Life in a Cinnamon

The Boyfriend Friendly Store

When us women enter boutique shops, our eyes wander from one piece of clothing to another until we find that thing-we-are-not-really-looking-for but may likewise be the thing-we-desire-to-have-once-we-see-it. When men enter boutique shops with their girlfriend/mother/sister/wife/girl-friend, they only see one thing: that piece of furniture that would provide solace while inside a woman’s world.

Whether it’s an aesthetically designed piece of art or a plain ordinary stool, as long as it obediently serves it purpose, it should be good enough for the men. Whenever A voluntarily (emphasis on the word volunteer) accompanies me to such boutiques, he finds his way to that furniture of comfort while I straddle my way to the clothing racks. It wouldn’t matter to him how long I linger to the store so long as his back is rested on a comfortable couch. 

As a matter of respect and consideration to men who patiently escorts their girl, and sometimes even pay for whatever sort of bauble a woman want in that store, here’s what A proposes: for a certifying body to be formed by a private sector to inspect and likewise certify boyfriend-friendly stores across the country. A sign that reads “Boyfriend Friendly Store” will be hanged to boutique shops that charmingly secure a special place only for the men while inside a woman’s world.

 

Some noteworthy boyfriend-friendly stores:

Bayo

Kamiseta

?

??

???

 

What The Lord Will Never Take (repost)

After 2 years of searching, contemplating, and seeking for my passion, I am back to square one. After 2 years of ranting and begging the Lord for straightforward answers and flying dove signs, He gave me none. What do You want from me just please tell me and I will go, is usually my prayer starter. I wanted to be sure of my future; I feared for mistakes and regrets. 

I am in a crossroad. Unlike the majority who only have two paths to choose from, I was in a midst of a multiple crossroads. I was utterly puzzled with what laid before me. Everyday there is a newly added path that made me all the more confused. Time is of the essence. If I don’t choose now, I would lose my chance. That is my mentality.

And so I was desperate. No one can help me but myself. Nobody can tell me what I should do. Not even that manghuhula from Cebu can tell me who will I become in the future. So I tried asking people how they figured what they wanted in life but realized each of us has our own unique journeys. I soul-searched and listened to my heart but it echoed responsibilities and worldly life. I cried and begged the Lord for answers but all I got was “It will always be your choice”.

I’ve never been this hopeless.

I’ve never been this desperate.

I’ve never been this lost.

And then one day it hit me.

In my tedious search for my path, I forgot that my God is a God. I forgot that He is the God who has created miracles in my life for the past 23 years. I failed to realize the God who I was pleading for answers is the same God who, everyday, showers me with Love. I doubted the power of that same God who has done the impossible in my life. Yes, you could say that life can sometimes be ironic.

The sheep that went astray was searched and found by her Shepherd. The Shepherd told her what He tells to every lost sheep: Fear nothing for I am with you.

And that is all that matters.

Written November 12, 2009 in my mutiply blog.

fuckyeahtumor

Maaa. Yooo. Maaa. It rings in my head like a mantra, banging the doors of consciousness and peace. Maaa. Yooo. Maaa. I thought I could contain it within the region of my reproductive system when it decided on its own to sneak inside my mind crawling and creeping in like an infectious disease.

Only 4 hours after I visited the doctor and discovered the possibility of having my life-giving organ removed because of a certain disease called Myoma. That piece of information dropped to me like a bomb smashing my walls of stability.

Only 4 hours after I visited the doctor and already I am grieving for the things I don’t even have yet:

For the angelic sound of his/her cry while cradled in my arms.

For the unparalleled happiness of witnessing his/her first walk, first talk.

For the unbearable pain and heartache of my first fight with my son/daughter.

Only 4 hours after I visited the doctor and already I feel like a big part of me has been snatched away. My 26 years of existence is perfect as perfect can be. I did not experience any major catastrophic life-shattering experiences other than a few heartaches here and there. Is this it? Is this the life-altering challenge that will test both my faith and sanity? Is this the punishment of selfish desires of a woman who lived the motto “Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die?” Is this the cross that I am destined to bear for the rest of my earthly life?

40 hours before I visit my doctor and already I have constructed my script for the consultation. Already I have made the most responsible decision I have ever made in my entire existence: I will do anything and everything to have that one chance of giving life. Even for a .001 percent chance.

Home.

The scent of coffee coming out of to life entered my bedroom slowly, gradually, enveloping the air with such effervescent smell that it was enough to detach my chiseled body from my bed. Such a tease.

