Long-haul lights and cold dinners

Ma never got to go to my high school graduation. I know she was really bummed over that whole deal as she thought she was missing out. This is correct but also incorrect. She missed the day, the whole toga-wearing, speech-making hat-throwing occasion. I did feel bad about that, but it just couldn't happen at that time.

The fact is, she didn't miss it. Throughout my formative education years, Ma had always been a driving influence. Pa was the drill sergeant, making sure I always kept on point. But he always made sure I remembered the sacrifice that Ma was making being away for great period of time. When I screwed up, I mostly felt bad because I felt I was letting her down. And I screwed up a lot.

Truth is, I could never have made it without her making a lot of sacrifices.

While it has become commonplace in the Philippines to have one or both parents working abroad, during that time it wasn’t the case. People had certain perceptions on what it was like and often, they would get it largely incorrect. No, we didn’t have money coming out of our rear ends. No, we did not live in a mansion. No, it was not a cakewalk.

It was very hard on everyone. It was sad when she missed out of the big occasions. Here is the truth. Every achievement, every victory my Ma helped make that happen. All those years, she spent Christmases alone, ate dinners solo and suffered through terrible long-haul flights. To be honest, even though I knew she went through all that, I never really got how crappy it was until I lived here in London solo. Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of perks to living alone. But when things go rough and when things go wrong, coming home to a darkened house is not something you look forward to.

She did that for nearly thirty years.

Here’s to you Ma, Happy Mother’s day. Well, at least it’s Mother’s day on this side of the world. Knowing her, she will bug me to greet her again in May when it’s Mother’s day in the other side of the world. But she deserves it.

Happy Mother’s Day Ma.

Potatoes, Wuthering Heights and the Squared Circle.

My memories of my maternal grandmother are intertwined with my earliest memories of the Philippines. I was a fussy eater as a child and changing to a rice-based diet was torture. Ok, there was the tocino, longganisa, pandesal, fresh carabao’s milk … ok, there were a lot of nice things to eat. But being a kid, I would make a huge fuss over it. Now my parents would put their foot down and tell me to finish my food. My grandmother, on the other hand would painstakingly peel potatoes to make chips to entice me to eat. Did I take advantage of this fact? Of course I did. Did it annoy my parents? Absolutely.

It was not to say, that I did not return the favour. I was quite snobbish of watching Filipino films when I was younger. I never even went to the cinema to watch. But one day my grandmother asked me to accompany her to watch the latest romance flick. Now I went along for perfectly good reasons. One being, I could find no reason to refuse her. That and she promised popcorn.

So we headed off to the cinema (I think it was the Regent. I miss the days when the cinemas had fancy names.) It was entitled, “Hihintayin kita sa Langit,” (I will wait for you in Heaven). This film was a pretty big deal back in the day. Given I had no real point of reference, I had no real expectations. I remember the cinema being so packed, I had to stand while Lola sat transfixed by the story unfolding on the silver screen. Soon, I too was caught up in the story. I looked over and saw my grandmother shedding a tear as it reached its climax. I wondered why my vison was cloudy and then realised I too, was crying. It would be years later that I would find out that it was an adaptation of Wuthering Heights. Regardless, I still have a soft spot for this adaptation.

But the most unlikely memory I have is of the Wednesday nights when she would let me stay up past bed time. All for sixty minutes of watching men in spandex, indulge in faux combat in the middle of a squared circle. Yes, my grandmother was a professional wrestling fan.

There is nothing more surreal than seeing an old lady scream at the tv screen, demanding that one participant to inflict maximum pain upon their opponent. It soon wears off, you get with the program and then join in the yelling. She cheered every suplex, booed every villain and roared with every victory. Some families bond over cookies. We bonded over Hulk Hogan. Watcha gonna do?


My grandmother passed away several days ago. She was 89.

I had not seen my grandmother for several years. Nevertheless, I am grateful. Without her, I would not have my mom. I know my Mama is grieving and I wish I could be there with her. I cannot take away her pain, but I can tell her that will always be thankful for Lola because she gave me my mom. All I can do is close my eyes and hug Mama from afar. I’m sorry I cannot be with you right now.

As for all that remains, I will always remember the potatoes, Wuthering Heights and the late nights watching professional wrestling.

