the little bird's lunch

Lunch today was sautéed shrimp and onions from the Vietnamese counter, with some lettuce and rice in a microwaveable container. I decided to eat it in one of our small meeting rooms, instead of the cafeteria.

I preferred to be alone today, because I was feeling a bit down. You know, when the weight of all your worries crashes down on you and you can’t wait for 5pm so you can go home and crawl to bed and sleep it off. You’re logging documents and it suddenly dawns on you that you have a house to run, two kids to raise, groceries to buy, bills to pay, a thesis to finish, and an argument waiting to happen. Oh, and to top it off, you’re nursing a three-day cold.

The room looks out over a portion of the office compound with a tree in it. One whole wall is glass. I can’t see any cars because I’m in the second floor, only the upper half of the tree. It’s rather soothing.

As I started eating, a little brown bird landed on the window ledge. He was carrying something that looked like a bug, and he settled down to have his lunch. I was about three feet away, separated from him by a glass pane, and I don’t know if he can see me. Or maybe he thought, Hello there, how about a lunch mate?

He pecked a little here and there, then maybe he decided he’s too hungry to be dainty, so he tried to gobble the whole thing all at once.

I paused with a forkful of shrimp, and waited to see if the bird would choke. He shook his head this way and that, and then, with a little shiver, he swallowed it whole. Then he fluffed his body, checked the ledge for crumbs--maybe he dropped a bug leg or something, ugh--and then flew back to his tree.

Well, sometimes it's the same with life’s problems. Maybe they’d seem a little too big to handle, but if you shake it up a little, and peck at it a little, it becomes manageable. And maybe it looks like you’d choke, but see, God never gave a bird a bug it can’t digest.

I had to smile a little. Maybe the little bird had problems too. Maybe his tree was a bit shaky on windy days, and twigs were always falling on his head. Maybe his kids had flown the nest, gone off to bird college or wherever it is that they learn bird lessons. Maybe he was divorced and had been looking for a nice brown chick, but he didn’t have enough worms to impress her with. But see, he has to sit down and enjoy his lunch.

Trust me to philosophize over a little bird and an unfortunate little bug. But I figured that sometimes, when the big picture overwhelms you, it helps to step back and take a look at the little pictures that makes up the whole. Ok, so I’m stressed, but I’m still wearing nice clothes and pretty shoes. I’m eating a rather expensive lunch. My daughter has recovered from the flu. When I get home, dinner will be waiting because we have someone to cook for us. There’s always some small thing to be thankful for, something that lets you believe in a better day and the promise of all that’s possible.

Oh, and one last thing? On a lonely day, you can always use some companionship, even if it’s just a little bird.

food!

I'm not a picky eater. I usually eat what's on the table without scrutinizing if it came from a mammal. At home, I prefer simple meals. I'd be happy with fried fish and boiled camote tops dipped in soy sauce and calamansi. I like seafood better than chicken or pork, but fresh crabs and shrimps have gotten to be a luxury, it's sometimes easier to hit Jollibee and buy takeout food that my kids would enjoy.

But when we eat out, I go Italian. I even eat alone, at Sbarro in Megamall, and attack a slice of Chicago White pizza or a half baked ziti with a pinwheel.

At Amici, I'd go for vongole and the four-cheese pizza. At Green Tomato, I'd have the shrimp and feta pasta. At Yellow Cab, it's (what else?) the Charlie Chan pasta and the Manhattan Meatlovers pizza, with lots of Coke. At Pizza Hut, it's their garlic, shrimp and mushroom pasta, and stuffed crust pizza. Gumbo has a wonderful seafood pasta. And ok, I'd also eat the carbonara at Red Ribbon, and the Hawaiian Overload pizza at Greenwich.

I don't cook well. Hell, I seldom cook, and I have to be in a very good mood if you catch me cooking fried rice and fried Spam for breakfast. But I can cook spaghetti for my kids, although the sauce is never the same taste twice. One time I also tossed some canned tuna and grated cheese on pasta drizzled with olive oil, which my daughter pronounced non-edible.

