 years of seminary schooling, but how come they don't know that although it was the Jews who made the cross and pound on the spikes, it is our sins who killed Jesus that "the scriptures might be fulfilled."

To a lot of Filipinos, Ninoy Aquino is a hero. Not that I would dare compare Jesus to Ninoy. Jesus is a Jew killed by the Jews, ok. Them Filipinos pulled the trigger on Ninoy, so why don't we call our malfunctioning filipino kids " you're a Flip ".


I have learned to love the Jews not because of my late husband, but through reading the Old Testament. If I claim to love God and God is and was patient and nurturing towards them inspite of their being "stubborn and stiffnecked" who am I to do otherwise? When God calls on an individual, God will accomplish His purpose regardless of that persons obedience or disobedience. God is not only long suffering, He is nurturing and forbearing. I want to show a few examples of how God's calling is irrevocable.

Abraham : For him to leave his country and family to "a land I will show you" an unclear order from God as to where that place is, yet Abraham pulled up stakes and left. But somewhere along the way, Abraham had some doubts about God's promises to him, or he would not have presented Sara (his wife) to Abimelech as his sister because of fear. Also, why give in to Sara's haste of having a child by Hagar if he was sure that God would give him a son from his own body, as He promised?
Then there's Gideon asking for signs (2 signs) before he will do what he was called to do -so he can be sure it is of God.
And what about Moses, explaining to God why he can't be His spokesman to led Israel out of Egypt. As if God did not know his frailties and his strenghts already? Isn't Moses' reluctance and explanation to God a sign that he really was not sure if God can deliver? Did God change his plan and agreed to use somebody else instead because Moses doubted Him? No, He gave in to Moses request to use Aaron but only as his assistant then went on the explain to Moses ; Who made man's mouth , or who makes him mute or deaf, or seeing or blind? Is it not I, the Lord?"
And what about David? Solomon and Peter? I can go on and on, and show how God nurtures and show patience to people.

God put The Jews in charge of the oracles of God. God knows that their stubborness will be useful in His ultimate purpose in the end. His messenger (the Jews) will carry HIS message the way HE intended it to be, regardless that we don't think so. In the end, the Jews will lead us to the perfect blessing from the Jewish Meshia but for now, we should not withhold our love to the unbelieving sons of Israel. Christians are supposed to make the Jews jealous..in the sense that we claim and live out Yeshua HaMeshia as the fountain of life.
Pray for the peace of Jerusalem and eat from the heritage of Jacob.

Another Today

As I was going through old photos, cards and letters, I have once again been reminded that life has to be lived in the present only. I have worried senselessly in the past about the future. Today, I started to fret again. I want things to happen but not sure what things. I am mourning the demise of a relationship but also eager to see what's going to open up for me. Doors are opening but my heart keeps yearning for the past and missing the future; what could have been. Why couldn't he love me as much as I loved him? I have not loved anyone as much, but it must not be enough for him.

We love who we love and we should never apologize for it.

I have made a big decision in my life this last week. I was told never to make a major decision soon after an end of a relationship, but I know that this is the only way to proceed. I already got someone involved so I have to go through with it. I may have decided in haste but for now it makes me feel good and it enables me to get up in the morning again with a sense of purpose.

I will be leaving friends and loved ones, but sooner or later, each of us will have to do what we have to do anyway. New beginnings, new sorrows and pain. But nevertheless, it has to be faced.

TODAY

I don't even know who Murphy is but the often quoted Murphy's Law "What can possibly go wrong, has" did happen to me this last 2 weeks. My car, my body, my personal love life has given way to breaking down. What could possibly break down, has.

TODAY, as I was listening to the singing and preaching at church, I realized that repentance about our sins does not come as easily when we want to. Of course we have to want to repent, but most importantly and very necessary is the help of God for us to "truly repent". True repentance only happens from the heart, not from the mind. My mind has told me so many times in my life of the things I needed to repent, but my heart continues to misbehave and do it's own thing anyway.

When things don't go well in our life, we need to ask God why things are happening and learn the lesson that needs to be learned and move on. Some things are not always clear, as to how we should proceed. This is when we really need the wisdom of God.