Goodnight Lola and sleep well now.

Tea at Wimpy's

On one December day, a man and a woman walked into a Wimpy’s restaurant in London. (I don’t think they had much choice back then. I don’t think McDonald’s was in vogue back then. (Though I might say, the “beef burger with a sliced, grilled sausage on top,” is one of the Wimpy’s signature dishes. If you can find one, do try it,). Knowing the man, if he had a choice, he might have gone for KFC, his personal favourite. But this story has little to do with fast-food dining. In fact, the two quietly had a cup of tea. He would have had two sugars. The lady would have declined. They probably shared a joke or two as the rest of the world around them remained oblivious to the importance of the day. You see, this couple had just gotten married, that very afternoon.

My parents.

This story has become part of the folklore of the family. It is still a bit head scratching to be fair. Two people, both from the Philippines, but different islands, leave to see the world. They strike out separately, seeking their fortune. They go half way across the planet, end up in the UK and then meet.
I don’t think meeting each other was part of their plans. I believe the priest who officiated their weeding even asked them if they were sure about getting married.

Twice. During the ceremony.

Sometimes, I wonder about the story of my parent’s wedding. They always seem to have a chuckle whenever they tell the tale. The Wimpy’s is a fact because no one admits to dining there. (Except for one who shall remain anonymous).
What is also a fact is that they both knew, even then that they hadn’t figured it all out. They still haven’t figured it all out. They didn't have a big wedding, but they have been having an interesting marriage. It’s not been perfect, but they are OK with that.

They are still working on it.

So, to my mother who taught me grace and my father who taught me patience, a very happy anniversary, Mama and Papa.

I love you both.

(Belated, I know. I’ve been having trouble with the writing!)

That must have been a very good cup of tea. I hope I meet someone to share tea at Wimpy’s too.

And that's why dad gets the big piece of chicken.

So one day, I'm crazy enough to agree to babysit my nephew M. I must have been drunk or just not thinking straight at the time. Now I love my nephew, but at the time the prospect of watching him scared the heck out of me.

Have me face a charging mob? Been there.
Get pummelled in a basketball game by guys twice my size? Done that.
Be responsible for the little boy (cutest there is, but still)?

Can I face the charging mob again?

Taking full advantage of the Orange Wednesdays (a weekly two for one movie ticket promo), my brother and sis-in-law asked me to watch my nephew for the evening. I couldn't hold it against them. It had been months since they had seen the inside of cinema an after watching the wee man 24/7, they deserved a break.

Scared out of my pants, i still agreed as I had a trump card.
Pa was in town on holiday!

We get to their house, my nephew all fed, bathed and dressed up. A quick hug and last minute instructions and they were out the door,literally  leaving me holding the baby.

Now my nephew takes one look at me, looks at the closed door and realised that he was stuck with me.
What does he do?

Now I could tell you how I gleefully bounced him in my arms, pulled a dozen funny faces and sang completely off key to entertain him, with great success. Except the last part would be a lie. He just kept on bawling loudly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

At this point, I am desperate and pretty much freaking out, when a voice from the couch rang out.

"M, look over there." 

I half-turn to the couch and see Pa, pointing  casually into space. As one, both M and I follow his pointing finger. I raise my eyebrows as I can't see anything in particular. So I keep looking back and forth, all this time M is staring intently in the same direction.

And then it dawned on me. I spent several minutes trying to calm my nephew down, pulling out every trick I had and failed.

Pa used one sentence and one wise index finger.

We spent the rest of the evening watching Disney movies until we all fell asleep on the couch.

So the lesson learned?

There is so much that I yet to know. Especially about being a dad.

So  this is my salute to the fathers.

To the professional dad, Pa who will always end up teaching me something new. Thanks Pa!

To the novice dad, my brother whom I one day bug endlessly if and when its my turn. I apologise in advance!

To the new dad, my best friend Paul. Congratulations on becoming a dad! ( you are a brave man than I!)

And to all the dads, raise a glass, pat yourselves on the back and look please with yourselves.

Happy Father's Day!

Perhaps one day, I, too will join ranks.

(But not yet!)

Ink on Pages (or "how I love the smell of books in the morning... and other times as well") Part 1.