So really, it's better to eat at all those restaurants that serve pasta and pizza, and drool over the menu, and remember which dishes I'd come back to. I also dream of an Italian vacation, where I'll visit all those places Elizabeth Gilbert wrote about in Eat Pray Love and eat pizza and pasta the whole day long. Unlike Monette , I can't blog about food; I end up making stories about my fellow diners.

But since I'm the only one in the family who actually got upset when we can't find the Yellow Cab in Imus, I sometimes relent and allow my husband to take me to dinner at Seaside in Daang Hari. We eat crabs and shrimps, and take bets on who will get hypertension when we grow old. Then when I'm in the office, I'd happily play eenie-meenie-minie-moe on which Italian restaurant in Megamall would fulfill me.

my new car

No, I didn't buy one. I'm talking about what I usually think about on those interminable rides to and from the office. I spend roughly 3.5 hours commuting, and when you're on the road, all you see are wheels.

I've made a game out of it too. I try to guess the make and model of the car before I get close enough to see the hood ornament. Most of the time, I'm correct about Honda Civic and Toyota Vios. And I could differentiate the Toyota Innova and Avanza. I could also easily spot a Fortuner, and a Nissan Frontier Navara. The flashy BMWs and Mercedes Benzes don't count, because you'd notice them even if you're not trying. I don't do car reviews, but I notice when the mags are hyped up. When the car windows are not tinted too dark, I check the seats.

And of course, I count the doors, because I love looking at two-door cars. The Hyundai Genesis is my favorite these days. I also notice the Ford Fiesta and the Mitsubishi Eclipse. I seldom see a Toyota Celica, but it's there. Where I work, I often see 2-door BMW sports cars, Porsche Boxsters, and Jaguars in the parking lot. But I'd strain my neck just to see a Genesis hurtling down SLEX at 10pm with no traffic. I just adore those sleek bodies in motion. No, I don't mean the drivers.

Ok, so here's what I'm waiting to see: the Honda CR-Z. It was launched in Japan in 2010 and is marketed as a sport hybrid coupe. It is the only gasoline-electric hybrid model offered by any car maker that can be equipped by a manual transmission (which means nothing to me, since I don't know how to drive). It ranked #15 in the list of Affordable Small Cars by US News and World Reports, and was Car of the Year 2010-2011 in Japan. It costs around $21,000, and currently available in Japan, Europe, South Africa and North America. It's scheduled for release in Australia mid-2011. I wonder when it will reach Asia... and how much it will cost in the Philippines by the time we're done burying it in taxes and other charges.

We have a standing joke at home: I will only take driving classes when I have my own two-door car. And since I cringe to think of me killing all the trash bins and guava trees in the neighborhood, and end up wrecking our gate every time I try to park (imagine if it were a Genesis, with a price tag of Php 1.8 million!), here's the car I'll buy:

A 92-94 Honda Civic hatchback, which I'll have painted red. (Honda used to have a metallic purple color in its Civics that I love, but I'm afraid the hatchback would look like an oversized eggplant in it.) I'll have Sparco bucket seats. No tint on the windows. A plate number that says REN 123. No mirrors under the hood, please, but I'll have a mean sound system. And I'll teach my Siamese cat to sit on the dashboard while I run for groceries.

Maybe I could dream of a CR-Z. Maybe one day I'll be able to afford it. But you know what? I think I won't buy one, because I won't need one. The Honda hatchback would be quite fine. It's not horribly expensive, I'm in no immediate danger of being carjacked in the SM parking lot, and if I hit a guava tree, my husband will still smile and fix the fender.

And while I'm driving it, why, I'll still crane my neck to count how many two-door cars are passing me, and be perfectly happy.

water for elephants

Jacob Jankowski's life as a would-be veterinarian with a city practice ended on the night he jumped a circus train. He became the resident vet for a traveling circus, the trainor for an elephant who understands only Polish, the surrogate mother for an affectionate chimpanzee, the friend of a circus worker who became paralyzed due to booze, and the lover of the circus manager's wife. All this at twenty-three, before he took his final university exams.

