No Second Helping but Sharing

It was a heated summer afternoon few months ago.  I planned to meet Alden for lunch at Amaze, an Asian fusion restaurant by First Avenue.  It was almost a 15-minute walk from Fifth Avenue where my office is located.  As usual, we ordered our favorite: steamed Shumai for appetizer, a bowl of salad, Salmon Teriyaki with brown rice, and of course Thai iced tea to complete the meal.  Our server Angie has already memorized our order every time Alden and I will go there around 12:30pm.  The only thing that sometimes change is Alden might fancy either Edamame beans or Gyoza (Fried meat dumpling) in place of Shumai.  “How are you feeling right now?” Alden would ask me knowing about the crisis I was going through for months now.  That day I said “I am trying to cope; my therapy and medication are helping along with occasional meeting up with friends like this one with you.”  He quipped “I am glad you sounded like you are on your way to recovery” as we are finishing the salad and occasional sips of the tea.  After the lunch, Angie asked us if we want a second helping of Thai iced tea to which we replied with a resounding  “No”, adding we will just lubricate our throat with water but we will get an order of Fried Ice Cream that we will share so she has to bring two teaspoons.  Then memory of a familiar conversation in 2012 came to both our minds as we were talking about second helping and sharing: a man we both slept with at different points in time.

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Exotic Persian Flavor at Sur La Table

Excitement filled my Monday morning as I imagined the cooking class I registered in last Friday for me and my friend Terry.  It is exotic Persian cuisine and I have never attended an actual cooking class, though I enjoy cooking mostly Filipino dishes my mother taught me to cook when I was very young.  Come to think of it, all my friends are mostly Filipinos and they like my Filipino dishes, so I have never tried any other cuisine other than Filipino dishes and some pasta dishes which I always improvise to suit the Filipino taste.  My friends Jackie, Jopet and Edwin always say that my specialty dish is “Pork Binagoongan”, which is a dish of pork simmered with spices and shrimp paste until thickened.  This dish has a pungent smell that can really turn off anybody trying it for the first time.  The thick smell can linger in your apartment for weeks and would need you to light up scented candles nightly until the smell dissipates.

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Miss World 2013

It was a feast like no other.  Imagine me as I was convinced by Edwin, Ernie, his roommate, and Jackie, our ever charming and slender girl, to open a credit line with Best Buy and purchase a new 55-inch TV set on the premise that after the event on Saturday I will arrange for its return and get the credit back.  Win win situation, so they say.  The gay community in the Philippines is so eager to grab any pageant crown like a boxer thirsty for a victory after 12 rounds of punches and runs. And so are my friends here in New York.  Everyone was excited when I sent the text invitation for a gathering of some sort at my apartment in Astoria.  It was mentioned in my text that the time of the event is 7am so we can have breakfast before the pageant starts at 8am Eastern Time, which is 8pm in Bali, Indonesia held at Bali Nusa Dua Convention Center.

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Steak Tartare and Crepe Flambe

I was coming out of my therapy session.  Realizing it was only 7pm and the sun was still out I decided to call my dentist friend Germainne and agreed to stop by her clinic so we can have dinner.  “Helloooo!” with her usual high pitch greeting on the phone.  I told her about stopping by her clinic to invite her out for dinner.  “Of course” she replied.  She said she will be waiting for me so I hurried up and walk to the nearest train station.  I took a downtown 6 train from 51st Street station and got off at Grand Central to walk a few blocks to Germainne’s clinic. While I was walking on 3rd Avenue along 39th Street, I happened to notice a familiar face.  It was one of the clinic assistants but she looked worried as she walked past me.  Oh well, she is probably in a hurry to get home so I did not bother to approach her to say hello.  As soon as I got in the clinic Germainne and I said our “hi’s” and gave our cheek-to-cheek kisses.  I told her to start working on her paper works so we can leave for dinner in no time.  While she was scanning insurance claims I told her I bought a new music from iTunes.  It is an old song from Anne Murray titled ” I Just Fall In Love Again”, which is the theme music of the Filipino movie I just watched two weekends ago with Jenny, Roxy and my mother entitled “Finally Found Someone” starring Sarah Geronimo and John Lloyd Cruz, two of the famous movie stars in the Philippines.  By the time the song ended she was ready to go so we walked out and decided to just walk to Koreatown for dinner at a food court.

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Tounge Twisters: Keys or Kiss and Teeth or Tit

How many of us who came from a foreign country or whose mother tongue is a language other than English ends up in a situation where English speaking persons asked you what you said?  Or worse, asked you to repeat what you just said?  Doesn’t it feel insulting that after repeating what you said, still, the person you are talking to gives you a blank face like he has no freaking clue what you just said and repeated a few times?

How many times did you feel ashamed or enraged and your face was all red or your ears were hot as hell after being being told that one did not understand what you said?  Well, I have been in numerous situations when I was new here in the US where my pronunciation of words have been compromised.  It used to hurt my feelings when somebody tells me that he or she did not understand what I said.  One time, one of my ex-boyfriend Kenny’s nephews told him “Uncle Kenny, I did not understand what Eric said.  Can you ask him?”, while I stood right in front.  It was kind of embarrassing to me though I have to hide my disgust and still keep my hypocritical smile.  Another one was when I went to Jersey Gardens to shop with my friend Maricar.  When I asked the customer service in the middle of the floor for shopping bags the lady pointed to me the ATM machine under the escalator saying “There is no bank here inside the mall.”  So I have to come back to her and say I am asking for shopping bags (which I pronounced as “begs”), and this time she understood and asked me “How many do you want?” with a smile. Geesh!

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My night at the Web…their night at the station!

My move from Jamaica, Queens to Astoria was courtesy of Edine, a friend I met years ago and has been my constant companion whenever she is off from her busy schedules working during and after office hours.  She is an administrative assistant by day and a nanny by dark till late evening or until she is relieved from her duty by the family she works for.  Her full name is Edine Bocalan or as everyone fondly calls her Miss B.  She is Edwin’s room mate in the three-bedroom apartment turned into a four-bedroom one due to the wall they mounted that separated the extra room from the living room, which they share with two other tenants, located along Broadway by 42nd Street.  Edwin, on the other hand, has been my friend for quite a long time that dated back to our days in the SGV/Arthur Andersen office in Manila years ago where we both worked as auditors.

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The Day After: Puri o Buhay (Honor or Life)

This is a continuation of the scary incident from last night.

It was  a bad night and I felt so exhausted from tossing and turning for most part of the night, yet I have no choice but to wake up this early in the morning and get myself prepared for the day’s work.  I made a cup of coffee and toasted a slice of bread which I generously smothered with butter and some jam: my usual breakfast daily.  While I was taking a shower, the life-threatening ordeal, came back to my mind.  “Thank God!” I said to myself.  “I am still alive.”  As the warm water splashes over my skin from head to toe, I was telling myself I will never forget this lesson since it happened during my normal night from school to home.  Even if I have to take a cab by myself I could care less about how much I have to pay as long as I get home safe.

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