Pain and living with it

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Pain.

It just comes.

Out of nowhere.

Knocking you out completely.

One moment you’re watching a romantic comedy movie, the next you’re trying very hard to stop yourself from crying because you’re alone and you don’t want to start something you’re afraid you won’t be able to stop.

Grief doesn’t really go away, right?

It’s just there.  Waiting to come out and exhausting your heart and mind in the process.

One moment you’re thinking about mundane things, the next you’re thinking how life can be so unfair that something so good has been taken away from you.

One moment, you wish you have more time to reply to emails, the next you’re thinking about what you would want to do had she still been alive.

One moment you are looking at your speech trophies, the next moment you remember that the reason you joined speech contests in the first place was to make her proud because you love to see her smile the moment you say “I won.”

One moment you’re nothing but a normal person who goes through daily tasks, the next you’re this really, really sad human being who cannot even imagine why this ever happened to you.

Or the reason of this all.

Because even if your faith tells you that there is a greater reason for things, that the reason is something you might not understand now, you can’t help but wish that maybe, it wouldn’t have been asking for too much if you were given more time with her.  Just more time to make more memories.  Because the memories are still not enough.  I long for more.

These thoughts, the sadness that goes with them, the type of feeling that rips your heart apart, they just come.

Unexpectedly.

I know they’ll come still.  I know they won’t stop coming.  

And there will be pain.  

It’s just that, I think through time, we just learn how to control our feelings so that we think less about the pain and more about how we can be happy.

Because that’s what she would’ve wanted.

For me to be happy.

That’s what I’ll try to do.

Pain and all.

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Take Off

I held his hand the entire time we walked from the parking lot to the boarding gate not caring if the two overweight bags we were holding made it almost impossible to do so.

I counted the minutes left before I had to leave while he mindlessly chatted about a new game that he started playing.

I dragged my feet to the security check, fell in line, not looking at where I was going but looking back at where he was standing.  He looked at me as if I was only one around in the crowded area.  I looked at him standing still in a blur of people passing by.

I went through the security check, blowed kisses over and over again while the guards barked “Take off your shoes”, “Laptop out”, “Take that Jacket Off”, until I could no longer see him.

I walked to the gate like a zombie, eyes red, sniffling as I tried to hold back tears I found a seat, stared into space and debated whether I should call or just let him drive home without distraction.

If the walls of airports can talk, they will all agree that all kinds of emotions can be seen in the eyes of the millions and millions of people passing by.  An airport is just a place to pass through but the emotions it brings to people are lasting.

Young lovers excited to go to a new place that they have always dreamed of going.

Grandparents fearful of being in such a busy and confusing place longing for their kids to be around so that they can guide them until the boarding gate.

People going home because someone is going to marry or because a close family member died.

Starting a new adventure.

Going to meet a loved one.

Leaving a loved one.

All emotions are present.

Name an emotion, look around you, and you’ll find that in no time.  Being in an airport is like being in a movie that has no ending.

I still long to hold his hand even just for another minute.

I still long to hold him tight and hear him say how much he loves me and how I am his life.

I still long to tell him how happy he made me and is still making me despite the tears that are falling from my eyes.

I still long…

But my plane is taking off and going thousands of miles away.

So I am going to fasten my seatbelt and tell myself to be strong.

And wait.

Wait for the time where I will board the plane to see him again.

Matar Paneer

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The recipe was taken from this site: http://www.veganricha.com/2012/08/mutter-paneer-spiced-peas-and-tempeh.html.

This site has become my go-to-site when I need inspiration on what food to prepare.  But I think the best thing about Richa, the site author, is that her recipes don’t necessarily need to be followed perfectly.  The dishes always turn out great.

For this recipe, I used cinnamon powder instead of cinnamon sticks and I used jalapeno pepper instead of Serrano chili pepper.

Her finished product probably would taste differently from mine (judging from the photos, too) but I swear this dish turned out so well I will make it again soon.

Highly Recommended

The Spaghetti Travesty

I saw an ad of Jollibee spaghetti and I got so jealous I vowed to myself to make the best Filipino spaghetti this side of the earth.

But yeah, how can I?  How can I when I cannot even find Filipino hotdog?  That red, chemical-laden, with God-knows-what-ingredients is considered a treat for Filipino kids and we grew up loving that.  Filipino spaghetti is not good without Filipino hotdog.

But I was hungry and I wanted spaghetti so I just cooked what I call, after seeing it, Spaghetti Travesty.

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Sure, the noodles were al dente but remember all those articles that say that in Italy, the birthplace of spaghetti, this dish should not swim in sauce?  So it is a travesty for us non-Italians to cook it swimming in red, white, or a mixture-of-both sauce.  But I am a Filipino by heart and our spaghetti has lots and lots of sauce.

Another thing, I use milk when I cook spaghetti.  Do.not.cringe.  Or make that fake vomit sound.  My mother would always cook this dish with Alpine – a full cream reconstituted milk available in the Philippines.  I don’t even know what reconstituted milk is.  All I know is Alpine is delicious.  My mother would put some in her spaghetti, straight from the can, without any measurement, and the rest goes to us kids who were eagerly waiting for whatever’s left.

My spaghetti may not be cooked right the Italian way but in the world we live in now where fusion is the way to go, there is now a very, very thin line on what is wrong or right in terms of cooking.

Maybe all these Asian Fusion, Italian-Mexican fusion, and all other fashion (fas-yon) fusions, is a start of a peaceful world.  I don’t know about you but if we can mix different cuisines and create wonderful masterpieces, it is possible for different cultures to mix too, right?

I leave that food for thought to you.  As for me, I’m going to gobble down this spaghetti with milk because I know it will not taste like travesty in my mouth.  It will be a wonderful fusion of flavor.