Remember Buffy the Vampire Slayer TV series? It made a star of Sarah Michelle Geller, propelled Joss Whedon to fame and pretty much defined a generation of young adult TV entertainment?

This has nothing to do with that.

Season One, Episode 8, “I Robot, You Jane, ” Giles, (Buffy’s watcher. Again, not important at this junction, just stay with me on this. ) gets grilled over his attachment to books.

He replies:
“Books smell musty and… and rich. The knowledge gained from computers has no texture… it there and then it’s gone. If it’s to last, then the getting of knowledge should be tangible. It should be, uh… smelly .”

For as long as I can remember, I have been surrounded by books. Growing up, the bookshelves of our home lined with a complete set of Encyclopaedia Britannica. My Mother’s handbag would always have room for a battered, dog-eared paged paperback novel, perhaps a Sidney Sheldon or a Judith Michael. A quick glance in the glove compartment or car seat pocket and you would find a book stuffed there by my dad. My brother would painstakingly spend hours on end making catalogue cards for our meagre library and sorting them respectively. (Of course I never put them back in order.) As for myself, I never went anywhere without several books on hand. Even if we went around the corner to shop.

As a family, we have always been reading. Growing up in England, my brother and I were only aloowed a limited number of hours watching Tv during the week. Reading on the other hand was allowed all the way till bed time. Of course, we were not beneath sneaking a flashlight to bed to read another chapter.
This trend continued even after we moved to the Philippines. Whether it was the cramped apartment in the city, the creaky bamboo and concrete bungalow in farm or the current homestead of the family, the Apura library has followed and continued to grow.

Even in our darkest days and lowest points, we have had our books and kept on reading. When the flooding waters would enter our homes, we would scramble to take them to higher ground. When the typhoons would ravage the landscape, shatter our windows and rip off our rooftops, we would grab our blankets and cover our collections the best we could. We mourned at the loss of any book as the loss of an old friend.

I have read the books on our shelves several times over. I’ve read by candlelight when the power has gone out. I personally bought enough books to fill several crates. (On that note, they did fill several crates. Thanks Pa.)

And yes, I have moved on to e-readers, mostly out of necessity. But I still prefer the weighty feel and smell of a good book. It takes me back to when I began reading. Today, my Shakespeare is next to my Pratcett, my Cromwell snuggled next to my Gaiman (I never put them back properly.) And did I mention my comic book collection?

I guess that is a story for another time.

P.S.
This is for my brother who would read to me as a kid,

Ma, who would haul several books for me on her trips home,

And lastly for Pa, on his Birthday, who would carry me to be countless times to bed long after I had fallen asleep reading.

And at times, even when I faked being asleep.

A little late night of cooking...

It was a humid Wednesday evening. I had been home for hours and had probably finished with my homework by then. I must have been in my freshman year of high school. It was close to 9 in the evening when I heard the rumbling of the very distinct engine of our jeepney. Distinct as it was difficult to not hear the loud growl of a V8 engine (it had been meant for our old truck) running in a PUJ (public utility jeepney, for non-Filipinos, this would be the most common means of public transport. Pa was a driver.). That meant that Pa was on his way home from driving the local route.

Pa came through the door, the scent of sweat and motor oil following him. I greeted him at the door with a smile… and an unmistakable sound of a grumbling stomach.

Pa looked to the table and realised I hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

“So you haven’t cooked anything?”

The annoyance and exasperation was evident in my father’s voice

I stood there meekly and embarrassingly in front of him and then replied in the most matter of fact manner.

“I don’t know how to cook.”

Pa stood there, mouth wide open.

He shook his head and marched straight for the kitchen.

Nope, we weren't having sandwiches. (No Bread.)

We weren't going to be ordering pizza or any delivered food. (We lived on the farm. We didn't have a telephone. The mobile phone was not mainstream. )

No Instant noodles. ( I had probably eaten the last batch several nights previous)

No, that night was the beginning of my real introduction into cooking.

Now you have to understand, I was a selfish brat growing up.

I hated cooking.

I hated helping in the cooking.

I hated it so much that I would make the extra effort to guarantee I got kicked out of the kitchen. ( My family would testify to this).

My dad is so good at it, I would find the most creative ways to avoid pitching in.

