And Now For Some Updates

Well, here I am again. My visits have become sporadic and I apologize for those who were trying to get more Broken Coffee in the past, erm, months. Life is suddenly so effing busy(!!!) But in a good way.

So, here’s just a quick rundown on the things I’m doing right now. I ripped this off Lurchie’s blog because I am running out of fresh ideas and fresh coffee grounds. Rambling on. Can’t talk much. Although I can tell you that I am in a government-sponsored seminar on how to make the perfect foam for cappuccino. All hush-hush trade secret.

The following is supposed to be done on a Sunday, as per tradition, but I’m adapting this for today:

Reading
A hefty manual on government standards and certification guidelines for the seminar I’m currently attending. It’s already the stuff of my nightmares for several nights now.

Writing
This…. as a way to decompress and detach myself from the gargantuan manual mentioned above.

Listening
Chatter of people discussing the fine points of Article 3, Section 4.3.a of the monstrous manual. Clacks of laptop keys.

Thinking
I must get a pedicure soon…

Smelling
The aroma of recycled stagnant air blowing out from a cranky airconditioner; the overpowering cologne of a man seated three chairs away (it stabs my nose!)

Wishing
For a two-week leave from work

Hoping
To digest all information in the manual I am reading so I can pass the assessment waiting at the end of this seminar. (Tell me, do they give out candies after we pass?)

Wearing
A black blouse, black leggings, gladiator sandals, and lipstick.

Loving
the internet connection that allows me to access my blog from over here!

Wanting
A pound of extra dark chocolate I can sink my teeth in.

Needing
A time off

Feeling
Cold and woozy

Thanks for the inspiration, Lurch. :) Hope to see you soon.

And Now For Some Updates

sanctum sanctorum

Chapter 1

I had no plans of going inside the cathedral’s compound but something drew me in. It was midday, and the church staff members were probably at lunch. It was very, very quiet, the place’s stillness only punctuated by the cheeps and trills of birds foraging in the trees that cast their cool green shadows over the compound. I walked around and took some pictures with my phone. The quiet was soothing. Something in me was rousing. I sat down on one of the pews. I had to write something to acknowledge that something awakening within me. In my bag, I found a piece of paper (a loan form) and a pen. I’ll share an excerpt of what I’ve written, as well as the photos I took that day.

Chapter 2

IMG_20150221_113551 IMG_20150221_113744IMG_20150221_113805

Chapter 3

02-21-2015

Steeped in the silence of the cool sanctuary, I gradually regain some of the missing piece of who I am. These days, it is very rare for me to have time to commune with myself. It seems that Iife is throwing this bachelorette’s party everyday, complete with the compulsory male stripper, the edible glow-in-the-dark undies, the phallic pastries, the booze poured in time to sultry music piped in sync to a picture slideshow of a bride-to-be’s days as a single woman. In this party everyone laughs, eggs, and hopes (just a teensy bit) that the next day’s bride will just give in to the delicious temptation of well-toned flesh that emerges from a cardboard cake and begins baring every edible part of its anatomy. Nevermind that he’s probably prefers men, too.IMG_20150227_091635

It’s funny. I’m penning this inside a church. And dim though the interior may be, I can feel the blushes of the terracotta cherubim mounted on the candle brackets.

I ask for forgiveness for this lusty analogy.

I confess I rarely see these thoughts after I’ve turned 30. Today, it seems that I can’t stopper them as quickly as I want to. Perhaps I am merely nostalgic for the days when I couldn’t care less who saw me while I was drunk and scantily clad–prancing on the beach and begging the Goddess to purify me with the liquid silver of the Moon.

Again, the cherubs blush. So I’ll let these thoughts rest — for now.

But perhaps not just yet. All I know is that whatever vows one takes before the Divine, these will always be remembered.The Gods never forget. And as I sit here, the Gods are helping me remember. The missing pieces of who I am are slowly returning.

And as I end this, a line from Hellboy sidles in.

“You should be running.”

sanctum sanctorum

Picking up from where I left off

Yes, it was indeed hormonal.

Who’d have thought that 2013 was the year of MASSIVE CHANGES in my life.

For one thing, I had the crazy compulsion to try the Atkins way of eating in the early part of 2013. I shunned anything that had carbohydrates in it. I was more devoted than a novitiate reciting her evening prayers in my scanning of the nutritional contents of every food package that came my way. I had to make sure that what I got only had less than 10 grams of carbs in it.

At that time, the rest of the household considered me a pariah when it came to mealtimes. As custom, they would lay out bowls of grilled sweet potatoes and tureens of mung beans and yam stew along with the dried or pickled fish then finish off the meal with ripe plantains swimming in caramel sauce. But I’d refuse any of it. As the rest of the family piled their plates high with all the carbo yummies that I did love, I would sit there, wordlessly munching my pig-skin cracklings.