It was also the story of Jacob, who can't rightly remember if he's ninety or ninety-three, and who lives for the memories of the backbreaking work, the wonder of the performances, the animals, the stampede, the murders, the deep friendships, and the greatest love.

As with the other books, I won't be watching the movie version. I can close my eyes and imagine how it feels like to ride a circus elephant. It makes me want to try the real thing, even though a circus is not part of the Filipino way of life. But that's what makes books great, isn't it? They let you be more than you are, by showing you different kinds of lives, and for the moment, letting you live them. They are stories, yes, but for the most part, beautifully-written stories are crafted from real experiences, carefully researched, and told in words that catch your heart.

I read this book on the Kindle, on the way to work in the morning, on the way home in the evening, and for about an hour before going to bed. Took me 3 days. The pleasure is partly in the Kindle, partly in the great book.

Filipinos

These are the cookies. A colleague in the office brought them from Spain. He said they're sweet, like the real thing. :-)

I was tickled when I saw them. And yes, they're very sweet. But some of my officemates weren't thrilled. They wanted to find the reason why they named those crispy little doughnuts after our noble race.

I checked the website. www.filipinos.com is redirected to a Spanish site, where they have this promotion that gives you a chance to win gadgets, Peugeot motorcycles, and a trip for 4 to the US. (Why not a trip to the Philippines, then, where the winner gets to meet several million of the real thing?)

I checked Wikipedia. Filipinos are made by Kraft Foods. The entry says that in 1999, Congressman Heherson Alvarez filed a diplomatic protest with the Spanish government over this cookie, and even Erap reportedly called it an insult to Filipinos. I could find no other article online about what happened to this protest, or whether Kraft (Artiach in Spain) ever responded.

Personally, I don't feel an immediate need to kick a** just because I share the name with a pastry. It's not an issue of patriotism; it would be hard to say you're insulted when you go to Starbucks for a coffee and a bagel for breakfast (ok, so your mug says 'Starbucks Philippines'), use imported Dove and Irish Spring soap at home, and flaunt all those Italian leather bags and shoes.

In my mind it's something like, Ok, I'm a Filipino. Kenneth Cobonpue designs furniture for Angelina Jolie's offspring; he's a Filipino. Lea Salonga, Charice, and Manny Pacquiao are Filipinos. The world's shortest man alive is a Filipino. Imelda Marcos was in Newsweek's 'Greediest People of All Time' in 2009. The 'I love you' virus, which drove CIA and Pentagon to shut down its mail system in May 2000, was created by a Filipino. There are reasons for pride; there are reasons for shame. And oh, we got a cookie named after us, too.

I think I know my own worth, and it's enough not to become insecure of a tiny crispy doughnut that's actually quite delicious.

Would you take offense?

the psp issue

My daughter wants a PSP. Her cousin has one, one of her friends has one, and two of her other friends are discussing about asking their OFW fathers to buy them one. She asked whether we'd buy her one when we had some extra money.

I said no, because I think she has enough toys. We have a regular Playstation where she consistently beats her father at Street Fighter, a commercial quality videoke which actually came from those huge boxes in malls where you put five-peso coins to be able to sing really loud, a desktop PC (uh, ok, so it needs upgrading), and my laptop. She has her own cellphone with a postpaid line. Shall we count the Barbies and the current craze among her friends, the erasers shaped like food?

My daughter is not one to pester us about the things she wants. She knows we're not rich, so she's ok with one 'No.' Of course the question of getting the PSP is open for discussion, so after some consultation with the man of the house and various friends whose kids own one (I can't believe the number of two-year-olds who own PSPs!), I relented and brought up the subject again after a week, and told her she could have a PSP... if she saves up for it.

My daughter got excited. She designated a special wallet for the 'PSP money,' and negotiated for an amount that she would save every day, considering the fact that her allowance comes from me. She then proceeded to convince her father to add some more, to make the saving go faster. We're looking at getting it for Christmas, but at the rate of P20 per day, I think we're likely to buy it for Christmas 2012. Sigh.

