A letter to my Manila

In all my life, I've never known anyone or anything meaner, colder and more bitter than Chicago's weather. Alright, I may be exaggerating, but you must understand where I am coming from.

Last weekend, I feasted on a few spring clothes and indulgences. Long, flirty skirts that swirled just below my knees when the wind blew gently; a walk downtown at close to midnight while actually holding Patrick's hand and not his gloves. See, the simple pleasures of spring unanimously belittle the pristine color of winter ... so why did it go away? More importantly, where did my springtime go?

Since yesterday, winter has been teasing us with its deviousness. A temperature drop of at least 40 degrees in 24 hours will tell you Chicago weather is not the friendliest among its brood of 50 states.

But, like Lizzie always says, c'est la vie. I still think of you, Manila, my Manila (to quote the late Nick Joaquin, one of your beloved sons). You will never leave my heart, because despite your heat and noise, I loved you like a sister. A child. A parent. A friend. Remember last Easter when all of the city left you for the beach? I stayed with you; we drove around together at 100 mph, and we reveled in the quietude of your usually rambled life. I knew it was our last Easter together, and since then, you had been the one that got away.

And I guess I must love Chicago now. It is the air I breathe, the language I speak, and the home I build. I must love Chicago now, because when I roll down my window, I start to feel a warm sensation rising from my bones despite its bitter chill. Chicago is my adult self, and I admire what it is becoming.

Still, inside me, there remains a hope that you and I will meet again, and you will embrace me as though I still belong to you and you had missed me. Because I miss you terribly Manila, my Manila.

Photo notes:

Above: Manila Bay Sunset

Taken from the window of the hotel where I spent my last New Year's Eve in Manila:

University of Santo Tomas, the Royal and Pontifical. Also where Patrick and I first met. This walk was where we knew:

And finally, Eastwood City. A place that means something to all of us. Tell me about our Eastwood memories, please. Remind me, eventhough I don't forget.

How I keep warm during fall

“Is it your birthday?” the lady at the counter asked while we checked out our purchases. It was already 9 p.m.; the stores lining the streets of downtown Chicago were closing for the day but PJ and I hadn’t noticed the time.

“No, it isn’t,” I answered. “We’re just getting ready for fall.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, then looked at the pile of coats, hats and fall what-nots on the counter. “It just seems like it is.”

PJ and I simply smiled at each other.

That night, as I lulled myself to sleep, I pondered about my misery. Since I moved, I have had this pervasive feeling of loneliness that would visit me at unexpected moments. It comes when we’re watching TV, or when I’m cooking, or when I’m just reading the papers. The quiet nights are a given, as well as the rainy weekend mornings.

Then I remembered that lady’s question. Was it my birthday? And because I would know for sure if it was my birthday, I realized that I just looked too fortunate to be miserable.

All these months, all I could care about is how lonely I’ve been. I have spent so much energy counting the things I don’t have rather than counting the things I already have. On worse days, I torment PJ by giving him the cold shoulder and pointing out things he doesn’t do rather than give him credit for the things he does. I forgot that when we go out with my friends and family, he picks up the tab. That he picks up my clothes from the dry cleaners. That he preorders the DVDs I like without being asked. That he always makes himself available for me, which is more than anyone can ask for.

My every day life has been plagued with gripes and questions. The worst part is I blamed my life, my family, even my husband for ripping me off my roots. But in truth, I did this to myself. Yes, I allowed the whiny monster in me grow, and I have to kill it now before it gets the chance to kill my relationships.

I remember when I was getting ready to leave; I folded my dresses, wrapped my shoes, and tucked them inside my suitcases as though I was only going away for the weekend. I gave away many belongings but in my wild imagination, those things still belonged to me, and when I return, they would be in the same place where I left them. I said my goodbyes but I forgot that even when I'm gone, life would go on and the clock would kept on turning. I was—and still am—afraid that when I come back, I won't recognize the city of my childhood and my mother's childhood, the same city that visits me in my sleep at night. I should have taken more caution because now it seems this expedition is taking longer than I allowed.

I have been holding on to a life I no longer have. I am ashamed to admit that to this day, I still convert currencies before making a purchase, and compare weather, seasons, people, TV shows and, dare I say it, politicians.

I need to let my new life in my door. I belong here now; this will be my home for many good years, if not forever, so I can’t watch it wither away while I indulge myself in helplessness.

