Photo Story

I took this photo a few years ago. Here stands the Washington Monument blurry reflected on the waters of the Tidal Basin, surrounded by the Cherry Blossoms in full bloom. A few years ago, I packed my old Mazda and moved to DC in order to pursue my passion in History. Since that day, my life was never the same again.

Pavarotti and Eating

Mom and I spent this morning at some Asian store, and I bought all sorts of sweets - combination of Japanese and Filipino products. Most Asian stores in my area are Chinese or Vietnamese owned but they do sell a number of Filipino products. Also, Asian stores carry the vegetables I need for my Filipino recipes - especially for my favorite Pinakbet.

Cooking was never my forte until I started living on my own. I love to cook Filipino food, and most of my recipes are passed down by family and friends or copied from generous Pinoy cooking websites. In the past, I was an advocate for eating out (a lot), but these days, cooking gives me a feeling of joy and contentment. Is this a sign of getting old? Or maybe I am learning more about myself and about the things I love to do.

Tonight, Mom and I are making Pinakbet. Afterwards, we'll have some tea and enjoy a couple of Choc Nuts. Perhaps, Pavarotti made a very good point when he said, "One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating." (Luciano Pavarotti and William Wright, Pavarotti, My Own Story)

Complaint to the Sweat Department

DC feels like a sauna. I freakin' hate it!

I left my apartment at 7:45 a.m., and it was humid and 75 degrees outside. I could see the swimming pool from a distance and a naughty grin spreads all over my face, what if I’ll skip work and have a blast in the pool the whole day. I shook the idea off and kept on walking. From my apartment to the metro, I have a good fifteen-minute walk. By the time I get to my train, I’m all sweaty and disheveled. Embarrassment takes over as beads of sweat trickles all over my face and neck, yuck. I’d plop myself to the nearest empty seat and start wiping my face. After regaining my composure, I sat up and desperately searched in my bag for something I can use as pa-id (fan). Give me anything - a piece of paper, cardboard, or even a receipt would do. The train stops to pick up passengers at UDC and a lady walks in, in business suit, full make-up and not even a hint of sweat. WTF! What is it about this "other" women that don't sweat? Do they know something I don't know? The lady finds a seat and proceeded to work on her laptop, while I fanned myself with a yellow, sticky note.

Heartless

An icy, piercing pain

Shattered the stillness of my being
My abandoned heart
Broken into a million pieces
Blown away by the wind
Swept away by the rain

Weeping echoes haunted my sleep
Fear and numbness filled my thoughts
Faintly, I hear my distant heart pleading
To be retrieved
To be taken back
To be unbroken

Blunder filled my waking moments
Shame stared right at my face
I prefer darkness, for I no longer miss
The sweet smell of grass
The clouds silently floating
The soft breeze caressing my face

My tormented soul wanders
Scavenging aimlessly
In this life, I no longer wish
To hear the deplore of a wounded heart
To hope for unrequited love
To feel the icy, piercing pain of heartache

by Kayni (KDD)

(This poem is an original composition of the author. Copy and use of this poem needs the author's permission.)

First Entry After the Storm

I've been living quietly and slowly trying to grasp that feeling of normalcy again. I have embraced the idea that my job keeps me sane and that my life revolves on tedious meetings and high piled paperwork. For now, this is my normalcy. I keep telling myself I am just in a phase - a temporary one that will pass.

It's been six months, yet I'm still in a phase.