Mind you, I didn't mind eating (as evident in both past and present pictures!) but I was especially picky as a child. (I'll probably have to return to this discussion at a later date, as I digress.)

I guess I got too used to it.

In any case, that was the first night my dad properly took me to task with cooking.

The dish?

Beef steak, with pan-fried potatoes and onion rings.

I think I still remember the basics.

The Beef steak.

Lean cuts of beef steak, cut thinly. Each cut would be the size of my palm. (And I had big hands. Still do)

The marinade:

Dark Soy Sauce. (Silver Swan, the most common brand)

Rock Salt (From a sack. Fresh from the ancestral salt farm.)

Ground black pepper corns

Calamansi (native Filipino citrus fruit for those uninitiated. A small lime.)

Vinegar.(Cane vinegar, with that post cane wine flavour)

Potatoes:

Peeled, washed and sliced in even rounds.

Onions:

Peeled, sliced in rings.

Garlic:

Crushed, sliced.

Now, we didn't do things with measurements and all that jazz. This was on the fly cooking,  especially that late at night. Pa taught me to work quickly and trust my own judgement in taste. The meat was cut to even sizes. The marinade was mixed together, liquids in equal amounts every thing else depending in taste. Steak was then left to soak.

"Heat up the wok," Pa said.

The family wok was a beast of a cooking pan. Every family should have one. It had a history of flavours  burnt right into it, every dish ever cooked had left part of itself. As well as inches of our burned skin as this was a heavy cast iron cooking utensil, handle included.

A generous amount of oil was left to heat.

"Watch the smoke," Pa pointed to the heating oil.

There was a point to learning how to read the flames from the stove, knowing when the pan was hot enough without having to look too much. Patience, even when hurrying.

"Brown the potatoes,"

Potatoes would always take longer to cook, so part cooking them was a smart idea. This is where careful preparation paid off. The more even you slice the potato rounds, the more likely they will cook at evenly and at the same time. Once, they had slightly browned, remove from flame, drain and put to the side.

"Fry the crushed garlic."

Now almost every other Filipino I learnt to cook would start with the frying of crushed garlic. There was just something about the scent of garlic hitting hot oil that makes me hungry immediately.

"Add the meat."

I remember beaming as I watched the meat  begin to cook.

" Add the potatoes."

I was wondering why we only half cooked the potatoes. I was still looking at them as individual dishes and not as part of a whole.

" Add the onions."

I guess the onions would cooks so easily, you didn't want to over cook them and end up with burned mush. The layers of meat, potatoes and onions seemed so inviting. I was ready to shove them all on a plate and dig in...

"Slow down the flame." Huh, weren't we done yet? I thought.

" Add part of the marinade to the mix." Weren't we done with that? I queried.

"Now get a cup of hot water." I wasn't thirsty. Maybe Pa was.

" ...and a teaspoon of corn starch(corn flour)." Eh? Now I was getting confused.

"Mix them corn starch with hot water." This didn't sound like a drink I fancied.

"Now add to the cooking."

Oh.

OH! So adding the corn starch mixture to the already cooking meat, potatoes and onions would make a thicker sauce to compliment the dish!

I quickly began to set the table for the very late dinner that we would be having. My father's irritation had now  begun to settle into bemusement. I was beginning to lick my lips anticipation.

" So did you cook the rice?" Pa asked warily.

Crap.

We finally did get around to having dinner at some point.

I definitely ended up with doing the dishes.

But from that day onwards, I stopped fearing the kitchen. I began to practise bit by bit from breakfast dishes to small dinner sets. Pa finally got used to the idea that I could survive in the kitchen to a degree. Even if it took a couple of sessions of undercooked rice to get there.

Pa would always say that better a small table overflowing with food, than a large table that was empty. I'm still  learning to cook to this day, reading the odd recipe and modifying it. The family pretty much says I have a tendency to spare the salt, but other than that, I do fine.

Before my parents went off to go to the Philippines this year, I insisted on cooking a roast lamb dinner for them. My dad loves lamb and I really wanted to cook something nice. Also, Pa had only liked one dish I made, mashed potatoes. So getting the thumbs up that night was gratifying.

Pa is still the best cook in our family, bar none.

We will gladly be pulled in to help prepare a meal and also not complain when he chases us out of the kitchen. It is impossible to go on a proper diet when he cooks, but we don't really complain too much.