It felt good. Something I have not felt in such a long time. There was something strange, something ordinary, something familiar, waking up in the home you grew up in. Being surrounded with old and familiar stuff – the Chinese cabinet where the tiny, pretty, fragile things are kept; the sofa where I used to bury my body after a long play day outside; the scent of old books in the library where I had first known about The 12 Dancing Princesses, and Halley’s comet – all of these felt… nice. I felt like a kid again -trapped in the body of a 26-year-old woman.

Breakaway and seek for a new adventure. When the new become old, breakaway again. This is how I live my life. Always seeking for the Great Perhaps. And I love that I am like that. I love the version of me that is fearless and free-spirited. I have relished every experience, the good and the bad, along the way. But there’s always that wisps of energy that, no matter how far away I am from home, lead me right back to it. 

Baking Initiation

I learned that most of the things that you do in baking is applicable to life. For one, baking requires patience. One cannot fast track nor hurry the coming into life of a pastry. Like many of the good things in our earthy life, we cannot rush puberty nor quicken competence. These things require time and temperature to bloom and, in its own perfect timing, attain fulfillment. The things we waited for are the ones that are most valuable to us because it taught us how to be patient. And patience, if acquired, is a weapon to life. Many things in life require patience – waiting for a good film to show in the cinema, waiting for a long line to the atm machine, waiting for a flower tea to bloom or for a crop to fruit. If one has patience then one has found the key to the secret passages of life. I read in an article that waiting must be a sacrament, because our lives our filled with it. And baking, it would seem, asks for us to wait while it goes through the process of perfection.

 

Baking commands finesse. Patience is a hard word for me. I am an ill-tempered stubborn woman. But I discovered that finesse is an even harder word. My entire existence is tantamount to clumsiness. I seldom think when I move thus making things I do the exact opposite of finesse. But life has a bizarre way of teaching us and I learned elegance while performing a delightful activity. Measuring, for one, entails elegance because a single ingredient loosely dropped will destroy the entire dish. Folding calls for elegance as well. The circular movement of the spatula must have precision and grace to achieve the perfect mixture.

My second attempt to making French Macarons is a discovery of two of the greatest mysteries of life – patience and finesse. While I perfect this tiny delicate piece of art, I will also, in my best effort, try to attain the fulfillment of these two mysteries.

Driving to Memory Lane

Driving to Memory Lane is one of the many highlights of my May. I just want to post some of the good stuff from that month and here’s a sneak peak on one of those! 

A soothing and fun-filled drive to Tagaytay with Cara, Isobel, and Marigel one Saturday morning. It was what I needed to get my head out of work stress.

Charming and decent, Memory Lane is the perfect getaway spot for those who crave for that warm Sunday feeling when you take pleasure in sitting in the veranda and do…absolutely nothing. 

We opted to stay outside so we can enjoy the scenic view of the garden. Though it was humid at that time, we had a pleasant stay outdoors. The place has an indoor and outdoor dining. There’s a small shop inside where you can find trinkets and vintage souvenirs. And there’s a salon too!

A warning sign specially designed and placed there for Cara.

After Memory Lane, we drove to Sonya’s Garden hoping for another quiet and relaxing time over coffee/tea. It was blockbustered that time because there was a wedding and it was a weekend which means Sonya’s Garden turns into a public park.

After Sonya’s Garden we made a stop at 7/11 for coffee (French Vanilla is the best!) and donuts before heading to Isobel’s family rest house here in Tagaytay. It was a privilege to have stepped foot in such a beautiful home.

Below is ‘Isobel’s window’. Who wouldn’t be inspired in a view like that?

It is one of those days.

You know your childhood is officially over when your most precious childhood possessions, that are your siblings, are moving on and framing fairytales that does not, lets just say, include you in it.

Nobody really oriented me about this whole moving on thing. Sure, I have friends who got married and whose lives went to a 180-degree shift from being a constant party/coffee companion to a full-time mom. But I did not experience separation anxiety then. I am new to this moving on with my life department because, truth be told, I am not ready to move on with mine.

I am terrified of the future that I deliberately choose to be stuck in the past – to things that can be planned such as making class schedules or Barbie dates with my best friend. I.still.live. in this bubble of my childhood that I am uncertain of what to do with the present, let alone, the future. I see people creating their dreams, some even living them now, and here I am, stuck in a vast space of uncertainties. And to see your closest companions jumping on to the next chapter is just overwhelmingly nostalgic.

So now I decided that I need to move on with my own. And to do that, I need to realign my goals with what I truly want which is the hardest task I’ve ever had (I’ve been figuring myself out for the last 6 years and I have not gone to any conclusion). Until then, I think I am entitled to occasional nostalgia.