It was time for me to be pliant, to accept changes. That is not to say that I am erasing my old city from the plot of my life. After all, life is a story with chapters, characters, settings, plots, conflicts and resolutions. At the risk of sounding cliché, that chapter of my life is finished and the characters have moved on, but some will always remain largely at play. But like any book, I can always turn back the pages whenever I want to remember.

I decided to count the things I can and I have. For starters, I can cook now, do my own laundry, watch football, and call my friends and family as often as I’d like. I have coats, gloves, hats and a reliable heater that will keep me warm throughout fall and winter. On quiet nights or rainy weekend mornings, I have a hot cup of coffee, an abundant library, a great view of a spectacular city outside my window, and a husband who knows when I’m crying even when I don’t shed a tear.

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Photo credits:
Michigan Avenue:
tanmaypics13.tripod.com/michigan_avenue/
Woman in fall leaves: Missouri Baptist Foundation at:
http://www.mbfn.org/Gift%20Catalog/GiftCatalog-MissouriWMU.php

Wild, wild sushi

Something my husband and I share passionately is … our love for sushi. (What were you thinking?) Before he introduced me to sushi, the only Japanese I know is that white rectangular sheet with a red dot in the center. (Alright, that may be an exaggeration but you get my point).


Unknown to many, the Japanese term sushi refers to rice—and only rice. But due to Western influence, majority of the world now refers to sushi as rice topped or filled with seafood, meat, vegetables and sometimes, fruits. Even more revolutionary are the many ways the “sushi rice” and its ingredients are put together. Some are rolled in dried sheets of seaweed (“maki”), some are prepared with hand-formed rice topped with a small sheet of your meat of choice (“nigiri”). Whatever form it comes, sushi is a testament to Japan’s mantra of innovation: put as many good things in as little space as possible.

At times, my and my husband’s passion for sushi becomes an obsession. Sometimes it is unhealthy (because of the amount of rice we eat), bothersome (because of the distance we have to drive to try different sushi joints), and expensive (no explanation necessary).

Still, my husband, bless his heart, continues to spoil me. He never tires of satisfying my insatiable craving for everything Japanese. Now, we not only frequent sushi places in the metro, but we order sushi to take home with us. Oh, if I could only prepare sushi on my own …

Last Saturday, in our quest to champion sushi throughout mankind, we went on a 50-mile drive (again) to try out Agami, a contemporary sushi bar along Broadway. Situated along a mile of traditional oriental restaurants (they call this area “Little Thailand”), Agami’s façade could have passed as a Michigan Avenue staple. Tall ceilings, bright, well-coordinated lights and shapes will shock you as soon as you put your foot in the door. So contemporary was Agami that instead of the usual Niponggo music, they play trance music in the background. Add Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson, and you would be lost in translation.

The sushi did not disappoint either. We ordered “Ocean Drive,” which was a concoction of fish meats showered with citrus flavors and a hint of mint; “Agami Maki,” the house special; and “White Dragon.” Yes, you read it right, here at Agami, there are at least four types of dragon maki—and all of them come with a very, very fresh bite of seafood.

All in all, Agami is a place worth driving 50 miles to. We plan to come back, but in the meantime, let me list down some of my favorite sushi variants. (Pardon the incomplete descriptions. I just eat them, that’s all I really do.)

1. Volcano – maki filled with smoked salmon topped with thinly sliced scallops wrapped in “melted” mayonnaise and cheese. In other words, Japanese au gratin.




2. Godzilla – soft shell crab, shrimp with spicy mayonnaise and tempura; usually has asparagus.

3. Dragon –freshwater and sea eel, cucumber, and seaweed all wrapped in thin avocado slices. The rolls are arranged like dragon on your plate, hence the name dragon.







4. Dynamite – tuna and yellowtail with hot spicy sauce and masago (caviar or roe). Top it with shreds of lobster meat ("Lobster Dynamite") and your life will change forever.

5. Spider roll – yummy soft shell crab, that's all you need to know.

6. Rainbow roll (shown in the first photo above) - seaweed salad, cucumber, avocado covered in different-colored meats of tuna, salmon, crab and shrimp, then covered with masago or sesame seeds. In other words, colorful (shown in the first photo above).

7. Tiger roll - fresh crabmeat, avocado, cucumber sprinkled with teriyaki sauce in a zigzag manner

8. Nigiri sushi - rice and meat, usually seafood. For the purist at heart.

9. Alaska roll - smoked salmon, cucumber, avocado and masago

10. Philadelphia roll – salmon with cream cheese, a perfect ending to a round of spicy sushi

11. Mai Tai – Oh wait, that’s not sushi. I’m totally busted.