I could easily have said, Ok, we'll buy it for Christmas. But she understands that we don't buy things just because we can afford them. She knows that a PSP will cost as much as an aircon unit for their bedroom, or equivalent to a dozen Barbie dolls, or her sister's milk for three months. (She doesn't know that it's equivalent to six pairs of her mother's pretty shoes.) Not because I'm trying to make her feel guilty about an expensive toy, but because she will put more value in the PSP if she saves up for it. Because I'd like to teach her that even a child has priorities, and the sweetest things in life are those that you work hard for. That applies to PSP, job promotions, and relationships.

I wouldn't want her to come to me after her college graduation and say, 'Mama, can you buy me a car?' But well... I can loan her the down payment. :-)

the amazon kindle!

I have lusted for this gadget for over a year. I have checked Amazon a hundred times (to see if the price will go down), read dozens of reviews, followed blogs dedicated to it, chased other bank staff who are Kindle owners and asked them questions about it, and finally, when they became available in the office library, queued myself to borrow it, loaded with e-books related to education and poverty reduction. Waiting time was usually two weeks, so as soon as I returned a Kindle to the Library, I promptly put myself in the queue again. And then the Kindle was mine again for a month.

The Kindle can store 3,500 books. Imagine that. My little house will not be able to accommodate that number of books, even if I kick out the cat, the dog, and my daughter's pet rabbit. The choices in Amazon's Kindle Store is simply overwhelming, with almost a million books. Add to that the other hundreds of e-books floating around in the internet, to download to your heart's content. It has built-in Wi-Fi too. For all other wonders this little thing holds, see the Amazon Kindle page.

I'm not a gadget lover. I have no intense desire to own an iPad or the Samsung Galaxy Tab, simply because there are just too many things to do with them. Goodness, I get a headache trying to get ahead of my 10-year-old daughter when we do Plants vs Zombies in my laptop. The laptop exists so I can (i) write stories; (ii) check my email and very occasionally update my Facebook account; and (iii) read Pdf books. My daughter, of course, uses my laptop to check YouTube, Facebook, and all the online games she could get her hands on during weekends (she never goes online unsupervised).

So why the Kindle? Because I love books, period. I have books in the living room, in the bedroom, Stephenie Meyer's The Host in the bathroom, Harry Potter 7 and Maeve Binchy's Quentins in the office for my lunch break, and a Readers Digest in my office bag for when I'm stuck in traffic. I can queue in the bank, supermarket checkout lane, or a local government office without losing my temper, if I have a book to lose myself in.

I have to wait a long time before The New York Times' bestsellers become available at bookstores. Remember Under The Dome? It also took me over a year to complete Stephen King's Dark Tower I to VII, by raiding Booksale, Powerbooks, and National Bookstore. In 4shared, all seven are available in Pdf, which took about half an hour to download. Add another 15 minutes, and your Kindle is loaded.

I also discovered that you can play MP3s in it. Although I'm one of those people who can block out conversation when I'm immersed in a book, it's a nice touch when you want to take a break; say you're in Kennon Road and you're just about to puke from reading all the way from Manila, you can play a couple of songs. Or you can click Text-to-Speech, which means your Kindle will read aloud to you. While you puke.

There isn't a lot of accessories to pretty up the Kindle. There are some very nice Kindle skins in Amazon, and of course they sell the covers too. The lighted cover costs $59.99, but you can always buy an Energizer reading light for P400 that works the same way. But if you worship your Kindle, there's a Kate Spade cover that costs almost the same as the Kindle itself -- $125. Cole Haan's Kindle cover is a bit cheaper at $119, but there's a Special Offer Kindle at $114.

Now the bookssss are just a couple of clicks away. And to quote my officemate Hasmin, it looks like an oversized calculator. You can read it while riding a jeep, and you won't get held up for that. That, fellows, is something you can't do with an iPad.

My entire library in a device that's 8.5 ounces and less than half an inch thick. I got it today. It's enough to keep me grinning for a week. :-)