huevos

Gone are the days when those rowdy children blurted, huevos! (eggs) to anyone who got a zero in his or her exams or lost in games they played. On anything that you lost or failed, you were called huevos! by the arrogant winner (like someone from the Three Stooges). I have not heard of it uttered anymore for decades because my household is such a sweet quiet paradise, no fighting, no fibbing, no rowdiness, no competitiveness. The girls were very well behaved when they were small children, very unlike me when I was growing up. I was climbing trees (my favourite tree was the only 'camias' tree in our backyard where I soaked in sorrow over my losses and ate the small sour camias as if they would expurgate my unhappiness); flying my own kites the colour and design of which I chose meticulously and, of course, playing the 'patintero' or 'balatin' in the late afternoons (to regain lost grounds and composures too).

Many of us, undergo an egg phase. Mine was the psychological distress of losing and being called huevos! Another egg phase of mine was in college, where I mostly got zeros in my Stats tests. Meeza's egg phase (I hope just temporary) is cooking her own egg dish three times a day, sometimes secretly, because she knows how I feel about eggs (the unhealthy cholesterol yolk aspect). It consoles me a bit that she forgets to salt her eggs, though.


I don't have the habit of buying eggs but somehow they get to my kitchen mysteriously. The omnipresent egg actually is necessary for all those desserts that we eat. Generally, though, I would not want the egg to become a staple in my pantry. And, if I do need them, they undergo a scrutiny from me. I learned from my mom that to determine the freshness of an egg, take a simple test. Place the egg in a bowl of water, if it goes to the bottom, then it is fresh; the one that floats is a rotten egg. I also learned by looking, that to remove the shell of a hard-boiled egg, tap it gently all over to loosen the shell, then roll between your hands. Peel off shell and rinse with cold clean water.


Well, loser or not, be egg-happy because it is one of the most nutritious food we have on this planet. Just have it once a week, though, or better eat the whites only.

multiplicity

There are some things and events on my side of the family that my husband clearly remembers. Just the other day, he recalled the TV interview of my dad at that time when he was acknowledged as one of those who helped in the administration of the Code of Muslim Personal Laws of the Philippines (a consequence of the 'Moro problem' as with other autonomy matters). My father was trained in civil law but was called along with other Muslim judges to this momentous event that would put the Shari'ah into perspective.

The interview dealt on the Shari'ah, the codification of the Muslim Personal Laws which is unique only to India and the Philippines, and other pertinent matters. By the end of the discussion, on a personal note, the interviewer asked if my dad would take four wives. My father in reply said, "No, I would not want to have four mothers-in-law".

Of course, it was meant as a humorous riposte.

i love my husband

So syrrupy and so corny! I know, but I can't help writing about my husband. It is just very convenient. This is a happy time for him because all the kids (not little anymore, really) are here together once more. The oldest one is back for a short vacation from her posting in Europe. My husband, their father is in a blissful state. The children are all grown up now (Meeza is almost in her teen years, the older ones in their early twenties), and all we do nowadays is sigh, sigh, sigh, at how lucky we are to have them. All of them are beautiful, very sweet and loving in their own identifiable ways, very ambitious, very zestful in life.

What can I say about this man in our lives? The first thing that comes to my mind is how so comfortable we are with him. This is what basically describes him - easygoing. He is funny, very indulgent, open, unselfish, and would do anything for any of us. My mom-in-law, yieldingly, said to me once, there is no mountain high enough, no ocean deep enough (or to that effect) that my husband will not navigate - for our sakes - the four women in his life. Those words resonated in my ears a thousand times. And I am thankful and feel blessed for that.

splendido

My husband has fallen in love with Taal, the cold mountain with a lake and an active volcano in the middle. This is where Splendido, the golf and country club is cocooned. He just had discovered Splendido, but I already feasted on the beauty of Taal long before I even met him. I am glad my husband found Splendido and Taal.

My parents always brought us here when we were children. The long trip, for us, started along the coast of Manila Bay and wove into the smaller roads festooned with fruit stalls. Along these roads we experienced the sight of freshly cut beef from Batangas cattle that hanged on rods and also smelled the brewing of the coffee called "Barako". A barako literally means a thug or a bully. This is the coffee that raises your adrenaline, I know.

