First Picture of You

Almonds on the chopping board. Not pictured: almonds flying around as I chopped them up.

The winner HK bag.

The k2 couch and vanilla...reeds? Sticks?

My boy working.

Some of my first shots with the New Camera. Still trying to figure her out, name her, and not look for a viewfinder.

Wherever we wind up, I hope we get along!

Gentlemen may prefer blondes

But I only prefer gentlemen blondes with a particular accent.

A Crown Prince reciting Shakespeare while doing laundry? Roar.

Tapos now he wears scrubs and the occasional sidearm? Double Roar.

Technically so not my type, but still.

Technically SO my type, and still.

His hair and his accent are fake, but kebs.

What made me realize this? Downton Abbey!!

Sigh. Check out these adorable Downton Abbey graphics here and here. (Spoilers ahead!)

30 Days of Tori: Day 18

Day 18: Your favorite live performance

Tie again (as useless)

Old-school, just-a-girl-and-her-piano:

Semi-old-school, plugged. (And parang EVERYBODY is having fun):

30 Days of Tori: Day 17

I've super neglected this. Dyahe.

Day 17: Your favorite cover

never meant to cause you any sorrow

(This particular rendition kicks butt.)

Downton Dan

He has been hailed as the new Colin Firth. I'm a bit bothered by that--there can be only ONE Papa Colin. I'd rather think of him as

1. The love child of Hugh Grant and Ralph Fiennes.

Close your eyes and he sounds like Hugh. Open your eyes and he can be as awkwardly endearing as Hugh. But when he's in Brooding Brat Mode (complete with deep frown, downturned lip and flashing blue [sigh] eyes) I can't help but think of Papa Ralph at his hottest-brattiest.

2. The cousin I thank HEAVEN I never had.

...unless we lived in Kentucky. Or we were European royalty waaaay back when.

3. The reason why I've been puyat for so many days.

Rewind and play. Sigh. Rewind and play again. Sigh again.

The show makes me think of Jane Austen writing The Remains of the Day while on crack. More, more, more!

Words of Wisdom (Teeth)

I rode the MRT today, and it was the most (well, only) documented MRT ride of my life because a) The Boyfriend made pasa-load his beloved phone, and b) today is the first time in a looooong time that I've had the energy to even consider the mosh pit that is the MRT. I even took the stairs everywhere--sometimes even two steps at a time.

This is a far cry from how I was eleven days ago: pushing a bag of groceries down the hallway with my right foot and thinking, "I want to be well," tears in my eyes and the taste of blood still in my mouth after carrying the bag for only a few seconds.

Today is Day 8 of Food Freedom. As I look back on that dark, dark period of my life--all 34 days of it--what pearls of wisdom (teeth) can I dispense?

1) Food is more than just fuel.

I've never had a healthy relationship with food. I've done incredibly horrible things like eat while walking, while working, while watching TV, and even over the kitchen sink. I've spent days eating nothing but sweets, or bread, or cereal, or McDo. I've never thought of food as a friend...on my worst days I've thought of food as a dirty secret. Which is ironic, because 80% of the people I love are foodies, and not just in the enormous appetite sense, but in the "I cook/bake/roast with gusto and it all tastes great" and "I will critique a restaurant or a dish or a dessert because I know what I'm talking about" sense.

I started staying up late going through recipes here. I couldn't take my eyes off Giada and Ellie and Ina and Nigella. I was even drooling over the local home shopping channel when they were selling knives and bullet blenders.

So yes, food is not just fuel. It can also be a source of joy, of ritual, of bonding (who wants to bond with anyone over congee for a month). It can reflect desire and longing that is guilt-free and not about stuffing yourself when nobody's looking.

2) Food is definitely fuel.

...Which is why I can never be a vegetarian. The very day I started eating bits of chicken, meat, chorizo--anything that used to have blood running through its veins--I instantly felt better, stronger, happier, and so much warmer. I shivered my way through my Dark Ages (and to think I live in a tropical country!).

3) The weak need to be more patient.

As opposed to my usual bara-bara methods I had to figure out how to

• open cans and packages
• carry bags and chairs
• wash dishes and clothes
• cut fruits and vegetables
• and even make my fricking bed

with the least amount of force. Doing anything took so much longer, and I had to calm my mind--and my jawline.

4) Being weak sucks.

See #3.

5) Having a handicap/injury that people can't see sucks.

I was very tempted to walk around with a sign that said, "Three holes in my gums. Please help me carry/push/open/close everything in this world."

(Which is why I wanted to kiss the guard who carried my bag of groceries to the side of the elevator.)

I've been walking home again. Not as quickly as I'd like, and I still hold on to railings just to be safe. But it feels wonderful--WONDERFUL--to run under my own steam again.

Back to School

I found myself today in the kind of place I haven't been to in years. And the littlest things took me back just like THAT.

These lockers were the first time machine. I thought of a hallway back in grade school, where I first discovered how nice it was to stay after classes and just talk to friends. And then my Hollywood-obsessed self thought of Angela, Jordan and Brian in the hallway. Le sigh.

And then I had to pee. And then I peed while reading stuff like this. Which made me laugh real hard. Because it was so...high school.

And then I wound up in Math class. Math! Class! The scariest place in the universe. I saw the formula for percent, base, and rate and almost puked. And then I saw these chairs and I remembered one that got vandalized within an inch of its life.

And then we went to my Happy Place. Where I remember going nuts about Laura Ingalls Wilder and Nancy Drew. And something about the Dewey Decimal System.

And throughout the day we were surrounded by kids like these. Smiling laughing singing running reciting. And I realized the...fleeting but potent beauty of youth. Full of promise and hope and all the corny things that we say and think we don't mean but we do. And I felt its energy like a slap in the face. And I felt the weight of being older--not in a "Crap, I'm getting wrinkly and rickety" way but a "Crap, we wrinkly and rickety people are responsible for these kids' futures and I don't think I'm built for it" way.

And I realized (yet again) that I can't work for an NGO or foundation because flagpole ceremony pa lang lumuluha na ako. And I can't work with kids because even if they think I'm one of them and they like me my cuss word combos come out at the funkiest times. (Who am I kidding? They come out anytime.)

And when I looked down I realized that all of us were wearing blue shoes, young shoes, and I thought, "Maybe this kind of job is what keeps us young and wearing blue shoes, young shoes."

I thank heaven for my blue shoes, my young shoes.

Sometimes I think they're the only shoes I really feel like I'm me in.

Keanu Fix

I know I'm getting stressed out with work, hilo, hunger, and the absence of nicotine + alcohol in my system because

my boy is back in town. (I've cyber-confessed this before.)

Here he is, willing the wounds in my gums to come together.

Here he is, telling me to relax, that everything will be all right, I got this.

Here he is, shedding a tear for me because I have another week of buying food from the drugstore.

You'll have to forgive this kulot child. Sometimes when I get up from a chair or the bed I'm all a-spin-a-win.