All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another. ~Anatole France
Back when there were just 3 of us.
September. It is the start of the “BER” months as we would refer to it in the Philippines.
September brings a lot of promise and excitement back home as it signifies cooler weather, which is not so much being in a humid, tropical country and the countdown begins for the biggest and most special holiday for many families.
I miss that feeling of exhilaration, and a little bit of pressure, as malls bring out their Christmas decorations early and play some Christmas carols to entice consumers to start their gift shopping early to avoid the rush. Companies start organizing their parties to book the best place for their employees and clients; and families plan their reunions.
But now, September only brings me anxiety, because here in Winter-peg, it’s the start of the BRR months.
The official start of Fall won’t be till the 22nd of September, but you can definitely feel it in the air already. The night temps have dropped, the wind is a bit chillier and the days are noticeably shorter. Don’t get me wrong, I like fall. I love how beautiful and colourful it can be. It is actually what comes after that fills me with dread.
For those who suffered from the severity of the past Winter, Summer felt absolutely short.
One eye opens, and then another as her mind struggles to get a grip on the present.
The next few minutes was an internal battle between her mind and her flesh. One wants to stay in bed, feed her depressed soul with even more loneliness to dwell on the “what ifs” and “what could’ve beens”; the other wants to get going and live the day.
The need for nourishment and bodily functions won that day, with extra effort not to go back to bed.
When I was younger I would always help my mama in the kitchen; peeling and chopping vegetables, cleaning or washing meats and some other sea creatures to be used on a Filipino dish. Sometimes she would let me “cook”, which actually means I get to stir and put the ingredients in the pan while she tells me the order they go in, then she does the seasoning herself.
I never really learned how to cook Filipino dishes though. I tried, but I always thought it to be a failure because they never really tasted the same as when mama cooks them. Besides, Filipino dishes are so precise (in my opinion). If you don’t use the same ingredients, they don’t seem to taste as good.
But even though I refused to learn to cook even my favourite dishes, like sinigang, bistek (beefsteak) tagalog, paksiw, mama always told me to at least be able to cook one staple so I don’t starve (or in my case, go broke from always buying food I can otherwise prepare myself). Continue reading Kitchen experiments