TODAY, I also was enlightened about prayers. Most of the public prayers I have heard in church are about telling God "how much we love Him, that we will serve Him and praise Him." God knows how and what we feel towards Him. But instead, we should rephrase it and "ask" God to "help us, to love Him, serve and praise Him, in the way that pleases Him."

In the bible, Jesus warned : by their fruits you shall know them. Actions, not words. I have no problem with corporate prayers but my problem is when we toot our own horns about "how much we love God". I believe that corporate prayers should be to petition God to enable us - because without God, we could not even love Him. To arrive at true repentance we need God - to calm and discipline our heart. NO other way will work, and no other work will suffice.

TODAY, also is a red letter day for me. About 2 months ago, when I visited the Holocaust museum, inside by the front desk a sign reads " Remember Darfur". I had no clue where or what is happening in Darfur. I heard of it but resigned it to some political "crap" I thought. Then I happen to read on it again and I started to feel a pang in my heart about it. I said " No, Lord, not Darfur." I am not going to Darfur. Well, how can I get to Darfur? Again, no Lord, not Darfur.
Well, TODAY, the founder of Safe Harbor International spoke in our church about Darfur. Am I going to Darfur? Ask God.

Living and Let Die

There's a Hindu belief that formulated the course of a human life into 4 distinct stages. I am not well versed on the Hindu teachings but this I find to be noteworthy. Something to ponder upon.

1st stage - Childhood and Youth
2nd stage- Householder, child-bearing, building a family
3rd stage - Retirement to a forest hut, live simply and talk philosophy
4th stage - Renunciation of wealth and prepare for death.

I want to talk about each stage as it applies to me. As a child and into my youth, unlike some who remembers every detail of their childhood, I only remember bits and pieces. What I remember must hold deep meanings. It was a childhood of labor, most of it was spent in school or in the farm working or peddling produce from the farm. I did very well in school, always finished as valedictorian of the class until my last 2 years of elementary school. I got sick with typhoid fever which kept me out for almost 2 months, and when I got back in school, I was very weak. And even though I did not really try hard for the honor, I graduated with 2nd honor to the valedictorian. I did not like school, I only enjoyed the time when we did the gardening or when my boy friends play any game that we can throw a bet on.

I eloped and married at 17, had a baby at 19 and found myself -a child raising a child. It was a season of confusion, bewilderment and personal shake up but it was also the beginning of a life truly lived. My daughter was born and even though, I was overwhelmed with the new role I had to play, she served as my guide stick - like how blind people use it to feel the path before them. Chat and I, even though we lived with our extended family, it was unspoken but understood, the family we will build is just her and me. Her father chose not to build with us.

Four days ago, I turned 50. To some it is middle age, to others it is a number they don't want to talk about. I have been waiting for this number to come and it is here and I love it. If God chose to give me this long life, I must be special, therefore I am grateful. The number does not define me, I define the number. I don't feel it is the retirement year as to "not working" kind of retirement. But I feel it is time to retreat to a forest hut. Of course anyone who lives in a hut has to live simply and be philosophical.

The other day, I laid out all my jewelries that I have accumulated through the years, trying to find a way to store them. These are not cheap ones, I thought, and at one point they were what defined me. About 6 years ago, I started to feel the burden of this material things in my life. I started to feel not only the heaviness of the metals on my body, I also started to see the worlds' goods growing strangely dim. And what a liberating feeling! I then slowly understood that in order to prepare for death, I have to master the art of living. Slowly, I have learned to shed off the things that so entangles me, but daily I am reminded that it is not easy. Daily, I push myself ( I say push, because again, it is not easy) to focus on the real wealth that I have inherited, this is not to be renounced but to be preserved, protected, cherished and be grateful for. What I have in Christ transcends everything the world has offered and continues to offer.
Thomas Kempis, a 14th century Christian monk prayed that he wouldn't die of sudden death, but rather be given the knowledge that he was dying so he can prepare to let go of the body and return to the Divine his spirit.
My prayer is simple but is born out of fear; I pray for my mind to be blocked so I don't hear the murmuring and complains of my caregivers on my last days on earth, but I also want a lucid mind so I can see the curtain part open before I cross over and feel Jesus leading me to the father. But before I cross over I need to live. And live abundantly.