In the vicinity of the famous lake, there are quaint, European-like houses owned presumably by well-to-do families. My husband is reminded, he says, of countryside England because of these houses and the cold climate.

As a child, I looked for my favourite fruit when we stopped over at the stalls. It is called 'tiessa' and it looks like a ripe papaya on the outside. The taste is like a chiku gone chalky, my brothers would say. But, it did not discourage me and I suspect I had more Vitamin A because of the 'tiessa'. All of us liked the 'atis' (sugar fruit) because of its unbelievable sweetness and we spit out the seeds to hit on each other. I found the pictures of these fruits (Marketman's) and I am brought back to the magic of Taal.

waterloo, bournemouth

A conversation like this comes up now and then.

MEEZA: Where is 'waterloo'?

ME (remembering the battle movie): It was where Napoleon Bonaparte lost. It was his last battle. Rod Steiger was Napoleon in the movie...

HUBBY(with 'stop it mom look' at me) : Waterloo is the railway station where Daddy used to take trains from London to Bournemouth where Daddy went to school.

MEEZA (lighting up, more interested in Dad's history than Napoleon's): Can we go to Bournemouth soon?

as i see it

The first time that I went to Saudi Arabia, I was struck with many things, one of which is the stark difference betwen the Saudi women and the Asian Muslim women. The Saudis called us Asian looking women, "Siti" for reasons I do not know. It must be a convenient form of salutation.

In Asia, we drive, do our shopping without our husbands tagging along, and more important, I think, work outside our homes. In the Philippines, where I was born, the Muslim women generally participate in political exercises, like voting, referendums, campaigns, running for offices, etc. I will not go to the extent of how the Saudi women might be wanting of liberties that we have in our lives. For all I know, they maybe a happy lot even without these "freedoms".

One other difference is how we cover ourselves. I have to admit, I was quite disturbed with seeing the swarms of women in black, faces unseen and unfathomable. While I saw some Asians (they are Asians, because of their heights and their sounds too) wearing the niqab or burka fully concealing themselves too, most of us wore our tudungs or hijabs which is less restrictive, but some would think as less pleasing to Allah.

A lot of us would do away with the hijab, too. My cousin, Shalimar, is very exasperated with her mom who does not bother covering up. This is another unique story and brings both of us to marvel about the eccentricities of people in our lives.

In airports, the hijabs we wear become problematic, when people stare and look at us like we were going to blow up some aeroplanes. More security checks and questions for us too because of our names. Hello!! Do I look like a suicide bomber tagging along my beautiful precious child to finish our lives just like that?

Hijabs, niqabs, burkas - we have our choices, let no one dictate us. We were always taught that our modesty is the responsibility of our fathers, brothers, husbands and sons, but let it be our own accountability too. We must be able to use our minds, do interpretative thinking, be real Muslims, fair and just and not imposing and intolerant. And if we choose to cover up (or not), then let us do it with dignity and without fear.

secrets of happiness

What makes you happy? I don't mean the euphoric-manic, fleeting, on and off feeling but the kind that's peaceful, serene and permanent even in the midst of troubles and misfortunes. I learned late in life the inverse proportion between happiness and my needs (including the need to be happy)...the less my needs are, the more that I can be happy. And learned that you can't look for happiness. It just sits still for you to embrace it.

Happiness comes from contentment, in giving (generous people are always a happy bunch) and acceptance of things that you cannot change. Optimistic people are happy people. They see a half-full cup rather than a half-empty cup. Happiness depends on how you resolve sticky situations in your life. It also is reliant on how well you can study people and their motives and intentions and choose your friends from among them.

Being able to forgive and forget is a secret to life-long happiness. "He who lives happiest has forgotten most" says Robert Anton Wilson. I agree. Being unforgiving, combative, hateful, envious, proud, greedy give way to disenchantment and discontent. It will only leave a gaping hole in one's heart and a disposition that's unsmiling, haughty and disrespectful.

Be less needy, generous, optimistic, forgive and forget, choose your friends - these are secrets to being happy.