FOR THE GIRL WHO DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO COOK

Photo grabbed from hookedonhouses.net 

 

First, you are not alone. If you think that you're a glitch to the feminine species who seem to be equipped with natural skills in whipping up food that tastes good, I repeat you are not alone. 

Second, there’s actually hope for you. Society seems to align us into a stereotype that cooking should be innate in a woman, but trust me cooking maybe a talent for some. But sometimes, it’s a skill to be learned. 

I know, because I am one of those girls.

SIXTEEN YEARS GONE

Once I was seven years old, my mama told me,

"Go make yourself some friends or you'll be lonely."
Once I was seven years old

It was a big big world, but we thought we were bigger
Pushing each other to the limits, we were learning quicker

You’re a bright young girl who seemed to be born with rose colored glasses. Most of my memories of you had already crumbled with time, but I also have vivid ones that I would never forget. There was the time when you didn’t hesitate to join an acting competition at school; a tear-jerking moment was needed to be shown, as you pretended that the doll was your mother. The crowd scared you but behind stood Nanay, cheering you on. Seeing her standing there was enough to melt the nervousness away. I could no longer remember if you won or maybe another person gets to take home the prize, still you were happy that you didn’t back out.

FOR AS LONG AS WE CAN

 

The weekend is coming to a close, but this one was stretched out to be enough. Not lacking for me to ask an extension. Not slow for me to cut it short. Just enough. For the mountains have called, and once again we headed to its direction.

After more than a year of not being able to climb, I finally had the chance of going back on track (or should I say trek?). It was a walk in the park, they said. But we're not even halfway through and my lungs were already gasping for air. My heart seems to be doing somersaults inside my chest. Pain was also starting to grip my back, enough to make me feel older than how I truly am. To think that it was a level 2 climb! It was supposed to be easier compared to my previous experiences.

AROUND THE WEB | VOL. II

The Big C. It’s quite difficult to grasp the meaning of this word all at once. It ranges from the material things up to the state of our lives. As a new year entered, it became the talk of the town. Though it may be a little step, I started to learn a thing or two about contentment.

Reading Hannah Brencher’s experience on her target obsession made me nod my head in agreement (especially on the part of wanting all those pretty stuff but never getting around to using some of them). Last month, I scanned my room for evidences of excess. I need not look far, with just a tilt of my head the pile of unread books on the shelf presented themselves.

 

Blame it on my poor self-control, lack of good buying habits, or the low-priced second hand books that I can’t let go of. The moment I started earning money was also the day that my book hoarding began. I have read some of them for the past months, but the problem is that I buy faster more than I can read. Slowly, they started piling up and the number didn’t go down to 50 plus. I would always joke that this is the reason why I’m broke.

LET ME SAY A FINAL ADIEU, 2015

  
 
 
 
 
But as for me, my feet had almost 
        slipped;
   I had nearly lost my foothold...

When my heart was grieved
   and my spirit embittered,
I was senseless and ignorant;
  I was a brute beast before you.

Yet I am always with you;
  You hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
  and afterward you will take me into 
         glory.

Whom have I in heaven but you?
   And earth has nothing I desire
      besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
   but God is the strength of my 
           heart
   and my portion forever.
        PSALM 73: 2, 21-26

If there was a way to summarize 2015 in verses and words, this would be it. It was a tough year that I even asked myself if there was any sense in writing about it. Even the photographs above are a far contrast from what happened during in-between moments. But then I just have this habit of closing the year through a blog post or something written. Something to acknowledge the fact that life can be good and bad at times, but God...He just remained constant through it all. Through the heartaches, through the pain. Through the sorrow and through the rejoicing.

I am far from who I was, and who I wanted to be. Some of my plans in life did not go as expected. It has been a scary and exciting ride. A few things weren't one hundred percent clear when the year ended, but I guess that is where He wants me to be...out of my comfort zone and into His arms.

THE HELP

 Yesterday I was able to finish one of the books in my to-be-read pile (which seems to be getting higher each year), it was shelved for two years before I finally got around to reading it. I remember how long it has been because I bought it right after graduation, courtesy of the toga rental fee that mother allowed me to have. I won’t also forget how I squealed with delight when I saw it in the shelf of Booksale; it has been on my list for months and on that day I finally got to take home The Help.

I have a rule that I should read the book first before watching its film adaptation, but this one was an exception. The movie was so good that I just had to buy and read the book. It’s a proof that a movie and a book can co-exist without one being great than the other (because we always tend to say that the one on paper is much better than the one on screen).

THE HISTORY OF ART AND ME

It all began on a mindless summer afternoon. I was a 9-year-old girl who’s starting to die out of boredom. I’ve scanned the bookshelf for the second time around hoping to catch an interesting title to read, but instead, my eyes landed on the strings of a queer looking book with Dragon Ball Z as the cover. I anticipated to find interesting drawings inside, only to be faced with blank pages. It was my first encounter with a sketch book. Though we may have melted crayons or blew watercolor droplets across pages during our elementary days, I can say that the seed of art was planted during the time that I held this sketchbook in my hands and discovered the joy of drawing.

The next minutes were spent copying young Goku from a poster. While the next days were spent convincing my brother and mother that I did not traced it, but copied it (hahaha there’s a huge difference you know). They wouldn’t believe me! They actually thought that I was lying. But when I repeated drawing another comic book character, they finally did. It was the height of afternoon anime, so the rest of the pages were filled with characters that I have grown to love. When you’re a 9 year-old, there’s a certain feeling that anything you draw can be considered as an art. It gave me the confidence I need to start joining poster making contests in school, eventually winning first and second place most of the time. It gave me hope that I have a future in pursuing this thing called art.