Rolls Royce and The Salvation Army

I first visited Hongkong in 1984. My American boyfriend wanted me to meet him there for the weekend because he was working in Guangzhou and I was living in Manila. It was my first trip outside of the Philippines and yes, I was 27 and never been away from the farm. Jerry made all the arrangements and you bet, it was always the best money can buy. I know that now.

Jerry told me to just follow the sign after I clear immigrations and customs and he would be outside the door waiting. I was so nervous I just wanted to see him and know he was there. And there he was just as he said. We headed towards a black car with a uniformed driver opening the door for us. He told me we were staying at the Peninsula. Ok, I have been to the Pen in Manila, but what do you call this car? I have not seen one like this. Rolls Royce, he said.
When we arrived at the hotel, he mumbled something about afternoon tea. I was not interested in tea or the afternoon --I was mesmerized by the "grandeur" of the hotel lobby. But back then my vocabulary was very limited I could not have used mesmerized and grandeur at the same time. It was more like “Wow! Damn, look at this sh..”
We got to the room, and the first thing Jerry said was " don't pack that robe in your suitcase when we check out, I am not paying for it" I did not notice the robe hanging in the bathroom until he mentioned it. Jerry is just so romantic that way.

Our room was overlooking the water with the view of the buildings across in the Hongkong side. Jerry took a picture of me looking out the window. He gets tickled, he says watching my eyes grow big from excitement. We ate and shopped. And after seeing all the Chinese trinkets on the sidewalk, the pearls and the 24 carat gold chains and bangles in every corner and no money of my own to buy, I hinted to Jerry that I needed a blender. See? It’s only 35 Hongkong dollars. But he said I don't need it. Then he bought me a Hermes scarf from the Hermes store. I never wore it, but I still keep it, just to remind me the difference between need and want.

In 1986 I married someone else, also an American, and in November 1997 for our 10th wedding anniversary, Don and I came to Hongkong. It was the first for Don but this time it is different because Don did not have money like Jerry. We stayed at the Salvation Army’s Booth Lodge. We checked in around 2 a.m. wide-awake, Don started humming Amazing Grace while I checked out the bathroom. Definitely not The Pen. Don’s always happy anywhere; we sat in bed singing hymns until we fell asleep. The lodges’ cafe was its’ redemption because it was like having a meal in your porch. One time while out shopping, we found ourselves sitting in a restaurant where no one spoke English but we did not want to leave because the food on other people’s plates made us salivate. We managed to order using our hand pointing at other people’s food. Food and shopping in Hongkong we love but the elbow-to-elbow crowd of people made me feel claustrophobic. In fact, when 9/11 happened, the pandemonium on the street of New York reminded me of one afternoon when Don and I were walking back to the lodge and people packed every street you could not walk fast if you wanted to. The first couple of days we were in Hongkong we learned to just duck into an eating-place, which is everywhere whenever the crowds overwhelmed us. One time we ducked into a jewelry store and came out with pearl earrings.
Don loved Hongkong but he loves the flight attendants of Cathay Pacific more. Even flying cattle class, Don always acted like he was eating in a Michelin-star restaurant. He would run the flight attendants rugged asking for this and that. I would remind him we were at 32000 feet- under the mercy of a pilot not pampered by a chef. He loved the Cathay Pacific attendants "because they are always pleasant and gentle unlike other airlines" is his standard line when he brags to our friends. "And they are sooo pretty." Now, that part ticked me off.

Don really enjoyed his first trip to Hongkong, that even during the SARS panic, he refused to fly on another airline. When we flew in 2003 to supposedly retire in Cebu, he was not well. As soon as we boarded, Don immediately flopped into his seat making the other seats next to him his own. We were told at the Cathay Pacific counter the plane was almost empty because people were afraid to fly because of the SARS.

In 2005 my daughter Chat and her husband John honeymooned in Asia with Hongkong as their jump off city to get back to the US. Chat liked Hongkong because of the shopping – she bought all kinds of imitation anything ( she gets the flu if she does not buy) and she loved the train system. She would love the horse and buggy too as long as it would take her to the mall. And John? He crinkles them lips and rolls his eyes. Yes, even with his almost real Rolex.