So this piece is for Pa.

I'll be cooking this dish just for you even if you are halfway across the planet.

I'll be keeping your share warm.... just until I decide to have it for myself.

Happy Birthday Pa! Love from across the seas!

Previously on puppet without strings...

So... What did I miss?

Ok, fine, I took a break for a several weeks. I needed to take a break from the writing gig. It seems strange that I would take a break from something that I declared was relaxing not too long ago. In truth, between work and the events of the past month or so,writing was the furthest thing from my mind. Sure I was still doing my free writing and pet projects, but those were always more spur of the moment, rely on inspiration endeavours.

I always promised myself that I would not force the writing, otherwise I end up finding the whole project more of a burden than a joy.

Still, the past Christmas season has been a very rewarding one. Yes, it was spent halfway across the planet form a majority of my friends. Yes, it was very cold here (Actually, I exaggerate, it was actually mild at times. But compared to the beach weather in Boracay... Arctic by comparison).

And yet, I would be lying if I were to say that I did not enjoy this Christmas season. This year marked a great turning point in our family in many ways. I guess in many ways the past several years have been leading to this time. We all knew that Ma was nearing her retirement and that she wanted nothing more than to finally be able to spend her days with Pa. You have to understand, my parent have been married for over thirty years, but have spent perhaps only a third of that time in one place together.

Over the years one or the other had but their dreams and careers on hold for us their children or for their spouse. Ma often jokes that she has spent more years here in the UK than in the Philippines. Actually, that is a fact.

There would be evenings when I would be sitting in my room reading and over hear their late night conversations and smile. Not bad for a couple that got married, had tea at Wimpy (a local burger restaurant) and not see each other for several months. Sure it wasn't the most romantic venue for a wedding reception, but thirty years on it sounds like a dream most people would love to have.

Perhaps I should have prepared myself better. I guess my brother had it planned out better. He after all, managed to get married and snag three receptions out of his wedding, albeit in three different countries. The pride and joy in our parents faces on that wedding day to see their eldest son married was incredible. Adding Sis to the mix has actually rounded out the dynamic, though it has prompted my mother to nudge me ever more so towards settling down.

Seriously?

But for the past years, we have all chipped in to prepare for this time. The house back home in Iloilo has been  made comfortable. Items have been packed up and shipped off. and soon we found ourselves counting down the days to this time. Yes, we have had our downs as well. The loss of the restaurant to the floods years back was a huge blow to us all. We did have quite good hopes for that one. Still, Pa came out of that one unharmed. After all, we were not the only ones to suffer in those days.

The evening that Ma finally clocked out for the last time from the hospital, really became the point of no return. She had finally put her mind set to retire. Pa had put his mind set into taking care of her. And we, the children were preparing ourselves for seeing them off into their happy retirement.

We did insist on Pa cooking the festive meals. Not that we were lazy or anything, but in this family we knew who was the best cook and if we were going to have to celebrate, he was the person for the occasion. I did however convince them to let me cook one roast dinner before they left. I cooked lamb, which I knew was Pa's favourite. getting his thumbs up was worth the hassle, given that prior to that he had only ever like one dish I cooked. Mashed potatoes.

Before we knew it the day was here. Ma and Pa would be flying off to take a well deserved break. Ok sure, they will be back in several months to visit perhaps, but the dynamic would be different. Before, I lived with my parents.

This time around, they would be coming over to stay with me.

As I waved them off, I couldn't help but shed a tear, wishing if I hadn't screwed up several years back, perhaps this day could have happened sooner.

Maybe there would have been less concerns.

Maybe I could hold my head a little higher.

But as my brother did mention, Pa did give me a hug before he left and say, " You'll be alright. " It was pretty much the same thing he got back in the day. So I suppose that does mean I have my parent's vote of confidence.


It's been four days now.

The house is strangely quiet and I have yet to master the silence. I find myself putting on the radio and the tv, just to have some noise.

It will get easier. There is a lot of work to be done. I may be the king of this castle, but it still needs to kept.

Still, I'll take the silence knowing that it means Ma and Pa are enjoying their time together.

I hope I will be able to make the proud.

Now... where's the vacuum cleaner?