My sister-in-law thought that it was a boycott on her cooking and would often look at me with an aggrieved expression from across the table laden with fried rice and noodles. Tata thought that I was on a suicide mission. In his concern he surveyed how many of our late neighbors died from having a lot of meat in their diet [the evidence he presented was inconclusive, I told him while I ate three fried eggs]. The various nieces and nephews thought that it was injustice that I ate pig-skin cracklings during mealtimes while they had to eat veggies with their meat.

I’ll write more on this later, but for now, let’s just say that Atkins worked for me. I lost more than 30 pounds and never felt healthier! But the biggest, most startling thing would happen in the middle part of year and was probably brought in part by the diet.

Also in 2013 I thought that I would lose my mother. We went to Korea in May for what was supposed to be Mama’s treatment for a lump that doctors found in her throat. They suspected a tumor. Fortunately, it was not malignant. I returned home and went back to work, happy with the news about Ma.

And then in July I found out that I was pregnant! And that’s the biggest news for the year.

How many years have we waited for a baby of our own? Faith is already in her way to becoming a teenager. These days, actually, she’s living with her real mom after I explained why her mom and dad never ended up together (read: interfering parents who thought it’s best to let their son marry someone richer).

There were some complications in my pregnancy and had to be in complete bed rest from the 5th month. The baby was scheduled to be born in early March of 2014, but she decided to come out on Christmas Day!

Yes, we had a premature daughter. More than that, she was a micropremie, weighing only 860 grams or 1.9 pounds, when she was born. We stayed for 72 days in the hospital. And it was the biggest ordeal that all of us in the family had to face.

I think I have recovered enough to have the strength to tell of our ordeal. And I can say that our preemie is a fighter, thank Heavens, and she is now a bouncy one year old who melts her papa’s heart like nothing else in this earth could. But that’s just the proud, doting mother in me talking. So it you are into hospital drama (e.g., Grey’s Anatomy), then I encourage you to read posts about our hospital stay, which I’ll write soon. For those who are queasy with thoughts of syringes and ladies in white shoes, I’ll have a warning put up in the first paragraph of a post to give you sufficient time to read about or do something else.

So, for those who are still devoted to the goings-on in the Broken Coffee Cafe, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for staying with me until now. The place needs general cleaning, and perhaps I’ll get round to it once I can squeeze in the time between diaper changes and milk runs.

Meanwhile, may I tempt you to some cookies and the usual cuppa while I tend to a pile of laundry waiting to be folded? And pardon the goo on the couch. You know how it is with little ones bouncing about in the house.

Picking up from where I left off

touching base

and suddenly I’m thirty two.

if i were an infrastructure, the City Engineering Department would be inspecting me for stability at this time. they’d want to know if my trusses and beams can still support the tons of concrete coating my steel beams and iron railings. they’d want to known if my rooms, nooks, crannies, attics, basements, and cellars are still fit for habitation. and i’d probably need a touch-up of paint on my facade, as well as some repairs on the plumbing and the ventilation. i’d give myself an “acceptable” for these criteria.

so i’ve roamed. but i didn’t go far. i took the advice of one sage and i explored my neighborhood like a tourist would. the interval spanned the last post i left here at the Cafe until yesterday. i found the experience interesting. and it did help me set my priorities almost straight. then the muse started bothering my conscience again that i should be doing some emptying online. whatever that empyting is.

maybe it’s just me, but i feel that the world is sheathed in anger. i feel that wrathful heat pulsing through the day, through the places i’ve explored, through the news i see and hear. i see it in the interactions of people around me. peace has suddenly become more expensive than a canister of Beluga caviar. or am i wrong about the price quote?

oh, thirty two.

here we go. another notch etched on the pillar of life.

 

touching base

this post needs prozac

Ever so slowly the realization dawns on me. I am now merely going on autopilot.

Call me narcissistic. It’s OK. What’s not OK is realizing that I threw away my compunction to write more than a year ago. And along with it my desire to live and to laugh and to love. Such shriveled shell. It’s where I find myself right now.

I tell people to soar, spread their wings and let their feathered appendages touch all possibilities. But I don’t buy that sort of natter for myself.

Busy. I pretend to be that. But what I’m actually doing is escaping. Digging a hole to China. Or to other geographical locations. I’m an ostrich. Flightless and constantly getting sand in my eyes. My power of speed (from zero to Mach 3) is useless on a plain where I can be a target even from 2 miles away.

You’d think that I only post stuff here when things are a mess in my personal life. Well, you’re not really off tangent on that one.

If I crash this plane now, who’d pick up the pieces? Would I smell like grilled pork tenders when the fuselage goes up in flames and I failed to bail out in time? Who knows? Who cares, even?

this post needs prozac