One day, We will all be

I have finally set up my office --right in the middle of my living room. I liked this apartment because it was brand new when I moved in, I also liked the niche that served as computer/office space. The smallness of it did not make me feel cramped but rather secure, yet, regardless of the things I like in it, it just don't feel homey. But today I am going to tackle the task of trying to make it one. I will attempt to make it look like someone actually lives here. But I will not be at peace til I share this article I have filed away more than 5 years ago. This was written by a physician and published by Focus on the Family; the brain-child of Dr. James Dobson. It still touches me.

“The Golden Rule, Revisited”

They lie there, breathing heavy gasps, contracted into a fetal position. Ironic, that they should live 80 or 90 years, then return to the posture of their childhood. But they do. Sometimes their voices are mumbles and whispers like those of infants or toddlers. I have seen them, unaware of anything for decades, crying out for parents long since passed away.

I recall one who had begun to sleep excessively, and told her daughter that a little girl slept with her each night. I don’t know what she saw. Maybe an infant she lost, or a sibling, cousin or friend from years long gone. But I do know what I see when I stand by the bedside of the infirm aged. Though their bodies are skin-covered sticks and their minds an inescapable labyrinth, I see something surprising. I see something beautiful and horrible, hopeful and hopeless. What I see is my children, long after I leave them, as they end their days.
This vision comes to me sometimes when I stand by the bedside in my emergency department, and look over the ancient form that lies before me, barely aware of anything. Usually the feeling comes in those times when I am weary and frustrated from making too many decisions too fast, in the middle of the night. Into the midst of this comes a patient from a local nursing home, sent for reasons I can seldom discern.
I walk into the room and roll my cynical eyes at the nurse. She hands me the minimal data sent with the patient, and I begin the detective work. And just when I’m most annoyed, just when I want to do nothing and send them back, I look at them. And then I touch them. And then, as I imagine my sons, tears well up and I see the error of my thoughts. For one day, it may be.

One day, my little boys, still young enough to kiss me and think me heroic, may lie before another cynical doctor, in the middle of the night of their dementia, and need care. More than medicine, they will need compassion. They will need someone to have the insight to look at them and say, “Here was once a child, cherished and loved, who played games in the nursery with his mother and father. Here was a child who put teeth under pillows, and loved bedtime stories, crayons and stuffed animals. Here was a treasure of love to a man and a woman long gone. How can I honor them? By treating their child with love and gentility. By seeing that their child has come full circle to infancy once more, and will soon be born once more into forever.”

This vision is frightful because I will not be there to comfort them, or to say, “ I am here” when they call out, unless God grants me the gift of speaking across forever. It is painful because I will not be there to serve them as I did in life, and see that they are treated as what they are: unique and wonderful, made in the image of the Creator, and of their mother and me. It is terrible because our society treats the aged as worse than a burden; it treats them as tragedies of time. It seems hopeless because when they contract and lie motionless, no one will touch them with the love I have for them, or know the history of their scars, visible and invisible. I am the walking library of their lives, and I will be unavailable. All I can do is ask, while I live, for Gods’ mercy on them, as they grow older.

And yet, the image has beauty and hope as well. Because if I see my little boys, as aged and infirm, I can dream that their lives were long and rich. I can dream that they filled their lucid years with greatness and love that they knew God and served Him well, and were men of honor and gentility. I can imagine that even if they live in their shadow land alone, somewhere children and grandchildren, even great-grandchildren thrive. I can hope that their heirs come to see them, and care, and harass the staff of the nursing home to treat Grandpa better. I can hope that they dare not allow my boys to suffer, but that they hold no illusions about physical immortality, and will let them come to their mother and me when the time arrives. And best, I can know that their age and illness will only bring the day of that reunion closer.

