Looking past the hurdles

Some things are simply not meant to happen or to be owned. It could be a pair of shoes or a dress that has no more of your size. Or a trip to the beach that is way too indulgent. A job or a slot in a university that could clinch your way to a good, happy future. The love of your life, the person who plagued your high school years, or the one who got away. Whatever form it comes and whatever its name, there’s something we pine for every now and then, something or someone so valuable but is so elusive it breaks our hearts just thinking about it. These are the things that claim birthright to our disappointments in life. If we had a dime for every disappointment we encounter, then we would all be millionaires.

Lately, I have been contemplating about my own bout with disappointments. Last Thursday, after stepping out of a meeting, I decided to walk off the anxiety I had been feeling for days. This anxiety was born from anticipating something I had long been waiting, working, praying, asking for. I figured it was a perfect time to ruminate and calm my senses on my own because PJ was in Toronto for business. I knew that the answer for my questions would come that day, if not Friday, and I just had to prepare myself for it.

So the answer came, and it was in the form of a “no.” For a word so short, it hurt so much. Very quickly, it turned my anxiety into disappointment and then to pain. My wish was simple, my intentions were clear and generous, so why did I not get a “yes?"

After quelling the initial unrest, I asked myself more sensible questions. Why did it hurt so much when I had been through many other disappointments far worse than this? Why did I accept such bad news with the shock of a novice, as if I had learned nothing from life at all? In the greater scheme of things, my intentions were, in fact, self-righteous, impatient and almost intolerable.

I reckoned that disappointments are all the same. As grown ups, our wishes are no different from the Christmas gifts we couldn’t wait to open when we were children. One Barbie for someone is the same coloring book for another. They elicit the same experience, the same anticipation, the same need and hunger for satisfaction and fulfillment. Disappointments could be measured through different means like monetary value or recognition, but the most accurate measure is experience, because experience is the most palpable lesson we will remember.

It is fair that our disappointments should garner the same reflection as the blessings we receive. No matter the worth, we owe it to ourselves to just surrender and say “It hurts.” We also sometimes owe it to ourselves to tell someone—a spouse, a friend, or parent—that you need a hand to hold or someone who will listen, just as we would share a good piece of news.

The purpose of disappointments is not to weaken or destroy us. Quite the contrary, they are there to build experience, wisdom and relationships. They exist so we will appreciate more what we have, and recognize the intrinsic bliss of the things we just ignore.

That night, my husband came back from his business trip. As I welcomed him home, I felt a sense of ease taking over my dissatisfaction. Because he and I are together day in and day out, I sometimes forget how priceless it is to have someone by my side. Life really does get lonely no matter how hard you try to be happy, but I am thankful that there are disappointments to teach me, strengthen me, and remind me that no victories or failures are tantamount to family and friendship.

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Photo credits:

www.isopixel.net at http://www.isopixel.net/images/disappointment.jpg
www.inimagine.com at http://us.inmagine.com/168nwm/photodisc/pdil160/pdil160008.jpg

Cooking for couples

Whether you are newlyweds or just reinventing your relationship, you may find cooking together an enriching experience. If you play your roles right, this can be a therapeutic exercise for your marriage because it opens an avenue for teamwork. By cooking as a couple, one learns how to give way while his or her partner leads, and the result is a harmonious interplay between two loving individuals.

This harmony, of course, takes quite some time to master. When my husband and I cooked together for the first time, I went close to hitting him in the head with the skillet he asked me to wipe. I thought to myself, WE are supposed to be cooking, not cleaning kitchenware! Why was I the one left to do menial things while he had all his creative juices running?

I wiped the skillet, beat the mixtures, and measured the ingredients albeit against my will. All afternoon that we were cooking, I was grumbling like the devil.

But one appetizer, two entrées and one dessert later, we were a couple again. He, the food scientist, created a sumptuous meal. Had I let my pride get the best of me, we would not have finished in the kitchen, and our guests would have starved to death.

I realized that it was not easy for him to see me struggling the way I did either. I was then an amateur in the kitchen, while he had been practically making a living working in it. In all fairness, he warned me before we cooked that the kitchen has room for only one chef, and one of us had to give way and be the sous-chef. When it was my turn to be the chef, he so politely did what I asked him to do—without any devilish grumblings in the background, mind you.

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How to cook as a couple:

Start with simple meals. If it’s the first time for both of you to cook, start even simpler, like breakfast during weekends or a stir-fry meal for lunch. A pasta entrée makes for a good division of labor; one of you can take care of the pasta while the other cooks up the sauce.

About three cookbooks that have different menus for different occasions and seasons should be enough. (We have Italian, Asian, Simple Pasta, and Old-fashioned Holiday cookbooks at home). The Web is rife with recipes of sorts, but I suggest finding Web sites that would best suit your needs and lifestyle. They also have to be sites that were recommended by those who have tried and "tasted" them. Most of my recipes were lifted from Unilever Food Solutions and Unilever. These two sites have a multitude of recipes that range from special holiday meals to everyday dinners, and were contributed by an army of seasoned culinary experts. Plus, I never have a hard time looking for the ingredients in their recipes. That is a definite bonus especially if you and your partner have little time to run to the supermarket.

Here’s a simple entrée you and your partner can try together.

Shrimp Creole

2 tbsp. I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter
2 tsbp. all-purpose flour
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tbsp. green pepper, chopped
1 tbsp. red pepper, chopped
1 tbsp. celery, chopped
1 jar (16 oz.) Tostitos salsa (mild or medium, depending on your palate)
1 can (8-oz.) tomato sauce
1 tsp. soy sauce
1 ½ shrimp, cleaned, deveined

1. Heat butter and flour in a non-stick saucepan until brown, stirring constantly.
2. Add garlic, green pepper, red pepper and celery. Sauté for 2 minutes or until tender.
3. Stir in salsa and tomato sauce. Mix evenly. Simmer for 5-7 minutes, stirring occasionally.
4. Stir in shrimp. Cook for 7-10 minutes or until shrimp are pink and cooked through. Stir in soy sauce and simmer for one more minute. Serve warm over rice.

Note: The adjective "creole" refers to a type of food prepared with rice, tomatoes, peppers and sometimes, okra.

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Photo credits:

Pot and veggies: www.platinumcookware.com at http://www.platinumcookware.com/product%20images/EnhJumbo.jpg

Shrimp creole: www.mountainhighyoghurt.com at http://www.mountainhighyoghurt.com/images_recipes/ShrimpCreole.jpg

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

Freedom in Your Marriage

Marriage is bittersweet. Sometimes, you feel as though you are going to implode because of too much love, sometimes you just want to explode because of anguish, guilt, annoyance, confusion … name it. There are just many things that come with marriage that make you want to pack your bags and run crying to mommy.

Many of you know that my husband and I are practically newly married. The fact that I am writing this makes it obvious that we have a lot to learn. As we enter the first years of cohabiting as a married couple, we discover a whole slew of things that we would have otherwise ignored.

I notice that I fret over small matters that merit no attention from other people. For example, I consider dinnertime as sacred, almost equal to going to church on Sunday mornings. The dinner table and the kitchen are a temple to me, and when they are violated, I hear voices in my head telling me to knock over bottles, pots and pans. My eleventh commandment is plain and simple: "Thou shall only bring food to the dinner table. No remote controls, newspapers, magazines, books or laptops."

As I quell my unrest, I realize that’s just the way it is in marriage. Trivial things become a matter of sanity and derailment. To be fair, I am sure that my husband has his own “things,” too. And I wouldn’t be surprise if I found out he also hears voices telling him to run his car over the garage. He is a good man, husband and friend.

As individuals, we are all allowed to have autonomy over things that we consider sacred. For some, it is going to church, or watching Sunday night football, or visiting the bookstore on a Saturday afternoon. But as a “better” half of a whole, we are expected to give up a certain amount of the autonomy we knew when we were single.

So I ask you, women, this question: How much of this autonomy are you willing to give? And when you do give up something, do you always have to sell yourself short? In marriage, when is it right to be bitter over small things rather than sweet?