My career as an emergency room physician has taught me something very important about dealing with the sick and injured, whether young or old. It has taught me that the Golden Rule also can be stated this way: “Do unto others as you would have others do unto your children.” I think that this is a powerful way to improve out interactions with others, not just in medicine but in every action of our lives. And it is certainly a unique way to view our treatment of the elderly. For one day all our children will be old. And only if this lesson has been applied will they be treated with anything approaching the love that only we, their parents, hope for them to always have.
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Memories

I parked next to a white Kia at the farthest end of the library parking lot. I needed a place to hang out while waiting to see if my Guyana boys can get me in and fix my car. Raj said to come back later that day or bring it in on a weekday. "Today is just too crazy" Mahesh said with an embarrassed smile. Mahesh and Raj are brothers who work the shop while going to college. Mahesh also sells real estate on top of all that. Both boys are so so polite. I love them, I want them to succeed but I fear that if they get their college degrees they might not fix my car anymore. Who can I trust then?
The sun has not come out and it was starting to rain. Not wanting to go in the library and not wanting to go home, I decided to read the Dalai Lama's biography I had carried in my bag. I would read a page then I would close my eyes, romanticizing the few raindrops that escaped into my left arm. Oh, the raindrops! it transported me back to my childhood when I would sleep on top of the pile of the newly harvested corn which occupied our little house. The tin roof had holes and rusty too-the rust would fall with the raindrops. The corn without the husks, felt cool on my little body, but it was the dribble of the raindrops on my skin that left me poetic.

Then the rain stopped. I looked towards the Kia and I noticed that there was an elderly couple sitting inside. The woman in the drivers seat was reading a newspaper and the man was slouched on the seat with his eyeglasses on, asleep. I continued reading for another 20 minutes then decided I should leave and check on my Guyana boys, but something about the couple on the Kia made me reflect. Sadly. She was no longer reading the paper but was staring out. Her head cradled on the headrest, she would move her head once in a while then stare out again. The man was now awake but they were not talking. He, too, was staring out but comfortably. So why don't they go home?
I lingered because I needed answers. Then I remembered. For the same reason why Don and I did the same thing before. So many times.

My need to reconnect

I have a special attachment to foods or memory of foods. Before science found a way to spoil my dinner, foods really tasted like food. I say this with nostalgia because I remember my childhood in Cebu. Our house was surrounded with fruit bearing trees and they grew and produced without any aid of fertilizer or pesticides. I remember fruits oozing of the ripe smell. We had several mango trees and to make them bloom, we would burn fresh tree leaves under them. To protect the fruits from insects, we wrapped them individually with used newspaper. We bought the newspaper from the rich people. When it was time to make the mangoes bloom, my dad and I would hike up to the mountain to cut down some trees for burning. We dry the lower trunk and use them for firewood and the upper trunk with fresh leaves to smoke the mangoes. I learned to transport them with my bare hands and pull them efficiently; hold on to the biggest trunk and piggy back the smaller ones on top. Those were special times with my dad because he would buy sweet bread for my lunch while his is the poor mans meal of rice wrapped in banana leaves. Also, along the way he would let me climb and pick up some wild berries. One particular berry is the "lomboy". It is violet with white flesh and a hard seed. When ripe it gets real dark in color, plump and sweet, but leaves your tongue dyed in black-purplish color.
Now, everytime I am in Cebu, I would try to find them in the street market but I seldom find them and when I do, they are not plump nor are they sweet. So are the mangoes. I look for them not to eat, but mostly out of longing for the past. The "lomboy" has become almost extinct, while the mangoes are now grown abundantly and made to produce commercially.
A lot of grocery stores in Dallas sells mangoes, but I don't usually buy them because they are not the same variety as the one's I was used to--they are fibrous and does not turn yellow orange in color. The Asian market carries the Philippine variety but they are expensive and I only want it more out of nostalgia than wanting to eat it.
I like to take long walks by the creek behind my apartment. Thick cluster of trees and bushes with berries unfamiliar to me meanders with the creek. I look up to God, thank Him, and I smile to myself. The sight is my opiate for the day -regardless that I come home with swollen eyes and raw nostrils from the allergens.
Whenever I pass by the display of mangoes in the store (even when I am not buying) subconsciously I always stop- to stare or to touch. It is nostalgia, but, I have this need of wanting to romanticize the past.